“I don’t know. She said she didn’t know Lorraine, and I believed her.”
“So that leaves our friend Bart. Do you have a cell phone number for him?”
“Yes … what are you thinking?”
“Never you mind. Let me have the number.” Miles waited while Darby found the listing information for Alcott Bridges’ house and handed him Bartholomew Anderson’s number. He punched it in
and listened intently. A moment later his face hardened. “Mr. Anderson? Why yes, hello, this is Mr. Porter calling on behalf of Lorraine Delvecchio. We are compiling a list of Ms. Delvecchio’s friends and relatives …” He stopped, obviously interrupted mid-sentence. “Oh, I see. Well that’s odd because she has you on a list that we found in her desk.” He waited, saying nothing else for a few beats. “Yes, yes, let me write that down. Quarry Landing, you say? In Manatuck. Thank you very much, sir.” He hung up and gave Darby a triumphant smile.
“So?”
“So, I’d say that your Mr. Anderson is not telling the truth. He does know Lorraine Delvecchio. When I mentioned a list with his name on it you could practically hear the wheels in his head turn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s our ‘AB’ set of initials.”
She frowned. “But is he our killer, Miles? And if so, has he just disappeared for good?” She blew air out of her mouth. “I’m calling Chief Dupont. He needs to know what we’re thinking.”
_____
Bitsy answered the phone with a languid hello. The clipped voice of Darby Farr apologized for interrupting her Sunday afternoon, and then asked for Charles.
“He’s not here, Darby,” Bitsy explained. “Went off on some mission with the Manatuck Police Department. I can have him call you when he gets back.”
There was a pause at the other end. “Yes, if you could have him call me. Meanwhile, I’ll see if he answers his cell phone.”
“I doubt that. I get the feeling it was some sort of operation, if you know what I mean. Like a stakeout.”
“Here on Hurricane Harbor?” The real estate agent’s voice was incredulous. “That’s odd.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll speak to him when he comes back, then. Thank you, Bitsy.”
Bitsy hung up the phone and padded in her pink slippers to the kitchen, Rosie trotting along behind her. I want a glass of wine, she thought. Just to take the edge off the anxiety she was feeling around Charles’s departure. He’s a cop, she reminded herself. This is what cops do. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in some sort of danger.
When the knock on the door came an hour later, rousing the puppy from a nap on its corduroy dog bed, Bitsy had found and devoured half a bag of chocolate morsels. Even if she had discovered something stronger, it wouldn’t have helped to dull the pain from the devastating news she’d been dreading all day.
TWELVE
DONNY PEASE MADE THE phone call to Darby Farr with shaking hands. Tina was in the bedroom of their suite at the Halifax Inn, crying her eyes out as she jammed items into suitcases. Bitsy had phoned him, almost incoherent with grief, and he’d told her to sit still, that someone would be over to keep her company.
That someone had to be Darby.
The phone rang for several seconds and Donny nearly despaired, but a moment later he heard her voice, calm and competent as always.
“Chief Dupont is dead.” He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but sometimes the best way to deliver bad news was to put it out there without any sugar coating.
“God, no.” He heard the intake of breath on the other end. “What happened?”
“Shot in the head by a drug addict. He died instantly.” Donny’s voice quavered and he had to reach for the hotel’s desk for support.
“Unbelievable.”
It was unbelievable, Darby was right, and yet, damn it all, the news was also true. Deputy Tom Allen and Manatuck’s Chief of Police had been to see Bitsy, delivered the awful facts, and were still with her now for all Donny knew.
“Bitsy needs someone. She’s hurting pretty bad. Can you—?”
“Absolutely.” She drew a deep breath. “Miles and I will head over there right now.”
He sighed. “Tina’s packing. We’re leaving tonight. Call us if you get any more details.”
“I will.” Darby’s voice was steady. She was once more in control. “Please, Donny, you and Tina drive carefully, okay?”
“I’ll get Tina back to Hurricane Harbor safe and sound.”
He hung up the phone, squared his shoulders, and went to console his wife.
_____
Miles and Darby were surprised to see several cars in the driveway of Chief Dupont’s ranch. “Word is out,” muttered Miles, his boots crunching on the now-hardening snow. He put an arm around Darby. “You okay?”
She nodded, relieved to feel him close. “Thanks for being here, Miles.”
He squeezed her gently in response. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re not alone.”
They opened the door, feeling a warm blast of air as they entered the foyer. There was the sound of voices murmuring and over that, a woman’s soft crying. Darby saw several women seated around Bitsy, as well as a trio of men, two of them in uniform. She smelled the dark aroma of coffee.
Miles helped her out of her red coat and placed it on a nearby chair. He took her hand in his and they walked into the room.
Bitsy looked up with a tear-stained face.
“Darby,” she said, rising on unsteady feet. “It’s just so horrible.”
Darby reached out and hugged Bitsy, feeling tears welling in her own eyes. She let them fall as they embraced.
“I’m so sorry, Bitsy. He was such a good man.”
The blonde woman waggled her head, her spiky hair bobbing up and down. “He was wonderful. Why I ever left him, I’ll never know. I came back here to make it up to him, and now …” She sobbed softly, her shoulders heaving.
Darby saw two women on the couch share sympathetic looks. They each clutched coffee cups, and one of them had a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies on the table before her. As Darby comforted Bitsy, she watched a small puppy emerge from the kitchen, run to the table, and knock the plate of cookies to the floor.
“Rosie, no!” Bitsy squealed, pulling away from Darby. The other women hurried to scoop up the cookies before the furry golden pup could wolf them down.
Bitsy held the little creature by a thin red collar. “No, no,” she said softly. An instant later she had picked the puppy up and was burying her face in its coat.
“Charles and I just picked her out today,” she said, her voice muffled by the fur. “We had so much fun looking at all the shelter dogs and settling on this little one. Charles was so excited to find a puppy, and one that was part retriever like our old dog, Aggie.”
“She’s adorable,” Darby said, reaching out to stroke the dog. It seemed good that Bitsy was talking. “You got her in Manatuck?”
Bitsy bobbed her head. “We went over there after breakfast. First Charles had to see someone at the jail of all places, and then we went over to the pound.”
A tall man wearing a sweater and pants appeared beside Bitsy. “How are you holding up, Mrs. Dupont?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Turning to Darby, Bitsy introduced the man as Detective Robichaud from Manatuck. “This is Darby Farr. She was a good friend of Charles’s.”
“I’m Dave,” he said, “and I’m sorry for your loss. Charles was a great guy and a heck of a good policeman.”
Darby nodded. Detective Robichaud was clean-shaven, with neatly cut dark hair and a powerfully built body. “You were with Chief Dupont …?” She couldn’t quite complete the sentence.
He glanced in Bitsy’s direction. “I was. I’ve explained to Mrs. Dupont that we were working together to arrest a suspect here on the island. The guy took us completely by surprise and fired shots. I returned fire, but not before Chief Dupont was hit.”
Bitsy’s eyes had grown glassy and she sank onto the couch where the
women consoled her. Darby lowered her voice. “Did he die instantly?”
Robichaud gave a slow nod. “Yes.”
Darby’s head dropped. She didn’t want to believe it; and yet the truth was sinking in. Charles Dupont was dead.
Miles appeared with a mug of coffee and handed it to Darby. She looked up, her eyes brimming.
Detective Robichaud introduced himself to Miles. The men waited quietly while Darby sipped the coffee and regained her composure.
After a few moments she spoke again.
“Detective Robichaud was just telling me how it happened,” she told Miles. “He and the Chief had gone to arrest a suspect and they were taken by surprise.”
“Was it just the two of you?” Miles asked.
“No,” the detective said gravely. “Detective Paulsen from my department was at the back of the house, guarding that exit. He heard the whole thing, but couldn’t help us out until it was too late.”
Darby sighed. “Thank you for the explanation. It helps to know exactly what happened. I’m glad you weren’t injured as well.”
He gave a sad smile. “Thank you. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see how Chief Dupont’s deputy is doing.”
_____
Donny drove steadily through the dark afternoon. While Tina slept on the seat beside him, he watched the road, noting how the white farmhouses nearly blended into the snowy landscape, save for their tall red barns. He saw Christmas lights still adorning some town centers, and the sweep of crow’s wings against the high banks. He thought about Chief Charles Dupont, a man he’d known his whole life, and about how crazy it was to think that he was now dead. He thought about Bitsy, about the way she had disappeared so long ago, and about the Chief’s ability to accept her back.
That said a lot about the man, Donny thought. The Chief had been willing to forgive.
Forgiving wasn’t the same as forgetting, Donny knew, although an awful lot of folks confused the two. If you could make yourself forget things, well then why not forgive? It was the pain of remembering that made forgiveness an almost extraordinary act. The fact that you would remember the injustice—the one you loved abandoning you and your children for more than a decade—and yet still chose to grant pardon.
And now it was up to the rest of the island to follow the Chief’s example and show Bitsy compassion. She was a widow. Her plans for a life with Charles Dupont had been brutally dashed. If she chose to stay on Hurricane Harbor, she would need care and support.
He glanced over at his slumbering bride. “Be nice to Bitsy,” he whispered. “She’s gonna need all the help she can get.”
A soft snore escaped Tina’s lips and Donny Pease had to smile. Well, that was something, anyway. Not quite a yes, but he’d take it.
_____
Darby and Miles carried coffee cups and plates from Bitsy’s living room into the kitchen, loading them into the dishwasher and putting leftover food in the refrigerator. Chief Dupont’s adult children had arrived and were talking with Bitsy.
Darby didn’t want to interrupt the grieving family, but Bitsy looked up as she and Miles were putting on their coats and hurried over.
“Thank you for coming, Darby,” Bitsy said. She ran a hand through her disheveled blonde hair. “You and Miles are so helpful, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that you were here to keep me company.”
Darby zipped her coat. “We’re close by if you need us.” She gently squeezed the other woman’s arm. “You get some rest, okay?”
“I’ll try.” She made a brave attempt at a smile. “This morning we had breakfast together, and now he’s gone …” She wiped her eyes. Suddenly her face hardened. “I wish he’d never gotten that call.”
“Which call?” Miles’s voice was gentle.
“The one for the stakeout. I told him not to go.”
Darby heard the bitterness in Bitsy’s tone. “When was this?”
“When we left the Manatuck jail.” She sighed. “We went over there to talk to a man named Marcus. It was something about the woman who used to work for Charles.”
Darby shot a look at Miles. “Lorraine Delvecchio?”
Bitsy nodded. “The one who slipped off the Breakwater.”
“Did the Chief seem satisfied with what Marcus said?”
“I think so. He was pleased. Well, not really pleased, but content. Like whatever he heard made sense.” She drew in a breath. “Charles was trying to help.” She turned her face away, her voice shaking. “He always wanted to help. That’s why he agreed to go with the Manatuck police. But why today, of all days?”
Darby shook her head and hugged Bitsy hard. She had no answers for the sobbing woman, and no way to make the truth any less painful.
_____
The fabric of any small town is tightly woven, and when that town is an island, the threads are even more closely constructed. Chief Dupont’s death in the line of duty shook every resident, from the postmistress who read about it in an e-mail, to the busboy waiting on a whispering couple at the Café. Stopping at the island’s one convenience store to get gas for the car, Darby and Miles saw in the shocked faces of the storekeepers that the news of their police chief’s passing was a bitter blow.
Miles thumped a carton of ice cream on the counter and pulled out his wallet. “It’s good for what ails you,” he said gently, in answer to Darby’s raised eyebrows. He paid for his items, and then grabbed the carton and his change. “You ate next to nothing today. A little ice cream is not going to kill you.”
Darby winced at his words but Miles didn’t notice. Instead, he looked at her thoughtfully as they climbed into the Jeep.
“What about this Marcus fellow, the one the Chief was questioning?” Miles started the Jeep. “Seems like he could be our ‘ML’ from the list.”
“I suppose.” Darby gazed vacantly at the parking lot as Miles backed up. She felt his look of concern. “What?”
“You’re utterly exhausted. I’m sorry I even brought up the whole thing. Tell you what, we’re going back to the house, curling up on the couch with some Moose Tracks and an old movie. Everything else can wait until the morning.”
“Moose Tracks?”
“Chocolate ice cream with marshmallow, fudge, peanut butter, and who knows what else. I hear it’s absolutely smashing.”
“Okay.” She sighed and leaned against Miles’s shoulder. Did she even care what the Chief had discovered at the jail? The man was dead. He had been her friend as well as a last link to her parents. She felt a deep grief, so profound that she could not imagine it ever disappearing.
_____
Bitsy’s stepson Derek gave her something to help her sleep. He was a doctor in New Hampshire, and explained that he’d call in a prescription the next day, but for now she should take a mild sedative so that she’d be able to rest.
He had been so kind, he and his wife, as well as Charles’s daughter, Alana and her partner, Rosemary. Bitsy had been dreading their arrival, expecting them to somehow blame her for their father’s death, but neither one had said an unkind word. Instead, they had treated her with compassion. And she, in turn, was trying to comfort them.
“He was a wonderful father,” she blurted out at one point, quickly glancing to see how the kids would react.
“He was,” agreed Alana. She glanced at her toddler son, careening around on the living room rug. “And a good grandfather.” She smiled sadly at Bitsy. “I have some cute photos of Dad with Jonas. I’ll send them to you.”
Bitsy nodded numbly. Apparently Charles had phoned both his son and his daughter after Donny’s wedding to tell them about her return. According to Alana, he’d also told them that he was taking their stepmother back, that he’d forgiven Bitsy, and wanted her company.
Bitsy hadn’t dared ask what they had responded. She was brave, but not that brave.
Now she watched little Jonas crawl determinedly toward Rosie, a look of stern concentration on his round, ruddy face. Rosie greeted the baby with a fu
riously wagging tail and a huge lick of his drool-splattered chin. Alana looked on, amused.
Bitsy rose unsteadily to her feet, wondering if the sleeping pill was already taking effect. “I’m going upstairs,” she announced. “The candlelight vigil …”
“Don’t worry about it,” Alana said softly. “Derek and I will be here.” Islanders would soon gather in front of the house to show sorrow over their Chief’s death, but Bitsy didn’t think she could bear it.
“Do you have everything that you need?”
“Yes, we’re fine,” assured Alana. She scooped up little Jonas and came to her, the baby clinging to an outthrust hip. “Goodnight,” she said softly, leaning close to kiss Bitsy’s cheek.
“’Night,” Bitsy managed, the tears rolling slowly down her face.
_____
Darby awoke on Monday morning before Miles and crawled quietly out of bed. She tossed on a robe and slid into her slippers, heading down to get a fire going and the coffee on.
Then she remembered.
Chief Dupont is dead.
Darby staggered on the last few stairs, grabbing the worn banister for support. All the strength drained from her legs and they buckled below her.
She lurched to the loveseat. It was too painful, too horrible, a gaping, fresh, and yet somehow familiar wound, as if a lance were ripping apart her very soul once again.
She buried her head in her hands. Her hair made a black curtain, closing her off from the rest of the room. Darby felt more alone than she had in a long time. Alone and afraid.
A moment later, she was amazed to hear something as ridiculous as the ring of her cell phone. Despite herself, she lifted her chin and glanced at the display.
Tina Ames.
“We’re an hour from Westerly,” the redhead said, ignoring the usual convention of saying good morning or hello. “Donny’s done an amazing job of driving through the night, and I’m so grateful. I can’t wait to be back on Hurricane Harbor.” She paused. “How is she?”
Darby swallowed. “Bitsy can’t believe it—no one can.”
Tina’s voice was grim. “Tell me about it. Try hearing the news when you’re a gazillion miles away.” Donny said something in the background, but Darby couldn’t make it out. “You okay?”
Final Settlement Page 17
