Part 93 (1/2)
”That's why you went back to the house in the Back Bay for your grandmother's ring.”
”It wasn't marital property, even in the prenup that was clear. But at that point I didn't trust Lindsay.”
”Why would you?” Sherrilyn commented.
”The ring belonged to the Landons. My grandmother gave it to me to give to my wife as a symbol, that she was part of the family. Lindsay didn't honor that. And I was p.i.s.sed,” he added, closing the bas.e.m.e.nt door behind them. ”I wanted to take back something that was mine. The ring, the silver set-that had been in the family for two hundred years. The painting ... That was stupid,” he admitted. ”I didn't want her to have something I'd bought out of sentiment, out of trust, when she'd betrayed that. Stupid, because after everything ... I can't even look at it.”
”That added more weight on your side. You went up, took the ring, just the ring. All that jewelry you'd bought your wife. You left it alone. You didn't take it, didn't throw it around the room, out the window. You exhibited no sign of violent behavior or disposition. You're not a violent man, Eli.”
He thought of Suskind. Of Lindsay, of his grandmother, of Abra. ”I could be.”
She gave him a maternal pat on the arm. ”Don't go changing. I booked a night at the B-and-B. I can have a chat with the owner about Duncan, about anyone who she saw him with. Sometimes people remember things over a blueberry m.u.f.fin they don't when they're talking to cops. I want to see Abra's cottage, and sneak around Suskind's place. Maybe chat up any neighbors, some of the shopkeepers. He had to buy food, maybe a six-pack now and then.”
”Yeah. Let me call Abra about the cottage.”
He glanced at the list on the kitchen board as he took out his phone.
”Is that her schedule?”
”Today's.”
”Busy woman.”
Sherrilyn studied the schedule as Eli spoke with Abra. A woman with her hands in that many pies, she thought, knew a little about a lot of people. And that could be useful.
”She said you can get the key from her neighbor, the house to the right of the cottage. Maureen O'Malley.”
”Great. I'm leaving those files for you. I have copies.” She closed her briefcase, lifted it. ”I'll keep you up-to-date.”
”Thanks. You've given me a lot to process.” As he walked her to the door, it struck him. ”Six-pack. Beer. Bar.”
”Make mine a draft.”
”Abra, the second break-in. We were at the bar where she works on Fridays. She saw this guy, unfamiliar, unfriendly. He ordered another drink, but he left before she served it and as soon as I walked in.”
”Can she describe him?”
”It's dark in there. She worked with a police artist, but the sketch isn't much. But ...”
”If you showed her a picture of Suskind ... Worth a shot, and there's one in the file. It only proves he was in the bar, which, seeing as he has a house here, isn't much. But it's more.”
He wanted more still, Eli realized. It ground in his gut, the idea that the man his wife had betrayed him with might have killed her. Might have caused his grandmother's fall, and left her for dead. Might have a.s.saulted Abra.
He'd invaded Bluff House. Everyone in Whiskey Beach knew of the Landons, so buying a house here was a deliberate act. One taken for proximity to Bluff House, he was certain of it.
He carried the files into the library, sat at the old desk with them and his legal pad for his own notes.
And went to work.
When Abra came in shortly after five, he was still at it, and the dog who greeted her at the door stared at her with pleading eyes.