24
Conor and Kate walked through the lobby, and he spotted Sam and Lincoln standing in front of the model of Aphrodite. Sam ran over when she saw them.
“Maeve’s missing,” Sam said.
“That’s a little dramatic, putting it that way,” Lincoln said, hurrying to catch her. Conor noticed the cool, almost annoyed, tone in his voice.
“We haven’t seen her since yesterday,” Sam said. “She was supposed to meet us on the beach, for the ball last night. We saved a seat for her, and she never showed up.”
“I haven’t heard from her since we got back from the cemetery,” Kate said, sounding alarmed. “I’ve been texting her, but no answer. She wasn’t with you, Lincoln?”
“No, she wasn’t,” he said.
“You haven’t seen her all night?” Conor asked him. “Is it normal for her to stay away without letting you know where she is?”
“We don’t answer to each other,” Lincoln said. “We do our own things and get together when we want to.”
“I thought you lived together,” Sam said, turning toward him.
“Did you have a fight?” Kate asked.
“Look, I admit I’m getting a little concerned,” Lincoln said, and Conor noticed he didn’t answer the question. “But I can understand why she might have needed to go off alone and center herself. She’s not over the shock.”
Conor saw Kate’s troubled expression. Ever since last night, when he’d told her everything and they’d shut the world out of the Tower Suite, they had stopped worrying, stopped thinking about anything but each other.
But now he could see worry building in her eyes.
“This isn’t like her,” Kate said. “I wanted to show Conor that note we found, and I texted her about it. She still hasn’t answered me. ”
“The one we found at the grave?” Sam asked. “I know where it is—in her car. I saw her put it in the center console as we were leaving the cemetery.”
Kate hurried toward the valet stand in the foyer, and Conor followed her. Dermot had just come through the door after bringing a guest’s vehicle around.
“Hello, Ms. Woodward,” Dermot said to Kate. “Need your car?”
“Not yet, Dermot,” she said. “I’m checking on my assistant, Maeve. Can you tell me if she picked up hers yet?”
Dermot didn’t even have to look at the master list. He shook his head, then paused as if remembering something. “No, I’m sure she didn’t.”
“Why are you so sure?” Conor asked.
“Well, she came out yesterday and gave me the ticket. I went to get her car, and when I drove it up, she was gone. I parked it in the upper lot, kept it close for her, thinking she would come back for it any minute, but it was still there when I left for the day. And it was right where I parked it when I got here this morning.”
“Where is it now?” Conor asked.
Dermot pointed at the lot across Bluff Avenue, and Conor walked straight over. Maeve’s dark-blue BMW was backed into a space, ready to go. Conor peered into the driver’s window, then walked slowly around the car.
He noticed that the painting Kate had bought for him was resting upright and leaning against the back seat. The cracked frame and torn canvas were clearly visible. Conor knew that meant that at one point, Maeve had been planning to go to the conservator. Had something interrupted her?
Kate crouched by the left front tire, reached into the wheel well, and came out with a magnetic metal box—the kind Conor knew some people used to hide a spare key.
Kate started to use it to unlock the driver’s-side door.
But the door was already unlocked. She leaned inside and opened the center console.
“The 1740 note’s gone,” Kate said, turning to Conor.
“Did you say 1740?” Dermot asked.
“Why do you ask?” Conor asked.
“I saw that number, drawn on a truck,” Dermot said, gesturing across the street. “For a while it was parked over at the house where the woman was murdered. It belongs to Suzanne.”
“Do you know her?” Kate asked.
“Not really. She told me she was working with your assistant, for the wedding,” he said, and looked apologetic, as if he didn’t want to cause pain.
“It’s okay, Dermot,” Kate said.
He nodded and gave her a smile. “Anyway, I asked her about the 1740 on the door—because the lettering was beautiful. Lots of cars have stenciling on them, but that was different. I thought I might get some on mine.”
“What did she say?” Conor asked.
“She said she’d done it herself. That her specialty was calligraphy, so why not put it on her truck? But then she said something I didn’t quite get. She said the number was sacred. It was a symbol that protected her and gave her life.”
“She said ‘gave her life’?” Conor asked.
“Yes,” Dermot said.
Conor took it in, the extreme phrase that Suzanne had used.
He felt charged, the way he did when puzzle pieces began to fit together.
The idea a number could give Suzanne life went along with the idea of obsession that he’d been forming about the case.
Symbols—the number, the rose, the recurring theme of Beauty and the Beast, even Suzanne’s name—perhaps inspired by that of the original author, were obsessions that ran all through the case.
“When’s the last time you saw Suzanne?” Conor asked.
Dermot thought for a few seconds. “Early this morning,” he said. “I’m not sure of the time. She hasn’t valeted a car with us, but she’s always walking around. It’s been so busy.”
“Of course,” Kate said. “It’s Fourth of July weekend.”
Not to mention all the guests for a big wedding that never happened, Conor thought. “Can you tell me who unlocked Maeve’s car?” he asked.
“We always keep guests’ vehicles locked,” Dermot said. “We hold the keys in a safe place.”
“Then it was Maeve herself or someone who knew where she hid the extra key,” Kate said. “Used it to open the door, then put it back in the box in the wheel well.”
“They’ll be on camera,” Dermot said.
“Thanks, that’s helpful to know,” Conor said. Then he texted Joe and said to meet in the lobby right away.
Conor went to the front desk and asked to see the person in charge of security, and Joe arrived at the same time Augustus Lande called them into his office.
Joe showed his badge and explained what they needed.
Kate had narrowed the window of time down to when she, Maeve, and Sam had returned from Maynard-King.
“You can start in the upper parking lot around 3:30 p.m. yesterday,” Conor said. Against the wall were several monitors. Augustus cued up yesterday’s parking lot footage and fast-forwarded it through yesterday afternoon, until Conor saw movement near Maeve’s BMW.
“Stop there,” Conor said. The exact time was 6:13 p.m.
They watched the screen. Maeve approached the driver’s side of the vehicle with someone wearing a ball cap and a windbreaker, shoulders hunched.
Maeve crouched by the front tire, removed the hidden key, and clicked the remote so that the car lights blinked and the side door mirrors flared out, indicating that the door had just been unlocked.
“Can you tell who that is with her?” Joe asked, leaning forward.
Conor stared at the screen. The hoodie was bulky, the face obscured.
Head held low, the ball cap hid the eyes and most of the face as if Maeve’s companion was aware there were cameras.
Even his height was hard to assess, because of his bent-over posture.
Conor had the impression he was quite a bit taller than Maeve but trying to hide that fact.
Kate leaned forward to get a better look.
They watched Maeve lean into the front seat of the BMW and emerge holding what looked like a small white card or piece of paper.
“The note from Tyler’s grave?” Conor asked, looking at Kate.
“It could be,” she said.
The man had his back to the camera; looking down the street, he made a quick gesture, and a black Range Rover drove alongside the BMW. The front passenger door swung open.
“Can you zoom in on the windshield?” Joe asked. “Get a look at the driver?”
Augustus did his best, but it was impossible to see the person’s face. Because the Range Rover was broadside to the camera, the license plate was unreadable.
“Maybe our lab guys can enhance the image,” Joe said.
“Wait—did you see that?” Kate asked.
“What?” Conor asked.
But Kate just stared intently as the video kept playing.
They watched as the man shoved Maeve, trying to force her into the front seat.
The motion was so rough, Kate gasped. Maeve resisted, trying to squirm away.
He pushed her harder, and she tumbled into the front seat.
They watched as the man slammed the door behind her.
Kate was gripping Conor’s hand as they watched the person climb into the back seat behind Maeve and the Range Rover speed away and out of sight.
“What did you see?” Conor asked.
“He hurt her,” Kate said, her voice shaking. “And just before he pushed her, she looked straight at the camera and said something. She was trying to send a message. A word—did you see?”
“Can you rewind?” Conor asked Augustus.
Augustus clicked the keyboard and slowed down the video playback to half speed, until Kate said stop. Conor saw what Kate had meant about Maeve staring at the camera, mouthing a word just before she was forced into the vehicle.
But Maeve also made a subtle action, easy to miss. She held her right arm tight against her body, as if to make sure the man didn’t see. Conor saw something glitter as she let it slide through her fingers onto the road.
He hurried out of Augustus’s office—onto the hotel verandah, down the curving steps, and a few yards along the short path between perfectly manicured hedges, onto Bluff Avenue. He stopped in front of the stone wall that bordered the upper parking lot. And he saw what he had missed before.
Kate and Joe were right behind him, and Kate bent down to look at the object.
She didn’t touch it; through her own experience, and from being around Conor, she knew it might be evidence.
Cars drove past—sightseers visiting Watch Hill, people circling around in search of a parking spot so they could go to the beach.
“It’s Maeve’s,” Kate said, gazing at the fine gold chain that Maeve had surreptitiously let fall onto the road.
Conor saw it lying on the tar: a long, glinting S-shaped necklace, almost invisible in the shade of the wall.
“She always wore it—she would never have dropped it on purpose unless it had a meaning. She wanted us to know . . .”
“Know what?” Joe asked.
“That she’s been taken,” Conor said.
“Like the others,” Joe said.
“What was the word she mouthed to the camera?” Conor asked.
“‘Help,’” Kate said. “I think she was saying ‘help.’”