One night, he and Sheriff Fitz Mitchell stayed up all night playing poker and drinking expensive French champagne. When the sun came up over the Shell Lodge, Booker turned to Fitz and asked the question that had been haunting him: “Did Gerry Lowry really kill himself?”
Fitz kicked his chair back and propped his feet up on the rail. Down on the dock, vacationing fishermen were crowding around the local guides, eager to start their day of fishing. Many of them had been up until all hours of the night at the Shell Lodge’s gaming tables, but wouldn’t let something like lack of sleep and a hangover interfere with their sport.
“You don’t want to be thinking on that, Booker. Trust me on this.” Fitz Mitchell was a big man, not given to much introspection or thought. This was all he had to say on the subject as far as he was concerned.
“But I have to know,” Booker pressed on, the champagne singing in his head, spurring him into a recklessness he normally avoided. “I need to know.”
“There are very few things you need to know in this world, and most of them are destined to disappoint. Haven’t you learned that yet, boy?” Fitz looked over at Booker’s earnest, young face and sighed. “Let me ask you a question. The day you found Gerry Lowry with his brains coming out his head, did you notice he wasn’t wearing that ring of his, the one he was always bragging he took off a German soldier? It was his proudest possession, you’ll recall, one he wouldn’t part with unless it was pried off his cold, dead finger.”
Booker tipped his bottle up, guzzling at the sweet champagne while he thought. He put the bottle down and stared at Fitz. “No, I don’t reckon I saw it on his hand.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something. I’ve seen it since. He keeps it in one of his rum holes, and he takes it out sometimes when he gets drunk. That, and some other souvenirs he keeps in there. He plays with it, and there’s a look in his eye, like a shark gets right before he comes up after that fish splashing around on your line. I’m telling you, boy, I have no intention of crossing him, and you shouldn’t either. That’s what Gerry Lowry did. Gerry crossed him on just a couple bottles of liquor and now Gerry’s dead. When I looked at that man at the poker table tonight, I got chills thinking about what he’s done. You like your life, don’t you, Booker? You don’t want to lose everything, the money, the prestige, do you? And don’t forget your parents and brothers. He wouldn’t stop at anything if he felt threatened, trust me, I know.”
With that, Fitz propped his hat over his eyes and promptly fell asleep, leaving Booker alone with his thoughts. He had never seen Fitz scared before, but there was fear in his voice tonight. Booker wasn’t stupid enough to disregard what he heard.
He never mentioned Gerry Lowry’s name again. After a couple of months, he quit the police force and went back to fishing. It took a while before he stopped looking over his shoulder when he was out on the water late at night by himself.
The problem was, he never knew exactly who he was looking for. Fitz didn’t mention a name, and Booker was left to wonder which of their poker partners was a cold-blooded killer.
Besides Fitz and Booker, there were three men at the table that night: Kenneth Fredericks, David Harrington, and Foster Garrison.
Chapter Forty-two
“Granddad Booker said he was going to hell for what he did, but he wanted to die knowing that he tried to set things right. That’s what he wanted me to do, set things right for him.” Marilee’s smile was heartbreaking. “It was the least I could do after all he’d done for me. I knew that all of them were dead, that they could no longer be punished, but Granddad said the truth needed to come out. He said Gerry’s kin should know the truth.
“But I didn’t have any idea how to go about it. Granddad didn’t know who killed Gerry Lowry, but he knew it was one of three men. I thought if I found the ring, I would have found the killer. From what the sheriff said, the killer had hidden it away in one of his rum-running hiding holes. I thought it was possible it was still there, but I didn’t know where to start.
“I did know that Kealy Lowry was Gerry’s great-grandson, so I took the big jar of change Granddad left me and went over to the mainland and cashed it in. I sent that money to Kealy, hoping it would make a start on the debt my family owed his. Then I went to the library to do some research.”
“I suspect you looked through some of the same things I did,” Sabrina said. “I noticed the boxes of microfiche had fresh fingerprints in the dust. While I understand how you picked the houses to break into, I’m still curious how you knew where to look.”
Marilee’s eyes sparkled with enjoyment. She had enjoyed her task. “Granddad told me about the hiding places he knew about. I did those first. Even though I knew Sheriff Fitz Mitchell wasn’t the killer, I thought maybe he kept a diary or journal, so I went to Hill’s house first. Granddad told me the sheriff’s hiding hole was in the floor in the master bedroom.” She glanced at Hill Mitchell, but he would not meet her eyes, so she continued her story. “Granddad also told me where David Harrington’s secret hiding place was in the Harrington rental cottage, so I went there next. I didn’t want to go in when there were people at the house, but when I found out the house was booked through December, I took a chance. It was the middle of the night, and I didn’t figure anyone would see me if I snuck in the closet and checked the hiding place real quick. It was empty, too.”
“I thought you were bigger,” Maggie Fromlin said. “I see I would make a horrible eye witness. But why were you barefoot?”
“Bare feet are quieter.” Marilee shrugged. “Besides, I only wear shoes when I have to.”
It was a typical island child foible, Sabrina thought.
“Then I went into Missy’s house,” Marilee continued. “I didn’t have any idea where the hiding place was in her house, so I needed her out of the way for a while. I got a friend to call and act like he was a tourist on the mainland who needed a ride. I couldn’t find the rum hole in her house, though. I was still looking when she came back. I’m sorry, Missy, I didn’t mean to mess with your collection. It’s pretty cool, by the way.”
Missy beamed. “Isn’t it? You’ll have to come by for a more formal tour one of these days.”
“That’d be great! Oh, and before Missy’s house, I came in here. That was a total joke, though. First I ran into the guy sneaking around carrying a duffel bag, and then that old geezer jumped out at me screaming. I didn’t get a chance to—”
“Aha!” yelled the old geezer, popping out of the closet. “Freeze, sucker, I’ve caught you!”
“Grandpa, we’ve already caught her. Haven’t I told you about hiding in closets?” Matt got up to help his diminutive grandfather roll his cart out of the closet. “What are you doing up?”
Guy wheezed for a minute as he looked around at them with bright eyes, his tiny bald head flushed with excitement. “I bet you’d like to know where the hidey hole is, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes!” Sabrina cried. “Can you show us?” They had searched unsuccessfully for it before Marilee arrived. It only made sense that the hiding place would be in the lounge, which, Sabrina had discovered in her research last night, was the room Kenneth Fredericks used as his office in the twenties.
“No, I cannot. It’s gone.” Guy grinned evilly at their obvious disappointment. “You all should have stayed in bed and done something illegal in thirty-two states, instead of traipsing out here to bother good, sleeping citizens.”
Matt was patient. “What do you mean, it’s gone, Grandpa? Where did it go?”
“It used to be in the baseboard where the bar is now. It’s not there anymore, though, so don’t you bother looking.” He sat there, all false teeth and big ears, his little hands crossed over the top of his oxygen tank, and he looked like nothing more than a malevolent little Yoda.
“Was there anything in the hole, Guy? Like a ring, maybe?” Sabrina had to give it a try.
“No, the ring wasn’t in the hole. Dad gave it to me right before he died, along with some other important m
ementos. I have it in my room. Do you want to see it?” He struggled to his feet and rolled his cart out without another word.
“That means Kenneth Fredericks is the killer,” Marilee said. “He killed Gerry Lowry!”
Matt Fredericks groaned. “This is the last time I listen to you, Sabrina. I agreed to this because I thought it would be better than having someone break in any time they felt like it. Now you’re telling me my great-grandfather was a murderer? Wonderful, just wonderful.”
“Just think, Matt, of all the publicity this will bring the Shell Lodge. They say any publicity is good publicity, you know.” Sabrina nodded as if she knew what she was talking about. “You could advertise the Shell Lodge as a prohibition-era showplace. You already know a lot of stories, and with Guy’s help, you could come up with smuggling tours and flapper parties, and who knows what else. It would be a lot of fun, and you could charge a lot of money for it.”
“Flapper parties?” Matt looked thoughtful.
“Here it is!” Guy trundled back into the room, holding up a ring. “You can look, but you can’t touch.”
By unspoken consent, they all let Marilee approach the old man first. He held it close to his chest, in a half-clenched fist, but after a moment Marilee nodded. “It’s got the inscription on it. It belonged to Gerry Lowry.”
“I’ll be happy to buy that ring off you,” Walter Olgivie offered in a hearty voice. “Sight unseen, I’ll give you twenty dollars.”
Guy gave him a disdainful look. “You play a lousy game of Battleship.”
“Guy, did your father tell you where he got the ring?”
“He took it off that man he killed. I was there, you know. I was sitting outside the fish house playing with my new wind-up speedboat, like the ones the smugglers used, when I heard the shot. Daddy came out kind of quick, and he said we needed to go talk to the sheriff. Later he told me not to tell anyone we were there, so of course I didn’t, and before he died he gave me this ring. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It’s very nice, Guy,” Sabrina managed, because no one else seemed to know what to say.
“Well, what do we do now, Sabrina?” Matt looked at Sabrina wearily. “We can’t very well have Sergeant Jimmy take the killer into custody. He’s been dead forty years.”
“Marilee, what do you want to do?”
Marilee looked startled by Sabrina’s question. “I hadn’t really thought it through,” she said, “but I guess I need to tell Kealy Lowry the truth about his great-granddad Gerry, that Gerry didn’t kill himself.”
“Maybe that’ll take the burden of bad luck off him,” Hill offered, and immediately looked around as if to see who had spoken.
“That sounds fine,” Sabrina said.
“But what about her?” Matt indicated Marilee. “Should we call Jimmy to come get her?”
“I have SATs next Saturday,” Marilee said in a stricken voice. “I don’t have time to be arrested!”
“I’m sure we can work that out tomorrow.” Sabrina remained seated, however, and the two or three people who had half-risen from their seats sat back down again.
“Now what?” Matt groaned.
“It was something Marilee said right before Guy came in. What night did you try to break into the Shell Lodge the first time?”
“Monday night.” Marilee seemed much more light-hearted now, more like the kid she was, than the adult she wasn’t.
“That was the night Gilbert was killed. Didn’t you say you saw someone sneaking around with a duffel bag?”
Marilee looked around and then pointed to the back of the room at Lance Mayhew. “I’m pretty sure it was him. Why? Does it matter?”
Chapter Forty-three
Everyone turned to stare at Lance. Most of them had no idea why they were doing so.
Lance did, however. He stood and left the room without a word.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Sabrina was up in an instant, hurrying after the man. By the time she got to the door, he was halfway down the hall. He wasn’t running, but he wasn’t walking slowly, either. “Lance, was that Gilbert Kane’s duffel bag you were carrying?” she called after his retreating back.
Behind her there was an interested murmur and then people began pouring out of the room as Sabrina set off after Lance.
“Sabrina, why would Lance be sneaking around with Gilbert’s bag?” asked Sophie in a high, excited voice.
“And if Gilbert was dead, how did Lance get his bag? Do we know for sure it was Gilbert’s bag?” This from Patti. “Lance, you better stop and answer some of these questions.”
Lance sent a harried look over his hunched shoulder and kept walking.
“Wait for me, wait for me!” screeched Guy, who was bringing up the very rear as he struggled with his cart. Dennis Parker went back, picked up the little man, put him in the cart with his tank and sprinted him down the hall. “Wheee!”
“Please, people, can we try to be more quiet?” Matt pleaded as several guests opened their doors to see what all the commotion was about. “Sabrina, I hold you responsible for this!”
Sabrina was not far behind Lance as he turned the corner at the end of the hall.
“Lance,” she said in clear, ringing tones. “What do you know about Gilbert’s murder? Why did you have his bag?” She rushed to follow Lance out the glass doors onto the pool deck.
Dawn was just arriving, cool, foggy and pearlescent as it slid across the hushed sky.
Lance stopped and turned around at the edge of the pool. People kept piling out through the door and then came to a shoving, whispering halt when they saw him. No one knew what to do.
“It would be easier if you told us what you were doing, Lance.” Sabrina stood closest to him, and she could see the dew drops of sweat beading his brow.
“I don’t want to be like the man in her story,” he said at last, and his words were so quiet that it was almost necessary to stop breathing to hear him.
“What man?” Sabrina had no idea what he was talking about.
“Speak up, buster, I’m in the balcony back here,” Guy called.
“Her great-grandfather,” Lance said, “the one who lived his whole life consumed by guilt. It’s already eating away at me, and I don’t think I can stand it. But if I tell you, I might lose my kids.” His gray eyes were wild with indecision.
“What kind of father will you be with something like this on your conscience?” Sabrina had no idea what this was, but it seemed to work. Lance groaned and turned away. For a moment, she thought he was going to walk away again, but then he turned back around.
“I went after Gilbert that afternoon. I overheard him,” Lance nodded at Matt, “telling the dock guy to take Gilbert over to Goat Island and leave him for a while. I looked at the big map of all the islands in the bar, and I saw where Goat Island was. I waited until I saw them leave on the motorboat, and then I took one of the kayaks. I got really lost, so it took me a while, but then I saw Gilbert lying on the beach. Just…lying there. I pulled the kayak up on the beach and went over to him, but it was too late. He was already dead. There was a bottle of wine overturned next to him, and a corkscrew covered with blood lying beside him. There was nothing I could do.” He looked around as if someone had disputed this statement.
“How did you come by his duffel bag?”
“It was there, beside him. I thought it might have…things in it, so I took it. It was sitting right next to Gilbert, so it was covered with blood, and it got the kayak all bloody as well. I looked through it when I got back to my room, and that night, when the girl saw me, I was on my way to get rid of it. I took another kayak and dropped it overboard. I knew what the police would think if they found me with it.”
“Did you search Gilbert’s room that night?” Sabrina asked the question in as non-threatening a tone as possible. Behind her, it sounded as if the group had its collective breath held.
“Yes. I did. It turned out it didn’t matter, but I didn’t know that then.” Lance’s voice was bitter. “At
the time I thought I was free, but I wanted to make sure Gilbert didn’t have anything else hidden away in his room.”
“What kind of things were you looking for?”
Lance looked up and seemed to notice the group for the first time in several minutes. “I was trying to save all of us Hummers, you know,” he said to them. “Not just myself. But I guess you don’t even know what I mean, do you? You’re being blackmailed, every one of you, and you don’t even know it.”
Chapter Forty-four
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone started talking at once. Sabrina raised a hand for quiet.
“Please continue,” she said.
Lance nodded, and then swallowed hard. There was a long pause before he started speaking again. When he did, he addressed his fellow Hummers directly. “They photograph us at our sessions.”
“Fred Young,” Sabrina said. “The big, bald man in the leather jacket. That explains what he was doing on Rainbow Island with a camera.”
Horrified expressions crossed the Hummers’ faces.
“Normally you wouldn’t find out until later,” Lance continued. “When you left the retreat, the Hum would be gone, but there would be an envelope full of pictures waiting for you when you got home. Pictures of you. Doing what they made us do in our sessions.” He paused meaningfully, and Sabrina glanced around to see shock and panic.
“What did they make you do?” Guy called out. “Did I miss something?”
Lance waved away the question, and Sabrina could see the relief on the faces of the Hummers. “It’s not important. Suffice it to say we were desperate, and truly thought these…rituals would help.”
“I suppose they want money to keep quiet about these pictures?” Here was the money, Sabrina thought, it had been there all along.
Island Blues Page 23
