else’s business. The clerk in the paper’s morgue was kind enough to let me know that the Whitlock marriage was not a happy one.”
“How bad was it?”
“Apparently Malcolm Whitlock was jealous and possessive. Jean was never seen in public without him. There was speculation that Malcolm was mentally unbalanced. Some people remembered certain incidents that occurred when he was a boy. Apparently he set some fires and a few pets went missing. The Whitlock family more or less gave Malcolm the house to get him out of Boston. He lived there year-round. His relatives never visited.”
“Do the locals think he murdered his wife?”
“According to my source, everyone believes it’s more likely that Jean Whitlock escaped the house and took the sailboat out in bad weather because she was trying to get away from her husband.”
“What about his death?”
“Interesting, to put it mildly. The family maintains to this day that Malcolm was so distraught over the disappearance of his wife that he moved back to Boston, bought a house, and became a recluse. Never went out into society again. They claim he died in a fall down the stairs.”
“I’m getting the feeling some people didn’t buy that story,” Luther said.
“No. The reporter’s notes filed with the story in the morgue indicate that there were rumors Whitlock’s family got him committed to a private asylum and that he died there. Suicide. I’m going to make a few more calls and see if I can dig up more details. I wanted to get this information to you first.”
“Thanks, Irene.”
“You’re wondering if Jean Whitlock is now Raina Kirk, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but there is another possibility. Maybe Jean Whitlock is the acquaintance who convinced Raina to meet her in Labyrinth Springs. You didn’t find any photos, I take it?”
“No. The Whitlock wedding was a courthouse affair. No pictures. None in the Bar Harbor papers and nothing in the Boston press.” Irene paused. “I wonder why Raina didn’t confide in you. Why not ask for help?”
“I can think of one reason why she might be trying to handle this on her own,” Luther said.
“She thinks she’s protecting you from something in her past?”
“Yes.”
He hung up the phone and went to the French doors that opened onto a balcony. He contemplated the lush gardens and the sun-splashed ocean beyond.
Did you go to Labyrinth Springs to meet Jean Whitlock, Raina? Or are you Jean Whitlock?
Chapter 15
That afternoon Lyra opened the French doors of the honeymoon suite and stepped out onto the wrought iron balcony. She gripped the railing and surveyed the elegantly manicured gardens in the courtyard of the Labyrinth Springs Hotel and Spa.
“Why wasn’t Raina’s car in the parking lot?” she said. “She left Burning Cove in her convertible. We should have seen it when we arrived. Maybe we’re wrong. What if she isn’t here?”
“Take it easy,” Simon said. He crossed the sitting room and moved outside to join her at the railing. “We agreed that this is our starting point. It’s the only solid lead we’ve got. There could be several reasons why we didn’t see her car in the lot. She may have driven into town to do some shopping.”
“I doubt it,” Lyra said. “She was not in a shopping mood when she left Burning Cove yesterday.”
“There’s a shopping mood?”
“Of course,” Lyra said. She studied the setting. “There isn’t much around here, is there? Just a lot of desert. The town is barely a village. There’s a sprinkling of nice houses and a few resorts, but it strikes me as a very odd location for a secret meeting with an acquaintance.”
“Depends how you look at it. On the one hand, it’s hard to be anonymous here. People staying at a resort like this notice the other guests on the golf course or at the pool. They see them in the bar and the dining room. That’s one of the reasons they come to a fashionable hotel and spa in the first place.”
“To see and be seen.”
“Right. But there is one possible advantage to this particular location.”
Lyra glanced at him. “What?”
“You could bury a body out there in the desert and no one would ever find it.”
Lyra shuddered. “Thanks for that cheery thought.”
She had to admit he was right. Beyond the hotel gardens and the oasis of green that was the golf course, the vast desert valley stretched for miles in every direction. It would be a simple matter to conceal a body in an unmarked grave.
She had taken a few minutes to read the pamphlet