Chapter 34 Maggie
Chapter 34
Maggie
Declan reclined on her living room sofa, his fractured left ankle propped up on cushions, and he looked supremely embarrassed about his predicament. He bloody well should be. He’d been an idiot to climb that tree, an opinion she’d not hesitated to share as she and Ben had half dragged him back up the trail to Ben’s car. Don’t you dare call an ambulance. It’s not that bad, he kept insisting. Men and their ridiculous pride. By the time they’d arrived at the hospital, he was pale and clammy from the pain, yet even then, he’d balked at the idea of a wheelchair.
That’s when she’d decided she’d had enough of his nonsense and had practically shoved him into the wheelchair. An injection of morphine and one fiberglass cast later, here he was, parked in her living room, looking sheepish about his current situation.
“I hate to impose on you, Mags,” he said. “I really can manage at home.”
“No, you can’t.”
“It’s just my left leg, so I can still drive. I have plenty of food in the freezer. And I’ll sleep on my living room sofa.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Have you always been this bossy?”
“Have you never paid attention?”
“Obviously, I missed this aspect of your personality.”
“You’re going to stay here with me, at least for tonight. You’re still pumped up with drugs, and I don’t want you falling at home, where there’s no one around to pick you up. Besides, I owe you.”
“For what?”
“For February. When I needed a place to hide, you took me in. Then you came with me, all the way to Bangkok.” She sat down on the ottoman and faced him. “You were there for me, Declan. Now I’m here for you. That’s just the way it’s going to be.”
“I should have listened to you.”
“It’s generally a good idea.”
“About climbing that tree, I mean.”
“I know.”
“I thought it’d be an easy climb.”
“It was an easy climb. The hard part was coming down.”
“But I did retrieve those swim goggles.”
“Yes, you did. And Jo is going to be annoyed.”
“Why? It’s evidence, isn’t it?”
“Which she and her officers missed. That’s going to sting.” She stood up. “Now, let me start dinner. Roast chicken?”
“Yes, please. And a glass of whisky, if you don’t mind sharing your stash.”
“On top of the morphine?”
“My liver’s been through far worse.”
She eyed him for a moment, wavering between indulging him and nannying him. He might have been battered and in pain, but Declan was not a man who liked to be coddled. In his position, she would be calling for whisky too.
In the kitchen, she slid potatoes and a chicken into the oven, then poured a generous splash of her sixteen-year-old single malt into two glasses. One for him, one for her. She carried the drinks and the bottle to the living room, handed him a glass, and sat down in the armchair. They sipped in silence, not looking at each other. They’d been friends for four decades, yet at this moment, words seemed to elude them. Perhaps it was the awkwardly intimate circumstances in which they now found themselves. They had never been lovers. Their assignments in different countries had kept them apart for most of their careers, and her brief and tragic marriage to Danny had left her wary of emotional entanglements. That’s what her marriage had taught her: the more fiercely you loved someone, the deeper the pain when you lost them.
But she wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way Declan looked at her, and also the way he quickly avoided her gaze when he knew she was watching him. For a man who so confidently knew how to navigate the world, around Maggie, he seemed unmoored.
“Why don’t I bring out the chess set after dinner? It’ll be like old times,” she said. “You, me, and a whisky bottle.”
“You make us sound like a pair of alcoholics.”
“Well, a pair of something, anyway.”
“And are we?” he asked quietly. “A pair?”
She heard the plaintive note in his voice, and she finally looked at him. This time, he didn’t look away. “Declan, you know you’re my dearest friend.”
“Ah, the ‘friend’ word. And you don’t want to ruin that friendship. I think that’s what you’re trying to tell me.”
“No. What I’m trying to say is, I haven’t been ready to fall in love, with anyone. After Danny, I’ve been terrified at the thought. All the ways it could go wrong, all the ways I could be hurt again.”
“And now, Mags?”
She regarded the face she knew so well. The passing decades had deepened the wrinkles around his eyes and streaked his once-black hair with silver, but those changes had only made him more appealing than when they were both young and smooth skinned, their bodies not yet scarred by battles and heartache.
“Now,” she said quietly, “I think it would be a shame to waste any more time. Don’t you?”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was awkward, that first kiss, with him immobilized on her sofa, unable to maneuver his body for a proper embrace. And yet it also felt strangely comfortable, because she was kissing her best friend. This was the man who’d always been waiting for her, even when she did not know it. Their joints might be stiff, their hair turning gray, but lust was suddenly back in their lives. She could feel that familiar heat flushing her cheeks, could feel his hands on her blouse, unfastening the buttons. She didn’t know how far they could get on the sofa, with his leg in a cast, but they’d dealt with thornier challenges before. This was one they were both eager to conquer.
Then her doorbell rang.
They pulled apart, breathing hard as they stared at each other in wonder. She burst out laughing, and so did he. She was still laughing as she buttoned up her blouse, as she headed to the front door. She expected to find the rest of the Martini Club waiting outside, showing up with their usual impeccable sense of timing. But when she opened the door, it was Jo Thibodeau standing on her porch.
“How is Declan doing?” Jo asked.
“Oh, he’s fine.” He’s more than fine. “He’s in my living room, if you’d like to talk to him.”
Jo nodded. “I wanted to thank him. To thank all of you, really.”
Well, this was a change. Usually when Jo wanted to talk to them, it was to warn them to stay in their lane and out of hers. “Why don’t you come in? I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing it straight from you.”
Jo stepped into the house and paused in the foyer, sniffing the air. “Something smells awfully good.”
“It’s just chicken.”
Jo cast a longing glance at the kitchen. Does no one ever feed this woman? Maggie thought as she led Jo into the living room.
“Ah, if it isn’t Purity’s finest,” Declan said, and gave Jo a jaunty salute.
“You’re looking pretty chipper for a man who just broke his ankle.” Jo eyed the whisky glass in his hand. “Is that a good idea?”
“Whisky is always a good idea. This is purely medicinal.”
“How is the ankle, anyway?”
“Two months in a cast. It will give me a chance to catch up on my reading.” He cocked his head. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
She paused. Looked down at her feet, and said quietly: “I wanted to thank you. And, I guess, apologize.”
“For?”
“Underestimating you.” She looked at Maggie. “All of you. I swear, my officers and I combed that ravine, all four of us. We completely missed those swim goggles.”
“Did you find any fingerprints on them?” Maggie asked.
“Unfortunately, no. We got nothing.”
“Except even more questions that need answering.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
“Oh, I will. So will my friends when they get here.”
“Another meeting of your, um, ‘book club’?”
“You know, sometimes we meet just to talk.”
She looked at Declan’s whisky glass. “Among other things.”
“Would you like one?” Declan asked.
Jo hesitated, eyeing the whisky. “No, thank you.” She sighed. “On duty.”
“Please sit down,” said Maggie. “We need to review the Conover situation.”
To her surprise, Jo sat down. Either they were beginning to earn her trust or she was so frustrated by the case, she was finally willing to listen to them.
Maggie splashed more whisky into her own glass and sat down, facing her. “Let’s review the facts. First, the girl was found barely alive at the bottom of a ravine, wearing a bathing suit. Correct?”
Jo nodded. “A purple Speedo. We also found one of her sandals lying nearby. I don’t know where the other one went.”
“What else was she wearing, besides the bathing suit?”
“Nothing. I mean, except for an elastic hair tie and a gold earring stud.”
“Only one earring?”
“In the right ear. The left one’s missing. If it got lost in the ravine, we’ll never find it, it’s so small.”
“So here’s what we know,” said Maggie. “Luther Yount said he left the girl at the Maiden Pond boat ramp. We know she made it back to Moonview, because she took off her dress, which was probably stained with menstrual blood, and put it in the washing machine. Since she put on a bathing suit, I assume she either went swimming or planned to go swimming. Six days later, she’s found eight miles away, at the bottom of a ravine, wearing only her bathing suit. Correct, so far?”
“So far,” said Jo.
“But now we come to two puzzling details: the backpack and the cell phone. Why weren’t they thrown in the ravine as well? I think the cell phone was deliberately planted in Farley Wade’s truck. When he found it, he did what you’d expect him to do: he turned it on. It pinged off the cell towers and turned him into a suspect. I assume he’s actually a dead end?”
Jo snorted. “In more ways than one. We know he’s been breaking into houses on the pond. We know he’s guilty of burglary. But there are no forensic traces of the girl in his truck or in his double-wide. I just don’t see him as our kidnapper.”
“Neither do I.”
The doorbell rang again, and Maggie shot Declan a regretful look. So much for their intimate evening together.
She opened the door to find Ingrid and Lloyd on her porch. Lloyd held a foil-covered casserole dish, and Ingrid clutched two bottles of pinot noir.
“We’re here to check on the patient,” said Ingrid.
“And deliver sustenance.” Lloyd held up his casserole. “Manicotti. We’ve already delivered some to Ben.”
“He’s not coming?”
“He’s still at the hospital, helping them set up the video cams. Now they’ll be able to monitor every visitor who goes in and out of that ICU. He convinced the hospital their security system is completely inadequate.”
“When did Jo Thibodeau get here?” said Ingrid, noting the Purity PD patrol car parked in front. “Have we missed anything?”
Ingrid miss something? Not a chance, thought Maggie as she waved the couple into her house.
The evening had morphed into an impromptu potluck dinner of manicotti and roast chicken and potatoes. As Maggie brought plates and silverware to the dining table, Ingrid uncorked the pinot noir and filled glasses.
“Lloyd and I were just at the grocery store,” said Ingrid, as they all sat down. “There’s a lot of chatter about Zoe Conover. That she’s been found.”
“No surprise,” said Jo, spearing a chicken leg from the platter. “News travels fast.”
“But it presents a problem.”
“What problem?” Jo mumbled around the drumstick she was eating. Judging by the way she’s attacking her food, the girl must be starving, thought Maggie. She was glad to see Jo polish off her chicken and reach for a helping of manicotti. They knew Jo lived alone, in a two-bedroom bungalow on Simonton Road, and when did a single working woman have time to cook? A girl could not live on frozen pizza alone. This was one way to support their local police.
It was also an excellent opportunity to extract some information.
“The word’s out that Zoe’s alive,” said Lloyd. “If her attacker hears about it ...”
“Hospital security is on the alert,” said Jo. “The ICU has her monitored around the clock. There’s just one way in or out of the unit, and only her family is allowed to visit.”
“But what happens when she’s moved out of the ICU and into a regular room?” said Ingrid. “Now that Declan’s laid up, there’s only the four of us. That’s not enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Surveillance,” said Lloyd.
“You people are running surveillance now?”
“ Somebody has to. Although a twenty-four-hour guard would be preferable,” said Lloyd. “Seeing as our energy isn’t what it used to be.”
“The Conovers can well afford a private security guard. I’ve already spoken to Elizabeth about hiring one after the girl’s moved out of the ICU.”
“A police guard would be preferable. Someone who answers to your authority, not theirs.”
“And where do I find the budget for a twenty-four-hour police guard? We have only six full-time police officers, including me. We’re approaching the height of summer, the tourists are invading, and not all of them are well behaved. Which, by the way, is why I need to get back to work now. For my second shift of the day.” Jo stood up. “Anyway, whoever attacked her is probably long gone.”
“On what do you base that opinion?” asked Ingrid.
“The backpack on Route One. The perp probably tossed it there as he was headed out of town.”
“What if it wasn’t just discarded, but deliberately planted there?”
Jo looked at Maggie, then at Declan. It was starting to dawn on her that the Martini Club had already united behind a theory, and she had no choice but to hear it.
“Zoe’s abductor dumped the girl in a ravine that’s eight miles west of Maiden Pond,” said Ingrid. “Then he left the backpack sixteen miles south of the pond.”
“On busy Route One,” added Maggie. “Where it was certain to be noticed.”
It took a moment for Jo to consider what Maggie had just said. To come to the same conclusion. “The backpack was meant to be found.”
“To throw us off the track,” said Maggie. “To make us believe the girl had been transported south.”
“You mean, to lead us away from the body,” Jo said, also using the collective us . That was encouraging.
“No, it wasn’t the body he was leading us away from. The girl was already well concealed in that ravine. It was only chance that those hikers and their dog found her.”
“Then what was he leading us away from ?”
“Maiden Pond.”
Jo frowned, trying to make sense of Maggie’s answer.
It was Ingrid who explained. “When a child disappears near a body of water, what’s the first thing people assume? That the child drowned. That would make authorities automatically search the water for the body. But you let two days go by before you did that.”
“Because of the backpack. Because I assumed ...” Jo groaned. “Oh, fuck . Excuse my French.”
“Oh, we know even better words in French,” said Lloyd.
“The abductor led us to believe Zoe was taken elsewhere,” said Maggie. “He left the backpack on Route One, making you think Zoe had been taken south. And then there was her phone, planted in Farley Wade’s truck. Yet another distraction, because Mr. Wade made a very good suspect.”
“And his fingerprints were on that beer bottle you gave me,” Jo said, looking at Ingrid.
“We know he’s a thief. And we know he’s been loitering around Maiden Pond. His truck would have been parked there, making it a convenient place to plant Zoe’s phone. Then Farley Wade drives away with that phone—a phone he eventually turned on—again making it look like Zoe was taken elsewhere. Another way to distract you from searching the pond. And keep you from finding what was down there.”
“The skeleton,” said Jo.
Maggie nodded. “We think she’s the key. The lady in the lake. We need to find out who she was.”
“We?”
“Or have you managed to do that on your own?” said Ingrid.
“Not yet,” Jo admitted.
“Then we should work together, don’t you think?”
“Okay.” Jo sighed. “Tell me how we should proceed.”
Maggie said, “Let’s start with Vivian Stillwater, the woman who went missing from the pond in 1972. Did you ever locate her file?”
“Oh, that.” Jo shrugged. “Her case was closed within forty-eight hours. I had to dig through dozens of boxes in the basement to find it. It was misfiled.”
“So Vivian Stillwater was located?”
“I assume so.”
“You don’t know for certain?”
“The last entry in her file simply said the case was resolved and the woman was no longer missing.”
Maggie looked at her friends. She could see they were as dissatisfied as she was about this vague resolution. “And there were no other details?”
“I can show you the file, but there’s not much in it. Just the initial report from the sister’s phone call. Look, I don’t know why you’re fixated on this Vivian Stillwater case. It was half a century ago, and it sounds like the woman was found.”
“We have a theory,” said Ingrid. “About what brought Vivian to Maine. What brought all of them to Maine.”
“What do you mean, all of them?”
“The Conovers. The Greenes. Arthur Fox. They all showed up here within a year of each other, which made us think there’s a connection between them.”
“Maybe they knew each other before they came here.”
“That’s possible, but we have no evidence of it. There is something that could link at least two of them. Dr. Greene was a research pharmacologist. And George Conover worked in pharmaceutical sales.”
“And Arthur Fox?”
“We’re still digging into his background. His reported occupation was ‘energy consultant,’ but prior to that, he was with the US Army, stationed at Fort Holabird, Maryland. Which is, in itself, quite interesting.”
Jo shook her head. “I’m not seeing the connection.”
“Why don’t you just send us the Vivian Stillwater file,” said Maggie. “We’ll take it from there.”
“In the meantime,” said Ingrid, “I suggest you take a look at Zoe’s Facebook page.”
“I already have,” said Jo. “I didn’t see anything significant.”
“Look again.”