Ace chuckled. “Never could fool you, Mrs. Pinkham.”
“Yesah.” She grinned. “What’s on your mind, young man?”
“Wanted to get your thoughts about the drug problems in the area.”
A flash of something Ace couldn’t put a name to came and went in her eyes. Surprise? Fear? The expression disappeared before he could flesh it out.
“Devil’s alive and well in Spruce Harbor is what I say. Yesah.”
“So you’ve heard tales?”
The white eyebrows rose. “Gracious, Ace. The whole town’s heard stories. And I read the newspaper just like everyone else. You’re dancing around my questions. Why did you come back to town?”
Ace fought the desire to loosen the collar of his denim shirt. Mrs. Pinkham had always had that effect on him.
“I’m concerned about the increase of drug use on the reservations.” It wasn’t a total lie.
She nodded vigorously and not one white hair stirred. She must have at least a can of hair spray holding it in place. “Yesah. I figured it was something like that. It’s a known fact that drug users are generally the poor and ignorant.”
He stiffened. Was she dumping on the Passamaquoddy People? Get a grip man. Stuff the paranoia. “Life is difficult for Indians everywhere in the country. Alcohol has always been a problem. I’d like to make sure that heroin doesn’t take its place.”
Mrs. Pinkham patted her hair. “That’s why I always admired you. You were a step ahead of the rest of your people. Had more ambition and more brains.”
Most of his respect for the woman vanished. She was no different than anyone else in this godforsaken town. “Anyone come here asking for your advice?”
Mrs. Pinkham’s brows rose again. “My advice? What makes you think anyone would want my advice?”
Ace shrugged. “Maybe because I would have—that is, if I lived here and had a drug problem,” he amended quickly.
Her laughter came out like a cackle. “Lawdy, Ace. Who do you think I am? Mother Theresa? You oughta be asking what I would do about the drug problem.”
His interest spiked. “I’m listening.”
“Nothin’. Not a damn thing.”
“What?”
“I say let the evil run its course.”
“That’s not the lesson you taught your students.”
“Times change, Ace. I’ve learned that evil always prevails in the long run.”
“Drugs kill people on a daily basis, Mrs. Pinkham. It’s starting to happen right in your backyard. Surely, you heard about the Shays?”
“Just read it in the morning paper. How’s Julienne faring?”
“She’s lucky to be alive. If I hadn’t found her—”
“You found her? The paper didn’t mention that.” She sat up straighter and leaned forward. “What were you doing up in the barrens at that time of night?” A crafty look brightened her eyes. “Ah…now I understand. You n’ Brenna McKenzie. She ran straight from the church to you.”
The lady jabbed a bony finger at him. “You watch yourself, Ace. Don’t go leavin’ her with another bun in the oven. The last one almost killed her.”
Ace squirmed in the chair. “We’ve veered off track, Mrs. Pinkham. Julienne’s an orphan.”
She shook her head. “I know. What a shame. Such a cunnin’ little girl. Perhaps there’s family from away who’ll take her in?”
“Perhaps.”
“Just had a phone call from Brenna’s mother. Seems you had a bit of trouble on the Desperado. A bomb. Just imagine.”
“News travels fast. I suppose you heard about Colin, too?”
“That boy was always unstable. Not that I’d say so to Doris, mind you,” she hastened to add. “The poor woman still hasn’t come to terms with Daniel’s death. She’ll need all her friends to rally around her.”
Ace rose, anxious to exit. Obviously, this visit had been a waste of his time. He couldn’t even remember what he’d hoped to learn by talking to the old lady in the first place.
“I’ll be going now. Got another appointment. Nice seeing you. You haven’t aged a day in twelve years.”
“Shucks, Ace. I’m too old to fall for your lines,” she said, patting her hair once again. “You staying in town long?”
“I’m not sure. Depends.”
“On whether you find a piece of land?”
“Excuse me?”
“To build your complex on. I thought that was the reason you returned. To provide better housing for the Indians during blueberry season?”
“Oh.” Damn. Lying always got him in deep shit. “Well, I don’t see much up for sale so I guess it won’t happen.”
“Not surprised. There aren’t too many people who’d be willing to sell you land if it’s going to bring in more Indians. Old beliefs die hard, Ace. There are always going to be those who’ll think every rolled up piece of tar paper harbors a sleeping Injun.”
The truth of her words burned his gut. He relaxed his clenched hands. “I’ll probably see you before I leave town.”
“Well, stop by any time. You know your way out.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
He stiffened when he heard her voice from behind him. “How is Brenna? She all right?”
He turned to face her. “Shaken up, but okay.”
“Take my advice. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble. You might not like what you find.”
What nonsense was she spouting now? “Have a good day, ma’am.” He slipped out the door and sidestepped down the path to avoid the rose thorns. She’d pretended to put a friendly foot forward, but he sensed the same reluctance to talk as he had with the other residents he’d approached, not to mention discovering her bigotry. He’d been too young to see it before.
Ace pulled up at the town pier, climbed out of the SUV, popped a beer and stretched his legs. He’d visited five more houses after Ethel Pinkham’s and knew nothing more than he had yesterday.
People were unwilling to look him in the eye, never mind talk. Whether because they now considered him an outsider, or because of old bigotries, their silence remained a mystery.
Luther Peabody was next on his list. The last of the day. Unless he could get Brenna to help with the interviews, Ace had a feeling he’d spin his wheels for a long time. He grabbed his parka from the back seat and shrugged it on before reaching inside for the paper bag on the front seat. Then he headed down the long wooden pier next to the marina.
Now to find the old man. Twilight had turned the sky on the western horizon a deep plum color. Water lapped against the wooden pilings. Ace had always found that sound peaceful, as long as nothing moved. He paused where the pier forked. One ramp led to the small marina office and what used to be an eat-in-the-rough restaurant. Pick out the lobster of your choice. Luther would throw it in boiling water and bring it to a picnic table with a side of melted butter. Looked like the restaurant was a thing of the past. Gone by the wayside like so many other small enterprises Downeast.
The Coast Guard vessel had left. Luther hadn’t been around in all the commotion this morning. Unusual. The man Ace remembered had a nose for news.
“Lookin’ for me?”
Ace turned toward the sound of the rusty voice. What a déjà vu. Luther probably still wore the same pair of pants he’d worn twelve years ago. “Hey, old man. Remember me?”
Luther studied him in the fading light. “Can’t say I do. Should I?”
Great. His best hope was senile. Ace held the paper bag toward him. “Want a beer? I gave up smoking, so I can’t offer you a cigarette.”
“Roll my own, now.” Luther reached into his shirt pocket. “Can’t afford to buy the damn things. I never refuse a free brew, though. I’m dry as a herrin’.”
He prayed for patience, set the bag on the pier and pulled out a can. “Here you go. Just like old times.”
Something clicked in the old man’s brain. “Ace Bear. Well, I’ll be damned.” He slapped his thigh. “Good God. It’s been a long time. We used to
have some mighty lengthy chats down here while we sucked on beers and cigarettes.”
“That we did, old man.”
The huge, toothless smile on Luther’s face proved he hadn’t lied all those years ago when he’d told Ace he didn’t believe in false teeth. “Never thought you’d come back to town. Not after that incident with Billie Crane and Brenna McKenzie.”
Ace’s hand tightened on the can of Budweiser. “I didn’t kill Billie. He fell on his own damned knife, trying to stab me.”
“Calm down, young whippersnapper. I never for a second believed you did. Not your style.” Luther chugged his beer. His bent, gnarled fingers reached into the bag to retrieve another. “So what you doing back in Spruce Harbor? Come back for the girl?”
“No. She’s not the reason I’m back, although I think I’ll grab her while I’m here.”
Luther laughed. “Don’t blame you. A hard-working woman and pretty to boot.”
“I’m a drug agent now. With the government,” Ace added, when Luther showed no emotion.
“That right? Done well for yourself.”
“I’d like to pick your brain. Perhaps you’ve seen something that might help me find whoever’s bringing heroin into town.”
Luther shook his near bald head. “Heroin? Bad stuff.” He held up his beer. “What happened to the days when kids were content drinking a six pack in some deserted gravel pit and then shooting at the cans for target practice?”
Ace wished he knew the answer. “Where were you earlier today? Didn’t see you around when the Coast Guard cutter pulled in.”
“I don’t spend twenty-four hours on this pier. I had to take a jaunt to Machias. Arrange for some engine parts to be delivered. What the hell happened? Heard the Desperado blew to smithereens.”
Ace nodded. “You heard right. Any idea who’d want to do that?”
“Hell, no. Can’t think of anyone in this town who’d want to hurt Brenna. ‘Cept maybe Anson Carter since she left him bleeding at the altar. He’s been all over her like ticks on a deer since he arrived in Machias.”
“How about the drugs? You’ve got sharp eyes, Luther. Even sharper ears. Heard any stories about that?”
Luther tipped over an old bait pail and sat. “Sorry. These old legs just ain’t what they used to be. Neither are my eyes and ears. Not many addicts hang out on the pier. No reason to.”
Damn. He’d have an easier time pulling what teeth remained in Luther’s mouth than getting any information. Addicts might not hang out here, but there was a strong possibility the drugs could be coming in by water. “Have another beer. As long as you’re not driving.”
“Don’t mind if I do. I ain’t going nowhere else today.”
“Shame about the Shays.”
“Feel bad about the little girls. Their parents were no good. Blew into town one day, rented a beat up trashy trailer. Never worked. Lived off the state.”
“The heroin was pure. That’s what killed them. Not an overdose as first reported.”
Luther gave him a blank look.
“Heroin strong enough to kill an elephant.”
The old man’s eyes widened. “That a fact?”
“If the dealers aren’t stopped, there’ll be plenty more deaths.”
“Think Colin gave it to them? Mayhap that’s why he hung himself.” Luther scratched his head. “That boy never was too smart. If his brains had been lard, there wouldn’t have been enough to grease a frying pan.”
“I think there’s a bigger fish than Colin swimming in the pond. I just need to unravel the tangled line. People in this town are too closed-mouthed. No one will talk.”
“They’ve all got their secrets. That’s for sure.”
“Secrets?” Ace probed. “What kind of secrets?”
“Peyton Place has got nothing on Spruce Harbor. The things I could tell you…”
“I paid a visit to Ethel Pinkham this morning.”
Luther swallowed a mouthful of beer and belched. “How is the old bat? There was a time way back when I lusted after that woman. She was quite something in her day.
The vision of Ethel and Luther together boggled Ace’s mind. “You’re kidding me?”
“Nope. And I weren’t the only one. She was one hot mama.”
“Can’t quite picture it, old man. I think your memory has short circuited.”
Luther shot Ace a crafty look. “Bet you didn’t know that one of the Gars knocked up Ethel Pinkham’s daughter, Florrie.”
“You’re shitting me,” Ace said in genuine astonishment. “Didn’t even know she had a daughter.”
“Not many people do. All hush, hush. Hustled Florrie away, saying she was going to boarding school. Heard she went to stay with relatives.”
“What happened to her?”
“Rumor had it she got killed in a car accident not long after the baby was born.”
Ace tried to picture the straight-laced Mrs. Pinkham dealing with a pregnant daughter. The image wouldn’t come. “What happened to the baby?”
Luther shrugged. “No idea. Adopted, I guess.”
“And you’re telling me that someone from the most prestigious family in Spruce Harbor fathered Florrie’s child?”
“Oh yeah. Woodrow, old Jasper’s son. Woodrow later married and produced John. He’s the one who lives in the big house now.”
Ace helped himself to his second beer and handed the last one to Luther.
“The big house was empty for a long time until Woodrow’s grandson, John, and his wife moved back to town with two little Gars in tow about…I’d say about a year ago.”
The same time Anson showed up. Coincidence? “Jasper still living? How about Woodrow?”
“Nah, they both died years ago. Things sure did come full circle in that clan, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before Ethel married, she panted after Jasper like a bitch in heat.”
Ace choked on a mouthful of beer.
Luther laughed. “I swear, it’s the God’s honest truth. They’d meet down here on one of Jasper’s yachts. And I can tell ya’ that boat got rocking mighty fierce when they went aboard.”
“What broke them up?”
“Jasper wouldn’t have settled for the likes of Ethel. She might be okay for a little fun, but marry? His father had already picked out his bride. Some rich biddy from New York.”
“How did Ethel handle that?”
“Jasper’s wife was two ax handles wide and so ugly they had to tie a pork chop around her neck to get a dog to play with her. Old Jasper wanted his cake and eat it, too. He and Ethel met a few more times on the boat after the wedding, but soon the boat stopped rocking. You know what they say…ashes of love are cold as ice. Few months later she up and married a local.”
“Makes me wonder what else you have stored in the head of yours, Luther.”
“Nearly eighty years of Spruce Harbor history.”
“How about current events? Anything interesting happening in the here and now?”
“Come to think of it, there might be. Twice now, I’ve seen Ethel and John Gar meet on the docks. Too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but didn’t look like they were passing no pleasantries between them.”
Ethel and John Gar arguing? Interesting, now that he knew a little history. “Luther, do you remember what year Florrie got pregnant?”
“Let me think. I’d say it must have been nineteen sixty-four or thereabouts. No.” Luther snapped his fingers. “Nineteen sixty-three, the year Kennedy was assassinated.”
“Who else has been down to the pier lately?”
Luther looked at him as if he had shit for brains. “Now what kinda damn fool question is that? Just about the whole damn town at one time or another.”
“Any more arguments? People who looked like they were up to more than enjoying the ocean view?”
“The Bennetts got into it one night. George had one too many and Flo lit into him good.”
“That all?”
/> “All I can remember.” Luther took a swig of beer. “Wait a minute. Three or four weeks ago Anson Carter and Brenna’s mother met on the pier. Weren’t arguing exactly, but they sure were having one corker of a conversation.”
“Hear what they said?”
“Nope. Old Doris was poking her finger in Anson’s chest. Anson never backed down none. He stood his ground. Must have ended in a stalemate cause Doris stomped away and left him standing there.” Luther looked at Ace. “Don’t suppose you got any more beer?”
“Nope. Sorry, old man. I’ll be around in the next few days, and we’ll do this again.” Ace dug into his pocket and handed Luther a card. “Here’s my cell number, call me if anything else comes to mind.”
The old face brightened. “Looking forward to another visit. I’ll pick my own brain. Maybe I’ll find something useful.”
Ace retraced his steps on the pier and dumped the empty cans and bag into a trash can sitting at the end of the building. Luther would fish them out before Ace was out of sight. The old man was too proud to ask for the six-cent cans.
Ace stopped cold at a scuffling noise and a flicker of shadow around the corner of the building. Going into stealth mode, he rounded the corner. The parking lot was empty. The sound he could explain as his imagination, but he wasn’t wrong about the shadow.
Chapter Eleven
The two thick pieces of homemade bread popped out of the toaster, jarring Brenna. The sadness and guilt sitting in her chest ruined her enjoyment of Thunder and Thor romping in the paddock.
Planning Colin’s funeral and then sitting in front pew trying not to wail out loud while the minister talked about the celebration of Colin’s life had taken its toll. She hadn’t slept more than three hours last night. Instead, memories of a carefree Colin during happier days tripped through her head. She lay awake for hours trying to pinpoint the exact time his life had taken such a wrong turn. Was there a way she could have helped him?
A few years back, Colin had wanted to try his luck in Massachusetts. Their mother had thrown a hissy fit and for once Brenna had backed her, not wanting her brother to move out-of-state. Perhaps if she’d encouraged him to leave, he would have had a chance to make something of his life. This coastal area provided few job opportunities and most young people left Maine soon after graduation. The ones who stayed struggled to make a living.
Bed of Lies Page 9
