Shroud of Fog: (A Cape Trouble Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  This wasn’t the first time Daniel had heard the opinion expressed today, although Joyce was the most openly bitter. Maybe, he reflected, it was even true that Doreen tended to take charge and, well, charge ahead once she had the reins. On the other hand, so far as he knew, Joyce appeared on the list of auction volunteers but had yet to do much of anything. The quantity of stuff in that storage unit told Daniel somebody had been working hard, but it wasn’t this woman.

  “For all she knew,” Joyce continued, “we have someone who has all the skills this Miss Thomsen does right here in our community!”

  “I understand Elaine Terwilliger has some experience putting on auctions,” he said, knowing full well that Joyce disliked Elaine every bit as much as she had Doreen.

  “So she says.” Joyce looked as if she was smelling some mayonnaise past its best. “Now I have quite a talent for organization. If Doreen had only asked, I’d have been glad to jump right in and do what needed to be done.”

  “Ms. Thomsen does have professional experience with auctions,” Daniel couldn’t resist informing her. “She’s started work already. She has a computer program designed to handle auctions start to finish, and is already entering items.”

  Joyce gasped. “After finding our dear Doreen only yesterday? Brutally murdered? How can she? Apparently any family feelings only ran one way between those two!”

  Daniel was the one who was afraid he smelled something that had gone bad, and he knew who it was. Nonetheless, he didn’t stir from his seat on an uncomfortable chintz sofa in the Ervins’ living room. He might not like this woman, but she could be a fount of gossip.

  “She tells me that making the auction a success is the last thing she can do for a woman who meant a great deal for her. She’s determined to fulfill Doreen’s last quest.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  He had to change the subject before he said something he shouldn’t.

  “I understand that Ms. Stedmann never married,” he commented. “You have any idea why? Did she suffer a tragedy? Just never meet anyone? Or did she prefer women?” He raised his brows. “You seem to know everyone.”

  “People do tell me things.” Joyce leaned forward slightly and even lowered her voice, although they were alone in the house, so far as Daniel knew. Mr. Ervin – whose first name Daniel couldn’t recall – hadn’t left any impression on Daniel, who didn’t even know if the guy was retired or still working. “I’m quite sure she wasn’t inclined toward…you know,” Joyce all but whispered.

  “Oh?” he murmured, leaning forward himself to encourage her.

  “I’m afraid she had a male friend.” Going for scandalized, the old biddy sounded more avid than anything. “If you know what I mean. A married man.”

  “Did she.” Huh. Now that was interesting. “I know it goes against the grain for you,” he lied, “but it would be a big help to me if you could tell me who.”

  She pulled back as if shocked. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. My gracious. Doreen and I were such dear friends. Even now… No. The idea of betraying that kind of confidence.” She shook her head firmly.

  Daniel knew damn well that Doreen Stedmann would no more have confided anything that personal in Joyce than she would have seen a problem and not tried to fix it.

  “I never know what information will help when I’m investigating a crime as terrible as this one,” he coaxed.

  “I can’t believe her personal life had anything to do with her murder.” There was steel in Joyce’s voice now. “Surely she interrupted a thief. The…arrangement I mentioned has been going on for years. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  She wouldn’t relent, but she’d succeeded in making him curious.

  Daniel escaped, trying to decide who would have known Doreen well enough to be able to tell him if, in fact, she’d had a long-running affair with a married man. If so – how the hell had they kept it a secret? As he’d told Sophie, nobody in town developed hemorrhoids without becoming the subject of commiseration and advice. He tried to picture a man in Doreen’s age range sneaking through back yards and scaling fences to let himself in her back door for illicit sex and realized he was grinning. Inappropriately, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Truthfully, he had trouble picturing Doreen having sex at all, but he felt bad about that. He hoped he still enjoyed bedroom gymnastics when he was in his sixties. Seventies and eighties, too, although he’d rather he didn’t have to work as hard for it as Doreen’s married lover must have.

  Would Sophie know? he wondered. He was reluctant to ask her in case she didn’t.

  Elaine Terwilliger next, he decided. She might be more forthcoming than Joyce. Worse come to worse, he’d turn to Louella Shoup. What she didn’t know probably hadn’t happened. Now Louella, he could imagine sneaking through backyards, likely carrying binoculars the better to see with, my dear. Spry and scrawny as she was, she could probably make it over the fences, too. A few times, he’d had an uneasy feeling when he was home that he was being watched, and had pulled all his blinds and double-checked that the slats were closed tightly. He’d imagined the unseen watcher to be more malevolent than Louella Shoup, but in this town she was the best bet to be peering in windows.

  He drove a few blocks and turned a corner after leaving Joyce’s house, then pulled to the curb and reached for his phone.

  Sophie answered on the third ring. “Chief Colburn?”

  He hoped her formality was because one of his officers was within earshot.

  “Just wondering how it was going.”

  “More slowly than I’d like. I swear a quarter of the items don’t have an attached procurement form, so I don’t know who the donor is and will have to research value besides. So far I’m not finding any of the more valuable items Doreen told me about, either.”

  “Could she have kept the pricey things somewhere else?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” She sounded doubtful. “But why would she? It never seemed to occur to her that anyone would be dishonest, or she wouldn’t have handed out so many keys to the unit.”

  “That’s true,” he conceded.

  “Have you gone through her house yet?” Her apprehension leaked out.

  “A walk-through only.” An uneasy feeling told him he might have made a mistake. “I’m going there next.”

  “You’ll let me know if you find anything auction related?”

  “Yes, of course. Is Officer Grissom being a help?”

  Five of his six officers were barely old enough to shave. Abbot Grissom was the exception. In his early fifties, he’d kept the same job for close to thirty years, showing no ambition to apply to the county for a position as detective, or to rise to chief of the Cape Trouble police department.

  “Yes, he’s very kind.”

  She sounded like she meant it. In the next second, it occurred to Daniel that he was missing a good bet there. Grissom might be as useful a source of gossip as the biddies.

  He glanced at his watch. “You going to be out there much longer?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

  “Oh – another hour, at least.”

  “All right. After I check out your aunt’s house more thoroughly, I might stop by.”

  “Is it…do you know something?” she asked hesitantly.

  “No. I’m sorry.” Although with a little luck, he’d find out more about Doreen from her house. How could she have had a long-time lover, for example, without there being some evidence of his existence and identity?

  “Marge said you planned to watch more of the video.”

  That might be a task for Grissom, too, Daniel thought. The older officer would be more likely to recognize people seen only in profile, say, than Daniel would.

  “One of us will,” he agreed. “I’ll be out there before you pack it up.”

  Five minutes later, he was letting himself into Doreen Stedmann’s small bungalow again, using the key he had kept after retrieving it from beneath the plant pot on the front porch. He’d figured that key was t
he next best thing to a note that said, Come on in and make yourself at home! Of course, the killer presumably had Doreen’s set of keys and could let himself in any time, so maybe Daniel wasn’t doing anything but shutting the barn door after the horses were out. Still, he thought it unlikely that a man – or woman – shaken after having just bashed a woman’s head in would then rush over here and let him or herself into Doreen’s house through the front door despite the twitching curtains up and down the block. Eventually…maybe. But not yet.

  He’d suggest to Sophie that she have the locks changed as soon as possible.

  *****

  Either the storage facility was a popular afternoon destination, or word had gotten out that the unit in which Doreen Stedmann had been murdered was standing open and the mysterious niece was working out here in plain sight. Sophie swore that every ten minutes or so, one vehicle or another circled slowly around the backside of the building and crept by the new unit. Heads turned. It was like being involved in a minor accident on the freeway, when every single passing motorist slowed to stare. No, she thought with black humor, this was more like one of those tours of scenes where notorious crimes had taken place.

  In fact, not many of people rubber-necking had gotten a look into the original unit, because right after lunch she and Officer Grissom had hauled the contents of another set of shelves over here, and he had carefully locked behind them.

  Not twenty minutes after she’d talked to Daniel, a black SUV came to a stop right in front of the open space where Sophie sat on her folding chair behind the card table. Officer Grissom stepped forward as if to shield her, then relaxed when a man got out.

  “Mr. Billington.”

  Sophie rose to her feet, careful to school her face to friendly openness even though her stomach had clenched. During the limited time she’d spent in Cape Trouble as an adult, she hadn’t only avoided the sight of the river and the ramshackle resort and sand dunes on the other side of it. She’d also avoided the people she remembered from her childhood summers. She’d seen old Mr. Billington a few times, but not his nephew.

  Benjamin Billington had changed; of course he had. But he was already in his early twenties then, she thought, not a kid like she’d been. His brown hair was graying at the temples and he’d thickened a little at the waist, but she would have recognized him even if they’d bumped into each other in Portland. The resemblance to his uncle was greater than when he was young. He had the same broad face and forehead punctuated by a striking widow’s peak. He wasn’t handsome, but not homely, either. He was taller than his uncle, she thought, but not much; maybe five foot eight or nine, but stocky. Powerfully built. He hadn’t run to fat at all. She would have considered him a pleasant looking man if she didn’t hate so desperately any memory of seeing him passing their cabin, sometimes on foot, sometimes driving an open Jeep that carried cleaning equipment. He had worked for his uncle then, if only during summers. He might still have been in college, she realized now. Then – well, he was only another grown-up, one so common a sight she’d paid him no more attention than she did the faded curtains at the kitchen window in the cabin that her family rented every summer.

  He nodded and said, “Grissom.” Then he appraised her with a long look, smiled and held out his hand. “Sophie Thomsen. I won’t swear I’d have known you, but it’s a pleasure to see you.”

  “Mr. Billington.” She made herself accept his handshake.

  “Benjamin, please,” he said. His expression became grave. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Doreen. I understand she considered you family.”

  “I considered her family, too.” Unexpectedly, her lips quivered and she had to momentarily press them together. “I’ll miss her more than I can say.”

  “This whole community will miss her. From what Uncle Harlow said, she accomplished more than the whole city council put together. I don’t know why she never ran for office.”

  That made Sophie smile, if shakily. “Aunt Doreen thought the council members were a bunch of self-important, stuffed shirts. She used to tell me that she wasn’t setting herself up to get out-voted when she had determined to set out on a mission.”

  He chuckled, then sobered again. “She was quite a woman.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  He studied her openly. “I remember your mother well. She was a nice lady, too. You look like her.”

  “Thank you.” If that had come out stiff, Sophie couldn’t help it.

  Benjamin nodded what she thought was acknowledgement of her reluctance to discuss her mother rather than what she’d said. She wondered what Officer Grissom thought about their conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching, a shoulder propped against one of the bare studs that framed the side wall. How well did he know Mr. Billington’s heir?

  “I admit I came out here in part to find out whether Doreen’s campaign died with her. I have any number of offers for the property, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “Yes. And the answer,” she gestured around her, “as you can no doubt tell, is no. The other committee members and I plan to carry forward with the auction and whatever else we need to do to raise the money to buy your uncle’s land. Assuming you’ll hold to the agreement.”

  “I see.” He raised his eyebrows slightly and looked past her, at the mostly empty storage unit. “I trust this isn’t all the donations that have come in.”

  Was that ever-so-slightly condescending? Did he think Aunt Doreen’s Save the Misty Beach campaign was a joke? Maybe he thought he could have his cake and eat it, too – look like Mr. Nice Guy, then, when the campaign flopped, sell the land for big bucks to developers.

  And maybe, Sophie thought wryly, her cynicism had nothing to do with what kind of man Benjamin Billington was, only with the discomfort he stirred in her because he brought back unwelcome memories.

  She smiled. “No. I’m shifting the donations gradually to this unit as I get them entered.”

  “Then this isn’t where—?” He stopped, appearing embarrassed.

  “No.” After a moment she said, “I wouldn’t have been able to bear sitting there working.”

  “No. Of course you couldn’t. I’m sorry. That was tactless of me.”

  She smiled with difficulty. “It’s hard not to think about it. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “I’ll let you get back to work. To answer your question, I’ll stick to the agreement I made with Doreen. In fact, if there’s anything at all I can do to help—”

  “I understand you already donated to the auction. That was above and beyond. Thank you.”

  “Some bits of furniture, that’s all.”

  “More than bits, from the sound of it. I think I remember that huge carved oak buffet from the lobby of the lodge. It’s a beautiful piece.”

  “Nothing my wife and I would have a place for,” he demurred. “It seemed appropriate to donate pieces Uncle Bill left to benefit a cause he would have appreciated.”

  “Yes.” Now her smile felt more genuine. “You’re right. He’d like to see the land stay the way it is, wouldn’t he?”

  For a moment his expression was far away. “He loved the place.”

  With a last reminder to call if he could do anything, he left, following the latest gawker who hadn’t been able to get a good look into the unit with Benjamin’s SUV blocking the entrance.

  “He certainly looks like his uncle,” Sophie said, as the sound of the two vehicles diminished.

  “He does,” the police officer agreed, his tone reflective. “Old Billington, he was a good man. Didn’t much care if he made any more money than it took to hold onto the place.”

  Was he implying that the younger Billington wasn’t a good man? And did care if he made a whole lot of money?

  Trying for tact, Sophie asked if he knew Benjamin well.

  He shook his head. “He hasn’t been around much in years. I guess he must have come for short visits, but that’s all. This is the first time I’ve seen hi
m or his wife shopping in town.”

  “Mr. Billington and his wife didn’t have children, did they?”

  “Nope. I heard she never much liked the nephew, but that’s just gossip.” His face flushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I was curious. I admit, I was hoping you’d tell me what you knew. Honestly, poor Mrs. Billington might have resented Benjamin for no other reason than because he was taking the place of the son she’d have liked to have.”

  “What I hear is, this Billington doesn’t have any kids, either,” Officer Grissom remarked. “Family is dying out.” Then he looked a little embarrassed, as if he’d realized he was gossiping. “I should go get another load or two.”

  She started to rise. “I’ll help.”

  “The chief told me not to let you carry anything heavy—”

  The sound of a car motor had them both glancing toward the opening. A squad car rolled to a stop, and Daniel Colburn got out, stretched then walked toward them. She had the same intense reaction to him she did every time she saw him, however much she wished she’d get over it. But, damn it, even the way he walked was sexy. It was loose-hipped and very male, more of a saunter than anything.

  “You two don’t look like you’re working very hard,” he said, the curve of his mouth suggesting amusement.

  Poor Officer Grissom’s cheeks turned red again. “I was just about to go fetch another load for Ms. Thomsen.”

  She’d been trying and failing to get him to call her by her first name. She opened her mouth then closed it. If he was determined to maintain some distance, she ought to let him. Maybe it was in the law enforcement code: you shalt not call anyone involved in an investigation by his or her first name.

  Chief Colburn switched his attention from her to his officer and began to issue instructions. Apparently he was going to stay with her until quitting time; he wanted Officer Grissom to go watch video taken by the various cameras here in the storage facility.