Free A Bookmarked Death by Judi Culbertson Page B

partitioning was a reality and India had rid itself of the British pestilence, the government was reluctant to allow other white faces in. They were no doubt sick of being told how to live. By then the idea of foreigners coming to convert the “natives” was losing traction all over the world. If my father had had a specific skill, medicine or engineering, he might have had an entree. But he had been a scholar, and a religious scholar at that.
    All I know is that it did not work out. My sister and I were born when they were still actively trying to get to India. They named me Delhi, and my twin Patience, as if to remind themselves where they wanted to go and the attitude they needed to cultivate.
    Mairee Jontra answered her phone brightly. “Mairee here!”
    “Hi. My name is Delhi Laine. I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
    “If it’s about engaging me, I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to the agency directly. You can ask them for me, I’ll be pleased if you do, but they do all the hiring. I can give—”
    “No, I need to ask you about some people you worked for.”
    I could feel her wariness crackling across the line. “I really can’t discuss our clientele. I’m sure you understand.”
    “I’m asking on behalf of Elisa Crosley.”
    “Elisa? Oh, my God, what a terrible thing to happen! Unbelievable. I can’t get my head around it, Ethan was one of my favorite people. How is poor Elisa doing?”
    I sighed. “She’s holding up. But she has some questions she wanted me to ask you. And since I live out here . . .” I let my voice trail away.
    “You were a friend of the family?”
    “Not exactly. But Elisa is my daughter’s best friend. She was with her when she heard the news.”
    “Oh, my God. What do you need to know?”
    “It would be better if I could see you for a few minutes.”
    “Oh, Lord, today is crazy. So’s tomorrow for that matter. And probably the rest of my life.”
    “Just five minutes?”
    “Okay.” She seemed to be thinking. “I’m due out on Meadow Lane to let some painters in. They aren’t coming until nine, so if you could get there immediately . . .”
    “Just tell me where.”
    M EADOW L ANE RUNS parallel to the Atlantic Ocean, which can be glimpsed if you are driving only in snatches between mansions, guesthouses, garages, and greenhouses. My twin sister Patience’s vacation home is in the opposite direction, east on Dune Road, and more modest—if you can consider a house that has seven bedrooms and multiple bathrooms a cozy hideaway.
    This house I braked at did not look like the typical gray-shingled homes that Southampton was known for. It was more recent, no doubt the work of a well-known architect, and had round ends like fat silos with a recessed middle section. The windows in the center part of the house were very large and lined up with those on the beach side to give a view of the ocean.
    The slender figure standing on the slate steps waved.
    I waved back, surprised. The title “caretaker” had evoked the image of an old family retainer coming to the house in advance to make sure everything was in order, and stocking the refrigerator with provisions from Barefoot Contessa . In my fantasy she would leave a plate of homemade muffins and jam, perhaps even have dinner in the refrigerator for whenever the family arrived.
    Mairee upended my fantasy. She was my age, with a mop of dark red curls and an expressive mouth. She managed to look elegant in a peacoat and jeans—elegant and harassed at the same time, her iPhone an extension of her arm.
    “Hey there! You’re a book dealer?”
    I glanced back at my dented white van with its blue logo, “Got Books?” on the doors. “Right.”
    “Great! Give me your card. People are always looking to downsize and they never know what to do with the books.”
    Perfect. I was always looking to upsize my collection. Quickly I reached into my bag and extracted one. My sister’s husband, Ben, was always urging me to