“It’s Karen Bronson, Detective. I’m sorry we’re so late . . . we just had to crash last night . . . it was too long a drive and we were both so exhausted.”

“No, no, no, you did the right thing.” Decker cleared his throat. “So you’re planning on being here around eleven?”

“More like twelve . . . twelve-thirty. We’re getting a late start.”

“Okay.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s perfectly fine. We’ve been talking to a few of Angeline’s friends and I do have a couple of questions for you. Could I ask them now?”

A sigh. “Go ahead.” A pause. “Of course.”

“Are you familiar with the name John Latham?” Silence. “Does it ring any bells?”

A pause. “I don’t know the name . . . hold on, I’ll ask Jim.” Muffled voices and then she came back on the line. “Neither of us knows him. Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He came up in conjunction with Angeline. I was just wondering if she mentioned him to you.”

“No, she didn’t. Is he important?”

“Anyone associated with Angeline is important. I think he may live in a suburb outside of Boston. Did your daughter make weekend trips to Boston?”

“I have no idea. She kept in touch with us, but she rarely spoke about her private life and I . . . didn’t pry. I probably should have.”

Decker heard the sorrow in her voice. “She was a legal adult. You couldn’t have stopped her anyway.” No response. “Okay, if he becomes important, I’ll let you know. A few more questions. I found out from Julia Kramer that Angeline was studying eighteenth-century textiles. She was writing her thesis on the subject.”

“That’s correct. Textiles are her first love. In high school, she did a lot of textile design on her own. She painted material by hand. She taught herself batik and laser print. She experimented with lots of different materials.”

“Is that why she chose Littleton College?”

“Yes, of course. They have a wonderful art department. And she got a great scholarship. She deserved every penny they gave her. She’s a one of a kind, very gifted . . .” There was a sob. “She was, very, very talented.”

“I’d like to hear more about that. It helps me get a feel for who she was. Did she focus on textile design? Or was she talented at other things: drawing, painting—”

“Of course she could draw and paint. But she was excited by . . . how did she phrase it? She liked elevating crafts into works of art. Like her textile designs. She used to call it wearable art.”

“What other crafts did she like?”

“I don’t think Angeline ever met a craft she didn’t like: weaving, macramé, papier-mâché, stained glass, pottery, glass blowing—”

“Stained glass?”

“Yes, she was very good at it. She started at around fourteen. I didn’t relish the idea of her using knives and working with shards of glass, but she was careful. I think she only cut herself a couple of times.”

“It’s an unusual hobby.”

“With Angeline, the more unusual the better.”

“Any idea why she took up stained glass?”

“Like I said, she loved anything artistic and unusual. She was influenced by a woman named Clara Driscoll who worked at Louis Comfort Tiffany Studio—the lamp guy. She told me that the best designs were actually done by her and not by Tiffany even though he put his name on them. That appealed to her as an artist and a woman. Why are you asking about her art?”

“Just trying to get a feel for your daughter. It may be significant down the road.”

“Whatever I can do to help.” Her voice cracked. “Ask your questions, Detective.”

Decker said, “Mrs. Bronson—”

“Karen, please.”

“Karen then. I wouldn’t bring this up unless I thought it was important, so please forgive me in advance.”

“What . . .” Anguish in her voice. “Was she pregnant?”

“Did she intimate that to you?”

“No . . . I mean just the way you’re talking . . . was she pregnant?”

“I honestly don’t know. I haven’t gotten the report back.”

Her voice grew very soft. “How did she die?”

“I won’t know anything definite until I get the report.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Nothing I want to talk about over the phone. I do have another question for you. Please don’t take it personally. Before she was murdered, Angeline had acquired a collection of expensive handbags and designer shoes. Would you know anything about that?”

“No.” A long pause. “How expensive?”

“Bags over a thousand dollars and exclusive designer boots.”

“Oh my Lord . . . I . . . no, I don’t know anything about it.”

“That’s all I wanted to know. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“She couldn’t afford . . . maybe Lance Terry bought her gifts. He comes from money.”

“We asked him. He didn’t buy them. He did tell me that they broke up a year ago.”

“They did, but I thought they remained friends.”

That jibed with what Emily and Julia had said about Lance, that he had made booty calls to Angeline. “Any idea how she might have acquired those items?”

“No idea at all. She didn’t have that kind of money. Did . . . did she have an older man paying for these items? Is that who this Latham character is?”

“The Latham I’m investigating is in his thirties and appears too poor to afford those kinds of accessories. I’m not even sure what his relationship is to your daughter. He isn’t answering his phone, so I’d like to pay him a visit.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Latham lives in the Boston area, which is about an hour and a half from Greenbury without traffic. If I go visit him, I might not make it back before you get here. Would you like me to wait for you? There are other things I could do in the meantime.”

“How important is this Latham?”

“I feel he’s very important. And there are things I need to do in Boston. We’re too small to handle the lab work. The captain wanted it done correctly, so Boston sent out a team.”

She cleared her throat, but her voice choked up. “Where is . . . the body?”

“In Boston.”

There was a long pause. “Shouldn’t we meet you in Boston? After all, you’re not certain that it’s her, right?”

“Karen, we can do the identification with a simple cheek swab.”

“But I want to say good-bye!” Anger in her voice. “I need to say good-bye!”

“Karen, please give it a few days. Then you can give her a proper burial.”

Her voice was a whisper. “You don’t want me to see the body.”

“It isn’t necessary to put you through that anguish. I’ll be back down by late afternoon. We’ll get a DNA profile. And I’ll tell you everything I know.” There was a long silence. “Karen, are you still with me?”

“Go to Boston, Detective. Don’t let us stop you from doing your job.”

“I’ll try to make it back as soon as I can.”

“We’ll wait. We’ll wait as long as it takes. As long as it takes for you to get back and as long as it takes to get some answers.”

CHAPTER 14

MCADAMS SIPPED COFFEE from a paper cup while staring out the passenger window. Decker was behind the wheel. It was in the high twenties outside, but the skies were clear. It made for easy driving even with arid heat blasting in their faces.

“Any specific reason why you asked me to come with you?” the kid said.

“Why do you think?”

“You know you always answer my questions with another question.”

“It’s effective in getting people to talk. So why did I ask you to come?”

“I’ve been mulling several options in my head.” He ticked them off. “I’m keeping you awake so you don’t fall asleep at the wheel, I can drive home in case you do get too sleepy, you want me close so I don’t fuck something up in your absence, or maybe, just maybe, I may actually be of some use to the investigation and you value my opinions.”

“Bang on the money, Harvard.”

“Admit it, Old Man. I’m growing on you.”

“Mea culpa.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of like lutefisk: strictly an acquired taste.” McAdams put the coffee cup in the holder and rubbed his hands together. “I could tell by your conversation with the mom that Angeline did stained glass. So that makes her a strong candidate for the Tiffany forgeries. The thefts must have something to do with her murder.”