Page 78 of Justice Delayed

“I don’t think you need to give the detectives a laundry list of the auction items, my darling.” Quentin had pitched his voice to sooth, but, instead, Ruby bristled at the implication she was oversharing. It was his son who had taken advantage of their grief and fear and added to it with the bogus ransom note and payment. While Melender had put things into motion, Jared had done something even worse—given them hope Jesse would be returned once the ransom had been paid.

Ruby turned to her husband. “You didn’t think the list so insignificant when the item you wanted was sold right out from underneath you.”

“I’ve never been to a silent auction,” Collier interjected before Quentin could respond. “How does it work?”

“For the auction, you submitted sealed bids for the items, which were on display for a week before the dinner and dance. Then on the night of the event, the winners were announced,” Ruby explained. “You had to be present to win. Quentin had the winning bid but wasn’t in the ballroom when the results were announced. So the winner of the charming little woodcut of a mountain laurel I wanted for my birthday went to someone else.”

Beside her, Quentin tensed slightly. “I had a phone call, so I excused myself.”

“What time did the announcements take place?” Livingston said.

“It must have been close to ten o’clock because it was after dinner but before the dancing commenced.” As if Ruby could forget one single moment of that awful night.

Collier jotted something down in a small notebook. “Mr. Thompson, where did you go?”

“The patio.”

“Who called you?” Livingston asked.

Quentin grimaced. “The later events of the evening overshadowed the mundane, so I can’t recall exactly. Probably related to my business, or I wouldn’t have taken the call. We were negotiating a particularly tricky deal.”

“Any idea when you returned to the party?” Collier poised her pen over her notebook.

“Maybe an hour or so later?”

Her husband’s uncertainty prompted Ruby to assist with his recollection of the evening. “I think it was about eleven. He found me as the band started playing a fox trot. Quentin dances the fox trot as if he was channeling Fred Astaire.”

Even as she kept her tone light, the peevishness she’d felt that night by his prolonged absence came flooding back and another memory assailed her. She eyed her husband. “But you weren’t in a good mood. You were scowling and out of sorts and didn’t even finish the dance with me. Instead, you practically thrust me into the arms of Harvey Johnson.” She flashed the detectives a brilliant smile to hide her remembered discomfort. “Thank goodness, Harvey didn’t mind.”

“I don’t think the detectives want to rehash our entire evening.” Quentin took her hand in a firm grip she didn’t resist, then shifted his focus back to the detectives. “Exactly where is this going?”

“Jared said he was in the house that night,” Livingston stated crisply. “The nanny said you had left him in charge of the younger children because Melender was at a high school graduation party down the street.”

“Are you suggesting Jared and Melender were in it together?” Ruby couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.

“The investigation didn’t find Melender had anything to do with the ransom note or drop,” Livingston said. “Just the opposite. She was either being questioned by police or in custody at the crucial times for the ransom. That’s why she was never charged with that crime.”

Quentin tugged Ruby to her feet as he stood. “This is old news, detective. Unless you have something new to add, we’re done here.”

Livingston reached into the bag and brought out a clear plastic bag with something blue inside. “Today, this was hand-delivered to Melender Harman’s door.” Livingston extended the bag to Ruby. “Do you recognize it, Mrs. Thompson?”

Ruby reflexively accepted the bag, her eyes widening. She shook her head. “Oh, no.” Raising her head, she glanced at her husband. “It’s Jesse’s blue bunny.”

* * *

Brogan hit sendto forward Fallon the story on the recovered ransom money and Jared’s confession. Livingston had reluctantly agreed to allow Seth to photograph the bunny, since it pertained to a closed case. Fallon had hinted the story might make the front page of Wednesday’s midweek edition.

His desk phone buzzed. Fallon’s extension flashed on the display. “Hello?”

“In my office. Now.” Fallon clicked off.

Brogan replaced the phone and grabbed his notebook. On his way to Fallon’s office, he tried not to worry about the summons. If his editor had a problem with Brogan’s work, Fallon wouldn’t hesitate to let him know.

Fallon’s secretary waved him through to the editor’s office.

“Ah, Brogan. Have a seat.” Fallon removed his reading glasses and tossed them on top of a pile of papers. “I finished your piece on the ransom money and Jared Thompson’s confession. Solid writing.”

“Thank you.” Brogan settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk.

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