A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(88)

Chelsea said, “I recognize a couple of them. That’s Allen, and that one is Gerhardt. I can’t see the other one’s face.”

They hurried through the field in silence for a time, and then Chelsea said, “I can’t believe they’re doing this. They all worked with Nick. They were supposed to be his friends, but now that he’s dead, they’ve all turned on me.”

When they reached the car, Jane started it and they moved off in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going now?” asked Chelsea.

“We’ll risk one more stop so I can make some arrangements. If you still want to do this when I’m ready, we’ll go.”

They went to Jane’s hotel on Niagara Falls Boulevard, where she used one of the computers in the hotel’s business center to make plane reservations.

She handed Chelsea a couple of pages printed from the computer. “Here’s your itinerary. You’ve got a plane leaving in three hours. That sounds like a long time but it isn’t, because we’ve got a lot to talk about before you leave.”

“Like what?”

“Some of it is unpleasant, but you need to know.”

They went upstairs to Jane’s room. Chelsea sat at the small table while Jane changed her clothes in the bathroom, and then came back and sat in the chair across from hers. Chelsea said, “What do you have to tell me?”

“I’ll start with the hard parts. Your boyfriend Nick was a thief. Hidden in your basement there is a set of burglary tools—a kit for breaking in to houses.”

Chelsea laughed, sounding partly sad and partly relieved. “That? That’s a mistake. He worked at one of those storage places. Sometimes people leave their stuff in storage and never come back. If they stop paying for a certain number of months, the storage people have to break in.”

Jane looked at her. “How do the mask and the gun fit into that job?”

“What are you talking about? Nick didn’t have a gun.”

“He didn’t show you a gun. He had one, and he kept it in the toolbox under the workbench. Loaded. There was a slim-jim for opening car locks, a crowbar, a set of bump keys that burglars use for opening house locks. He also hid some jewelry in the salt bags in the basement.”

“For me, maybe. It was probably presents he was hiding as a surprise.”

“Some was women’s jewelry. But I doubt that fifteen men’s watches, a dozen men’s rings, and four sets of cuff links and tie clasps were for you.”

Chelsea lowered her head and began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” said Jane. “I had to tell you now, before we go any further with this. I took pictures of those things with my phone.” She pushed the symbol to bring up her photo collection and handed it to Chelsea.

Chelsea looked at the pictures, one by one, and then handed the phone back to Jane. “Nick too.” She sobbed again, and kept crying for a time. “I saw that toolbox whenever I was down there—a couple of times a week, maybe. How could I be so stupid?”

“He was in the business of looking innocent, and he was pretty good at it, apparently. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe, but that’s the second thing you’ve told me isn’t my fault. I should be locked up for my own good. I can’t seem to pick a man who isn’t some kind of criminal.”

Jane patted her arm gently. “There are a lot of people who go through life unguarded and without suspicion, and some of them live long and happy lives. But if I were you, I’d probably not let the next man pick me.”

Chelsea gave a little smile. “That’s probably not a bad idea.”

“Right now it’s time to concentrate on staying safe while you make plans to have a future.”

“I don’t know much about what I want to do. Right now I want to get somewhere far away from Daniel Crane. I want to stop the clock, to stop having things happen, you know? I want to get past the things that have already happened, but mostly, I want to get away from here.”

“That’s what we’re about to do. Have you looked at your itinerary?”

Chelsea opened the folded papers and looked. “New York. Then Manchester, New Hampshire? What’s there?”

“A very nice, kind older woman will be at the Manchester airport. She’ll drive you the rest of the way. You’re going to an apartment in a small town. She and her son are people I’ve brought there for their protection, just like you. If you go through with this, you’ll have to remember that keeping their secret is part of the bargain you made. She—”

Chelsea cut her off. “I will. I promise.”

“Wait. Before you promise, I have to tell you more. The woman is named Mattie Sanders. Her son is Jimmy Sanders.”

Chelsea recoiled. “Is this all a trap or something? I thought you were trying to help me.”

“Jimmy is as innocent as you are. He didn’t kill Nick. He didn’t even want to fight with him. Nick swung at him, and he defended himself. He never did anything else at the time, and never saw him again.”

Chelsea looked at Jane in desperation. “Please don’t be lying to me.”

“I’m not. You can go now and never see me again. Or I can put you somewhere else alone, away from the Sanderses if you want. But you’d have nobody to talk to, nobody to protect you, nobody to even know it if something happened to you. I’d advise you to trust me, and to let me trust you.”