by Delia James
“According to the medical examiner, the probable cause of death was suffocation resulting from aspiration of water or other fluid.” Kenisha carefully turned over the page. “Brad was probably incapacitated, maybe even passed out, when the car went into the river. From the looks of things, he tried to climb out, slipped on the rocks and drowned.”
Didi murmured something and Shannon closed her eyes as if in prayer. I sat on the window seat with Martine beside me. Alistair curled up on my lap, and I could tell he listened to every word as attentively as the rest of us.
“You said he was incapacitated?” asked Val. She was on the window seat too, running her hand across her belly, but I couldn’t tell if she was trying to soothe the baby inside or herself. Probably both.
Kenisha closed her book and tucked it away. “Alcohol was definitely a contributing factor.” I noticed how fully she’d retreated into formal police language. “We found the bottles in the backseat. We think he’d been sitting on the beach, drinking.”
Just one more. Just to take the edge off. Memories shifted and sloshed through my thoughts and I shuddered. Martine saw and laid her hand on mine.
“Has anyone been to see Laurie?” I asked. “She must be devastated.”
“I have,” said Julia. Julia sat in the armchair by the fireplace. Max snuggled up beside her and Leo was sitting on the hearth. “Or at least, I tried to. Colin didn’t want to let me in.” Max growled and she patted his head.
“No surprise,” I murmured. Given the way he felt about Dorothy, Colin wouldn’t deal well with her old coven showing up after his father’s death.
“No, I suppose not.” Julia sighed. “I decided not to press the issue. I can say Laurie is in a very bad way. Her sister’s arriving from Philadelphia tomorrow, though, and I think there’s other family coming as well.”
“Roger’s taking over some food this afternoon,” said Val. “Maybe he can talk to her.”
“Why’s Colin so angry?” I asked. In the back of my head, I was hearing Elizabeth’s story about blackmail and Brad Thompson and Dorothy Hawthorne. “What happened between the Thompsons and Dorothy and . . . you?”
“You mean why didn’t we help them?” snapped Julia. “Why have the women who declare themselves to be the guardians of Portsmouth failed this particular family?”
“That’s not what she meant, Julia, and you know it,” said Kenisha.
Julia rubbed her eyes. Leo whined and wagged and pawed at her skirt. “Yes, I do know. I’m sorry, Anna. I thought we had been able to help. We did try.”
“We cast several protections and blessings for the family,” murmured Val to her teacup. “Wishes for prosperity.”
“And there were a couple times when maybe I should have written up that kid, or Brad, and kind of didn’t,” Kenisha added grimly. “Maybe I should have. Maybe if he’d felt the consequences sooner . . .”
“It’s not your fault,” said Didi. “Everybody did what they could. I had Colin helping me with some of the houses on weekends. We were all keeping an eye out for ways to get Laurie some kind of part-time income, but it was difficult, with the kids and Brad . . .” She smiled at me. “I heard about the possibility of her selling some of her art.”
I’d almost forgotten about that. I’d tried to help too, and in the end, it hadn’t been enough.
At least when Mom died, we had some time. It was hard, it was terrible, but we were more or less ready for it. We’d been able to say good-bye, and when she was gone, we had one another and we were all adults. But Colin wasn’t much more than a kid, with a younger sister and a devastated mother.
“I can go over there today,” said Martine. “Maybe get an idea what Laurie needs. Colin might have a serious mad on at Dorothy’s . . . friends, but I don’t think he’s going to turn away his boss.”
“Boss?” I turned to her. “Colin works for you?”
“Just started in May. You didn’t know?”
I shook my head. I’d seen him in the signature white cook’s jacket, but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might be working at the Pale Ale. Maybe I should give up this Nancy Drew life. I clearly was not up to seeing the big picture.
“Thank you, Martine,” Julia was saying. “I think that would be very helpful.”
Martine nodded.
“But why is Colin so angry at you?” I asked again. “And Dorothy?”
The women glanced back and forth at one another. I shifted my weight. I didn’t want to ask this question, but I couldn’t just let it go.
It was no surprise that they all let Julia answer. “We’ve never been able to find out. I asked Dorothy, but she wouldn’t say. We argued over it, but she just kept saying it was better if the coven stayed out of this for the moment.”
There it was again, Dorothy keeping her secrets from her friends. Like she had something serious to hide. Or like she’d found out she couldn’t trust them.
Which is it? I demanded angrily, silently. Which is it?
All at once, a whole series of thoughts tumbled together into my brain, and the pattern they made was not pretty.
I found myself on my feet without realizing I’d moved. “I’m sorry. I need . . . I need you to go.” I hurried into the foyer and grabbed my purse off the table there. I also didn’t look anybody in the eye. “I’ve got some calls coming in. I’m sorry,” I said again.
The women all glanced uneasily at one another. One of the dachshunds yipped at Alistair, and Alistair meowed back noncommittally. Seems that not even the dogs believed me, but everybody got up from their chairs anyway, and they all filed out the door.
All except Martine. She closed the door firmly behind Julia’s back and turned to face me.
“Okay, Britton,” she said as she folded her arms. “What’s going on?”
I thought about telling her that I couldn’t say, or I didn’t know. But the set of her jaw told me that wasn’t going to work.
I sighed and retreated as far as I could, which was back to the parlor and the window seat.
“You were saying?” Martine prompted from the threshold.
Alistair jumped into my lap, purring and pressing close. I petted his back, grateful for the warmth. He blinked up at me, and I knew what he was saying. I still had doubts about Julia’s motivations, and Frank’s. Heck, I even had them about Val. But Martine? Not a one. Ever.
“I saw Elizabeth Maitland the other day.”
“You got in to see the queen bee?” Martine sounded impressed. “Well. Somebody’s the special girl.”
One corner of my mouth twitched, trying to smile. “She sent a written invitation and everything. She told me . . . well, she told me a whole bunch of things. One was that Dorothy Hawthorne was a blackmailer, and that one of her victims was Brad Thompson.”
Martine drew her chin back. I saw her want to ask if I was sure, but she didn’t. She just let out a long, slow breath.
“It’s not the sort of thing I could bring up with all of . . . them.” I waved my hand over my shoulder.
“The coven,” said Martine. “Go ahead and say it, Anna. It’s okay.”
“You know, I’ve got to get over being surprised that nobody’s surprised,” I muttered. “Did you know the stuff they do actually . . . works?”
“I didn’t, but I believe it.” I’m not sure how much surprise showed on my face just then, but it was enough to make Martine roll her eyes. “Now, why wouldn’t I believe in magic, Anna? I’ve known about you and your Vibe for years. Not to mention the fact that my mother’s parents are from Haiti. I grew up with magic in the air.” She dropped onto the other end of the window seat. “Have you gotten any kind of bead on what these ladies really think about Dorothy?”
“You mean has anybody admitted their collective BFF was a blackmailer?”
Now I was the one getting angry. Even if Dorothy didn’t entirely live up to th
e good-witch image, it didn’t follow that her friends knew about it. I so very much wanted to like these women, even Julia. Maybe especially Julia. She might be stiff and imperious, but she was a good person. But Julia might be lying about more than Elizabeth’s familiar.
On the other hand, Elizabeth might be lying about much more than where that blackmail letter came from.
“Talk to me, Anna,” said Martine. “You know you can tell me anything.”
I did know that. I had always known that. I might be making a whole set of new friends, but Martine had known me since we were both in grade school. She was the one who’d been there for every little triumph and every lousy breakup. If there was one person in my life outside my family I trusted, it was Martine.
So, I took a deep breath, and I started talking. I told her everything, from confronting Brad when we both broke in to the house, to how I found out Dorothy really was murdered. I told her about the magazine photo and the clue on the back. I told her about visiting Elizabeth and visiting Laurie, and my scene with Brad in Raja Rani.
I told her about how Frank had gone looking for Brad and how I’d tried my little trick with the automatic writing to do the same, and I saw what happened to Brad. Some of it, anyway.
Martine put her hand on my shoulder but said nothing.
“So, while everybody else was looking for Brad this morning, I went to see Ellis Maitland,” I said. “I was hoping Brad would be there, but he wasn’t. I did find a file under the name Dorothy Gale, but Ellis caught me before I could read it.”
“How’d he take it?”
“Surprisingly well.” I frowned. “He’s been saying all along that he wants to help Frank. Maybe he means it. Anyway, Ellis said the file was full of real estate documents, and that they were all signed by Elizabeth.”
“I don’t get it,” said Martine.
Alistair shifted in my lap. I rubbed him behind the ears, but he wasn’t purring anymore. “I don’t either, at least not entirely. But maybe Dorothy found out Elizabeth was involved in some shady real estate deals and went to Brad to get confirmation. Either that, or Brad found out and went to Dorothy for advice on what to do.”
“Then Dorothy confronts Elizabeth and Elizabeth kills her?”
I nodded. “Val thought it was Elizabeth from the get-go. You see, nobody could find Alistair the night Dorothy died. They think . . . there might have been a spell cast to keep him away from her, so he couldn’t go for help.”
Alistair hid his face under his tail. Martine was silent, but only for a moment.
“What do you think?”
“I think I don’t know,” I answered. “Martine, tell me not to do this. Tell me to quit trying to play Nancy Drew and go back to Boston and move back in with Bob and Ginger.”
She snorted. “I am not your pastor, and your brother’s already looking after your dad.” She paused. “Maybe I can help.”
“You sure you want to? I mean, this road had been pretty crazy so far.”
“I liked Dorothy, and I like the Thompsons. Besides, Kenisha Freeman’s been pretty sure something was wrong for a long time now, and Brad’s death doesn’t make it better.”
“She has? How do you know?”
She looked down her nose at me. “It’s a small town, Anna. Smaller for some of us. Anyhow, she has, but she hasn’t got anything to take to the higher-ups. And then there’s this lieutenant who’s a real hard . . .”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.” I rubbed Alistair’s ears. My head was spinning, and for once, the coffee and the cat weren’t helping clear anything up.
“This whole mess revolves around five people,” I said slowly. “Dorothy, Frank, and Brad. Ellis and Elizabeth.”
“And now two of them are dead.”
“Yeah.” I shivered. “But that’s not the question. The question is, Which of them were working together? Was Dorothy working with Brad? Or was Brad working with Elizabeth, and Dorothy found out about it?”
“Or was Brad working with Ellis, and Dorothy found out and ratted them out to Elizabeth?”
“Yeah, there’s that possibility too.”
“Or Ellis found out Dorothy and Brad were involved in Elizabeth’s fraud, and killed them to keep them quiet.”
“I don’t like that idea,” I whispered.
“Yeah, I can see that,” answered Martine with a lot more calm than most people would. “Because that would make you a target now too.”
“Yeah.” I gathered Alistair even closer. He made no protest. “Me and . . . oh, crud.”
“What?”
I jumped to my feet, and Alistair jumped to the floor with an annoyed rumble. “The coven’s been so focused on Brad and his family, I bet nobody’s checked in on Frank Hawthorne.”
38
I SENT MARTINE back to the Pale Ale, reminding her she had actual work to do. She didn’t want to go, but I held firm. The truth was, I didn’t want her to see what I really planned to do next.
Frank, it turned out, lived in an apartment in a large Italianate mansion that had been subdivided sometime during the Great Depression. It was one of those places that’s so old the stairs have been creaking and grumbling to one another for longer than anyone in town’s been alive.
I carried an aluminum pan covered with plastic wrap and foil up three flights. I didn’t pick up any Vibes, thankfully. Unfortunately, the building completely lacked air-conditioning, and I was perspiring by the time I made it to the top landing. I didn’t want to imagine what it must be like up here in August.
I balanced the baking pan against my hip and knocked on Frank’s door. There were thumping footsteps and creaking floorboards and the door opened a few seconds later.
“Oh. Hi.” Frank looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His hair was tousled and his face was drawn tight across the bones.
“Hi,” I said. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure.”
It was cooler in here, because the kitchen windows were all opened wide. A gigantic chestnut spread its branches right outside, making the whole place feel like a tree house. A black cat with bright gold eyes sat on the windowsill and watched as I followed Frank into the living room.
“So, this is it.” He spread his hands. “The inner sanctum.”
Frank might have been a longtime bachelor, but his place was in no way the stereotypical man cave built around a massive flat-screen TV. In fact, it took me a while to see the TV stuffed back in its corner. The most prominent feature of Frank Hawthorne’s apartment was books. There were books on shelves and books on top of shelves and books on tables. Books waited in stacks on the desk and on the floor. Paperbacks, hardbacks, new, used, all mixed in with piles of newspapers and magazines. The wall behind the desk was a mosaic of corkboards with papers, maps and photos pinned to every inch.
“It’s nice,” I told him. “It looks like you.” Which it did. It was the home of someone who preferred comfort over appearance, who was insatiably curious and a little offbeat.
The cat jumped off the sill and came to curl around Frank’s ankles. The animal moved so easily, it took me a minute to realize it was missing a back leg.
“And this”—Frank stooped down and picked the cat up—“is Colonel Nick Kitty.”
“Great name.” I held my hand out. Kitty sniffed and licked my fingers enthusiastically.
“It’s after Colonel Nick Fury. You know, from the Avengers?”
I nodded. I had a friend who worked on the comic books for Marvel. Plus, the guy who played Thor in the movies? Totally swoon-worthy. “Is he a rescue?”
“Kind of. The day after I moved in here, I opened the window to get some air, and he jumped in and didn’t leave.”
Colonel Kitty finished licking my fingers and moved to my thumb. Frank raised his eyebrows.
“Tuna,” I told him and held out the aluminum foil pan. “I made you a
casserole.” Tuna noodle casserole, specifically, made with cream of mushroom soup and Velveeta. I’d just have to hope Martine never found out. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Thank you.” Frank put down the cat and took the pan. “I guess you heard about Brad?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I stopped by the paper, but they said you went home early.”
“Not setting the best example there.” Frank stashed the pan in the battered Frigidaire. Colonel Kitty watched wistfully.
“Do you want to sit down?” Frank started clearing books off a worn leather armchair. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I sat and put my purse on the nearest pile of books. “I’m really sorry about Brad.”
Frank dropped onto a sofa about the same vintage as my chair. His hands dangled between his knees. “I looked for him everywhere I could think of. I even tried that stupid tiki bar. I asked Sean and his dad, but they hadn’t seen him. I thought . . . I thought maybe he’d just gone on a long drive someplace. And I went home.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I should have kept looking. I should have . . . done something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Colonel Kitty loped over to his side and, with only a little bit more strain than for the average cat, jumped up onto the sofa’s seat and then onto the back. The cat hunkered down and started nuzzling Frank’s neck. This was clearly something they were both used to, because Frank just smiled a little and rubbed Kitty’s ears. “I mean, I knew things were bad. If I’d started looking earlier, if I hadn’t been so afraid of what I’d find . . .”
“You were trying to protect your aunt and her memory.”
“And myself,” he said. “Don’t forget myself.” He folded his arms, which meant he wasn’t scratching the cat’s ears anymore. Colonel Kitty mewed in protest. “Some crusading journalist I make. What if . . .”
“What if what?”
“What if the reason I haven’t tried hard enough to find out what was really happening to Aunt Dot is because I don’t want to find out I was the one responsible for her death.”
