bagged and tagged it. Norma’s copy of Ten North Frederick, the one that Teddy had given her, lay there on the nightstand, too. Recalling just how anxious he’d been to get it back, Des picked it up and flipped through the pages. About a third of the way in she found an Astrid’s Castle bookmark. Nothing else. Not until she glanced at the title page and found this inscription written lightly in pencil: TO N-MTYK-T
Which explained why he wanted the book back. Because here it was for anyone, specifically Les, to see. Written proof of their secret love, signified by the initials of that song of theirs, “More Than You Know.” As Des stood there studying the inscription, she found herself wondering just how deeply Teddy might be involved in these deaths. She knew he had loved Norma. She knew he needed money. How did these two facts fit together? Did they fit together?
The nightstand had one drawer. She slid it open, found an assortment of hand creams inside, also Vaseline, Vicks VapoRub, nasal spray, a couple of old wristwatches, spare eyeglasses, key chains, a deck of playing cards. Nothing, in other words.
Norma’s prescription bottles were on the bottom shelf of the medicine chest over the bathroom sink. Here Des found the bottle of Synthroid tablets that Les had told her Norma took for her underactive thyroid. Also Norma’s two hormone-replacement drugs, Prometrium and Premarin. And her heart medication, digoxin, which was marketed under the brand name Lanoxicap. This prescription, like the others, had been filled at Dorset Pharmacy. It also came with a red flag of a warning label:
Be sure you understand how and when to take this medication. Do not change your dosage unless your doctor tells you to do so.
According to the label, Norma’s prescribed dosage of Lanoxicap was two capsules twice a day. The bottle had contained 120 capsules when it was full-a thirty-day supply. The label was dated twelve days ago. Therefore, Des figured, it should contain no less than seventy-two capsules. She opened the lid, poured the capsules out into her hand and counted them out, returning them to the bottle one by one. She arrived at a total of eighty capsules. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
Still, she bagged and tagged all of Norma’s meds, then went and asked Mitch to fetch Les from room ten. Quickly, she closed the door and scampered over to the bed and listened closely. From there, she could hear Mitch’s footsteps creak on the floorboards. Hear him tap on Les’s door. Hear the door open, the low murmur of voices, the door close, footsteps approach. She could hear it all, just as Teddy had told her he had heard it all in the night.
Les Josephson was continuing to diminish right before her eyes. The hale and hearty innkeeper looked positively ashen, his posture hunched, his movements slow and unsure as he shut the door behind him. It was beginning to dawn on Des just how much of his usual robust chestiness was sheer willpower on his part. Minus that willpower, he was rapidly turning into a sad little old man.
“How may I help you, Des?” he asked softly, his eyes carefully avoiding the bed.
“By telling me why you rearranged her, Les,” Des said to him, not unkindly.
“I told you, I wanted her to look nice.”
“And how did she look? What position did you find her lying in?”
Les considered this carefully, his eyes continuing to steer clear of Norma. He absolutely wouldn’t look at her. “She was on her side, kind of.”
“You mean like a prenatal position?”
“No, it was more like she was on her back with one leg thrown over the other. And her hair was quite messy and, well, clammy. So I combed it.”
“Which comb did you use?”
“The one that’s there on her dressing table,” he said, pointing to the small mirrored table by the bathroom door.
She went over to it and said, “This wooden comb?”
“Yes.”
Des bagged and tagged it and set it on the mantel next to Norma’s pills and water glass. She took her time doing this, watching Les shift his weight from one foot to the other, growing steadily more uncomfortable in the presence of his cold dead wife. This was not a very nice thing for her to do, but hers was not always a very nice job.
“Is there anything else I should know about, Les? Besides you rearranging her and combing her hair, I mean.”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“You didn’t dispose of anything or pocket anything?”
Les frowned. “Such as what?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said distractedly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, could we talk about this somewhere else?”
“Les, I know you’ve suffered a real blow today, but this is official business. Questions need to be asked. And you need to answer them, okay?”
Les turned to face the windows, his back to the bed. “Okay,” he said dully.
“Are you sticking to your story that you slept straight through the night? Because if you want to change it, now is the time.”
“It’s not a story,” he protested. “It’s the truth.”
“You honestly didn’t hear Norma go downstairs in the middle of the night?”
“I honestly didn’t, I swear.”
“Take a minute, Les,” she cautioned him. “It’s possible that you remember something without realizing it. Like, say, Norma getting back into bed with you, snuggling up close. She would have been real cold from being downstairs, in need of warming up.”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” Les insisted, watching the swirling, windblown snowflakes smack against the window. Des was tired of looking out at the snow herself. In fact, she’d be happy if it never snowed again for as long as she lived. “And, quite frankly, I don’t see the point of this,” he added reproachfully.
“I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
“We know what happened. Norma ’s heart gave out. There’s nothing complicated or sinister about it. To suggest otherwise is a real reach. And I resent it.”
“Les, how much do you know about Ada’s finances?”
“I know the old girl never really cared much about money,” he answered. “She gave away most of her father’s fortune to various political causes over the years. She owned her villa in Italy, the town-house in London. And she still had a pretty steady royalty income. Those old plays of Luther’s are considered classics. They still study them in drama classes.”
“What about this remake of Ten Cent Dreams} How was she going to make out from that?”
“Quite well. It’s based on her original work, so they had to pay her a decent sum.”
“Are we talking six figures?”
“I’d imagine so, plus a percentage of the profits. Plus they’re reissuing the original. There’s a book of her photos coming out, too. There’s no question that Ada was looking at a lot of new income. I can’t tell you how much because I genuinely don’t know. But Ada did raise the subject with us the very first night she got here. She’d already been in contact with Bruce Nadel about it.”
“And Bruce Nadel is…?”
“The fellow in New York who handled her legal affairs. He’s on West Fifty-sixth Street. His father, Bert, was Ada’s lawyer before him. She wanted us to know that she was leaving her entire estate to the American Civil Liberties Union. She claimed that the ACLU needed the money because our government was no longer protecting the rights of individuals, only those of corporations. Her words, not mine.”
“How was Norma with this news?”
“Fine. She certainly wasn’t surprised.”
“And Aaron, how was he?”
“Predictably furious. Not because she was giving it away, but because she was giving it to a gang of failed paleo-socialists. His words, not mine. My own view was that it was her money and she could do as she wished with it.”
“You weren’t worried?”
