P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

“I understand you’ve been with the Chapman family for a long time,” Louis said.

“Almost forty years,” she said. “I came to work for them soon after Mr. Ross was born. I raised those children. They were like my own.”

Louis remembered a detail from the Bloomfield Hills police dossiers. Except for one brother, Maisey Barrow had no family.

“You stayed on after the children were grown?”

She nodded. “Mrs. Chapman was in poor health. Mr. Chapman needed me.”

Louis suspected Maisey’s job description had expanded and contracted over the decades as the Chapman family dynamic changed. She had gone from nursemaid to surrogate mother and now was Edward’s caretaker.

“I need to ask you some questions about Julie,” Louis began. “Mr. Chapman told us that Julie was very shy and well behaved.”

Maisey nodded.

“But that weekend before she disappeared, she lied to her father about where she was going,” Louis said.

Maisey was quiet. “I know,” she said finally. “I don’t know why she did it.”

Everything the family had told him so far was consistent with what he had read in the original police report from twenty-one years ago. As with Ross, the only thing new he could learn from Maisey was what had happened here that summer.

“I’d like to ask you some questions about that last summer you were here with Julie,” he said.

“I don’t know what help I can be.”

“Do you know that Julie got pregnant while she was here?”

Maisey nodded slowly. “Mr. Ross told us yesterday.”

“We have a man in custody named Danny Dancer. We don’t know if he is connected to Julie’s death yet. Did you ever hear Julie mention him?”

She shook her head.

“You’re sure? It’s an unusual name.”

Again she shook her head, now avoiding his eyes.

Maisey was obviously distressed about the pregnancy. Louis decided to change direction. “Ross told us that Julie was acting strange that summer,” he said.

“Strange?”

“Mood swings.” Louis paused. “I need you to think back, Maisey. Did you notice anything about Julie’s behavior that might indicate she had been attacked? Did she say anything to you, anything at all?”

Maisey’s eyes welled. “No,” she whispered.

Louis sat back in his chair. “Okay. There’s something else we have to consider,” he said. “Did Julie have a boyfriend?”

Maisey had been looking away and when her eyes refocused on Louis they were confused. “Boyfriend?”

“Someone she met that last summer here.”

Maisey thought for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “I would have known.”

“Well, how did she spend her time here?” Louis said. “Did she go anywhere, do anything special?”

“She went riding and went for walks,” Maisey said. “Mr. Edward was always worried about her being too shy, so he told Mr. Ross to take her to the dances down at the yacht club.” She paused. “I don’t think she enjoyed it much, truth be told.”

“Were you and Julie close?” Louis asked.

Again her eyes welled. She picked up the empty bowl and took it to the sink. “I should go check on Mr. Edward,” she said, her back still to him.

“There’s one more thing,” Louis said. “I’d like you to look at some drawings.”

Maisey turned. “Drawings?”

Louis took a sketchbook from the envelope. They had found a hundred and forty-two sketchbooks during the processing of Danny Dancer’s cabin. Joe had suggested the drawings might help them find persons of interest or witnesses. She had gone through every sketchbook, finally giving one to Louis that contained drawings of teenagers in sixties-era dress and in settings like the beach at British Landing or Fort Holmes, places Sergeant Clark told Louis were popular for the local kids to hang out at.

Louis opened the page that Joe had marked with a Post-it. It was a picture of Julie. She looked beautiful, her long hair wind-whipped around her face, her mouth tipped in a smile, and her eyes focused on someone unseen off to her right.

Maisey came to the table and stared at the drawing for a long time. Finally she sat down and looked up at Louis.

“Where’d you get this?” she asked softly.

“Danny Dancer drew it,” Louis said. “He drew almost everybody on this island for more than twenty years. We think he might have done this that last summer here.”

Maisey nodded slowly. “Yes, I recognize that blouse.”

“She looks very happy,” Louis said.

A small smile came to Maisey’s face. “This is how I remember Julie that summer.” She ran a finger lightly over the drawing. “A boyfriend,” she said softly. “How could I have not seen it?”

“Maybe you did,” Louis said.

He flipped the sketchbook back to the first page. “He could have been the boy who delivered groceries or someone she met in town, maybe someone she was afraid to bring home,” Louis said. “Please look, see if you recognize anyone.”

Maisey began to turn the pages. The kitchen was quiet as she studied each drawing. She was on the last few pages when she suddenly stopped. She turned the sketchbook around toward Louis.

It was a drawing of a girl. Round-faced, large-eyed, a gap-toothed smile, a cascade of curly light hair held down by a braided headband across her forehead.

“You recognize her?” Louis asked.

Maisey nodded. “She came to the house a couple of times. She and Julie used to sit out on the porch. I remember her because. . I heard her making jokes about Julie having a mammy.”

She gave Louis a wry smile, which he returned with one of his own.

“Do you remember her name?” he asked.

Maisey frowned. “It started with an R . It was. . Roberta.” She paused. “No, wait. Rhoda. That was it. Rhoda.”

“Can you remember her last name?”

“No, but I think she worked here on the island because she always came here after five or so.” She looked up suddenly at Louis. “She smelled like chocolate.”

Louis took the sketchbook back, slipping it into the envelope. He was disappointed Maisey hadn’t been able to recognize Julie’s boyfriend, but this Rhoda could be a lead.

“If there’s nothing else you need, Mr. Kincaid, I really should go see to Mr. Edward,” Maisey said.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” Louis said. “Can I see Julie’s room?”

“Her room? Why?”

“It helps me get a sense of a person. Sometimes if I see where they spent their time, what things they had, it helps me figure out what might have happened to them.”

“The room’s not the same as it was then,” she said.

“I’d still like to see it.”

She gave him a nod. Louis followed her up the staircase. At the first open door, she paused, listening for a moment. Louis got a glimpse of the interior-burnished antiques, the edge of a plush bed, and light streaming in from the bay windows.

Maisey moved on down the hallway. All the other doors were closed. At the end of the hallway Maisey stopped and opened the heavy oak door.

The air inside was stale, the drapes drawn. Maisey touched a wall switch and an overhead light went on.

Louis had been expecting something different, maybe like the room back at the Grand Hotel with the canopy beds. This was just a small plain room with two twin beds, one oak bureau, a small bookcase, and a braided rug on the wood floor. Except for the white chenille bedspreads the only thing that looked remotely feminine was the wallpaper dotted with pink rosebuds.

“It’s not what I thought it would look like,” he said.

“What were you expecting?” Maisey asked.

“I don’t know. Something that tells me a teenaged girl used to be here.” He turned to Maisey, who was still standing by the door. “Stuffed animals. A monkey, to be exact.”