by Nic Saint
Felicity had the distinct impression they’d interrupted a very pleasant little tryst. She wondered if she should turn this into an article for the Gazette. Stephen would be most delighted and so would most of Happy Bays. But then again, she didn’t want to come between Jackie and Bud, especially since the butcher was famous for his very short fuse and might come after her with his favorite meat cleaver.
She stared down at Uncle Charlie, who was rubbing his wrists and nursing his bruised ego. “What theory?” he asked irately. “And what the devil are you doing barging in here in the middle of the night?”
“The door was open,” Alice pointed out. “And what with this killer on the loose…”
“What killer? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s been three more murders tonight.”
“Oh, Christ,” said Uncle Charlie. Then his eyes narrowed. “Locals?”
“Rob Long, his wife Maggie and his sister Ruth.”
He pondered this. “They’ll probably want to be buried back home.”
“Uncle!”
“What?”
“Three people have been brutally murdered and all you can think about is business? Really?”
He merely shrugged, and Felicity decided the man had forfeited her compassion, so she took out the picture of the fishing trip and showed it to him. “All of the people in this picture are now dead and we were wondering if there was some sort of connection.”
He stared at the picture blankly. “So?”
“So do you know who these people are?” She indicated the two unknowns. “Alice says you buried them.”
He squinted at the picture. “Yeah, that’s Alan Shaw. Loves to fish.”
“No, these two. Mr. Shaw is the only one who’s still alive.”
“Is he?” He seemed to feel this reflected poorly on Mr. Shaw. He gazed at the picture for a bit, trying to remember, then nodded. “This guy’s face was so damaged it took me hours to reconstruct. Why people like that want an open casket I don’t know.”
“Who was he?”
“Jack Rafter. Long-time friend of the Longs. And the other guy was his brother Jules. They used to work at the inn.”
Felicity got an idea. “Could they have been murdered?”
Uncle Charlie scratched his scalp. “Lemme see. Jack Rafter was a hunting accident. Shot himself in the face, apparently. So yeah, I guess he could have been murdered. You’ll have to ask Virgil about that. He did the reporting on that one. And Jules, he drowned. In his own tub.”
“So that could have been murder too,” Alice said breathlessly.
They shared a look of horror. “That makes nine murders in all…”
“And now could you please leave?” Jacqueline Bouchard had appeared in the door, dressed in a pink tutu. Felicity stared from her to Uncle Charlie. “Sure. Let’s give your uncle some privacy, Alice.”
Alice smirked at the butcher’s wife. “Have fun, you two. And don’t overdo it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” grunted Uncle Charlie. “Just get the hell out of here, will you?”
As they descended the stairs, Alice said in a reverent tone, “Nine murders! Fee, this is starting to look like one of those Agatha Christie novels.”
Felicity had to admit her friend was right. “We better ask Virgil about the Rafter brothers. If he ruled them both accidents I want to know why.”
Chapter 65
They drove home in silence, the sight of Uncle Charlie making whoopee with Jackie Bouchard too much for their tender souls.
Then Alice had an idea. “Why don’t we drive over to Virgil’s now? That way we can thresh this thing out once and for all.”
“I don’t think Virgil will be in the mood to thresh out anything.”
“I don’t care,” said Alice. “Happy Bays is under attack and now’s the time to fight back. Virgil has taken an oath. To uphold the law and catch killers. So I want to remind him of that oath.”
Felicity shrugged. It wasn’t as if they were going to get a lot of sleep tonight anyway, so she turned left on Lake Street and headed in the direction of Hopkins Street, where Marjorie lived with her son.
“Besides, if I know Marjorie, she won’t be happy that Virgil got kicked off the investigation.”
Alice was right. Marjorie wasn’t too well pleased, as became evident when they arrived at the Scattering residence, a small house adjacent to a Chinese restaurant, and Marjorie opened the door, looking defiant.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?” she demanded.
“Hello to you too, Marjorie,” said Alice. “Is Virgil home?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she snapped. “Is it true that you got my son kicked off his own investigation?”
Felicity stared at the woman. “What do you mean?”
Marjorie took a deep breath, then launched into her ‘J’accuse’ speech. “Virgil tells me you practically forced him to show you the crime scene tonight. When the man from the NYPD found out, he reprimanded Virgil severely and told him he was off the investigation.”
“That’s such nonsense!” scoffed Alice. “Virgil—”
Just at that moment the stricken policeman appeared in the hallway, attracted by the sound of arguing voices, and shook his head vehemently when he realized what Alice was about to say. It was obvious that rather than face his mother’s wrath when presenting her with the truth he had opted to spread lies instead.
But Alice wasn’t having any of it. Ignoring Virgil, she continued, “—had already been booted off the investigation. Apparently some big shot detective from New York has stepped in and taken over the investigation. Virgil valiantly decided to defy orders,” she added with a nod to the pained-looking man, “by allowing me and Felicity a glimpse at the scene, hoping we could shed some light on the terrible events.”
Marjorie’s head snapped round so fast Felicity thought she could hear several vertebrae loudly creak in protest. “Is this true, Virgil?”
The policeman’s mouth opened to protest, but confronted with his mother’s and Alice’s incensed faces, he broke down. “Yes, it is,” he admitted in a hollow voice.
“So you chose to lie to me,” Marjorie concluded bitterly.
“Just a little fib, Mom,” he said, eyes downcast.
Felicity imagined he must have looked exactly like this when he came home, age eight, trying to explain the sticky mess in his pants, and telling his mother that Felicity had stuffed Twizzlers into his pocket while the truth was that he’d stolen the candy from her, and when the teacher confronted him about it, had tried to conceal them.
Marjorie’s lips were pursed as she folded her arms across her chest. “And what are you two doing here?” she asked, seeming to feel that at least part of the blame befell her fellow watch committee members.
“We have a theory about the murderer,” Alice announced, “and we wanted to ask Virgil’s opinion.” Then, seeing Marjorie’s disappointment, she quickly added, “And yours, of course.”
Hurt pride quickly gave way to curiosity. “Let’s have a look then, shall we? With seven murders I think it’s time to put a stop to this madness.”
“Nine murders,” Felicity corrected, and nodded gravely when both Marjorie and Virgil goggled at her.
They gathered around the dining room table where Felicity laid the picture of the fishing boat party in front of her host. “Remember Jack and Jules Rafter, Virgil?”
The policeman stared at the picture. “Hunting accident and accidental drowning,” he said automatically.
“Or was it a double homicide?” Alice asked meaningfully. “Uncle Charlie, who buried both men, says he doesn’t rule out foul play.”
Marjorie frowned darkly. “Did you make a mistake, Virgil? Did you cover up two murders?”
“No!” cried her son. “I mean, yes. I mean, maybe.” He blinked. “Well, the man’s fingerprints were on the weapon, weren’t they? And he did trip and fall, didn’t he?”
“Di
d he?” asked Marjorie.
Virgil raked his fingers through his receding hairline. “There were no witnesses. But, I mean, anyone would have ruled it an accident.”
“Is it true that the Rafter brothers were close friends of the Longs and worked at the inn?” asked Felicity.
“Yes, that’s quite true,” Marjorie said. “The Rafter boys worked at the inn when it first opened for business. Jack did the bookings, and his brother worked as a handyman.” She pointed to Jules. “What about the drowning? Are you sure there was no foul play involved?”
Virgil looked miserable and threw up his hands. “Well, now you’ve got me all confused, of course, but it was an open-and-shut case. He drowned in his bathtub. No one around. It happens, you know.”
They stared at the picture. “Nine murders,” mused Marjorie. “I’m starting to think Happy Bays is cursed.”
“Or at least the inn is,” said Felicity. “All the victims were involved with the inn. Every single one of them.” She tapped the picture. “And only one person in this picture is still alive today.”
“So you think Alan Shaw is the killer?” asked Virgil incredulously. “But why? What could possibly be his motive?”
Felicity hesitated. “He told me he was worried the inn would be sold. He’s been coming to Happy Bays for forty years.”
“Which is no reason to kill a person,” Marjorie pointed out.
“Could he have killed the Longs to prevent them from selling the place?” asked Virgil. “I spoke to Neil Domino this afternoon. He said that the rumor about the Longs wanting to sell the inn were true. Mary Long was seriously ill and Alistair wanted to build her a house on Barrow’s Grove so they could spend their remaining years there.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Alice thought. “Even if Mr. Shaw killed all these people, that still won’t stop the inn from being sold. On the contrary. With all the members of the Long family gone, it will most definitely be sold.”
“No, it won’t,” said Virgil. “Neil told me there is a brother.”
“A brother? Whose brother?” Marjorie wanted to know.
“Mary Long had a brother, so I suppose the inn will go to him.”
Felicity had never heard of Mary having a brother. “Who is he?”
“I guess we should ask Neil. He sure as heck didn’t tell me.”
Marjorie’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t ask?”
“I didn’t think it was important. Not until now,” said Virgil a little defensively.
Alice rose. “Only one way to find out. We have to talk to Neil.”
“Not tonight, we won’t,” said Felicity. “We can’t bother the man in the middle of the night!”
“Why not? We’ve bothered everybody else already.”
That was true, of course. Marjorie also rose. “I’m going with you. I won’t be able to sleep until we solve this case.”
“Me too,” added Virgil, who seemed to feel he had some making up to do.
Felicity heaved a deep sigh. “So I guess we’re off to see the banker.”
Chapter 66
They arrived at Neil Domino’s house, a nice brownstone just off Loy Street, and Felicity checked her watch. One o’clock. Not the best time to be bothering anyone, especially an elderly banker who probably needed his beauty sleep more than they did. But the majority had ruled in favor of this nocturnal visit, so there was no way out of it.
As she pulled the van to a stop she was surprised to find Reece Hudson’s Maserati idling at the curb. She glanced over to Alice, who had reddened slightly.
“What is he doing here?” she asked.
Alice cleared her throat a little awkwardly. “I may have asked him to tag along…”
“What?”
She shrugged. “I texted him earlier. About our date? So I told him I was busy trying to catch a killer, and then one thing led to another and…” She waved her hand. “Reece! Over here!”
“Hey, Alice,” he said, walking up, and Felicity was surprised to find him as handsome and dapper as ever. Didn’t movie stars ever have a bad day? Or night?
“Reece,” said Virgil, greeting his new friend with a firm handshake.
“How’s my ex?” Reece asked. “Still bundled up in jail?”
“No, we had to let her walk.”
Reece darted a surreptitious look up and down the deserted street. “So she’s loose?” He might have been talking about a wild animal.
“She should be well on her way back to LA by now,” said Virgil. “Said she would never set foot in Happy Bays ever again in her life.”
Reece sighed with relief. “I can live with that.”
“So can I,” said Alice, suddenly very chipper.
“Just so you know, we’re here to catch a killer,” interrupted a prim-faced Marjorie this lovers’ talk.
“Oh, that’s right,” said Reece. “The banker did it, huh? Who would have thought?”
“He’s not our guy, silly,” said Alice, giving Reece a slap on the chest, then allowing her hand to linger. “We’re just here to ask him some questions.”
Seeing as no one else did, Felicity stepped up to the ornately carved door, put her finger on the brass bell and pressed. Inside the house a soft ringing sound greeted their ears and Felicity’s heart leaped. Were they actually doing this?
Moments later the door opened and a cautious Neil Domino peered out. His pale blue eyes widened at the sight of the small delegation gathered on his doorstep. The first face he recognized was Virgil’s and he frowned. “Virgil? What is the meaning of this?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Virgil began, “but we’re here to inquire into the identity of Mary Long’s brother.”
The banker’s frown deepened. “I gather this is official police business?”
“I, erm, yes,” Virgil said after a poke from Alice. “Indeed, it is.”
“Very well, then,” said the banker, and closed the door to unhook the chain, then opened it to allow them inside. “Though why this can’t wait until the morrow, I don’t understand.”
“It’s a matter of some urgency,” Virgil explained, taking the lead once again. “Three more people have been murdered, you see.”
The banker’s face fell. “Oh, dear Lord, no. Not…”
Virgil nodded. “Rob Long and his wife and sister. It happened just now at the inn.”
“Come in, then,” said the banker, tightening the sash on his velvet robe. He led the way along an ornately decorated hallway to the very end and into what Felicity understood to be the man’s home office, a space crammed with bookcases and a wide desk that stood like a stage in the center of the room. The banker sat down behind it and gestured for the others to take a seat as well.
In a few brief words Virgil explained the theory they’d developed and the banker inclined his head in approval, his bushy white eyebrows wiggling agreeably. “I see. Very astute, Virgil. Very astute indeed.”
“Well, it was Felicity who came up with the idea, actually,” Virgil said, magnanimously giving credit where credit was due.
The banker’s light eyes shifted to Felicity. “You were right,” he said. “The estate will now go to Mary Long’s brother I presume.”
“You presume? You mean you’re not sure?”
“Well, considering that the man has a history of mental illness I very much doubt whether this will be as cut and dried as that.”
“Who is Mary Long’s brother?” asked Marjorie, voicing the question that was on everyone’s lips.
The banker’s eyebrows rose. “Why, don’t you know? He’s staying at the inn at this very moment. He doesn’t go by the name Long, however. He’s Mary’s half-brother, you see, from her mother’s first marriage.” He was silent for a moment, steepling his fingers and musing. “Yes, very sad case. Apparently he suffered a breakdown when his wife died forty years ago. Never been quite the same since. He spent some time in a mental institution, but what with cutbacks and all he was released and has been living by himself on an o
utpatient basis. He’s been coming back to Happy Bays every year, no doubt because he and his wife had a wonderful time here. This was before Mary and Alistair took over the place, of course. Back then, he was running the inn with his wife.”
“You mean Alan Shaw is Mary’s brother?” asked Felicity, finally putting two and two together.
The banker looked up from his musings. “He is. Poor man.”
“And you’re telling us that his wife died in an accident?”
“Yes. Yes, she did. He accidentally shot her, you know. Thought she was a deer streaking through the brush. Tragic story. Utterly tragic.”
Chapter 67
Felicity steered the van along the road breaking every speed limit and not getting so much as a censorious glance from either Virgil or the other members of the neighborhood watch committee. As it was, Virgil was busy calling Chief Whitehouse. As the last of the Longs, it was obvious that Alan Shaw was in mortal danger. The killer would probably go after the old man next. By the time he hung up, Marjorie had called Mabel and Alice had called Aunt Bettina and when they arrived at the inn the gang was all there, Bettina just driving up, having brought Bianca along.
“Mom!” cried Felicity when they all convened in front of the inn entrance, “I don’t think you should be here. This might be extremely dangerous!”
“You’re telling me! I told you this was dangerous. Now where is this killer?” She glanced around as if half expecting him to show up.
“I don’t know, but he’s around somewhere.” She quickly explained to her mother what Neil Domino had told them about Alan Shaw being Mary Long’s brother.
“Of course he’s Mary’s brother,” said Mom. “Didn’t you know? I thought everyone did. You didn’t know, Marjorie?”
Marjorie shook her head, lips tightening. “No one ever bothers to tell me anything,” she grumbled, giving her son the evil eye.
“I knew,” said Aunt Bettina primly. “Though it never occurred to me there was a connection with these horrible murders.”
