Mayes, Casey - A Deadly Row

“She was a smart lady,” I said.

As we drove through traffic to the hotel, I leaned back in my seat, trying to get a handle on what I’d seen. I wanted to go through the letters the police had taken from Cindy Glass’s apartment. More than that, I needed to. Before, she’d just been a name to me.

Now she was a real person.

And if there was anything I could do to help Zach find her killer, I was going to do it.

Chapter 13

“SAVANNAH. WELCOME BACK.”

Garrett had evidently been waiting for me by the front of the Belmont, and he opened the door to the limo for me, but I didn’t leave until I spoke to Henry first. “Thank you for the ride.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Mine, too,” I said.

“Ms. Stone, would you do me a kindness?”

“If I can,” I replied.

“Tell your husband a great many people are pulling for him. He’s got an army at his disposal. All he need do is ask.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow as I got out.

“Something to say, Garrett?” I asked him.

“You seem to make friends wherever you go,” he said.

“I just listen to people when they talk to me,” I said.

“That explains a great deal. You have a tendency to make the person you’re with the center of your universe. It’s quite intoxicating.”

That wasn’t the first time I’d been told that I was a good listener. “My mom always told me that there was more skill in listening than there was in speaking, and that she never learned anything by running her mouth.”

“It’s an admirable ability, but one that I’m afraid is becoming a lost art in this day of technology.”

“There are always people behind emails and text messages,” I said. “It just takes a different kind of listening to hear what’s being said.”

“True.”

As we walked through the lobby, I noticed several of the staff watching us surreptitiously. When I caught a glance or two, there was always a smile backing it. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to merit their goodwill, but I wasn’t about to rebuff it.

I walked toward the main elevator, but Garrett touched my arm to stop me.

“It’s this way,” he directed. He showed me to a nondescript nook in the lobby that I hadn’t noticed before. Garrett opened a door to reveal a private elevator. He held the door open, swiped his card, and then started to get out.

“Aren’t you going with me?”

“It’s Mr. Lane’s orders. No one is allowed upstairs without his direct consent. If there’s anything you need, at any time, it is yours to ask.”

“Thanks,” I said, but the doors were already sliding closed. I didn’t know why I was so nervous about seeing Barton Lane again, but I was. Perhaps it was because I was seeing him on his home turf. Maybe it was due to the light bag of memories I was taking him. Whatever the reason, I was as nervous as a teenage girl on her first date.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when the elevator doors opened. Our suite was elegant, so I couldn’t imagine how nice the penthouse must be. It didn’t let me down, either. The floors were tiled with marble, and the furniture looked to be all antiques. The ceiling in the entryway was at least twenty feet high, and there was a crystal chandelier hanging that looked like it would fit in a presidential palace. I took all of that in in a moment, because the second I saw Barton Lane’s face, I knew that the man was in some serious pain, and I didn’t have time to look around at my surroundings anymore.

“Did you find her necklace?” he choked out.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t, and I checked with my husband on the way over here. The police have no idea where it is, either.”

He physically sagged at the news, and I had to step in to hold him up. What significance could that little cow pendant have for him?

“Was it important?”

“She loved cows, so I bought it for her on her twenty-third birthday. Cindy never went anywhere without it.”

No wonder it had so much sentimental value to him. I had to do something.

“I did find a few things that looked like they might hold memories for you,” I said.

Barton nodded absently. “Let’s go into the study.”

Wow, his suite had its own study. I had no idea this was how the wealthy lived. I couldn’t imagine the square footage Barton had in his home. As we walked through the foyer and past the formal dining room, it was like moving through a movie set. The only difference here was that everything was real.

We entered a comfortable room the size of our living room at home, and I was suddenly surrounded by a timber-frame structure, a distressed old-growth pine floor, and a stone fireplace tucked neatly into one corner. There was oversized furniture in the room that made it look like a cozy retreat from the world. “I love this. It’s Timberlake, isn’t it?” Zach and I had been to the Bob Timberlake furniture gallery in Lexington, NC, an hour’s drive from Charlotte. We’d even met Bob there once, an artist of world renown who’d turned his talents to furniture as well.

“Yes, he designed this set for me.” It was clear that Barton didn’t want to discuss furniture.

I opened the bag in my lap so I could start pulling out its contents, but my host stopped me. “One item at a time, if you don’t mind.”

I agreed, and reached in to withdraw the copy of Fahrenheit 451 . “I wasn’t sure if this was significant or not.”

He took it from me. “She told me a month ago that she’d never read it when she spied a signed hardcover in my library. I tried to give it to her, but she just laughed and insisted a used paperback copy would be fine. I kept her busy here, so she was reading it in bits and pieces, and we discussed it whenever she finished a new chapter.” He rubbed the cover of that book as if it were gilded in gold.

After a moment, Barton set it aside and looked expectantly at me. My hand touched the wrapped photograph, and I paused to explain its presence before I brought it out.

“My husband believes this might be significant,” I said, “so it’s important that no more fingerprints get on it. I have to hold it. I’m sorry, but he was most insistent.”

“I understand,” Barton said.

I took it out, carefully unwrapped the picture, and then held it so he could see it. I saw Barton frown, so I asked, “Do you know the man she’s with?”

“It’s difficult to say, isn’t it? It surprises me, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“If Cindy had wanted to remove his image, she would have cut him out with scissors. I can’t imagine the circumstances where she would just tear it like that.”

“Maybe she was angry about the breakup. Do you happen to know who she was dating at the time she died?”

Barton sighed. “She was adamant about keeping her personal life and her work with me separate, so I never pried. Honestly, though I always thought of her more as a daughter than an employee, I wanted to respect her privacy.” He smiled softly as he added, “At least I decided to after the first time I asked her something personal. She may have looked serene on the outside, but the young lady had a spirit of fire.”

I set the photograph aside, and retrieved the next picture. It was one of Barton and Cindy together, and as I handed it to him, I saw tears start to form in his eyes.

“I’d forgotten she had a copy of this.”

“When was it taken?”

“Two years ago. We were in Chicago on business at one of my other hotels, and as we were walking through the lobby during the St. Patrick’s Day celebration, my manager took the photograph. I wasn’t pleased at the time—I dislike having my picture taken—but Cindy decided she wanted one of us together, and I had to be smiling. I did as she asked, and had a copy made for her. Excuse me a moment.”