asking.”
“ We were at our naturist meeting,” said Chad. “In Galax. There were plenty of witnesses.”
I nodded to him and headed toward the back gate, leaving Nancy to get the names of the witnesses and the other two women on the labyrinth walk. It was a walk of about twenty feet from the back edge of the concrete slab to the gate. The shape of the garden was square, like the house, and I judged one side of the hedge to be close to sixty feet in length. Sixty by sixty with a twenty-foot square slab smack dab in the middle. Those Victorians liked their symmetry.
The gate had been recently painted and looked to be original to the house. It was wrought iron and heavy. It was also closed and latched with a new padlock on the clasp. The lock was hanging open.
“ Check and see if Thelma has a key on her,” I called back to Nancy.
I lifted the latch and the gate swung in easily. I knelt down and saw evidence of recent painting and what was probably some spilled oil used on the hinges.
“ No key, boss,” Nancy called back. “She doesn’t even have any pockets.”
“ Look for her purse then.”
I walked around the east side of the hedge toward the house, not knowing what I was looking for. It was a good hedge and would probably be fine for keeping a flock of sheep out of Old Mrs. McCarty’s back yard, but it would hardly have stopped anyone who wanted to come in, lock or no lock.
“ We don’t see a purse,” said Meg.
“ Dave,” I said, “why don’t you put on some gloves and look in the bushes? See if her purse was tossed in there somehow. She wouldn’t have gone out without her purse. Not without a pocket to put her own keys in, not to mention the one that Chad gave her.”
Dave gave me a mock salute and began his search while the rest of us went back inside to wait for the ambulance.
•••
There are some beautiful women in St. Germaine. Meg, for one. Reisa Walker for another. But in the past two days, the company of beautiful women had risen (in my mind at least) by one hundred percent. Muffy Lemieux was a vision of dark red hair, emerald eyes, a voluptuous figure and a baby doll face that projected innocence and sensuality in equal measure; a dangerous combination to be sure. Lacie Ravencroft, in contrast, was dark—dark complexion, thick dark hair, brown, almond eyes, more well-toned than voluptuous, startlingly tall with a lean but curvaceous body, and a smile that would make Pete give away free pie if she asked him to. So I admit that I wasn’t totally put out when I found myself interrogating her in the kitchen of the Holy Grounds Coffee Shop.
Nancy had given me a spare pad and I pulled it from my shirt pocket along with a pen, also courtesy of my well-prepared lieutenant.
“ Name?” I asked. “Just for the record.”
“ Lacie Ravencroft,” she said, trying out her low wattage smile for my reaction.
“ No. I mean your real name.”
“ Pardon?”
“ Your real name.” I gave her my own low wattage smile. “What’s your real name? C’mon,” I cajoled, “ Lacie Ravencroft?”
Her smile increased to forty watts. I could feel it from four feet away. “It’s really Lacie,” she said. “Well, Lacie Peckelsham. Ravencroft is my professional name.” She turned her smile up to fifty.
I smiled back at her, matching her tooth for tooth. It was nice for a couple of moments—just two people smiling at each other like a couple of game show hosts, but my face was beginning to tire and I wasn’t as young as I used to be. “Occupation?” I finally asked, feeling my smile slip down my chest. “Just for the record.”
“ Licensed Christian massage therapist.”
“ You left St. Germaine on Sunday afternoon?”
“ Late afternoon. We were out at the labyrinth until about four. Then the guests left and we headed for Galax about an hour later. We’ve been there since Sunday night.”
“ Galax, Virginia?”
“ Yes.”
“ A little chilly for nudists, isn’t it?” I
“ We were at our naturist meeting,” said Chad. “In Galax. There were plenty of witnesses.”
I nodded to him and headed toward the back gate, leaving Nancy to get the names of the witnesses and the other two women on the labyrinth walk. It was a walk of about twenty feet from the back edge of the concrete slab to the gate. The shape of the garden was square, like the house, and I judged one side of the hedge to be close to sixty feet in length. Sixty by sixty with a twenty-foot square slab smack dab in the middle. Those Victorians liked their symmetry.
The gate had been recently painted and looked to be original to the house. It was wrought iron and heavy. It was also closed and latched with a new padlock on the clasp. The lock was hanging open.
“ Check and see if Thelma has a key on her,” I called back to Nancy.
I lifted the latch and the gate swung in easily. I knelt down and saw evidence of recent painting and what was probably some spilled oil used on the hinges.
“ No key, boss,” Nancy called back. “She doesn’t even have any pockets.”
“ Look for her purse then.”
I walked around the east side of the hedge toward the house, not knowing what I was looking for. It was a good hedge and would probably be fine for keeping a flock of sheep out of Old Mrs. McCarty’s back yard, but it would hardly have stopped anyone who wanted to come in, lock or no lock.
“ We don’t see a purse,” said Meg.
“ Dave,” I said, “why don’t you put on some gloves and look in the bushes? See if her purse was tossed in there somehow. She wouldn’t have gone out without her purse. Not without a pocket to put her own keys in, not to mention the one that Chad gave her.”
Dave gave me a mock salute and began his search while the rest of us went back inside to wait for the ambulance.
•••
There are some beautiful women in St. Germaine. Meg, for one. Reisa Walker for another. But in the past two days, the company of beautiful women had risen (in my mind at least) by one hundred percent. Muffy Lemieux was a vision of dark red hair, emerald eyes, a voluptuous figure and a baby doll face that projected innocence and sensuality in equal measure; a dangerous combination to be sure. Lacie Ravencroft, in contrast, was dark—dark complexion, thick dark hair, brown, almond eyes, more well-toned than voluptuous, startlingly tall with a lean but curvaceous body, and a smile that would make Pete give away free pie if she asked him to. So I admit that I wasn’t totally put out when I found myself interrogating her in the kitchen of the Holy Grounds Coffee Shop.
Nancy had given me a spare pad and I pulled it from my shirt pocket along with a pen, also courtesy of my well-prepared lieutenant.
“ Name?” I asked. “Just for the record.”
“ Lacie Ravencroft,” she said, trying out her low wattage smile for my reaction.
“ No. I mean your real name.”
“ Pardon?”
“ Your real name.” I gave her my own low wattage smile. “What’s your real name? C’mon,” I cajoled, “ Lacie Ravencroft?”
Her smile increased to forty watts. I could feel it from four feet away. “It’s really Lacie,” she said. “Well, Lacie Peckelsham. Ravencroft is my professional name.” She turned her smile up to fifty.
I smiled back at her, matching her tooth for tooth. It was nice for a couple of moments—just two people smiling at each other like a couple of game show hosts, but my face was beginning to tire and I wasn’t as young as I used to be. “Occupation?” I finally asked, feeling my smile slip down my chest. “Just for the record.”
“ Licensed Christian massage therapist.”
“ You left St. Germaine on Sunday afternoon?”
“ Late afternoon. We were out at the labyrinth until about four. Then the guests left and we headed for Galax about an hour later. We’ve been there since Sunday night.”
“ Galax, Virginia?”
“ Yes.”
“ A little chilly for nudists, isn’t it?” I
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