Dorset in the Dark: A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery

by Susan Russo Anderson

  His mother had told me he was eight when his father died, which would put him in his mid-twenties. Maybe it was the narrowness of his face or the fine lines around his eyes, but he looked older than his years. The sudden death of loved ones did nothing to preserve youthful appearance, I figured. Nor did sour mash.

  “I like your argyles,” I said. “I’ve been looking for a pair for my husband. He wore them on our first date and confessed to me that for a month afterward he didn’t change his socks for good luck.”

  Jane wrinkled her nose, but the intended lightness of my comment was lost on Brunswick.

  “You’re going to ask me where I was last night, aren’t you?”

  Reaching into my bag, I took out a notebook and pen. Denny keeps telling me to use the notes on my smartphone, but I can write much faster than I can thumb it.

  Brunswick gave me a down from under look and licked the rim of his glass. “Don’t say it, we’re all suspects.” Hunching his shoulders, he leaned over the empty crystal, twirling it slowly between his thumbs and fingers.

  “I don’t like your attitude,” Cassandra said. She was shaking now, although she tried to hide it by clutching at her sides.

  Brunswick pushed away his glass. Laying his hands flat on the table, he mumbled an apology. “Let’s see, last night I worked late. I’d covered two lectures yesterday and had papers to grade—”

  Cassandra’s face softened. “Believe it or not, some professors let him do all their work. Explain what you do, Brunswick.”

  He looked at her long and hard. “I’m a glorified go-fer, Mother, that’s what I am.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. In physics, chemistry, mathematics, my son is a genius, and we’re so proud of him. Who has you grading papers?”

  “Get with it. They all do.”

  “Not me. I grade my own.”

  “Oh really, I see you making up to—”

  “Enough!” Cassandra rose and pointed a finger at her son’s head.

  “Running after you and offering to carry your books. It’s ridiculous!”

  There was silence then, broken by Jane’s cough. “So you were busy last night. At Columbia?”

  He nodded. “I share an office with three other assistants. I was there until eleven, then took the subway home.” He paused. “I stopped at the McDonald’s on Fulton Street and got a burger and fries. I was home shortly after midnight.”

  I looked at Cassandra. “I heard him come in at—what time, dear—midnight or maybe a little after.”

  She said it with a straight voice, too, as if we wouldn’t catch the lie.

  “And you left the house at what time this morning?”

  Brunswick shrugged. “I had an eight o’clock class.”

  “Another lecture?” Cassandra being helpful.

  He shook his head and I could see his face crimson. “Like I said, I’m a go-fer. I had to write Professor Stamp’s outline on the whiteboard, make sure the room was ready for his nine o’clock. You know, fill his water glass, make sure the mic was on.”

  “So you left the house this morning at what time?”

  He sighed. “I’m not in the mood for all this questioning.”

  Jane slammed the top of the table. “Well, GET in the mood.”

  No one spoke for a few moments while Cassandra Thatchley widened her eyes.

  To my amazement, Brunswick sat up. “I’m out by six, or I try to be. Listen, Officer—”

  “It’s Detective. Detective Jane Templeton.”

  I’d had it with Brunswick. “Your ten-year-old sister or half sister or whatever you call her is missing. Your mother hired me to find her. She hasn’t been seen in almost eighteen hours and the time for being nice is over. Yes, you are a suspect. Your mother is a suspect. So is your sister and anyone else who has easy access to your home and to Dorset. Now no more games.”

  Brunswick stared at me for a second. “I’m thirsty. You won’t mind if—”

  “Yes, we do mind,” Jane said. “Now answer our questions.”

  He asked me to repeat my question, which I did. In reply, he told us that he hadn’t looked at his watch that morning, but he was walking into Professor Stamp’s lecture hall at seven thirty, in plenty of time to finish before the class was scheduled to begin. And to the best of his knowledge, he hadn’t seen Dorset that morning. Moreover, he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her, probably on her birthday—whenever that was, he couldn’t remember.

  He reached over and touched the remains of the cake. “Two weeks old, at least. The first time we cut it up, that’s when I saw Dorset. This cake is my witness. Ask our grandmother; she was here, although she can’t stand the kid.”

  “That’ll do, Brunswick,” Cassandra said.

  “Do you blame her? You spoil Dorset while Bea sits there forced to witness how you favor her over us.”

  Cassandra looked at the table. “Bea is his grandmother.”

  Jane said nothing. I tried to ignore his behavior. “You’re close to your grandmother?”

  He nodded, shoving away his empty glass. “I owe her everything. The only peace I got after Dad disappeared”—he glared at his mother as if daring her to contradict him—“the only good times we had were at her house. The two of us, Brook and I, used to walk over there, hand in hand. Mother didn’t care at that point if we lost our way or were hit by a speeding car on Atlantic.”

  “You’d lost your way long ago,” Cassandra said, as if from a distance.

  “I was eight or nine. Brook was maybe in kindergarten or, who knows, maybe preschool. She’s much younger than me. She’d take my hand and we’d be happy walking to Bea’s house.” He stopped talking, reaching for his glass. “Don’t look at me like that. Bea. That’s what she wanted us to call her. I can still feel the warmth of her apartment, smell the pine boughs and the turkey. She kept Dad’s toy train, set it up for us on Christmas. Dad’s spirit was in that apartment. I knew he’d been there and would come back some day. Bea’s eyes were so kind, especially when she told me over and over that his spirit would always be with me.”

  The room was silent for a few minutes. Out the window I could see the mist had thickened.

  “What about your other sister?”

  “I have only one sister. The girl who lives with us is the offspring of that man.”

  “You resented your stepfather, we get that,” Jane said.

  “Not resented so much as hated. When he died, a great weight lifted from this house.”

  “Brunswick!” Cassandra shouted. “He tried to love all three of my children, but they wouldn’t let him.”

  “Did you kill your stepfather?” Jane asked.

  He sat up straight, and I thought he was going to sober on the spot.

  Jane’s question had the effect of throwing cold water onto Cassandra. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ronnie died instantly. His heart. Keeled over in the middle of the street. Not even a ‘goodbye, my darlings, see you around.’ I came home from Columbia and answered the telephone. It was the coroner’s office. ‘May I speak with Mrs. Clauson?’ That’s how I knew. Can you imagine?” She looked at her son and her eyes were pleading. “He was always kind to you.”

  Brunswick slouched back and eyed the ceiling.

  “He was patient. Helped you with your homework.”

  Brunswick hunched over the table, staring at nothing.

  “He tried. I’ll give him that much.” Cassandra’s son licked the inside of his glass.

  Cassandra rose. “It’s time for you to leave,” she said. “I’ll get your coats.”

  While she was gone, I thought of one more question for Brunswick. “Who do you know in Powers Lake, North Dakota?” I asked, rising from my seat.

  His eyes were like saucers for an instant. Scraping the legs of his chair on the wooden floor, he went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a big one.

  “When did you last see Brook?” I asked.

  “Last night, I believe,” Brunswick said. “Yes, last night. S
he asked me to stop by her studio on my way home from work.”

  “What time was that?”

  He shrugged. “So now you’re going to compare notes, I see. Pit child against child. Don’t worry, I know how it’s done. I’ve watched TV mysteries.”

  Cassandra returned. She stood near the table, holding our coats. “My son is brilliant, so much so that he loses track of time. But tell them how close you two are.”

  He nodded but didn’t speak.

  Slippery family. Dysfunctional and snide. I was beginning not to believe anything they said. At that moment, finding Dorset seemed a hopeless task. We had no clues, no leads, no help from mother and son, no nothing.

  As if we were puppets dancing on the same string, Jane and I rose simultaneously. Scary, we’d been working together for so long, at that instant we seemed of like minds.

  A Dead Man

  Cassandra, in a moment of helpfulness, held out my coat when my phone began buzzing.

  I put the call on hold as Brunswick gulped the rest of his whiskey. Swaying his way to the drinks cabinet, he reached for the bottle.

  Thinking he might fall, I grabbed his elbow, trying to steer him back to the table, but he was heavier than I’d figured. His shoes slipped on the tile and he would have taken me down with him, but for Cassandra. When she saw both of us swaying, she wrapped her arms around us. In that second I heard a noise. It sounded like a heavy piece of plastic bouncing on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my pepper spray skitter across the tiles. It ricocheted off the bottom of the refrigerator and spun out of sight. For a second we must have looked like the three stooges teetering on the brink of Niagara Falls. Somehow I righted myself and, groping underneath the refrigerator, retrieved the sprayer and answered my phone.

  It was Cookie telling us she’d called the police. “There’s a dead man on the third floor above Ellston Drugs. Hurry.”

  Stanley and Shirley

  I parked in the only space I could find, two blocks away from Ellston Drugs, which occupied the ground floor of a three-story brick building in the middle of Montague Street. My footsteps echoed in the emptiness. Through the mist I could see light from a neon sign in the window of a local diner. I peeked inside and saw an empty room, where splintered beams played on a tiled floor and chairs were piled upside down on top of tables. For an instant, the world seemed devoid of any other human being, and I quickened my pace.

  Walking toward the squad strobes barely visible through the vapors, I texted Denny, telling him I’d be later than I’d originally thought. As I drew closer, I could see the bright green awning of the drugstore and, next to it, yellow crime scene tape and two uniforms standing in front of the side entrance. I slowed, waiting for Denny’s reply. In a minute he got back to me, “Good thing your mom’s here. Twins a mess.” His message, along with the fog and the fact that we hadn’t found any trace of Dorset, did nothing for my emotions.

  Jane met me at the corner and we raced the rest of the way, the detective stopping long enough to say something to one of the patrolmen outside the building’s side door, the entrance to the upstairs apartments. He stepped aside to let us pass, and we trundled up a dimly lit staircase.

  The first-floor landing was blocked by an older couple standing side by side in pajamas and robes outside their apartment. They were stooped and anxious and my heart went out to them.

  The man made a quick introduction and I gave him my card, telling them Cookie and I worked with each other. They were the Ellstons, owners of a drugstore in the heart of Brooklyn Heights.

  “We’ve been here since forever and never had any trouble until this year,” Stanley Ellston said. He squinted up at me, a round Santa Claus of a man without the costume or beard. There was something jolly and innocent about him. He stood there, a protective arm around his wife, as if he were a cutout from a richly illustrated book. “Then this year, bam, three robberies in a row and the police have done nothing.” He smiled at me. “But your agency has been so helpful. You must be proud of your husband and wife team, Clancy and what’s her name?”

  I felt Jane stir.

  Shirley Ellston bobbed her head from side to side. She wore a worn chintz robe and had those old-fashioned foam curlers all over her head. Her eyes reminded me of a robin’s about to snag a worm. “And now this,” she said. “There was shouting, a scream and running, like a herd of wild animals. A crash. Another scream, then silence. I was so frightened, but I feel so much better knowing Cookie is here. Matter of fact, I think I can sleep now. She and her husband, they’re wonderful. And Cookie is such a marvel with words. I told her so, too. Hits it in one. The both of them, they know what’s what, I can tell. They haven’t caught our thieves yet, but—”

  “Give them time, darling, give them time.”

  Jane showed them her ID and I could see color rise in the man’s face.

  He held up a hand as if to push her badge away and passed my card to his wife.

  She adjusted her glasses and peered at the card. “You work for Cookie?”

  It took me a while to understand what she was saying, maybe because of the way she pronounced her Rs—hard, like iron. I couldn’t place her accent, other than to say she wasn’t born in Brooklyn. I didn’t reply.

  “I called her—Cookie, that is—right after that loud noise woke me up. Scared me half to death.”

  “Then what did you hear?” I asked. “Any more noises? Feet running? Doors slamming?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re so clever.” Again she stomped on the R. “Of course, you must work for her.”

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” Jane said, her voice higher than usual.

  “About ten o’clock Stanley and I were getting ready for bed. That’s when we retire. Every evening like clockwork.”

  This was going to take a while.

  “As I say, we were getting ready for bed when I heard a sudden horrendous stomping. The noise passed through me like a tsunami.”

  Stanley Ellston nodded. “Loudest sound I ever heard. Louder than lightning hitting the building. We had that happen a few years back, didn’t we, angel?”

  Shirley Ellston nodded. “I’ve heard lightning hit twice now. You don’t forget that, no. Happened on our farm when I was a girl. Summertime and I was hooking up the milking machines. A wrenching I’ll never forget. I thought the world was ending. Tore a hole in the barn. Clear through, I tell you. Water pouring in. Wind flattened me against Bessie’s stall. Thought I was done for. But what do you do? Killed all the power and I had to milk seven cows by hand for a month. Every day, twice a day, can’t skip once or the poor beast suffers something fierce.”

  “Barn’s still standing,” Stanley Ellston said and beamed.

  “Not that one, Stanley. I’m not talking about our farm. I’m talking about the one when I was a girl.”

  “And Bessie?” I asked, flinching when Jane’s elbow hit my side.

  “Stanley, he’s a marvel. Fixes anything. Course we had to have help. You’d love the farm,” she said to me. “Make sure you and Cookie and her young man come and see us this summer.”

  “We’d love to visit,” I said and meant it. Jane cleared her throat.

  But the woman wasn’t finished. “Then a few years back we were hit again. Right here in the city. Cost a fortune getting all the rewiring done.”

  “Insurance paid, my sweet.”

  “But the store was closed a whole week, Stanley.” She tucked herself even closer into her husband’s side and made birdlike admonitions with her face. A mother hen disgusted with her chicks. I marveled at a couple this close after how many years of marriage.

  She went on. “This wasn’t as bad, but almost. It was the suddenness of it all, don’t you see?” Mrs. Ellston stopped talking and looked up at her husband. “And it’s just the two of us. Dear, you’ve forgotten your glasses.”

  “I’m not reading the paper now, am I, my sweet?”

  I thought I saw him give her a jab, but it might have b
een my imagination.

  “Like I said, I heard someone scream and a scuffling noise, like someone running. Then there was a terrible shaking and then a cracking. I thought the ceiling was going to come down and bury us. Lord, it was so loud. I threw on my robe and came out here in time to see dust seeping from above. A wrenching of the soul, that’s what it was. And then I could see cracks appearing, growing like spiders. You can see for yourself if you look up.” She pointed to the ceiling above her.

  It must have been below the third-floor landing and looked like the plaster would give way any moment.

  “Did you go inside the apartment upstairs?” Jane asked.

  “Lordy, no!” Shirley slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “So you called Cookie?”

  I could hear footsteps above and below us as more patrolmen arrived, along with crime scene techs and two MLIs—short for medicolegal investigators, a fancy term for morgue techs. Cookie must still be up there, and I needed to talk to her.

  “I’ll have to hire a professional cleaning outfit like as not,” Stanley said. “I haven’t checked the store yet. God, I hope everything’s all right down there. This year’s been awful—three robberies and now this! We’ll have to get new tenants for a start.”

  “You can’t just throw them out,” Mrs. Ellston said.

  I was about to offer the services of Lucy’s, but one look from Jane and I shut my mouth.

  The woman went on. “We’ll have to get the building checked by the city. They come out if you call them.”

  “They’ll find violations galore, like as not. They always do,” the man said. He leaned in my direction. “Looking for …” His eyes flashed to Jane and he thought better of finishing the sentence. “We’ll hire our own engineers, thank you very much.”

  “Right you are, my Stanley. And I expect you think I’ll sleep after this? We don’t want the whole building caving in on us, now do we?”