by Patti Larsen
“Yes, that’s right,” Heather said, slightly breathless now, not meeting my eyes any longer, a faint flush hitting her high cheekbones. “Buckley’s Marine out of Boston.”
“I guess your bosses will be worried about the rest of the season’s sales.” Come to think of it, it was August. Why was she still here? She’d been hanging around for over a month, hadn’t she? I wasn’t an expert or anything, but wouldn’t selling boats be more an early summer kind of thing? And surely this was a tiny market for her to be putting in so much attention. A sneaking feeling of more to the story that had nothing to do with her guilty reaction made me pause and wonder just what kind of relationship she might have with the deceased yacht club president. The fact he was wrapping up on his forth young and pretty wife wasn’t lost on me, nor the fact Heather herself was about as young and pretty as they came.
Not to judge her choice in men, but yuck.
“They trust me,” she said, sounding like that was about as far from the truth as anything she’d ever said in her entire life and raising my hackles so far I had to fight off the need to pounce and demand she tell me everything.
Was she in trouble at work, something to do with Lester? Would that explain maybe her being in his office? Had they been dallying there? Or was she looking for something that had nothing to do with my suspicions about how close the two of them might be, something instead hinging on her job? Only one way to prod this pony, especially when her clear desire to run away from me had come back in a visible rush of nervous anxiety. “Heather, what were you looking for the day Lester died? In his office?”
Heather’s dark eyes met mine and for a moment she seemed totally taken aback by my question. Like I’d struck her instead of asking a (far from) innocent question. I couldn’t help my own eyes widening at her response and found I was at a loss for words when her expression shut down and she looked away again.
“I don’t know that’s your business, Fiona,” she said, curt and sharp, finding her backbone past her anxious guilt. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”
I could have pushed her further, I guess, but it just didn’t seem worth it and besides, I was kind of out of steam when it came to poking my nose into other people’s business. I just had too much of my own worry on multiple fronts to drive myself nuts over the death of Lester Patterson. A death that, until proven otherwise, might very well have been natural causes.
A few minutes later, Heather ensconced in her room with her door firmly locked behind her, I stood quietly in the foyer of Petunia’s, prepping for my final evening check, sighing as the pug at my feet sank to her haunches and yawned.
When the front door opened one last time, Dad stomping through, I was startled enough by his return I stayed silent, at least until I realized he wasn’t alone. And that the mustached acting sheriff on his heels was going to be a pain in my butt whether I liked it or not.
“I’m talking to you, John.” Robert had the audacity to grab Dad’s arm and tug him around. Okay, so he tried to turn my father. Instead, all he got was two very angry Flemings—I wasn’t about to let my cousin manhandle my dad and get away with it—leaping on him in tandem.
“That’s Uncle John, boy,” Dad snarled.
“Don’t make me call Olivia,” I snapped at the same moment.
Robert backpedaled, but just barely, his face darkening to deep red a moment, that same dangerous look I noticed returning. I really had to take him more seriously, though from the way Dad’s eyebrows shot up, he caught the expression too. Which meant I wasn’t the only one to underestimate my cousin.
“I’m tired of you two Flemings interfering with official police business.” I hadn’t listened to Crew on that matter, what made Robert think I’d pay attention to his attempt to keep me out of things? Not to mention Dad.
“The town of Reading has employed us,” nice of my father to include me, “to investigate alongside your department, Robert.” Dad wasn’t backing down. “You know that. I was there when Olivia told you as much. So don’t tell me you’re holding a grudge when we’re doing the job we’re being paid for.”
“Just stay out of my way,” my cousin snarled, though he seemed fully aware he had no grounds to demand such a thing. “And out of my cases. Or I’ll have you both arrested and let Olivia deal with the consequences.”
I opened my mouth to interfere because that was how I rolled. But Dad cut me off, stepping between me and his nephew, towering, looming like he did when he wanted to shut someone down. “You listen to me, Robert Carlisle,” he said, voice low, deep, more graveled than ever. “There have been times I’ve let your incompetence slide out of respect for your mother, and times I’ve covered for you because you’re family. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let you threaten me or Fiona. You do the work the town’s paying you to do and we’ll do what Olivia’s asked of us and we won’t have a problem.” Dad closed the distance, Robert standing his ground just barely, mustache quivering. “You decide you want to come after me and mine, boy? Let’s just see how far you get.”
I loved my dad so freaking much. And yet, as I watched Robert finally back down, that horrible, nasty expression returning long enough to make me worry, I wondered just how far he’d go if pushed.
Not that we’d be finding out tonight. Robert muttered something I didn’t catch before spinning and striding out of the foyer, slamming the door behind him. I winced and scowled, knowing I’d be handling a noise complaint from a few of the guests thanks to his rude exit but not really caring much. When Dad turned to face me, he looked worried enough I figured the complaints were the least of my concerns.
“That boy is on the edge,” he said, soft, thoughtful. “Wonder what it’ll take to make him break?”
Did we want to know? “He wouldn’t have the nerve to come after you, Dad,” I said.
My father shrugged, sighed, one big hand rubbing over his face. “Let him try,” he said. “But I’ve let a lot ride over the years, Fee. Maybe I should have a chat with your Aunt Doris.”
Mom joined us, startling me as she slipped up beside me, her face creased in a frown. I didn’t realize she was still here, but Dad’s reason for returning was now obvious. He was here to pick her up. How much of his interaction with Robert did she witness? Enough, I guess, my mother went right to him and hugged him before meeting my eyes.
“Doreen called,” she said. “She needs us to pick up the things we left behind on the weekend. Dishes and whatnot.”
Right. “I’ll take care of it, Mom,” I said. Watched my parents leave, Mom whispering to my father while I contemplated what I’d witnessed.
I’d already been out to the club tonight once already, so the pickup would have to wait until morning. Though, when I finally made it to the parking lot the next day, I wished I’d just gotten it over with. The fast run to Dr. Miller’s office with Petunia went well, no adverse effects from her dip in the marina apparent. She was just as happy for the drive in the car as much as the freeze-dried liver treats the vet and his cheerful staff seemed to think the pug earned for being a terrible swimmer. Nice of Dr. Miller not to charge us for the checkup, though I did tell him if anything came up on later tests to make sure to bill the sheriff’s department.
But, that trip meant two jaunts out into the world when I needed to be at the B&B. And no, I wasn’t yet prepared to bring the pug with me to the yacht club. So, after running her home and delivering her into Mom’s care, I sighed over yet another drive that felt like a waste of precious time. Doreen was nowhere in sight when I slipped inside the club, finding the pile of boxes with my belongings at the entry. Either nice of her to prep everything for a fast getaway or she was evicting me without wanting to see me. Whatever. I wasn’t going to take this as an insult.
I stumbled over the curb on the way to the car, fumbling one of the boxes which landed against the garbage, dumping three of my favorite plastic containers into the trash. Awesome. Fishing out my property meant leaning over the edge of the dumpster, forcing
me to not only touch the side of the disgusting bin but to inhale the unhealthy aroma emanating from within. The polite thing to do would have been to close the stupid lid, something whoever used it last failed to do. Had they, I wouldn’t have found myself sighing as I stepped up on the lip of the dumpster and leaning far over to grab the plastic container while wondering to myself if this really was necessary.
I slipped. Of course I did, almost falling face first into the vile sludge at the bottom of the trash. One hand leaped out, caught the slimy side of the container, my legs swinging under me on the outer wall, sneakered toes scrambling for purchase, even as my gaze caught sight of something tucked into a corner, sparkling in the morning sun.
Containers forgotten, I twisted sideways and lunged for the bright object, fingers closing on a black wire, tugging loose the long string of lights, a few of the decorative bulbs broken. I pushed off, balance restored, landing on my feet, frowning at the string of lights.
And the burned out plug at the business end.
***
Chapter Twenty Two
Of course my mind told me this was the murder weapon. Had to be. And though yes it could still have been an accident, the fact that someone hid this juicy piece of evidence was all the proof I needed that Lester Patterson’s death was, at best, manslaughter and, at worst, first degree hate his guts and purposely electrocute him then bury the proof.
Okay, so this was far beyond my sleuthing skills. I needed help, and though I could have called Dad—planned to, yes—I knew it would go over much better with Olivia and the rest of the town if I instead called Jill. No, not Robert. Jill. And it wasn’t going to hurt when Crew got back when he found out I cooperated and went to his favorite deputy, either.
I winced that I’d touched the string with my bare hands as I dialed my friend and waited for her to answer. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now, and seeing all the bits of yuck clinging to it made me shrug and deduce finding my DNA was going to be the least of the deposits the forensics folks uncovered. I set it carefully on the top of my trunk, placing the boxes of goods I’d retrieved inside first and closing it firmly before looking up and around as the phone rang. Surely there’d be some kind of security camera placement nearby that might give me—Jill, Fee, not me—a good view of the person or persons who’d deposited said evidence into the dumpster? Lo and behold, there were two, one high on top a pole near the front door, around the corner from the waste bin and another pointed at the side of the building, though without a clear view of where I stood. It looked like whoever aimed the cameras did so with the safety of the boat owners in mind. Fair enough. Who would have considered putting one on a garbage bin? Still, it would have been nice to have a clearer shot at the dumpster. Yet, I was fairly confident that whoever did the dumping would have been caught on camera at one point or another. So, finding the perpetrator would be as simple as reviewing the footage the night of Lester’s death and pinpointing the individual closest to this side of the building as possible.
Easy peasey, lemons and all that.
Jill finally answered as I scanned the area for more cameras, the softly pained anxiety in her voice an uncomfortable but expected response. If Robert was trying to push Dad around I could only imagine what he’d been saying to Jill. But when I told her what I found, her worry turned instantly to excitement.
“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Since she didn’t tell me not to call Dad I did that next. He heard me out, though I could tell from the sound of a chair squeaking suddenly and the slamming of a door he was on the move even before I finished filling him in on the discovery. Not surprising he showed up first, his pickup truck spitting gravel as he came to an abrupt halt, parking askew next to me, though Jill was a close second, her cruiser travelling at a somewhat more sedate and careful pace.
Jill didn’t protest when Dad did a quick examination of the light string, though she only gave him a moment with a disposable glove she surreptitiously handed to him to do his look see before she liberated him of the cord and hefted it at me with a grin.
“Thanks, Fee,” she said. “You heard from Dr. Aberstock?”
At least she wasn’t beating around the bush. I didn’t have to be evasive with Jill. “He mentioned electrocution,” I said. “And Wanda Beaman said some fish died, washed up down the lake. I’m guessing they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Makes sense,” Dad said. “The fish would have been in the harbor looking for food from the party and got caught in the jolt. They must have been right beside Lester’s boat when he went in.” Dad paused a moment, nodded. “The doc said he found some odd bruising around Lester’s right wrist, like something restrained him briefly and rubbed off some skin. It could be the cord of this string wrapped around him and he pulled it into the water when he fell.”
“Meaning an accident,” I said.
Dad shrugged. “I’m still thinking manslaughter. Doc said there’s no evidence of Lester’s heart giving out on its own. The electrical shock was what killed him. And hiding this kind of evidence leads me further down the road to murder. Or, at least, someone who’s very happy he’s dead whether they arranged his end or not.”
Agreed. Jill seemed on our page, too, so I was going to call it murder from now on, thanks.
“Now we need to find out who tried to hide evidence,” Jill said.
I pointed upward at the cameras, not saying anything and not needing to. Grim now, Jill nodded.
“I already checked the footage from that night,” she said. “Or, I tried.” Dad frowned at her while she shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Turns out neither of the cameras were functioning properly. The video is spotty, at best.” She flinched slightly, met my eyes, then Dad’s before exhaling heavily. “At least, according to Robert.” Jill was really having a hard time with silence and guilt lately. She tossed her hands at both of us, frustration so clear I felt horrible for her suddenly she had to bear the brunt of what had to be a crappy time to be a deputy in Reading. “Fine, he won’t let me review it,” she said. “I’m telling you both, if Crew doesn’t come back soon, I might not last until he does.” Hands shaking, she looked down at her feet, clenching her fists at her sides though it did nothing to stop the hot points of red on the tips of her cheekbones. “I’ve barely been back a day and he’s driving me mad.”
No need to say who “he” was. “Hang in there, Jill,” I said with an awkward pat to her shoulder. It might have felt that way to me but the quick, grateful smile she flashed me, her big eyes wide with concern, told me I’d made a better impact than I expected.
“He won’t last much longer.” Dad sounded so sure of himself I wondered if he had a plan he wasn’t telling me. Like that wasn’t his usual way of doing business. I didn’t ask, personally didn’t care. I just wanted Crew to come back.
Pathetic, really. I didn’t need a damned hero.
Jill left with the evidence, promising Dad she’d let him know on the sly when she heard back from the lab. “No matter what Olivia says,” the deputy told us both, halfway into her car as she paused, “or who’s paying you to investigate, Robert’s on a warpath over you two. Watch your backs.” She drove off without another word while I hugged myself, scowling after her, though obviously not aimed at her.
Nope, aimed full speed at my annoying and suddenly kind of scary cousin.
Dad grasped my arm and steered me toward the front door of the club as soon as Jill’s car was out of sight. I looked up at him with surprise, pulling free while we strode together through the front door. “I want a look at that footage,” he said.
“Jill said Robert has it.” I wasn’t trying to be a wet blanket or anything, but surely he’d heard her, too.
Dad shook his head, pointing at Doreen’s office door. I joined him as he entered, finding the small, older woman huddled in her seat, staring at the wall, tears streaming down her face. My eyes followed her gaze, settled on a photo framed in an old fashi
oned wooden rectangle, the image of four smiling women staring back at her. I recognized her as one of them, and, to my surprise, realized the one next to her was a young and vibrant version of my Grandmother Iris. But who were the other two? The one on the far left seemed very familiar for some reason. I just couldn’t put my finger on why.
I didn’t get to ask about it. When Doreen looked up at the sight of Dad she sobbed once and stood up. My father engulfed her in a hug, nodding to me with a slight widening of his eyes, glancing sideways at the far wall where a cabinet door stood open.
Revealing a bulky security setup complete with two monitors. But before I could sneak my way over and have a peek, Dad came right out and asked.
“Reenie,” he said, “we need to see the tapes from the night Lester died.”
She hiccupped, shook her head. “That wretched Robert Carlisle took them.”
Dad grunted, let her go. “You’re sure there’s no copies? You know Lester liked to keep backups of everything. For safety’s sake.” Sounded like Dad knew more about the habits of the disliked Patterson than he’d let on.
Doreen just shrugged. “If there are copies, I don’t know where they are.” She shivered, dabbing at her nose with her ever-present wad of tissues. “It’s just horrible, John. Horrible.”
He nodded, patted her shoulder. “Can I have the key for his office?” Just like that, point blank. I half expected her to hand it over, considering the way she leaned on him. But Doreen shook her head, sitting down again, faint frown on her face.
“I can’t do that, John,” she said. “You’ll have to have the sheriff come down and ask.”
Dad sighed, shrugged. “Worth a try,” he said. “I’ll have Lucy come by and sit with you a bit tonight, Reenie.”
She swatted at him with her tissues, face settling into a forced state of serenity. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a struggle, not knowing what happened. Get on with you both.” She met my eyes. “You got your things, Fiona?”
