“Let’s call it an ‘unique situation’ until we find a better word.”
Kyle nodded in agreement. “Well, thanks for being here. I’m a little out of my depth. It’s good to know that I can talk to someone who is — ”
“Non-threatening?”
“A good listener.”
That is about as emotional as we MacKenzies get when we speak heart-to-heart. I didn’t want to break the mood by telling Kyle that my role in this ‘unique situation’ was all happenstance, an accident of fate, as it were. I gazed at the giant teddy bear sitting next to me and wondered how on earth could anyone in his right mind elect him as the chief law enforcement official of the county. Yet, the people of Starkshire county voted for him in two elections, and he won. Go figure. With our brotherly bonding being done, I readied myself for Serena, who I spotted coming out from the kitchen.
“There you are,” she declared as she headed towards us. “I’m really not the one who is supposed to placate your electorate, Kyle. You are the sheriff. You are the person whose job it is to calm Arezoo down.” Bo then looked down at me. “I must admit, Sport, you married well. Your wife was ultimately the one who got everyone, not only to calm down, but also to cooperate. It didn’t matter what I or the deputy did or said. It was Morgana that got everything in the kitchen on an even keel.”
Bo’s approval initially made me feel a tad proud about my choice for a spouse, and then, an eerie feeling took hold of me. I started to wonder if Bo meant more than what she simply said. She briefly gently grabbed my shoulder as she went by me to stand next to Kyle.
“Are you going to move over, or do you want the entire sofa to yourself,” Bo barked at Kyle, who had splayed himself on the sofa like a giant Faberge Easter egg on display. After Kyle slid to one side, Bo got herself comfortable, as best as one could sitting next to Kyle and said in a low voice, “It’s officially confirmed; the body outside is Arezoo’s brother, as I thought.”
“You recognized him,” I said, “when you first saw him outside, didn’t you.”
“That I did, Old Sport. I couldn’t say that before, but now . . . he was a smuggler.”
“Drugs?” said Kyle.
“No, Kyle,” said Bo,“Banned food products if you have to know.”
“Banned food products?” Kyle toyed with the concept. “And you know this because you are an agent of — ”
“Of the FDA, that’s right, Kyle.” Bo gave us a telling wink.
“Lord,” I grumbled, “coming to this inn was to be a little getaway for Morgana and myself. You know, some quiet time together when Morgana’s fund raising meeting was done. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since we got here, and I have seen two dead bodies, and I almost became a third.”
“Two bodies. Why the paperwork alone may kill me,” mumbled Kyle, shaking his head as he leaned back into the sofa.
My eyes looked to the heavens and wondered how Kyle and I came from the same gene pool.
Bo, too, had no sympathy for my brother. She flatly told him to ‘gird his loins’, or something to that effect. “Do we have any idea where the three of them were when all hell was breaking loose by the wood pile?” asked Bo.
“Not yet,” Kyle confidently replied, “but we will learn something soon. I will be questioning the three of them when they come back downstairs.”
“Kyle,” I said, “if one of those three guys killed Arezoo’s brother, do you think he is going to talk to you? Besides, by this time, the killer has gone into hiding most likely.” But to his credit, my brother demonstrated that he was not totally making it up as he went along. He had thought about the situation — well, somewhat thought about it anyway.
“The killer has to talk with me, Rich; otherwise he would make himself look guilty. And our killer can’t escape. As Smith said, we’re on an island. If there were anyway off this scrap of high land, the guilty party or parties would have hightailed it out of here long ago.”
“Right,” I said, surprising myself that I agreed with Kyle, “and if the murderer is one of those three guys, my money is on Mr. Dusty Pants Dolan.”
“So, with some astute questioning,” Kyle declared with a triumphant air about him, as if he were to reveal a winning hand in a poker game, “we will be able to find out if one of those three did the murder.”
When Kyle said, “astute questioning,” I started to get the sense that Kyle hadn’t thought the situation all the way through, especially if he were doing the questioning. What if all three of them were in on the murderer and offered overlapping alibis? Could Kyle pry out from them the motive for killing Arezoo's brother? And what was Arezoo’s brother doing outside, living in the boat house in the first place? And are any of these things related to our friend, the late Mr. Foley?
Thinking about such things made my head hurt. I was about to excuse myself to get new ice when I spotted the three amigos coming down the stairs. I took particular notice of Dolan; he had changed into a clean pair of pants. I decided to stay.
“Here we are, Sheriff, as promised,” said Smith leading the pack to where we all were sitting. “What do you want to ask us?”
Immediately I foresaw a problem — not enough chairs.
There was a scrambling about the lobby, in the task of requisitioning chairs. As two were found and were being dragged to the improvised conversation pit, I turned to Kyle, “Shouldn’t they be questioned separately?”
“We are still one seat shy,” remarked Bo.
“Kyle, question these guys separately,” I said again.
“Richard, I think you’ve helped us enough,“ said Bo.
“What? I just said to Kyle — ”
“Maybe it is time for you to get some fresh ice for your injury,“ Bo said. “Your wife is waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Bo and Kyle exchange glances; Kyle yielded. “Agent Boswell is right. You probably need more ice on that bump on the head. I will send for you if we need anything more from you.”
I was flabbergasted. I was being asked to leave. I was the only one who gave his blood to this investigation. And I wanted to get some answers, like who killed the guy by the wood pile, or who’s the bastard that clonked me on the head. I didn’t appreciate being dismissed and told to go into the kitchen at the moment when things were starting to get interesting.
“Please, Rich, Agent Boswell and I can handle this,” said Kyle.
I came to the conclusion that Kyle had to shine on his own, besides Bo would be with him. And so, I complied with Bo’s and Kyle’s wishes with a smile, and I hoped that my real feelings about my dismissal didn’t show.
“Rich, tell Peterson to come here, when he’s finished what he’s doing. Agent Boswell and I could use his assistance.”
I gave up my seat to Mr. Clean-Pants-Dolan, who kept looking into my eyes. As we passed each other, he gave me the willies when he said, “You must take care of yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. There is always the possibility of getting hurt if you are not careful.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine — the cold water from the ice pack didn’t help. Bo’s unsolicited piece of advice still rang in my ears. Any thoughts that I had about staying for the interrogation quickly evolved. It just may have been a good idea for me to leave. Bo and Kyle had guns; I didn’t.
#
CHAPTER 10
As I entered the kitchen, aromas of spices, garlic, and onions bombarded my olfactory receptors, and the prospect of a delicious lunch captured my imagination. Amid the hubbub of meal preparation, I saw Morgana chatting to Mr. Hograve and Arezoo, who was busy draining pasta at the sink. Peterson, on the other hand, had assumed a very official looking posture talking to Babak, Arezoo’s husband, who was busy at the stove.
I started to take comfort in the thought, that I was finally in a situation which I knew something about — food.
“It smells great. What’s cooking? Italian?” I proclaimed while holding the spent ice pack to my head. “Oh, Deputy Peterson, the Sheriff needs you in th
e lobby.” With a quaint two finger salute to the chef, Peterson excused himself.
“Richard, how are you feeling?” Morgana broke away from Arezoo and briskly walked to my side. “Do you need more ice?”
“Yeah, I think I do. The bag is squishy again.”
Morgana took the bag from me and went to fetch more ice from its maker in the nearby pantry. In the mean time, I saw Arezoo carry a large bowl of drained fusilli to the large wooden prep table next to me. On her way, she crossed behind her husband and gave her him a word on the sly. He followed her with his large blackened frying pan of freshly made sauce. He poured this aromatic concoction over the top of the awaiting pasta. The prepared repast looked and smelled fantastic.
I must have listened to my better angel because I heard myself say, “That looks absolutely fantastic; Kudos to the chef.”
“Thank you,” said my foot slamming acquaintance. “This is just a little something for the help.”
“What a pity,” I said with genuine disappointment.
“But it will be a special on the menu today,” he quickly countered.
“Oh . . . great,” I said with some actual expectation in my voice.
Arezoo walked behind her husband again, this time on her way to the sink. I spotted her giving her husband a quick, discreet jab into his back with her elbow.
“ Dr. MacKenzie,” said Babak, begrudgingly, “I want to apologize when you . . . eh, tried to enter the back door. I really should have let you in.”
As I listened, I wanted to remind him that he ruined a good pair of shoes, and he left me in the rain. I wanted to point out that his inconsideration and stupidity could have broken my foot, and ultimately had gotten me clobbered in the head skull. I wanted to say these things — but I didn’t.
“ . . . I did not realize that you were chasing after my brother-in-law’s killer. At the time, I believed that he was alive and that I was protecting him in a way. You see, he wasn’t supposed to be here. I thought you, the sheriff, and Agent Boswell were after him. I didn’t know that he was dead.”
”Well, you never gave me a chance to say anything. I am deeply sorry about Arezoo’s brother . . . But, ah, why was he, eh, hiding outside?”
My apologetic new friend looked over his shoulder and spotted Hograve busy talking to Peterson. In a quiet voice, he said, “My brother-in-law was in the country illegally. My wife knew that US immigration was looking for him. So when Agent Boswell arrived just before he did, Arezoo thought it best that he should hide out in the boathouse. It wasn’t my idea. I never liked the chap . . . But I couldn’t say ‘no’ if you know what I mean. I had to help my wife, but I was worried. Arezoo and I are in this country legally. We have good jobs at this inn. I didn’t want us to lose them or get Hograve in any trouble. I wanted my brother-in-law to go away, you understand.”
I said that I did, but I didn’t, well not entirely, anyway. I believed that Babak was telling me the truth, but I feared something was being lost in translation. My well thought out response was a simple —“I guess so.”
“You and I, we both do what we think best best, no?”
“Yeah, but I nearly got myself killed doing that.”
“Yes . . . I’m truly sorry about that.”
Babak was about to return to his station when I asked him about something that was bothering me from early this morning. “ Babak?”
He stopped and turned around, his eyes showing some annoyance.
“This morning you made me a western omelette, and it was delicious which is why I want to ask you . . . what did you do to make it taste so . . . good? I never had an omelette that tasted so, so uniquely delicious.”
The chef’s eyes lit up. “You noticed!”
“My Western was fabulous. What did you do if you don’t mind telling me?”
“I used home baked Virginia ham, fresh local farm eggs, good sweet onions and green peppers, fresh butter, and a little salt and pepper.”
“I could tell that your ingredients were fresh, but there was something else. I could perceive that you did something—Shall I say . . . exotic?”
“Ah, you are a man of discerning tastes. I tell you my own little secret—It’s saffron.”
“Saffron?”
“Yes, I use a single strand of saffron, but not just any saffron. I use fresh Persian saffron, from a special crocus — which only grows near my native village — and a dash of fresh sweet paprika in the eggs.”— He kissed his fingers. “Yes, that is what you tasted; that is why my omelets are very, very good.”
“Wow. I would never have thought of that. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“No, I thank you for noticing and appreciating my work,” said Babak with pride, “I really must get back to work now.” He smiled, excused himself, turned, and went back to the prep table where all the inn’s help were assembling to get their midday meal. As I looked on, I wasn’t prepared for the sudden sensation of icy wetness returning to my head wound. I jumped.
“Richard, take it easy,” protested Morgana coming up from behind me and giving me a bag of fresh ice, “you might hurt yourself. You have quite a lump back there — though the bleeding has stopped, I think. You are a lucky guy. Over the years, I’ve had a problem in getting things through that thick skull of yours, but this time, it finally came in handy.”
“Thanks for the ice, Love. How about the two of us getting out of the kitchen, find some place to sit down, and let the staff have their lunch break.”
She agreed and we wandered into the dining area again. I steered us away from the table that we had before, which was the closest one to the fireplace. But, Morgana craved the warmth of the fire, so we claimed a spot that was located just to the right side of the glowing, popping hearth. She claimed the spot closest to the fireplace. I sat off to its side and received only minimal effects from the burning logs.
After several attempts by my wife to diagnose my state of health — asking a series of inane questions and performing her interpretation of Serena’s finger dance — she pronounced me okay . . . for the moment.
“You gave me a scare, Richard. That was one blood-curdling scream that you let out. And then to discover you half stretched out on that rock and bleeding from the head and with that body outside by the wood pile . . . I thought . . . I thought — ”
“You thought I was dead?”
“I thought that you would be one great pain in the butt when you came to. You are never a good patient.” Morgana gave me a smile though I could see that it was forced.
Though I was a bit slow in processing what she said to me, something did float to the top of my jumbled brain.
“You heard a scream?”
“It was something terrible. It was similar to the ones that you used to do to scare my nieces and nephews around Halloween . . . But this one was worse.”
“But it wasn’t me. I didn‘t scream. It was the girl.”
“Richard, there wasn’t any girl.”
“There was a girl, Morgana. She was by that big rock. She looked at me or past me or through me, and suddenly she let out a scream as if the rock next her was about to eat her or something. I was bending down to see what the fuss was about and then . . . WHAM! I get hit from behind.”
“Or you banged your head.”
“You don’t really believe that I banged my head.”
Morgana grimaced. “No. . . . And I don’t really believe there was a little girl, either.”
“She wasn’t a little, little girl. She was about ten, well, not older than twelve.”
“There was no girl. There are no school children of either gender at the inn. You were hit on the head, and you were hallucinating.”
“How could I hallucinate before I received the ah . . . hallucinating inducement?”
“What are you talking about, Richard?”
“I saw the girl BEFORE I got hit on the head, not after!” — I was frustrated, and I was making my head hurt worse.
“Richard, take it e
asy. Your head banging has given you a false memory. You’ll sort this out with a little time. But rest assured, there was . . . is no girl.”
“No? It was her distress that had me instinctively go to her and see what was upsetting her. My bending over, to help her, saved me from getting my skull cracked open like an egg.”
Morgan just looked at me blankly. I couldn’t tell by her countenance if she believed me or just pitied me. As a final attempt for some credibility, I retrieved from my pants’ pocket the gold chain and locket.
“I think this was hers.”
Morgana gently took my exhibit A, dusted it off with her fingers, and began to examine it with noticeable curiosity. “The girl was wearing this?”
“I saw it on her before I got hit on the head. . . . I hope that I didn’t pull it off her when I went down. I don’t remember much after that. I must have gone out like a light. I haven’t any idea how long I was out, either.”
“I don’t think it was long. From the time, you screamed —”
“ — I didn’t scream.”
“From the time of the scream, you could not have been out for more than a minute or two at best,” said Morgana, returning the locket to me.
“I hope the girl is okay,” I said with genuine concern. “I don’t want to think about what might my unknown assailant do to her.”
“Richard, there was no young girl! Peterson said that he thought he might have seen . . . a man . . . just a man, run from the direction of the cellar stairway and go into the woods as we were arriving. But neither the deputy nor Boswell nor I saw or heard a girl.” Morgana had a trace of sadness in her eyes as she spoke. “Besides, the chain and locket is old. What pre-teenage girl today goes about with antique jewelry on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You found something that is very old-fashioned, Dear. I inherited a piece like that from my great, great grandmother. It looks very much like the one you found. The ornate filigree on the locket is from another time, and it’s too finely crafted to be a contemporary.”
Over the years, I learned never to question Morgana’s taste in sexy lingerie and her knowledge of jewelry.
FATED TO THE PURPOSE (Richard and Morgana MacKenzie Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
