Page 185 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Thirty-One

The partly cloudy afternoon gave way to early evening as Nate sat on his office couch, staring out the window at nothing in particular while his left eye twitched and he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He’d come over to the station, hoping to get some work done after he’d stood back and helplessly watched Callie fall apart in her mother’s arms. His goal had been to move the investigation forward by talking to Sanchez and going through the box of Samantha Fletcher’s items, but after his quick calls to The Greasy Spoon and On The Rocks, he’d plunked himself down on the lumpy cushion and hadn’t moved since. All in all, his “big day” hadn’t gotten him very far. Danielle Deluca had shared a lot of good information, but she certainly hadn’t pointed him toward any smoking guns. No one at The Greasy Spoon recognized Samantha Fletcher’s name, and the longtime owner of On The Rocks was out to sea on his pleasure boat for the next several weeks. Basically, he was back to where he’d started, and he’d made Callie cry in the process.

“Damn,” he said as he thought of their tense conversation on the ferry. He’d lost his cool and let the lack of answers and his general frustrations with the case turn into an excuse to be careless with the one person he wanted to protect the most. “Damn,” he said again, scrubbing at his face as he steamed out a long breath. Callie was counting on him to get this right, but how could he tell her that he had no idea what to do—that for the first time in his career he questioned whether he had what it was going to take to get the results she needed? He was a small island sheriff—not some big-city detective. He knew the same law enforcement procedures and techniques everyone else did—he could interrogate a perp with the best of them—but he wasn’t sure he had the chops to solve a twenty-two-year-old cold case that was looking more and more like a homicide investigation. “Fuck,” he murmured, hating his uncertainties.

Gaining his feet, he grabbed the shopping bag they’d brought back from Roxbury and walked down the hall to the small interview room, shutting the door behind him. He moved to the filing cabinet tucked in the corner and pulled a pair of gloves from a box, several evidence bags from a container that was rarely ever used, and a chux pad—his only option for creating a sterile barrier between potential evidence and the table. After gloving up, he lifted the small box, careful to keep it directly next to but off his temporary workspace. He opened the flaps and gently lifted out the pale pink blanket Callie had slept with as a little girl, bringing it closer to his nose when he caught the slightest hint of some sort of perfume. Had Samantha smelled like wildflowers? He photographed the item, then put the child’s blanket in a plastic bag, sealing it with tamper-proof tape and setting it in a new box he would keep here at the station. If he was lucky, there was going to be something among the odds and ends to bag up and send off to the fingerprint technicians over on the mainland.

“Hell, yeah,” he whispered as he pulled out dozens of paintbrushes held in a bunch with a thick elastic band. There had to be something to work with here. He took more pictures, bagged the items, taped and labeled them, and moved on, reaching in again and grinning as he took out a small wooden jewelry box. This right here was where they were going to get their prints—dozens of them, if he guessed right. Some would undoubtedly be Danielle’s and anyone else’s who’d touched the piece over the last twenty-two years, but Samantha most likely left some behind too.

He sat and carefully opened the lid, took out a tiny hospital band, and read FemaleFletcher beneath the protective plastic. It had to be Callie’s. He wanted to keep it aside—to give Callie a piece of her past—but for now he couldn’t. Next he lifted cheap imitation gold earrings from one of the small recesses and a tarnished silver charm bracelet with an S in the center of a heart and a C next to it—not even close to the same quality as the locket Samantha had been gifted by her mystery man. He photographed and added the jewelry to his inventory, then peeked in the box Danielle had given him once more. There was nothing else. Rolling up the chux pad, he submitted it into its own bag, just in case hairs or fibers fell free, then separated the items that would stay with him here on the island from the ones that would go to the lab tomorrow. He took a moment to lock everything away in the filing cabinet, then shut off the light and went back to his office.

After sitting down at his desk, he unlocked his drawer and pulled out the baggie containing the locket he wished he’d known was evidence weeks ago. He dumped the jewelry into his palm, studying it with new interest, scrutinizing the ornate S among the pretty twists and swirls before he opened it and pressed his thumb into the small dip, wondering if Samantha had carried a picture of her daughter inside once upon a time. Sighing, he looked at the tiny 14k stamped toward the bottom, then closed it and opened it again, zeroing in on the tinier squiggle beneath the number/letter combination. He sat up in a rush. Was that a mistake with the engraver’s pen or one of those jeweler’s marks?

He dropped the piece of jewelry back in the plastic bag and grabbed his jacket, hurrying down the hall. “I’m gone for the day, Kay,” he called on his way out the door and got in the Tahoe, making the quick drive over to Just Antiques. The lights were off in the store, but the small residence to the right of the bigger building was lit up downstairs. He got out and jogged to the door, giving a knock.

“Just a minute,” he heard Bess call moments before she opened the door and smiled. “Nathan.”

He smiled back. “Ms. Bess.”

“Isn’t this a surprise?”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Nonsense.” She took his hand, giving him a gentle pull through the doorway. “You come in. I can get you some cookies and tea if you would like. I’ve just sat down for a cup of my own.”

He offered his arm on their way through the crowded living room. “I don’t want to be a bother. I just have a quick question for you.”

“Come join me at the table. I’ll get you some of the sugar cookies I’ve made.”

He just wanted answers, but he nodded and smiled, taking his seat like he’d been told. “That would be great.”

Minutes later, she served him half a dozen cookies and a large mug of tea.

He felt his eyes go huge. “Wow.”

“You’re all grown now and it’s cold outside. I want to see you eat every bite.”

He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that without going into some sort of sugar coma, but he was going to give it his best shot. “This is quite a treat.”

Bess sat down. “Now, what can I do to help you, Nathan?”

He pulled out the baggie from his pocket and dumped the locket in his hand. “Callie found this in your store.”

Bess tsked as she shook her head regretfully. “The poor dear. Being bothered by those horrible men and women all the time.”

“She’s doing okay,” he fibbed. “Callie’s tough,” he reminded himself as he thought of her crying in her mother’s arms.

“I wish they would all go home.”

“Hopefully they will soon.”

“A couple more snowfalls like the one we just had and that should take care of them.” She winked. “They won’t have anywhere to stand and do their pestering if they’re cold and the wind’s blowing like it does.”

He grinned. “We’ll cross our fingers.” He opened the locket, wanting to get down to business. “I was looking at this and I noticed that little squiggle there.” He pointed below the 14K symbol. “I’m wondering if it might be one of those jeweler’s marks.”

“Let’s see.” She took the locket and picked up the magnifying glass off a magazine on the table. “Yes, dear. That’s a jeweler’s mark.”

His excitement built with another discovery—a possible new direction to follow. “You’re pretty sure about that?”