The soup was outstanding, served up in huge crockery bowls along with hot crusty bread, and, as always, Darby’s playlist was a great listen. In addition to their musical opinions, I learned Noland and Ted had played football together in high school. “I did all the work and he got all the glory,” Noland said, a line so glib it was clear this was a regular routine. “I was a lineman,” he went on, “opened up holes you could drive a truck through. All Ted had to do was sashay up the field and into the end zone—and the crowd would go wild. While he was doing his little victory dance I’d be limping to the sidelines to have some body part iced.”
“Hey, but I’m the one who gave you your start with this collecting thing,” Ted grinned. “Remember? I went over to CDs and gave you all my LPs. ’Course, you didn’t tell me they were going to be worth this kind of money someday.”
“Foresight,” Noland said, tapping his temple. “I may be brawny, but I’ve got my full share of brains.”
They argued over the best renditions of the songs Darby spun—who did the best cover of Neil Young’s “Helpless.” Whose styling of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” was superior. Why do guys always have to argue? They may as well have stood on a table, thumped their chests, and bellowed.
Beth never came back into the room, but I had a hunch she was somewhere close by. I felt as if we were being watched and thought I caught movement in the doorway a couple of times.
About four o’clock Ted decided he’d best get back on the job and I figured this was an opening for me to take my leave, but Darby, who was in fine spirits by then, asked me to stay awhile longer. He disappeared into the inner sanctum of his record room and came out ten minutes later cradling a stack of albums.
“Noland, I really am sorry about the way I’ve been acting, man. You can buy those albums at the price I quoted Session.” He nodded toward the table. “And I know you’ve always lusted after this one, so take it as my peace offering.” He handed over an LP and I was perplexed by Noland’s jubilant reaction. It was Grand Funk Railroad’s 1973 We’re an American Band. It’s a nice album, stamped on gold vinyl, but only worth twenty to thirty dollars and Noland was carrying on like he’d hit the lottery. Darby saw my frown. “He’s a colored-vinyl freak and this one’s got the four stickers included. He’s been looking for one that’s complete for years.”
That explained it. This had nothing to do with monetary value, it was Noland’s personal Moby Dick.
Darby placed the rest of the albums into a crate and set it at my feet. “Restitution,” he said. “I think these will make it up to you.”
I reached for the crate, asking about content and price, but he stayed my hand. “It’s a surprise collection, a gift—an apology. Look at them later.”
I left the guys as they were starting in on a new playlist and went to the kitchen to say goodbye to Nadine. I found her at the back door talking in low tones with John Daws. She looked flustered when she saw me. Daws gave me a level look, nodded once, and walked away.
“There are always questions,” Nadine said, nodding vaguely toward the construction area. “Darby’s not one to get involved in the particulars if it’s got nothing to do with his records, and his bride,” she made the word sound frivolous, “can’t decide what to wear in the morning so it falls to me.”
“And you’ve already got plenty to do,” I said sympathetically. “I wanted to say goodbye to Beth, but I can’t find her.”
“She’s off somewhere with her brother,” Nadine said.
“Is her brother living here now?”
“Gawd, no!” Nadine said. “He’s just here for two weeks. One down, one to go. Honest to Pete, there’s something wrong with that kid. He gives me the willies.”
“Making adults squirm is a popular teen pastime, Nadine. As I recall, Darby went through a Goth phase that creeped you out a bit.”
“Oh, Session, do not remind me of that,” she said, but a grin spread across her face, pleating up wrinkles she otherwise managed to hide.
“He grew out of it,” I said. “Kyle will probably end up as a respectable dentist or some such thing.”
This time Nadine did harrumph out loud.
I didn’t look in the surprise crate until I was in the car. There were eighteen albums, all superior to the ones Darby had lured me out here with in the first place, and he’d given these to me. The offering of atonement was way overdone and I supposed I should have felt guilty about taking them, but I didn’t.
I drove home through a now clear North Carolina evening, with the Indigo Girls’ “Closer to Fine” blaring through the car’s speakers. It’s one of my favorite road-trip songs and as I sang along I was feeling pretty freakin’ fine myself. I should have known I was tempting fate.
I was bragging to Dave the next morning in the shop’s workroom. “It looked bleak there for a while, but in the end I scored big.” I pointed to the albums on the table.
Dave works for me—sort of. He’s not much on chain-of-command. We’ve known each other too long and he’s older and continues to treat me like a kid sister. He pretty much defines his job however he pleases, which is fine by me; I couldn’t make it without him—in the business or in my life. He’s my best bud.
He whistled long and low as he thumbed through the albums. “If Darby just handed these over, he must have been feeling a whole lotta guilt.”
I told him how the afternoon had unraveled and Dave shook his head. “Boys and their toys. Must have been a pretty bad wrangle. I don’t know Noland that well, but Darby’s not one to welsh on a deal.”
My cell phone chimed and at first I thought I had a bad connection, then realized the caller was sobbing. “Session, you’ve gotta come. It’s all messed up. I don’t know what to do. Darby wants you here.”
“Beth? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I cringed, wondering if I was about to get sucked into playing marriage counselor—a role for which I am woefully ill equipped.
“He’d dead!” Beth wailed. “Noland’s dead and they think Darby killed him.”
Beth bawled on, growing more hysterical. I couldn’t get a grasp on the details, but the broad strokes were bad enough. I tried to calm her and told her I’d be out as soon as I could make arrangements.
My unfortunate response to stress is to get the inappropriate giggles and I felt the first one gurgling up as I switched off my cell. Dave knows this is a sign of sure trouble and I saw a frown stitch itself across his forehead.
The landline in the shop rang and I instinctively picked it up, trying to get control of myself. The caller identified himself as Sheriff’s Deputy Jared Fowler. In a deep, serious voice, he asked some perfunctory questions to establish my identity before dropping the hammer. “Sheriff Neal Pierce has dispatched me to Raleigh to question you about events you witnessed yesterday. We ask that you stay where you are and not discuss this with anyone until I’ve had a chance to talk with you. I’m on the road now, I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
I told him I understood, placed the receiver back into the cradle, and immediately began to discuss every last detail with Dave.
I asked Bliss, one of the shop’s uber-dedicated part-timers, to take over and waited in the workroom where I could pace. I had so many questions. But when the deputy arrived he insisted on going first. Had I been at Darby’s house yesterday? Did I witness an altercation between him and Noland? Who else was present? Could I supply a list of the albums Darby had sold to Noland and estimate their worth? I answered as succinctly as possible and read off the list of albums I’d jotted down on the pad beside my phone when Darby called two nights ago to make the offer.
“As far as value,” I said, “anybody off the street could probably get fifteen hundred dollars total. I’d get more because I know a lot of collectors and what they’re looking for.”
Deputy Fowler was young and strikingly handsome. He maintained his professional scowl and scribbled in a little notebook. I’d insisted that Dave stay with me as my counsel. I never claimed h
e was a lawyer, could I help it if the deputy jumped to conclusions? And anyway, for all I knew, Dave really did hold a law degree. I’m surprised on a regular basis by things that pop up from his past.
I pride myself on staying calm in emergencies—except for the giggling thing—but I heard a definite edge creeping into my voice as I asked my own questions. Deputy Fowler gave me a reassuring smile—he had a nice smile. “Look,” he said, dropping the professional-cop bearing, “it looks bad for Darby right now, but frankly, I don’t think the actual evidence will amount to much in the end. It’s true that Noland was found dead in Darby’s atrium, and it’s true that Darby was passed out—snockered to the gills—in the same room. And yeah, maybe Darby’s fingerprints are on the pottery bowl somebody used to whack Noland in the head, but I suspect those things can all be explained away. I mean, I know Darby; he’s not that kind of guy. ’Course, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell the sheriff I’ve expressed that opinion. He already thinks I’m soft on this one.”
“You’re friends with Darby, Deputy Fowler?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’d like to think so,” he said. “I’ve known him since he moved to the mountain. I go up to his house and listen to tunes with him once in a while. He’s got me started with a little record collection of my own. I’m not in his league—or yours—but I’ve got a few good ones. And hey,” he leaned toward me and lowered his voice, “just call me plain old Jared—but don’t tell the sheriff I said that either, okay?”
“No, ’course not.” I struggled to stifle a giggle lest he misinterpret it.
“Has Darby been charged?” I asked.
“’Fraid so, but they’re calling it manslaughter—heat of passion and all. He’ll make bail. And as you know, money’s not an issue for Darby. Try not to worry. ”
Dave moved up behind me and we watched as Deputy Fowler made his way across the shop to the door, turning the heads of a couple of female customers.
“Depity-Dawg’s got himself a little witness crush. Call me Jared,” Dave mimicked, lowering his voice.
“That’s ridiculous. Stop making jokes, ” I snapped. “Dave, a man is dead.”
“Yeah, tell it to the deputy,” Dave drawled. “Pretty inappropriate occasion for him to be hitting on you.”
“He wasn’t. You’re just being—well, you. You should be happy. You heard him, he knows Darby’s innocent. I can’t believe any of this. Noland’s dead? And Darby—I’m going out there right now. Can you cover the shop for me?”
“Nope,” Dave said. “If Bliss can’t stay I’ll call Tracker and have him come in. I’m going with you. Think of me as Deputy Dave—but you can call me just plain ol’ Dave.”
Beth sat at the kitchen table alternating between choking out disjointed sentences and popping another tissue from the half-empty box on the table. So far I’d learned that Darby was in custody and would be arraigned the following morning. “Unless somebody comes to their senses by then,” Nadine huffed. Until then, no visitors and no phone privileges.
Dave had gone down to town to nose around, an activity he’s incredibly good at. Dave knows people everywhere and because he lets a lot of quiet into his conversations people tend to babble on to fill the spaces, ofttimes telling him things they didn’t intend to tell.
My approach is a little less polished. “What in God’s name happened?” I asked Beth and Nadine.
“I don’t know!” Beth wailed, the tears spilling over again. “But whatever it was, I know Darby didn’t do it. He’d never hurt anybody.”
“It’s okay, Beth,” I said, trying to sound soothing. I’m not the world’s most patient person, I admit that, and ordinarily I’d have to resist the impulse to shake her into sensibility, but she looked so pitifully young and confused I felt for her. She was, in fact, young. Darby had met her when she was a college sophomore volunteering with one of his pet environmental causes. Smitten, he’d put on the full court press and three months later they were married.
Nadine offered me coffee, bless her, and when she came to pour, Beth latched onto her hand. “Nadine, can’t you just come and sit with us—please.”
Nadine looked taken aback by the gesture, but she sat and patted Beth’s hand awkwardly.
“You’re the one who found him, Nadine?” I asked.
She nodded. “Early this morning, before daylight. Couldn’t sleep and came down to start breakfast. Thought Darby and Beth might like to eat in the atrium so I went in to start a fire in the fireplace and there Noland was, sprawled out on the floor. I knew right off he was for good and all dead even before I saw the blood on the back of his head. Then I saw Darby slumped in a chair and it was all I could do to get my heart beating a rhythm again. I thought he was dead too, but then he groaned. He smelled like a distillery and the bottle of scotch one of his business people gave him for Christmas was sitting on the table nearly empty. I knew he’d brought it out for Noland but I just couldn’t believe he’d been drinking. You know he had a problem. He swore off years ago.”
“He wasn’t!” Beth insisted. “He wouldn’t. I told the sheriff, Darby knows better.”
“What did Darby have to say? Have you talked to him?” I asked.
“Just when I found him,” Nadine sighed, “ but he wasn’t making good sense. He was talking wild and swore he couldn’t remember anything since yesterday morning. I called nine-one-one and the sheriff and the ambulance came. Look, Session, I know good and well Darby would never hurt another living thing, but I can’t explain any of it. Right now I’m just praying hard as I can somebody will get to the truth.”
“Where were you two when it happened?” I asked.
“We don’t know when it happened, but it had to have been after seven o’clock last night,” Nadine said. If she was offended by my questions she didn’t show it. She frowned as if working through the timeline in her own mind. “Those two were still listening to music and I took them in some supper then went down to town to a movie. I wish to God I’d stayed home. I got home about midnight and music was still coming from the atrium so I went on to bed.”
“And you?” I asked Beth gently. “Where were you? Did you hear anything?”
Beth hesitated. “I wasn’t here either. I was—” She popped another tissue from the box and I held my breath, waiting for another meltdown. “I went looking for Kyle,” she said finally. “He’s gotten sort of wild. That’s why my folks sent him here. They thought being out here isolated in nature for a couple of weeks would be good for him, but he’s made friends with a guy from the construction crew and he’s been sneaking out to do stuff with him. I was making the rounds at the clubs and bars looking for him.”
“Did you find him?” I asked.
“Eventually,” Beth said. “I had to drag him out of a bar and I guess I made a scene. He’s underage and they let him in, that’s not right! He’s furious with me for embarrassing him, but I can’t think about that right now.”
“What time did you and Kyle get back?” I asked.
“It must have been around two in the morning. The music was still playing then too,” she looked to Nadine. “That was a long time for them to be at it.”
Nadine shrugged. “Not for those two.” She turned up both hands as if she couldn’t think of anything to add, then rose. “I’ve got to clean up after those crime-tech people. Nasty fingerprint dust all over everything.” She swiped at a smudge on the counter and started to unload the dishwasher. “They don’t show this part on the TV shows—who has to clean up their mess. And Beth, would you ask your brother to stop leaving drinking glasses in his room. There’s one missing from this tall set Darby likes.”
“Sorry, yes, I’ll remind him,” Beth said, her voice a study in misery.
Nadine looked as if she wished she could call that one back. This was, after all, no time to be worrying over kitchenware.
“So the crime techs are done here?” I asked.
“In most of the house,” Nadine said, running the faucet to get hot water. “Bu
t they’ve got the atrium sealed, we’re not allowed in there.”
“I don’t think I can ever go in there again,” Beth said with a shudder.
As it turned out, Beth didn’t have a choice. An hour later Sheriff Neal Pierce showed up with Deputy Fowler trailing behind him. Sheriff Pierce had already called my shop and learned I was here and seemed mighty pleased. “Saves me sending Deputy Fowler to fetch you,” he said.
Deputy Fowler—Jared, I corrected in my head—nodded briskly, but when the sheriff turned away he gave me a warm smile and again I felt relieved knowing Darby had an ally in law enforcement.
“I’d like each of you to walk the crime scene with me,” the sheriff said, making me shudder as Beth had earlier. “Miss Blackwell, we’ll start with you since you know the house best and were first on the scene.”
When the two had left the room Jared again let the professional veneer drop. “Darby’s holding up okay,” he said, glancing toward the door. “He’s upset, and hungover, but he’s in a good frame of mind. Beth, he asked me to tell you not to worry. He’ll be home soon.”
When it was my turn to go into the atrium, Sheriff Pierce handed me booties to put over my shoes and instructed me to put my hands in my jeans pockets and keep them there so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch anything. I wanted to hate the man, but he seemed kind, like everybody’s favorite uncle. “I know you’re a friend of Brenner’s, and I know you want to help him,” he said. “Just answer my questions as honestly as you can. The facts have freed as many men as they’ve caught.”
Just like in the movies, a chalk body outline was traced on the stone of the atrium floor and onto the edge of a rug. I coughed to mask a renegade chuckle and was relieved when the sheriff steered me toward Darby’s record room.
“I’m not going to be any help to you here, Sheriff,” I said. “I’ve never been in this room.”
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 09/01/12 Page 14
