Officer Joe is walking to the squad car, carrying a suitcase with a gloved hand when the Pines & Quill van pulls into the circular drive by the front door.
Cynthia pushes the button that lowers the passenger window and calls out, “Please wait.”
“What’s up?” Fran asks.
“I want to see those towels and name badges,” she says. “I might be able to get information from them.”
Curiosity piqued, Libby and Fran get out of the van with her.
Joe has a perplexed look on his face as three women—who look like they mean business—approach him.
“Joe, you haven’t met Cynthia Winters yet,” Libby says. “She’s the one who was taken to the hospital last night. Will you please come into the house for just a few minutes?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Joe says, touching the bill of his cap. “But I’m on my way to the station with potential evidence.”
“Yes, but there’s something important you should know. Please.” Libby’s eyes plead. “It’ll just take a moment.”
Niall, who just finished wiping down the kitchen counters, looks up, surprised to see the women enter the kitchen with Joe in tow.
“Now, what’s this all about?” Joe asks the women, his empty hand resting on his hip.
Cynthia steps forward. “I’ve helped several law enforcement agencies solve cases. You see,” she continues, “I’m a forensic intuitive.”
Brows knit together, Joe looks to the others for confirmation. “Is that so?”
Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Niall steps forward. “Yes, she is, Joe. And if she can help in any way, shouldn’t she be given a chance?”
After a moment’s consideration, Joe says, “I can’t see any harm in that.”
Turning to Cynthia, he continues, “But you’ll need to wear crime-scene gloves, so nothing gets contaminated.”
“Certainly,” Cynthia agrees.
After she slips on a thin pair of latex gloves that Joe hands her, he opens the suitcase.
Before touching anything, she looks at Joe and asks, “May I?” After a quick nod of his head, she lifts the top towel from the left stack. It has the name badge “Rose” pinned to it.
All eyes are on Cynthia.
Holding the folded towel on her left palm, she touches the badge with her right hand and traces each engraved letter: R-o-s-e.
Putting it back in place, she looks at Joe again, points to the towel on the top of the right stack, and asks, “May I?”
Again, he nods assent.
Everyone leans toward Cynthia in wide-eyed anticipation and a collectively held breath.
She does the same thing, this time tracing the letters Y-o-l-a-n-d-a.
After returning it to the suitcase, she says, “Death. These two women are dead. And I suspect you’ll find that the other name badges belong to women who are dead as well.”
Astonished, and not knowing what else to say, Joe closes the suitcase, clears his throat, and says to the group at large, “I’ll let you know the results I find at the station.”
As Libby walks him to the front door, she says, “Thank you, Joe. If you hear anything more from the diving team, you’ll let us know?”
“Yes. And if Mick, or anyone else,” he says, raising his eyebrows and pointing his head toward Cynthia, “discovers something more, please call me.”
“I will,” Libby assures him.
After placing the suitcase in the cruiser’s trunk, Joe gets into the car and radios Toni.
“Yep,” comes her response.
“Where are you?”
“I’m near the entry gate. I’ve been scouring the woods and haven’t found a thing, except for mosquitoes.”
Joe hears a sharp swat in the background. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Make it fast,” she responds.
Joe laughs, shakes his head, and puts the cruiser in gear. Not one to miss details, he looks up as he drives down the long lane beneath a canopy of leaves, and muses. The tree limbs look like wrinkled alligator skin.
I wish Hemingway was with me scouring the woods around Emma’s cottage, Mick thinks as he swats mosquitoes away. Niall’s right, that dog’s got a nose for news. But wounds have his four-legged companion in temporary confinement—otherwise known as the mudroom.
Mick comes across short, unblemished sections of tire tread marks in the now-drying mud from last night’s storm. Thin and evenly spaced, he knows they’re from a wheelchair. It looks like someone’s made an effort to cover them. But who? And why?
Using the camera on his cell phone, he takes photos, and a few more when he finds a partial shoe print. I don’t know if they’ll match the images that Chris took on the bluff earlier, but I intend to find out.
With mud, twigs, and decomposing leaves, the ground is covered in dark camouflage, so when something light is added to the mix, it stands out, making it easier to see.
Approaching the back side of Thoreau cottage, Mick squints as he focuses on something a few feet ahead on the ground.
Careful where he steps, he finds a pearl earring.
Recognition floods his mind. He remembers twin pearl earrings peeking from the deep red curtain of Emma’s hair. He also recalls expressive eyes that brought to mind the deep bottle-green Bahamian pools he’d scuba dived in.
I’d give anything to drown in those eyes again.
On the drive from Pines & Quill to the station, Joe doesn’t mention his conversation with Cynthia to Toni. He isn’t one to buy into mumbo-jumbo, hoodoo-voodoo, or superstition, and he doesn’t want to cause embarrassment to himself or anyone else.
At the Bellingham police station, Joe pours a cup of black coffee before sitting at his desk computer and connecting to the homicide database. Indispensable, this resource helps police from multiple jurisdictions to coordinate their respective investigations.
The next step is to fill in the parameter fields. Not knowing a specific location, Joe leaves that field “national.” In the “first name” field, he types in “Rose” and leaves the “last name” field blank. The only other piece of information he has is the name of the hotel that’s printed above the logo on the rectangular name badge. Once he keys
