The Shadow Box(70)

Another album titled Links between C and S took my breath away.

Every shot pertained to my life or Sallie Benson’s. There were Ford and Alexander at the yacht club; Griffin and me dancing at the governor’s inaugural ball; Griffin and several members of the Last Monday Club—including Wade Lockwood, Edward Hawke, and Neil Coffin—the four members, counting Griffin, who lived at Catamount Bluff; me guest lecturing a seminar at Connecticut College. I tried to tell if they were stock photos or if Fenwick388 had taken them herself—I couldn’t be sure.

But the ones of Sallie were all publicity shots for her design business, probably pulled from her website: Sallie in a showroom smiling and holding up fabric swatches, at her desk piled high with sample books, in an Architectural Digest feature, and on a dock with her husband and kids, all waving at the camera.

The last photo was of a newspaper article about Daniel Benson and how domestic violence charges against him had been dropped by Griffin Chase. Beneath it, Fenwick388 had written two sociopaths.

My hands shook, hovering over the keyboard. I wanted to message Fenwick388 about her photos, but what I really needed was to talk to her. I didn’t have my cell phone—and couldn’t use it anyway—and I had no way to get to a store to get a prepaid phone.

The Reids still had a landline. Many of us who lived along the shoreline still did, because of how often coastal storms knocked out the power. I knew Jackie’s number by heart. I wrote a private message to Fenwick388.

Hello. I saw your posts on the WHERE IS CLAIRE BEAUDRY CHASE group page, and I am curious about a few things and might have some information in return. If you are interested in speaking, I will be at this number for the next hour.

I gave her Jackie’s number, sent her a friend request, then settled back to wait and stare at the phone. That’s when I saw the note in Jackie’s handwriting tacked to a bulletin board above the desk:

Clear=Claire?

Scary lady who lives in the shadows=shadow box?

Mermen???

Lost boy in enchanted castle . . .

Scary crows.

Gargoyles?

I frowned, trying to make any sense at all about what the words might mean. I grabbed a sheet of paper and had just started copying the note, writing the first three lines to look at later, when the house phone rang. My heart skittered as I answered.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hello,” the voice said. “May I speak to Anne?”

“This is Anne.”

“This is Fenwick388,” she said. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me what you know about Claire’s case. I saw the photos on your page, and I read what you said about Griffin Chase. I was wondering what made you call him a sociopath . . .”

The line was silent for a moment.

“Are you a reporter?” she asked.

“No.”

“What’s your interest in the case?”

“I’m local,” I said. “I know Claire’s artwork. And I read about her husband in the paper.”

Again, silence.

“Please tell me why you called him that,” I said, pressing. “And why you have so many personal pictures of Claire. Like the ones of her entering the gallery last week. In the Facebook group you mention the courthouse. Do you know Griffin from there?”

“There and other places,” she said.

I concentrated on her voice. Did it sound familiar? Had I met this woman? Were we friends?

“Why do you think there’s a link between what happened to Claire and what happened to Sallie Benson?” I asked.

“I’m in the process of putting that together.”

“Are you a cop?” I asked.

She laughed. “Far from it. Look, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’ve got to go.”

I knew I had to tell her something to grab her attention and keep her talking, so I could find out exactly how she was connected to my husband and to what had happened to me.

“He does hate women,” I said. “You’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“Griffin Chase. You’re right about him.”

“Yes, I am,” she said slowly. “But how do you know that?”

“By the way he treats his wife when he thinks no one can see.” I swallowed hard. “And because of something he did a long time ago. To a young woman.”

She didn’t say anything for so long that I thought she had hung up.

“You’re talking about Ellen, aren’t you?” she asked finally.

“Yes,” I said, shocked to hear her name. “Did you know her?”

“Only briefly but I know why he killed her. It’s because of something he did in Cancún. To my best friend. And Ellen saw. He couldn’t let her tell.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Meet me,” she said. “Or I’ll come to you, right now. Just tell me where you are.”

“Do you know Hubbard’s Point?” I asked. And then I told her about the path at the end of the beach.





39





JACKIE


Jackie had planned to get to work early to do some bookkeeping and send out invoices for pieces bought from Claire’s nearly sold-out show. On her way to the gallery, she stopped at the high school track and ran three miles. Her work clothes were in the station wagon or so she thought. When she finished her last lap, sweating and out of breath, looking forward to getting to the gallery and taking a shower in the upstairs apartment, and got to the car, she glanced into the back seat and didn’t see her duffel bag.