The Silence of Memory by M. Lee Prescott

Author:M. Lee Prescott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M. Lee Prescott
Published: 2015-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

“Carol Martin identified all the people on the video, mostly regular customers,” Greta said, as all four of them viewed the dry cleaner’s grainy security footage.

“And her lover,” Pete said as the team watched Steele Rubin enter the gallery.

“Who?” Greta asked, staring at Pete.

“Martin and Rubin were doin’ the nasty,” Pete said, leaning back in his chair and receiving a disapproving look from his boss.

“Poor Claire,” she said. “Does she know?”

“We don’t think so,” Demaris said as Stevens fast-forwarded the tape. The last person who entered was a young man, whom Stevens identified as Sonny Wilkerson. He worked part-time for Margery, cleaning the gallery.

“Would you three like to order dinner?” Demaris asked. “I’m going to try to get home after we talk to Carol Martin, but you can put in your orders with Tilly.”

“Hill’s making chili so I’m headed home,” Pete said. “You guys are welcome to come. She always makes gallons.”

“Count me in,” Greta said.

Stevens nodded. “Sure, thanks, if it’s not too much trouble?”

A knock at the back door sent Stevens to open it.

“Greta, can you and Brendan assemble any notes you’ve made about the activities of Parker and Franklin on the day they died?” Demaris asked. “Harrison, too. Pete, before you sit down with us, please step out and call Lee Myers. I want to talk with her in the morning.”

“Will do, boss.”

After their visitor entered, Greta and Stevens retreated to the kitchen area and Pete stepped out the other door to make the call. Demaris stood to greet Carol Martin.

“Ms. Martin, thank you for coming on such short notice. We won’t keep you long. Can we offer you something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Shall we, then?” He indicated the chairs and love seat at the far end of the room. With a glance at Greta and Stevens at the kitchen counter, she hurried across the room and sat on the love seat. Demaris took one of the upholstered chairs at her side.

Martin appeared to be in her midthirties, her shoulder-length ash-blond hair straight and tucked behind her ears. She wore tight designer jeans, a beige fitted cotton jacket, and a multicolored scarf round her long, slender neck. She was pretty but unremarkable except for sparkling brown eyes, which appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“Nice to see you again. As I said at the gallery, I am sorry for your loss. Had you worked for Ms. Franklin for long?”

“Fifteen years. She took me on right after college. I love the gallery. It’s only part-time, of course, since Marge couldn’t afford to pay much, but it was my passion.”

“Do you have other jobs?”

“Yes, I work as a bookkeeper for a number of local businesses, and I’m also a writer.”

“Oh?”

“Beach romances. They sell moderately well in local shops. I’ve got five. They’re all self-published.”

“Good for you.”

“Is this why you wanted to see me? To ask about my work? I believe I told your detectives and the Mattapoisett police everything I know about Marge’s activities the day she died.

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