Daughters of the Lake(56)

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, taking a few deep breaths and giving Alaska a scratch behind the ears.

“No trouble at all.” Simon grinned. “I was just getting to know your detective.”

Nick stood up as Kate joined them, eyeing her cousin. “Simon, will you get me something to drink?” she said, wanting him out of the room for a minute.

“Coffee or tea?” He sniffed.

“Surprise me.”

When he had gone, she turned to Nick.

“Hi,” she said, settling into the armchair across from him. “Thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “I’ve been wondering all day what this was about, actually.”

Kate ran a hand through her hair. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But he was here now, and she had to tell him something. It might as well be the truth.

“I’d start off by saying this is going to sound crazy, but I think you’ve heard that phrase enough from me for one lifetime, and frankly, I’m tired of saying it.”

He chuckled and leaned back, crossing his legs. “Go on, Kate. What’s this all about?”

She reached into her purse and pulled out the photograph she had put into her wallet for safekeeping.

“I think I know why you can’t find any information about our victim,” Kate said, sliding the photo across the coffee table toward Detective Stone. “You’re looking in the wrong century.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Nick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.

“I’m not sure what to say about this, Kate,” he said, picking up the photo to get a better look. “Could it be her? Maybe. There’s a resemblance, sure. But I think that’s all there is to it.”

Kate was silent for a moment as he stared at the photograph.

“It really does look like her, though,” he said. He shook his head as he stared at the image. “I’m assuming this is the husband you mentioned?”

Kate nodded. “That’s him. This is why I couldn’t find anyone resembling him in your treasure trove of mug shots.”

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“In one of the trunks upstairs,” she told him. “Simon and I were looking for old mementoes to display. The other couple in the picture are my great-grandparents. Harrison and Celeste Connor, the people who built this house. We think it might have been taken sometime around 1905.”

Nick leaned back and let out a sigh. “This doesn’t make any sense, you know,” he said, eyeing her. “The condition of the body . . . There’s no way she could’ve died a century ago.”

“I know.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if we don’t get a break, this is going to slip into cold-case territory. We’ve got a murdered woman and a baby, and every lead we’ve had has taken us down a dead end.”

He didn’t tell her that if she and Kevin hadn’t been so close to Johnny Stratton himself, they’d have been building a case, however flimsy, against them.

“Johnny wants me to keep at it, but the only clue we have—the Anderson Mills tag on her dressing gown—is pointing us right into the center of your mystery.”

“That’s right!” Kate said. “That is, at least, a shred of proof that I’m not making all of this up. Mary Jane’s thrift shop here in town hasn’t carried any vintage nightgowns like that. Sure, she might have bought it someplace else but . . . How else could that tag be explained?”

“I have no idea,” Nick said. “I really don’t. Did you find anything else in those trunks?”

Kate smiled. “Not anything too helpful. This morning I was looking for datebooks. I found a bunch of them, actually.”

“Why datebooks?”

“I thought I might find some names in them. ‘Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, dinner, April twenty-fifth.’ To help me search online for who this woman and her husband were.”

“But I don’t get it. Even if you found the right name, how would you know it was the right name?”

“Well, I think I already know her first name. That’s the thing. I was talking to my cousin and I blurted out a name when I was mentioning the woman. ‘Addie can wait,’ I said to him. I was looking for that particular name in the datebooks, but I didn’t find it. All of the couples are referenced by the husband’s name. ‘The Harrison Connors,’ for example.”

He nodded. “Ah, yes. That’s how they did it back then, didn’t they?”

“Supremely unhelpful,” Kate said. “I don’t know what to do now. It seems like I’m in front of that brick wall again.”

Nick leaned forward, putting an elbow on his knee and resting his chin on his palm.

“You could just let it go,” he said. “This is a police matter, Kate. It’s not up to you to solve this crime.”

“I don’t agree!” she said, louder than she intended. She pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the fireplace. “I’m the one who’s dreaming about her. She washed up on the beach in front of my parents’ home. This feels really personal to me. And, forgive me, but there’s no way you are going to find a living, breathing person who is responsible for her death. If her murder is going to be solved, it is up to me.”