Darby held her breath, unable to answer.
“Darby? You still there?”
“Tina—I want to sell this house.”
“What? Why?”
“It was a mistake to think I could come back here.”
“Darby, listen. You’re in shock. We all are.”
“I can’t go through this again. I just can’t.”
“Look, you were close to Chief Dupont. His death’s gonna hit you hard. Don’t make any decisions right now.” She paused. “Where’s Miles?”
“Upstairs.”
“Go be with him. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m—I’m fine. I just realize that I don’t belong on Hurricane Harbor. I never did.”
“Darby …” This time it was Miles who spoke, Miles who was beside her, scooping her into his powerful arms, and muttering to Tina that he’d take it from there.
_____
Cradling their coffee cups and bundled in their coats, Darby and Miles trudged through the snow and across the plowed road to the cove. They stood in silence on the smooth sand, the steam from their cups circling upward, the sounds of the morning muted as if in mourning.
“He asked me if I wanted to hear some stories about my parents,” Darby said, her voice breaking. “Now I’ll never get the chance.” She pulled her eyes from the placid water and searched Miles’s rugged face. “Listen to how selfish I sound. How can you even stand it?”
“It’s not selfishness speaking. It’s grief, darling.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s damn difficult, this journey we’re on. We love and we lose. And we think we’ll never love again because it hurts so badly.”
She moistened her lips. “I find myself thinking that if I avoid all this—” she swept her gloved hand around the cove—“then I can forget how sad it makes me feel.”
“Hence your busy life in California.”
She nodded. “The thing is, I was just starting to remember the good things about Hurricane Harbor. The times I spent here in this cove, hunting for beach glass.”
“Did you find any?”
“Yes.” She smiled sadly. “Is that it, Miles? Have I been living my life avoiding the pain, and in the process, shutting off all the happy memories, too?”
“You wouldn’t be the first person to do that, Darby, and you probably won’t be the last.” He gave her a gentle hug and their coffee cups clacked together. “I’d like to find some of that beach glass myself, you know? When it’s not quite so bloody cold.”
Together they turned from the water. The low farmhouse with its twin maples rose before them, surrounded by snow, smoke curling from the chimney.
“Shall we go home?” Miles asked.
Darby nodded and moved forward.
_____
A fresh cup of coffee in hand, Darby sat down to try calling the Manatuck County Correctional Facility.
The phone rang only once before a phone tree inviting her to press one for English met her ears. She pressed one and continued listening and pressing buttons until she finally reached a real person.
“Manatuck Correctional.” The voice was flat and tired.
“Hello. I’m wondering if you have an inmate named Marcus? His last name would start with an ‘L’ .”
“What is this, a treasure hunt?” he said. “We don’t have anyone with a first name of Marcus. Sorry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Lady, I’ve worked here for two years and I know all our guys. We’ve only got a couple hundred. Sorry.”
She hung up and turned on her computer. Maybe Bitsy had been mistaken, and the name had not been Marcus at all.
A footfall made her look up. Miles, his arms full of wood, was heading toward the fireplace.
“What are you up to?”
“Trying to find this Marcus Somebody. I’m doing a search right now.”
“Perhaps Marcus is the surname,” Miles suggested, releasing the logs on the hearth.
“Hmmm … good idea.” After a few moments, she leaned back, a triumphant grin on her face. “Miles, you’re brilliant! Here’s a story on Leonard Marcus. He’s serving time for drunk driving but has been indicted by the federal government for money laundering and a long list of other offenses, all tied to a fraudulent insurance scheme.”
“I like the idea of being brilliant,” Miles joked. “Wonder what the connection with Lorraine is?”
“That I don’t know,” Darby admitted. “Feel like a trip to the jail with me later on to find out?”
He leaned in to kiss her. “Sure, if you will be the jail bait.”
She put down her coffee mug. “I thought you British men were supposed to be so proper and correct.”
He eased toward her on the couch. “A common misconception, I’m afraid.”
She pushed the computer to the floor and pulled him closer. Kissing Miles felt good, as if it could make the pain of Charles Dupont’s death disappear, at least for a while. Seconds later they both yanked off what little clothing they were wearing. As the fire crackled and hissed before them, Darby and Miles temporarily forgot their grief and engaged in some early morning exercise of the romantic kind.
_____
The phone rang as both of them were toweling off from a shower.
“We’re here,” Tina announced, her voice sounding resigned, yet strong. “Just about to head over to see Bitsy.”
Darby glanced at Miles’s naked body. “We’re not quite ready.”
“Don’t hurry over on my account. I’ve got Donny. He’ll hold my hand.” She paused. “You doing okay?”
“Much better.”
“Good. Hey, what ended up happening with Alcott Bridges’s house? When do we list it?”
Darby bit her lip. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Tina that she’d likely alienated Bart Anderson with her pointed questions. “Haven’t heard yet, but Tina, I’m afraid I—”
“Hang on, Donny is yelling something.” Darby heard muffled voices. In an instant, she was back. “Darby, my cell is ringing. It might be Bart Anderson as we speak. Gotta go!”
Click.
Darby winced, wondering how annoyed Tina would be. She sighed and was about to brush her teeth when the phone rang again.
“Popular girl, aren’t you?” Miles teased. He’d put on some clothes but still looked good to Darby. Get a grip, she told herself. You’re like a love-struck teenager …
She checked the caller and groaned. Tina.
The redheaded agent wasted no time.
“Okay, I’m annoyed about Alcott Bridges’s house!”
Darby steeled herself. The expensive champagne had obviously not done the trick.
“Tina, I know I screwed up. I—”
“You bet! I leave you in charge for two days and look what happens.”
“Well, I—”
“I never take a commission of less than six percent, never, and you told this guy five and a half! For goodness sake, Darby, how are we supposed to make any money?”
“You mean we’re getting the listing?”
“Of course we’re getting the listing. Who else? Babette Applebaum? Give me a break.” Tina snorted in disgust. “You’d better have given me a fabulous wedding present. I haven’t opened them up yet, but it had better be good.”
Darby thought about the dinner and dancing night she’d arranged for Donny and Tina in Mexico. “It is.”
“Okay, then.” Tina sounded mollified. “What are you and Miles planning to do today?”
Darby told Tina about Leonard Marcus and their intended trip to the jail.
“Only one problem with that,” Tina said thoughtfully. “The initials in Lorraine’s little ledger were ‘ML’, weren’t they? Not ‘LM’ .”
“You’re right.”
“Maybe they are all turned around, you know, like another encryption? The ‘BA’ is really ‘AB’, or Alcott. That would mean there’s a ‘CR’, and a ‘BA’ .”
“Who might be Bart Anderson,” Darby interjected
.
“No way! The lawyer?”
Darby described Miles’s subterfuge and the attorney’s reaction. “We aren’t sure how they knew each other …”
“Oh, there’s millions of ways that woman could have known him, especially if she never forgot anything! She worked for Doc Hotchkiss for all those years, and he could have been a patient. Then there’s her job with Chief Dupont or the Manatuck police. She was on a few committees here and there, and she walked that darn Breakwater. Heck, I suppose he could have been her lawyer, right?”
“Right. This initials idea of yours is interesting. Miles and I will work on it while we sit on the ferry.” She paused. “If you’re okay with visiting Bitsy with Donny, I’m thinking Miles and I could go across now.”
“Sure, ditch your best buddy for the good-looking English guy. See if I care.” She chuckled. “Nah, I can handle Bitsy by myself. Good luck at the jail, and let me know what you find out.”
“I will,” Darby promised.
_____
Donny was glad to see Tina back to her old self. The shock of the tragic death had lessened, and now, as she marched across Chief Dupont’s frozen driveway, a pound cake held in her outstretched hands, he recognized her trademark determination, grim as it was. She was once again the Tina who took charge.
“Let’s plan to stay about an hour, huh honey?” Tina’s eyebrows were raised with the question.
He felt himself blushing. He wasn’t used to being called “honey,” but he sure did enjoy it. “Sounds about right,” he said. He reached up and used the Chief’s door knocker, let it thunk down, and then opened the door.
Bitsy was on the living room couch, a puppy frolicking at her feet. A young woman—Chief Dupont’s daughter, most likely—stood sniffing the diaper of a rosy-cheeked toddler, and somewhere a television blared out a sitcom with a canned laugh track.
“Donny, Tina, come in,” Bitsy called out. “Do you know Alana? And this is little Jonas. And this …” she scooped up the puppy, “Is Rosie. Charles and I picked her up on Sunday, just before …” her voice trailed off.
Tina thrust down the pound cake and rushed to Bitsy’s side, wrapping the woman in her arms. They hugged silently for a long time, with only the little boy’s repeated “doggie, doggie,” breaking the quiet. Donny felt his throat tightening at the scene. He glanced at the Chief’s daughter, sobbing silently while the toddler struggled to get down.
“I’m sorry, Alana,” Donny said haltingly. “Your dad—he was a good man.”
She nodded and wiped her face with the back of a hand. “Can I get you both a cup of coffee?”
Tina and Bitsy separated. “Sure,” Tina said. “Cream and two sugars.”
“I’m set,” Donny said. He watched Alana carry the toddler into the next room, the puppy careening along behind them.
“Sit down,” said Bitsy, waving at the living room furniture. Her face brightened. “How was your trip to Nova Scotia?”
Tina told her about the inn in Halifax, and the wonderful bedroom with the nice, fluffy comforters. “We had tea in the afternoon with these flaky scones,” she said. “They were just wonderful. Good thing they don’t sell them at the Café, or I’d weigh twenty pounds more.”
Bitsy managed a small chuckle. “Speaking of food, how about we have a little piece of your pound cake? It looks delicious.”
“Sure. You sit a minute. I’ll go and cut it up.” Tina strode out of the living room, pound cake in hand.
“She’s an awfully nice girl,” Bitsy observed, watching as Tina disappeared. “I’m glad for you, Donny.”
“Thanks.” He looked down at the floor, unsure of what to say. “What do you think you’ll do now, Bitsy? Will you stay in Hurricane Harbor?”
Bitsy cocked her head. “Yes, I think I will. At least that’s my plan. I might do some work with the hospice organization, use my nursing training. I’m not sure. But I do know that it feels good to be here. Even if I don’t have Charles …” She started to cry softly. “I’ll still have his memory, and be around people who cared about him.” She wiped her nose. “They had a vigil last night. Right in front of the house. Alana said it was beautiful to see all the flickering candles.”
Donny shifted his weight from one leg to another. He wondered if he should go to Bitsy and comfort her. I could rub her back or something, he thought.
Tina returned with the coffee and cake, took in the weeping widow, and glared at Donny. She plunked down the plates and wrapped an arm around Bitsy’s shoulders. “Aw, honey, I know it’s hard. Donny and I are so, so, sorry.”
Bitsy lifted a mascara-streaked face toward Tina. “You know the worst thing? Detective Robichaud told me this morning that Charles knew that guy who shot him.”
“The drug dealer?” Tina’s eyes narrowed. “Who was it?”
“Ross. Denny Ross. Did you know him?”
Tina shook her head. “Nope.” She glanced at Donny. “Did you?”
He gave a slow nod. “Denny was Carlene and Lester’s brother.” He pictured Denny, a ne’er-do-well who’d been living for years in Rhode Island. He’d just come back to Maine at New Year’s, and hadn’t wasted any time in becoming a major family embarrassment. Now he was dead, killed during the shootout.
“Crazy Carlene? The one you were with when you found Lorraine’s body?” Tina’s voice squeaked. “Well, I’ll be. And Lester! He was in our wedding …”
“Lester is a good man,” Donny said firmly. “And Carlene … she’s just kinda odd.” Denny, however, had been another story—the rottenest apple in a family where several bore bruises.
He reached for his pound cake, determined to change the subject. “You need anything at all, Bitsy, you call Tina and me,” he said. “Charles was our friend, and now you are, too.”
To his surprise, Tina reached out and patted Bitsy’s hand. “We mean it,” she said softly. “We’re here to help.”
Bitsy gave a sad, brave smile. “I can’t tell you how good it feels,” she said, her voice breaking, “to finally have friends.”
Tina gave a sympathetic smile, squeezed Bitsy’s shoulder, and handed her a piece of pound cake. Donny watched the exchange, his heart swelling with love, thankful for the redheaded angel who was now his wife.
_____
Darby and Miles were about to enter Manatuck County Correctional Facility when Darby’s cell phone rang. She looked down at the display. “Miles, it’s Ed Landis.” She pushed a button. “Hello?”
“Darby, Ed Landis here, FBI. Are you somewhere we can talk?”
“Sure.” She clicked the phone on speaker so that Miles could hear. “I’m listening, and so is Miles.”
“Okay. I’ve got some bad news.”
Darby glanced at Miles, whose face was grave. “What is it?” Darby asked.
“There is a formula here, for a highly toxic substance. This substance, if created in the lab, would be responsible for wide-ranging disease and death on a scale we can’t even imagine.”
Darby swallowed. Had her grandfather known of this formula? Worse still, had he tried to steal it? For what use?
She flicked her eyes to Miles. “What is it, Ed?”
“Yersinia Pestis, otherwise known as the Black Death.”
“Bubonic plague?” Miles’s voice was incredulous. “As in the disease that ravaged medieval Europe?”
“I’m afraid so.” Ed Landis exhaled and continued. “The Japanese knew that the bacterium had three forms: bubonic, spread by fleas or other parasites; pneumonic, contracted by inhalation of the bacteria; and septicemic, caused by contact with a sick person’s open sore or blood. I’m afraid that the scientists of Unit 731 succeeded in creating a fourth, synthetic form of this bacterium, one that would no doubt prove the deadliest of all.”
Darby felt her skin grow clammy. She didn’t want to know, but she had to ask. “What is it?”
“Waterborne,” Ed Landis said, his voice grave. “They created a strain of the plague that would live in fresh water, cont
aminating aquifers, reservoirs, ponds, streams, and rivers.”
“And now …” Darby’s voice was small.
“And now that formula is in the hands of Kenji Miyazaki, and we don’t know why.”
“Do you think he plans to sell the formula?” Darby could hardly bear to ask the question.
“It’s possible that he’s in it for the money.”
Another adrenalin rush, Darby thought, remembering the athlete’s words.
Ed Landis sighed. “He’s our top priority, Darby. If you hadn’t contacted us, who knows what might have happened.”
Darby felt a mix of emotions—fear, because of what the synthetic bacterium could do; anger, that she had been duped by Kenji and allowed him access to her home and the journal; and sorrow, because her grandfather had been a part of the whole evil mess.
It was Miles who asked the question she could not voice.
“Ed, why do you believe Darby’s grandfather had the formula in his journal?”
Landis grunted. “Sorry—I thought I covered that in the beginning. From the translation of the journal, it’s clear that Tokutaro Sugiyama abhorred what he saw happening. We believe he copied the formula before destroying it in the lab for one critical reason: in the event it was ever produced, he knew the formula could help create an antidote.” He paused. “Hideki Kobayashi has suggested Miyazaki’s motives may be the same.”
Miles glanced at Darby. “And the translated journal?”
“We’re sending a copy to Darby electronically. I’ll warn you—it’s pretty tough to read. The commander who ran that place was truly evil.”
Darby pondered the journal and her grandfather’s covert theft of the formula. She would read his words, maybe not right away, but eventually. “Thank you, Ed. I hope you catch Kenji soon.”
“Don’t worry.” The FBI agent’s voice held a touch of bravado which Darby prayed was well-founded. “We’ll find this guy before he knows what hit him.”
“Good.” A cold breeze lashed her hair against her face. Darby Farr shuddered and clicked off her phone.
_____
Final Settlement Page 18
