Don

by Carlene Thompson

  "We going to question Warren Hunt today?" Ted Hysell asked.

  Nick swiveled back in his chair, looking at Hysell's eager face gazing at him from the doorway. The guy tried to hide his excitement over the case beneath a stern veneer, but it wasn't working. Even though he'd known Tamara Hunt and supposedly liked her tremendously, he was delighted to be working a murder case. Maybe if Nick had spent ten years on the police force and never encountered a serious case, he'd feel different, too. But Tamara was only slightly younger than Meagan had been, and so much he'd heard about her reminded him of Meagan-Meagan, too, kind and loving and murdered with the world ahead of her.

  Hysell's enthusiasm rankled and Nick stared at the man for a moment. He would like to take someone else with him, but Hysell had seniority among the deputies. Nick forced away emotion. "Give Hunt a call and make sure he's home. Don't let him put you off, but don't scare him, either."

  "Give him the 'it's just routine' routine, right?"

  Hysell beamed at his own clever turn of phrase. Nick nodded, sighing within. Hysell annoyed the hell out of him.

  Twenty minutes later they pulled into the Hunt driveway. Nick saw Jimmy Jenkins standing in his own driveway watching avidly while from somewhere outside, his mother bawled reprimands to one of the other children. He waved briefly at Jimmy, who returned something like a salute. Jimmy was a pistol, Nick thought. Bright, funny, obsessed with that smartass TV cop, and seemingly with Paige. Nick didn't mind them being friends. He just didn't want them to be best friends. He wasn't sure Jimmy's influence was all that healthy on an impressionable eleven-year-old girl.

  Warren Hunt opened the door promptly. He wore neatly pressed khaki pants, a pale blue oxford shirt, expensive loafers, and CK cologne. He was clean-shaven and his dark brown hair was still damp from the shower, but the whites of his eyes bore a network of red lines and his well-kept hands shook slightly. "Good morning, Sheriff," he said affably, smiling broadly. Then doubt flashed in his eyes and he turned down the smile a notch. "Come in."

  "Thanks," Nick said. "This is Deputy Hysell-"

  "I knew Tamara," Hysell interrupted. "Lovely girl. I'm a few years older. We met skating. She was better than I was. And pretty as a picture. Sweet, too." Is it possible for this guy to shut his mouth? Nick stormed mentally. "This is a real tragedy, Warren."

  Warren Hunt looked blankly at Hysell, clearly having no idea who this chatterbox was. Nick ignored his deputy. "Do I smell coffee?"

  Relief shone on Hunt's face. "Yes. Would you like some?"

  "Sure would. Black."

  "Deputy…"

  "Hysell. I'd like some, too. Cream. Or milk, but not too much. No sugar."

  When Warren went into the kitchen, Nick forced himself to sound mild. "Hysell, let me do the talking for now." Hysell immediately looked sullen. "I'll give you a signal if I want you to spring something on him."

  Some of the deputy's irritation dissipated, although Nick hadn't specified what Hysell was to "spring" on Hunt. It didn't matter. Hysell walked to the fireplace and fell into a deep study of an oil painting hanging above the mantel, an act clearly meant to communicate nonchalance to Hunt.

  Warren entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee. Hysell took his with merely a nod. Nick sipped and smiled. "Good." Hunt looked relieved again. Nick sat down on the couch. "Sorry to inconvenience you this morning, Dr. Hunt. I know you're probably busy with funeral arrangements."

  Warren took a seat on a wing-backed chair. "Actually Tamara's father and sister are handling all that. They wanted to and I thought it might be therapeutic."

  "I see. Well, I just have a few questions for you, things you told me yesterday but I need to confirm." Nick gave him an offhand look. "Everyone was pretty upset after just getting the news. I want to make sure I have everything straight."

  "Certainly. I understand." Warren seemed to relax and crossed an ankle over a knee. "How can I help you?"

  "I understand that you were attending a three-day convention in Cleveland."

  "Yes. It began Thursday morning at nine. I left Wednesday evening and stayed at the Hyatt where the convention was being held. Saturday night we had a banquet. I planned to wrap up a few things Sunday and be back here by five or six o'clock. Then I got the call about Tamara…" He took a deep, shuddery breath.

  "Why didn't your wife go with you?"

  Warren blinked at him. "What?"

  "Why didn't your wife go with you to Cleveland? Wouldn't she have enjoyed shopping, dining out, that kind of thing?"

  "No." Warren 's fingers began to tap lightly on the arm of the chair. 'Tamara was shy, almost reclusive. Oh, if the trip had just been a little weekend excursion for the two of us, she would have loved it. But she didn't want to be thrown in the midst of all those people. There was a cocktail party Wednesday night and the banquet Saturday. She hated that kind of thing."

  "I see." Nick withdrew a notebook from his pocket and pretended to check it, although he knew its contents by heart. "The banquet was held the night of your wife's murder."

  "That's right."

  "You sat between Dr. Forbes Evans and Dr. Charles Feldman."

  "Yes."

  "You arrived at seven and left around ten."

  "Yes."

  "Hmmm. Well, here I have a problem because Dr. Evans says he returned to his room around eight-ten and you were getting ready to leave."

  "Forbes is elderly. He was exhausted and embarrassed about darting away from the banquet so early, so I said I was leaving, too. But I didn't."

  "That was considerate of you. But Dr. Feldman says he actually went back upstairs with you at eight-twenty."

  Warren 's tapping fingers went still. "He's mistaken."

  "His wife says he called her around eight-thirty from his room."

  "I don't know when he called his wife, but we did not leave the banquet that early. Anyway, what difference does it make?"

  "Time of death, Dr. Hunt. The M.E. places your wife's time of death between eight and ten."

  "That's fairly vague."

  "Unfortunately in real life they can't be as accurate as on television where the M.E. can place time of death within fifteen minutes." Nick gave him a casual smile. "Impossible."

  Warren smiled back woodenly. "Of course."

  "Nice ship model you got here," Hysell intervened. Nick had an urge to bash him over the head with something heavy.

  Warren Hunt looked completely confused. "Ship model?"

  "Here on your mantel. It's the Mercy, isn't it?"

  "The Mercy? Why, yes, I believe it is. Had it so long I forgot."

  "Did you build it?"

  "Build it? No. I have no interest in ships. Tamara picked it up somewhere." He looked at Nick. "Now what's all this about Tamara's time of death?"

  Nick took a deep breath, trying to maintain his cool. He'd have a few choice words for Hysell when they got outside. He was also furious with Warren Hunt for playing dumb with him. Did he actually think that would work? "The time of death is very important, Dr. Hunt. You see it's fifty-five miles from here to Cleveland. You could drive that in less than an hour, which means if you and Dr. Feldman left the banquet at eight-twenty, you could have been back in Port Ariel by nine-twenty."

  "By nine-twenty? Yes, I suppose I could. But why?" Warren 's eyes widened. "So I could slash my wife's throat?"

  "It's a possibility we have to consider," Nick answered calmly.

  "But that's preposterous! I was at the hotel all evening."

  "Did anyone see you after you left the dining room?"

  "I don't know. Surely someone did. A colleague. A maid. I believe I ordered a brandy from room service around eleven. No, that was the night before. Anyway, I called my wife at ten. My message is on our answering machine."

  "But you didn't call from your room at the Hyatt. We checked the phone records."

  "You did? Why would you do that? Oh, this ridiculous suspicion of me." Warren shook his head as if baffled and slightly amused by Nick's stupidity. "
I called from my car phone, Sheriff Meredith."

  "That would explain it," Nick said agreeably.

  Warren managed another shaky smile. "Yes, you check my car phone records and you'll find a record of the call."

  "Good." Nick paused. "Except you said you were in your room all evening."

  Warren 's smile disappeared. "Well, I was. But I went out. Briefly." Nick looked at him questioningly. "To see a friend."

  "And what would that friend's name be?"

  "Is this really important, Sheriff?"

  Nick finally gave him a hard stare. "I thought I'd already conveyed its importance, Dr. Hunt. Your wife was murdered last night. We're talking about your alibi."

  Warren Hunt's carefully shaved upper lip now sported beads of sweat. "All right. But I'd appreciate your keeping this information confidential." Nick remained silent. "A female colleague- of mine was at the conference. Dr. Lorraine Glover. We decided to meet for a drink at a little bar away from the hotel."

  "Why not the hotel bar?"

  "We wanted some place more private."

  "More private!"

  Warren 's face had turned bright red. "Well, you see…" He took a deep breath. "Oh, hell. Now isn't the time for lies. Lorraine and I had an affair two years ago. It's not something I'm proud of. It's the only time I've ever been unfaithful to my wife, but Lorraine and I just… well, we just did something stupid."

  "And you were going to do something stupid again?"

  "No! It was just a drink for old times' sake. But back when we were having the affair, another psychologist named Henry Simon found out about it. The man is a toad. A dis grace to the profession. Anyway, he'd been after Lorraine for years and he didn't take rejection well. When he found out about the two of us, he told everyone. Lorraine 's husband almost left her."

  "And Tamara?"

  "She never heard about us."

  "Another advantage to her being such a homebody. And a good reason for you not to encourage her to attend the convention."

  Warren gave Nick a sickly smile. "Yes. I am guilty of discouraging her from attending these functions. But as I said, all Lorraine and I intended to do was have a drink. We just didn't want to be seen and start the gossip mill again. I was on my way to the bar to meet her when I remembered my ten o'clock call to Tamara, so I called from the car. Our answering machine here at the house recorded the call at 9:57. I returned to the hotel around eleven."

  Nick wrote in his notebook mostly to make Warren nervous. "I understand why you didn't want to volunteer that information, but I'll have to ask for more. I need Dr. Glover's address and phone number."

  "I can't give you that. It would be a violation of privacy."

  Nick looked up. "Dr. Hunt, you still don't seem to comprehend the importance of establishing your whereabouts at the time of your wife's death. Now I understand you wanting to protect this woman's privacy, but given the circumstances, if you refuse to tell me how to contact her so I can verify your story, I'm going to assume you're lying."

  "I am not lying."

  "Then prove it."

  Warren glared at him. A muscle in his jaw flexed. Finally he said, "Okay. But you cannot call her at home. Call her office. I don't know the number, but it's on High Street in Columbus."

  Nick jotted down the information then snapped shut his notebook. "Sorry that had to be so difficult."

  "So am I," Warren said stiffly. "Is that all?"

  "For now." Nick stood. "I know you'll be around if I have any more questions. Hysell, let's be on our way. Dr. Hunt looks tired."

  "Sure, Sheriff."

  They paused at the door. "Once again, Dr. Hunt," Meredith said, "I'm sorry I had to put you through this. Such an awful thing, particularly with Tamara being pregnant."

  Warren Hunt's face went slack. "Pregnant?" he repeated vacantly.

  "Why, yes. Eight weeks. Didn't you know?"

  Warren opened and shut his mouth twice. On the third try something emerged. "We hoped." Flat. "After all these years."

  Hysell took Warren 's hand and shook it vigorously. "A tragedy, Warren. No Tamara, no pitter-patter of little feet."

  Color drained from Warren Hunt's face and his eyes seemed to lose their focus for a moment. Nick thought he was going to pass out. Then he stiffened, muttered a curt good-bye, and slammed the door behind them.

  "Well, at least we know he didn't know anything about a baby," Hysell said as they walked away from the house. "He didn't strike me as a guy who wanted a baby, either."

  After they got in the patrol car and crept away from the curb, Nick opened his mouth to blast Hysell for interrupting his interrogation with that nonsense about the ship model, but Hysell began before Nick could get out a word. "That phone call he made to the house doesn't prove anything-"

  "Except that he called his home from his car at 9:57. But, Hysell-"

  "Oh, and did you hear him? 'It's the only time I've ever been unfaithful to my wife.' " Hysell imitated Warren 's perfect enunciation. "Bullshit!"

  Nick glanced at him. "You know something I don't?"

  "I've been hearing rumors about our Dr. Hunt's sex life for years. They're part of the reason Oliver Peyton can't stand him."

  "Are they just rumors?"

  "No. I've had my own suspicions and they just got verified."

  "Now we know he'd had an affair with Lorraine Glover. I'll have to check her out. But, Hysell, I want to talk to you about-"

  "Not just that Glover woman! Someone right here in Port Ariel." Nick raised an eyebrow. "You ever heard of Charlotte Bishop? Max Bishop's daughter? Max owns Bishop Corporation. They make parts for boats. He's had a couple of bad strokes, but he still controls the business."

  "I know who Max Bishop is, Hysell. Everyone in town knows who Max Bishop is. And Charlotte was married to that actor-"

  "Paul Fiori. He plays Eddie Salvatore on Street Life."

  Eddie Salvatore. Wasn't that Jimmy Jenkins's hero? He'd have to ask Paige. "What about Charlotte?"

  "Fiori dumped Charlotte when he made it big, so she came slinking home a few months ago," Hysell went on confidentially. "Well, one day I saw her coming out of Hunt's office!"

  Hysell fell silent after dropping that bombshell. Nick glanced at him. "That's it?"

  Hysell looked insulted. "No. About a week later I was at The Hearth with Dee having dinner. Dee Fisher, that's who I've been going out with the last few months. She's a nurse. Got fired from the hospital, but it was all a mistake. She's a lot of fun. We like The Hearth-"

  "Hysell!'

  "Okay. I went to the rest room. You know the restrooms at The Hearth are back through this long hall. So I'm going back and I see Charlotte and Hunt talking. I wouldn't have thought too much about it, but Hunt lowered his head and took off fast and Charlotte nearly pounced on me. Acted like she was thrilled to see me."

  "You know her?"

  "Sure. Didn't I say so? Well, actually I was a friend of her brother Bill. Maxwell William Bishop II. Not junior, the second. He was okay, though. I met him in Boy Scouts. He was nothing like Charlotte. She was gorgeous and she knew it. She never forgot she was Max Bishop's daughter, either.

  Uppity as all get out. Anyway, her brother Bill got killed in a car wreck a few years ago. A damned shame."

  Nick waited. Finally he asked, "What does any of this have to do with Charlotte and Hunt?"

  "Yeah, well, when I was a kid, I spent some time at the Bishop house. Charlotte wouldn't wipe her feet on me then. Acted like I was invisible or something. But that night at The Hearth we were just long-lost pals. And she kept going on about how she'd just run into Dr. Hunt. On and on. What do they call that? Protesting too much? That's when I got suspicious. Today the ship model clenched it."

  "The ship model?" Nick asked, bewildered.

  "The one on Hunt's mantel. That's why I called attention to it. I know you got pissed, me interrupting that way and all, but when I realized what it was, I got all excited and I wanted to hear what Hunt had to say about it when he
got taken by surprise. You told me to spring something on him and I did."

  "He said the model was something Tamara picked up a long time ago."

  "Yeah, sure it was. Listen, that was a model of the Mercy. That's the ship that wrecked off the coast here. Ariel Saunders was this.beautiful young gal who saw the shipwreck and saved the captain, Zebediah Winthrop-"

  "I've heard the story about a hundred times since I'we been here."

  "Okay. Well, Bill Bishop built a model of the Mercy. That model."

  "The one on the mantel?"

  "Yeah."

  "Hysell, there must be dozens of models of the Mercy around here."

  "Sheriff, I helped Bill build that model. We spent weeks on it. Besides, our initials were on it-M. W. B. and `I. Z. H. Charlotte must have given the model to Hunt."

  "Are you sure she didn't give it to Mrs. Hunt?"

  " Charlotte wouldn't give anything to any woman, much less her dead brother's model ship. I bet if old Max knew it was gone, he'd have one final stroke. He worshipped Bill, and Charlotte was jealous as hell. That's probably why she gave the model away. She could strike back at Daddy and at the same time give Hunt something she thought would mean something to him, something he thought meant something to her."

  Nick's opinion of Hysell's powers of observation, deduction, and psychoanalysis were escalating by the minute. Maybe he had a more valuable deputy here than he'd thought. "Wouldn't Mrs. Hunt notice the initials?"

  "They were tiny and sort- of hidden. A little faded after all this time. You'd have to really be looking for them. Besides, I can't believe she'd put it all together. Bill has been dead for years, and I'm sure Tamara didn't know my middle name. She wouldn't know who `I. Z. H. was."

  "Hysell?"

  "Yes, Sheriff?"

  "What does the Z stand for?"

  Hysell hesitated. He hated answering this one. "Zebediah." He grinned and added sheepishly, "I think everyone in this town is crazy for that Ariel and Zebediah story."