The Last Thing She Said Read online

  “Then who do you think did it?”

  A slim grin crossed her face. “On Tamara’s blog—”

  “Who?”

  “Lacey’s cousin,” Francine said. “Tamara was ten years old when Lacey was killed. She’s been working on this case ever since she was a teenager. She’s been collecting information and talking to folks who knew Lacey and other witnesses. Tamara found out from one of Rick Hudson’s friends that he and Lacey had become friends again close to a week before her murder.” She held up two fingers. “Two days before the murder, Lacey told this same friend that she’d quit her job at the book shop.”

  “Wasn’t she supposed to be having a relationship with the owner?” Chris said. “Maybe she quit because they felt that it was wrong to mix business with pleasure.”

  “If her quitting had nothing to do with the murder, why didn’t Sal mention that to the police?” Francine leaned across the table. “Remember what Shannon wrote in her letter? When she found out that Lacey had quit her job, she assumed it was to put distance between her and Sal so that Rick would back off.”

  “But if we are to believe these friends’ statements, then Rick had moved on, in which case, he was no threat to Sal.”

  “He already had another girlfriend,” Francine said. “You can’t move on any further than that. Lacey had to know he wasn’t a threat to Sal.”

  “Which begs the question, why did Lacey quit her job at the bookstore?”

  “And why did Sal feel the need to conceal her quitting from the police?”

  Chris narrowed his eyes in thought. “Did you run a background check on Sal Loughlin?”

  Francine nodded her head with a frown. “He’s one of the most respected rare document experts in the country. High-profile in literary circles.”

  “Not exactly the profile of a serial stalker.”

  “There was one little blip in his background. Lacey wasn’t the only employee of his to die suddenly. In 1980, Loughlin’s assistant, Mary Ann White, was killed in a hit and run.”

  “That’s the same year George Livingston disappeared,” Chris said.

  “Four months after,” Francine said. “Conspiracy theorists have made a lot of hay about it. According to what I’ve read in the cold case blogs, a woman who refused to identify herself had called the detective investigating the Lacey Woodhouse case to ask if the reward for information leading to Lacey’s killer was still available.”

  “How much was the reward?”

  “It was up to ten thousand dollars,” Francine said. “No information has ever come in. Anyway, this unidentified woman said she knew who the killer was. The detective told her to come in. Two days went by and nothing. On the second day, Mary Ann White was run down while walking across the street to her apartment.”

  “How do they know it was Mary Ann White who’d called?”

  “The police had a recording of the anonymous source’s call. The voice matched,” she said. “They questioned Sal. He said he had fired her on the same day that she had called the tip line.”

  “Why did he fire her?” Chris asked.

  “Late for work or not showing up at all. Long lunches. Screwing up on the job. He said she’d told him that she was going to get even with him. He actually said he wasn’t surprised that she tried to implicate him in Lacey’s murder. Said it was right up her alley.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t give much stock in White actually knowing anything,” Chris said, “but the fact that she was run down after making that phone call...” His voice trailed off. “Were the police able to connect Loughlin to White’s murder?”

  “He claimed to be home alone. He had only one vehicle and it showed no evidence of a collision. They never located the vehicle that ran her down. Suppose he did it? If I’m right, then the heartbreaking thing would be that the last thing Lacey told Mercedes was who her killer was. She’d told Mercedes that she had it backwards. Rick wasn’t the bad guy. It was Sal.”

  “Speaking of The Last Thing She Said,” Chris said, “is Sue Richardson, the copyright owner for Mercedes’s book, still alive?”

  “Yep,” Francine said. “She’s in her nineties now. Her mind is still very sharp, according to my sources in publishing. But her son, Ed, has taken over the day-to-day running of the operations. They have had some pretty big clients over the years, but they’ve lost their really big names. Word has it that Ed is much shadier than his mother, who wasn’t exactly a saint herself.”

  “Then, when Sue Richardson dies, the copyright for The Last Thing She Said will go to—”

  “Ed Richardson, who I have been told had never even met Mercedes Livingston.”

  “If Sue Richardson realized Mercedes was going to disappear, then, she’d have reason to eliminate George so that the copyright would go to her.”

  She eyed him while he sipped his expresso. “Do you know who could be a big help in exploring that avenue of the case?”

  “Who?” He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “Archie Monday, Robin Spencer’s assistant. Robin used to be one of Sue’s biggest clients.”

  With an “ah,” he slowly nodded his head. “I’ve been meaning to call Mac Faraday.”

  “You haven’t called him yet?” Francine fought to keep from raising her voice. “His wife could hold the key to this whole case.”

  “Not necessarily,” Chris said. “She wasn’t at the conference. Robin Spencer had left Sue Richardson long before Archie Monday went to work for her.”

  “Archie Monday worked very closely with Robin Spencer for the last ten years of her life. There’s no telling what she’d told her or wrote in a journal. We have to at least talk to them.” Francine narrowed her eyes. “Did Faraday cuff you, too?”

  “No.” Chris sighed. “And I’m beginning to see why he cuffed you.” He hemmed and hawed before uttering another sigh. “Truth is, I was not really aware of who he was when I’d met him. I’d been given his name and told he was a retired detective wanting information on a cold case that I had once been connected to. When I met him, I thought he was just another retired detective. I had no idea how rich and powerful he was until everyone started making a big deal about him.”

  “Now he intimidates you.” Francine scoffed. “Since when is Christopher Matheson scared?”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Prove it.” She picked up his cell phone and slammed it down on the table in front of him. “Call him.”

  Chris looked at the phone and then back up at her. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “But …” He gestured in the direction of the hardware store on the other side of the parking lot. “I have things to do.”

  She slid the phone closer to him. “Call him. Now.” She folded her arms across her bosom. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

  Sterling stared up at him.

  With another sigh, Chris dug into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a folded slip of paper. “We’re not so close that I have his phone number in my contacts.” He studied the number before tapping it into the screen of his phone and putting it to his ear.

  Francine stared at him while he listened to it ring—once, twice, thrice. He hoped it would go to voice mail. He thought he was about to escape when he heard a low, smooth familiar voice.

  “Hello.” While the voice was smooth, the tone was harsh, as if Chris had interrupted him in the middle of something.

  Chris’s throat felt dry when he forced out a greeting. “Is this Mac Faraday?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “This is Chris Matheson. I’m a former FBI agent. I helped you out a couple of years ago with a cold case.”

  “Yeah, I remember. We met at Sideling Hill. The undercover guy.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wha
t can I do for you?”

  Unsure of how to proceed, how much to tell about Shannon, Chris paused.

  Bouncing with excitement, Francine gestured for him to go on.

  “It’s about your mother …” Chris allowed his voice to trail off.

  “My adopted one or my birth one? They’re both dead.”

  “Robin Spencer.”

  “What about her?”

  “She may have been a witness in a cold case that I’ve been looking into.” Chris paused to form his thoughts.

  “You have my attention. Go on.”

  “The Mercedes Livingston disappearance,” Chris said. “I’ve been looking into it and we’ve uncovered some new information. Your mother was at the same conference that Mercedes was attending when she went missing. I know she’s passed on, but I’m wondering what she could have known that could help us figure out what had happened … or maybe she’d told someone who could help us.”

  There was a long silence from the other end of the line.

  Finally, Mac Faraday said, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  Chris prepared to disconnect the call. “I’m sor—”

  “You need to talk to my wife. If my mother knew anything about the case, Archie will know.”

  Francine’s bounce next to him got higher. She allowed an excited squeal to escape her lips.

  “Could I talk to her?” Chris asked.

  “She’s right here.”

  There was the sound of a jostle of the phone. Mac’s voice could be heard as he briefly explained the situation. Chris could also hear a woman’s voice in the background saying that she didn’t want to talk to him. There was a short argument before she relented.

  “You don’t have to get dressed,” Chris heard Mac say with exasperation.

  “I can’t talk to him naked!”

  “He’s on the phone!”

  “I think they were busy,” Chris told Francine in a low voice, to which she rolled her eyes.

  The low cultured feminine voice came from the phone’s speaker. “This is Archie.”

  “Hello, Archie. This is Chris Matheson.”

  “Mac told me that you wanted some information about Robin. What is this about?”

  “A cold case I’m working on.”

  “Working on with whom?” she replied quickly.

  Chris narrowed his eyes. She was obviously protective of her late mother-in-law. “I’m retired. Some friends of mine and I like to work cold cases and the Livingston case came to our attention.”

  “As in Mercedes Livingston’s disappearance?”

  “And her husband’s murder.”

  There was a long pause before she asked, “Why do you think Robin Spencer knew anything?”

  “She was seen having breakfast with Mercedes Livingston and the Mysterious Man in Green on the day she disappeared.”

  “Do you seriously believe Mercedes Livingston had a pleasant breakfast with her would-be kidnapper before going missing?”

  “You suggested that. Not me.”

  Archie uttered a soft giggle. “Those rumors about Robin having information about Mercedes’s disappearance were started by a group of imaginative mystery writers sitting across from them. They saw an attractive stranger. Later, after Mercedes disappeared, they read more into it than there really was. Robin stated I don’t know how many times that man was a local journalist doing a story on the conference.”

  “But she couldn’t remember his name or the news venue,” Chris said.

  “Robin had met a lot of people, especially journalists, at these conferences. She really had a good memory for faces and names. She just couldn’t remember this one. It’s unfortunate.”

  “Yes, it is. As I’ve said, we’ve uncovered some new information about Mercedes Livingston’s disappearance.”

  There was a brief silence. When she spoke, Chris noticed trepidation in her voice. “What type of information?”

  Chris glanced at Francine. She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Did I mention that my mother is the director at the Bolivar-Harpers Ferry Public Library in West Virginia.”

  “Harpers Ferry, West Virginia? Is that where you’re from, Chris Matheson?”

  “Yes. Mom’s associate director passed away on Saturday.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Archie’s tone became much more congenial.

  “She’d worked with my mother for close to forty years. They were best friends.”

  “How about if you come for lunch tomorrow?” Archie said. “I’ll need some time to go through Robin’s papers.”

  After Chris disconnected the call, he shot a grin at Francine. “Robin Spencer told her everything.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Weekday afternoons provided Chris with a needed break. After finishing his farm chores, he treated himself and his favorite Thoroughbred with a trail ride through the countryside. Sterling also loved the opportunity to explore and chase forest critters. Chris dressed the dog in an orange vest to give potential prey clear warning that the canine was on the hunt.

  Chris used the quiet to gather his thoughts about whatever was on his mind.

  Shannon Blakeley’s previous life gave him a lot to think about during the long ride along the river’s shore to the edge of Millville, a tiny town downstream from the Matheson farm. He cut over the hill and through the dense woods to circle around to the back pastures.

  Which was greater? he asked himself while pondering Shannon Blakeley’s feat. The misery of being in a loveless marriage or her love for Billy? Most people would not walk away from wealth and fame the way she had.

  Recalling the many times he had seen the Blakeley family together, it was evident that Shannon never regretted her decision. Shannon treasured her husband and children. How could she not? She’d sacrificed everything to have them. Now, she wanted her children to have the legacy she had left behind.

  George’s killer took her car from the parking lot at Hill House to the Bavarian Inn in Shepherdstown to pick him up. They had to know she wouldn’t turn up while coordinating the ransom demand. Mercedes claimed the only one she had told was her brother. Kyle Billingsley swore he didn’t know when, where, or how she had planned her escape.

  Kyle could be lying. How reliable is he? His own father had disowned him. But Kyle was in California at the time of George’s abduction or so he says. Who was driving the car? If George Livingston was planning to meet his wife for dinner, wouldn’t he have noticed that she wasn’t driving when he’d climbed into the car? Of course, he would. But he still got in the car.

  Chris sat up tall in his saddle as the answer struck him. He urged Traveler into a gallop. He didn’t know the killer’s identity. He didn’t know much. But he did know two things.

  George’s killer was someone he’d trusted and someone he didn’t want other people to know about. That’s why he had told witnesses he was going to dinner with his wife.

  By the time they’d hit the trail leading along the back pasture to the barn, Sterling was glancing back at Chris to urge him to bring the trail ride to an end.

  Far in the distance, Chris saw a dark red luxury full-sized SUV pull through the security gate to take the lane leading up the hill to the barn. He didn’t recognize the SUV. Whoever it was, they had the security code to open the gate.

  Chris urged Traveler to pick up his pace. The path took them to the rear of the barn. As they approached the open doors, Chris dropped the reins and slipped his feet out of the stirrups to prepare for dismount. Sterling ran ahead. Traveler slowed his gait to a walk.

  It took a moment for Chris’s eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine to the dim light inside the barn. He could make out Sterling greeting a woman wearing a light faux suede jacket.

  Ripley.

  She was not alone. Her companion was an older
man in dress jeans and an untucked light blue button-down shirt. The cuffs were unbuttoned, and the sleeves were rolled up. He had a thick head of blue silver hair, in which not one strand was out of place.

  Ripley gestured at the horse and rider making an entrance into the common area of the barn. “Told you we’d find him in here, Crane.”

  Kevin Crane turned from where he was peering inside the tack room where the barn’s security system, including monitors for the multiple surveillance cameras positioned around the farm, was based. He greeted Chris with a wide toothy grin. “Good to see that you’re enjoying your retirement, Matheson!” He stepped toward them but was intercepted by Sterling, who bumped into his legs to nudge him back.

  With a laugh, Ripley led Sterling out of Kevin’s path by his collar. “They call them shepherds for a reason.”

  “No problem.” Kevin took a white handkerchief from his pocket and bent over to brush the dog’s hair from his pants.

  The crystal on his gold Cartier watch caught on the sun and flashed in Traveler’s eyes. The horse jerked and spun away from the visitors.

  Chris dismounted and took his bridle. “Easy, boy.” He fed him a carrot.

  With a shake of his head, the horse went into his stall.

  “That’s quite a security system you have there,” Kevin said. “Did you install that yourself?”

  “I’ve learned a thing or two while working for the FBI.”

  “I counted what looked like feed from twelve cameras.” Kevin chuckled. “You’re not paranoid, are you?”

  Chris’s expression was devoid of humor. “There are contracts out on my life. I have a right to be paranoid.”

  “Sorry about that.” Kevin eyed Sterling who continued to position himself between the newcomer and his master.

  “Sterling takes on what gets past the security system.” Chris knelt next to the dog and patted his broad chest. “Don’t you, champ?” He rose to his feet. “I’m assuming you didn’t come all the way out here to get an up close and personal look at farming.”