“No, they’re not. Jude wanted to take the kids to ride the Ferris wheel at the amusement park and to teach our son how to bodysurf. I canabsolutelyassure you that working a case he has no jurisdiction over never crossed his mind.” Cope was sure itabsolutely had crossed Jude’s mind, especially during his long conversation with Cyrus Longfellow. If the spirit had named his killer, Cope knew without a shadow of a doubt that Jude would have done whatever it took to bring the killer to justice at long last, jurisdiction or not.
“It’s been fifteen years since my son was killed. No one has been able to solve the crime. I have given up all hope that my son will get justice. Is there anything you can do with your psychic powers that could help the police solve the murder?” Again, Alexandria’s tone didn’t give a hint as to whether or not she actually wanted Cope to do that very thing.
For some reason, Cope’s gut told him not to reveal to Alexandria Longwood that he had spoken with her dead son’s ghost. “I didn’t notice anything off about the room when we arrived at the motel. After Chet Hines explained to us what had happened to Cyrus, I tried to reach out to his spirit.”
“Were you successful?” Mild curiosity lit Alexandria’s voice.
“I was not. I tried several times and was unable to make contact.” Cope crossed himself. Yes, he was lying to the grieving mother of a murder victim, but he knew it was the right thing to do. “It’s possible Cyrus has crossed over and is enjoying his reward in heaven.”
Ronan rolled his eyes. He’d obviously had enough of sitting on the sideline. “Mrs. Longfellow, my name is Detective Ronan O’Mara. I work for the Salem, Massachusetts, cold case team. I was able to read the police file on your son’s murder, and like you said, it was very thin. Since Cyrus only vacationed here, is there anyone you can think of from New York that would have wanted to hurt your son? Friends? Scorned lovers? Someone he owed money to?”
“I have no idea, Detective.” For the first time in the conversation, Alexandria’s mask slipped. The woman sounded tired and worn to the bone. “We had a falling-out a few years before he died. I’m afraid we weren’t all that close before that last argument. I don’t know who any of his friends were, and as for lovers, start with the letterAin the Manhattan phone book. You’ll find dozens. Menandwomen.” Alexandria sighed heavily. “All I can tell you is that my son was a good boy. He was kind and generous, with a big heart. He didn’t spend time with hooligans, thugs, or bookies, even though there were plenty to be found. If I were a detective, I suppose I would speak with the dancers my son lavished his money upon. I seem to remember the names Baked Alaska and Vixen being mentioned by Jake Powell as people who had visited my son during his last stay in Maine.”
“Neither of those names were in the police file. Thank you for the lead, ma’am,” Ronan said, shaking his fist in the universal jack-off gesture. Obviously, he wasn’t best pleased by how the local police had handled the investigation. “One last question. Are you calling to ask us to investigate your son’s murder or to tell us to stay in our own lane?”
“Two weeks ago, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, Detective O’Mara. According to my medical team, I’ve got six months left to live. If there is something you and your partners could do to solve this case before I take my final breath, I would be forever in your debt.” She quickly rattled off her phone number. The phone clicked twice before the dial tone sounded. Alexandria Longfellow had hung up the phone.
“Well, shit. Just when we were starting to get somewhere.” Jude set the phone receiver back in the cradle. “Do you really think she saw footage of Chet Hines trying to interview us the otherday, or do you think Jake Powell called and gave her the heads-up?”
“No clue,” Ronan said. “Although it seems odd that with her money and connections that she called the hotel to speak to you instead of getting your number online.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jude said. He turned to his husband. “Did you get anything from her?”
“She’s hiding something.” Cope gave his head a shake. “Something about her son, but I don’t know what that thing is. Appearances are everything to a woman like Alexandria Longfellow. Something as small as her son being caught smoking in the boys’ room at school could be cause for scandal. We also know from firsthand experience that people lie. It could very well be that her entire story about her son was bullshit. Maybe Cyrus wasn’t kind or generous. Maybe he was an asshole. There was nothing warm or fuzzy about his mother, and apples don’t usually fall very far from their trees.”
“Going along with that same line of thought, I’m betting that if a stripper or someone else of less than worthy character was the one who killed Cyrus, she might not want that information getting out to her rich friends,” Ronan said.
“If that’s the case, then it also stands to reason that Cyrus could be keeping his mouth shut for the same reason. To keep from humiliating his mother further, from the grave.” Cope would have done the same thing for Elizabeth. He wouldn’t have hurt his mother for the world.
“What about the money?” Jude asked, sounding as though he was talking to himself.
“What about it?” Ronan asked.
“It’s possible the person who killed Cyrus was just after the money, that his murder wasn’t personal at all. The people who lived and worked around here would have seen Cyrus flashing cash around. Word like that doesn’t stay quiet for long. I’m sure there were a ton of people looking to get in on the Longfellow gravy train, which, of course, opens a nearly impossible pool of suspects.” Jude shook his head.
“Right,” Ronan agreed. “From strippers, locals, tourists, and every thug in between.”
“The murder happened fifteen years ago. There’s no way to track down the people who might have been in town the night of the murder, and it’s likely that anyone who worked at the Jungle and knew Cyrus is long gone.” Jude shook his head. “It’s a damn good thing we’re not on this case.”
Cope couldn’t have said it better himself. They had only a few short days left to enjoy the end of summer, and the last thing Cope wanted was for Jude to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, especially when the man who was murdered told them he wasn’t giving up the name of his killer.
Cope had worked with enough grief-stricken mothers over his career to know pain when he heard it. Although her emotions were well controlled, he could tell Alexandria loved her son dearly. Her cold affect was most likely the result of her breeding and not publicly wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Cope was glad he never had to find out. He was going to enjoy the rest of this vacation with his family and friends before going back home and getting Wolf ready to start the new school year.
“I say we try to find out about Vixen and Baked Alaska,” Jude said.
Ronan nodded in agreement.
“Wait! You all want to investigate this case? What about our vacation?” Cope’s mouth hung open.
Jude held up his hands. “Here’s the deal. Let’s see if we can find the strippers tomorrow. If not, we’re done. Ronan?”
“I agree. If we talk to them and get some info, you can bring it back to Cyrus and see if that changes his mind about telling us who the killer is. Either way, we’re done. Cope, what do you think?” Ronan wore a look to say he didn’t care what Cope decided, but Cope knew the exact opposite was true.
“Okay, fine. You’ve got one day. We spend our last day here as a family. And I’m absolutely not going to pester or bully Cyrus into confessing what he knows. If he tells us what happened that night, fine. If not, we’re done.”
“Deal!” Ronan and Jude said together.
