Sheila Rossetti clutched her chest and shrank into herself, making herself as small as she probably felt. A position she had no doubt assumed when Chet Harper started beating on her.

  I crossed the room to where she sat and placed my hand on her back. She flinched, then leaned against me. Dylan headed into the kitchen. I heard water running. He returned with a glass of water and handed it to Sheila. She sipped, then placed the glass on the table.

  “It was a terrible thing I did—abandoning my children—but I had to get away. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was suffocating. I thought I would die if I didn’t escape from Clover Ridge. Away from Chet’s murder. The memories.”

  PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder or something like it.

  “Where did you go?”

  “To Oregon. It was the farthest I could travel on the money I’d saved and still have something to live on until I found a job.”

  “But your husband was dead,” I said. “He couldn’t hurt you any longer.”

  Sheila Rossetti put her hands to her head. “Living with Chet was difficult. When he drank, he turned nasty. He took his anger out on me and my son. Daphne was spared the worst of it.” She closed her eyes. “His murder set me over the edge.”

  “Did you see it happen?” I asked.

  “No, but …”

  “But you know who killed him.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I looked at Dylan.

  “Mrs. Rossetti, we think you know who murdered your husband,” he said.

  She remained still as a statue.

  “Please tell us if you do,” I said, “because we’re afraid he’s murdered again.”

  No response.

  “Two women.” I drew a deep breath. “One of them was Daphne, your daughter.”

  “No!” Her shriek rang through the house. The dreadful cry of a mortally wounded animal. It seemed to go on forever.

  “I’m so sorry.” Feeble words I doubted she heard through the noisy sobs that followed. When they subsided, I said, “Your son Billy is living outside Clover Ridge. He’s working as a personal trainer. Since he couldn’t be here today, he asked me to come and talk to you.”

  Sheila Rossetti’s tears spilled down her cheeks. “Billy, I am so sorry I abandoned you. Leaving you to face prison for something you didn’t do. But I was too frightened to tell that bent police chief what he didn’t want to hear. Too frightened to do anything but run.”

  “Billy wants to see you,” I said softly.

  She shook her head. “No. He hates me. How can he not hate me? A mother doesn’t desert her children. But I did. I did.”

  “He was planning to come see you today.”

  Sheila stared at me. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s not here today because he was poisoned,” Dylan said. “We think by the same person who killed your husband and your daughter.”

  She reached across the table and clutched Dylan’s arm. “But he’ll be all right?”

  “Yes,” Dylan and I said at the same time.

  “Daphne and Chet dead. Billy poisoned. Because of me,” Sheila said softly.

  “Not because of you,” I said.

  “But you can help the police solve this case by telling them what you know,” Dylan said.

  Sheila Rossetti shook her head. “I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. That Lieutenant Flynn. He knew how to twist your words around. Make you say things you didn’t mean. He got Daphne to say Billy must have killed Chet when Daphne knew nothing of the sort. I couldn’t bear for him to find out …”

  “Find out what?” I demanded, sounding more exasperated than I’d meant to. After all these years, this woman was still afraid to say what she knew.

  “Would you please give me Billy’s phone number so I can call him,” Sheila said.

  When I hesitated, she said, “You said he wanted to see me.”

  “Of course.”

  I waited while she went into the kitchen for a piece of paper, on which I wrote Billy’s cell phone number. “He’ll be happy to hear from you,” I said.

  * * *

  Dylan and I left shortly after that. I leaned back into the leathery comfort of the BMW’s passenger seat as we started our journey home.

  “So that’s that. A waste of an interview after all that waiting.”

  Dylan turned to smile at me. “I wouldn’t be so dismissive. We investigators have to be grateful for every small piece of evidence we gather.”

  “Like what? Sheila knows who killed her husband, but she still won’t tell us his identity, even after learning he must have killed her daughter.”

  “Which tells us she’s either afraid to reveal his name—or ashamed, for some reason.”

  “Sure, he must have been her lover all those years ago, but committing adultery is small stuff compared to murder and poisoning.”

  “Could be she’s still afraid of this person,” Dylan said.

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded as I thought. “If this man killed Chet, it was on her behalf. Which means he cared a great deal about Sheila, I mean Patricia. But if he cared so much about her, why didn’t they end up together?”

  “We don’t know that they didn’t—at least at first. She may have been protecting him.”

  “But she didn’t marry him,” I said.

  “No,” Dylan agreed.

  I sighed. “So, in a sense we’re back to square one.”

  “Not exactly. She asked for Billy’s phone number.”

  “True, but will she actually call him?”

  Dylan patted my leg. “That’s her move to make. We did what we could today. Now we have to sit back and wait.”

  * * *

  The traffic moved slowly as we wended our way north on Route 112. We reached the harbor just as the ferry was loading its last car, and they waved us on. Minutes later we were climbing the stairs to the passenger cabin as the vessel began its trek across the Sound.

  “Hungry?” Dylan asked.

  I shook my head. “Are you kidding? I’m still full from lunch.”

  We found seats on the outside deck and gazed out at the water. The peaceful setting and the sound of the motor soothed my overactive mind, and I stopped mulling over our visit to Billy and Daphne’s mother. I stopped wondering if she intended to call Billy and reveal the identity of her secret lover. For the time being, I was content to sit quietly beside the man I loved.

  Dylan must have felt the same. After calling Rosalind to find out what was happening in his office, he stretched out his legs and promptly fell asleep. When we were back in the car and leaving Bridgeport, Dylan said, “Carrie, please remind Billy that he can’t tell anyone—and I mean anyone—about our visit to his mother today.”

  “After ending up in the hospital, I’m sure he’s gotten the message.”

  He shot me a sidelong glance. “That goes for you too. Don’t mention it to your mother. She’ll blab it to the movie crew.”

  “And considering Ilana’s murder, there’s a chance that the killer is one of them.”

  Dylan nodded. “We have no idea who he is, but we’re sure he didn’t want Billy visiting his mother. Which means he’ll come after us if he knows we spoke to her.”

  I shuddered.

  “Babe, until this is over, we keep this on a need-to-know basis. And never let up our guard.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  That night I called Billy and repeated what his mother had said as best I could remember. When I finished, he released a mournful sigh.

  “So, she still refuses to give up the name of her lover.”

  “Right. I don’t know if she’s afraid of this person or wants to protect him.”

  “Still? After all these years?” Billy’s voice cracked. “And she couldn’t offer one good reason why she ran off, leaving Daphne and me?”

  I pressed my lips together. Of course I’d told Billy what she had said about her emotional state at the time, but people only heard what they wanted to hear. “I think she was traumatized with a serious case of PTSD. She didn’t say she saw this person stab your father, but she must have seen something that left her in no doubt that her lover had killed him.”

  After a minute, Billy said, “And she asked for my phone number?”

  “Yes. I gave it to her, though I can’t promise that she’ll call you.”

  Billy made a scoffing sound. “And I have no intention of waiting around, hoping she’ll call—not after all these years.”

  “Please let me know if she contacts you.”

  “Of course, Carrie. I can’t thank you and Dylan enough for taking a day off to drive all the way to Long Island to see her.”

  “We wanted to hear what she had to say—for your sake and hopefully to get a lead on the person who killed Daphne and Ilana. Billy, please don’t tell anyone that we visited your mother. If the killer finds out, he’ll assume she gave him up and come after Dylan and me.”

  Billy’s laugh was anything but humorous. “You don’t have to remind me to keep my mouth shut. I’m still recovering from that stupid announcement I made at Daphne’s service.”

  * * *

  My life resumed its usual pattern over the next few days. Angela’s bridal shower was at the end of the month and I had a few things to attend to, including phone calls to a few of her female relatives who hadn’t bothered to RSVP.

  Every so often I felt a pang of guilt for not telling John that Dylan and I had paid a visit to Patricia Harper aka Sheila Rossetti. Then I’d think, why risk getting bawled out for what he’d see as interfering in his case when in fact we hadn’t learned anything new? Besides, she had been cleared of all charges regarding her husband’s death. As for her lover, she’d refused to tell us his name, and there was no reason to believe John would be more successful in getting her to talk. Sheila lived in another state, so I doubted he could force her to come in to be interviewed. Still, I felt bad for not letting him know that we’d seen her.

  I ran into Danny Brower outside the post office. When I asked if the police had any new leads regarding the investigation, he sighed and said they were still waiting for some fiber and hair results to come back but otherwise they had zip.

  I talked to Evelyn about our visit to Long Island, and she had a few things to say on the subject.

  “I’m disappointed in Pattie Harper. You’d think catching her daughter’s killer would be her priority, even if it was her long-ago lover.”

  “I’m wondering if the man has some sort of hold over her,” I said.

  “A good point,” Evelyn said. “But why is she so afraid, after all these years?”

  I thought a bit. “What if she tells John the name of the person who killed her husband. Then he, in turn, points a finger and claims he only did it because she asked him to?”

  Evelyn’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “That would explain why she skipped town so quickly after she was cleared of Chet’s murder.”

  “Daphne and Ilana were killed here in Clover Ridge,” I said. “That means the killer might still live here …”

  “Or?”

  “Or he’s a member of the movie crew.” I groaned in frustration.

  Evelyn frowned. “For her children’s sake, Pattie should tell the police what she knows.”

  “I’m hoping she’ll contact Billy,” I said.

  “Given her track record, I’m not holding my breath.”

  * * *

  I found myself checking in with my mother every day. I’d helped her through a rough time and felt our relationship had taken a turn for the better. But now that her life was back on track, she’d reverted to her old ways. Though she always sounded happy to hear from me, her mind was on Tom and his glorious future.

  “Carrie dear, I can’t talk!” she said when I called her the morning after our excursion to Long Island. “They’re filming all day today down by the water. Would you like to come and watch?”

  “Sorry, Mom. I have to work. But I’m glad they’re moving right along.”

  “Absolutely! Marissa Varig is such a sweetie. Not like that bitch Ilana.”

  “How’s Tom?” I asked.

  “Fine. I watched him and Marissa run through a few scenes. They are perfectly cast and bring out the best in each other.” She giggled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this role wins him an Oscar nomination.”

  An Oscar? The woman’s delusional. “I’m glad Tom’s doing well. And the two of you are good?”

  Another giggle. “Better than ever. He’s still apologizing for falling for Ilana’s tricks. We’ll be fine. Have to go now. They’re about to shoot one of Tom’s big scenes. He likes to know I’m close by.”

  My mother and Tom would be all right, I decided when I disconnected. They were back in tandem. Once again on the same page. He was her husband and she was back to showering him with all the attention she’d never given Jordan and me. I sighed as I realized that my mother loved me in her own way, though it wasn’t the way I would have wanted.

  * * *

  “You knew Pattie Harper, didn’t you Aunt Harriet?” I asked during dinner at my aunt and uncle’s house a few days later.

  Aunt Harriet put down her fork and sighed. “I suppose her daughter coming back to town and getting murdered has people talking about Pattie Harper all over again.”

  “What was she like twenty years ago?”

  “A pretty woman, worn out from working two jobs and being the punching bag for that brute of a husband. I didn’t know her well, just enough to smile and say good-morning when we saw each other shopping or running errands. I knew about Chet and his drinking, of course. So did everyone in town.”

  “You can say that again,” my uncle chimed in. “Al Tripp had a thing for Pattie. He kept after Mitch Flynn—he was the police chief before John—to throw the SOB in jail for abusing his family, but Mitch claimed he couldn’t unless one of his victims filed a complaint. Of course Pattie and the kids were too frightened to do anything of the sort.”

  Aunt Harriet smiled. “Yes, Al was half in love with her. Offered to represent her for free if she filed for divorce.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Uncle Bosco said to Aunt Harriet. “You tried to take her under your wing. Even offered to let her stay with us awhile, though she and I had never exchanged two words.”

  “It was the only decent thing to do, Bosco!” My aunt turned to me. “One Saturday morning I was shopping early—we were having people over that evening. I ran into Pattie in the supermarket. She’d been crying. And there was a large bruise on her cheek. No one was around, so I pulled her to one side and offered to help her. At first she pretended not to know what I was talking about. Then she said I wasn’t to worry. She had a friend who was helping her and things would be better very soon.”

  Uncle Bosco raised his hand. “That happened two days before her husband was murdered.”

  My heart began to pound. Maybe Dylan and I had gotten it all wrong. Maybe Patricia Harper had planned with this mysterious person to kill Chet.

  “Do you have any idea who she was talking about?” I asked.

  “None whatsoever,” Aunt Harriet said. “For a while Lester Brown was under suspicion because he’d made no secret that he thought the world of Pattie. She only had to say the word and he would have taken her in.”

  I cleared my throat. “What about Al Tripp? Could he have killed Chet?”

  My uncle burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? Our esteemed mayor?”

  I shrugged. These days our mayor’s driving passions were his family and the welfare of Clover Ridge, but we were talking about twenty years ago.

  “You said he had the hots for Patricia Harper.”

  “So I did,” Uncle Bosco said. “Al was grilled along with Lester Brown, and he provided a solid alibi. As a young lawyer, he worked crazy hours and was able to prove he’d been in his office with a client till close to midnight the night Chet Harper was killed.”

  “Pattie was at work, so she couldn’t have done it,” Aunt Harriet said. “And so Mitch, who always took the easiest path, turned to their son Billy. He’d heard that Billy had argued with his father a week or two earlier, so he put the screws to poor Daphne and voilà! He managed to find himself a murderer and tie up the homicide with a ribbon.”

  “She should have stayed to give Billy moral support,” Uncle Bosco said, “but she was gone by the time he was charged.”

  “And if she knew that her friend or lover had murdered her husband, she should have said so,” I said.

  Aunt Harriet reached over to pat my shoulder. “If that person really existed. No one ever saw Pattie’s so-called lover. I agree, she should have stood by her children, but we’ll never find out why she didn’t, since we’ll most likely never see her again.”

  I remained silent, hating not being able to tell them we’d seen Sheila-Patricia.

  My aunt got to her feet. “Carrie dear, let’s clear the table and make room for some homemade apple cake and coffee.”

  * * *

  Days passed. On a beautiful May afternoon, I left the library at five, dropped Smoky Joe off at the cottage, and drove to the gym. I was puffing away on the elliptical when Billy walked over, a broad grin on his face.

  “My mother’s coming to visit,” he said softly so no one could hear us.

  I stopped the machine and stared at him. “What made her change her mind about coming back here? From spending time with her, I got the impression she was terrified of the person she believes killed your father and Daphne.”

  Robby nodded. “Don’t I know it. A complete turnaround. I think it took my sister’s death sinking in to make her think how it could have been prevented if only she’d spoken up years ago. She said she’s tired of being afraid and will tell the police everything she knows.”

  I hugged him. “I’m so glad. When is she coming?”

  “Next Tuesday. I’m taking a few days off so we can spend time together,” Billy said. “Do you have any suggestions where we might go? From what she’s told me, she and her husband rarely go out.”