the quilt.
Simon picked up one of the clippings. “The dateline is Bar Harbor. The date is 1925. Thirteen years ago.”
He read the rest of the article aloud.
Local Woman Swept Out to Sea. Feared Dead.
Jean Whitlock, the wife of Malcolm Whitlock, is believed to have vanished at sea during the recent storm. She is reported to have taken the couple’s sailboat out by herself. Authorities fear she was caught by the sudden turn in the weather. Her husband is said to be distraught. The Whitlocks were married for less than a year.
The way Simon handled the clipping gave Raina the impression he was doing more than just reading the chilling report. It was almost as if he were trying to learn something simply from touching the brittle paper. She remembered what Luther had said about Simon’s ability to pick up the feel of a scene.
Luther read another clipping. Search for Missing Woman Called Off.
Lyra picked up a clipping. “This one is from a Boston paper. It’s dated eighteen months later.”
She read it aloud.
Grief-stricken Husband of Woman Lost at Sea Dies in Tragic Accident
Malcolm Whitlock was found dead in his Boston home early this morning. The family reports the cause was a fall down the stairs.
After the loss of his wife in a boating accident off Bar Harbor, Mr. Whitlock moved back to Boston and went into seclusion. He never appeared in society. His family said he was in deep mourning.
Luther looked at Lyra and Simon. “Raina brought almost nothing of her past with her when she moved to California. Clothes, some money, and the list of contacts she had worked with in the course of her secretarial job in New York. She has no family. No friends from back East, at least none that I know of, and no clients except the ones she has here in Burning Cove.”
“There’s always someone from the past,” Simon said.
“Yes,” Lyra said. She studied the newspaper clippings on the satin quilt. “Always.”
“But in this case the two individuals from Raina’s past—Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock—are both dead,” Luther said.
“Lost at sea is not always the same as dead,” Simon said.
Lyra looked at Luther. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right.”
“I am deeply humbled by your generous acknowledgment of the possibility that I might have a legitimate point to make,” Simon said.
“Are you always this annoying, Mr. Cage?” Lyra asked.
“One does the best one can,” Simon said.
“It’s a wonder your best hasn’t led people to suggest you take a long walk off a short pier.”
Simon adjusted his glasses. “Actually, I frequently get that suggestion.”
“No kidding,” Lyra said.
Luther cleared his throat. “I suggest that we get back to the subject of Raina. Simon, what did you pick up from those clippings?”
Simon shot Lyra a quick, wary glance. She knew he did not want to say whatever he was about to say in front of her, but he had no choice. Luther was waiting.
“There’s a lot of heat,” Simon said. “Most of it is old, but there’s a fresh layer. Very fresh. I think it’s safe to say that Miss Kirk handled these clippings briefly this morning.”
“What kind of emotion?” Luther asked.
Lyra could barely contain her curiosity. She suddenly had a million questions for Simon Cage, but it was clear this was not the time to ask them.
“Fear is the oldest emotion on these clippings,” Simon said, speaking carefully. “The fresh stuff is mostly rage.”
Lyra glanced at the clippings. “We need to know more about the Whitlocks.”
“Irene Ward might be able to help,” Luther said. “Several of her stories have gone national. She knows people, and she’s got connections on the East Coast. I’ll ask her to make some calls, talk to people who work in the morgues.”
“Morgues?” Lyra asked.
“Newspaper morgues,” Simon explained patiently. “It’s where they store the papers and the notes the reporters made when they covered the stories.”
“Yes,” Lyra said, striving for patience. “I am aware of the purpose of newspaper morgues.” She turned to Luther. “I will make those calls.”
Simon shook his head. “Won’t work. The clips and notes in a newspaper morgue are considered proprietary information. The person in charge of the files is unlikely to be helpful to an unknown private investigator who calls up out of the blue from the other side of the country. A professional journalist with good contacts stands a much better chance of getting useful information from a morgue clerk.”
Lyra tried not to grit her teeth. “Oh.”
Luther headed for the door. Lyra and Simon followed.