Fourth Victim (Writers Retreat Southern Seashore Mystery Book 4)

by Kathi Daley

  “And Frannie…?” I asked.

  “Her story wasn’t included. This is the first real indication we have that her murder may have been carried out by a copycat.”

  “Yeah, but who?” Brit asked.

  “And how did they know about the pentagram?” Alex added.

  “I don’t know,” George answered.

  “If Frannie really was murdered by someone she knew, we need to figure out a way to narrow down the suspect list,” Jack commented. “So far, we’ve spoken to several individuals who knew Frannie, but we haven’t developed a list of people with motive and opportunity that we feel could have ended Frannie’s life.”

  “I agree with Jack,” I said. “We need to focus in a bit.”

  “Where do we start?” Vikki asked.

  Good question.

  “Maybe it’s time to see if Rick will let us get a peek at the original report generated by the FBI at the time of Frannie’s murder,” I said. I looked at Vikki. “Is he back from training?”

  “He came back this afternoon. I know he plans to be in the office tomorrow to catch up on the paperwork that piled up while he was away.”

  “Okay, I’ll call him to set up a time to speak to him,” I said. “As for suspects, we still have Frannie’s husband, Tom, as a viable suspect, although I have no idea how we’d prove or disprove it. Jack and I found out she was intimately involved with three men. The first was married and admitted she asked him for ten thousand dollars after their fling, which he gave her; the second didn’t mention a payout, but he was single, so he may not have felt the need to hide their dalliance.”

  “Maybe she came back to the man from fling number one looking for more money and he killed her,” Brit suggested.

  “This man has an alibi, but I do think exploring the blackmail angle could be worth our while. Frannie’s friend Sherry said she didn’t know the identity of the third man, but I’ll chat with her again. Given what we’ve learned, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn there were more than three men. Maybe a lot more. We’ve also learned Frannie told Sherry she was pregnant shortly before she died.”

  “If she was pregnant, she might have been looking for a big payout,” Brit suggested. “I think the mystery man who fathered her child could be a real suspect.”

  I got out the whiteboard we used when researching cases and started the list. I put Tom Kettleman on the top, followed by the man who fathered her baby. Then I added a question mark, indicating that Frannie could very well have had additional lovers we didn’t yet know about.

  “What about the man from the photo we found?” Clara asked.

  “I took a closer look at it and realized the man’s features are too typical. Unless we find an angle with a face, I don’t think we can know, although one of the men I mentioned earlier, who admitted to having an affair with Frannie, could very well be the man in the photo based on his features and coloring.”

  “Is there a particular reason you aren’t naming this man?” Alex asked.

  I shrugged. “Not really, other than that he asked me not to give out his name in connection with his fling with Frannie. He seems to have an ironclad alibi and I don’t suspect him of Frannie’s murder, so I don’t see a reason to out him. If things change and we suspect he may have been involved in Frannie’s murder, of course I’ll name him.”

  “It looks like a pretty thin list,” Vikki commented. “This murder may go unsolved unless we’re able to find someone who knows something and is willing to talk about it.”

  “Yeah, I agree. Solving the case at this point is a long shot,” I said. “I found out today that Frannie had facial injuries consistent with being beaten. If we can find out who beat her up and why, we might come across a motive for murder we aren’t yet aware of.”

  “Okay, then; let’s just keep asking around and see what pops,” Jack suggested.

  After the meeting broke up, I pulled Vikki aside to let her know I’d decided to turn down the job in New York. I was surprised at how happy and relieved she was. I’d thought she was a bit more neutral, but maybe, like Jack, she was simply trying to give me the space I needed.

  Jack and I left the house to take a walk along the beach. When we got to cabin 20, we stopped to take a look at it. It was right on the sand and fairly isolated from the other cabins, which was nice. The turtles nested each year in the dunes nearby, and it would be nice to have someone in the cabin who I could trust to respect their space. Garrett and I had chatted about how important it would be to find exactly the right person for this very important cabin, which still hadn’t undergone renovations. It needed a lot of work, but Jack had plenty of money and he’d already proven he was good with a hammer too. If he put his mind to it, cabin 20 would be ready to move in to before spring and the return of the turtles.

  “The more I think about it, the more I think I might raise the roofline over the loft and use it as an office. I still want to add a second bedroom; it never hurts to have a guest room. The downstairs space is large enough for a sofa and an entertainment center. I’d like to add a fireplace and maybe some additional windows. I won’t be able to bring my piano with me, but I can keep the house and leave the piano there, sell it, or put it in storage.” Jack grabbed my hand. “I’m really excited about this.”

  “And I’ll be very happy to have you close by, but are you sure? It’ll be quite a change.”

  “I’m really sure. People on the outside looking in at what I have up there on the bluff may not understand why I’d want to move into a cabin smaller than my current living room, but living alone in a big house can feel empty and lonely. I love being here at the resort and I love being with you.”

  I stopped walking. “Okay, so say you sell your house. Say you uproot your whole life and move out to the resort. What happens if we don’t work out?”

  Jack frowned. “You don’t think we’ll work out?”

  “I do think we will. But we’ve only been dating for three months. I just want to be sure you’ve considered all the angles before you make such a big move.”

  Jack stared into the distance. “Fair enough. I guess if we don’t work out as a couple, I hope we’ll still be friends and it won’t be strange for me to live here. If for some reason we can’t be friends, I can move. I have a lot of money. I can buy a new house any time I want. I don’t want you to worry about me having a degree of certainty. I’m comfortable with having a little uncertainty in my life.”

  I bowed my head. “Okay, then. If you’re sure, I think your idea is a good one. It’ll be nice having you in my everyday life.”

  “Great. Then I’ll stop by to talk to Garrett tomorrow.” Jack stopped and looked around. “Did you hear a noise?”

  “A noise?”

  “Shh,” Jack said and then just listened. “It sounds like someone’s crying.”

  I listened carefully. “I do hear something.” I pointed down the beach. “That way.”

  Jack and I walked down the beach, listening for the sound along the way. When we’d walked about fifty yards we heard it again, only louder.

  “It sounds like a dog.” I walked toward the marsh. I knew animals occasionally became tangled in fishing lines.

  “Over there.” Jack pointed to a spot where a golden retriever puppy was trapped inside a crab trap that must have washed up onto the beach.

  “Poor thing. Is she hurt?”

  Jack worked the door of the trap open and gently lifted the pup out. The trap was perhaps two feet by two feet, and high enough so the puppy could sit up, but I could see she was cold and scared.

  “It doesn’t look like she’s hurt. Let’s get her back to the house and take a closer look.”

  Jack unzipped his jacket and stuffed the puppy inside. Then he zipped the jacket back up so only her head stuck out.

  “I wonder how she ended up out here,” I said. “We’re a long way from any neighborhoods.”

  “She might have been dumped. It happens, unfortunately. If she doesn’t appear to be
hurt, I’ll take her to the veterinarian tomorrow for a checkup. And I’ll post notices that she’s been found, just in case.”

  By the time we got back to the house the puppy had stopped shivering and it was evident there was a new girl in Jack’s life I’d have to compete with for his affections. Not that I minded. The pup was adorable, and Jack looked like he’d just won the lottery. I wondered why he’d never had a dog before. Maybe he’d been waiting for the perfect moment, when everything seemed to be coming together.

  Chapter 12

  Wednesday, December 20

  It had been five days since the Mastermind meeting. I’d called Margo on Saturday to let her know that while I was very grateful for the offer, I wouldn’t be taking the job. She wasn’t all that surprised after speaking to Dru, who’d shared with her his opinion that my life in New York was a thing of the past and I seemed very happy and content on Gull Island.

  Jack had taken Kizmet to the vet and she was fine. At first, I wasn’t sure about the name, but Jack insisted the name, which meant destiny or fate, was perfect for the puppy he was sure we were meant to share our life with. Of course, Jack just ended up calling her Kizzy most of the time, which I thought was completely adorable.

  Jack had met with Garrett about the plans for the cabin. He was thrilled to have someone as responsible as Jack moving into the environmentally sensitive space, and the two had been talking blueprints ever since.

  I asked Sherry about the possibility of additional men in Frannie’s life. She maintained that she didn’t know of anyone else with any certainty, though she suspected Frannie had been having a fling with someone who also lived at the resort. For a moment I once again suspected my father, but then I realized he’d already left the island before Frannie was murdered, and if he’d simply been sleeping with her, I really didn’t want to know. In terms of a suspected killer, it looked as if our list was down to Tom or the man who’d fathered her baby. While I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, I had a niggling feeling there was something important I knew but wasn’t considering. Rick, or as I often refer to him, Deputy Savage, had agreed to ask the FBI for an original, complete copy of the FBI file relating to Frannie’s death. After a bit of negotiating, he’d managed to obtain it, and Jack and I planned to meet with him later that afternoon to go over it.

  After some additional discussion, we decided Garrett would, indeed, come to the resort on Thursday to begin his Christmas holiday. I was excited to have him home and I knew he was excited too. I just hoped everything would go well enough so he’d return to the resort permanently. I’d bought some new bedding to brighten his room and we’d moved Blackbeard’s overnight cage into the room so the two buddies could be close to each other.

  Clara had developed the baking bug, so I’d agreed to pick up some additional supplies while I was in town. The goodies were all wonderful, but if she didn’t cut back on the pastries I found impossible to resist, I wasn’t going to be able to fit into my skinny jeans much longer.

  “Have you seen my black pumps?” Brit asked after jogging down the stairs from the second story of the main house.

  “No. Why?”

  “I can’t find them and I need them for the play. I haven’t worn them in months, but I’ve searched my cabin from top to bottom and they aren’t there. I hoped I’d left them here, but they aren’t in my old room.”

  “I’m sorry, Brit. I haven’t seen them, but I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

  “Thanks. I hate to spend any of my dwindling savings on shoes I’ll most likely only wear once or twice a year.”

  “How’s the play going?”

  “I’ll admit to a few opening-night jitters, but overall, it’s all going well. We’re sold out for the entire run, so it’s a good thing you bought your tickets early. By the way, before I got distracted by the shoes, I meant to tell you I met a man at the dress rehearsal last night who’s eighty-six and has lived on Gull Island his entire life. I asked him if he remembered a woman named Frannie and he said he did.”

  My eyes grew large. “Really? Do you think he’d speak to us?”

  “He said he would. I have his number.” Brit pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “Just tell him that you’re my friend. And if you find the shoes, text me. If I don’t find them soon, I’ll need to run to the store to buy another pair.”

  Five minutes after Brit left, it occurred to me to look in my own closet. Clara liked to tidy up and I’d noticed that on occasion, when I’d left my shoes downstairs, they’d somehow magically appeared in my closet the next time I looked. It was possible she had mistaken Brit’s shoes for mine if the they’d been left lying around at some point. Sure enough, I found the shoes. I texted Brit to let her know I’d drop them by her cabin on my way into town to fetch the supplies Clara needed for the next decadent creation she had planned.

  ******

  By the time I returned from town with Clara’s things, the man Brit had told me about had returned my call. Walter Thompson had moved to the island when he was just four years old. His father had been a fisherman who used Gull Island as his port of call. Mr. Thompson insisted I call him Walt. He invited me to come by and after a brief introduction on both our parts, Walt and I settled in to chat.

  “The island has changed quite a bit since I first arrived,” Walt began in a deep baritone voice.

  “I imagine it has.”

  “And not necessarily for the better. There was a time the island had more open space than developed areas, but it seems the opposite is true these days.”

  “I’ve only lived here since June and I came from New York City, so it feels pretty open to me, but I understand what you’re saying. It does seem there’s a lot of new construction.”

  “Hard to make a living fishing these days. I guess tourism has taken over. It’s a shame, but I guess progress is inevitable. So, Miss Brit told me you had some questions about Frannie K.”

  “I do. And I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me. I guess you know Frannie was found dead in a cemetery fifty miles from here a little over a year after she moved to the island.”

  “I remember. They said the Strangler got her.”

  “Yes, that was the official finding. My friends and I are taking a second look at the case. It’s our opinion that Frannie may have died at the hands of someone other than the Strangler. We don’t really have a lot to go on, so we’re talking to people who lived on the island at the time she died who may have known her, or at least known something about her.”

  “Frannie was a pretty little thing. She lived out at the Hanford place. I won’t claim to have known her well, but I owned a bar back then, and she stopped by for some company now and again.”

  “Did she arrive alone?” I asked.

  “Most of the time, although she never left alone. Frannie didn’t drink and she wasn’t wild like some, but she did have a taste for men. She’d come in every couple of months and scope the place out. If she found someone she liked, she’d approach him. Frannie had an infectious smile, so more often than not, she’d end up leaving with whoever she’d picked out.”

  “Can you remember the names of any of those men?”

  “Sure. A few. Although most of the men who come to mind have died or moved away by now.”

  “Yes, researching such an old case has been challenging. Would you mind sharing the names of the ones you can remember?”

  Walt paused. “You think one of those men might have killed her?”

  “I don’t know. To be honest, we don’t have a lot of leads, so we’re following every path we come across.”

  “And you’re sure it wasn’t the Strangler who got her?”

  “Sure, no. We do have reason to suspect Frannie wasn’t one of the Strangler’s victims, however. The only way we’ll ever know for certain is to find someone who knows what really happened the night Frannie died.”

  “I do know something that might help you. I tried to tell the young FBI agent who was looking
into things what I’d seen, but he didn’t seem much interested.”

  “What did you see?” I asked.

  “I took a break from the bar and went out to the parking lot for a smoke the night before I heard Frannie’s body had been found. Frannie was in the parking lot, talking to a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be arguing. I headed over and asked her if she was okay and she said she was. She thanked me for checking on her and then she followed the man to his car. They were sitting there talking when I went back indoors, but neither of them came inside.”

  “And the FBI agent wasn’t interested in what you had to say?”

  “Nope. He said they already knew Frannie died as a result of being strangled by this mass murderer everyone was after. I pointed out that maybe the man I saw was him, but they said the man they were after had dark hair and a dark complexion.”

  I frowned. The dark hair/dark complexion point was new information, but to totally disregard the fact that a witness had seen Frannie just hours before her death seemed insane to me. “Did you tell the FBI agent anything else?”

  “Just that Frannie came in often and tended to leave with different men when she did. I was the one to ask to speak to the man in charge of the investigation, not the other way around. I got the feeling right off the bat that he wasn’t happy about being bothered. I know when a person is listening to what I have to say and when he isn’t, so after a bit I left and got on with my life.”

  “I don’t blame you. That must have been frustrating. It seems as if you saw the man who killed Frannie. If I showed you some photos, would you still recognize him?”

  “Yup. I suppose I would.”

  “I’ll see if I can find photos of our suspects and call you for another appointment when I have what I need.”

  “Okay. That’d be fine. I’d like to help if there’s still a killer out there thinking he got away with killing that poor girl.”