by Nic Saint
“I trust you, Ramon,” she finally muttered, and she hoped he would succeed. For both their sakes.
The doorbell rang, and she reluctantly released her fiancé to start his day. She wondered what she would do today. Before this whole mess with Jack had upended her life, she’d been working with the local employment agency, trying to find suitable employ.
It wasn’t easy. The scandal that had broken loose after she’d been forced to resign from her position at Saint-Luke’s Hospital had soured her reputation. It was hard to work as a nurse again, even one as qualified as she was.
But the woman manning the agency had nevertheless sent out her résumé to all possible venues, in hopes of a bite. So far, nothing.
And now with the trial hanging over her head, she was certain she would find no gainful employ until the matter was resolved in her favor. Even then, it was doubtful she’d ever work as a nurse again.
Ramon hurried downstairs, wondering what all the hubbub was about. His housekeeper had a key and usually let herself in, and it was too early for his parishioners to start coming round.
Yanking open the door, he was surprised to find Burt Howe on the doorstep, stomping his feet and rubbing his hands in an attempt to keep warm.
“Officer Howe. What brings you here?”
“Can I come in?” the testy response was. “I’m freezing my nuts off out here, padre.”
Reluctantly, Ramon stepped aside to let the policeman in. He just hoped he wasn’t here for Eileen. The woman needed rest, not more visits from the town copper.
“If you’re looking for Eileen—” he began.
“I’m actually looking for the both of you,” Burt announced, his searching gaze taking in his surroundings. “I have some news to impart.”
Ramon briefly went toe to toe with the detective. “I just hope you haven’t come here to upset her anymore, Howe. Eileen deserves a break. At least until the trial.”
“There won’t be a trial, father,” barked the cop.
Ramon’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
Without waiting for an invitation, Burt stalked down the dark corridor and shoved open a door at the end. The construction of these old houses was all the same, he knew, and he was in search of the kitchen and something hot to defrost his frozen limbs.
When he entered the kitchen, his eyes immediately swiveled to the coffee pot he knew should be bubbling somewhere on the stove. When he found none, he didn’t hide his disappointment.
“No coffee?” he growled.
Ramon, who had followed him in, pointed to a coffee maker conveniently placed near the sink. “Help yourself, detective. You’ll find pods in the cupboard.”
Burt eyed the contraption wearily. He didn’t like these new-fangled coffee makers with their pods and the minute doses of coffee they doled out. He preferred the good old-fashioned type producing enough coffee to really hit the spot and jump-start the system.
“Pods and capsules,” he grumbled. “Who needs fucking pods when all you want is a cup of coffee?”
“Here. Let me do the honors,” Eileen spoke in his rear. She’d silently entered the kitchen and now stole up behind the policeman and reached up for the box of coffee pods. “Pick your poison, Mr Howe. Mocha, Cappuccino, regular…”
He eyed her interestedly. She looked… different, he reckoned. Less pale and worn out than the day before. Something—or someone—was doing her a world of good. “Just a regular cup of coffee, Eileen. I’m just a plain Joe.”
She displayed a crooked smile. “Just a plain cuppa Joe for a plain Joe, huh, Mr Howe?”
“Yeah. That about it. And please call me Burt, will you. I hate it when people call me Mr Howe. Makes me feel like a fucking banker.”
Eileen merely nodded, and started preparing a cup of regular brew for the policeman. He watched her deft fingers work the machine and remembered she was a trained nurse. Those hands had healed people, he briefly thought. He wondered if they ever would again.
He wheeled round before any more weird thoughts entered his mind, and took a seat without invitation, as was his habit. Placing his notebook on the table, he cleared his throat. “Eileen. Ramon. I feel like I owe you both an apology. In fact, this town owes you both an apology.”
“Oh?” said Eileen, frowning.
He leaned back and smoothed his rumpled suit, a fruitless habit for no matter how hard he tried, the suit never looked quite the way it should. Probably because he was short, he reckoned. Short guys never looked good in suits. At least he didn’t.
Not seeing the point in postponing things, he jumped straight to the crux. “You’re off the hook for the murder of Jacqueline Doulard, Eileen. We know who did it and why.”
Chapter 27
“What? Who? When? Why?”
Eileen and Ramon were speaking simultaneously, and Burt held up his hands in mock defense. “Hold your horses, you two. Let me begin by saying that what I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. None of this leaves this room, is that understood?”
Eileen nodded eagerly. Could this be it? Could this be the end of her suffering? She sincerely hoped so. She’d always looked upon Burt as the enemy. Perhaps he wasn’t? Could he be a friend instead?
He cocked an eyebrow. “How well do you know Franklin Summers, Eileen?”
“Franklin?” She shrugged. “He’s a friend. Of course I know him well.”
“I don’t think you know him well enough to see this one coming, though,” the detective grumbled. He fished in his pocket and came out with a bullet, then placed it on the table with a tap. “Do you know what this is?”
“A, um, bullet?” Eileen said, wide-eyed.
“Excellent powers of deduction, Eileen,” said Burt wryly. “Not just any bullet, however. This is the slug that killed Jacqueline Doulard.”
Eileen jerked back, horrified, but found comfort in Ramon’s arm as he protectively slung it across her shoulder.
“What’s this all about, Burt?” Ramon asked testily.
The policeman gave him a curious look, then shifted in his seat. “Yeah. Do you notice anything peculiar about this bullet?”
Eileen stared at the ghastly object, horrified to find the… thing… that killed her friend now displayed on the kitchen table.
“It’s a bullet, Burt. Nothing special about it. They all look the same to me,” gruffly intoned Ramon, who was clearly less than pleased with the policeman’s games.
Burt picked up the bullet and toyed with it for a moment, much to Eileen’s distress. “We found a match between this bullet and one we pulled out of a man several years ago. That man’s name might ring a bell. Joshua Parsley?”
Eileen frowned. Parsley? Then the name hit home and her eyes widened. “Suzie’s dad?”
“Bingo. Suzie Parsley’s dad was murdered five years ago with what looks like the same weapon that killed your lawyer.”
She frowned. “But… how is that possible?”
“Same killer,” murmured Ramon.
“Exactly. You’re a quick thinker, father. You should have joined the force. We found the killer of Suzie Parsley’s dad. Same guy who killed Miss Doulard.”
“Jack Rafter,” ventured Ramon.
“Wrong,” smiled Burt. “Father, you should keep doing what you do. Policing is not your thing. The killer who murdered Jacqueline Doulard only wanted it to look like Jack was the culprit. That’s also why he tried to run over the Parsley girl. So we would think the same guy was behind all three incidents.”
“But why?”
“Alibi,” muttered Ramon. “If the police thought the killer was one person, they’d never look for the real killer.”
“We did find the real one, though.” He eyed them speculatively, clearly enjoying to keep them in suspense. He was no Hercule Poirot, but he liked to put on a little show just like the next detective. “Let me tell you a story,” he said, taking a long sip from his coffee.
Eileen swallowed, her heart aflutter. Finally they would know what this was all
about, and finally she would have her freedom again. At least, that’s what she hoped. She clung to Ramon’s hand as it rested on her shoulder, and squeezed it, feeling the comforting touch of his skin against hers.
“Shoot,” ventured Ramon, quite inappropriately.
“Imagine two guys going into business together. Both young bucks intent on ruling the world and becoming gazillionaires in the process. Only, one of the men is a serial philanderer, a drunk and a drug addict. The other, the most ambitious of the two, sees this wreck of a partner of his weighing him down, and soon decides that rather than carry the dead weight of an addict and disgrace of a human being, opts to dump him by the wayside.
“But he can’t. They signed a partnership deal so he can’t just fire the guy, and neither does he want to spend his hard-earned dough buying him out, risking all their dirty laundry coming out when the abused party starts blabbing. So he decides to incriminate him instead.
“He kills the guy’s girlfriend lawyer, carefully planting the weapon on his partner, making sure he will take the fall for the murder. There have been fights and arguments between the couple, so there’s plenty of motive, and now there’s the murder weapon as well.
“Only, the partner isn’t as dumb as he looks. He immediately suspects foul play when he gets a call from the cops that his car has been implicated in a hit-and-run accident and his girlfriend mysteriously disappears. When a search of his house reveals a gun he knows isn’t his, he knows exactly what’s going on. He’s being framed. Rather than take it lying down, he decides to one-up his old friend and frame his ex-wife instead.
“Using his noggin, he discovers this is the gun that killed Joshua Parsley, and he decides to make it look as if the same person who killed Parsley tried to run over the man’s daughter. You, Eileen. He tried to frame you. Jack ran over Suzie Parsley, then fled the scene, pinning it on you. Same way he sent us those pictures of you and Ramon, remember?”
“But I didn’t… kill Suzie’s father,” said Eileen, now thoroughly confused. “I didn’t even know him.”
“I know you didn’t,” admitted the policeman. “Thing is, we never found the Parsley killer, and when the gun showed up at the scene of the Doulard murder with your prints on it, we figured you must have been responsible for both crimes. You see…” He shifted and took another swig from his cup. “Joshua Parsley used to work for your husband. He was his enforcer, bodyguard, right-hand man, you name it. And we have reason to believe he’s the one who tried to stop you when you decided to leave your husband.”
Eileen gasped, finally making the connection. She’d only known Joshua by his Christian name. She remembered the man quite well. Her husband’s bodyguard and jack-of-all-trades, he had been responsible for keeping her in line, turning her into a prisoner in her own home. Then one day he was found dead, and she’d finally been able to escape her husband’s clutches.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said softly.
Burt reached over and pressed her hand. “We know, Eileen. We know you didn’t. Only the real killer and his former best friend knew who really was responsible.” He nodded when the truth started forming in Eileen’s mind. “Yes. Your friend and protector killed Joshua Parsley. And he took care of Jacqueline Doulard as well, trying to frame Jack. The person with the most to lose is the one responsible for starting this whole mess.”
She stared at the detective, and the words formed on her lips before she knew she’d spoken them. “Franklin Summers.”
Chapter 28
As Burt told the story, Eileen slowly started to see the whole picture. Franklin Summers had arranged the whole thing, but his plan had horribly backfired when Jack found out who was behind it. Apparently, the drunk and drug fiend had a few moves of his own, and when the murder of Jacqueline Doulard had brought him dangerously close to the end, he’d taken matters into his own hands, and decided to turn things around in his favor.
“But how did Eileen’s fingerprints end up on the murder weapon?” Ramon wanted to know.
“They had always been there,” the detective explained. “The gun was in fact Joshua Parsley’s. I guess Eileen will know how her prints ended up on the weapon, don’t you, Eileen?”
She nodded absently, her mind drifting back to the horrid past she’d spent locked up in a prison of Jack’s making. One day, when finding her jailor asleep on his perch near the door, she had grabbed her jacket and tiptoed to the door, intent on escape. She’d made a fatal error in trying to bring her favorite moggie along, however. Castor had meowed just in the wrong moment, and Joshua had woken up. In a reflex action, Eileen had taken the gun from the table and threatened the guard with it, inching to the elevator with the cat in her arms.
The guard had merely grinned and easily wrestled the gun from her grip. In a last ditch attempt she’d squeezed the trigger, only to hear the telltale click of an empty chamber.
She’d lost it, then, and hadn’t attempted escape again.
“I once handled the gun,” she now explained. “My fingerprints must have remained on it all this time.
“The man Summers hired to kill both Parsley and Doulard didn’t know about that, or else he would have wiped the gun clean before he planted it in Jack’s house. As matters now stood, with Jacqueline dead and Eileen in jail, Summers knew he had to make one last play to secure his beloved’s release. He had Jack killed and made it look like a suicide. A note was left on the body—”
“A note!” Ramon exclaimed. “You never told us about a note.”
“For good reason,” grunted the cop. “A very convenient note it was. Confessing to the murder of Doulard and clearing Eileen of all involvement. Too good to be true, I felt.”
“Beloved,” murmured Eileen, who had caught something else in the policeman’s words. She looked up in surprise. “You said Summers tried to affect his beloved’s release…”
Burt grinned. “You, Eileen. Franklin Summers was in love with you all these years. Loved you from afar, and hated his partner more and more each day for what he did to you. His plan didn’t merely grow out of the necessity to protect his business from Jack’s escapades. It also conveniently released you from the clutches of the man. He secretly hoped, I guess, that when all was over and done, you would run to him.”
“I never knew,” she whispered. She’d seen Franklin give her that odd look from time to time, but had never read love into his eyes. “So he did it all… for me?”
Burt nodded reluctantly. “Seems that way. At least that’s what his note said. And this one hasn’t been tampered with. His lawyer handed it to us first thing this morning.” He shoved a piece of xeroxed paper across the table. Eileen caught the first words and her heart stopped. “Last will and testament of Franklin Summers… He’s… dead?”
“Died early this morning. Euthanasia. He’d been suffering for a long time. Terminal cancer would have taken him any moment now.”
She buried her face in her hands, overcome with pity for the man she’d considered a friend in dark times. She’d never realized what kind of a friend he’d really been. He’d killed her guard so she could escape. He was a murderer, killing Jacqueline Doulard in cold blood so he could frame his partner and break up the company in his favor. Still, he’d loved her from afar all these years. Had he but only told her, things might have been very different in her life.
Ramon pounced on one of the signatures beneath the document. “Frank Ruffalo!” he cried, tapping the document. “But that’s impossible!”
Burt merely shrugged. “Seems as if Mr Ruffalo has his fingers in a lot of pies. He’s been appointed trustee as well.” He pursed his lips. “And guess who else has been named in the will?”
Eileen searched through the document with tear-filled eyes. A drop rolled down her cheek and she handed the will to Ramon. She couldn’t read it.
Ramon quickly scanned its contents, then gasped in shock, his gaze slowly turning to his future wife. “Eileen Stoker…” he muttered.
She wiped away her tear
s, strange emotions burning in her stomach. So many people dead, and for what? All for…
“Money, Eileen,” said Burt softly, as if picking up on her thoughts. He’d leaned in closer, tapping the piece of paper. “A great deal of it.”
She shook her head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“As Jack’s wife, you’re the sole heir of Rafter’s share in S&R, Eileen. Jack, like a lot of the extremely wealthy, probably thought he was immortal, and denied you a divorce just to spite Summers. Now you’re the one benefiting from his hubris. And as if that’s not enough, Summers has left you with his share as well. The old man had no children so you’re the main beneficiary of his will.” He thrust out a hand. “Congratulations, young lady. You’re now officially one of the wealthiest women in the country.”
Eileen’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound was produced. Her mind a blank, she was incapable of grasping the truth of what the detective had just said.
“Jesus Christ,” murmured Ramon.
Burt grinned. “Ain’t that blasphemy, father?”
“I don’t care,” exclaimed Ramon. He eyed Eileen reverently. “Honey, if you’re having second thoughts about the wedding, I-I understand. I mean, marrying a pauper and all.”
Burt laughed and shoved his notebook back inside his pocket. “I’ll leave you two to talk things through. Never was one to get in the middle of a lovers’ tiff.”
“No lovers’ tiff,” finally spoke Eileen. She reached up and stroked Ramon’s cheek lovingly. “Nothing has changed, honey. I still love you and the wedding is still on.”
Ramon smiled down at her and she kissed him tenderly. The one man who had always stood by her side, and had loved her when she was Brookridge’s Jezebel was the only man she’d ever loved—would ever love.
Burt coughed awkwardly, clearly not comfortable in the presence of kissing lovers. “I’ll be off. Don’t bother, um… Just keep doing what you— I’ll see myself out,” he concluded gruffly, and quickly stalked out of the kitchen. Moments later they heard the door slam, and once again they were alone.
