by Leslie Meier
One step at a time, Lucy reminded herself. First she was going to talk to Dorfman, and then she’d tackle Sue.
Lucy had only driven a short way down Main Street before she realized something was going on. Several police cars were pulled up in front of the Queen Vic, and another was blocking the driveway. She parked in a shady spot on a side street, then grabbed her camera and notebook and hurried back to the inn. When she tried to mount the steps to the porch, however, a uniformed officer turned her away.
“Why can’t I go in?” demanded Lucy. “My daughter works here and”—she patted her oversized bag—“she forgot her lunch. I just want to give Elizabeth her lunch. It’s already past one and she has low blood sugar, you see, and if she isn’t careful about her diet . . .”
Lucy saw the officer’s eyes glazing over. “Go on. Just make it snappy,” he said.
Charging into the inn’s reception area, Lucy spotted a chambermaid’s cart at the end of the first-floor hall and made straight for it. Coming out of a room to fetch towels, Elizabeth blinked.
“Mom! What are you doing here?”
“What’s going on? There are cops all over the place!”
“You’re telling me. They were looking for Dorfman but he wasn’t here, so they’re searching his room. They had a warrant and everything. There must be a dozen cops up there. Nobody’s supposed to go on the third floor—even the guests can’t go back to their rooms.” She looked at her mother. “How did you get in?”
“I told the officer I was bringing you your lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom. I forgot it this morning.”
“I don’t have it—I just said that to get inside.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“I’m starving. This is really hard work, you know.”
“Can’t you buy something?”
“I don’t have any money. You make me put it all in the bank.”
“You had thirty dollars for the week, plus tips.”
“It’s gone now.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Here’s five dollars. Get yourself a sandwich.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
It was only when she was leaving that she came to her senses. Elizabeth, starving? Not likely. The girl hadn’t eaten a square meal in years. Nope, she’d been duped out of five dollars. Probably for cigarettes.
Kids, she muttered, stamping her foot on the sidewalk and hurrying to her car. You tell them smoking is bad and will make them sick, you carefully keep a smoke-free house, and what do they do? Sneak off and smoke in secret, as if she didn’t know what was going on. As if Elizabeth’s laundry didn’t smell of cigarettes! Still fuming, she yanked the door open and plunked herself in the driver’s seat. Next stop, Sue’s house, she reminded herself as she put the key in the ignition. She had just turned it when a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Just drive. Don’t look back. Got it?”
Frozen with fear, Lucy willed her head to nod up and down.
“I’ve got a gun, so don’t try anything funny.”
Lucy wasn’t about to. It was all she could do to get the car in gear. Preparing to pull out in traffic, she instinctively glanced at the rearview mirror, but the carjacker caught the motion and flipped up the mirror. All Lucy got was a glimpse of a leather wrist band with metal studs.
“I’ll tell you if it’s clear,” he growled. “Go! Now!”
Lucy cautiously pulled out of her parking spot and proceeded slowly down the street. Her heart was pounding and she was holding on to the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. She tried frantically to think of some way to save herself. Maybe if she drove very slowly she would attract attention from the police officers who were standing on the curb, chatting with each other.
“Can’t you go a little faster?”
So much for Plan A, she thought, pressing her foot on the gas pedal. Maybe she should try speeding.
“Just go the speed limit and nobody’ ll get hurt. Just get me to the interstate.”
“What then?” asked Lucy, her voice quavering.
The question seemed to anger her kidnapper. “Just drive,” he snarled, and she felt something cold and hard pressed against her neck.
Lucy took in a sharp breath. She didn’t want to get killed; she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life paralyzed. “I’ll do whatever you say,” she whispered.
“That’s better.”
She breathed a sigh of relief as the gun was removed from her neck.
“Remember, any funny stuff and I won’t hesitate to use this.”
“No funny stuff,” she said, realizing with dismay that they were already out of town and it wasn’t far to the entrance ramp to the turnpike. Once they were on the highway, she realized, her chances of rescue would be much slimmer. The farther they got from home, the greater her danger would be. She had to do something to save herself.
But what? she wondered, as the familiar landmarks slipped by one by one. They’d already passed the outlet mall and the farmhouse with the lawn full of homemade whirligigs and miniature windmills and lighthouses. The ramp was just ahead.
The toll, thought Lucy, feeling a little surge of hope. Maybe she could signal the toll attendant who handed out the cards.
“Go to the far right,” the carjacker ordered.
Lucy did and pulled up at the automatic dispenser. Grabbing the ticket, she slammed her foot down on the accelerator as hard as she could, making the car lurch forward.
“Easy,” he bellowed, and she felt the gun at the nape of her neck.
If she ever got out of this, she vowed as she lifted her foot off the gas pedal, she would kill Sidra. What had that silly girl ever seen in Davitz? Why had she ever gotten involved with a shady guy like that? She was certain of it now. He must have been involved in something crooked or he wouldn’t have gotten himself killed and she wouldn’t be exposed to this unpleasant person who was sitting in the backseat of her car, holding a gun to her head.
This was not the new economy; it was the oldest economy going, and Dorfman must have cottoned to it. That’s why the cops were searching his room. Davitz couldn’t have been working alone, she thought, her mind in a whirl. He had to have accomplices. Not Thelma, she didn’t have a clue. And certainly not Sidra—Lucy wouldn’t even entertain the thought. What about those two men in polo shirts she’d seen at the coffee shop? They had certainly looked suspicious. Lucy sent up a little prayer that it wasn’t one of those hard-eyed, over muscled men in her backseat, but she was pretty sure it must be.
“Pull into this rest area; go into the parking area for trucks.”
Lucy’s heart sank. This was it. He’d take the car, of course. But what was he going to do with her?
“Pull up behind that gravel truck.”
Oh, no. Not knocked on the head, maybe killed, thrown into a gravel truck, and covered by a tarp. How long would it be before she was discovered? Not until the driver reached his destination, that was for sure.
“Now, listen very carefully and do exactly as I tell you. Look straight ahead, but put your hand back, palm up.”
Lucy obeyed, ashamed of the way her hand shook. Something small and cold was placed in the palm of her hand. Poison? He was going to make her swallow poison?
“It’s a quarter. Now I want you to get out of the car, just walk away. Leave your keys and purse. Go straight to the rest area, wait ten minutes, and call somebody to come and get you.”
Clutching the quarter and shaking, Lucy reached for the door handle, then paused as a tidal wave of anger rose within her. This was no carjacking; it must be some stupid prank of Toby’s. What a lot of nerve this jerk had, terrifying her, making her drive over hell and beyond. She wasn’t going to take it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she screamed, whirling around to face her kidnapper. “Like I have nothing better to do than . . . than . . .”
She stammered to a halt, recognizing Dorfman in the backseat.
“I should have know
n,” she said. “You used me to get away from the cops.”
“I had to,” he said. “My car’s still in the shop.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Did you really have a gun?”
Dorfman showed her a Swiss Army knife. “It wasn’t even open.”
Lucy looked him over. He didn’t seem very threatening now, slumped down in the backseat. But he had been desperate enough to kidnap her. He must have a reason. He must be guilty, she thought.
“You killed Ron?”
“No!” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. That whole Secure.net thing is a fraud. It’s nothing but an old-fashioned pyramid scheme. There’s no technological breakthrough. No business. Nothing but a glossy prospectus. He conned people—some pretty famous people—into investing.”
Lucy shook her head. “How could he pull it off? It seems fantastic.”
“Just say the word Internet or dot com and people are falling all over themselves to invest. He talked the stock up big in Internet chat rooms, dropping tips. Investors ate it up, falling all over each other to buy the stock and driving the price up. It’s called ‘pump and dump.’ When the time was right he’d sell and disappear, leaving the investors holding a lot of worthless stock.”
Lucy remembered how reluctant Ron had been to submit to an interview with Dorfman, how his mother had pushed him. He’d been afraid that Dorfman would expose him. That was why he’d gotten so angry with him at the coffee shop. That was why he went looking for Dorfman the day he was killed. To buy him off? And if that failed, to get rid of him?
“Davitz had to stop the story, right? He confronted you, you had a fight, and he ended up dead. It was selfdefense.”
“I never saw him that night. He stole my laptop and some of my notes.”
“Then why are you running away?”
“I did something illegal and I don’t want to go to jail.”
“What did you do? Steal a drink from the honor bar at the Queen Vic?”
“Worse than that. Illegal wiretapping. Breaking and entry. Theft.”
“To get the story?”
He nodded.
Lucy considered. She’d do the same thing; she knew she would. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me. I think you’re overreacting. I mean, who’s going to press charges? Davitz is dead, and now that the cops have your stuff, they’ll figure out what he was up to. I bet if you offer to cooperate they’ll work out a deal for you—probably forget the whole thing.”
Dorfman looked doubtful. “You think I should go back?”
“What are your alternatives? Think about it. Are you going to leave the country? You’ve got some little hideout all set up in some banana republic that doesn’t have an extradition treaty?”
“I wish.”
“Well, then, you might as well go back and face the music.”
Dorfman nodded.
“Want to sit in the front seat?” she asked, starting the car. As she waited for him to settle himself beside her, she noticed the colorful sign on the rest area building. “Listen, before we go, do you want to get a burger or something? I’m awfully hungry.”
“I could use something, too,” he admitted.
“Being carjacked really gives you an appetite,” said Lucy, as they walked toward the fast food restaurant.
Dorfman laughed. “You did seem pretty scared.”
“Let’s not go there,” suggested Lucy. “I could still press charges you know.”
“I’ll buy,” offered Dorfman.
“Under the circumstances, it’s the least you could do.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lucy didn’t take any chances when they got back to Tinker’s Cove. She drove straight to the police station and watched to make sure Dorfman went inside.
Then, alone in the car, she paused to consider her next step. She knew she ought to go straight to Sue’s, but she hesitated. Things had changed. Now, Sidra had to face the fact that the man she loved was not only dead, but he wasn’t the man she thought he was. Of all his deceits, Lucy thought Ron’s dishonesty to Sidra the worst of all. Inevitably, she would have to wonder if he had ever loved her at all, or if she was just part of a larger plan. A conduit to Norah Hemmings, perhaps, and her fortune.
The thought made Lucy shudder. Could Sidra have been part of the scheme? Before the shower, Lucy wouldn’t have entertained the thought for even a second. But after seeing the company she was keeping these days, and the way she behaved over Molly’s potholders, she had to wonder. No, she decided, Sidra’s bad behavior at the shower was just that and nothing more. Her head may have been temporarily turned, but at heart Sidra didn’t have a dishonest bone in her body. Lucy had seen her grow up; she had watched her mature into an independent young woman she thought of as a role model for her own daughters. She knew her as well as she knew anyone.
But how could you be sure you knew someone, Lucy wondered. Take Bill, for example. He was honest as the day was long; he wore his heart on his sleeve. He could never play poker. Heck, thought Lucy with a smile, he couldn’t even beat the kids at Old Maid. They soon learned to read his expressions when picking cards from his hand, and he always got stuck with the queen.
But even Bill had secrets. Lucy had been shocked to find a speeding ticket he’d never mentioned to her when she cleaned out his truck a few months ago, and she’d often wondered if he’d simply forgotten or if he had intentionally hidden it from her. Of course, a speeding ticket was hardly comparable to defrauding investors of millions of dollars. Nevertheless, she remembered how hurt and angry she’d felt when she found it, and she could well imagine how betrayed Sidra would feel when the news came out. She would be devastated. How could she ever trust her feelings again after being duped so cruelly. But even worse, Lucy realized with a shock, would have been her fate if she had married Ron. What sort of life would she have had then, smeared and tarnished by association with a swindler? No, thought Lucy, sadly shaking her head. Awful as her situation was, Sidra had had a very lucky escape. And that was what she would tell her.
Lucy was just a few blocks from Sue’s house when she realized that she might have stumbled on a motive for Sue, or Sid, to kill Ron. Maybe they had discovered Ron was a swindler and had killed him to save Sidra from marrying him. Or maybe they’d just confronted him with the truth, and things had gotten out of hand. Lucy could just see it: an angry Sid, a defiant Ron. If Ron had pushed Sid, he might well have shoved him back, causing him to fall off the dock. He could easily have hit his head on a boat, or on the dock itself.
Lucy braked in front of Sue’s house, but she was strongly tempted to drive away. Suddenly, she wanted to forget the whole thing. Sweep it under the rug. Make it go away. She didn’t want to face the possibility that Sue was involved in Ron’s murder.
Of course, she realized, if Ron’s dishonesty was news to the Finches, if it turned out that they thought he was a genuine millionaire, then they wouldn’t have had a motive to kill him. Not exactly, she admitted to herself. They would have had a motive: the fact that they didn’t like him and didn’t want Sidra to marry him. But in light of her new knowledge about Ron, there were probably a lot of other people who had more compelling reasons to kill him. Investors, for example, who had trusted him with their money. Journalists who had written glowing articles about him. Celebrities and society glitterati who had welcomed him with open arms. No, she thought, climbing out of the car. The circle of suspects had widened quite a lot.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked up to the front door and rang the bell, hoping her courage wouldn’t desert her. As it was, when one of the bridesmaids opened the door, she almost turned tail and ran.
“I’m a friend of Sue’s,” she began, trying to explain herself to the sleek creature with almond eyes who was acting as doorkeeper. “I remember you from the shower. You’re . . . Kat!”
“No. I’m Susanna. Come on in.”
Lucy followed her into the living room, where Sidra was seated on the couch between the other two bri
desmaids, Kat and Lily. The darkened room was filled with dozens of flower arrangements and the air was heavy with their scent. Lucy went to her, bending down and taking her hands.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?”
“I’m still kind of stunned, I think,” she said.
Have I got a surprise for you, thought Lucy, as the bridesmaids clucked sympathetically. Today they were again dressed almost identically, in sleeveless black knit shirts and khaki Capri pants. How did they do it? Lucy wondered. Did they discuss what to wear at breakfast, or was there some unwritten code for suitable dress appropriate to any occasion?
“I know everything’s changed,” continued Sidra, “but it hasn’t really sunk in yet. I mean, I keep thinking of things I have to do for the wedding, and then I remember there isn’t going to be a wedding.”
The bridesmaids sighed in unison.
“No wedding,” repeated Susanna in a sad voice.
For a minute, Lucy wondered if the grief that was so palpable in the room was actually for Ron, or for the wedding. Then, remembering her original mission, she asked if Sue was home.
“She’s on the back porch,” said Susanna, apparently the official hostess. “Can I show you the way?”
“I know it, thanks,” said Lucy. Again, she grasped Sidra’s hand. “I know you don’t believe this now, but things have a way of working out.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lucy.”
Lucy smiled politely at the bridesmaids and continued through the dining room and kitchen out to the back porch that overlooked the garden. Sue was indeed there, lying on a chaise with her eyes closed. When Lucy opened the door, Sue’s eyes flew open and she sat up.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Lucy said.
“Oh, it’s only you.”
Lucy thought she seemed awfully relieved. “Who were you expecting?”
“The worst,” Sue said darkly.
“Any word from Sid?” Lucy asked, keeping her voice casual.
“I told you, he went fishing. I may not hear from him for a week or more.”
“There’s no way to contact him?” Lucy persisted.
