Fourth Victim (Writers Retreat Southern Seashore Mystery Book 4)

by Kathi Daley

  “I agree the investigation seemed to be singularly focused,” Sherry admitted as the dirt trail gave way to hard-packed sand. “And I’ve often wondered myself if attributing her death to the Strangler wasn’t just an easy way to close the case.” She stopped walking and looked out at the gently rolling waves. “I’d like to help you, but I’m hesitant to bring up matters that are probably left buried.”

  “What matters?” I asked.

  Sherry had a look of contemplation on her face that seemed to indicate she was thinking things over very carefully before speaking. “Frannie wasn’t a virtuous woman. Not that she was a bad person, but she seemed to take her vow of fidelity in marriage as something of a suggestion rather than an ironclad promise. I know of at least three men she had relationships with during her stay on Gull Island. And all the while, she was married to a long-suffering man who was risking his life in Vietnam.”

  I found it odd that she had been Frannie’s friend when she seemed to have had such a low regard for the way she lived her life. I wanted to ask about that but decided to wait and let Sherry continue at her own pace.

  She started walking again before she continued. “When I first met Frannie, I was drawn to her energy and enthusiasm. I admired the fact that although her young husband had been drafted, and despite the hardship I was certain she’d been forced to bear, she always greeted me with a huge smile on her face and a cheerful demeanor. It wasn’t until we’d been friends for six months or so that my opinion of her started to change.”

  “And why did it change?” I asked.

  “I happened to see her entering a motel room with a man I knew was both married and expecting a child. It seemed obvious based on their body language that they were on the verge of becoming intimate. I knew the man’s wife quite well, so I knocked on the door, pulled Frannie outside, and asked her what she was doing. She laughed and reminded me that her husband had been away for a long time, and a young woman had needs. I reminded her that the man with whom she was about to satisfy her needs was married, with a baby on the way. Frannie just shrugged, said the man’s wife was very pregnant, and man had needs as well. She gave me a hug, promised to catch up with me the next day, and then returned to the sinner who was waiting inside.”

  Sherry paused and took a deep breath. “I wanted to be mad at Frannie—in fact, I was quite outraged at first—but if you knew her, you would know she wasn’t the sort it was easy to stay mad at. She told me that she was sorry I was upset and her afternoon tryst was a onetime thing; she had no plans to see the man again. Eventually, I let it go and we returned to being almost inseparable.”

  “Are you willing to share the name of that man?” I asked.

  “I am not. I’m afraid talk of his indiscretion could affect his current relationships, even so many years later. I have no reason to believe he killed Frannie.”

  “All right. What about the other two men?”

  “The next man Frannie admitted to sharing a bed with was Roland Carver, who was single at the time. He is and was quite a womanizer. I doubt he’d care if I still think it’s wrong that a married woman should be carrying on the way she was. Still, it didn’t appear anyone had gotten hurt by that fling, which lasted a few weeks at the most. I never knew the identity of the third man.”

  “How do you know there even was a third man?” I asked as Sherry climbed up onto a small bluff that looked out over the sea.

  “Because three weeks before she died, Frannie told me that she was pregnant. She wasn’t far enough along for the baby to have belonged to either of the men I knew about, so I could only surmise there had been a third man.”

  I glanced at Jack, who frowned.

  “So Frannie was pregnant when she died?” I asked.

  “I guess she must have been. She wasn’t showing yet and I have no way of knowing whether she planned to keep the baby, but my instinct was that she hadn’t had an abortion.”

  “Do you think she was considering one?” I asked.

  “Perhaps. I know she was concerned about the fact that her husband was coming home. She mentioned several times that she wasn’t ready and had thought she’d have more time.”

  “Time for what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say specifically, but I imagine it had to do with the baby. The last time I saw her was three days before her body was found. He husband had been home for a couple of days and she admitted to me that marrying him had been a mistake. She seemed to be frightened and appeared to want a way out. She told me she was working on a plan to extricate herself from the mess she was in. I never saw her again.”

  “Do you think her husband killed her?”

  “I think he might have.”

  “Did Frannie ever mention a man named Paul to you?” Jack asked.

  Sherry shook her head. “No. It doesn’t ring a bell.” Sherry stopped walking and looked out over the sea. The harbor was visible in the distance. “I just love this spot. Of all the locations on the island, this is where I feel the closest to my husband. We used to come up here and watch the fishing boats come in. We liked to make up stories about the men who worked the boats and the bounty they hauled in, day after day.”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  “Sometimes I feel all I have left of him are my memories. I spend time each day with them to make sure they don’t fade away.”

  “Did you have children?”

  “No. We were unable to conceive. I wished for children for many years but now, looking back, I can see what I had with Gary was perfect.” Sherry glanced at me. “I can’t explain why Frannie made the decisions she did, but I believe deep down inside she was a lonely woman who found herself married to a man she feared. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did. I hope you figure out who ended her life before it really had had the chance to begin.”

  Sherry held a hand to her heart and then blew a kiss out toward the ocean, turned, and began to retrace her steps. I knew I probably should ask additional questions about Frannie’s murder and about Secret Santa, but my instinct told me enough had been said, at least for today. When we returned to Sherry’s house, we thanked her and said good-bye, then headed to our appointment with ex-Mayor Roland Carver, one of the three men Sheryl told us Frannie had been sleeping with.

  ******

  Carver was a tall, thin man with faded blue eyes and a full head of white hair. He’d been the mayor of Gull Island at the time of Frannie’s death but had long since retired. Based on the information Jack had dug up, he was eighty-three, had never married, and lived alone in a huge house on the bluff. He showed us in and indicated we’d speak in his den.

  “What a great photo,” I said when we entered the nicely furnished room.

  Roland glanced at the photo of four men and a sailboat that had been enlarged and hung on the wall.

  “That boat is my pride and joy. My one true love, if you must know.”

  “She’s beautiful. Do you still have her?”

  “I do, and if you were wondering, I go to the marina and visit her as often as I can.”

  “Is that you on the far left?” Jack asked after taking a step closer to the wall.

  “It is,” Roland answered. “The man next to me is my brother, Kurt, the man to his right is a guy Kurt worked with, Brice Jeffries, and the one to his right is a friend of ours, Clint Brown.”

  “It looks like you were having a good time,” I observed.

  “It was one of the best days of my life. The four of us had entered a local race that might not have been a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it was a big deal to us. We took first place. It was quite an accomplishment; Brice was a last-minute replacement and had never sailed before.”

  “That is an accomplishment,” I agreed. “Do Kurt and Brice live on the island?”

  “No. Never did. At the time, both men lived and worked in DC. Kurt died just five years after the photo was taken and I’m not sure what ever happened to Brice.”

  “I’m so so
rry to hear about your brother,” I said.

  Roland shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Now, how can I help you today?”

  “As I mentioned to you on the phone,” Jack began, “we’re looking in to the death of Frannie Kettleman, a woman who lived on the island in 1963 and 1964. We understand you were the mayor at the time and hoped you might be able to give us some perspective regarding what led to her death.”

  Roland ran a hand through his thick white hair. “You mentioned on the phone that you were looking in to the Kettleman murder and that it was your opinion she hadn’t been killed by the Strangler. I know your little writers’ group has made a hobby of digging into old cases, and while you appear to have had some success in the past, I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree on this one.”

  “Can you elaborate?” I asked.

  “I suspect it was Ned who put you up to this folly in the first place. He never was happy with the conclusion of the FBI despite the evidence staring him in the face. Ned was a good cop in his day and I know he had his doubts, but I can assure you that, as mayor of Gull Island, I was kept in the know. The FBI conducted a thorough investigation and determined, based on solid evidence, that Ms. Kettleman was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up dying at the hands of a madman. In my opinion, I don’t think there’s anything to find.”

  I frowned and glanced at Jack. He didn’t seem happy either but hadn’t said anything, so I asked the next question. “What about the discrepancies?”

  “Discrepancies?”

  “The rose, for example. It was of a different type from the one left on all the other bodies. And then there was the fact that Mrs. Kettleman was married, while the others weren’t.”

  Roland raised a bushy white brow. “I don’t know a thing about flowers, so I’m not sure I can speak to that, but I will tell you that while Mrs. Kettleman was married, as you indicated, she didn’t behave like a married woman. If the Strangler was watching her, he might very well have come to the conclusion she was single. I happen to know she was within the age range and shared the same coloring as the other women. She also had the mark only the Strangler and a handful of law enforcement personnel knew about. I’m telling you, there isn’t a mystery to solve. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I understand you and Frannie were involved in an intimate relationship at one time.”

  “Yes. So? I was single and she was willing. I don’t think you’re going to find the scandal you’re looking for. I know it isn’t what you want to hear, but the Strangler really was responsible for Frannie’s death.”

  I was about to bring up the fact that Frannie had defensive wounds and may have been knocked out when stabbed, as well as the discrepancy in the width of the blade used to carve the symbol into her shoulder when Jack shook his head. I wasn’t sure what was on his mind, but he didn’t seem to want me to continue in that direction, so I changed the subject. “I’m sorry we wasted your time asking about the Strangler. It’s obvious you have information we don’t. As long as we’re here, however, do you mind if I ask about Secret Santa?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Primarily, who he is.”

  Roland winked. “It seems to me Secret Santa wishes to remain anonymous. But if you want my opinion of who the generous soul could be, I’d say to look for an individual who worked a lifetime serving his community and wants to continue to give back after retirement.”

  I raised a brow. “Are you Secret Santa?”

  “Now, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”

  Jack indicated we should leave, so we thanked him and returned to the truck.

  “What do you think?” I asked after we drove toward the tree lot,

  “In terms of Frannie’s death, I think Carver has made up his mind about what occurred. It isn’t unusual for those in power to want to see cases closed easily and quickly. While the conclusion of the FBI lends itself to a second look in my opinion, I doubt Carver will want the case reopened even though he’s no longer in office.”

  “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Carver certainly wouldn’t be the first politician to want a case closed without indisputable evidence just to have it closed. So, what do you think about his being Secret Santa?”

  Jack bit his lip. “I’m not sure. He did spend a lifetime in service to the community, and it appears he’s very well off.”

  “But there was something so intentional about the way he told us what we wanted to know without really telling us anything.”

  “True. Still, I suppose it’s possible he really is the man you’ve been looking for.”

  Chapter 7

  We were a little early for our shift at the tree lot, but volunteer coordinator Brooke Johnson was more than happy to see us. She was in the middle of helping a customer, so she handed us each a Santa hat and told us to look around. She said she’d find us and explain what to do as soon as she completed her transaction.

  I placed the red hat with its furry white brim on my head, glad I’d decided to wear a red sweater with my jeans today. It matched the hat perfectly and definitely helped to sell the Christmas idea.

  “I wasn’t expecting this place to be so festive,” I said to Jack as we walked beneath the strings of lights overhead. The smell of gingerbread warmed and sold at the snack bar filled the air as “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” played in the background.

  “Brooke’s done a good job setting a mood. If I wasn’t already in the market for a tree, walking around this lot would certainly put me in the right frame of mind. If you see a tree you think is right for the resort, point it out, and I’ll pay for it and store it in the truck.”

  I stood looking around at the sea of trees. “There are so many to choose from. I’ve never had a tree before, so I’m no expert when it comes to the pros and cons of the different varieties, but I do know I’d like something about eight feet tall and full. I thought I’d move the furniture away from the front window and put the tree in that little alcove. Not only will it be out of the way but we’ll be able to enjoy it from the front porch and the living room.”

  Jack stopped to tug at the needles of a tall, thin fir. “Putting the tree in the alcove is a good idea, although you need to keep in mind it will be visible from all angles including the back, so we’ll need to find one with no bare spots.”

  “You have high ceilings. Are you going to get a tall tree?”

  “I was thinking maybe ten feet. I have room to go taller, but I don’t want it to be difficult to decorate. I have a ladder, but I’d rather only have to deal with a step stool.”

  “I suppose you could pay a service to do the decorating. That’s what my mom did every year.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “It would be more fun to decorate your own tree,” I agreed. “It might not turn out as perfectly, but it would be personal. I used to ask why we couldn’t get a tree to decorate together, but Mom always said no. To be honest, I don’t think she would have bothered with decorations at all except for the fact that she threw a big open house every year, to which I wasn’t invited.”

  “Not even when you got older?”

  “Not even then. I’m not trying to sound pathetic or anything. My life turned out fine, so I really have no regrets.”

  “I guess that’s something. They have coffee at the snack bar. Would you like some?”

  “That sounds great. Even with the extra layers on, it’s a bit on the nippy side.”

  By the time we had our coffee, Brooke was ready to tell us what we’d need to know during our shift. Basically, our role was to help customers find a tree they loved, ring them up, and then help them to their car. Seemed easy enough until I realized how many couples simply couldn’t agree on which tree to purchase. I’d signed on to sell Christmas trees; marriage counseling was a bit out of my wheelhouse.

  Once we’d been coached on the specifics, Jack and I split up, each heading to a different section of the lot. I notic
ed there was no Santa currently on duty, but a sign said he’d had to run to the North Pole and would be back the next day. I tried to remember whether my mother had ever taken me to see Santa when I was a child. I could remember her assistant dropping off professionally wrapped gifts to go under the tree prepped by the decorating service. I even remembered being dressed up and taken to a play at the local theater once, but I couldn’t remember making a list, sitting on Santa’s lap, setting out milk and cookies, or any of the other things my peers were encouraged to do.

  “Excuse me, miss.” A short woman with bright red hair tapped me on the shoulder.

  I turned around and smiled. “How can I help you?”

  “Do you have Douglas firs?”

  “They’re along the back fence.”

  “How about Silver Tips?”

  I looked at the map Brooke had given us. “Just to the left of the snack bar.”

  “Great. See that man in the blue sweater?”

  I glanced at the man she’d pointed out, who was looking at some of the flocked trees at the front of the lot. “Yes, I see him.”

  “He’s going to come over to ask about Douglas firs. When he does, send him to the snack bar. I’ll take it from there.”

  “I take it you want to convince him that a Silver Tip is the better tree.”

  “Darn right I do. Now remember: don’t let him near the back of the lot.”

  I could see this job was going to be more challenging than I’d thought. When the man in the blue sweater asked about the Douglas firs, I told him I was new and he might want to check with the folks in the snack bar. However things ended up, I felt I’d held up my end of the bargain and set off to help a man in a dark green sweater I’d noticed wandering around near the pines at the far edge of the lot.