Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense)

by Jill Winters

  “Why not?” Donovan asked, grabbing his coat off the rack by the door.

  “Because...” Helplessly, Spackel shrugged, looked around for the answer. “Because it could be a prank. Probably is a prank. It's been over ten years. We can't take this as anything more than an anonymous joke.”

  “I don't see a joke in that. There's nothing funny about the implications,” Donovan pointed out. “Besides, I'm not suggesting we go over there and dig up the man's property. I'm only saying we should go ask him about this note. Ask him who might send a note like this to us. If he's having problems with anyone.”

  “Ohh,” Spackel said, nodding. Visibly, his shoulders relaxed.

  Donovan squinted his gaze at him. “You wouldn't happened to be scared of Northgate now, would you, Spack?”

  Faintly, Spackel blushed and then profusely shook his head. “No, of course not. It's just...well, the old man's big around here. A town institution, I guess you could say. Not exactly someone you'd want to piss off. But no, of course I'm not scared of him. He's just an old man.”

  “That's right,” Donovan agreed. Besides, he thought, what else was there to do? The State Police had already taken over the investigation regarding Abel Kelling, who'd been found dead in Nina Corday's basement.

  Now Spackel reached for his own coat. “Anyway, like you said, we're going over there as more of a service to him. To give him a heads-up about this...joker...whoever he is.”

  “Where are you going?” Irene called to them, as she walked across to the file room, which was really just a big walk-in closet adjacent the coffee pot.

  “Chester Northgate's,” Donovan replied, crossing back to take the printouts from Spackel's hand. Quickly, he folded them and tucked them into his coat pocket.

  Irene's eyes widened, clearly intrigued. “Why? Has something happened? Some kind of disturbance?”

  “Nah, nothing like that,” Spackel assured her. “Doing a public service, that's all.”

  “Like what?” she pried.

  “See you later, Irene,” Donovan said and opened the door to hurry Spackel up.

  “You boys never tell me anything interesting!” Irene groused with maternal martyrdom as the door slammed shut behind them.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  With his baseball cap pulled low and thick black jacket zipped up, Michael slipped into True Heart Hospital and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Assuming everything was as he'd left it, Nicole would probably be checking out today. He wanted to check on her one last time, just to make sure she was okay and that she was on her way back to Boston. After everything, he could only assume that she'd want to take Puddle and return home.

  When he neared her room, his gut tightened up. He was actually nervous. What would she say to him? Maybe she had left already? Just as he glanced in the window, he heard voices. Carefully, he ducked to the side, where he could look through the glass, but not be seen. From here, he saw a petite woman with a blunt, short hair cut and arms folded, standing a few feet from the bed. Nicole was sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing fleece pants and a long-sleeve tee shirt. Someone must have brought her some fresh clothes; maybe the red-head sitting at the foot of the bed.

  Unexpectedly, Michael heard a man's voice. Where had that come from? Shifting his stance by the wall, now he could see better. That had to be Nicole's dad. “Nicole,” the man said, “we're going to take you home with us today. Your mother and I will look after you.”

  The petite woman, who must've been her mom, nodded and said something that Michael couldn't quite hear.

  Then the red-headed one said, “You can stay with me if you want.”

  “Thanks...” Nicole began. “But...I can't just pick up and go. What about my stuff? What about the inventory on the house?”

  “I'll take care of that,” her dad said. Her mom looked skeptical. “I'll see to it that the job gets done,” Nicole's dad clarified. “We'll put it on hold if we have to. Until the police sort this thing out.” This thing, Michael thought. Considering that Nicole's family was gathered around her, Michael wondered what, exactly, she'd told them.

  “I still can't believe it,” Nicole's mom said then. Her voice sounded sharp and angry. “You’ve been in Chatham for hardly more than two weeks! How could all of this happen in two weeks? And how could it happen in a town like Chatham? Never in all the years I've known it...” Her words drifted off as she shook her head, clearly disgusted.

  “I know,” Nicole's dad agreed, and set his hand supportively on the woman's back. “But at least all he took were some paintings. God knows what else could have happened.” Seeming uncomfortable with the thought, he changed the subject. “You have no idea who he was? Or where he went?”

  Every muscle in him tightened as Michael waited to hear her response. Through the glass, he watched her face. Gently, she licked her lips. Paused. Brushed her hair behind her ear. So damn pretty. “I don't know who he was, Dad. I know that he really wanted the paintings; he talked about how much they'd be worth. Then Michael came in and...I was able to get away. I really don't remember too much in detail. I guess bumping my head...”

  So that was it. She'd told her family—and presumably the police—about Lucius breaking in and stealing the paintings, but not about Michael's connection to all this. As far as Nicole was implying, Michael was just what he had seemed to be all along: her friend who'd been in the right place at the right time. It confirmed what he had kind of suspected—because if she had wanted to turn Michael in, she could have done it by now.

  “Maybe he was some kind of obsessed fan of Aunt Nina's work,” the red-head said now.

  “Well, either way, I'm sure the police will catch up with him and we'll resolve this whole matter,” her dad said. “In the meantime, there is no reason for you to stay in Chatham at this time. The house isn't ready for you to put on the market yet, anyway. Take a break from all that's happened.”

  “What I can't believe is that you never even told us you were grabbed on the beach when you first arrived!” Nicole's mother exclaimed. “How could you keep that from me?”

  “I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't want you to worry. It seemed like an isolated incident at the time, and very atypical, according to the police.”

  Affectionately, the redhead tapped Nicole's leg. “It sounds like it's still atypical. I mean, we're not talking about a crime wave here. We're talking about one particular criminal with one specific agenda. In theory, once he's caught, crime is extinguished again.”

  “Alyssa, what's your point?” their mother barked, casting a disapproving look at her. “Are you saying that Nicole should stay here instead of coming home with me?”

  “No, no,” Alyssa amended quickly. “I was just making an observation. You know, about the more general, sociological context of the crime.”

  Michael wrinkled his brow at that one, and then heard Nicole say, “Mom, she's in law school, what do you want?”

  Despite himself, Michael grinned. He really would miss her. She just had this easy, calming way about her. He had a feeling both women were a little afraid of their mother. “In any case,” Nicole continued, “Whoever he was, I just want to forget about him. The police have a detailed description from me. I've reported the theft. And now I want to put it out of my head. Go back home with my dog and try to put this whole thing behind me.”

  “About your dog,” her mother began, “does she shed? Because—”

  “If it's a problem, they can stay with me,” Alyssa offered.

  “No, no,” her mother jumped back in, “She'll stay with me.”

  “Thanks you guys,” Nicole said, appearing to address all three of them.

  “You don't have to thank us,” her father said.

  “By the way,” Alyssa said, “what ever happened to Michael? Where is he? I thought I'd finally get to meet this guy you have a huge monster crush on.”

  Despite her sister's lighthearted tone, Nicole twisted her mouth in disappointment. A knife turned in Michael's chest. A
bruptly, she covered the look, but he'd seen it.

  “He left,” Nicole said simply.

  “Why?” Alyssa asked, sounding surprised.

  Casually, Nicole shrugged. “His vacation was over, he had to go back to Boston, that's all.”

  “He probably couldn't wait to leave,” their mom remarked cynically. “Look at all that's happened. This used to be such a safe place...”

  “Well are you guys gonna stay in touch?” Alyssa persisted.

  “No,” she answered. “It wasn't like that. I mean, he was just passing through and he was nice. But that's all there really was to it. Hey, by the way, where’s Linda?” Nicole asked suddenly.

  “She and Neil went away to Mystic for an extended weekend,” Nicole’s mother explained. “I didn’t call her about what happened, because there’s nothing she can do and I didn’t want to ruin her trip. Considering that Neil and Linda have enough problems as it is,” she added with a pursed mouth.

  Alyssa jumped in. “Oh, yeah, Nicole, I forgot to tell you! I found out why Linda has been so MIA and totally blowing us off lately. She and Neil are on the rocks—but for real this time, I think.”

  “It’s bad?” Nicole said, sounding sympathetic. “Now I see…”

  “Yeah, it makes total sense,” Alyssa agreed. “Here she’s been on and off with Neil for ten years already; with no wedding in sight, and apparently now a bad breakup looming, she probably doesn’t want to get ‘I told you so’ from Mom and pity from us.”

  “Makes sense,” Nicole agreed.

  Sounding indignant, their mother said, “Pardon me?”

  “Oh, no offense,” Alyssa added. “I’m just saying…if I were as pretty as Linda and had wasted a decade on a noncommittal drip like Neil, hey, I’d be bitter, too.

  “Now, back to the matters at hand,” Nicole's father interrupted. “Nicole, whatever happened with Abel? Did you end up having to meet him for lunch?”

  “Since when were you meeting Abel for lunch?” her mom interrupted. “Nobody told me that.”

  “Oh...no...um...” Curiously, then, Michael watched Nicole's face, as she deliberated where to begin with the whole Abel topic. Jesus, she hadn't told her family that part, either. It hit him then that she hadn't needed to because she'd been confiding in him lately. “Actually... Abel's dead,” she blurted feebly.

  “What!” her mother exclaimed.

  “What are you talking about?” her sister joined in.

  “God...” Nicole's father said, “please tell me you're kidding.”

  “No, um, I happened to find his body down in the basement, uh...”

  “What!”

  “The police are looking into the cause of death—”

  She didn't get a chance to say more before her mother was hemming and hawing, firing both questions and commentary at once. How could this happen? How could Nicole not have told her this? Had her father been told? Had her sisters been told? Who else knew before her?

  Finally, Nicole spoke. “I'm really sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but it literally just happened and I was so caught up with...everything,” she finished vaguely.

  “Caught up with what?” her mother persisted. “What were you so busy with?”

  This was her chance to tell them about the clues left by her aunt and anything else that had filled the last few weeks, but she didn't. Seeming enervated, she just said, “I was going to tell you...”

  “Nicole,” her father said, “it's not good for you to keep things like that inside. This is too much for one person to deal with on her own.” Briefly, Michael frowned, because Nicole hadn't been alone. At the time, she'd had him. Why was she so intent on covering for him? he wondered now. Was it because she still cared about him? Or because she felt too foolish to tell her family the truth?

  Time up. He pushed off the wall. He'd gotten lucky so far, but he shouldn't push it. Thank God Nicole was going home with her family. Keeping his head down, Michael moved through the hospital corridor under a shield of a baseball cap. On his way to the stairwell, he stopped short. Christ! Lucius's face plastered on the TV screen that hung over the nurses' desk! Two nurses sat with rapt attention as the newscaster reported that a man was found dead along the shore of Pleasant Bay. Appeared to be a drug overdose. The man was also the chief suspect in a robbery earlier that week.

  Apparent overdose? he thought, disbelieving. No fucking way. That was too convenient. Michael had assumed that Lucius had come to, dusted himself off, cleaned up the mess in Nicole’s kitchen and taken the paintings to his partner. Perhaps the partner was the one who’d done the clean up…and perhaps the “clean up” included wiping Lucius out altogether.

  As he ducked into the stairwell, Michael wondered if his plan to take Nicole out of the line of fire would work. Would the cops get his delivery today and simply dismiss it as a prank? Or would they act on it? With any luck, they would get off their asses—and go ruin Chester Northgate's day.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  After rolling down the private, narrow road of Harbor Street, Donovan and Spackel came to stop. The black iron gate was tall and imposing. As they approached the front door, Donovan spotted a familiar face. Jim White of White’s Nursery was pruning some bushes.

  “Hey, Jim,” Donovan said. “I didn’t know you did landscaping work, in addition to keeping the nursery.”

  Jim nodded. “With times being the way they are, Chester’s been real good to me. Thrown a lot of work, and clients, my way. I really owe him.” With that, he went back to his pruning.

  Donovan rapped the brass knocker on old Chester's door, expecting his weird housekeeper to answer. But Chester himself pulled the heavy wooden door open. He wore bifocal glasses and a light blue robe with shiny gold stitching. Today's paper was nestled in his elbow. Immediately, his elderly face pinched in confusion. “Yes? Hello gentlemen? What can I do for you?” His voice sounded more garbled and crackly than Donovan remembered.

  “Morning, Mr. Northgate. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but I got a strange...parcel today and wondered if you might be able to help me with it.” Donovan took the folded papers out of his coat pocket and handed them to Chester. The old man's watery eyes widened as they darted over the top sheet. Knobby fingers pried through the pages. “Does it mean anything to you?” Donovan asked. “There was no name with it, no return address.”

  Almost imperceptibly, the paper shook in Chester's hands. Now his eyes appeared beady and concentrating. Donovan thought he saw a slight twitch in the side of his face.

  Keeping his tone light, Spackel said, “Any idea who might send us something like that?”

  Chester's hand began to shake noticeably now. A strange kind of anguish seemed to spread over his face, twisting his features, as though pained, uncertain, on the verge of...fear? Eyebrows raised, Donovan threw a quick glance to Spackel, who, implicitly, shrugged back.

  “I take it this note means something to you?” Donovan pressed.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Chester seemed to lose his footing; he tipped, grabbed the edge of the door, at the same time crinkling the papers up. “I can't anymore...not now...” he managed.

  “Can't what?” Spackel probed then, clearly intrigued himself.

  “I'm too close to the end,” Chester nearly whispered. Slowly, he curled his eyes open again. His shoulders appeared to tremble. Donovan realized then that the rumors were true: Chester Northgate was not a well man these days. The old guy fidgeting before him was obviously haunted by something. “I wanted to come forward,” Chester explained shakily. “But she convinced me not to...she coerced me into going along with her...” Finally, he looked Donovan in the eye. “It was an accident, I swear to you.”

  Donovan managed to keep his cool—a tool of the trade—but his adrenaline had spiked fifty times over. Was Chester admitting that the implication in the anonymous pages was true? Was he about to confess to some involvement in an old unsolved case? Take that, State Police, Donovan thought suddenly and immaturely. Then focused bac
k on the critical moment at hand. One false step now, and Chester might slam the door shut and withdraw like a turtle. “How about we come in and talk about it,” Donovan said with faux camaraderie and nudged inside without an invitation. Spackel stepped along with him.

  As both men entered the foyer, they saw Chester's housekeeper, Edith, at the top of the steps. Her uniquely sculpted and normally inscrutable face now showed signs of alarm. “Chester, what is this about?” She spoke with a stern voice that belied her position as mere housekeeper.

  “They know, Miss Winchell,” Chester responded. “They know about Marlee.”

  “Chester, you're confused,” Edith snapped. “You need to lie down.” Coming down the stairs purposefully, Edith looked at Donovan and Spackel and added, “He hasn't been well. He's elderly and needs rest.”

  Spackel spoke up. “Ma'am, we understand that. However, we'd like to talk to him for a moment about Marlee Wurther.”

  Something flickered in Edith's face But she covered it quickly, and assumed a stately posture and confused countenance. “Who? I don't understand.”

  Millions of dollars aside, in this moment, the wealthy philanthropist and enterpriser appeared a defeated heap. Five foot seven and slumped at the shoulders, Chester wore the ragged look of someone who was both remorseful and resigned. “We have to tell them...I can't die with this on my conscience.”

  “He's not well,” Edith said again, this time her voice rising, as she reached over and snatched Chester's arm. “Come on, you need to go back to bed.”

  “Ma'am,” Donovan began, his tone forceful now.

  “Can't you see he's not well? Chester, you're imagining things again—you're confused. If you keep badgering him, it will only lead to him having a stroke, or worse!” She took the papers from Chester's feebly clutching hand.

  As she skimmed the article, Spackel said again, “We'd like to ask Chester—and you—a few questions about Marlee Wurther—”

  “Oh what do you know about Marlee Wurther, Officer?” She said the word with unmistakable derision. “You were probably barely out of high school at the time! Now I insist you leave and stop harassing Chester, or—”