by BV Lawson
“Apparently the townspeople don’t mind electing a councilman with a temper.”
Adah frowned. “For two terms, so far. Don’t know he’ll make a third. Some of the folk against development think he killed Mr. and Mrs. Keys so his pet project could go through.”
“Do you believe that?”
Adah shifted in her seat. “I don’t know, in all honesty. But people aren’t talking to me as much as they once did. Me working for Squier and all.”
Drayco felt sorrier for Adah by the minute. Why couldn’t she have found employment with an accountant in town or Earl Yaegle, for that matter? At least Earl was a decent boss if you believed Randy and not Joel.
Drayco asked, “Was that why you were afraid the day I visited the office? That Squier and Paddy Bakely might come to blows?”
She squirmed in her seat. “I was more afraid of Paddy. He’s been arrested so many times. I shouldn’t have sent you into the office, knowing Paddy was there. But Mr. Squier didn’t tell me he had company coming through the back door. It wasn’t my fault if you walked in on them, was it?” Still squirming, she opted for staring at the floor.
“It might be fun to put Squier in one corner of the ring and Paddy in the other and watch them duke it out.”
He was rewarded as she lifted her head with her eyes lit up. “Like those wrestlers on TV? Emily and I watch them on Friday nights. I like the one called Prince Dynamite.”
In light of Reece Wable’s reference to SmackDown wrestling, Drayco decided Reece should be introduced to Adah and Emily. The trio could have wrestling night, complete with a Virginia Merlot and some of Maida’s muffins made with black huckleberries from her garden.
“Did Squier threaten Oakley?”
She paused. “He was critical of Oakley’s decision not to sell his land. He talked about all the money to be lost if they couldn’t convince Oakley to sell.”
“Tax revenue, or personal funds?”
“Tax? He didn’t use that word. He was agitated, asked what could be done.” She caught herself as if realizing how her words might sound. “I don’t think ... He couldn’t mean murder.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation on the phone.” She blushed again. “Not that I’m a snooper.”
It was difficult for Drayco to imagine Adah’s lonely life. Maida had told him townspeople called the Karbowski women the Westminster Spinsters, after the street on which their house stood. Emily had been on disability for years, and a good portion of Adah’s paycheck went to helping take care of her sister. Gossip was Adah’s lifeline to the outside world, and he didn’t begrudge her the indulgence. Besides, it had already come in handy.
“According to the sheriff, both Mr. and Mrs. Squier are providing alibis for each other for the times of the murders. Were you here with Emily?”
“I was here Sunday night, when Mr. Keys was—” She stopped, her lip trembling. “When Mr. Keys died. And I was at Cypress Manor on Wednesday the afternoon of Mrs. Keys’ death, preparing for the dinner you attended. The Mister and Missus were running an errand at the time. Not sure when they returned, though. I was in the kitchen in the back of the house, you see.”
Drayco asked gently, noting Adah’s increased distress, “Any unusual behavior from either of them recently?”
“The Missus was the same as always. Mr. Squier, on the other hand, has been out of sorts. He had me call Doc Vrooman to get a prescription for sleeping pills.”
Drayco heard Emily coughing again, from the back bedroom. “You need to attend to your sister, so I won’t overstay my welcome. One more thing. How did the councilman find out about Darcie and Oakley?”
“Near as I recall, it was Earl. Earl Yaegle.”
Chapter 26
Each Cape Unity dollhouse got more claustrophobic. Drayco hadn’t known what to expect inside Seth’s apartment-sized home, tinier than Adah Karbowski’s. But it would take about two minutes tops to survey the space, just one combination living and dining area, a galley kitchen, one small bedroom and one bath. That the Bakelys were able to afford this on the meager salary Rockingham paid Seth was a tribute to Seth’s money-management skills.
The living room was devoid of personality, the one couch and a lone chair covered in faded stripes once psychedelic, likely refugees from the sixties. Furniture on acid. It was almost a pity Drayco wasn’t wearing that tie-dyed shirt his former partner gave him as a gag present.
A spring poked him in the back of his chair, and he sat forward to get away from it. Seth looked ready to spring, too, the fibers of his being wadded into tight coils. This wasn’t a man accustomed to dealing with people.
“I think you and I are in the same boat, in a way, Seth.” The muscles around Seth’s ears twitched, but he remained silent.
Drayco continued, “Neither of us saw this bequest of Rockingham coming. Neither of us wanted it. But we’re both stuck with his decision, so we should discuss how to make the best of it.”
Seth sat back so hard against his chair that it squeaked out a complaint. “You asking my opinion on what to do with the thing?”
“Some townspeople want it reopened. Do you agree?”
Seth moved his jaw from side to side as if chewing on the thought. “Should be used or torn down. Empty, it’s insect bait. Makes no business sense. Always wondered why he let it rot.”
The words came out of Drayco’s mouth without him thinking. “I’m sorry he didn’t pay you more. We can do better than that.” Where exactly Drayco would get the money was a mystery. And it also presupposed him not selling the building, didn’t it?
“Don’t need charity.”
“It wouldn’t be charity. Regardless of whether the Opera House is sold or restored, it’ll generate money for such purposes.”
“Why would you do that?”
Why, indeed. Drayco conceded he didn’t owe Seth anything. He only inherited the messes Rockingham left behind. Some might argue it would be kinder to the Bakelys if he cut them loose, forcing them to find a better situation. Drayco had learned Seth got a tiny social security check, but he doubted it was enough to live on. Seth wasn’t young and didn’t have employable skills, other than manual labor. Labor that any number of younger folk, including some of those “illegals” the locals were worried about, would be able and willing to provide more cheaply. What was to become of Seth?
Drayco replied, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Seth stared at Drayco with a curiosity Drayco related to a zoologist trying to figure out how to classify an anomalous specimen. Drayco added, “I had another reason for coming. Something Paddy said the other day.”
Seth almost smiled, although since Drayco had never seen what a Seth smile looked like, it was hard to tell. “Was he drunk or sober?”
“A bit of both. But he told me Oakley Keys once broke into the Opera House.”
Seth definitely wasn’t smiling now. “He spoke out of turn.”
“Was it true?”
Seth bowed his head. The fingernails of one hand raked across the armrest. “It’s true. Saw him myself, as he was headed out.”
“When I first asked you at the Opera House, you said you’d never seen him there.”
“Was many years ago. Didn’t think it mattered.”
Or perhaps, Seth didn’t want to give Rockingham or Drayco more reasons for him to be fired. “Do you have any idea why Oakley snuck in?”
“Valuables. Lots of places broken into around the same time. Might be him, might not. I didn’t want to get involved in all of that. Hard enough keeping Paddy out of trouble.”
“Did you see Oakley and Randolph Squier there together?”
“Not together. Squier came a couple times by himself. Had his own key. He’d try to come early, before my rounds. Don’t think he wanted me watching him. But I saw him.”
“It’s possible Squier was looking for valuables, too.”
Seth’s eyes widened a fraction. “
A posh guy like him?”
“Maybe that’s how he got rich.”
Drayco spotted a small wobbly homemade wooden table against a wall. If that was Paddy’s handiwork, Yaegle was right—Oakley’s woodworking skills left Paddy swimming in the wood dust. “Oakley and Paddy had a lot in common, Seth. Too bad they didn’t get along.”
Seth leaned forward. The acrid smell of cheap cigarettes enveloped him like a cocoon, making it all too obvious where some of his paycheck went. “Keys was a drinker, like Paddy.” Seth’s voice had grown raspy. “Those thefts I told you about. It was the late sixties or early seventies. Everything was upside down. Vietnam. Course, you weren’t born yet. You don’t know war.”
Drayco might not have lived through Vietnam, but it wasn’t like he was born on another planet. There were no family photos around the room, certainly no photos of soldiers in uniform. Perhaps Paddy’s troubles had a military basis. Post-traumatic stress disorder would explain a lot.
“Did Paddy serve in Vietnam? He’d be the right age.”
“He was called up. Rejected 4F. Epilepsy. Might be better if he made it. Might have sobered him up.”
Or made things worse. If Paddy had problems with reality as it was, the horrors of war wouldn’t have helped. “Does he still suffer from epilepsy?”
“Seizures stopped in his twenties. Good thing, without insurance.” Seth stopped himself. “Paddy don’t drink because of that. It’s who he is. Makes him a target. He’s easy to blame for everybody else’s evils.”
Drayco scanned the room again for photographs, yearbooks, albums. Nada. “Is there no family who can help keep an eye on him?”
Seth stiffened again although his fingernails continued raking over the chair. Was he being defensive, that Drayco implied he couldn’t handle Paddy by himself?
Seth said, “A few in-laws. We don’t see ’em much. Don’t live around here.”
“And your own kin?”
“Don’t get along.” Seth’s dark tone of voice and his flashing eyes indicated that line of questioning would go no further. It might be a hundred different reasons, most of which Drayco had encountered at one point or another. A hundred different ways for families to grow apart.
Drayco asked, “I thought Paddy’s mother was born in this area, but you said her family lives far away.”
“They moved after Angel died. Not much to keep ’em here.”
“Not even a grandson?” Seth didn’t reply. “I’m sure your wife’s death was hard on all of you. Again, I’m sorry.”
“It hurt Paddy more since Paddy lost his mother young.”
“So did I,” Drayco said, although “lost” hardly described the reality. He wasn’t trying to force an empathetic bond with Seth, but Seth did nod. His almost-smile was soon eclipsed by a grimace, as he twisted in his seat.
“Are you all right?”
“Upset stomach. Probably those.” Seth waved his hand at a half-eaten pack of barbecue pork rinds. “You staying in town long?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I have to make some decisions on the Opera House, but I also have two clients who deserve justice.”
By now, Seth had raked the armrest so deeply Drayco expected threads to start coming loose. “You said Nanette helped Paddy at the Social Services Agency. Can you tell me more about her?”
“She was kind to me. And Paddy. Not because she was paid to. That’s the way she was.” Seth looked up briefly then down again, not adding any details.
“Are we talking about counseling—”
“Don’t want to talk about Paddy anymore.” The intensity in Seth’s eyes underlined his warning, the message clear. Paddy’s mental state was off-limits, period.
“When you were at the agency, did you see or hear anything that would indicate a motive for Nanette’s murder?”
“Don’t think anyone would want to murder Nanette. Must be a thief who thought they had money. A lot of new people in town. But old-timers know better.”
On Seth’s stoic face, ruddy from working in the sun on the Opera House grounds, lines formed like dried-up rivulets of sand in a desert. Small lines, from efforts to form themselves into smiles or frowns, or into something Drayco couldn’t identify. Regret? Seth didn’t move as Drayco rose to leave.
“Thanks for your time, Seth.” He closed the door behind him, with Seth molded in the same position, staring off into the distance.
In what condition Paddy would come home? Drunk, sober, bruised, staggering? Paternal love or not, this was one enduring family tie that withstood the hundred reasons families go their separate ways.
Chapter 27
Drayco stopped at the local art gallery shop to see if anyone had tried to sell a wooden owl mask like Oakley’s stolen handiwork. It was a wasted trip. The clerk, whose spiky purple hair rounded off on top made him look like a thistle, said nothing like that was brought in.
Saturdays in March didn’t draw crowds in the downtown, only a few vehicles braving the dismal weather. One, a black sedan parked down the street from the gallery, pulled out right after Drayco did. It looked liked the same car that followed him after the animal attack in the park.
He took a meandering route through town, the sedan maintaining a discreet distance. Looking for a way to confront his shadower, Drayco got caught off-guard when the sedan zoomed off at a ninety-degree angle. It sailed through one of the town’s few red lights and was a hair’s breadth away from broadsiding two cars.
The other cars swerved to avoid the sedan but hit each other instead, with a sickening crunch of metal-on-metal. Drayco stopped long enough to make sure everyone was all right. He jumped back in his car and headed in the direction his quarry had taken. But it had too much of a head start.
Lucky break for the sedan. Small towns weren’t conducive to tricks of the surveillance trade, making it hard to follow someone without being seen. Sheriff Sailor remarked it would be easier to find a gray E.T. than it was to keep investigations on the Q.T. Drayco needed to ask the sheriff about his obsession with alien life forms.
The more Drayco witnessed the sheriff in action, the more he admired him. Drayco was accustomed to a law enforcement scene mired in territorial quicksand, but Sailor didn’t have an egotistical bone in his professional body.
Drayco called the sheriff’s office to report the accident location and a description of his car-stalker, then continued on to the Opera House, pulling in front. He walked around the perimeter looking for cracks or anything that would send a contractor’s adding machine into overdrive. He got halfway around when a silver Jaguar pulled up on the street, and the passenger door swung open.
“Get in,” Darcie demanded.
“Why?”
“Because I’m kidnapping you.”
His inspection of the Opera House exterior could wait. The second after he closed the door, Darcie sped off, arriving ten minutes later at an area of town he hadn’t seen before. They parked in front of a small graveyard next to a foundation slab where a few dogfennel weeds poked through cracks in the concrete. Many of the graveyard’s headstones were leaning and no sight of flowers on the graves. Not even dried-up stems.
“Where’s the church?” he asked.
“Burned down long ago. That’s not what I want to show you.” She took his hand and led him between headstones through a grove of shrubs until they reached a clearing. A small drop-off in front led straight to the water. A view of the Bay greeted him, more unobstructed, more breathtaking, than any other he’d seen from Cape Unity’s shores.
“Leave it to the dead to have the best view in town.” She had an impish grin. “Oakley and I used to meet here.”
“For the view, of course.”
“That depends on what view you mean.”
She had the good sense not to wear high heels this time, and her shoes weren’t sinking into the damp soil, but now her head barely reached his shoulder. “Where else did you and Oakley meet, view or no?”
“Other than this spot and his home? We met on
e other time at a place near and dear to your heart. The Opera House.”
“You mean you broke in together?”
“Only a little bit. We snuck in while Seth was there and the door unlocked. We hid until he left. Oakley knew exactly where to hide.”
“Did he, now?” So Seth and Paddy were right. Oakley had broken into the place, and from the sound of it, more than once. “And you had sex with Oakley there in the Opera House in front of all those ghosts?”
Darcie wrapped both arms around one of his. “Now you’re pulling my chain.”
“Deservedly so. Did he tell you he’d been inside the Opera House before?”
“He was a music fan. I wasn’t surprised. He loved piano music, even though he couldn’t play.”
She moved toward an oak tree and pulled him along until they were beside it. He moved in closer to inspect a section with a carving in the wood.
“Oakley made that,” she said.
“Looks like a key.”
“It is. Because of his name, of course. An oak. A key. A joke.”
Drayco fingered the center of the key. “What are these? Lowercase letters?”
She punched him lightly in the arm. “You’re good. I never guessed what they were. It says b-b. I asked him what it stood for. If he had a BB gun as a kid, or a pet named BB. But he laughed at me.”
B-b again. Same as in the margins of the newspaper clipping he found in the woods. The sheriff would be thrilled with this added enigma. But Nanette did say her husband was fond of games.
“Oakley sure knew his way around a knife.”
“That’s why he taught Randolph. Because he was so good at it.”
Drayco had to process that for a second. “Oakley taught Randolph carving? I didn’t think they could stand each other.”
“Randolph loves those ivory tusks. The scrimshaw. He collected them for a long time and wanted to make his own. So he asked Oakley to teach him how to carve. They weren’t best buds, but friendly back then. Before my time.”
