“You just sit yourself right down, Sheriff,” said McCormick, going over for the coffee on the stove. “I never let men with guns serve themselves.”
“We are not mass murderers!” exclaimed Molly. Nell buttered her waffle.
“Then you’re opportunistic impostors, according to Troutwig,” said the sheriff. “He gave me a choice.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Molly. “We’re the ones who are in danger. In fact it’s ironic that you’re here. I was going to call you this morning.”
“In danger from who?” said McCormick, pouring more coffee into Sheriff Glickman’s cup. “I mean whom. Interrogations always make me forget my grammar.”
Molly started to answer, but Glickman put his hand up and stopped her.
“I think we’d better have a little privacy at this point, if you don’t mind, Mrs. M.,” he said with a sigh. “I’m beginning to come back to my senses, thanks to your fine cooking. This is official business.”
“Oh, come on, Sheriff. Things are just getting interesting.”
“If they turn out to be killers, I promise to let you know before they get you, too.”
“Slim consolation,” McCormick said, her face screwing up in a frown. “Henry Troutwig strikes me more the mass murderer type than these kids. Not that I’m afraid of anybody, mind you. I sleep with a ball-peen hammer. And don’t make any cracks.”
“I never wise off to a beautiful woman,” said the sheriff. “Thanks for breakfast, gorgeous.”
“In a pig’s eye,” muttered McCormick. “No pun intended.”
Then she wiped her hands on a dish towel and left the room in a huff.
“So what’s this about your being in danger?” asked Glickman when she had gone.
“If anyone is a mass murderer,” said Molly, “it’s Jimmy Gale. He’s Mrs. Gale’s nephew, I think. I haven’t got the family straight in my head yet.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve been here for a long, long time. Believe me, I know Jimmy.”
“You mean he’s been in trouble before?”
“My introduction to Jimmy Gale, twenty-five years ago,” said Glickman, “was when I chased him halfway across the state. He was drunk out of his mind. Ended up smashing through some poor lady’s picture window. His uncle Atherton hired an expensive lawyer who got the charges dismissed on a technicality. Then they shuffled him off to the army. That was the only time Jimmy hasn’t been in trouble around here. I still run him in as regular as clockwork, mostly for fighting in bars.”
A shiver ran down Molly’s spine.
“Is he a suspect in the plane crash that killed all the Gales?”
“You only have suspects when there’s a crime, Miss O’Hara. The crash you’re talking about was an accident. The National Transit Safety Board is saying that the plane was struck by lightning.”
“It didn’t bother anybody that Jimmy Gale was suddenly the sole beneficiary to the Gale Trust?” Molly asked, incredulous.
Glickman took a sip of coffee without taking his eyes off Molly.
“I gather from Troutwig that the two of you will inherit as well,” he said in a quiet voice.
“But don’t you see?” Molly exclaimed. “That’s why Jimmy killed our grandmother and tried to kill us!”
“Whoa,” said Glickman, holding up a big callused hand. “Jimmy killed somebody?”
Molly proceeded to describe Margaret Jellinek’s death, the explosion of the Enchanted Cottage and the various sightings of the man with rust-colored hair and mustache. The sheriff listened, making occasional notes in a small notepad he took from his breast pocket.
“You say she was murdered, your grandmother,” he said when she had finished.
“By the time we figured everything out it was too late to do an autopsy,” said Molly. “But the police know what happened. She was suffocated with her pillow by her last visitor—the man who was following us, waiting for us to leave our house so he could booby-trap it.”
Glickman rubbed his jaw.
“And when you saw Jimmy’s picture in Dora Gale’s album last night, you recognized him as this man whom you had seen back in North Carolina.”
“Well, not exactly.”
Glickman raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“I only saw the man in North Carolina from a distance,” said Molly. “He was sitting in a car at my grandmother’s funeral. Then I saw him a few times driving past our house. He was always wearing sunglasses and I never really got a good look at him, beyond noticing that he had red hair and a mustache. Just like Jimmy Gale. Just like my grandmother’s last visitor at the nursing home.”
“Just like probably a million other guys in the world,” said Glickman.
“But this is too much of a coincidence,” said Molly. “I don’t believe in coincidences. And as a law enforcement professional, neither should you.”
“Could you swear that the man you saw was Jimmy Gale, Miss O’Hara?”
“I …”
“Could you swear?”
“No,” Molly had to admit.
“What about your sister?” Glickman indicated Nell, who had polished off her waffle and was eying Molly’s. “Can she positively ID. Jimmy?”
“Actually, I don’t think Nell saw him.”
“Just as well,” said Glickman with a sigh. “Her testimony probably wouldn’t be worth much in court anyway.”
“Why not?” demanded Molly.
“Troutwig mentioned to me about her … difficulties.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my sister,” said Molly between clenched teeth, transferring her untouched waffle to Nell’s plate and passing her the maple syrup. Nell smiled at Glickman and dug in.
“No,” said the sheriff. “I’m sure there isn’t. But you can see why I have to be a little skeptical of all this. Even if you had videotaped your sightings of Jimmy in North Carolina, what would it prove? That he attended a funeral? That he drove by your house?”
“A man who blows up a whole planeload of people so he won’t have to split his inheritance isn’t going to stop at killing a few more,” said Molly, trying to keep in control.
“But like I said, Miss O’Hara, the plane was apparently struck by lightning. No evidence of explosives or tampering was found. Don’t you think maybe you’re being a little paranoid here?”
“For God’s sakes, Sheriff,” Molly exploded. “Our grandmother is dead. Our best friend is dead. Our house and business is blown to smithereens. All within the span of a couple weeks. If I’m paranoid it’s because I’m scared to death. Won’t you please help us?”
Nell had stopped eating. She looked at Molly, then at the sheriff, then back again, clearly unhappy to see her sister so upset.
“All right, all right,” said Glickman. “Calm down. I guess I can send a picture of Jimmy to that detective you spoke to in North Carolina … what was his name again?”
“Sergeant Arlo Couvertie,” said Molly.
“Sergeant Arlo Couvertie,” repeated Glickman, jotting down the name. “We’ll see if one of the people who saw this red-haired man at the nursing home can identify Jimmy.”
Nell rose from her place and collected the dishes and went to rinse them off in the sink.
“Actually that’s a problem,” said Molly. “No one at the nursing home remembers seeing the red-haired man.”
“Wait a second,” said Glickman, ruffling through the chicken scratches in his notebook. “Didn’t you say that’s how you learned in the first place that a red-haired man with a mustache was your grandmother’s last visitor? From the receptionist at the nursing home?”
“That’s what happened,” said Molly, “but then later when the police asked her, she didn’t remember seeing him or telling us.”
Glickman rolled his eyes.
“What about the bombing of your house? Were there any witnesses to that? Do the police have any physical evidence?”
“Not really,” Molly admitted. “They
can’t prove it wasn’t an accident. But you said Jimmy Gale was in the army. Wouldn’t he have learned all about explosives and booby traps there?”
“I’m getting a headache,” said Glickman, massaging the bridge of his nose. “God is finally punishing me for not going into medicine.”
“Talk to Sergeant Couvertie.”
“I’ll do that, Miss O’Hara. I’ll even go by and talk to Jimmy. But now I want you to answer some questions for me.”
“Like what?” said Molly.
“Like where were you the week of July fourteenth?”
“I … we were mostly at our antique shop, I suppose. In North Carolina.”
“Can anyone corroborate that you didn’t leave town that week?” Glickman asked.
“I don’t know. We lived by ourselves and didn’t exactly have a big social circle in Pelletreau. Why?”
“That was the week that the plane carrying Dora Gale’s guests went down.”
Molly involuntarily put her hand to her chest.
“You couldn’t possibly think that we …”
“Please, Miss O’Hara,” said Glickman, shaking his head. “I’ve spent the last month smack in the middle of a federal investigation. I thought it was winding down, but you can bet that if Troutwig contacted me, he’s also talked with the federal boys.”
“So what?” said Molly, crossing her arms in front of her. “Aren’t they the ones who are saying the plane crash was an accident?”
“The case isn’t officially closed yet,” said Glickman. “And you can’t imagine what pains in the ass the FBI can be if you don’t have the answers they want to hear. Now, I’d like to know what made you decide to come to Gale Island just now.”
“I told you,” said Molly, wondering why she was the one who had to defend herself. “Somebody blew up our house and killed our grandmother. A man with red hair and a mustache. There was nothing left for us in Pelletreau and we were frightened. We wanted to make a new start somewhere, and we had just learned about the Gales.”
“Just learned about them?”
Molly tried to explain.
“You mean,” Glickman said finally, “that all these years you knew nothing about Dora Gale, nothing about Gale Island? It’s pure coincidence that you just happened to show up now, just in time to inherit millions? Is that one of those coincidences that we law enforcement professionals aren’t supposed to believe in?”
Nell returned from having done the dishes. Glickman flashed a weary grin.
“Listen, Miss O’Hara. Henry Troutwig’s a schmuck, but I’ve got to do my job, you know? And let me tell you right now, the fact that I like you more than I like Jimmy doesn’t mean that I’m automatically going to believe your version of things—even if I thought that there was anything sinister going on here, which I don’t.”
There was noise from the doorway. The three of them looked over simultaneously in time to see Russell Bowslater come in. Dora’s bald potbellied son wasn’t wearing plaid pants this morning, but his silk shirt was striped with practically every color of the rainbow.
“Oh, hi,” he said, startled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything. Just thought I’d make a little icebox raid—didn’t get much breakfast. Prin’s day off.”
“You’re Mr. Bowslater, right?” asked Glickman, rising to his feet. He was even taller than Molly had imagined and looked like a giant standing there beside her.
“Yes. And you are … ?”
“Glickman. New Melford sheriff. We talked after the funerals.”
“That’s right,” said Russell with a big smile. “Nice to see you again, Officer. Morning, girls.”
“Hi,” said Molly for both of them.
“Mama said for you and your sister to make yourselves at home,” said Russell, crossing to the refrigerator and opening the door. “She’s sorry she wasn’t here when you woke up. She had to visit with this sick lady over in Newbyville, didn’t have the heart to postpone it. Mama’s an absolute nut about her charities. I’m going back in a hour or so to pick her up. You two can come along if you like.”
“Thanks, Russell,” said Molly. “Do you know if Jimmy Gale has been out of town recently?”
Glickman shot her an irritated look.
“Yeah, he has,” answered Russell, too busy exploring the refrigerator to notice the exchange. “A couple weeks ago. He was gone five or six days I think. Said he was going hunting down South.”
“Interesting coincidence,” said Molly, firing a meaningful glance back at Glickman. Russell emerged from behind the refrigerator door with a piece of pie and a carton of cranberry juice.
“I talked to Jimmy on the phone right after he got back but haven’t seen him since,” he said. “In fact, Mama’s been a mite worried about him, now that you mention it.”
“Worried?” said Glickman. “Why worried?”
“Oh, we had this family dinner last night and Jimmy didn’t show up. She had called yesterday to remind him. She called again today to see if he was okay. There was no answer either time, but when we drove by his place this morning his truck was in the driveway and all the lights in the house were lit up. Mama wanted to stop in and see if he was okay right then, but we were running late.”
“Maybe I’ll pay him a little visit,” said Glickman.
“He’s probably dead drunk on the floor, like he was after the funerals,” said Russell, his mouth full of pie. “I had to go pick him up out of a puddle of his own vomit. Said he was celebrating. He does that a lot.”
“I know, believe me,” said Glickman, opening his little notebook. “Did you say he lives around here? We usually only meet in places with liquor licenses.”
“He’s just down the road,” said Russell. “It’s the only house on the way down the hill, you can’t miss it. Say, would you mind if I came with you? I should probably try to get him sobered up. I know Mama’s going to insist we pay him a visit when I pick her up later. I don’t want her to have to see him like that.”
“I’d like to come, too,” said Molly.
“Miss O’Hara …” Glickman began in a stern voice, then just shook his head. “Oh, hell. I guess it doesn’t matter. We can’t put him in a lineup with what we’ve got.”
“Lineup?” said Russell. “My cousin in trouble again, Sheriff?”
“No, no,” said the sheriff. “I just want to talk with him, that’s all. Introduce him to Miss O’Hara, here.”
“Well, you’ll certainly meet the real Jimmy,” Russell said to Molly, chuckling. “Though I don’t know why you’d want to.”
Finishing up the remains of his pie, Russell led the way through the door at the rear of the kitchen and back around to the front of the castle. Glickman’s four-wheel drive was parked in the circular parking area, alongside Molly’s rented car.
Nell seemed pleased to be in a police cruiser. Molly tried to keep from looking as frightened as she felt. She’d have to meet Jimmy Gale sooner or later. Best to do so with a sheriff at her side and Russell there as a witness.
A plan had already formed in Molly’s mind. It wasn’t brilliant, she knew, but it was certainly better than running away again and spending the rest of her life always looking back over her shoulder, worrying that Jimmy Gale would find them.
She’d confront Jimmy face on. She’d let him know in no uncertain terms that they were all on to him, that everyone knew what he had done in Pelletreau, that if anything happened to her and Nell he would be the only suspect. It might not stop him, but at least it would slow him down, give him something to worry about. And in the meanwhile, Molly could find proof somehow of what he had done.
The road curled back down the mountain. After no more than a few minutes they came to a hidden drive—Molly hadn’t even noticed it when she had driven up to Gale Castle yesterday. The house and Jimmy’s car were visible from the road, but just barely. They had to drive in and get past a tall stand of firs before Molly noticed that there were lights on inside the house as Russell had said.
Sher
iff Glickman pulled his vehicle up behind Jimmy’s truck. Then they all got out and walked up the slate walk to the house, a stone cottage with blue-painted trim that would have been charming had it been better kept. Paint was peeling everywhere. The small lawn in front was overgrown.
“Guess not much of the Gale fortune stuck to Jimmy,” said Glickman, pressing the doorbell.
“Yeah,” said Russell. “He went through his father’s money years ago. Not that Barnaby had much to begin with—Atherton pretty much kept everything for himself. It’ll be a different story when Mama dies, though. It’ll take Jimmy quite a while to go through that.”
Glickman pressed the doorbell again. From outside they could hear it ring, but no one appeared. Molly thought she could hear the faint sounds of a television coming from inside. Russell knocked on the door with the heel of his fist and tried the handle. It was locked.
“That stupid son of a bitch,” said Russell. “This is just what I was afraid of. Another floor full of vomit and me in my good pants. Come on. We’ll try the back.”
Clearly irritated, Russell led the way around the house to a back porch, where a big black gas grill looked to be the only well-maintained thing on the property. The small backyard was strewn with garbage and rusted tools. An old wheelbarrow was piled high with empty beer cans and bourbon bottles.
Russell rapped on the mullioned back door with his knuckle. Through the glass Molly could see a figure sitting at a dinette in the shadows. A small television set was on. Cans of beer and unwashed dishes were littered about the room.
“Jimmy,” shouted Russell. “Open the goddamned door.”
He tried the handle. It turned. The door opened easily. As Russell reached in and flipped on the kitchen overhead light, a foul smell rushed out and assaulted them all.
Molly gasped, then turned and pulled Nell away before she could see inside. A man with red hair and a mustache was seated in a straight-backed chair. Molly was close enough to notice that Jimmy Gale had blue eyes and bad teeth. He also had a neat little hole in the center of his forehead.
The Girl at the End of the Line Page 19
