To Honor and Trust (23 page)

She shook her head. “I don't know, but I think we'll soon find out.”

Callie sat wringing her hands in the office of the clubhouse superintendent. The two detectives, as well as Mr. Crocker, sat in a semicircle facing her. She'd been in the office for only a few minutes, and already she felt like a condemned criminal.

Her stomach tightened as she looked around the group. “Could someone tell me why I was brought here?”

“We'll get to that in just a minute. For now, we're the ones asking the questions, Miss Deboyer.” Detective Fitch looked at a pad of paper. “When did you first become acquainted with Maude Murphy?”

“When she came to work for the Bridgeport family this year. She arrived on Bridal Veil shortly after the rest of us had arrived from Indianapolis. She was hired to take the place of the former nanny, who got married.”

Fitch twisted his mustache. “And what about Archie Penniman? How long have you known him?”

Callie couldn't imagine why the detectives were asking these questions. Nothing seemed to make sense. “I met him at the tennis courts. Thomas Bridgeport and I took classes for a short time.”

“How come you stopped the lessons? Afraid you'd be connected to him somehow?”

“I don't know what you mean by that question.” She folded her hands tight in her lap. “I asked Mrs. Bridgeport if we could discontinue the lessons because Mr. Penniman had been quite forward with me. I became uncomfortable in his company. I think it would be appropriate if you told me why you're asking these questions.”

Detective Jensen nudged Fitch. “I'll take over.” The lanky detective took the pad of paper from his partner. “Here's the thing, Miss Deboyer—and I think you already know this, but during our investigation we discovered that Maude Murphy is Archie Penniman's mother.”

Callie gasped as a sick feeling washed over her. Archie's mother? There had to be some kind of mistake.

Several moments passed before Callie could gain enough control to speak. “That isn't possible. They don't even know each other.” Her thoughts raced and she massaged her temples, trying to recall the events of the day. Archie had already entered the house when she'd arrived downstairs earlier in the morning. And Maude had agreed to accept his offer of help carrying the luggage, but there had been no sign of recognition between them. Had they even spoken to each other? She couldn't recall. Their names were different, but Maude had said she'd been married previously.

“They do know each other, Miss Deboyer, and they are mother and son. As a matter of fact, the two of them have been in cahoots stealing from the guests on this island.”

Callie's mind spun as she attempted to make sense of what the detective was telling her. For a moment she felt as though she might faint. “Mrs. Murphy came highly recommended to
Mrs. Bridgeport by Harriet Winslow. Mrs. Murphy worked for the Winslow family for many years as their nanny.”

“Did she?” He tapped his notepad. “Not according to our information.”

Callie slumped like a wilting flower in need of a drink. “But I don't understand. I saw her deliver the letter to Mrs. Bridgeport, who accepted the recommendation of her friend. Mrs. Murphy told me about her service with the Winslow children. I don't understand any of this or why you're questioning me.”

The lanky detective clucked his tongue. “I suppose we might just as well be forthright with you, Miss Deboyer. We have certain concerns that you may have assisted Mrs. Murphy, Mr. Penniman, or both of them in the jewelry thefts.”

The blood drained from Callie's face as a loud rush of sound whirled in her ears. She leaned forward and gasped for air. If she fainted, she would slip to the floor in a giant heap. Though she didn't want to make a spectacle of herself, the cool tile against her cheek would be most welcome right now.

“Are you feeling ill, Miss Deboyer?” Rotund Detective Fitch was leaning forward and peering at her.

She stared into his dark piercing eyes. “I'll be fine in just a moment.”

He stood and she heard his retreating footsteps. Soon he returned and waved a folded newspaper in front of her face. “Get a cool cloth from someone. It's warm in here, and she's been caught unaware by all of this.”

A chair scraped against the floor, and she heard Mr. Crocker call to one of the clubhouse servants. Soon she had a cool cloth and a glass of water. Regaining her composure as best she could, Callie held the damp cloth to her forehead.

“I had nothing to do with any thefts on this island or
elsewhere, gentlemen. I don't know how you arrived at such an assumption, but your accusations are without merit. I have never stolen anything in my life.”

Callie adjusted the cloth from her forehead to her right temple. If only the throbbing in her head would cease. A sickening fear assailed her. Did these men truly think she was a thief?

Detective Fitch continued to stare at her while pulling on the end of his mustache. “I have a list, Miss Deboyer. We'd like you to tell us your whereabouts for the times and dates on this paper.”

He thrust the paper in her direction. She struggled to focus as her trembling fingers took the paper from his hand. She tried to calm her nerves, but the paper rattled between her fingers as she scanned the dates and times that had been penned in a scrawling script.

“These appear to be times when I would have been on outings with the children or when I stayed with them at Fair Haven during the evenings. Often I went with the family to dinner at the clubhouse and then would accompany the children back to the house.”

“From what we've been told, the other servants left in the evening, and it was just you and Mrs. Murphy there during the nighttime hours with the family. Is that correct?”

“Yes. The other servants remained overnight only if Mrs. Bridgeport was entertaining and they were needed until late into the evening. Those occasions are quite rare, since most socializing takes place here at the clubhouse.”

Mr. Crocker gave a firm nod of approval. “We do encourage the guests to host their events here—that's why these beautiful facilities were constructed, after all.”

The detective appeared uninterested in the superintendent's
comment—his gaze remained fixed upon Callie. “Here's the problem, Miss Deboyer. With no one to vouch for where you were on these dates and times, and with the information we've gathered, we cannot eliminate you as a suspect.”

“But the children would have been with me. Do you think I could take three children, furtively enter a cottage, and steal jewels? That doesn't make any sense.”

“If you can account for your time and prove you had the children with you, I'd tend to agree.” Detective Jensen appeared more convinced than Detective Fitch.

“She's already said that she can't.” Fitch glared at his partner. “I'm not going to take the word of children. After all, she's likely already coached them on what they should say if they're ever questioned about where they've been.”

Callie couldn't believe her ears. This man was convinced she was a thief. “If you would speak to Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeport, I know they will vouch for my character as well as my whereabouts on the dates in question.” She took a long slow breath in an effort to calm down. “Mrs. Bridgeport was always informed of my outings with the children.”

“Then maybe we should talk to her.” Detective Fitch gestured to his partner. “Why don't you see if you can locate Mrs. Bridgeport.”

Callie shook her head. “That will be impossible. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeport left for Biscayne yesterday, which is where I should be right now. Their daughter, Daisy, is in the hospital and could well be at death's door. That's where we were going when you arrived at Fair Haven. Please tell me: What must I do to convince you of my innocence?”

Before either of the detectives could answer, a burly man with a bulbous nose and wearing a shabby suit filled the doorway
to the superintendent's office. “I think you'll want to see this, Detective Fitch.” The man stepped into the room and placed a small trunk on the superintendent's desk.

Callie scooted to the edge of her chair. “That belongs to me. Why do you have it in your possession?”

Keeping his gaze fastened on the small trunk, the man leaned down and whispered into the detective's ear. Then he backed away and stood by the door without offering Callie a reply. Fitch stood and lifted the lid of the trunk. His eyes opened wide as he peered into the trunk and then glowered at Callie.

“If this is your trunk, then it appears you've been lying to us.” He turned the trunk toward her and tipped it slightly.

Callie's mouth dropped open at the sight, and her heart raced a new beat. “Th-those are not mine.” She attempted to lick her lips, but her mouth had turned dry. “I don't know how they got into my trunk.”

Fitch pressed his lips into a thin, tight line as he lifted jewels from the trunk. “I'm sure they aren't yours, Miss Deboyer, but you've already said this is your trunk. Why don't you tell me how these expensive pieces of jewelry happened to find their way into
your
trunk?”

“The only persons who could have put them in there would be Mrs. Murphy or Archie Penniman. Both of them had access to the trunks, but I couldn't tell you who put the jewelry inside. The only thing I can say for certain is that I have never seen those pieces before, and I did not put them in my trunk.”

Detective Fitch leaned back in his chair. “This isn't looking good for you, Miss Deboyer.”

“You've already told me that, Detective. It is my opinion you should be questioning Mrs. Murphy and Mr. Penniman rather than wasting your time with me.”

His lips curved beneath his mustache. “Since there is no doubt of their guilt, they are being detained, and I can question them at any time. You, however, are a different story. Once you leave Bridal Veil, I'm told you will depart for Indianapolis. Attempting to question you after your departure would prove impossible.”

“I have told you everything I know—which is nothing. I didn't even know Maude and Archie were related—a fact I still find difficult to believe.”

He pointed to the trunk. “Please consider the information we have at hand, Miss Deboyer. You cannot account for your whereabouts during at least some of these robberies; you know both Mrs. Murphy and Mr. Penniman; the jewelry that has gone missing is in a small trunk you've admitted belongs to you, and . . .”

When he didn't complete his final remark, Callie frowned. “And, what?”

“And both of them have told us you were involved.”

“What? How dare they?” Callie sucked in a breath of air. “Well, I suppose I can believe they'd say anything to save themselves, but I'm astonished you would take their word over mine. Exactly what involvement do they claim I've had in these evil deeds?”

He arched one brow. “They say you helped them locate homes where they could steal jewelry, that you told them when there would be opportunity to enter the homes, and they said you agreed to carry the jewels in your trunk.” Tapping his notepad, he peered at the paper. “And Mrs. Murphy said you agreed to see that the jewels were sold at a tidy profit when you returned to Indianapolis.”

Callie couldn't believe her ears. “Why would they entrust
that jewelry to me, Mr. Fitch? Why wouldn't Mrs. Murphy take the jewels in her own trunk?”

Appearing unconvinced by her remarks, the detective hiked a shoulder. “I have no idea why any of you did what you did, Miss Deboyer. It would help if you could at least account for your whereabouts. Try to think. Is there no one who can vouch for you?”

“The golf pro was with me on some of the afternoons you've listed there. He was helping Thomas with his science and botany lessons, and he went with us to the beach and to the woods on many of those afternoons. Could you send someone to fetch him?”

“You're speaking of the golf pro, you said?” The detective crossed his legs.

“Yes.” Callie glanced out the window, where the earlier rain shower had steadily worsened into a downpour. “You could probably find him at the workers' quarters since he wouldn't be able to give lessons in this rain.”

Mr. Crocker peered at her as though she'd lost her senses. “The workers' quarters?” He shook his head and turned to the detectives. “I believe you'll find Mr. Townsend in his suite upstairs or perhaps in the dining room.”

“No. There must be some mistake. I'm speaking of Wesley, who teaches at the golf course. He is an employee, not a guest.”

“On the contrary, Miss Deboyer. Mr. Townsend agreed to assist us by acting as the golf pro, but he and his family are guests in the hotel. I don't know how you came to the conclusion he was living in the workers' quarters.”

The room seemed to swirl around her, and she massaged her temples. Wesley was related to Blanche Townsend and Helena Kennebec, two of Mrs. Bridgeport's acquaintances who were
staying at the clubhouse? “Are you absolutely certain we're talking about the same man?”

Mr. Crocker nodded. “Absolutely. In fact, I'll go and fetch him right now.”

Callie clutched her handkerchief in her palm. Her heart shattered. He'd said his family was wealthy, but she hadn't imagined they were here on the island—staying in the clubhouse. He'd obviously been toying with her affections. No wealthy family would allow any bonds between a governess and one of their sons. And he knew that as well as she. How could she face him now? “I don't know if I want to speak with him at this moment, Mr. Crocker.”

Detective Fitch uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to rest his forearms across his thighs. “It really doesn't matter what you want, Miss Deboyer. I want to question Mr. Townsend and see what he has to say about the dates and times you allege he was with you.”

Callie couldn't grasp what was happening. Only hours ago she'd been packing to depart for Biscayne. Only hours ago she'd believed that Maude Murphy was a strange but kind woman who cared about her and the Bridgeport children. Only hours ago she'd believed Wesley was a golf pro living in the workers' quarters. Only hours ago she'd thought he loved her.