There was a hesitation in her voice when she spoke next.“The handkerchief you’re describing.I do know someone who carries a handkerchief that matches that description.”
“Who?”I asked.
“James has always carried handkerchiefs.Ever since he was a young man.Beautiful ones, linen, always monogrammed.”She went quiet for a breath, caught by the memory.“I remember because Henry used to tease him about it.Henry thought it was the most old-fashioned habit in the world.He never carried one himself.James always said a gentleman was never without one, and Henry would laugh and say that was exactly the sort of thing an old man would say.And then James would say he was born in the wrong decade.”
The sounds of the shop continued around me—the register, the door, two women at the table by the window arguing pleasantly about whether they had time for another pot before their ferry.
“Do you remember what color his monograms were?”I asked.
She didn’t answer right away.
“Blue,” she said finally.“Always blue.”
I thanked her and got off the phone, and then patted my hair nervously.I looked around and wondered if anyone had a clue of the riotous emotions going through me at the moment.
I spotted Walt through the front window, moving with his head down and his shoulders set.The bell announced him and he made straight for the counter, past a table of retirees playing cards who tried to wave him over, and past a young couple sharing a pot of tea who didn’t look up at all.
“Mabel,” he said, and lowered his voice.“My Treasury contact came through.He traced one of the account numbers from Henry’s ledger.”
“Let me guess,” I said.“James Everett.”
“How’d you know?”he asked.
“Lucky guess.Your guy is certain?”
“Treasury guys don’t have a since of humor.He’s certain.”
I thought about how James had sat in my home and talked about Henry Wainwright with tears in his eyes.Real grief in his voice.Or what had looked like grief.A quarter century was a long time to believe your own version of things.
“Those handwritten pages we’d found,” I said.“Henry was tracking James.He knew who it was.”
“The timing of Henry’s death is very suspicious if he didn’t know,” Walt confirmed.“And then you look at how quickly he was able to pivot.Putting the blame on Henry, getting a new CFO and a new board all in a short time period.Then he goes clean and no one is the wiser.”
“We’re meeting with James again soon,” I said, looking at the clock on the wall.
Walt looked at me steadily.“I’d like to be a fly on that wall.But I’ll settle for being well informed when you’re done.”
“I’ll call you,” I promised.
When the shop finally thinned and Genevieve showed up, I slipped into the back room, checked my lipstick in the small mirror on the wall, and grabbed my bag and an umbrella.The rain hadn’t even thought about slowing down.
Chowder was waiting in the doorway, but he looked hesitant.
“You know you don’t want to be out in the rain,” I said.“And you didn’t bring your raincoat this morning.”
He gave a woof of agreement and trotted back to his bed.
Dash pulled up to the back of the shop a few minutes later.He pulled close to the door so I didn’t have to get wet getting in.
“You ready for this?”
“Not at all,” I said.“I might throw up.”
“Perfectly normal response,” he said.“Happens a lot in law enforcement.”
“I’d hate to hear whatever else you think is normal,” I said, squinting through the wipers.“Did Walt talk to you?”
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.“I’ve been in this job a long time.People never cease to surprise me.”
