We returned to our car and waited our turn to drive off. I was impressed by how quickly and smoothly the ferry emptied out.

  “Let’s see,” Dylan said as he put Sheila Rossetti’s address in his GPS. “We should be there in twenty minutes.”

  Traffic was light and we found the Rossettis’ house easily, a yellow, well-tended Cape Cod on a tree-lined street. The one-car driveway leading to the garage was empty.

  “Shall we?” Dylan said, releasing his seat belt.

  I stepped out of the car and accompanied him up the cement walkway. I pressed the bell. No one answered.

  “She’s not home,” I said.

  “Looks that way.”

  We got back in the car. “We have two choices,” Dylan said. “We can get something to eat and come back in an hour, or sit here and wait.”

  I thought a minute. “Let’s have lunch. Neighbors might find it suspicious if we stay here.”

  “My thinking exactly, though I don’t see any neighbors out and about.”

  We drove back to Route 112 and soon came upon a Turkish restaurant in a strip mall that looked appealing. The waitress sat us at a table by the window. I ordered a cup of red lentil soup and a chicken kabob pita sandwich. Dylan ordered a small spanakopita and Mediterranean lamb burger. We ate with gusto and plenty of yogurt sauce.

  “Mmm, this is delicious,” I said, too full to eat more than half my sandwich.

  Dylan finished everything on his plate. We ordered coffee, and I asked the waitress to wrap my sandwich.

  “Bet you ten to one you eat that before we’re back home,” Dylan teased as we left the restaurant.

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “We have to find a restaurant like this near us.”

  “And if we can’t, we’ll hop in the car and come back here,” he said.

  I squeezed his hand, appreciating the many days ahead that we’d be sharing. “I love you,” I said.

  “Love you back. Now, let’s find out if Sheila-Patricia has returned from her outing.”

  I giggled. “Let’s not get confused and call her Patricia Rossetti.”

  “Or Sheila Harper.”

  A few minutes later we were ringing the Rossettis’ doorbell once again. No one answered. We returned to the car. I was disappointed. It was two o’clock. For all we knew, she wouldn’t arrive home for another few hours.

  “What should we do?” I asked Dylan.

  “Well, if she went shopping, then met a friend for lunch, she could return in the next hour.”

  “Or she could have met a friend for lunch, then went running some errands,” I said.

  “That too.”

  Two mothers, each with a child under three in a stroller, came walking toward us. They continued on as they passed by, never giving us a glance or pausing in their conversation.

  “At least we’re not drawing attention,” I said.

  “We don’t look very threatening,” Dylan said.

  “I should hope not.”

  “Would you like to get out and take a walk?” Dylan suggested.

  “I would. We’ve been sitting all day.”

  It felt good to stretch my legs in the warmth of the sun as I admired the flowers that adorned many of the lawns. Hand in hand we circled the block. A woman retrieving the mail from her mailbox at the curb waved to us. A man walking his bulldog commented on the lovely weather. As we turned the corner, a school bus stopped close to our car. Several elementary-age children exited the bus. A few dashed to the other side of the street. A pretty, diminutive woman about my age emerged from the house next to the Rossettis’ and reached for the hand of a blond boy. He shook his hand free, but continued to walk beside her up the front walk and into the house.

  “I’m going to ask Sheila’s neighbor if she knows where she is or when she might be coming home,” I said.

  “Good idea,” Dylan said. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  I rang the bell and the door swung open. I found myself facing the little boy who had just come home from school.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said, sounding very disappointed.

  “Jamie, I told you not to open the door.”

  “Well, I thought it was Brandon, but it isn’t.”

  “Sorry to disturb you.” I smiled at the woman who came to stand beside her son. “And I’m sorry that I’m not Brandon,” I said to the boy, “but I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you have any idea when your neighbor—Sheila Rossetti—might be coming home. My boyfriend and I are from her hometown. We happened to be spending the day on Long Island, so we thought we’d stop by and say hello.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” the woman said.

  “Mom, my snack,” Jamie said.

  “I thought you wanted to have it when Brandon comes.”

  “I’m hungry. I want some of it now.”

  “One minute, Jamie.” I heard loud barking coming from the back of the house. “Please let Rudolf in. He’s been missing you all day. And feed him, okay?”

  Jamie disappeared, only to return a minute later followed by the largest black-and-white Harlequin Great Dane I’d ever seen.

  “Wow! What a beauty!” I said.

  “That’s Rudolf. And I’m Jeannette. Rudy, get down!” Jeannette shouted as the dog jumped up and put his paws on her shoulders. “He’s hungry, Jamie. Please feed him now.”

  Boy and dog disappeared in what I figured was the direction of the kitchen. Jeannette was shaking her head. “We’ve had several trainers come to the house, but we’ve yet to find one who can break him of the habit of jumping up on me.” She sighed. “You’d think Rudy would know by now that I hate when he does it.”

  “Maybe it’s his way of showing affection,” I said.

  Jeannette grimaced. “That’s what my husband says. As for Sheila next door, I don’t really know her very well. Her husband Tony’s a friendly guy. He and my husband often chat over the fence—mostly sports and how to deal with the awful crabgrass we all have. But Sheila’s kind of reserved. Was she like that—where did you say she comes from?”

  I felt uncomfortable telling this woman anything about Billy’s mother, but I had no choice. “A little town in Connecticut called Clover Ridge. I suppose we should have called before stopping by,” I said. “Does she go to work? In which case we’ll take off.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve always gotten the impression that Sheila spends a good deal of her time at home—fixing up their house, I imagine. It was in pretty bad shape when they bought it, but Tony’s a carpenter and did some major repairs when they first moved in two years ago. I suppose Sheila’s doing the decorating now, judging from the deliveries they get.” She shot me a sideways glance. “Not that I’ve ever been invited inside their house. We had them over for coffee and cake when they first moved in. Sheila didn’t say much. I got the feeling she couldn’t wait to leave.”

  “She’s shy,” I said. “Do you think she might have gone out for lunch with someone?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t think she’s made any friends. At least I haven’t noticed anyone dropping by during the day. Though I have seen her and Tony in church a few Sunday mornings.”

  I sighed. “Well, maybe she went shopping.”

  Jeannette’s face lit up. “She probably went to Bed Bath and Beyond. And to the library. I’ve seen her there a few times. I’ve noticed she’s usually back home by three, three thirty. That time we had them over for coffee, Sheila told me she always likes to be home in plenty of time to make Tony a good dinner.”

  I thanked Jeannette and returned to the car. I told Dylan what she’d told me. He glanced at his watch. “Okay, it’s two fifteen. I’ll check the GPS, see if there’s a mall around here. We can wander around till three ten and come back here.”

  “I can’t see what else we can do,” I said. “But what if she’s not back by then?”

  “Let’s decide that when the time comes.”

  We found a nearby mall to explore while we waited.

  “Great, they have an Apple store here,” Dylan said, reading the directory. “I’ll stop in, see if they can help me with a problem I’m having with my iPhone. Why don’t you do some shopping?” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s meet back here in forty-five minutes, then head back to Sheila’s house.”

  Music to my ears! I breezed through Macy’s, then checked out Banana Republic, one of my favorites, and bought a colorful top on sale. I had just enough time to scoot outside to Barnes and Noble and buy a paperback mystery. I hurried back through the mall and found Dylan waiting for me, a Macy’s bag in his hand.

  “The tech solved my problem, and I found a shirt on sale.”

  “I bought a few things too,” I said.

  Dylan put his arm around me, and we walked out to the car. “If she doesn’t show up soon after we get there, we’ll head for home. At least we had a nice day out.”

  “I suppose.” I was disappointed. Talking to Billy’s mother was the best and only chance we had of finding a possible suspect.

  The traffic had built up, so it took a while longer for us to return to Sheila Rossetti’s house. I rang the bell again. But still no one came to the door.

  “On TV shows, the detective knocks on the front door of a suspect or a person of interest and he or she is always home,” I groused.

  “It’s almost three thirty,” Dylan said as we climbed back into the car. “We’ll give it a few more minutes, then head back. We’re bound to hit traffic on the drive to Port Jefferson. I hope we can make the four forty-five ferry. The one after that leaves at six thirty. Both will be crowded.”

  More people were around now, mostly mothers with young children and middle school kids riding bicycles in the street. Jeannette drove her car out of the garage and passed us. I waved, but she pretended not to see me.

  “She probably thinks it’s weird that we’re back here, waiting for Sheila,” I said.

  A few minutes later I was proven right. A police car pulled behind our car and an officer stepped out to talk to us.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Do you mind telling me what you folks are doing here? A neighbor called to say you’ve spent a good part of the day waiting for the homeowner to come home.”

  The cop appeared to be about thirty-five; he had a burly build and a ruddy complexion.

  “Good afternoon, Officer,” Dylan said, not at all perturbed. “My name is Dylan Avery. I’m a private investigator. Miss Singleton and I drove from Connecticut this morning to speak to the woman who lives here.”

  “Can I see some identification?”

  “Of course. And your name is?”

  The cop’s complexion turned a shade brighter. “It’s Pete Reynolds.”

  “Thank you.”

  I gave Dylan my driver’s license. He removed his PI and driver’s licenses from his wallet and handed all three to Officer Pete, who glanced at them before bringing them to his cruiser, no doubt to check them out on his computer.

  “These seem to be in order,” he said a few minutes later as he returned our licenses to Dylan. “Is this a case you’re working on, Mr. Avery?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Dylan said. “Anyway, we don’t plan to wait here much longer. We hope to speak to Mrs. Rossetti briefly, then return home on the four forty-five Port Jefferson ferry.”

  Hearing that we didn’t intend to hang around for any length of time must have pleased Officer Pete, because he smiled. “You’ll be cutting it close, given the buildup of traffic in the next hour.”

  Dylan grimaced. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Safe trip home,” Officer Pete said. A minute later he pulled around us and drove off.

  “I’m glad to know the Suffolk County police are checking out anyone who parks in front of someone else’s house.”

  “He was only doing his job,” Dylan said. “Wouldn’t you be suspicious if two people sat in a car in front of your neighbor’s house, waiting for her to come home?”

  “I suppose,” I said.

  My cell phone rang. It was Billy. “Hi, Carrie. I was hoping to hear from you. What’s happened?”

  “Sorry, I should have called. We’ve been waiting for hours for your mother to come home. In fact, a neighbor called the cops to check us out.”

  Billy laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Maybe she’s on the run again.”

  “Let’s not go down that road,” I told him. “We plan to stay here a little while longer. Maybe she’ll come home by then.”

  Dylan started up the car.

  “Just a minute.” I covered the phone. “Why are we leaving?” I asked Dylan.

  “We’re not. A car’s approaching at a slow rate of speed. I have a feeling it might be Sheila. Finding an occupied car in front of her house will make her nervous.”

  “Billy, I think your mother is finally coming home. I’ll call you tonight when I’m back and tell you everything she says.”

  I felt a growing excitement as we slowly circled the block. In the side mirror I spotted a navy SUV turning into the driveway of Sheila Rossetti’s house.

  “It is her!” I said. “Finally!”

  “Good,” Dylan said calmly. “We’ll give her a few minutes to unwind, then ring the doorbell.”

  It suddenly hit home that this was the first time Dylan and I were going to interview a potentially important witness together. I wondered if I was up to the job. In past investigations, I’d always depended on my intuition when it came to the questions I asked, and for the most part I’d been successful. But Dylan was a trained investigator. A professional investigator.

  I turned to him as we approached the Rossettis’ house again. “I think you should be the one to question Sheila.”

  “Why?” Dylan asked.

  “Interviewing persons of interest is what you do for a living. I could say the wrong thing and screw it all up.”

  “We’re here because Billy asked you to come in his place. I’m your wingman, babe. You’ll do just fine.”

  I reached over to hug him as best I could, given my seat belt. “Thanks, Dylan.”

  “I’ll be right beside you,” he said as he brought the car to a stop and turned off the motor.

  Minutes seemed to pass as we waited for Sheila Rossetti to answer the door. She opened it a few inches and peered at us anxiously. She was a slight woman in her early sixties, pretty, with delicate, even features. I could imagine the beauty she must have been when she was younger. She wore her dark-brown hair shoulder length and greeted us with a wary expression.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  Thank goodness this was a safe neighborhood and she’d been willing to open the door to strangers. Now to say the right thing so she didn’t slam it in our faces.

  “Mrs. Rossetti, my name is Carrie Singleton. This is my partner, Dylan Avery. We want very much to talk to you.”

  Singleton. Avery. Her eyes widened with apprehension as she recognized two surnames well known in Clover Ridge. Though younger than she, we were intruders from her past, bringing trouble.

  The door started to close. Dylan stepped forward so she could meet his gaze as he prevented the door from shutting. “May we come in, Mrs. Rossetti?” He spoke calmly, his voice filled with concern. “There are things you should know, and we’re hoping you might be able to help us too.”

  She viewed us with sad, mournful eyes. “How did you find me?”

  “With great difficulty,” Dylan said.

  Her expression grew more fearful.

  “We have no intention of disrupting your life,” he said.

  Sheila Rossetti released a deep sigh of resignation. “You may as well come in and tell me why you’re here.”

  She led us into a small formal living room. A sofa covered in a shiny blue fabric was separated from two blue-and-white-striped chairs by a wooden coffee table. On the wall behind the chairs were three eight-by-ten photos set in the most beautiful picture frames I’d ever seen.

  “How stunning!” I moved closer to better observe them, the purpose of our visit temporarily forgotten. They appeared to be made of rope or yarn intertwined with beads of various colors and sizes in the most artful arrangements. Each frame was unique. The one holding a photo that appeared to have been taken on Sheila and Tony Rossetti’s wedding day was of gray-and-white rope with purple and lavender stones. The one featuring a young couple and three children was done in various shades of blue and aqua. The third, framing a different young couple, a toddler, and a dog, was beige, apricot, and brown. Three different color schemes that somehow worked well together.

  “Lovely photos,” I said belatedly.

  Was that a chuckle I’d heard? “Thank you. My husband and his sons’ families are quite good-looking. But I think you were admiring the frames.”

  “I was,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like it. They’re beautiful!”

  “I thank you again, since I made them.”

  “You did?”

  Dylan cleared his throat. “I’m sure Mrs. Rossetti would like to hear why we’re here.”

  “Sorry,” I said, and moved to sit beside him on the sofa.

  Sheila perched on the edge of a chair, the frightened expression back on her face. I found my voice and began telling her what I knew. “Your daughter Daphne moved back to Clover Ridge a few months ago. I met her when she came to the library where I’m head of programs and events, and told me she wanted to give a talk on psychic ability.”

  “Really? Daphne doesn’t have psychic ability.”

  I controlled my shudder as best I could. Sheila had no idea that her daughter was dead. Of course! If she happened to have read about the murder in the newspaper, the name Daphne Marriott would mean nothing to her. The police were keeping Daphne’s connection to Chet Harper under wraps.

  “It seems Daphne acquired her abilities later in life. She presented her program and we became friends.” I swallowed, dreading to have to break the news of her daughter’s murder.

  Sheila smiled. “How is Daphne? I’ve missed her and Billy so very much all these years.”

  “Then why did you leave them?” I hadn’t meant to ask, but the question had acquired a force of its own and demanded an answer.