“Got to tell you, that went much better than I expected,” Virginia said. “Octavia has refused to answer most of my questions about the past.”
“Probably because she doesn’t have many answers and she doesn’t like the ones she does have,” Cabot said.
They were alone in the elevator of Virginia’s condo building. It was located only a few blocks from the Space Needle, but the view of the iconic Seattle landmark had been obstructed by a host of new business and residential towers.
The building had a large footprint – it covered a big chunk of a city block – but it was not a tower. In fact, it was only six stories high. The ground floor was home to some small shops, cafés and a coffeehouse.
The elevator stopped on the third floor. When the doors opened, he gripped the handle of the small, wheeled overnight bag that Virginia had taken to Lost Island and followed her out into the corridor.
“My place is at the end of the hall,” she said.
Cabot looked toward the far end of the corridor and noted the Exit sign marking the emergency stairs. No surprise. When he had gone apartment hunting after arriving in Seattle, he had only looked at units that were located near the fire stairs.
“What do you mean when you say Octavia doesn’t like the answers she does have?” Virginia asked.
Octavia had responded to the questions he’d asked, but she wasn’t able to supply anything that was new or substantive. She hadn’t even been aware of the death of her son-in-law or the fact that her daughter and granddaughter had been swept into Zane’s cult until after Kimberly had taken Virginia to live in the first compound outside of Wallerton.
“Your grandmother blames herself for having driven your mother into the cult,” he said.
Stunned, Virginia went very still, her key half inserted into the lock.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “Octavia blames my father for having destroyed my mother’s life. And she blames me for being the cause of my parents’ marriage. She thinks that if my mother hadn’t gotten pregnant, everything would have turned out differently.”
Cabot reminded himself that he wasn’t a trained psychologist. “Maybe I read her wrong,” he said. “Families are complicated.”
Virginia’s mouth tightened. “No kidding.”
“It’s just that there was something about her expression and her tone of voice when she answered my questions.”
“She’s angry and bitter.”
“That, too. But she doesn’t hold you responsible. Like I said, she blames herself.”
Virginia shoved the key into the lock. “Trust me, she blames me and my father. And she’s got a point. If it hadn’t been for me, my mother probably wouldn’t have ended up in Zane’s cult.”
“My mother’s father blamed me and my dad, too. The old man figured that if he disowned my mother, she would see the light, dump my father and go home. Instead, she wound up in the cult.”
“What makes you so sure you’re not wrong about your analysis of your grandfather? Maybe deep down he blamed himself for being so hard on your mother. That’s probably why he left you a little bequest.”
“Maybe.”
“At least my grandmother and I are still speaking to each other,” Virginia said.
“Don’t ever forget that.”
“Okay.”
The door of the neighboring apartment opened. A tiny, wiry woman who appeared to be somewhere between eighty-five and a hundred peered out. She was dressed in a sky-blue velour tracksuit and sturdy walking shoes. There were a lot of rings on her wrinkled fingers. She studied Cabot with undisguised curiosity and then beamed at Virginia.
“Oh, you’re back, dear,” she said. “I see you have a new friend. Are you going to introduce me?”
Virginia looked at her. “Hi, Betty. This is Cabot Sutter. Cabot, this is Betty Higgins.”
“How do you do, Ms. Higgins,” Cabot said.
“Call me Betty, dear. How long will you be staying?”
“I’m not staying,” Cabot said. “This is Virginia’s overnight bag. I’ve my own apartment on Second Avenue.”
“Just a few blocks away. Very convenient.” Betty switched her attention back to Virginia, eyes narrowing in a speculative manner. “He doesn’t look like one of your artist friends, dear.”
“No,” Virginia said. “Cabot’s in another line of work.”
“You mean he has a steady job? Oh, how nice. A position with benefits, perhaps?”
“It has a few,” Cabot allowed.
Betty smiled approvingly.
“Don’t get any ideas, Betty,” Virginia said. “Cabot is a… friend. From the old days.”
“What old days?” Betty snorted. “You’re too young to be able to talk about the old days.”
“Cabot and I were acquaintances for a time when we were kids,” Virginia said. “We lost track of each other until recently.”
“Ah, childhood friends,” Betty said. She brightened. “And now you’re reunited. Are you married, Cabot?”
“No, ma’am,” Cabot said.
Betty was practically sparkling now. “Excellent.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Cabot and I have had a long day,” Virginia said. “We’re going to go out, have a drink and get something to eat.”
“Lovely,” Betty said. She winked. “Don’t let me interfere with your date.” She made to close her door and stopped. “By the way, next time you schedule a repairman, feel free to leave the key with me. I’ll be happy to supervise. A woman who lives alone ought to be careful about letting strangers into her place when she’s not home. You just never know these days.”
Virginia went very still. “What are you talking about? I didn’t schedule any repairs while I was gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, then, it must have been someone the manager sent up. He looked like a plumber. He let himself in and your alarm didn’t go off, so obviously he had a key and the code.”
Virginia stared at her. “Yesterday was Saturday.”
“Yes, so I assumed it was an emergency of some sort. Can’t even imagine what plumbers charge for weekend jobs these days.” Betty paused. “Something wrong, dear?”
“No,” Virginia said, her voice strained. “You’re right, the manager must have sent someone up to check out an emergency.”
“What did the plumber look like?” Cabot asked.
Betty made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Like a plumber. He was wearing a uniform. Had a toolbox.”
“What color was his hair?” Cabot asked.
“What?” Betty frowned. “I’m not sure. Dark, I think, but I can’t say for certain. He was wearing a cap so I didn’t get a good look at him. He was on the tall side.”
“Any idea of his age?” Cabot pressed. “Young? Old?”
“Well, he moved like a young man but I can’t be sure of his age. Say, do you think there was something off about him?”
Virginia pulled herself together with a visible effort. “Probably not. I’ll check to make sure nothing is missing and then I’ll call the manager’s office tomorrow and find out what’s going on.”
“Yes, you do that,” Betty said. “See you tomorrow, dear. Maybe both of you.”
She winked at Cabot and closed her door.
Virginia got her door open. Cabot saw lights blink on the control panel of an alarm system. Virginia quickly punched in some numbers.
“Ever given out your code?” he asked neutrally.
“No. Well, my grandmother has it, but she’s the only other person who does.”
“Except for the security firm that installed your system.”
He followed her into the small foyer, set the bag aside and closed the door.
Virginia turned on the lights. “Let me take a wild guess. You think this plumber development is not a good thing.”
“What I’m thinking is that you had better have a look around your condo. But I’ll go first.”
He did a quick sweep of the small two-bedroom, two-bath space, checked the tiny balcony and then nodded at Virginia. Without a word she walked through the condo, going room by room. Along the way she opened closets and drawers.
A short time later she came to a halt in the living room and looked at him.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything missing,” she said. “If he did go through my stuff, he was very neat about it. But the thought of a stranger in here, touching my things… It makes me feel a little ill.”
“After a burglary or a break-in people often say they feel violated,” Cabot said. “It’s a natural reaction.”
Virginia glanced back toward the foyer. “My alarm system…”
“Is just an off-the-shelf piece of junk. Wouldn’t take a genius to put it out of commission for a while.”
She winced. “I was told it was top-of-the-line.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right, let’s go with the worst-case scenario. Say someone dressed as a plumber did break in while I was out of town. What on earth could he have been looking for?”
“The break-in can’t be a coincidence. Whoever he is, he must be linked to Brewster’s death. We’d better assume he came here looking for something and that he has some reason to think you might have it.”
Virginia put up both hands, palms out. “Wait, hold on, you’re going way too fast here. I think it’s called leaping to conclusions.”
“We conspiracy theorists tend to do that.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Virginia said. “What’s our next step? No point calling the police. Nothing is missing.”
“We need to take a look around your gallery.”
“At this hour? Why?”
“If I was looking for something and didn’t find it here, my next stop would be your place of business,” he said patiently.
“I’ve got an alarm system installed there. I haven’t been contacted by the security company or the police so…”
“Same brand as the system in here?”
She sighed. “I got a deal in exchange for adding the second system.”