They hadn’t.
She was in.
The bed was unmade, covers pulled back. The room smelled of whatever perfume Belinda had been wearing last night, when she’d stood close enough to Kate to shove her phone into her face. Kate didn’t know what she was looking for, so she scanned every corner of theroom. She stepped into the walk-in closet. Two terrycloth robes hung on posh satin hangers. The velvety-soft Ocean House slippers remained unworn, in their wrappers. There was a set of drawers, and she opened each one to find it empty.
The marble bathroom was next. Wet towels had been left on the floor and draped over the side of the deep-soaking tub. An empty packet of scented bath crystals lay on the teak tray. The wooden body brush was on the white tile floor. Bottles of Molton Brown shampoo and conditioner stood beside the faucets, and their scent was fresh and blocked out Belinda’s perfume in the other room.
Kate returned to the bedroom and glanced around. There were no apparent clues—what had she even hoped to find? She knew, deep down, she was looking for anything that would tell her about Belinda’s supposed connection to Conor. She walked to the desk. There was a green leather blotter on the surface. A pad of Ocean House notepaper, with a whimsical drawing by Ludwig Bemelmans, sat in a small leather tray.
Inside the tray was a crow quill pen—with the smallest nib possible, perfect for calligraphy. Beside it was a bottle of India ink. Kate knew it well; it was the brand of ink she had bought for Maeve to provide to the calligrapher. It came from England and was of the highest quality, the smoothest consistency. The inkwell itself was distinctive: clear glass in an octagonal shape. The price sticker from Giddings, the London art supply store she had ordered it from, was affixed to the side.
Kate turned back to the desk drawer and saw a box of blank place cards. She used the tip of the crow quill pen to lift the cards, and buried beneath were receipts from Giddings, showing that the pen and ink had been charged to Kate’s account. Kate’s heart rate shot up. What were these things doing in Belinda’s room?
Her gaze fell upon the wastebasket beside the desk.
Crumpled paper had been tossed in. She tilted the basket with her foot, and everything spilled out. There were several folded cards that had been calligraphed with the names of her wedding guests. Shenoticed that each one had a blot of ink or a misspelling and had obviously been discarded.
Kate had ordered the cards herself from Smythson, her favorite stationery store: white tented place cards, bordered in Nile blue. She and Maeve had admired them when they had arrived at the gallery. Maeve had told her she would hire the best calligrapher in the area and that they would be finished long before the wedding so Kate could approve them.
But Kate had been busy with the gallery, and planning the wedding and honeymoon, and she had left the approvals to Maeve. Maeve had found Suzanne to help with the lettering. And here were calligraphed place cards thrown into the wastebasket of the room where Belinda had been staying with Garrett.
Suzanne must have sat right here, showing Belinda the place cards.
Among the discarded cards, Kate spotted a crumpled-up paper. She pulled it out and saw that it was a marina receipt. It was a yellow paper, like a duplicate, with faded writing, as if the person hadn’t pushed down quite hard enough with the pen. It was undated. The business name was printed on top: East Cove Marina. And the scrawl saidDockage fee, Suzanne McKinney.
Kate wanted to show it to Conor. Maybe the receipt was a lead, or maybe not, but Kate felt that the connection between Belinda and her wedding calligrapher had to mean something. It felt strange, to be excited about an investigation with Conor, when her heart was so broken. It was habit to want him and rely on him and be unable to wait to tell him everything. But she felt blocked—as if she were walled off—like the character in that Poe story, “The Cask of Amontillado.” She felt as if she couldn’t get to Conor—she could barely get to herself.
The marina was a start. No one was more familiar with the boatyards of southeastern New England than Tom, so she took out her phone to call him. It was a step toward Conor, calling his brother, asking him to go with her to check it out and find out what it meant to Belinda and Suzanne.
She used her iPhone to photograph the receipt and place cards. And then she dialed Tom’s number.
11
Saturday, July 3; 5:30 p.m.
When Conor walked out of the state police barracks, he breathed in fresh air and felt the relief of freedom. He had never been detained by law enforcement before, had always been able to enter and leave police stations and jails at will. This had shown him a different reality, one he hoped never to experience again. He and Joe walked into the parking lot, and he saw his brother leaning on Joe’s black Crown Vic Police Interceptor. Tom came toward him, looked him straight in the eye, and clapped him on the shoulder—the Reid brothers’ version of a hug.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Tom said, opening the front passenger seat door and standing aside to let Conor in.
“Thanks,” Conor said.
“You okay?” Tom asked.
“I’m fine,” Conor said. That was Irish Catholic code for the exact opposite—I’m not fine, I feel like shit. “What about Kate? Have you seen her?”
“She stayed with Hadley and CeCe last night. Call her,” Tom said, handing Conor his phone.
He dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. He stepped away from the truck to leave her a message. “Kate, I love you. It’s all going to be okay, I promise. I just need to talk to you, andwe’ll be fine.” When he disconnected, he wondered why he had said “fine”—considering it was Irish foranything but.
“You might be wondering why I brought your brother along,” Joe said, pulling out of the parking lot.
“I wasn’t wondering that,” Conor said. “Just glad that you did. But since you mention it ...”
“A few things have come up. Tom can help with one in particular,” Joe said.
“You did say I’d thank you when you told me what you’ve been doing,” Conor said.
“The house and Belinda’s connection to it,” Joe said.
