Page 37 of Old Money
I hear a rumble from above as someone pushes open one of the heavy ballroom doors.
The walk-through, I think.Can’t they walk a little slower?
Moving quickly now, I check the rest of the diaries. They’re lined up chronologically, the most recent one from just last year. I pull them out one at a time, scanning the pages for the dates or initials I need. F.S. plays tennis with W.Y. in August 2017. E.I. books the pink room for a two-day meeting in January 2014. Some of the coded entries are more easily deciphered than others. I’m briefly alarmed by a 2007 account of an auction attended by a P.C. and H.C., who arrived with several “SS officers.” It takes a minute before I realize P.C. is President Clinton, H.C. is Hillary and “SS” stands for Secret Service.
I reach for the last diary, the first page dated 1998. I flip through, my hopes deflated—no 1999 records in this drawer. The thought repeats in my mind and I pause, holding the book open. I lean down, peering at the tidy row of books.No 1999 records in this drawer. 1998 to 2018 are all accounted for. There’s only one year missing.
The sound of voices upstairs interrupts again. The walk-through must have finished in the pink ballroom—the one at the end of the gallery, beside the basement stairs. I picture the group strolling out together, Liv Yates still dressed in riding boots, discussing table arrangements with Susannah.
I slot the book back in the drawer, shove Brody’s chair back into place and scoot back to the stack of menus near my scanner. I open my laptop, just as the door swings open. It isn’t Mr. Brody though.
He stands there, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding a single sheet of paper.
“Hi?”
Jamie doesn’t answer. He looks at the sheet of paper, then takes a step toward me and holds it out, just far enough for me to see what it is. A cold wave rolls down my body.
Jamie speaks at last.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
Chapter Seventeen
“No,” I answer.
My voice is calm and consciously neutral, but Jamie is still taken aback.
“Are you being serious right now?”
We’re back in Jamie’s closet-office, where he can comfortably berate me. I can see the strain it takes to keep his voice low.
“It’s nothing to do with you, Jamie,” I say. “Why would I bring it up?”
I don’t know how this happened, but I know I haven’t done anything wrong. I need to act like it.
The letter sits between us on Jamie’s desk. It’s a single sheet of stationery, emblazoned with the village seal. The header reads: “Police Department of the Village of Briar’s Green.”
My FOIL request has been processed—and approved. I am invited to make an appointment at my earliest convenience, to view the following materials:
Death Investigation Report: Case No. 8488, Caitlin M. Dale, July 4, 1999
P.E. Contents & Inventory: Scene Investigation, Case 8488
Statements: Witnesses and Secondary Parties, Case 8488
Interview with John H. Brody: July 4, 1999
Interview with Barbara C. Dale, July 6, 1999
Interview with Gregory H. T. Dale, July 5, 1999
Interview with Patricia C. Wiley, July 6, 1999
Interview with Alice K. Wiley, July 4, 1999
Interview with Patrick S. Yates III, July 5, 1999
Et al.
