Changing of the Guard Dog

by Lane Stone

  I was about to telephone Charles Andrews when I saw Rick’s text. I had arranged to meet him, along with Charlie and her husband, Jerry, at the water. This Charlie was a very nice person, the opposite of Charles. I hoped he wasn’t canceling. Only the ocean could save me now.

  Kayak to HOR light instead of SUP? he’d written. I exhaled in relief.

  This sounded even better and I would have texted him so, but my time was not my own. Instead I telephoned Charles Andrews. I leaned a little toward the dash like he was under the hood. “How would you like to attend a free dress rehearsal for the Potomac Symphony Orchestra tonight?”

  “Wait,” he said, straight and to the point. I heard him talking to someone in a much warmer tone than he’d used with me. “Yeah. Where and what time?” By that he had meant, “Thank you and we’d love to take you up on your generous offer.”

  “At the Lewes Library in the large conference room. Be there by eight o’clock.”

  Lady Anthea had been motioning that she wanted to say something to Charles. “Mr. Andrews, this is Anthea Fitzwalter. They want this to be a simulation of Friday’s concert, so please remember to chat up your friend during the performance. You might even pretend not to pay attention to the musicians. Good evening.”

  I disconnected the call. “Nice touch,” I said. Next I called Jane and Michael Burke from the Southern Delaware Daily and extended the same invitation.

  “May we bring a couple of our interns along?” Jane asked.

  “The more the merrier,” Lady Anthea said.

  * * * *

  “How hard would it be to get our SCUBA certification?” Rick was asking. His ponytail hung down his back. His kayak was yellow, as was his life vest.

  We’d talked about learning to dive for months, but since usually there was an adult beverage, usually an Orange Crush, in our hands at the time we never got very far. Certainly not beyond the talking stage. Rick was anxious to explore one of Delaware’s artificial reef sites. There were fourteen in the Delaware Bay and down the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. We were specifically interested in the Del-Jersey-Land Inshore artificial reef, which was equidistant from Lewes, Delaware, Cape May, Maryland, and Ocean City, Maryland. Last summer, a forty-three-year-old vessel from the Lewes–Cape May Ferry, the MV Twin Capes, was sunk at the site. She joined two other vessels. One was a harbor tug, the Tamaroa. In her early days she’d been at the Battle of Iwo Jima and later found fame as the rescue vessel in the book The Perfect Storm. Within a week, recreational divers had begun exploring the MV Twin Capes.

  “You think Dayle might take the classes, too?” Charlie asked from her green kayak. Jerry’s kayak matched hers. My tandem kayak was red, and Abby sat up front, wearing her red life vest.

  “Hell, I don’t know if she’ll even let me,” Rick said.

  “Dude, take a stand,” Jerry yelled from his kayak. We were paddling around the older, shorter breakwater and the red East End Lighthouse. The water was slightly choppier and slapped against the stones so we had to speak louder to be heard. He popped the top of a can of Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA, because why not.

  “I figure after we get married I can take a stand on things like that,” Rick yelled back.

  “Women like for men to take a stand,” Jerry said.

  “No, we don’t,” Charlie and I said at the same time.

  “Rick, when do you think you’ll get married?” Charlie called out. She paddled closer to her husband and he handed her the beer. She took a drink and handed it back.

  “Soon as she’ll have me,” Rick said. “She wanted to wait ’til she was through with chemo.” He looked out at the horizon and ground his jaw. “She’s done with it now, but that was a rough time.” He paused, then said, “Sue, you sure are quiet today. You okay?”

  I had been enjoying listening to them and I was imagining that the rise and fall of the water under my kayak was taking my troubles and sending them to the bottom of the ocean. All three people waited for my answer. “Well, the murderer, someone who killed twice, might still be in town—”

  Rick interrupted me. “Twice? I thought that Knightley guy killed the conductor.”

  “That’s bullshit!” I said, not really knowing where that level of emotion had come from. Abby turned her head around to look at me. “Who’s been saying that?”

  “I don’t know any of their names, but it was someone from that symphony orchestra,” he said.

  “Nick Knightley wasn’t in town at the time of Georg Nielsen’s death,” I said. “Every time I hear the theory that he killed Nielsen it’s been from someone with the PSO.”

  “Framing the dead guy? That’s convenient, isn’t it?” Charlie said with a snort.

  “Do you have another one of those?” I asked as I paddled closer to Jerry.

  He opened one and they passed it to me. I told them about Albert thinking he could conduct, and about the mission Charles Andrews would go on later.

  “The guy with the Dachshunds?” Rick asked and I nodded. He knew a number of my pet parents as the supplier of their dogs’ superexpensive cuisine.

  “Do you know him?” I asked. “Neither So-Long nor So-Lo are on a raw food diet.”

  Rick chuckled. “Only by reputation, and it is some reputation.”

  “What’s Chief Turner going to do?” Jerry asked.

  “Call him John,” I said.

  “Calling law enforcement by a first name? I just can’t do it,” he said.

  Charlie agreed. “That’d be like calling your doctor by his first name. You need a buffer. Now, if you marry him, we’ll reconsider.”

  I shook my head and looked at the sky.

  “Is he close to an arrest?” Jerry asked.

  “Progress has been slow. That’s the reason for tonight’s shake-up. The old John would have locked up the whole group.”

  The light and the air around us were changing and the sun would soon set, so without even discussing it, we began paddling to shore instead of going on to the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse.

  Chapter 32

  My kayak was on the roof of the Jeep, and Abby was secure in her harness in the back seat. I checked my messages before heading back to Buckingham’s. Shelby, Lady Anthea and John all wanted me to call them. “Abby, who should I call first? You’re right. I’ll call Shelby first since that might be business-related.”

  “Hi, what’s up? My time on the water has hit my reset button.”

  “Don’t come back to Buckingham’s tonight,” Shelby whispered. “Margo and Bess want to talk to you. They came in around four and I told them you weren’t here. They said it was about, quote, “This murder business.” They want you to talk to Chief Turner about Nick Knightley killing Georg Nielsen. They left, then Bess came back around five.”

  I laughed. “Since he already knows Nick Knightley wasn’t in town then, I can’t convince him otherwise—if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

  “Actually, that’s what Bess wanted at first. She changed her mind. Now she wants you to use your influence to clear him. She said Margo felt the same. I bet there is quite a story behind that.”

  I could feel my shoulders clenching, thanks to the tension that was rushing back into my life. I started the engine and pulled out. “I’m parked at Lewes Beach. I’ve got to get out of here before Bess sees me from her balcony. We really need a spy at tonight’s library rehearsal in case one of them says something about this.”

  “We’re ahead of you. Mason and Joey are going,” she said.

  “Thank you! And thank them for me! Now I have to call Lady Anthea and John.”

  “Lady Anthea wants to tell her brother about the dual rehearsals,” she said.

  “Wonder why? Won’t that hurt his feelings?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and I thought that was the whole idea of having them under cover of darkness,” she said with a laugh.


  “I’ll see her at home and I’ll call John next.”

  “Get some rest!” she said as we hung up.

  I called John as we drove up Savannah Road. He answered on the first ring, which was right after I had turned in the back entrance to my neighborhood.

  “I thought I would let you know there’s going to be a memorial service for Nick Knightley tomorrow. His parole officer is arranging it.” So much for conversational niceties. He had jumped right in with the reason for the call.

  “He must have cared about him,” I said. “That’s nice. It’ll be in DC?”

  “No, here at St. Peter’s, at eleven o’clock.”

  “Was he from here, or does he have relatives in the area?” I asked.

  “He was going to have it in DC, but there wasn’t anyone there to come to it. Someone from the symphony orchestra called to ask him about the arrangements and when he told her that, she asked if it could be held here so the musicians could attend.”

  “You’re kidding me!” I yelled. “I thought everyone but Bess was accusing him of a murder he didn’t commit.”

  “When did Bess change her mind?”

  I told him about Bess and Margo’s difference of opinion, as I’d heard it from Shelby. He didn’t say anything at first and I imagined him rubbing his forehead, thinking. Then he said, “I can’t come up with a reason for them to care. Are they covering up for someone? Why try to make me think there were two murderers rather than one? To make Knightley’s murderer—your attacker—look better? Like he killed one person instead of two? Doesn’t help him much.”

  “Was it Bess or Margo who called his parole officer?” I asked. I was in my driveway and Abby wanted to know why we were just sitting there.

  “No, it was Beaut Richards-Tinsman.”

  “Whaaat kind of a name is that? Please tell me Beaut’s a nickname,” I said, laughing so hard I was crying.

  “Please tell me she didn’t give it to herself,” John said. He waited a beat before saying, “Sue, I miss you.”

  “Me, too.” I wanted to ask why he wanted to leave Lewes, but I could see Lady Anthea coming out my neighbor’s front door. John and I had so much to say to each other. I wanted time and I wanted it to be in person. “So, who is Beaut?”

  “She plays the triangle in the orchestra.”

  “Oooooh. Remember we told you how the symphony orchestra fought each other Tuesday and Wednesday mornings? She was in the middle of both! By the way, Mason and Joey are going to listen in on tonight’s rehearsal,” I said.

  “About that… Like you said, everything we learn leads back to that symphony orchestra. I’m sending Officer Statler to listen in, too.”

  “Sue?” Lady Anthea was calling to me. I rolled the window down. “Albert will be over at seven.”

  I looked at my screen. John had hung up.

  Chapter 33

  I drove into the garage, unhooked Abby from her harness and we went inside.

  “Lady Anthea, you do know I was serious that I can only be friends with Albert, right?”

  “Oh, yes! I’m resigned to that. But can you blame me for wanting you to do for Frithsden what you did for Buckingham’s?”

  “Lewes is my home,” I said. After my years of traveling around and living in one beach town after another, I liked the sound of that.

  “And I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t want you to be hurt when Chief Turner leaves Lewes for a larger city.”

  “You don’t need my help with Frithsden. From the photos I’ve seen you’re restoring it beautifully.”

  I fed Abby, and she curled up in the family room with her back wedged against the sofa and went to sleep.

  “Wine or gin and tonic?” I asked.

  “G&T, but I’ll make it.”

  It was too chilly to sit on the porch so we joined Abby in the family room. I curled up on the sofa and Lady Anthea sat in her favorite overstuffed armchair across from me.

  “I’d like to tell Albert about the shadow rehearsals.” I opened my mouth to interrupt but she kept going. “I know, I know. We set them up because his sessions were worse than worthless. I’ll tell him that it’s because the musicians needed more rehearsal time.”

  “Like it’s their fault?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” she said, nodding. “I’d like to do it tonight and get it over with.”

  “Good idea. I need to stay inside, anyway,” I said.

  “To avoid Bess and Margo?”

  I nodded. My phone told me I had a text. “This is from Mason. He says that when they get to the library they’ll call us so we can hear everything. And they’ll mute us.” I texted a thumbs-up back to him. “We need to bring Albert up to speed before eight o’clock.”

  “I wonder if John would like to join us to listen in?” she said. I appreciated the gesture, which was a concession.

  I smiled. “I’ll call and ask him.”

  * * * *

  Not only did John come for the show, Shelby came too. Both had arrived in time for Grottos Pizza. My cell phone was one-hundred percent charged and on the coffee table waiting for Mason’s call.

  “It’s like the telly hasn’t yet been invented and we’re sitting ’round the radio,” Albert said. His good mood told me he had taken the news of the shadow rehearsals just as his sister intended.

  He was parked in one sea-motif upholstered armchair, and Lady Anthea in the other. John was next to me on the matching couch and Shelby was next to him.

  John speed-dialed a number, then tucked his phone under his chin. “I need to check in with Statler.” He untucked it. “What’s going on down there? Are you in place?” Then he said, “Let me know if you hear anything,” and hung up. “She’s standing in the lobby outside the meeting room. We said we were supplying security since it was after-hours. Filling up the room with observers made Cordy mad, and it seems to have rubbed off on the others.”

  “I have a text from Joey,” Shelby said. “He says, ‘They’re fighting over a classical music joke. Haven’t started rehearsal.’”

  “Who fights over a joke?” I asked.

  A minute later Shelby read, “Someone complained because it was such an old joke.”

  “Ask him to tell us the joke.” Albert had said more tonight than in the days since his arrival.

  As Shelby typed to Joey, my phone rang. Mason was the caller so I answered it, pressed mute, and put it back on the coffee table. We all leaned in only to hear a cacophony. I picked up one voice for a few words, just to lose it when another voice came closer to the phone. Occasionally a note of music would be played and the triangle clanked at regular intervals. I was left once again wondering why Cordy didn’t put a stop to it.

  “Shelby, ask Joey if Bess and Margo are there,” I said.

  “Here’s the joke. How does a conductor play chicken with the orchestra?” Shelby read, before typing my question.

  Lady Anthea and Albert turned to face each other. “Haydn, Symphony 83, The Hen!” they said at the same time, and laughed loudly, completely in their element.

  John, Shelby and I looked at one another, not exactly in hysterics.

  “Bess and Margo are there,” Shelby reported.

  The sounds in the library meeting room were dampened. Mason was on the move. Next we heard Margo’s voice. “Bess,” she hissed, “don’t blame this on me.”

  “Why not? You hired the ex-con,” Bess said.

  “That’s confidential information! But if your husband hadn’t talked me into hiring Nick Knightley, ye-e-e-e-s an ex-con, we wouldn’t be in this mess. ‘He’s such a music lover,’ he kept saying. He was a flatterer. He thought Roman was a god.”

  The huffing coming over the line told me Bess was doing her breathing exercises. “A lot of young people in IT think that.” Calmer, she whispered, “I guess you’re right. Maestro Nielsen wo
uld still be alive if Nick Knightley hadn’t been brought on board.”

  “Wait, now you think Nick did kill Georg?” Margo asked in a breathy murmur.

  “I don’t know. Roman says I should say I think it was someone else.” She sighed. “You know, for the PSO’s reputation. Do you think he’s innocent?”

  “No, I just said that because it makes me look incompetent to hire someone who would kill one of the world’s most-loved conductors. Wait, Cordy’s starting. Let’s go back in.”

  John leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Is there always a self-serving motive for these people?”

  “I know,” I said. “Whatever happened to the truth?” I was whispering like I didn’t get the concept of mute.

  He put his arm around the back of the sofa over my shoulders. “This disruption scheme of yours might just work.”

  The board chair and the executive director were talking again. “How does Cordy seem to you?” Margo asked. “She seems a little distracted to me.”

  “She’ll be fine!” Bess said. “She’s tougher than she looks. Last summer her laptop was infected with ransomware. She came to talk to Roman to see if he could unlock it. He spent hours on it but he still couldn’t recover her files. She refused to pay! She stood her ground! I saw then what a strong person she is.”

  The sound of instruments being tuned, chairs sliding, then two quick taps told us the rehearsal was beginning in earnest. In the silent seconds that followed—both here in my house and in the library meeting room—I imagined Cordy’s lifted arms. Would the feelings summoned be as intense as when I was there in person? I smiled and waited, hardly breathing. Next she would lower them and we would hear magic.

  “Excuse me,” Charles Andrews yelled.

  “Ohhhh,” Cordy moaned.

  “I was just wondering—” he began.

  The triangle sounded, and it was going like crazy. “This is not a Q and A session!”

  Charles was at his annoying best. “I just wanted to ask—”