The Last Thing She Said Read online

  “But if they can’t find any crime to pin on him, then how is he obstructing justice?” Helen asked Mac while trying to contain her laughter at Chris trying to get untangled from the leash.

  “A couple of months ago, Gnarly ate the town council’s spy camera,” Mac said with a roll of his eyes. “An unidentified source had told the chairman that Gnarly had been colluding with Miska, the pizza shop owner’s Russian blue cat. So he hid a camera in a potted plant where Gnarly and Miska liked to hang out. Gnarly’s defense attorney claims he had no criminal intent when he ate the camera. Gnarly thought it was a bug. By that, I mean he thought it was an insect. The chairman swears Gnarly knew he was eating their evidence of him colluding with the Russians. Therefore, he had criminal intent when he attacked that plant, which constitutes obstruction of justice. The town council is going for the electric chair.”

  “Obviously, this chairman has way too much time on his hands.” Helen grabbed Sterling and told him to stand still so that Chris could unwrap the leash from around his leg and Sterling’s mid-section.

  Once he was free from the leash, Chris offered his hand to Mac. “Nice to see you again, Faraday. Thank you for inviting us to come out to talk to Archie.”

  Mac shook his hand. “Good to see you could finally make it. That must have been some meeting you were in this morning. Took you through lunch and most of the afternoon. I thought you were retired.”

  “I’m not,” Helen said. “I’m chief of the homicide division of the local state police barracks. Sometimes, I bring in Chris to consult on cold cases. We were talking to a witness about one.”

  “This is Lieutenant Helen Clarke, by the way,” Chris said before introducing Sterling, who was nose-to-nose with Gnarly.

  Mac shook Sterling’s paw and took note of his service animal vest. “You didn’t have Sterling when we’d met before.”

  “He’s a retired law enforcement canine,” Chris said. “Trained for personal protection.”

  “Someone told me that there were active contracts out for you. I assume you carry.”

  “Always.” Chris patted the handgun he wore in a holster concealed in his pocket. “Will that be a problem here?” He gestured at the Inn’s front entrance behind them.

  “None at all.” Mac opened his suitcoat to reveal a semi-automatic on his belt. “You’ll be in safe company.” He gestured for them to follow him as he and Gnarly headed toward the main door. “Come inside. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite on your way out here.”

  Helen flashed a grin at Chris. “Actually, we have.”

  Instead of entering through the front door, Mac turned the corner of the wrap-around porch furnished with cane rocking chairs. Chris and Helen followed him to find an outdoor café offering refreshments on a multi-level deck overlooking a floral garden and elaborate living maze. The tennis courts, golf course, and ski lift were at the other end of the hotel.

  “The Spencer family built this?” Helen breathed while gazing down at the floral maze.

  “My great-grandparents,” Mac said. “I have a standing discount for law enforcement, military, and first responders. I couldn’t afford to even step foot inside here before my mother left it to me.”

  They stepped through the glass doors on the upper level of the deck and crossed the lobby separating the hotel from the restaurant. The Inn had been constructed of stone and cedar. Huge windows provided a view of the rural countryside from every angle. Halfway across the lobby, Mac climbed up three granite steps and through another pair of cut-glass doors.

  Chris and Helen saw Gnarly head in the opposite direction where he rounded the corner of a see-through fireplace. Sterling was disappointed when Chris refused to allow him to follow.

  A man with dark hair and a thin mustache at the reception desk turned to greet the customers. When he laid his eyes on Mac, his formal expression evaporated. “Mr. Mac, I am glad to see that you have finally made it,” he said with in a thick Italian accent. “Miss Archie was starting to get worried.” He nodded at Chris and Helen. “I see your guests have finally arrived.”

  Mac declined the host’s offer when he moved to escort them to the table. “Thank you, Antonio, but that won’t be necessary. They didn’t have any lunch. May we have a couple of orders of appetizers and bread brought to the table.”

  “Yes, sir.” With a slight bow of his head, Antonio gave the order through a transmitter he wore in his ear.

  Like visitors in a foreign land, Helen and Chris gazed at the elegance surrounding them. The servers wore uniforms consisting of white button-down shirts with black slacks and shoes. Black aprons hung down to their mid-calves.

  Chris noticed Helen fingering the cuffs and collar of her turquoise pantsuit. It had started out the day bright and fresh. Unfortunately, it hadn’t held up well after an afternoon of romantic abandon. A quick glance around the restaurant confirmed that they were underdressed compared to the other guests. Even those dressed in casual fare appeared better dressed. Accustomed to Gnarly, no one seemed to notice the dog.

  Mac led them to a corner booth providing a view of both the lake and ski slopes. Mac confirmed their assumption that the booth’s lone occupant was his wife when he greeted her with a kiss on the lips. “This is Archie.”

  They had expected Archie to be closer to her husband’s age since she had worked for Robin Spencer, who had passed away years earlier. Yet, Archie did not appear to be much over forty, if that. With high cheekbones and striking emerald green eyes, she rocked her light blond hair in an ultra-short style reminiscent of Mia Farrow.

  For dinner, she was dressed in red sheath dress with an emerald and ruby necklace and earrings. Her make-up was natural and understated—probably because she was naturally beautiful without it. Chris noticed when he shook her hand that her fingernails were short and unpolished. Except for her engagement and wedding rings, she wore no bracelets or watches. He concluded it was because she did not want anything, like long fingernails and clunky jewelry, to slow her down while editing a best-selling author’s book.

  “Chris Matheson,” she said while shaking his hand, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Good I hope.” Chris slid into the booth next to Helen. Sterling laid on the floor next to Chris’s end of the booth.

  The conversation paused when the server delivered Mac’s drink, which they concluded Archie had ordered while Mac was meeting them. Chris and Helen gave their drink orders, and Archie ordered a bottle of champagne from the Inn’s private stock.

  Moments later, the appetizers that Mac had ordered for them arrived along with a basket of bread, warm from the oven. Before they could finish buttering the bread, the wine steward arrived with the bottle of champagne.

  Seconds after the wine steward left, the server returned with Chris’s and Helen’s drinks and offered to take their dinner orders. That was when they realized they hadn’t had time to open the menu.

  “Would you like me to order for you?” Archie asked with a knowing grin. When Helen hesitated, she winked at her. “Our chef has some exclusive specials that he prepares only for the most special of guests.”

  “Nothing with heads on it,” Mac said. “I’m still having nightmares from when the chef surprised me for Halloween.”

  “No heads,” she assured her husband before turning back to their guests. “Any food allergies? How fearful are you of trying new things?”

  Helen stuck her nose in the air. “We’re fearless.”

  “You’re my type of girl.” Archie turned to the server. “Tell Juan to surprise us with two romantic dinners for two to include soup, main course, and matching dessert.”

  Chris tried to object, but the server was gone. Slowly, Mac shook his head at him. “Don’t worry about it. It will automatically be on the house. Think of it as our engagement gift to you and Helen.”

  Helen asked, “How—”

  �
��The lie you told me about being late because you had him in an interview with a witness—”

  “That was the truth,” Chris said.

  “My first clue was that your clothes look like you’ve slept in them—though I suspect you two weren’t actually sleeping,” Mac said. “You keep looking at her like a lovesick puppy. So, I concluded the two of you blew me off to spend the afternoon at a cheap roadside motel.”

  “Your clothes smell of the disinfectant they use to clean the rooms,” Archie said. “Plus, you keep fingering that diamond you’re wearing on your ring finger, Helen. You’re not used to it yet.”

  “I’m too old for the lovesick puppy look,” Chris said.

  “No, you’re not.” With a giggle, Archie held out her hand in a silent demand for Helen to show her the ring. “I think it’s adorable.” Upon examining the ring, she declared, “Excellent. He’s got good taste.”

  “Well, I apologize for ditching you, Mac. It just sort of happened,” Chris said as their soups, lobster bisque, arrived.

  “Engagements don’t just happen,” Mac said.

  “It isn’t like you’ve never blown people off for a rumble in the hay with me.” Archie jabbed Mac in the ribs with her elbow. “Like just last week he ditched Adam Buttwrinkle to take me lingerie shopping.”

  “It doesn’t take much to make me ditch Adam Buttwrinkle.”

  “And here I was feeling special,” she said with an exaggerated pout.

  “You are very special.” Mac gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “To change the subject,” Helen said, “tell us about Robin Spencer and Mercedes Livingston.”

  Archie answered by opening her red clutch bag and extracting a pile of letters and postcards bound together with a rubber band. She passed them to Helen, who in turn shared them with Chris. “This is only some of them. I found hundreds of letters and cards from Shannon to Robin. I have a whole box at home.”

  They were addressed to Robin Spencer in Spencer, Maryland. The name on the return address was Shannon Blakeley in Harpers Ferry. Chris thumbed through the stack.

  “I found them after Robin had died.” Archie lowered her voice as if she were afraid of someone overhearing them. “Robin never talked about Shannon. I couldn’t find her listed in Robin’s contacts. I felt like I was intruding, but I needed to read them to figure out who she was.” She pointed at the stack. “Those are in chronological order. The first one is a post card from Ocean City where she says they got married. The first letter is postmarked Shepherdstown. In that, she is freaking out and asking Robin what happened at Hill House after she’d left. She is worried about George and asks Robin if she got any inside information from her sources with the FBI. As the letters go on, she tells Robin about getting a job at the library in Harpers Ferry and making a friend named Doris.”

  “My mother,” Chris said.

  “It took me a very long time to figure out that she was Mercedes Livingston.”

  Chris sat back in his seat. “Mercedes asks Robin what happened at the hotel after she’d walked out on her life. Robin must have answered her. If so, then we’ll have her witness statement.”

  Archie agreed. “In her own handwriting.”

  “It will be admissible in court,” Mac said.

  “But that response will be forty years old,” Helen said.

  Chris held up the pile of letters. “If you were pen pals with Robin Spencer, a literary legend, would you throw her letters away?”

  “Shannon’s kids have been cleaning out the house this week. I’m sure they’d notice a bundle of letters from Robin Spencer.” Helen took out her cell phone and urged him to allow her out of the booth. “I’m calling Doris.” She rushed from the restaurant with her phone at her ear.

  “I hope she doesn’t tell your mother what you’ve been doing all afternoon,” Archie said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  While the phone was ringing at the other end of the line, Helen stepped into the lobby. There, she discovered Gnarly curled up in a leather wing-backed chair in front of the see-through fireplace. The German shepherd lifted his head from where it hung over one of the arms and looked at her as if to ask why she had chosen to disturb him.

  She surprised herself by apologizing and moving to the other side of the sitting area.

  Accepting her apology, the mayor resumed his nap.

  While getting comfortable on a loveseat, Helen lifted her eyes to see a huge painting hanging over the fireplace. She recognized its subject from portraits she had seen occupying the back of many best-selling novels she had read throughout the years.

  Robin Spencer. In this painting, the famous author was leaning forward in a wing-backed chair to caress a German shepherd who resembled the one in the leather chair beneath the painting.

  Known for her literary talent and quick wit, Robin Spencer was also blessed with an exquisite beauty. One corner of her mouth kicked up into a playful smirk as her strikingly violet eyes locked with Helen’s. The look in the author’s eyes made her feel as if she were trying to let her in on secret “between just us girls.”

  “Helen, are you there? Can you hear me?” Doris’s voice drew Helen from her thoughts.

  “Doris, are you and Elliott back from Baltimore yet?”

  “We’re eating dinner in Frederick right now,” Doris said.

  “Doris got carried away at that mystery bookstore,” Helen heard Elliott say in the background. “She bought enough books to start another wing at the library.”

  Doris shushed him before turning her attention back to Helen. “We’ll be home in an hour. I checked in on the girls before we stopped to eat. They had all finished their homework. Sierra made them mac and cheese for dinner. I assumed you would be home before us. Where are you?”

  “We got held up this afternoon—”

  “By whom? Did you get a description? What did they get?” Doris gasped. “Don’t tell me Christopher shot the dirty rotten scoundrel and now he’s in jail and needs to be bailed out.”

  “No, Doris, Chris is not in jail.” Helen held out her hand to admire the diamond sparking on her ring finger. “If you must know, we stopped someplace to have a little quiet time together.”

  Doris cooed. “Now that’s how I like to spend my afternoons.”

  Helen paused. Should I or shouldn’t I tell her the news?

  It was almost as if Doris had read her mind when she asked, “Helen, is there something you want to share with me?”

  “I …”

  “Helen, dear, did Chris give you a little something extra this afternoon?”

  Of course, Doris would know about the ring he’d been carrying around. His daughters probably knew about it too. Heck, Sterling oversaw guarding it.

  “Yes.” Helen’s cheeks felt warm.

  Doris’s shout for joy almost burst Helen’s eardrum.

  “Chris and I are going to try to get a room here at the Spencer Inn—”

  “You most certainly should,” Doris said. “Don’t you worry about rushing back. I’ll take care of the girls—all four of them.”

  “I want to tell Sierra,” Helen said hurriedly.

  “Okay, I won’t tell the girls. I’ll let you two tell them. Oh, I am so … happy.” Doris cried tears of joy. “I’ve been praying … for this for years.” She choked. “When’s the wedding?”

  Helen realized she had started a conversation that she didn’t really have time to finish. The main course of their meal, specially ordered for them, had probably arrived at the table. Their hosts would be waiting and here she had run off to make a phone call.

  “Doris, we’ll talk about this when we get home. The real reason I called was to ask you to call Shannon’s children to ask if they’d found a bunch of letters from Robin Spencer.”

  “Robin Spencer! The Robin Spencer?”

  “After Robin died, her
assistant found hundreds of letters that Shannon Blakeley had sent to her. In the early letters, Shannon had asked about what’d happened after she had left Hill House the night she’d disappeared. If Robin answered her questions—”

  “Then Shannon would have Robin’s handwritten account about what she had witnessed,” Doris said.

  “Do you think Shannon kept those letters?”

  “Shannon wasn’t a hoarder,” Doris said, “But she wasn’t a fool either. She’d be smart enough to know those letters would be worth something someday. I’ll give Speare a call. If those letters are in the house, we’ll find them.”

  After they disconnected their call, Helen swept her finger across the screen in preparation for checking in with Sierra, who was still babysitting the Matheson girls, who would soon be her younger sisters.

  It wasn’t like any of the girls were going to be surprised. They would say things like, “When you get married …” or “After you get married …”. Sometimes, they would be more direct. “When are you going to get married?”

  There was something about the sparkling diamond dancing in the light from the chandelier above her that made Helen want to call Sierra and blurt it out. She restrained herself from giving in to the butterflies in her stomach demanding that she shout the news into her phone when it buzzed.

  The caller ID read “Ray.”

  “Hello, Ray!” Helen said in a tone that was more excited than normal.

  “You sound happy.”

  “I’m having dinner at the lovely Spencer Inn, surrounded by beauty and elegance.” She hoped that would be enough of an explanation for the excitement in her tone.

  “I thought you were going to the Spencer Manor for lunch.”

  “We got a late start,” Helen said.

  “Not that late,” Ray said. “Funny thing—Late this morning, I heard a call on the police scanner. A West Virginia state trooper stopped to check out a truck pulled over on the bypass near Martinsburg and found a half-naked couple making out in the front seat. The description of the truck matched Chris’s right down to the goofy German shepherd wearing sunglasses in the back seat.”