by Kay Jennings
“Whose daughter is she?”
“How the fuck would I know? I was 14 when she was born. I don’t know what my mother was up to, do I?”
“Does your father suspect this too?”
“I don’t know. Honestly. If I figured it out, you’d think he would too. We’ve never talked about it as a family, if that’s what you mean.”
“And you never questioned your mother?”
Gary glowered at the state cop. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he said sarcastically. “Can’t you imagine that conversation? ‘Hey, mom, who’d you fuck today?’ Gimme a break.”
“Calm down, Gary,” said Ed, moving his palm-down hands in an up-and-down motion over the dining room table. “Relax. I know this is awkward for you, but it might be important. Did you ever have an inkling who Emily’s biological father might be? Is there anyone in town she looks like?”
“I never gave it much thought. Figured if dad didn’t care, neither did I. And I didn’t want to hurt Em. She was always such a happy, smiley girl. So, no, I don’t know and I don’t really care. Especially now. She’s gone and it doesn’t matter—she was my sister in every sense of the word.” Gary looked despondent, and all traces of his belligerent behavior disappeared.
“Why do you think this happened while you were home visiting?” Ed continued. “It seems like a strange coincidence to me.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that too,” he said morosely. “I can’t answer that question, Lieutenant.”
“Any ideas who might have done this? What do you think happened to Emily?”
Gary looked at Ed. “I don’t have a fucking clue. We’re not the closest family on the planet, but I have a hard time believing that my brother or sister or one of my parents stuck a knife in Em’s belly and twisted it. It has to be some other weird shit. A random break-in or robbery, or something we don’t know anything about. It’s fucked up, for sure.”
“For sure,” Ed agreed. “When were you planning to go back
to Eugene?”
“In about a week. Next term starts on January 15.”
“Good. We’ll need you to stay put for now while our investigation continues.”
This is an angry, hurt young man, who feels betrayed by life and his family, but he didn’t kill his beloved baby sister. Ed was certain. Did Fred or Marjorie kill Emily to protect an explosive family secret?
Chapter 18
Ed went into the kitchen and indicated to Matt he had what he needed from Gary. The forensics team wrapped up their work, and Matt instructed them to go to City Hall and wait for him.
Ed and Gary took seats around the table with Fred and Jack, and the five guys talked quietly while they waited for Jay and Fern to terminate their questioning.
With instructions from Matt to the family to stay home, and Fern checking with the parents whether they needed anything, food, medicine, and so forth, the four took their leave. Matt corralled them beyond the Bushnell’s yard gate, and whispered to them what Ted Frolick had said about Marjorie and Craig Kenton.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said a disgusted Jay.
“Hold on there, quick draw,” admonished Matt. “We don’t know yet if it’s true. But we’re sure as hell going to find out. This is the first lead we’ve got.”
“We may have another motive—might even tie to what Patty learned,” big Ed said, trying to whisper, but not quite pulling it off. “Gary thinks that little Emily had a different father than the other three kids. Says she didn’t look anything like the other siblings, or like Fred. Says she only looked like Marjorie. Also said Emily had a different disposition than his brother and older sister…sweeter, not as quick to anger as the rest of them.”
“Now that you mention it,” said Jay, “Emily did look different from the rest of them. She’s the only blonde in the family.”
“You know, I’m not comfortable talking about this any further here,” Matt said, glancing back at the front door. “Too open. Let’s regroup at City Hall.”
Turning his squad car out of Cranberry Drive, Matt asked Fern if she knew Craig Kenton.
“Yes, I know him.”
“What color hair does he have?”
“Blonde. Fair skin.”
“And? What do you make of this news about him being Marjorie’s boyfriend?”
“I don’t know,” said Fern slowly. “There’s no question it would be drop-dead ill-advised of her. But . . .”
“But what?”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a complicated woman, in my view. And Craig Kenton is tempting.”
“Oh?”
Fern’s cheeks reddened and she looked out the window in an attempt to hide the blush. Matt thought it looked nice on her.
“He’s quite the stud,” Fern stammered.
Matt laughed at her use of the word ‘stud’; it was hilarious coming out of her mouth.
“Well, he is,” she said defensively.
“Did you ever date him?”
“No. I just met him last month when my Fitbit battery died. He was working at the hardware store and helped me with it. I planned to go back in soon with another hardware need, if you must know.”
“That good-looking, huh?”
Fern ignored Matt’s teasing. “He’s a little young for Marjorie, I would think.”
“Wonder how they met, if it’s true?”
“Well, the volunteer firemen have a community-wide picnic every August. It’s their big fundraiser, and the mayor always gives a speech and hands out awards. Or, she could have wandered into the hardware store like me.”
“Did he make a move on you?”
“What kind of question is that?” Fern barked, and then, “He
was friendly.”
“Sorry, just trying to get a bead on this guy. So, did he?”
She hesitated. “Not really. What’s Marjorie got that I haven’t got?”
“Beats me,” Matt laughed, and Fern, in spite of herself, smiled with him.
“Guess I’ll be crossing him off my list,” she said.
“We’ll see where the Marjorie/Craig story takes us. And, if it wasn’t Fred, who the hell was Emily’s father? Finally, some possible motives to pursue.”
“Finally?” said Fern sarcastically. “It’s only been a little over twenty-four hours. I think you’re doing great.”
“If a homicide is going to be solved, it usually unfolds fairly quickly after the investigation starts. We’re behind,” Matt scowled.
* * *
Kill chief! Bite! Shark in tree! Eat arm! Too close. Touching! Stop touching! Kill cops! Kill Tex! Too pretty! Stop touching! Knife in eye! Eat!
CHAPTER 19
Sunday, Noon
“Goddammit!” Patty Perkins said aloud, although she thought she only said it to herself. But Sylvia Hofstetter, on the telephone at her desk in the police department’s squad room next to where Patty was working, said “Shhh” to her, giving her the international finger-over-the-mouth shushing gesture.
“Sorry,” Patty mouthed back to her.
The cause of Patty’s swearing was an archival piece from the Port Stirling Beacon, dated six years earlier. Ted Frolick had appeared in Chinook County court on an assault charge, after slapping a sixth-grade boy in his home-room class at Port Stirling Middle School. The boy’s parents filed suit against Frolick, and the district attorney brought charges. Frolick pleaded guilty, and was given a suspended sentence, as he had no prior record.
But it did get him fired from his teaching position. As far as Patty could tell, he’d not gotten another teaching job, and retired after the incident.
Great. Hitting a child. Is Ted a suspect after all? Maybe he doesn’t like kids. There was nothing else about Frolick that stood out when Patty researched his past, but this incident didn’t help her theory.
>
She closed out of the department’s computer she’d been using, and with a wave to Sylvia, grabbed her purse. Back to Frolick’s house I go.
Patty was happy to see that the blue sky and fluffy white clouds of this morning were still overhead, but the wind had picked up. And, there were some distinctly non-fluffy clouds out to sea that appeared to be barreling towards Port Stirling. But for now, she enjoyed what was sure to be the short-lived warmth of the sun.
Frolick welcomed her in and made tea for them. A fire burned, and the approaching storm’s advance wind occasionally came rushing down the fireplace and ruffled the newspaper on his footstool. Why people liked living on the beach was beyond Patty.
“Can you tell me about Jason Wilbert and what happened the day you hit him in school?” began Patty.
To his credit, Frolick didn’t get all huffy or petulant when confronted with this past transgression. “He was a snot-nosed bully,” said Ted calmly. “And, he had a touch of ADD, although we didn’t know it back then. He was pulling a girl’s hair at the desk in front of him, and he wouldn’t stop after repeated requests from me to do so. He also kept jumping up and down and was perilously close to being out of control. I slapped him to get his attention and get him to calm down. It worked. However, his parents weren’t thrilled at my technique.”
“Obviously,” Patty had to smile. “Were you fired?”
“Yes. Too much pressure on the superintendent.”
“Did you resent it?”
Ted sipped his tea and thought about her question. “No, I can’t really say I did. I’d been considering retirement anyway, and this was the push I needed. My PERS account was substantial after 30 years of teaching, and—you may have noticed—I’m a man of modest means. I was rather happy to walk off into the sunset.”
“Do you like children, Mr. Frolick?”
“I used to. My wife and I didn’t have any of our own, and teaching—we were both teachers—seemed to make up for that in the early days. But after a few years, one realizes that children are as annoying as adults, they just come in smaller packages.”
“Are you still married?”
“My wife died 15 years ago. Car wreck.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Patty paused. “Can we talk about Marjorie Bushnell? The police department is checking on your story about her and Craig Kenton, and I’d like to know if you can add anything to it.”
“Only that I’ve seen Kenton at that A-frame several times, coming and going. And, usually with a different woman. He seems to do better with women than I do,” he smiled. As if to ensure that Patty knew he’d made a joke, he over-dramatically ran a hand through his silver hair, which was now combed and much tidier than earlier this morning.
“But you’re sure you saw him with Marjorie Bushnell?”
“Yes. I’m sure. Has she denied it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Ted.”
Patty and Ted chatted for a while longer over their tea in front of the crackling fire. He was forthcoming, she was relaxed, and it all felt quite cozy.
* * *
Sunday, 1:30 p.m.
Back in the War Room, Matt added to his list of case questions on the big board: ‘Are MB and CK having an affair?’, and ‘Did Emily see something she shouldn’t have?’ He started to write ‘Who is Emily’s real father?’, but then erased it. Couldn’t risk anyone seeing that question.
Patty joined the Chief, Jay, Ed and Fern. “Let’s start with Marjorie and Kenton,” said Matt.
Patty walked the team through her conversation with Ted Frolick and his revelation about Marjorie.
Jay said, ““Not sure I believe it. Old man Frolick is nuts, and I’d need another source before I’d be convinced.”
“He’s not that old, Jay,” interrupted Patty. “Probably about my age, maybe a few years older.”
“OK, but why would Marjorie risk it?”
“If I had a dollar for every ludicrous extra-marital affair I’ve encountered in this business, I could retire today,” said Ed. “Plus, Patty’s instincts are A+, and if she thinks there is the slightest possibility that Frolick saw what he says he saw, it’s a motive, folks.”
“I agree with you, Ed,” said Matt. “Our first lead.”
“There’s one more teensy little thing,” Patty said. Reluctantly, she explained what her research on Frolick unearthed, and related her second conversation with him.
“I remember that!” exclaimed Jay. “It was right after I started working in Port Stirling. I’m not a big fan of Ted Frolick’s, but that was a bum deal. The kid’s parents were classic helicopter parents, and they completely overreacted.”
“Oh, dear,” said Fern. “Mr. Frolick’s explanation is certainly logical and believable, but it was still an act of violence toward a child. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Matt. “I need to meet this gentleman before we go any further.”
“Just because Frolick slapped a kid once, doesn’t mean he’s lying about Marjorie and Kenton,” argued Ed. “Finding out if his info is correct is still job No. 1 in my book.”
“I’ll talk to Frolick first and then we’ll proceed with our potential adulterers,” Matt responded. “Here’s how it’s gonna go down. Ed, Kenton might be working at the hardware store today, so I want you to go there and confront him. Take him by surprise. We have solid intel that he might be working near the battery section.”
Fern looked down at the table to hide her smile.
“Simultaneously, I’ll go back to the Bushnells and make small talk until you send me a text. If Kenton admits it to you, give me a thumbs up. If he denies it, thumbs down. Then I’ll know what tack to take with Marjorie. Fern, I want you to come with me and pay attention to her body language. She will deny the hell out of this unless I can inform her that Kenton has admitted it. Jay, you will keep Fred busy while I confront Marjorie. I don’t want to tell him until we’re sure Frolick’s got the story right. If Frolick is mistaken, so be it. If Frolick is right and Marjorie is having an affair, then she moves to the top of our list. To that end, I’m going to visit Mr. Frolick next. While I’m gone, you guys keep following up on the siblings’ alibis. It would be great to rule out the three kids, or rule in one of them if the evidence goes that way. Fern, this would be a good time for you to start doing research on psychological traits of family killers. I’d like you to get a profile together on which of the Bushnells might fit. I ought to be gone about an hour.”
“A mother would kill her baby to protect her secret?” said Fern, raising her eyebrows and looking grim. “Or, a father would kill his own child to cover up for his wife? Struggling with this.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Matt. “I’ve seen it all, and much of it is hard to believe. Some people are missing the compassion gene. Some get so strung out on drugs that they lose sight of the difference between right and wrong. Some are evil at heart, or narcissistic, and only care about themselves. Mental illness is a whole other story, and it’s a lot more standard than people think. Bottom line is that somebody killed that little girl, and when we find out who it is, I’ll bet you my first paycheck the people who know the killer will say ‘We can’t believe it’.
“Now, tell me what you think, Jay, about Fred possibly not being Emily’s father.” Matt paused and looked around the table, stopping at each individual for a split second. “It’s important that this not leave this room because it may not be true, and could be extremely damaging to the family. Agreed?”
Vigorous nods.
“Well, I have no proof,” Jay started, “other than the fact that Emily did look decidedly different from her three siblings. They’re all dark, she’s blonde. They all have Fred’s long, narrow face, Emily’s was more apple-like.”
“But lots of siblings look different from each other,” Matt insisted. “DNA is the only real test.”
“That’s all circumstantial,” Matt said.
“Yep. But Gary and, he says, Susan, are convinced that Marjorie was double-dipping, and Emily was the result. Also, Gary doesn’t seem to have a lot of love for mommy.”
“Did he ever confront Fred or Marjorie with his suspicions?” asked Patty.
“No. Said it didn’t matter to him, that he loved Emily regardless. But he also hinted that it might have given his mother a motive to kill Emily. What if the real father was about to blow the whistle, and Marjorie panicked?”
“But you could also make a case that Fred somehow got wind of it, and decided that Emily needed to be erased,” said Jay.
“Exactly,” said Matt. “Fred is definitely on our list. We can’t verify his alibi, and now there is doubt that Emily was his child. We may have to ask Fred to take a paternity test.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Ed. “Let’s don’t go there unless we absolutely have to, please.”
“Agreed. I would guess that not one of you sitting around this table wants to make that phone call, including me. Especially me,” Matt amended. “But a child is dead; we may have to.”
Chapter 20
Sunday, 2:30 p.m.
It was remarkable to Matt how the weather changed what this place looked and felt like. Yesterday’s driving rain and last night’s soupy fog imparted a bleak, foreboding quality that touched on everything and everyone. Except for the white boats bobbing in the blue harbor along the shore in downtown, Port Stirling wasn’t much to look it. Nondescript, squatty buildings, most built unimaginatively in the 1940s, lined the four or five streets that made up the commercial center. But on this Sunday afternoon, with the sun out, the town felt more benign and congenial. It was a glossy jewel of a day—sky, river, lighthouse, sea, all sparkling in the glow of the sun, and Matt rolled down the window of his squad car as he drove. If he hadn’t seen Emily’s body for himself, Matt never would have believed that brutal murder could take place in such an agreeable hamlet.
