If this had been one of my other nephews—A.K. or Reese, say—I wouldn’t have thought twice before bringing my gavel down on a guilty verdict, but this was Lee, a conscientious by-the-book kid who’s never even had a speeding ticket.
Running through various scenarios that might somehow exonerate Lee, I had totally forgotten about Sigrid Harald until the doorbell rang. As I passed through the vestibule, I saw something else I’d forgotten. I hadn’t given that red flip-flop a second thought since tossing it onto the chest. I grabbed it up so that I wouldn’t forget again and opened the door with it in my hand.
Sigrid’s turquoise scarf was loosely looped around the neck of a black wool sweater. I invited her in and hung her white parka on the back of a chair in the dining room. I gestured her toward the living room, spotted the bath mat, started to change direction for the dining room, then realized that she probably wouldn’t be bothered by what was under the mat. I also realized that all this dithering was making me look like an idiot. And it probably didn’t help that I was standing there shoeless, with hat hair, no lipstick, and a red flip-flop in my hand.
“Sorry,” I said. “One of my nephews is in trouble and I got distracted. Sort of a locked-room mystery. Can I get you coffee? Or a glass of wine?”
“Coffee, if it’s already made.”
“All I have to do is turn it on,” I said. “My husband mainlines caffeine, so as soon as one pot’s empty, he usually goes ahead and gets another ready to go.”
She did not smile and it struck me that she might feel equally ill at ease. Instead of going on into the living room, though, she followed me out to the kitchen and said, “Locked room?”
I switched on the coffeemaker and we sat on the kitchen stools while I gave her a brief recap of Lee’s situation. It might have been my imagination, but she seemed grateful for an interlude before she got to the point of her visit.
When I had told her all I knew about the hot water Lee was in, she said, “And the picture was definitely sent from his cell phone?”
“That’s what they say.”
“Combination locks on the lockers?”
“Yes, and the kids are required to leave their phones there during class periods.”
“Then he probably told someone the combination at some time.”
“He swears he didn’t.”
“What about access to the master list?”
“No way. My mother-in-law keeps them in a locked file in her office.”
“Your mother-in-law?”
“She’s the school principal.”
“And your brother is her assistant?” She lifted an eyebrow at that.
I shrugged. “What can I tell you? It’s the country.”
The coffee was done and I filled two mugs. She started to move the red flip-flop out of the way.
“Oh,” I said. “I keep forgetting. Take a look at the bottom.”
She turned it over. “Your missing earring?”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call you. I took Luna’s cat back to her yesterday and this was in a catchall bowl by the door along with other stuff that people left in her place Saturday night.”
She took it by the spongy bottom, avoiding the smooth thong that might still hold a usable fingerprint even though both of us had touched it. Luna, too, probably. “Whose is it?”
I shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but I’ll be surprised if it’s not Cameron Broughton’s.”
I described how I’d found it and how I was pretty sure that he had started to claim it and then changed his mind as it registered that my earring was embedded in the sole. “The most logical place he could have stepped on it is inside this apartment.”
Her wide gray eyes seemed to turn inward to consider the possibilities and I said, “Have you run his prints through IAFIS yet?”
She gave me a sharp look and I shrugged. “I’m not saying he’s your killer, but there’s something familiar about him. He says he’s from the Wilmington area—North Carolina’s Wilmington, not Delaware’s—and I held court there a few summers back. I’m district court, so whatever it was had to be relatively minor and nonviolent. There’s something familiar about those pale blue glasses he wears that makes me wonder if he came up before me while he was back visiting or something. I could ask the clerk of the court, if that wouldn’t be interfering.”
“Would it matter?” she asked with the first half smile I’d seen on her face.
“You sound like my husband. He’s always saying I stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
The coffee finished making and I poured us each a cup. “As long as I’m being nosy, did Mrs. Lattimore tell you where she got that bronze thing?”
She shook her head, laid the red flip-flop on the counter, and took a cautious sip of the hot coffee. “That’s what I came to ask you about.”
“Wish I could help,” I said, “but she didn’t give me a clue. Just handed me the wrapped box and asked me to bring it to your mother.”
Sigrid set her cup back on the counter and looked me straight in the eye. “Do you know a Chloe Adams?”
“Chloe Adams? Sure.” Almost immediately, I realized the significance of what she was asking, and that realization caused me to set my cup down so quickly that coffee slopped onto the counter. Grateful to escape her penetrating gaze, I reached for the paper towels to wipe up the mess. “She’s a cousin of my daddy’s housekeeper. I’ve known her most of my life. Nice woman.”
