Emily knew she should let it drop, but she couldn’t help herself. “According to the police, Cape traffic was so bad on Sunday that Walter Newell couldn’t have gotten back in time to run into me if he left when he told Quinn he was leaving. So maybe he wasn’t the man at the coffee shop. Who knows, maybe Walter Newell was already dead.”

Frank put up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He blinked, like he was trying to put the pieces together. “If he left when he said he did? That’s a big if.” Frank gave an exasperated sigh. “Isn’t it possible that he was lying to his wife? Emmy, think about it. What do you actually know about Walter Newell?”

32

FRANK LEFT EMILY alone in her office. The two faces on her computer screen felt like Halloween masks as they stared at her from behind matching aviator glasses. Frank was right. Again. What did she know about Walter Newell? He’d come from a wealthy family. He’d been in real estate. Owned a ridiculous number of suits and shoes. Collected retro advertising signs and magazine cover art. According to Quinn, he was a control freak. And something that Quinn had neglected to mention: he was her second dead husband.

Full stop. That felt like lightning striking the same spot twice. Again Emily pulled up Quinn and Walter’s wedding announcement that had run in the Boston Globe. It named her previous husband, “the late Michael Safstrom.”

Michaels were a dime a dozen, but Safstroms, not so much. Emily googled his name and got hundreds of hits. As she scrolled through them, articles that Michael Safstrom had written for Collectors’ Quarterly caught her eye. “Collecting Original Cover Art.” “The Disappearing Art of Porcelain Advertising Signs.”

Safstrom’s article on signs began, “Perhaps the most easily recognizable advertising medium of the late 19th century was the porcelain sign.” It went on, extolling the virtues of porcelain signs, their durability and weather resistance, their bold colors and eye-catching graphics. As collectibles, they were much-sought-after because they were rare—many had been melted down for their base metal at the onset of World War II. The article was illustrated with pictures of signs marked “from the author’s collection.” LE PNEU MICHELIN—the familiar Michelin man riding a bicycle. ZENITH RADIO—a bright red sign emblazoned with zigzag lightning. A flying red Pegasus for MOBILGAS.

The article on collecting cover art was peppered with names even Emily recognized. Norman Rockwell. Maxfield Parrish. N. C. Wyeth. It discussed the ins and outs of evaluating an illustration. How to spot a forgery or giclée print reproduction, the digital technology Lila had mentioned to Emily.