Terry Lynn Thomas - The Drowned Woman

We followed Joe down a corridor of smoked glass doors with the names etched in gold letters on the outside. We stopped before one that said ‘Detective Joseph Connor’.

‘Impressive.’ Zeke ran his fingers over the gold lettering.

‘I’m glad you’ve come back, Zeke. I’m sorry about Hendrik Shrader and that you and Sarah are in danger, but something’s happened …’ Joe hesitated.

‘Out with it, Joe. What’s he done?’

We followed Joe into his office.

‘There have been a series of jewel heists in Millport. The thief – or thieves if you believe some people – targets the Millport elite. Initially the robberies occurred when no one was home. That, among other things, has led us to believe that whoever is doing these robberies is on familiar terms with the victims.’

A large map took up almost an entire wall, complete with pins with red flags, which were stuck in random places.

Joe opened a file cabinet and took out a stack of files. He reached inside one of them and handed Zeke a bunch of photos in various shapes and sizes.

‘Things have escalated lately. The burglar is taking more risks and has been entering the houses while people are there, usually while they are sleeping. He climbed up the Donaldsons’ drainpipe and stole Mrs Donaldson’s jewelry box, right out from under her nose.’

We thumbed through a stack of photographs, all depicting jewelry – diamond necklaces, earrings, bracelets, pearls – and a large quantity of sterling. The burglar had hit the motherload.

I moved over to the map on the wall.

‘I’ve put pins where the robberies have taken place. I was desperate to try something. As you can see, the victims are all concentrated in that eight-mile circumference. This guy is physically fit. He’s nimble, which also leads me to believe that he doesn’t live here. All the usual suspects enlisted and are no longer in Millport. So we’re looking for an outsider, which should help.’

‘Are you saying that Millport has a cat burglar?’ Zeke said.

‘Yes,’ Joe said.

‘Press?’ Zeke asked.

‘Haven’t gotten a hold of it yet,’ Joe said. ‘But it’s just a matter of time. The victims don’t want their names made public, and the various insurance companies are eager to recover the jewels so they don’t have to pay the claims. It’s a nightmare and of course, no one is happy with my efforts.’

‘Surely you don’t think my brother has been climbing into people’s homes and stealing their valuables?’

‘He’s recently paid off a large gambling debt. Where did he get the money? He won’t tell me. I’ve asked him repeatedly. There are some who believe that I am not objective because of my connection to your family. You know as well as I do that Simon has been headed for trouble.’

‘That doesn’t mean he has the emeralds, or that he had anything to do with Rachel’s death.’

‘I realize that. But an emerald turns up and all of a sudden Simon has the money to pay off his sizable gambling debts. The newspapers haven’t yet discovered that one of the emeralds has turned up. But they will. Everyone in town knows. Conclusions have been drawn. I will keep you informed as to what’s going on. You’re home now. We’ll sort this out. As for the other thing, I’ve spoken to Wade. A few of us in the department know what’s going on. If anyone comes after you, we’ll soon know about it.’

‘Who discovered the emerald in Portland?’

‘My father. Since he retired, he’s been obsessed with Rachel’s case. He claims that he will solve her murder before he dies, and if he doesn’t, he’ll come back from the grave to see justice done.’

‘Do you need my help? If my brother is a suspect …’ Zeke didn’t finish his sentence.

‘As of now, I don’t need your help. Since your brother is a potential suspect, your involvement would start speculation and rumor. I can promise to keep you informed, but that’s the extent of it. Wade has offered his services in tracing the emerald. That should help, but it’s going to take some time.’

‘I believe you have something for me?’ Zeke asked.

Joe took a black leather case the size of a large book out of his desk drawer.

‘I expect you to teach her to be safe with this,’ he said as he handed it to Zeke.

‘Sarah, this is for you,’ Zeke said. He laid the box on the desk and stepped aside. ‘Open it.’

I undid the brass latch and lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a tiny gun made of gleaming silver, with a mother-of-pearl handle. I recoiled.

‘What am I going to do with that?’ I asked.

‘You are going to learn to use it to defend yourself,’ Zeke said.

‘I will not. I refuse. You know very well that I would never shoot anyone no matter what they were doing,’ I said.

Joe Connor intervened on Zeke’s behalf. ‘Sarah, the men who are after you and Zeke are dangerous. I usually do not condone civilians carrying guns, especially women, but I think in this instance Zeke’s right. Just take the gun, Sarah. Let Zeke show you how to use it. Practice a bit. When this man who is after you is back in custody, you can put it away.’

I looked at my husband and his well-intentioned friend. Hendrik Shrader was a dangerous man. I knew that. But the question remained, would I actually be able to shoot him?

‘You’d shoot him if he was going to harm you,’ Zeke said, as if he could read my mind. ‘And I know you’d shoot him if he was going to harm me.’

He was right. With a sinking feeling, I acquiesced.

‘I forgot about this oppressive heat.’ Zeke loosened his tie, removed it, and handed it to me. I rolled it up and tucked it into my purse, next to the case which held my gun.

‘The mill is about two miles that way,’ Zeke pointed as he turned onto a tree-lined dirt road, kicking up dust in our wake. We passed pastures with weather-beaten fences and tall golden grass shimmering in the afternoon heat. Horses grazed here, their coats glistening in the sun. A man on a tractor made tracks through the grass, waving at us as we drove by. We came to a pasture surrounded by a white fence, where four horses grazed. One of the horses, a giant red beast, pricked his ears and raised his head as the car approached.

‘Prepare yourself, my love,’ he said.

‘Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad,’ I said.

‘You’ve no idea,’ he said.

We drove on, following the white fence as it wove around the oak trees. The red horse broke away from the herd and ran toward us, keeping pace with our car. He kicked his heels a few times, before he lost interest in us and ran back to the others.

‘That’s Seadrift, Daphne’s horse,’ Zeke said.

We turned into a tree-lined driveway, which wove through a shady canopy for about a half mile before the house came into view – a two-story structure made of gray stone with a shale roof. A sloping flower bed abutted the driveway. Burgeoning blooms in a riot of color almost shielded the woman who squatted among them. She held a spray can and worked the beds with industry, deadheading blooms, spraying the plant when she finished, and scooting down the row. She had a rhythm and made quick work of the project. I recognized larkspur, foxglove, delphinium, sunflowers, all melded together in a vibrant burst of color.

When Zeke tooted the horn, the woman stood. When she took off her hat, a mass of auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders.

‘None of those flowers was here when I left.’ He turned off the ignition. ‘If we were to stay on this road, we’d run into the stables. All that grassland back there is where we get our hay. What Daphne doesn’t use for her horses, we sell.’

‘How much property is there?’ A fresh batch of sweat pooled between my shoulder blades and started to trickle down my back. I opened the passenger door, but the breeze did little to dispel the heat.