by Lee Doty
2. I get notice of lawsuit involving Mary Temple’s sale of her Red River Resort interest to other Red River Resort partners.
3. Gin Sager pops up, transformed from slag to debutante, demanding custody of Laney.
4. Gin accompanied by fiancé (Crawford), partner in Red River Resort, which is current owner of Samoset Way property.
5. I get beaten up and my house trashed by caller who mentions Laney/beach drowning.
6. Laney sees Sandal Man at Red River Resort. Crawford knows Sandal Man.
7. Crawford murdered.
8. Buddy Todd’s father (?) was represented by attorney Dohnan in the sale of Samoset Way land to Red River Resort.
9. Laney kidnapped.
10. Based on Isabella Miller interview, Sandal Man preliminarily identified as kidnapper.
11. Laney’s bike found near Marymac Pond. Man in kayak on Pond drowned—collateral damage?
Norma traced her finger down the list. “Okay, now what?”
She flipped through the hard copy of her Inn at Cockle Cove file. As she’d told the police, her computer and hard drive had been destroyed, but since she kept an external hard drive in her safe deposit box and updated it quarterly, her practice wasn’t completely destroyed. It would still be a pain to restore what she’d lost.
She started with the subfile labeled Correspondence. Most of the time she reveled in rereading her letters to obnoxious lawyers because of her flair for mudslinging invective. This set of letters was mild and boring, but she forced herself to read every one.
It was past 1:00 a.m. when she finished reading her entire Inn at Cockle Cove file. The hum of a passing car reminded her of life outside. Some people were actually enjoying a vacation on the Cape. She thought of the last time she’d gone clamming with Laney, which made her picture the girl frantically swimming away from Sandal Man. She blocked the thought.
Norma never had a desire to have children and on meeting Laney that first time, she’d barely nodded at the shy girl. How freakish she’d seemed with all that blinking. And she’d been aggravated that Anne’s time would be consumed by her new charge. Soon she noticed Laney paid close attention to her every word and asked questions, good ones, nonstop. She followed Norma everywhere, although the attraction was probably Bark. Norma saw Laney as a misfit, like herself, but even misfits have dreams that shouldn’t be crushed, especially not by their parents. Eventually Norma sought Laney out, took her sailing, brought her to baseball games. She even invited her to summer evening band concerts, events her musically discriminating Gran refused to attend. But thinking like this was getting her nowhere.
Norma summarized what she’d learned by mastering her file. There was nothing in the file out of order, incorrect, no smoking gun, not even a tempting red herring to follow, yet instinct told her clues to the murders and Laney’s disappearance were in that file.
20
The phone rang. Norma recognized the number and picked up.
“You found her, Coigne?”
“No. I—”
“You’re calling me at 2:00 a.m. to tell me what?” Norma heard the sound of her own voice and remembered Coigne was her lifeline to information. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“It’s about Crawford. I looked over the search report of his house. Found a fair amount of photos and biographical information on Gin and Laney. There were also some interesting emails between the couple.”
“He planned to marry the woman. What’s your point?”
Coigne drew in his breath and exhaled slowly.
“Sorry,” she said.
“My point is this. I had the impression from everyone’s reaction that Crawford and Gin Sager had only recently met and started a courtship. The emails tell a different story. They rekindled a romance that had started and ended in their teens. Looks like Crawford called her about six months ago. Before that, they’d had no contact for fourteen, fifteen years.
“Hm. About the time she was on the Cape as a teen with her mother.”
“The biographical information was compiled in a report by a local PI, Leonard Diamond. Works with the law firm Buchanan and Associates. Know him?”
“Never heard of him. I rarely use PIs. I know the Buchanan firm, though. You say it was information on Gin and Laney?”
“That’s right.”
“Anything there we didn’t already know?”
“Not really.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“I guess you called me because you’d like my opinion. If not, you’re getting it anyway,” Norma said. “Our working theory is that Crawford’s death is tied to Buddy Todd’s and Sandal Man is behind it all, including the vandalizing of my home. I don’t know how significant the documents are that you found, but it would have been an easy matter for Sandal Man to find and destroy them if they’re important. Look at what happened at my house. But if the documents aren’t all that important, maybe what is significant is the timing of the report and the rekindling of romance between Crawford and Gin.
“What do you mean?”
“You said there was bio information on Laney. You’ve got Crawford and Gin demanding custody of Laney. Meanwhile, Buddy Todd is running around with DNA evidence in his pocket proving he’s Laney’s father. He’s a drifter. How long has he been on the Cape?”
“He’d been staying at the Skaket Seaside Hotel about seven months.”
“Where was he before that?”
“Rehab in Philadelphia.”
“Then I’d say his discharge from rehab set a ball in motion. Suddenly everyone wants Laney. We just need to find out what that “ball” was, where Buddy went, who he talked to. What have you gotten out of the lawyer he was going to see, Derek Dohnan?”
“Nothing. He says he has no idea why Buddy wanted to meet with him, just that Todd said it was very important.”
“Okay, that’s bullshit.” Norma told Coigne about the history of ownership of Samoset Way and the fact that Derek Dohnan represented Buddy Todd’s relative, probably his father, in its sale to Red River Resort. Coigne agreed the fact that Buddy and Crawford had ties to the same property, and were suddenly dead, was unusual. She also told him she’d just been sued over the sale of her client’s interest in the resort and Derek Dohnan represented the guys who were suing her, the Temple brothers. She skipped the part about reviewing the files at the offices of Dunscombe and Dohnan.
Coigne asked, “Where exactly is this property?”
Norma told him.
“You mean that strip right by the beach?”
“Yes, same beach where Buddy Todd’s body was found.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that so much. After the last three hurricanes, that strip is the only land access to the beach. Red River Resort lets the neighborhood use it.”
“I know that. I live here.”
“What you may not know, Norma, is that the resort has recently threatened to end the neighbors’ access.”
“Why? Surely they can’t build on it. It’s too close to the marsh.”
“They don’t want to build on it. Don’t you read your local paper? They’re using the land “card” to persuade the neighbors to support them in their bid to develop other property nearby.”
“Of course. If the neighbors, as abutters, object to the development, Red River Resort will get tied up in knots with the Zoning Board and litigation, meanwhile losing their financing and their development plan goes kaput. To ward off the abutter threat, the resort quietly threatens to end the neighbors’ right of way. Is that it?”
Coigne yawned. “You got it.”
“But do the neighbors really care about more development? This whole area has gone from quiet fishing village to Miami Beach in a couple of decades.”
“That’s a slight exaggeration, Norma. But what Red River Resort has in mind is much bigger and more profitable than any previous development. It’s going to be some sort of exclusive fortification for the rich and famous, with housing, shopping, theaters, parks, the works. The
y’ll include a state-of-the-art spa, the one feature their flagship lacks, and it hurts them bigtime.”
“All that right here? But that’s outrageous. This will make the wind farm controversy look like small potatoes. Tater tots.”
“What no one knows is where all the money is coming from for a project like that. Red River Resort is doing well, they say, but for that kind of project we’re talking megabucks.”
“That rings a bell. When I was handling Mary Temple’s sale of her resort interest, there was some foreign investor who funded their purchase of it. Could be that’s where the money for the development’s coming from. Anyway, you’ve convinced me that property is valuable as a means to an end for the resort. But where does that get us?”
“It gets us headed in a new direction. You sound exhausted. You okay there by yourself?”
“What, you moving in?”
“Good night, Norma.”
Norma plodded to the bathroom to wash up. In the mirror, bloodshot eyes stared back at her. Is it possible Coigne’s attracted to me? No. She was too big in all respects—from the size of her feet to the limitless boundaries of her ego. She stretched out on her now three-legged sofa and thought of Laney. It had been awhile since she’d said a prayer, but she said one now.
21
Varn pounded up the front steps. “She ready?”
Mr. Singh held his arm out toward Laney, palm up. “Be my guest.”
Laney shrank from Varn like he was poisonous gas. He grabbed her by the hair, making her cry out. “That’s nothing,” he said. He pushed her toward the front door and kicked her backside, making her fall through the screen and onto all fours.
“Varn, please. You know you are not permitted to hurt young people where I can hear you.” Mr. Singh closed the door behind them.
Laney rose, her fear giving way to anger.
“No use you screamin’.” Varn pushed her down the steps and she rolled into the drive. This time, she stayed where she was. Varn clutched the back of her T-shirt and prodded her toward the woods.
“One reason no use screamin’, no one’ll hear you in the woods. N’other, noise bothers me, like it bothers the boss. You cry again, I cut your tongue out.” To show her he meant business, he flashed a switch blade in her face.
“You cut my tongue out, Mr. Singh won’t get what he needs from me. Then he’ll cut your tongue out.”
Varn looked stunned, but the surprise at her insolence didn’t last. He whipped her around and swung a mad backhand across her face, knocking her down.
She didn’t feel pain, just blood pooling in her mouth. Her mind focused on one thing. She rose slowly, protective of the ammunition now in hand.
Varn resumed their march into the woods. “Move on.”
Her slow pace was intended to show submission and resignation. As they got farther from the cottage, they were in complete darkness. Varn told her to stay still as he lit a match. He said, “What’s that?”
She stared straight ahead, as though she didn’t hear him.
“I said what’s in your hand?” He moved toward her.
“Take a look.”
She held her hand just out of reach and he moved closer. She flung her handful of sand and gravel into his eyes and took off.
“Bitch!” he yelled, but swallowed the word and stumbled after her.
She was almost running blind herself, but took heart. If the darkness and sharp pine branches slowed her down, they’d be much harder on a fat, wheezing giant with grit in his eyes.
Her ruse had worked and Laney silently thanked Aunt Norma for the idea. She’d once overheard Norma explaining to Gran, “I call the strategy Cupid’s Revenge. You talk sweet while opposing counsel beats you to a pulp. Then, when he thinks you’re done for and he’s taking his bow before the jury, you shove a poison-tipped arrow right up his ass.” Her handful of sand and gravel had been her poison-tipped arrow. She would have smiled if she weren’t so frightened.
Judging by the sound of Varn’s gasps, she knew he was moving in a zigzag pattern, stopping to listen every so often, maybe clearing his eyes. He was a couple of hundred yards away. What will he do? He might go back and get help, or if he didn’t want Mr. Singh to know he’d lost her, he’d keep running after her. No matter what, Mr. Singh would be looking for him, and her, soon.
The woods offered Laney plenty of trees to climb, but if Varn found her, she’d be trapped. And he would find her. The pine needles screamed beneath her sandals. Once more she cursed herself for wearing flimsy sandals on a bike ride to get ice cream. Ice cream. It seemed so long ago.
She had a general idea how to reach the main road they’d turned off. If she just had more distance from Varn, she might be able to get there before he caught up.
But he was gaining on her. No choice but to take a chance and climb. She jumped to grasp the lowest branch and keeping her arms apart, stuck her legs between them and hung upside down until Varn stopped running. When he resumed, she released one leg and hurled her torso over the limb. Her arms and legs were bleeding. She kept her eyes closed to protect them. They were useless in the dark anyway.
At the top of the tree she listened. Now he was very close. She permitted herself a small smile of triumph. He’d run past the tree and was heading away from the main road. She waited before climbing down, then jumped to the ground and took off in the opposite direction.
She thought she’d been running for about half an hour when she realized Varn’s tread had been replaced by a different sound, the whoosh of tires on pavement.
Instinct kept her from jumping out into the road right away. She considered how she might look to a stranger—dirty shirt, torn and soaked with sweat, and bloodied face and limbs. Frightful, but it couldn’t be helped.
At last, headlights. The road was hilly and its dips made the faraway glow appear, then disappear. She crept out of the woods, peering left and right. Salvation? The car dipped out of sight again.
A rustle from behind. The noise grew louder. “Please be a squirrel,” she prayed. Heavy breathing. It had to be Varn.
She zoomed across the road. The car appeared again. It was getting close. By its lights she could see Varn step out of the woods where she’d been waiting. He could see right where she was, yet he didn’t cross the road.
As the car neared, she realized it wasn’t the Escalade. Laney jumped into the road, arms in a V. “Stop!”
The car slowed and turned toward her. She tried to see inside but was blinded by the headlights. The car backed up, gunned its engine and rolled forward.
22
Norma’s home-office line pierced her REM sleep like a fire alarm. She ran to answer it and fumbled trying to get the receiver to her ear.
“And I could have you disbarred.”
“And I could have you dismembered for calling me this early. Why are you calling, Dohnan?”
“You know damn well why. I’ve had a busy morning, Norma, firing my receptionist of seven years, getting him the hell out of the building without strangling him first, and restoring my office to order.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know damn well you misrepresented yourself to gain access to my files. It’s completely unethical for counsel to go through opposing counsel’s litigation file.”
“First of all, ass-wipe, I’m a party, not counsel.” Okay, splitting hairs, and beside the point. “And second of all, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine. I can have Carl identify you from a picture and let the police sort it out.”
“And I can tell your wife I saw you and Bitty “Booty” Buchanan stroll into a Marriott hotel room and let her sort it out.”
Norma congratulated herself on quick thinking after only a couple of hours’ sleep. She’d have to thank Coigne for mentioning the Buchanan firm last night, which had made her remember the last time she was in Boston for a bar conference. She’d spotted Dohnan and Bitty Buchanan, president of the Bar Asso
ciation. Hadn’t they ever heard of a No-tell Motel?
“I’m warning you, Norma. You’ll be sorry.”
“Kiss my—”
Click.
Good old Bitty “Booty” Buchanan, principal of Buchanan and Associates. Norma first met Bitty early in their careers at the Boston law firm Norma left after only one year. She remembered one incident that had told her all she needed to know about Bitty. Another young lawyer at the firm, a friend, Faith Benton, was asked to brief a major client of the firm on the status of a large class-action suit. Norma knew Faith was excited and apprehensive about the assignment. She prepared for hours and rehearsed her presentation with Norma and asked her to attend for moral support.
Bitty, one of the older lawyers on the case, was asked by a senior partner also to attend the briefing to support Faith. Within the first five minutes of Faith’s presentation, Bitty lassoed the briefing away and never stopped talking until the ordeal ended. And thank God it did, as Faith looked stupefied and teary for its duration.
At the end of the session, Bitty justified herself to Faith. She’d felt compelled to take over as the firm couldn’t afford to have the client misunderstand any aspect of the case. Bitty hadn’t actually said, “You are too dumb to have been given the assignment and, in fact, too dumb for this firm.” But even Norma, all of twenty-five, had gotten that message.
Norma had always hoped the day would come when Bitty would get her comeuppance, but so far she’d remained on an upward trajectory, looking down on the likes of Faith Benton, and Norma was certain, of Norma Bergen as well.
The thrust and parry with Dohnan would have been an invigorating diversion but Norma could think only of Laney. Her first order of business was to talk to Gin and grill her on what she remembered about Sandal Man.
Anne’s house faced east. The morning sun burnished the graceful curves of her baby grand. The cheerful sight struck Norma as mockery.
She found Anne in the kitchen emptying her dishwasher. Anne said she’d been summoned to Skaket to try to identify Sandal Man from mug shots.
