“So everyone fears,” Fran said. “And everyone feels guilty. I’ve thought of that poor, injured little boy so often.”
It was my turn to look down at the tabletop. I couldn’t bear to tell them that Austin Lowe’s body had gone from the walk-in at Gus’s to a refrigerated box at the medical examiner’s office. Unless, one of them, or both of them, already knew that. I put out the bait. “When I was in Connecticut yesterday, I met with the Lowes’ insurance agent. He gave me his copy of the insurance examiner’s report. He told me it does draw a conclusion about who left the cigarette smoldering in the couch.”
Fran looked up sharply. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I brought it back in a sealed envelope. I’ll turn it over to Lieutenant Binder when he’s back in town tomorrow. I don’t want there to be any question about the integrity of the evidence.”
We said our good-byes, though they were both obviously preoccupied with what I’d said. The bell over the door jingled as I let myself out. I still had two stops to make.
Chapter 27
I left the Caprice parked in front of the frame shop and walked the few blocks to the Fogged Inn. I climbed onto the porch and glanced again at the list of “no’s.” Greeting guests with a long list of prohibited acts made more sense now that I knew Sheila hated being an innkeeper. I pressed the bell.
Footsteps clattered down the staircase, and then Michael Smith opened the front door. “Ms. Snowden. Lieutenant Binder was supposed to speak to you about bothering us at home.”
“He did. In fact, he spoke to me in my restaurant right after he met you outside. Why were you hanging around anyway?”
Michael glanced to either side of the porch, as if to make sure no one had observed us. “I think you had better come in.”
“Where’s Sheila?” I asked.
“Garden Club meeting.”
Our local garden club put on a fund-raiser at the Coast Guard station every year where they decorated fifty or so Christmas trees and auctioned them off for charity. As the calendar rolled over into advent, the preparations would be intense. I guessed that just like me, Sheila was trying to find a way to fit into her new community.
Michael didn’t ask me to sit or take off my coat, and I didn’t really expect him to. We stood face-to-face in the front hall.
“I’m only going to say this once, because I want you out of here before Sheila gets home. Leave us alone. Don’t come around here with that photo. Don’t ask upsetting questions about friends we left behind more than forty years ago. Just stop.”
“I can’t come around with the photo because someone stole it from me and stole the one at the yacht club. Any idea why someone would do that?”
“If you’re accusing me, you’re barking up the wrong tree. But in the interests of getting you to leave, I can think of several reasons. The photo is old and upsetting. Three of the people in it are no longer alive. Others were at the dance that night with partners they didn’t ultimately end up with. I imagine most of us want to forget that time. I certainly do.”
“You’re Quinn Walker’s father.” The effect on Michael was stunning. He recoiled as if the words were a physical slap. “That’s why you didn’t want me showing that photo around. She’s a dead ringer for you when you were younger. Phil Bennett told you about her, didn’t he?”
Michael’s bluster deflated. He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. He gestured me toward a seat at the table. I unzipped my jacket but didn’t take it off. I might have to leave quickly.
“Is it so obvious?” he asked.
I considered. “I made the connection because I saw the photo of you when you were twenty-one. I knew Quinn when she was that age.”
“So I was right to be worried about you showing that photo to everybody.”
“Is that why you stole it?”
He leaned forward on the table, bringing his face closer to mine. “I didn’t steal it. But I’m not sorry it’s gone.”
“Have you told Sheila about Quinn?”
“No, and I don’t intend to. Our childlessness has been an enduring wound for her. I don’t want to reopen it now. But I have no doubt Fran’s daughter is mine. One day I stood outside the window of the art supplies shop and watched her work. You may think she looks like me, but she’s really the spitting image of my mother. It makes me sad they never got to meet.” He fooled with a saltshaker, turning it over in his hands, scattering white grains on the maple tabletop. “I didn’t know Fran was pregnant when we split.”