Dark Homecoming

by William Patterson

  “Who did you tell?”

  “Mrs. Hoffman, the housekeeper.”

  This surprised Joe. There had been no mention of Mrs. Hoffman in the report.

  “You told her that Mrs. Huntington was dead?”

  “I told her that I feared the worst.”

  “What was Mrs. Hoffman’s reaction?”

  “She was white as a ghost, but then again, she always is.” A small smile cracked across Hogarth’s face. “She was upset, but she seemed to know already, even if she acted as if she didn’t.”

  “How could she have known already? There was no Coast Guard report of a storm, and no report of a capsized boat until they found remnants of the yacht the next day.”

  “You want my opinion? I think David Huntington made it back in the lifeboat and he told her.”

  “Did you see him at all?”

  Hogarth shook his head. “I’ve never seen him since, except on the news. Mrs. Hoffman insisted I spend the night there, since I was so wet and cold. But in the morning, she handed me an envelope and told me, since the yacht was destroyed, they wouldn’t be needing me anymore.”

  “What was in the envelope?”

  “More money than I ever dreamed of seeing in one place.”

  At that moment the wind kicked up again. Waves were crashing over the boats.

  “This is going to be a big one,” Hogarth said, looking away. “I’m going to have to bring Kathleen Marie up to dry land, I think.”

  “First you’ve got to tell me why they gave you all that money.”

  “They said it was for my years of service. But Mrs. Hoffman, she has a way of telling you things without actually saying them. She spoke of Dominique’s death as if somehow it could be construed to be my fault. She wasn’t blaming me, she insisted, but she implied others might. So it was best that I say I wasn’t at the helm of the ship that day. It was best to say Dominique had gone out on her own.” He frowned. “The money guaranteed my silence.”

  “But it didn’t.”

  “Nope. Look, Detective, I took that money in the first place because my daughter, Kathleen Marie, was sick and I thought it could maybe help her. But no amount of money was going to save her. She was in the end stages of leukemia, and I realized that taking that money was like making a deal with the devil, and you know that never works out. In fact, it might have even hurt Kathleen’s chances of getting into heaven.” Hogarth took a step closer to Joe. “Blood money. That’s what it was. I took that envelope and handed it back to Mrs. Hoffman and went down to the station to speak with Chief Davis. Don’t you see, Detective? They gave me that money to keep me from implicating David.”

  “Well, now, he can’t be blamed for a storm.”

  “But what he did, he did before the storm hit. I called down to the cabin at the first sign of rough waters. And no one was there. At least, Dominique wasn’t.”

  “Where had she gone?”

  “I think David threw her overboard while they were arguing.”

  “You wouldn’t have heard this?”

  “Not necessarily. And besides, just seconds later, by my reckoning, the storm kicked in, so that’s what I was focused on. That’s when I think David took the lifeboat and left me to go down with the ship. When I showed up alive, I was a problem that had to be dealt with.”

  Joe narrowed his eyes at the captain. “It’s a compelling story, but you have no evidence to back up your accusation. It’s far more believable that the storm knocked Dominique overboard, perhaps as she was trying to secure the lifeboat for herself.”

  “That storm is hardly a believable alibi.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because there was no indication of a storm before it hit. No forecasts. Nothing. Not a cloud in the sky. Later, the Coast Guard would record that a brief storm had indeed struck the area, but they were baffled that they hadn’t seen it coming. And its duration—let me tell you, Detective, I’ve been sailing these waters for forty years and I’ve never seen a storm whip up like that out of nowhere so suddenly and then disappear just as quickly.”

  “Then how do you account for it?”

  “I told you. I don’t.” Hogarth sighed. “Except . . . maybe there’s something to those stories the servants always told. Stories about witchcraft and black magic.”

  “You don’t buy any of that.”

  “Maybe not fully. But there’s something in that house. Dominique . . . she had some curious hobbies. Have you seen those statues of angels with the heads of cows? And when they brought that vodou priestess in to cook for them—”

  “Vodou priestess?”

  “Variola. The chef. She and Hoffman and Dominique were always whispering together, scuttling around through the house . . .”

  Joe took out his notepad and asked Hogarth to spell the chef’s name for him.

  “I don’t know what else to tell you,” the old man said after he was finished spelling. “I’ll happily come down to the station if you like and give my testimony again—that is, if you can get the chief to listen to me this time.”

  “I’ll let you know if that’s necessary, Captain.”

  Hogarth rubbed his rough hands together. “Well, I’ve really got to hustle and get Kathleen Marie out of the water and tied up safely somewhere. Can I go now? We done here?”

  “Yes. That’s all the questions I have for now. Thank you.”

  Hogarth nodded and returned to work, scrambling down the ladder to his boat like a man far younger than his years. Joe watched him for a while, then looked out at the crashing sea. Sails and banners were flapping furiously. The sky had become even darker. The hurricane was approaching quickly, Joe realized.

  And it was going to be a doozy.

  58

  Liz paused outside the parlor, trying to gather her wits before she met her father-in-law for the first time. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it would be. She’d imagined David would be with her—not running from the law on a murder charge.

  “Go ahead,” Nicki whispered to her. “He’s in there waiting for you.”

  Liz took a deep breath and was about to step inside the parlor when she heard Mr. Huntington speak. “Where is that little girl?” he was asking Mrs. Hoffman. “I can only stay a few moments longer. The pilot of my chartered jet is telling me that we only have a very small window to get out of here before the hurricane hits. By the way, have you prepared the house?”

  “Thad is shuttering the windows even as we speak,” Mrs. Hoffman replied efficiently. “We’ve been through hurricanes before, here. We know the drill.”

  “There’s quite a bit you’ll have to teach this little girl,” he said.

  Nicki fumed. “Where does he get off calling you a little girl? I’ve got a mind to walk in there and tell him off.”

  “Nicki, please, don’t make things worse.” Liz sighed. This was precisely why she hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of her friend visiting. “Let’s just smile and make our way through it.”

  Not very convincing smiles stretched across both women’s faces. Liz lifted her chin and stepped into the parlor, Nicki following behind.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Mr. Huntington,” she said, extending her hand.

  Her father-in-law shook it briefly, his eyes appraising her. “Unfortunately this will have to be a very brief visit,” he said.

  “That’s too bad. I had hoped our first meeting would be more pleasant. By the way, this is my friend Nicki Stone.”

  Nicki chirped a “Hullo.” Huntington barely gave her a nod.

  “But I’m sure you want to get out before the hurricane makes landfall,” Liz continued, turning to Mrs. Hoffman. “On my way down here, I saw Thad. I’m pleased to see he’s battening down the hatches.”

  The housekeeper just stood there stonily.

  Liz returned her gaze to Thomas Huntington. “Have you heard from David?”

  The old man stiffened. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “Not a word.” Liz stood o
pposite him, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Why do you think that is?”

  “I assume he’s deep in negotiations with this Dutch miscreant who’s trying to take over our company’s assets. When he’s in the midst of business, David has a laser-like focus.”

  “You think he hasn’t gotten the messages from the police to return, or to at least contact them, regarding the murder of Rita Cansino?”

  Huntington’s eyes hardened. “David understands priorities.”

  “I would think his priority should be to clear his name.”

  “I have just come from a meeting with the police chief, Davis,” Huntington told her. “He assures me David is not a suspect, and they will be calling a press conference to make that clear.”

  “Of course I want to believe that David is innocent,” Liz said. “But I’d like to hear that from his own lips. If you speak with him, Mr. Huntington, would you ask him to please get in touch with me?”

  “I’m sure he will do so at his first available opportunity. In the meantime, Elizabeth, you do understand the necessity of not speaking further to anyone—no police officers, no detectives, certainly no reporters.”

  “I have no intention of speaking to anyone until I’ve spoken with David.”

  “Very good.” The old man took a step toward her. Liz could see the family resemblance to her husband: the same high cheekbones, square jaw, and chocolate-brown eyes. But there was something hard in the old man’s eyes, something mean. Cruel. “And among those you should avoid would be my younger son, Roger.”

  “Roger?”

  “I understand you had dinner with him last evening.”

  Liz glanced over at Mrs. Hoffman, who kept her eyes averted. “Yes, I did. He was very kind in offering me a chance to get out of the house after all this terrible news.”

  “Roger is not to be trusted.”

  “I’m aware that he and David have not always seen eye to eye, but Roger has been very kind to me—”

  Huntington took another couple of steps closer to Liz, who found herself taking a step back, feeling all at once a little bit threatened. Nicki placed her hand on Liz’s arm for support.

  “You listen to me, young lady,” the old man seethed, wagging a finger at her. “You have no idea what sort of a hornet’s nest you’ve stirred up by befriending Roger. I assume you know about, or have at least figured out, David’s little dalliance with the dead girl, Rita Cansino?”

  “If it happened, it happened well before he knew me.”

  “It happened,” Huntington told her harshly. “And Dominique found out about it.”

  “That’s all in the past,” Liz said defiantly. “It might make detectives suspect David in Rita’s death, but it has nothing to do with my marriage or my relationship with David.”

  “I’ll say it might make detectives suspect David. Do you know when Dominique found out about the little tryst David was having with the chambermaid?”

  Liz said nothing, just kept staring at her father-in-law.

  “On the day of her death,” he told her, enunciating each word exactly. “That’s why she left in such a state. That’s why she ran out of here claiming she needed to get on the water to think. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Hoffman?”

  The housekeeper nodded emotionlessly. “Yes, sir. She was quite distraught.”

  “But what right did she have to be distraught, Hoffman?” the old man asked, moving away from Liz to confront the other woman. “Wasn’t Dominique being a bit hypocritical in reacting so histrionically to the discovery of David’s affair?”

  Mrs. Hoffman’s face remained unmoved. She said nothing.

  Huntington looked back at Liz. “You see, Elizabeth, David was merely retaliating against his wife. My late daughter-in-law had an army of lovers, and she did very little to hide them.”

  Liz looked away. She remembered the portrait of Dominique, the arrogance in her face, the flaunting of her beauty.

  “But the final straw for David,” the old man said, lowering his voice and approaching Liz once more, “was the affair she was carrying on right before her death. Do you know who with?”

  Liz held his gaze. “No,” she said in a small voice. “And I don’t want to know.”

  “Roger,” Huntington spit, as if he had tasted something bitter and wanted it off his tongue. “David’s own brother! It was Roger who drove my son to madness. After Dominique’s death, David had a complete emotional breakdown. That’s why we sent him on that cruise.” He paused. “That was why my wife and I were not pleased at David’s sudden remarriage. We felt he wasn’t quite ready . . . not yet stable enough for another commitment.”

  Liz was reeling.

  Roger—and Dominique! He had never told her . . . Was that why he had pursued Liz? Because he had a vendetta against his hated older brother, and seduced his wives out of spite?

  And David—so unstable—so unstable that he might well have killed Rita . . .

  Liz thought she might faint. Her knees buckled a bit. Nicki, standing next to her, held her up.

  Mr. Huntington was slipping back into his coat. “That is why I want you to stay far away from Roger. A friendship with him could make everything much, much worse. Speak to no one. Say nothing.” He turned to Mrs. Hoffman. “You’ll see to that, won’t you?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Without a further word, the old man hurried out of the parlor. Mrs. Hoffman escorted him to the front door.

  When they were alone, Liz turned to Nicki. “Cover for me with Hoffman,” she whispered. “Say I’ve gone upstairs to lie down. That I’m very upset and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to see Roger.”

  “Sweetie, not a good idea. You heard what the old man said—”

  “I’m not listening to that old blowhard,” Liz said, her lips tight with anger. “Roger’s been the only one who’d been kind and honest to me since I got here, and I need to hear what he has to say.”

  “But Liz, it’s raining pretty hard out there now—”

  “I can handle a little rain. Give me your rental car keys.”

  “You don’t have a license. What if you get pulled over?”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  Reluctantly Nicki gave her the keys.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” Liz said, hurrying out toward the kitchen and the back door.

  “Be careful,” Nicki whispered after her. “Suddenly I have a very bad feeling.”

  “You’re not alone in that,” Liz replied.

  59

  Thad secured the shutters over the large plate glass dining room windows. He knew it was the eastern-facing windows that were in the most danger of shattering under high winds. About a decade ago, they’d lost most of the windows on that side of the house as well as a part of the roof to Hurricane Frances. Just as Thad had gotten busy with repairs, Hurricane Jeanne had blown through and undone all his work. That was when Mr. Huntington—the older one, the one who was huffing and puffing in the parlor at the moment—had had these shutters installed, so they could protect the house’s east flank when the next big one hit.

  And it seemed Caroline was indeed going to be a big one.

  That worried him. But other things besides high winds and rains worried Thad this afternoon. Things even more powerful than a hurricane.

  He remembered other gatherings that had taken place in this house on stormy nights. The skies would darken and cars would arrive out front, and people would gather in the parlor. Dominique would be dressed all in bright red, and a thick, spicy incense would be lit, and then all the servants would be sent home. The servants knew that a good thunderstorm in the late afternoon would always be enough to send them home early.

  Thad was remembering those gatherings now because he’d smelled that same incense burning from somewhere in the house. He couldn’t place exactly where the aroma was coming from, or who might be burning it. But he had a pretty good idea.

&
nbsp; It was Dominique. She still walked through this house.

  He remembered the day she died. He remembered the weeping and wailing after the news was brought to them—from Mrs. Hoffman, not the dead woman’s husband. He remembered the chanting that had afterward drifted down from the attic, led by Variola’s lyrical, Haitian-accented voice. And he remembered the sudden salty stink that had filled the house—the stink of the sea.

  When he heard commotion in the kitchen, Thad had gathered his courage and made his way there. But when he went through the door, the kitchen had been empty. Still, what he saw there had left Thad horrified.

  Dirty seawater was everywhere. Slimy green seaweed clung to the counter.

  They’d laid her out there, Thad thought to himself.

  Somehow their witchcraft had brought Dominique back from the sea. And ever since then, she had walked this house.

  Thad had never seen her, but he had felt her. He feared her, too, ever since he had attempted to take down her portrait from its place of honor.

  And now, all these deaths. Audra, Jamison, Rita. Thad knew Mr. Huntington wasn’t the killer. He felt certain that all the murders were committed by Dominique. Her restless ghost simply refused to give up her claim on this world. How Dominique had hated Rita, whose affair with Mr. Huntington had been common knowledge among the servants. That was why she had run off that day on the yacht. Now, at last, she had taken her revenge. Who was next?

  Once again, Thad thought he knew.

  Liz. Dominique planned to kill Liz. Today. During the hurricane. When her powers were at their greatest.

  He had to warn her. He had to get that poor sweet girl out of this house. He felt in his bones that Dominique was going to strike soon. The approach of the storm, he believed, was really the approach of Dominique.

  Even as he entertained such theories, he knew what Carlos would tell him: “Thad, mind your own business. Nobody wants to hear your ghost stories.” Thad and Carlos had been together for twenty-four years, and never in all that time had Carlos ever given Thad’s belief in the supernatural one iota of consideration. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Carlos would say. “Dominique’s body was washed out to sea and surely eaten by sharks. She can’t come back, Thad. She’s just a few pieces of bone and gristle floating through the Atlantic.” Carlos was a practical man; if he didn’t see a thing right in front of him, he didn’t believe the thing existed.