The police and coroner were out to the house within the hour. Their response time shocked Vanessa, who was currently residing on the couch with a glass of whiskey and her favorite blanket. Osprey Point, being full of estates and old money families, must have quite a hold on the police department.

She ached. She felt like she had been sucker-punched. Xander was in the back of the house being interviewed, and Mrs. Crosby was flittering around trying to make sure the crew wiped their feet. She didn't know how they were moving around.

"Who would do this?" She asked out loud to an empty room.

A young technician who was between Vanessa and the kitchen taking photos of the various perspectives, overheard her.

"Some things happen that will never make sense. Sometimes you don't get closure. Those are choices you have to make." He scrolled through the digital images on his camera before deciding to take another set.

The two detectives in charge were Detectives Rafferty and Orwin. Vanessa knew Detective Orwin - they had been acquaintances when she was new to Portland and finding her way around. He had taken an interest in the new Mrs. York and would feign being neighborly to show up at the restaurants, coffee shops, and gardening supply stores she frequented.

She had not disclosed the relationship yet to the other detective, and she had assumed he was also keeping that under wraps. She wanted to tell Xander, but the police were currently interviewing him in the office. Orwin's partner made a big show of telling her she isn't licensed to practice law in the state of Maine.

It made her want to pass the Bar just to shut him up.

The coroner cut the belt and removed the dead woman's body. They laid her out on the kitchen floor as they assessed her.

"How many hours ya think?" Orwin asked the coroner.

"Hard to say before the autopsy. I'll call ya later with my findings." The coroner was a few months short of retirement; he did not want to be in Xander York's house.

Mrs. Crosby flittered back into the kitchen holding a box of photographs. She was flipping through them quickly, looking for a specific one.

"There was one photo we had of Delia's entire family on Nantucket. I swear that woman is in that photo." She took a stack out and flipped and flipped.

"Here," she finally handed a photo over to Rafferty. He scowled at the photo.

"She doesn't look like that girl," he rolled his eyes.

"Not that one," she points to another point in the photo, "that one."

Rafferty scrutinized the photo again.

"I'm going to take this for now," he said with a gruff clearing of his throat.

"The hell you are," Vanessa stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"We can make you a color photocopy. Even fax it to your email. But you are not removing the original from the property."

She knew that if that photograph left, it was likely never to be seen again. She still had not looked at it yet.

"That'll be fine," Orwin called out from across the kitchen. He had been trying to look occupied instead of eavesdropping on their conversation.

"I'd like my husband's property back. You should follow me into the office while I make a copy."

Rafferty reluctantly handed her the photograph.

Without looking at it, Vanessa left the kitchen, walked down the hallway to Xander's office. She knew where the copier was. She opened it, slid the photograph into the corner, clicked "photo" on the print screen and handed Rafferty the output.

It wasn't until they were back in the kitchen that she looked down at the photograph. She scanned the faces, and her stomach sank to the floor. She knew everyone in the photo. While she never met Delia York, she did recognize the Manhattan socialite club she was looking at. She met them in various ways over the past few years. At parties, functions, events, and then when she started waiting tables, they would come in and look at her, confused as to her station. Then they would gossip about her.

"Let me see her face," Vanessa asked.

The corner had just closed the body bag, but with a nod from Detective Orwin he opened it slowly for her to see just the face.

"She's this one," pointing to one of the women in the photograph. "I think her name was Elenora."

Xander walked into the kitchen and stood with Mrs. Crosby. The coroner closed the bag, his team lifting the stretcher that was beneath her to move her out of the house.

"How do you know her?" Rafferty asked quietly. He was standing back by the counter.

"She was one of the socialites. The 'Manhattan Dames' as they liked to call themselves. I am pretty sure that's her, but I am remembering her from maybe five or six years ago. She's had work done."

"I agree. I also think she's Delia's cousin, Elenora Deponchaux. I saw her once after Delia's funeral, but that was almost a year ago." Xander walked over to Vanessa and gave her a tight hug.

"Now that we have a lead, we'll keep in touch. Hopefully it won't take too long to find out why she... killed herself in your pantry." Orwin closed his notebook and slipped it into his pocket.

"Where will you be staying?" Rafferty asked, his pen poised for the answer.

"I am not sure yet. We were thinking of taking a trip to Seattle, but that's postponed."

"If you could stay in Maine, that would be appreciated. We'd like to be able to ask you questions as needed." Rafferty handed Xander his business card.

"I've called the Osprey Point B&B and reserved the suite for you," Mrs. Crosby was still looking through photos, reminiscing on her memories.

Xander nodded, and slowly the men worked themselves out of the house.

"We should go back our bags. I called work and let them know what happened. I'll take a few days off until this is sorted. Helen, can you meet us at the B&B in a couple of hours?"

"Yes," she packed up the box and was going to take it with her. She paused and watched Vanessa. Xander, too, turned to look at his wife.

Vanessa didn't realize she was crying.

"This poor girl..."

"I know, sweetheart," Xander put his hands on her shoulders. "Let's get out of the house."

She slowly got up and walked to their bedroom. She pulled out her luggage and slowly packed her clothes. Comfy yoga pants and t-shirts. She grabbed pajamas and a pair of jeans. Holding her toiletry bag, she walked from the closet across the bathroom to her sink.

Standing next to her, Xander was holding a similar bag and staring at her mirror. His face was white.

"What is it?" She asked as she approached him.

"This necklace," he croaked. "Is it yours?" A silver chain hung from her mirror. A small pendant with what appeared to be a diamond in a silver oyster shell.

"No, I've never seen that before. What an odd setting. Why isn't it a pearl?" Vanessa picked up the pendant to examine it further. As she looked over the shell, she realized the detail on the shell itself was an elaborate letter "D."

For Delia.

"Her father said she was a diamond in a world of pearls," Xander whispered. "She was buried wearing this necklace."

Vanessa stared at him in disbelief.

"Let's get out of here," she grabbed her toothbrush and left her other toiletry items.

As she was heading for the door, a shot rang out in the bathroom.

Vanessa hit the floor, and she couldn't hear anything. It was as if a tuning fork was in her ear.

She couldn't hear Xander or see that he had hit the floor.

She couldn't hear the footsteps coming out of the closet.

She blinked several times before she saw the white cloth come down over her mouth and Detective Orwin's face before the world went black.