Aline pulled out her cell phone and opened her text messages file. The text about something “VERY IMPORTANT” was sent to her at 11:02 A.M. on the same day.
She looked at the bill again. Almost twenty-three dollars is a lot for one person. Kerry might have met somebody for breakfast and picked up the check. Shortly thereafter, she sent me the text. Could there be a connection?
Kerry went to the diner on a Saturday morning. Tomorrow is Saturday. Odds are the same waitstaff will be there, including whoever waited on Kerry.
Who could she have met? Maybe it was Alan. Or if it was one of Kerry’s girlfriends, maybe one of the girls on the lacrosse team, I want to talk to her.
Aline went to her computer. She opened Kerry’s Facebook page and began to print some of the photos.
This might be a waste of time, she thought, but it could be important to know what Kerry was doing the last day she was alive.
The thought that she might have a chance to discover what was very important kept Aline up most of the night.
At quarter past eight she got up, showered and dressed. By eight-forty-five she was in her car headed toward the Coach House. She had skipped her usual light breakfast and coffee. They might be more talkative if I have breakfast there.
She was happy to see that there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. Two waiters were serving those eating at the counter. Aline looked around. If Kerry was having a private conversation with somebody, she would have chosen a table for two as far away from the other diners as possible. Probably one of the tables to the right or to the left that are up against the windows.
The man behind the register asked, “How many in your party?”
“Just one,” she said. “I’d like a table over by the window.”
“Sure,” he said. “Sit anywhere you want.”
A minute after she was seated, a waitress came over carrying a menu. “Can I start you with coffee, honey?”
“Absolutely.”
Kerry opened the folder that contained the pictures she had printed.
When the waitress returned with the coffee, Aline said, “Obviously you work on Saturdays. Were you working on Saturday, August 25, in the morning?”
The waitress considered. “Let me see. That was three weeks ago. Yes, I was back from vacation. I worked that Saturday.”
“My sister ate here that Saturday morning. She met somebody for breakfast. I’m trying to find out who she met. Would you mind looking at some pictures?”
“Sure,” she said.
Aline spread several pictures on the table. “That girl,” the waitress said, “looks real familiar. I know I’ve seen her.” She was pointing at Kerry.
“That’s my sister,” Aline said.
“Oh my God,” the waitress gasped. “Is she the poor girl who got murdered in the pool?”
“I’m afraid so,” Aline said quietly.
“I waited on them that day. They sat at the same table you’re sittin’ at right now.”
The waitress leaned over and stared at one picture after another. She then studied the photo of the lacrosse team and pointed her finger. “That’s her. That’s the one who was crying.”
She was pointing at Valerie.
70
Marge was surprised when the phone rang as she was clearing the breakfast dishes. It was Gus Schreiber, Jamie’s manager at Acme.
Puzzled as to why he was calling, she immediately said, “Oh, Mr. Schreiber, you have been so nice to Jamie. He loves working for you. I don’t know what he would do if he didn’t have his job at the Acme.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Schreiber said, “Mrs. Chapman, that’s why I’m calling you. At Acme customers are our top priority. A number of them have come to me and expressed their concern about Jamie working in our store under the present circumstances. I hope you’ll understand what I mean.”
“No, I don’t understand. Please explain to me what you mean.”
“Mrs. Chapman, after what happened to Kerry Dowling, when Jamie is in the store, people are understandably nervous.”
“Tell them they should worry about your other employee, that blabbermouth Tony Carter,” Marge said fiercely. “You know damn well Jamie has always been a wonderful employee. That hasn’t changed in the two years he’s been with you. Now you want to fire him for no good reason. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Mrs. Chapman, there are a lot of grocery stores around here where people can shop. I have to listen to the concerns of our customers.”
“Even if it means being completely unfair to a very loyal employee. As soon as I get off the phone, I’m going to cut my Acme card in half. And let me tell you right now, Jamie has a very good lawyer, and he’s going to hear about this conversation!” She slammed down the phone.
Marge could hear Jamie’s footsteps as he descended the stairs. He came down dressed for work. “Mom, I’m going now. I’ll see you later.”
“Hold on, Jamie. I have to talk to you. Sit down. Please.”
“Mom, I don’t want to be late. I punch in at work.”
Marge scrambled to find the right words. “Jamie, sometimes businesses like Acme don’t have enough customers. When that happens, they have to tell some of the workers that they can’t keep working there.”
“Does that mean they’re going to fire some of my friends?”
“Yes, it does Jamie. Not just some of your friends. You can’t work there anymore either.”
“I can’t work there? But Mr. Schreiber said I’m one of his best workers.”
“I know he did, and he’s very sorry,” Marge said with a grimace.
Jamie turned around and started toward the stairs. When he neared the top, Marge heard him burst into tears.
71
Mike was in his condo late Saturday morning after he had run some errands. He did not relish the drive he would make to New Brunswick later this evening, but it was the only time the witnesses in another case could meet with him.
He
