Suspicious Origin

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “I’m not up here to ski, Donovan. I came for a funeral, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” he said. His voice was warm, unguent-like. It had a hypnotic effect on women and he knew it. “How was the funeral?”

  “As funerals go, not much fun,” she said.

  “They rarely are,” he said. “At least it’s over.”

  “It was yesterday.”

  “You all right?”

  “Yes,” she said uncertainly, glad to be asked.

  “I recommend that you do something nice for yourself. Go rent some skis and get out there on the slopes. You should take advantage of being there.”

  “You know I don’t ski,” she said.

  “I know, but you could take a lesson or two,” he suggested. “It’s not hard. Just a rhythm you’ve got to get into. It would clear your head. Make you feel better.”

  “Actually I have other things on my mind,” she said. Donovan, she thought. He’s smart and analytical He might be just the person I need to talk to. “Maybe you’d have some ideas.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “I told you my sister died in a fire…”

  “Yes…”

  “Let’s just say it was a fire of suspicious origin.”

  There was a brief silence. His tone of voice sounded suddenly detached. “Really?”

  Britt heard the riffling of papers in the background. “Are you reading something while we’re talking?” she demanded. She’d seen him do it many times to other people.

  “No, of course not,” he said indignantly, but the rustling stopped. “What were you saying?”

  Britt didn’t know whether or not to continue, but she knew it would seem childish to clam up all of a sudden. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of confidence in the local police department. So I’ve been asking a few questions of my own.”

  “Doing a little Nancy Drew-ing?” he asked with a chuckle.

  She had expected him to show some curiosity about the fire, but obviously that was the furthest thing from his mind. Britt wondered why she had thought she could talk to him. “I just have some questions that need answers,” she concluded abruptly.

  “And I…” he said, “have a program that needs a producer. When are you coming home?”

  “I’ll be back soon,” she said.

  “Britty, Britty, Britty,” he cajoled. “My pretty Britt. I’m sure it’s all very interesting, but your job is here. I need you. You know I need you.”

  Her body reacted to his seductive voice as if it had a mind of its own. As if she had no mind at all. And it was all so much bullshit. “You don’t need me,” she said bitterly.

  Donovan cleared his throat impatiently. “All right, look,” he said briskly. “You can have a day or two more, but that’s it. Life goes on, Britt.”

  She knew she should ask how the show had gone in her absence but his attitude made her feel rebellious. “Is that a threat?” she asked.

  “Of course not. I couldn’t do without you,” he said. “Now wrap things up and get your little butt back here ASAP. Between all these pretty little airheads around here we can barely manage. I’ll tell Nancy you called. I’ve got to run. Take care now.”

  Britt pushed the off button on her phone and stared at the ceiling, hating herself, and Donovan Smith. She found herself thinking of Zoe, eating that peanut butter sandwich and questioning Britt about her feelings toward her mother. I told that child more about my mother today than I told Donovan Smith in our two years of so-called intimacy. She’d wanted to stop him. She’d wanted to say, “Stuff your job. I quit.” But she hadn’t had the nerve. And if she did it, what would she have left? She lay on the bed with her eyes closed, feeling more alone than ever.

  Your life with men has been a complete and utter failure, she thought. Suddenly, beside her on the bed, the cell phone rang. Britt jumped, and thought immediately of Donovan. Then, she banished the thought and pushed the button.

  “Yes?” she said warily.

  “Britt, it’s Dean Webster,” he said. His speech was slightly slurred, but his tone of voice was forceful.

  Britt looked at her watch. “Its kind of late,” she said.

  “I hope I didn’t wake up the household,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “No danger of that. I’m at a hotel now. A B&B actually.”

  “Really?” he asked, and she could hear him virtually licking his chops. “What happened? Things get a little tense around the house?”

  “It was tight quarters,” she said, unwilling to be a part of his news reports. “I just wanted to spread out a little. I got the cottage at Bay-berry House.”

  “Oh, right,” he said. “Well, look, I just thought you might be interested in something I heard tonight after I saw you.”

  “Oh, and what was that?” she asked.

  “Apparently Alec Lynch was planning on leaving our fair town of Coleville. Our fair state for that matter. He met with a business broker about selling his business, and buying a business in Virginia Beach. I believe they were talking about jet skis.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Britt.

  “That’s not all. He rented an apartment there. He took a lease that started two months ago.”

  “Oh my God.” So, she thought, perhaps there was a girlfriend, after all. “That’s amazing,” she said. “Where did you hear that?”

  “My sources have been calling in,” he said. “I told you, I’m good.”

  Britt ignored his bravado. “Does Chief Stern know?” she asked.

  “He’ll know tomorrow,” he said.

  For a minute it was silent except for the hum of the cell as Britt thought about what Dean had just told her. “What will the police do?” she said at last.

  “Well, unless they’re completely incompetent, they’re going to be all over Alec Lynch,” said Dean.

  Zoe, Britt thought, and her heart dropped. She’ll be devastated.

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I have a lot on my mind. But, I have to admit, you are good.”

  “You don’t know the half of it, Britt,” he said in an insinuating tone. “I’ve got a lot of talents I haven’t even showed you yet.”

  Britt rolled her eyes. “You’re quite a kid,” she said.

  “I’m a man,” he said softly.

  Britt felt an undeniable jolt, a sexual buzz. “Good night,” she said firmly, glad he could not see her blush.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, a pewter-gray day with snow flurries blowing, Britt entered a diner called Henry’s, went up to the takeout counter, and ordered a cup of coffee to go. She had avoided the Bayberry House breakfast. Despite the promise of Mike’s homemade bread, the last thing she felt like doing was talking to a bunch of strangers over breakfast about where she came from and why she was here. There was a television suspended near the low ceiling above the counter and it was tuned to a local morning show. Britt paid no attention to it until suddenly, a familiar voice caught her ear. She looked up and saw Dean Webster on camera. His gold-tipped hair was perfectly coifed, his blue eyes were sober and serious. Behind him was the grotesque frame of what had once been her sister’s house.

  Britt stared at the news broadcast, transfixed. “Yes, Bob,” Dean was saying, “rumors are flying that an arrest may be imminent in the arson homicide of Greta Lynch. Sources close to the investigation in Coleville tell us that the police have found some new information which is leading them in the direction of a suspect. We talked to the district attorney this morning…” The picture on the screen then cut to a somber-looking middle-aged guy in a blue suit. “Dean, as you know,” he was saying, “arson is a crime that leaves very little evidence behind. That’s one reason it’s so difficult to prosecute. Almost always, arson cases rely on circumstantial evidence. But we are hopeful that we will have that evidence.”

  “Does that mean you are going to make an arrest?” “I can’t say any more at this time,” said the D.A., shaking his head
. The camera cut back to Dean. “Speculation is rampant about the identity of the suspect, but for now, it’s a waiting game. Well be staying on top of this story. Now, back to you, Bob.”

  Dean’s image melted away, as the host thanked him and the morning show resumed.

  “Here’s your coffee,” said a waitress, pushing a paper bag toward Britt across the counter.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Britt, startled. She fumbled for her wallet, and peered at the check, but her heart was racing. She hoped Zoe wasn’t watching the television. Then she remembered. Zoe wouldn’t think they were talking about her father. She wouldn’t be thinking of him as a possible suspect. No, if they arrested Alec Lynch, it was going to turn her little world upside down all over again.

  Britt started to get into her car, which was parked outside the diner, and then she thought better of it. She decided to walk the length of Main Street instead, to get a little exercise. Besides, it was early and she had plenty of time. She had slept so poorly that she had decided to get up and stop trying. Still carrying her take-out coffee, Britt pushed open the door to the Coleville Police Station. The station house was humming, officers in blue coming and going through the double doors. Britt walked up to the sergeant at the desk, who was typing on her computer and talking on the phone at the same time. The woman frowned at her, and indicated a nearby bench where several people were already seated.

  Britt sat down, as far as she could from the nearest person, and pulled the paper cup of coffee out of the bag. She was willing to wait as long as was necessary, to talk to Chief Stern. She took a sip of the steaming coffee and nearly burned her lip.

  “Hey there, Britt,” said a friendly voice.

  Britt looked up in surprise and saw a ruddy-faced man in an elegant suit and silk tie, walking slowly toward her. It took her a few moments to recognize the man. When she’d met him he had been lying in bed in his pajamas.

  “Mr. Carmichael,” she said, starting to get up.

  He motioned for her to sit down, and he gingerly lowered himself down onto the bench beside her. “Kevin,” he said. “Please.”

  ‘What are you doing here?” she said. “I thought you were bedridden.”

  “Had a call from a client they locked up last night, so I came down. Gotta keep the wolf from the door, you know.”

  “It looks like you’re still in a lot of pain,” Britt said.

  Kevin shrugged, and then winced. “I’m taped up. What are you doing here?”

  “I want to talk to Chief Stern about… some developments…”

  “You won’t see Chief Stern. He’s not here. I hear he went to Montpelier to do some checking on an alibi.”

  Part of Britt was disappointed. But there was definite comfort in knowing that he was checking out Alec’s story. “My brother-in-law’s alibi,” said Britt grimly. “He claims he drove a hitchhiker to Montpelier on the night of the fire.”

  “Ah ha,” said Kevin, nodding. “I’ve been watching the news. They’re talking about a suspect. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Alec…”

  “His story was a little hard to swallow,” said Britt. “At least for me.”

  “Well, I’ve been a defense attorney for a long time,” Kevin said. “Police tend to investigate a crime like this in concentric circles, starting with those who were closest to the victim. Especially the spouse. So, when they start talking about a suspect this quickly, it leads me to think they didn’t have to go much beyond that first circle…”

  “You’re an expert in this kind of thing,” said Britt. “What do you think? Do you think he did it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kevin. “He’s an abrasive guy, but he always seemed to dote on them. Greta and Zoe. But you can never tell about a marriage. I’ve defended a number of people accused of killing their spouses. There are some terrible things that go on behind closed doors. I’ll tell you that. Women who take all lands of abuse until they just snap. And from the outside, everything looked perfectly normal. There are men who seem to be loving husbands who brutalize their wives.

  “In some cases, the woman just couldn’t see any other way out. And the abuse tapped into something from her childhood that sent her spinning helplessly out of control,” he said earnestly, as if he were addressing the jury.

  “But the abusive husband. How do you defend him? Especially if it leads to murder,” said Britt.

  Kevin frowned, as if she had interrupted his train of thought. “You’re talking about Alec now, right?”

  Britt nodded, wondering what he had been thinking about.

  Kevin seemed to resume his lawyerly stride. “On the one hand, we don’t have any knowledge that he was abusive. I’d focus on that. The fact that he loved his child and had no reason to hurt her.”

  “Maybe the new girlfriend didn’t want a man encumbered with children,” said Britt.

  “Is there a new girlfriend?” Kevin raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t know for sure. Apparently, there’s some evidence he was planning to start his life over somewhere else.”

  “That doesn’t mean he was planning to kill his wife. Maybe she was planning on going with him.”

  “Did Greta ever say anything like that to you or Caroline?” Britt asked.

  “Well, I don’t think so, but… that doesn’t mean they weren’t planning it together.”

  “He rented a one-bedroom apartment,” said Britt. “Room enough for one. Or a very romantic couple.”

  Kevin shrugged. “I see your point. He may need my services,” he said. “Well, I’d better be getting outside. I called Caroline to come and pick me up.”

  “I’m gonna go, too,” said Britt. “I’ll try later, see if I can catch the chief when he gets back. You need a hand up?”

  Without waiting for his reply, Britt gently hooked her arm around Kevin and helped him to his feet. His face paled at the effort. “I guess you can’t drive,” she said.

  “Not for a while yet,” he said. “With a cracked rib, you run the risk of puncturing a lung. Or so they tell me.”

  They walked slowly out of the police station together, and Britt helped him down the steps one at a time. Just as they reached the bottom step, a brand new red Toyota with a ski rack on top, and the dealers sticker still in the window, pulled up in front of them and squealed to a halt. The driver sounded the horn.

  Kevin looked quizzically at Britt. “Anybody you know?” he asked.

  Britt shook her head, and then saw Caroline, in the Carmichaels’ Explorer, pull up and park behind the Toyota. Caroline jumped out of the drivers seat and walked toward them with an apologetic expression on her face, just as the driver of the Toyota managed to struggle out of the front seat. It was Vicki, her coat agape around her maternity top. She lumbered over to where Kevin was standing on the sidewalk. She threw an arm awkwardly around his shoulders and pressed her cheek to his.

  “Mr. C. Thank you so much. You’re fantastic. How can I ever thank you?”

  ‘“Vicki don’t,” Caroline scolded as she hurried over to Kevin. She stopped short when she saw Britt standing beside her husband. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello,” Britt replied, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  “Darling, are you all right?” Caroline asked. “How did it go in there?”

  Vicki, who had been figuratively pushed out of the way, did not seem especially troubled. She gazed at the pair of them curiously.

  “Whose car is this?” Kevin asked, ignoring Caroline’s solicitous questions.

  Caroline glanced at Vicki with a warning look, but Vicki’s large blue eyes were alight. “I just got it,” she said in her babyish voice. “We went and picked it up. It’s so beautiful,” said Vicki. She looked at the Toyota lovingly.

  Kevin frowned and looked from Vicki to Caroline. “What do you mean, you just got it?”

  Caroline pressed her lips together grimly and frown lines formed on her forehead. Britt wished that she could disappear from the sidewalk. Obviously the purchase of the car was news
to Kevin. There was a terrible tension in the air. “I’d promised Vicki that we would get her a car. She needs a car, Kevin.”

  A closed expression came over Kevin’s face.

  Vicki glanced from Caroline to Kevin, confused. “I really love it,” she said, with a shade less confidence. “If you want, I can drive you home, Kevin.”

  Kevin did not reply. He was staring at Caroline, who was pretending she didn’t notice his baleful gaze. Britt was trying to think of something to say, when suddenly her cell phone rang in her pocket-book.

  “Excuse me,” she said, relieved, and pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Aunt Britt,” a voice cried.

  “Zoe,” said Britt, startled. “Are you calling from school? What’s the matter?”

  “I felt sick this morning so I stayed home. Aunt Britt, there’s police here,” she wailed. “They want to come in to search our house and my dad’s not here.”

  Britt’s heart started to hammer. “Did you call him?”

  “Yes, I called him but I had to leave a message…The police were at the dealership, too. I’m all alone here, Aunt Britt.”

  “All right, okay,” said Britt. “Calm down, sweetie. Are they trying to come in?”

  “They’re waiting outside for my dad,” Zoe said.

  “Okay. I’ll come right over there. Don’t worry. Just sit tight.”

  She looked at the Carmichaels and Vicki. “That was Zoe. She’s very upset. The police are at the house. I need to go over there right away,” she said.

  “I’ll drive you,” Vicki offered. “I wanted Zoe to see my new car anyway.”

  Britt’s first impulse was to decline, but she could see that Vicki wanted to escape the Carmichaels. And Britt’s car was parked all the way up Main Street. She didn’t want to keep Zoe waiting a moment longer than was necessary.

  “All right. Thanks,” said Britt reluctantly. “Can we hurry?”

  “Sure,” said Vicki, trundling around to the drivers side.

  “Drive carefully,” Caroline said anxiously. She remained standing beside her husband, still avoiding his gaze. When she tried to reach for his arm, he snatched it away.