by Lee Doty
What a difference. Only this morning Gin had looked—yes, Anne had to admit she had looked beautiful. Now, her eyes were swollen, cheeks pale, and the coral lipstick that had gone so well with her hair color had been gnawed away. Her lip liner made a bull’s eye around her tight mouth. “What do you mean, Gin, scared him away?” Anne tossed her purse on the couch. “I would have thought that was more in your line.”
Gin gulped the rest of her drink and slammed it down.
Anne wished she hadn’t said that. “I apologize, Gin. That was uncalled for. I’m saying all the wrong things today. Why don’t I make us some coffee?”
“Don’t bother, Mother.” She poured herself another glass of wine.
“I’ll make some anyway.” Anne started to leave, then had second thoughts. “How about a snack, Laney? Come on.”
“Stay here with me, baby.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Gin.”
Laney obeyed neither one. She left the room and headed upstairs. The closing of her bedroom door made a quiet click.
“Still got the old touch, Mother.”
Anne knew better than to respond. Every word, well-intended or not, would trigger prolonged combat. Gin’s distress seemed real. Anne could see that. What wasn’t clear was whether Gin really believed Anne was the cause of Ken’s supposed disappearance. There was something more worried than angry about her accusation. It was as though Gin had only slipped back into her old whining, accusing ways because it was familiar and safe territory.
How in the world to deal with Gin. She wished her daughter would leave. Gordon had once asked her in his gentle way not to make Gin feel so inadequate. Anne had snapped, “Why shouldn’t I? She is, you know.” She’d never forget his look of shock.
“Tell me what’s happened, Gin. I am listening. What makes you think he’s gone?”
“I need some air.” Gin strutted out to the deck, taking her glass and bottle with her. She left the door open and Anne took that to mean she was willing to talk if Anne would grovel a bit and follow her.
They stretched out on chaise lounges, a barrel of dahlias between them. Having followed her out, Anne felt it was now Gin’s turn to make a move. She killed time studying the clouds, making out a floating medieval fortress heading east toward Europe. Someone across the marsh was grilling burgers and the aroma made her salivate.
“We were going to go look at that schooner. That one we saw this morning. He was going to . . .”
“What? Ken was going to what?”
“He was going to see if it was for sale. When he didn’t show up, I called everywhere I could think of.”
“Did you try his office?”
“Of course I tried his office. His secretary says no one knows where he is. That bitch is lying. I can hear it in her voice.” Gin rolled away, turning her back to Anne.
Anne watched her shoulders shake and thought about giving her a hug. Or should she offer her hope by telling her Lieutenant Coigne was going to be contacting Crawford, so he’d surely show up soon? That wouldn’t help Gin, though. Anne guessed she wasn’t worried Crawford had actually vanished into thin air. She was worried he’d dumped her, an all-too-common occurrence in her unhappy life. But this time Gin may have been trying hard to keep him.
Gin rolled back over, wiping her cheeks with her hands. When had her daughter looked so desolate? Yes, it was that last summer they’d come to the Cape, after Gordon had died. Anne had tended to brush off her daughter’s sad looks as teenage drama and based on her observations of the past hour, this might be more of the same. With Gin it was hard to tell whether she was experiencing true sorrow or was simply frustrated at not getting what she wanted. Anne reached over and patted her knee.
13
As they were walking back from Makeout Point earlier in the day, Aunt Norma had told Laney that Bark had died. Without Bark, Laney had no friend her own age, human or canine. She’d asked if he had been hit by a car. Aunt Norma only swallowed hard and looked away.
Laney examined the photo on top of her dresser. It was taken during a sleepover at Aunt Norma’s when she and Bark had curled up together after a long day at the beach. She hugged the framed photo, kissed her finger, and pressed it against the glass.
Head on pillow, eyes closed, Laney tried to lose herself in the drum solo pounding through her earbuds. If only school would start. Not that she was a fan of homework, but anything that plucked her from the war room downstairs had to be an improvement. What if one of the kids from school was passing by her house and overheard her drunken mother yelling at Gran?
It wasn’t that she harbored hopes of joining Isabella Miller’s crowd. Just one good friend would do. At school she worked on appearing indifferent, throwing herself into music, ignoring the kids who hung out together between classes. She suspected they all knew she was a lonely loser anyway.
Aunt Norma usually helped her solve her problems, or at least shrink them. Laney had hoped she would make Sandal Man disappear and send Ken Crawford packing in the bargain. Unlike Gran, who sometimes didn’t get what the problem was, Aunt Norma understood right away and could explain things so they weren’t so scary anymore. This time, confiding in Aunt Norma only made things worse. That place they’d dragged her to! She could just picture it. While the other kids talked about soccer camp in Italy and hiking down the Grand Canyon, she’d have to say the highlight of her summer was spent in the State Police Barracks.
Laney swung her body around to her favorite position, head lolling over the bedside and legs propped straight up against the wall. She wished Gran wouldn’t check on her at night and shift her head back onto her pillow. She wasn’t a baby.
Maybe she should run away. The last time she’d tried she’d been about five years old. Her underpants with the red ruffles and her mom’s sunglasses were essentials that had fit nicely into an old patent leather cosmetics bag. She hadn’t been running away exactly, just heading to Gran’s. It amazed her still that she had complete confidence she would find her way on foot from Philadelphia to Cape Cod. It was only when the police brought her to the station and they couldn’t reach her mom that she cried.
The flashback to the police reminded her of something Lieutenant Coigne had said. Gran had just asked about the name of the beach murder victim, Buddy Todd. She’d heard the name before and remembered it because it seemed funny for someone to have a name like Buddy, and a first name, Todd, for a last name. What did all that have to do with running away?
Her unsuccessful flight from home long ago discouraged her from running away now. At least a bike ride into town would get her away from the household drama and who knew, maybe she’d see someone from school. A couple of times when she’d come upon a classmate who was alone, they’d hung out together. Laney brightened at the prospect and changed into a light blue T-shirt emblazoned with a shark, like Isabella wore. She chose pale blue glass earrings to match her shirt and a braided anklet to hide the scar on her ankle, which Aunt Norma said no one but the freckle next to it could see. After scrutinizing herself in the mirror she removed a clip from her hair, bent over, and quickly flipped her head back. Her long blond hair fell in a wave across her forehead, covering the zit she’d discovered that morning. “Not great, better.”
The new bike path, from Skaket to Potonumecot, was only a two-minute bike ride from home. She heard Gran and her mom out on the deck and decided to leave them alone. Her mom sounded unhappy. Gran would want to know where Laney was headed and might say she couldn’t go.
She rolled her bike out of the cool garage and stepped into heavy humidity. A fleeting image of Sandal Man, when he’d spotted her in the resort dining room, made her hesitate. “Nuts to that.” She fastened her helmet.
14
“Iyannough! That Indian may have gotten off easy. Died young. Come to think of it, a lot of Indians who helped the Pilgrims died young.”
Norma was talking to herself in bumper-to-bumper traffic on her way to the Law Offices of Dunscombe and Dohnan. Even before the
y’d left Coigne’s office, she’d decided to drop off Anne and Laney, turn around, and get right back on the road. Traffic on Chief Iyannough’s eponymous road was murder during tourist season, especially afternoon rush hour. Her sour mood turned fetid in the suffocating humidity as her air conditioning didn’t work.
She’d once told Anne the story of how her father made the family ride around all summer with the car windows closed tight so neighbors would think they had air conditioning. This was before air conditioning was standard equipment.
“That must have been pure torture, Norma.”
“Yep.”
“It explains why you never waste your time trying to keep up with the Joneses.”
“You mean I don’t put on ‘airs’?”
“Very funny.”
Norma didn’t think Anne was right. She believed she was quite capable of exhibiting all character failings, including envy, but her short fuse was so powerful and ever present, it made her other flaws barely noticeable.
Her mind shifted to events of the night before. The wild destruction of her home led her to believe the intruder hadn’t found what he was after, or at least not early in his search. But what worried her more was the gratuitous nature of the physical harm, the punches in the face, the slaughter of her poor dog. Those things weren’t necessary and added to the risk the guy would get caught. Was there someone out there who hated her that much? No. The man who hit her was detached and professional, not emotional. So how did that narrow the field?
She thought about Coigne, his attention to her injuries, and seemingly genuine compassion over Bark’s death. “Goddammit. Does this mean I’m going to have ambivalent feelings about a dirty cop?” Norma prided herself on the accuracy of her first impressions. “Absolutely not.”
Her cell phone rang and she rummaged in her bag for it.
“—lo.”
“Coigne here. Got a minute?”
“Shoot.”
“Sounds like you’re in the car. Call me back after you’ve pulled over.”
“I’ve got Bluetooth.” That was a lie. So much for not putting on airs.
“First of all, how are you feeling?”
“Hold on while I hum a few bars of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’ What’s on your mind, Coigne?”
“No small talk, then. Ken Crawford is dead. Hit and run on a dirt road. From all we can determine, the last one to see him alive was Gin Sager.”
“Whoa! Where was the accident?”
“Probably not an accident. Looks like he was run over several times. We’ll know for sure once we take a look at photos, the glass and paint analysis, and the medical examiner’s report. Shouldn’t be hard to tell, though. They say the tire treads are clear as handprints at Grauman’s Chinese.”
“I get it. So where?”
“Side road off Pilgrim Road in Cockle Cove.”
Traffic slowed to a full stop. “You knew all this when Anne and I brought Laney to the Barracks. You cut the meeting short when Anne said Ken Crawford’s name. Why wait until now to say anything about it?”
“Wouldn’t you agree the murder of one father is enough for any thirteen-year-old to handle?”
“That’s an odd way to put it, but I guess you’re right. Crawford was Gin’s fiancé and that would make him Laney’s future stepfather.” Traffic started moving. “What do you mean, ‘one father is enough’?”
“You tell me.”
What the hell? Norma waited him out.
“Don’t you think Laney can be better protected if you start playing straight with me, Norma?”
“I assure you I am.”
“Christ. You don’t think the fact the dead guy on the beach was Laney’s father is relevant?”
“What? Buddy Todd? Nonsense. Where’d you get that?”
“Are you asking me to believe you didn’t know he was her biological father?”
“I’m not asking you to believe anything, gum wad. I don’t think Laney’s own mother knows who the father is, so how would I know?”
No one spoke, then, “Let’s step back, Norma. Did Laney act like she recognized the drowned man when she first broke the news of her discovery?”
It was ridiculous, but Norma played along. She pictured Laney as she’d stood at the front door the day before, pale, freckles larger than acorns, and shocked, like anyone would be. “No way. She did not know him. Anyway, how do you know the guy’s her father?”
“Hard to argue with DNA. Found the report in his room. Gin applied for child support a long time ago and Buddy Todd had the lab test results. He also had baby photos of Laney with her mother, at least it looks like Gin Sager from a mug shot we have. It was all there in his hotel room, like it was waiting to be found. Beyond all that, Anne Sager confirmed it by phone. There’s more follow-up we need to do, but the evidence looks good.”
Norma was staggered by the news about Buddy Todd’s relationship to Laney and just as shocked that Anne had said nothing to her about Laney’s father before. She pulled into the law firm’s parking lot and turned off her ignition. “Go on.”
“I’m seeing obvious connections—Laney sees Sandal Man, then discovers a dead body who turns out to be her own father, then Sandal Man runs into Laney’s future stepfather at Red River Resort, now future step-father’s dead, likely murdered. I don’t think these are coincidences. Whether she knows why or not, Laney Sager is somehow in the middle of all this.”
“It doesn’t necessarily follow, Coigne. Laney didn’t know her father and barely knew Ken Crawford. Her mother knew both of them. What does she have to say?”
“The man who called you last night mentioned Laney’s name, not Gin’s, and tied Laney’s name to the body on the beach. That doesn’t prove these murders have any more to do with Laney than her mother or anyone else, but there are enough ties to Laney for me to be concerned for her safety. And her mother’s.”
“Then get off the phone and find Sandal Man.”
15
Norma stayed in her car and parsed through Coigne’s revelations and conclusions. He was right about one thing. Until they had this Sandal Man in custody, they needed to keep an eye on Laney. She phoned Anne.
“It’s me. I’m in a hurry now, but I need to talk to you and Laney when I get back. Can you two stay put? It’s important, Anne.”
“No problem. She’s upstairs. We’ll be here.”
Confident that Laney was safe, Norma focused on her other problem, the lawsuit. Something smelled rotten about the suit and if she could pinpoint the source, and satisfy herself she could get the suit dismissed quickly, her mind would clear and she’d be in a better position to help in the murder investigation.
The law firm of Dunscombe and Dohnan was in a strip mall wedged between Danang Nails and School of Tai Chi. Norma was surprised to find the firm’s reception area well-appointed with slate-colored furnishings, sconces that gave off an attractive ambient glow, and one or two good paintings. It was nothing like her grand firm in Boston that had impressed her in her early days. She’d learned to appreciate paintings by protégées of Mary Cassatt and John Singer Sargent, not on the walls of the Museum of Fine Arts, but down the pearl grey hallways of her law firm. By contrast, a good law firm on the Cape mounted paint-by-number seascapes. Still, the not-too-distant view of Nantucket Sound from Dunscombe and Dohnan’s plate glass window outclassed anything her old firm had to offer.
The office was quiet, no waiting clients, no sounds of Dohnan blustering in the conference room, just the click-click of meteoric typing.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist, a slim man in his mid-twenties, stubble beard, elbows tucked in, barely lifted one of his furious fingers to point toward a chair.
“Is Mr. Dohnan or Mr. Dunscombe in?”
“Both at depos. They’ll be back in”—he glanced at his watch—“one hour and thirty-seven minutes. Can I help you?”
Norma had rehearsed several approaches for getting information out of Dohnan. Instead, she’d have to work
on his guard dog. “I’m one of the lawyers involved in the Cockle Cove-Temple litigation. I’d like to check on some facts in the files.” She wasn’t lying. She was “involved” in the litigation and she definitely wanted to get into the files.
“Like I say, they’ll be back in—one hour and thirty-six minutes.”
The receptionist pushed the print button and Norma had to raise her voice to be heard over the machine. “Too bad.” She checked her watch. “I don’t think they’ll like missing a 5:00 deadline.”
“What deadline?”
“That’s just how it always goes. No one ever gives you the information you need to do your job. And then they’ll take it out on you.” Norma started to leave, saying just loud enough to be heard, “It would take until 5:00 to even find the file, no doubt.”
“Wanna bet? Name the file and follow me.”
Norma had correctly detected strong organization skills in the receptionist and guessed he took tremendous pride in them.
She followed his squared shoulders down the hall to a file room, then onward to the door marked Derek Dohnan, Esq. He placed three accordion files on Dohnan’s desk.
“These are the most recent files,” he said.
“And if I need to look at other files, should I go back to the file room?”
“Or just call me. I’ll find them.”
“Or just call me,” Norma said to herself. “That means I can go myself or call him. I’ll go myself.”
Her plan was to nose around in Dohnan’s Cockle Cove-Temple litigation file. Then, if she had time, poke through his file on Buddy Todd. She’d like to know the nature of the meeting Buddy had with Dohnan. Sure, she could wait and ask Dohnan about it, but if Buddy was his client, he couldn’t breach attorney-client privilege and tell her. If Buddy wasn’t his client, he still wouldn’t tell her after the way she’d treated him at The Lucky Duck.
She’d been intrigued at the coincidence of Dohnan’s handling the case against her and meeting with Buddy Todd before his death. Then again, the number of lawyers practicing on the Cape was small. It could be just a coincidence.
