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‘Where was the firework display?’
‘Everyone crowded around the front of the house to watch it, right by the fountain.’
‘So, when the fireworks went off, this area by the cottage would have been deserted. If Olivia did take a midnight walk by the river and fell in, no one would see it or hear her scream because nobody was around.’
Lori nodded. ‘Yes, I always thought that too. Apparently there was a poker game going on from about one a.m. to four a.m. in cottage ten just there,’ she said, pointing to the nearest neighbouring cottage to cottage twelve. ‘The guests in cottage nine and eleven were also up until three a.m. There would have been far more chance of someone seeing or hearing something then.’
Lori caught Tess’s enquiring look and laughed. ‘You’re wondering how I remember all these details? Because no one talked about anything else for weeks afterwards, months even. It was the biggest thing to happen in these parts for years. I guess we all became little detectives, trying to work out what had happened to poor Olivia.’
Tess felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to Lori, and moved down the steps out of earshot.
‘Tess? Why haven’t you been answering your cell?’
Tess recognized Meredith’s voice immediately. ‘I’m out of the city.’
‘Out of the city?’ she hissed. ‘I need to see you at once. I’ve just had Wendell Billington on the phone about this Washington Spy story. Where are you?’
Tess hadn’t wanted to tell Meredith she had visited Riverview until she had found out more. After all, it could well have been a wild–goose chase. But there was another reason. For all she knew, Meredith could have given Howard his alibi and been covering up his involvement in Olivia’s disappearance for decades. She didn’t want to tell her employer that she was gathering evidence that might send her to jail. Still, there was no reason to pretend and, anyway, it was David who had asked her to get to the bottom of the story. If Meredith had been talking to his father, she might well find out anyway.
‘I’m at Riverview,’ said Tess.
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
‘David asked me to come, Meredith,’ she explained. ‘We need to know what happened. It’s the only way we can kill this story.’
When she spoke, Meredith’s voice was icy. ‘With respect, Tess,’ she said, ‘dozens of police officers couldn’t find out what happened to Olivia and I doubt you’ll have any more luck over forty years later. I would suggest your time would be better spent doing your real job, putting a more positive spin on the Washington Spy story before Wendell starts having serious conversations with David about his bride.’
She sounded furious. Tess could imagine her pacing up and down her Upper East Side drawing room, demanding her maid bring camomile tea and bourbon to calm her.
‘The Billingtons are putting the thumbscrews on Ben Foley to run an apology in the next issue of the Spy. Plus I’ve set up an interview with the New York Chronicle magazine for David and Brooke to run just after the wedding. It will bring up the Olivia Martin case and say that the police have no reason to believe this was ever foul play.’
‘I want you back in the city, Tess.’
‘Just give me twenty–four hours on this,’ pleaded Tess.
Meredith paused for a moment. ‘Very well. I’ll see you in the office on Thursday.’
‘Thank you, Meredith,’ said Tess, feeling a little thrill as she hung up. What was it? Fear? Excitement? And then she remembered: it was the story. It was what she had loved doing on newspapers and what she had missed working for the Asgills. The thrill of the chase. The story. The truth. Whatever that was.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Matt looked at Brooke incredulously. ‘You’re taking me for a night out in Brooklyn? I didn’t think you ever crossed the river, uptown
girl, or are we going to Peter Luger for steaks,’ he said name–checking Manhattan’s best steakhouse.
Brooke giggled.
‘Strictly speaking, this is not a night out.’
The taxi stopped on a quiet cobbled street in Brooklyn Heights, in front of a small red–brick building that looked as if it might once have been a stables. Brooke walked to the door and pressed a buzzer.
‘So where are we?’
‘Nicholas Diaz’s studio,’ said Brooke. ‘He is the most talented designer I’ve ever seen. He sent me a dress a few months ago and I loved it so much, I’m getting him to make me one for my rehearsal dinner.’
The studio was a small room at the top of the building.
