by BV Lawson
“I got the clerk to admit it was Squier who did the embezzling, to the tune of a hundred grand. Unfortunately, the clerk’s alleged proof burned along with his house five years ago. We’ll see what the city attorney can dig up.”
“Five years ago? The same time Oakley wrote that manuscript.”
“Uh huh. Curiouser and curiouser.”
He missed it the first time they met, but Nelia had a small S-shaped scar at the base of her neck, with the hallmark pink of a newer mark. She hadn’t been on duty long enough in Cape Unity to get it there, surely? Not that it detracted from her appearance. “The sheriff told me about your husband and the multiple sclerosis. I was sorry to hear it.”
Nelia leaned against a wall, and the light in her eyes dimmed before she looked away. Being a primary caregiver was a soul-sucking task. The physical and emotional demands chipped away at your sanity as slowly as melting ice on a glacier. Perhaps she didn’t mind her commuter marriage as much as the sheriff thought?
She replied, “It’s a hideous disease. Enough to make anyone bitter and irritable.”
She must have realized how that sounded because she quickly backpedaled. “Not that Tim is difficult to live with. He’s just—”
“Bitter and irritable.” A slow smile worked its way across Drayco’s face.
After tilting her head at him, trying to gauge his meaning, Nelia matched Drayco’s smile. “Are you an expert on the subject, Mr. Drayco?”
“Irritable, yes. Bitter—depends on what I’m drinking.”
Her face broke into a full-fledged grin. “If we need an expert irritability witness for a court case, we’ll know where to come.”
The sheriff bounded back into the room. “You found her.”
“My first real catch of the day.”
Sailor glanced from the beaming Nelia to Drayco and back, and he didn’t join in the joking. In fact, he didn’t look happy at all. “No DNA results back yet. Hopefully, in this lifetime.”
Drayco said, “Tyler’s having more luck. She filled me in on the clerk and his embezzlement story.”
Sailor said, “Tyler pulled several of his teeth to get it out of him. But if we can prove it, it’ll put Squier on the barbecue grill.”
Nelia laughed. “Now there’s an image for you. Grilled pork barrel.” She turned to Drayco, “So you’ve decided to hang around in town a little longer slumming with the locals.”
“If I have to slum with the likes of you two, I guess I’ll survive.”
The sparkle had definitely returned to her eyes, and she was oddly out of breath as she made a beeline for the door. “So nice to have a big-city boy to keep us in line.”
Drayco watched her leave. “Have I been insulted?”
“Don’t underestimate Tyler, Drayco. She graduated summa at UMD. She’s nobody’s fool.”
Drayco snapped his attention from Nelia’s retreating figure back to the sheriff when Sailor added in a low but intense tone. “She’s also vulnerable right now, at least where her marriage is concerned. Try not to forget that.”
The sheriff added, a little louder, “Speaking of fools, while you were at the Opera House earlier—did you have any more run-ins with our charming Paddy?”
“Not lately. I think I’m beginning to feel slighted.”
“Don’t be. We released him from jail again Monday. Which is, of course, two days before Nanette Keys was murdered. Puts him squarely on the suspect list for her murder. And it’s a paltry list after pinning down alibis for the rest. Even annoyingly convenient ones like the Squiers and the Bakelys.”
Drayco shared the sheriff’s frustration. After Earl Yaegle, most directly affected by the affair with Nanette and the land sale, they had few other clear-cut candidates. “Reece Wable mentioned Paddy as a potential suspect since he’s out of it half the time. But it’s a weak motive. Didn’t you say Paddy’s record only includes minor assaults, the barroom brawl type?”
“Some of those brawls included knives.”
“It would be easy for him to gain access to the Opera House. Think he could stay sober long enough to shoot straight?”
“If he got in a lucky shot, maybe. And he’s strong enough to strangle Nanette. But where’s his motive for that? Nanette was the one person who was kind to him.”
They were also running out of motives, except for increasingly less pleasant ones. “Was there evidence of rape in Nanette’s case?”
“The M.E. didn’t find any telltale signs. She wasn’t able to put up much of a fight. But she wasn’t a muscular woman. No signs of blood or skin under her nails to indicate she tried to scratch the murderer.”
“Any signs she was drugged first? That would make it easier for a small-framed person to strangle her.”
“Like a woman, you mean. Darcie Squier, the woman scorned.”
“Drugging would make it easier for a smaller man to strangle her, too.”
“The basic tox screen was negative. Since cause of death was ruled suffocation, the M.E.’s office didn’t see the need for a confirmatory test. They’ve got other corpses lined up, anyway, so we’re lucky we got that much.”
“Out of curiosity, what was Paddy in for this time?”
“Drunkenness, another fight. Seth keeps bailing him out every time. Should let Paddy rot in there a while.”
Yeah, some tough love might not hurt. Or better yet an enforced vacation to a rehab center. “After chatting with Reece Wable, I’m getting the impression Nanette was Paddy’s opposite. Close to sainthood if you overlook her one brief indiscretion with Earl. Loyal through Oakley’s many affairs. No disagreements with anyone. Except her husband.”
The sheriff pointed to a stack of interview transcripts. “Maybe she murdered Oakley after she’d had enough of his behavior. Shot him in a fit of passion. Of course, she couldn’t have strangled herself.”
“A secret lover other than Earl? One who killed Nanette when she learned he was behind Oakley’s death? Or when she refused his further advances.” Reece would be at the head of the line for that, Drayco had to admit. His not-so-secret obsession with her, the missing file box, the same intellectual curiosity she’d once shared with Oakley.
Sailor said, “Again, we’ve uncovered no such evidence. You don’t believe either of those possibilities, do you?”
“I didn’t spend much time with Nanette the day she died, but I’d bet a large sum of money against the secret-lover scenario. Guess I’ll have to join Reece’s pool.”
The sheriff blinked three times. “Pool?”
“An office betting pool, or town pool, I suspect, on the murderer. Or it may be Reece’s little joke. Regardless, I think most townsfolk have their money on Earl Yaegle. Earl himself thinks you’re going to arrest him at any moment.”
“You saw Earl?”
“I wanted to take a look at the Keys’ property and wandered across the Yaegle border.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“It started to rain, and he invited me into his house.” Drayco didn’t mention the rifle incident as he couldn’t blame Yaegle for being on edge and wanting to defend himself. And it wasn’t the same make of weapon as the one that killed Oakley.
Sheriff Sailor pushed the stack of papers aside. “Huh. You must have a sympathetic face.”
“He did mention his affair with Nanette.”
“So you do have a sympathetic face. Spill.”
“He said it was a decade ago when he was having financial troubles and Nanette was depressed over Oakley’s drinking, but it only lasted a few months. It’s possible Earl’s wife Tabitha suspected, although Earl wasn’t sure. It was never discussed between the Yaegles or Keys.”
“Or so Yaegle says.”
“Unlike everyone else, I’m not ready to pin Nanette’s murder on Yaegle.”
“Another gut feeling?”
The sheriff’s mocking tone barely contained the acerbic layer underneath. He and Drayco had done well so far, but Drayco was one clash away from causing an ulcer in Sailo
r’s patience. He’d adapted to working alone, wandering the investigative wilderness, going off trail with his wild theories. But Sailor, like his namesake, imbibed the Hemingway Code like a man thirsting for a cold martini on a hot day. Drayco kept his voice light. “Not so much gut feeling as crunches. Keeps the gut in working order.”
“So that’s the secret. Here I thought you have ESP.”
Drayco tapped his briefcase. “I keep a crystal ball in here. It says Sheriff Ernest Hemingway Sailor murdered both Oakley and Nanette Keys. Having read all the books in the local library, he was thoroughly bored and needed a diversion.”
The sheriff picked up a small rubber fish he used as a paperweight and threw it in Drayco’s direction, barely missing his head. “Reece Wable’s rubbing off on you. Get out of here, you interloper.”
Drayco got the impression Sailor was only half-joking.
Chapter 21
Friday 19 March
Drayco spent the evening resting at the Jepson’s but got only three hours of sleep, thanks to the painful leg. After popping four ibuprofen, he headed down to the pier for Maida’s much-touted sunrise extravaganza, but the skies were cloudy. Again. How did people in the Arctic Circle—the Inuit, northern Finns and Swedes—manage to keep their sanity through months of darkness? He’d take the hot sun on a Bermuda beach any day.
The air always felt different along the coast. Humidity, or the S-trio of salt, sand, and sea. The light appeared different, too. Although there wasn’t enough sunshine lately to illuminate town treasures like the Aquia sandstone building in front of him where he’d headed after the pier. Inscribed in green marble above the entrance were the Latin words In Spiritu et Veritate. He ducked through the large wooden doors with stained-glass panels and sought out the office with the name Randolph Squier in large gold script.
The secretary and source of Darcie’s gossip, Adah Karbowski, picked at the eyeglasses on a chain around her neck. But as soon as she spied Drayco, her eyes darted around the office before she popped the glasses back on. She pasted on a smile and seemed to go out of her way to be friendly and accommodating as she chirped, “You’re early. Down the hall, first door on the right.”
Drayco limped in the direction she’d indicated and reached his hand out to open the door, but the sound of agitated voices made him step back. Squier wasn’t alone. Spying a tall bookshelf at the end of the hall, he hid on the other side and waited. Moments later, Paddy Bakely stormed out of the office and left down a different corridor. Another way into the building, which could explain why Adah hadn’t known Paddy was here. Unless she did know and wanted Drayco to walk in on them. But why? Drayco needed to come back another time and interview the secretary when the councilman was out.
Drayco waited two minutes before heading into the office. No paintings lined the stark white walls above minimal furniture although the pricey filing cabinets and executive desk would be at home on Madison Avenue. Even the oxblood leather chairs smelled expensive. Squier apparently wanted to give the air of tax money stewardship but wasn’t able to resist trappings of the same luxury pervading Cypress Manor. Drayco assessed the leather chairs. Did the townspeople know how much of their tax money those cost?
Squier was dressed in his usual tailored suit, but more rumpled, less starched. Gone was the accommodating host from Cypress Manor, replaced by an unsmiling man as rigid as a statue. But not as welcoming. He still had the drawl, but it was less caramel and more Campari bitters. “You weren’t specific why you wanted to see me, Mr. Drayco.”
“Councilman, Reece Wable told me you gave him and Nanette Keys a tour of the Opera House once.”
“Mr. Rockingham loaned me a key. He thought it might be prudent for someone else to have one in case of an emergency.”
“Do you still have it?”
Squier’s posture grew so rigid, if he were a bridge beam, he might snap in two. “Are you inferring I might have used that key recently? That I was complicit in Oakley’s murder?”
“Inferring? No. Not implying, either, although you have to admit, it looks suspicious you haven’t told the sheriff about the key.”
“I simply forgot the damned key, as I haven’t used it in a long time. When I find it, I’ll have my secretary courier it over to the sheriff. You can pick it up from him.”
Was it only a few short days ago Squier bent over backward to send documents to Drayco? “You must be familiar with the Opera House, Councilman, to feel comfortable giving tours.”
“I did my best, poor though it was.” Squier approached his chair twice as if to sit, but backed off each time. Maps and aerial photographs lay sprawled on Squier’s desk, and Drayco moved to take a closer look. They covered the Cape Unity area and most of Prince of Wales County.
Drayco pointed to the spot he believed the Keys and Yaegle properties were located. “Is that where the future condos are planned?”
“The Keys boundary line is here.” Squier jabbed his finger at a yellow divider. “And the Yaegle property goes to this point.”
“These surrounding parcels—like this undeveloped land to the north. I’m surprised it wasn’t included in Gallinger’s plans. Surely other neighboring landowners are affected?”
Squier coughed, making a theatrical production out of grabbing a wad of tissues from his pocket. For now, Drayco allowed him his stalling tactic, beginning to suspect why the man was nervous.
The councilman finally replied, “The Yaegle and Keys properties are all Gallinger is interested in.” He gestured behind Drayco. “You can see an artist’s rendering of what the finished product will look like, right there.”
As Drayco moved toward the framed blueprints on the wall, Squier added, “Compare the two aerial photographs to your left. One is from Cape Unity forty years ago, and the other is more recent. Not much different, are they?”
In fact, they weren’t. If not for shoreline erosion and the addition of a few structures, they could be identical. Drayco turned around and noticed Squier had picked up a box from the floor and placed it over the maps and photos on his desk, covering them. Covering up more than photos?
“That is why we need this project, Mr. Drayco. Without an increased tax base, the town will die. Roads don’t pave themselves. There are more students in need of school buildings, the illegals eat us alive in social services costs. We may have to cut the sheriff’s budget.”
Squier didn’t answer Drayco’s question about the land ownership. Squier was also sweating, even as his chirpy secretary thought it cold enough to wear a heavy jacket over her wool pantsuit in the outer office. Drayco prodded him again, “And once the condo project is built, it’s only natural more construction will follow. Perhaps on the virgin plot of land to the north?”
Squier glowered at the now-hidden papers. “Gallinger hasn’t discussed anything else yet.”
Drayco put on his best gauntlet smile. “Cape Unity can dig itself out of the hole. I read about one small town in Maryland where an official embezzled thousands from city accounts. Yet that same town bounced back with a budget surplus after they lured a new resort to the area. Pity about that employee. He was sentenced to ten years.”
Squier’s jaw hung open, and he snapped it back with an audible click. As he sank into his chair, he was like a trawler setting down anchor as a refuge from a storm, and his face clouded with dark tempests. “You’re new in town, Mr. Drayco, and don’t have a feel for how we do things around here. I think you’ll find we’re not the small-town emasculated hicks you believe us to be. There has been talk on the council of taking the Opera House forcibly through eminent domain.”
“Has there, now?” Such an action would save Drayco the worry of having to deal with the building, and he could walk away as he’d yearned to do when he first learned of Rockingham’s bizarre bequest. Yet there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let Squier get his hands on the Opera House without a fight. More and more, Drayco was seeing how quickly Squier lost his gentlemanly charm and speech patterns once the Southern-
dandy gloves came off.
The corners of Squier’s lips curled upward forming a half-moon, and he tented his fingers together. “We don’t take kindly to interference with our plans for progress. As I’m sure you wouldn’t want me interfering in your little consulting business.”
Sheriff Sailor mentioned Squier’s network of influential contacts throughout the Mid-Atlantic via those “Mayflower roots” Squier bragged about. A few ethics complaints, unfounded or not, and Drayco’s client list might dry up. The law enforcement agencies he often worked with might think twice about hiring him. It was a threat that had some teeth.
The intercom on Squier’s desk buzzed, followed by Adah’s disembodied and distorted voice, “I hate to interrupt Councilman, but your wife Darcie called to tell you she’s on her way.”
At the mention of Darcie’s name, Squier jumped up and strode toward the door. “We can discuss these matters another time.” But the evil eye he directed toward Drayco indicated he’d prefer Drayco vanished. Permanently.
Drayco obliged with the vanishing part and headed toward the door, adding right before he left, “In Spiritu et Veritate.”
Squier sputtered, “What the devil do you mean?”
“In spirit and truth. It’s on the front of your building.”
Chapter 22
This was one building likely to dodge the wrecking ball. Officially called the Fiddler’s Green Tavern, Maida referred to it as the Ole Trunk and Drunk. Patrons filled up their cars with cases of brown ale and amber pilsner before carting them home, presumably to drown their sorrows. If you wanted immediate intemperance, you could sit inside on one of the barstools. Or the handy tables near the john.
Drayco liked the smell of places like this, the aromatic cocktail of wood, dust, and whiskey serving up an unapologetic embrace of life’s indulgences. A photo on the wall taken years ago showed the original sign boasting House of Spirits. The building dated back to 1880, the only commercial structure in town older than the Opera House. A few flirtations with fire and hurricanes necessitated changes, but it stood mostly as it had since the first thirsty customers staggered weak-kneed through its doors. The wide-plank flooring and ship figureheads carved in mermaid shapes were all rescued from local shore wrecks.
