"What do you mean?"
"It just seems strange that a woman as physically active as your aunt couldn't survive that operation, you know? I mean, she was in here all the time, and when she wasn't in here, she was down at that office, making deals left and right. Does that sound like the feeble old lady you saw lying in that bed?" She shook her head, and then pointed out a window to the backyard, shrouded in darkness. "Can you see the little guest cottage? Stay there, and I think you'll be pretty cozy. You can come in here to cook or use her computer. Or jog a few miles."
Darby followed Tina's clicking heels out the back kitchen door, past the giant computer monitor and across a little expanse of lawn. The moonlight was even brighter, and by its glow Darby spotted a neat little garden, then caught a whiff of what smelled like lavender. She barely remembered the cottage. It had always been full of yard equipment-rakes, shovels, the lawn mower, and mulch, and had seemed more like a shed than a living structure. Tina stooped to adjust a little mat outside the door. She straightened up, yanked open the door, and turned on a light. Darby stepped inside.
The cottage was bigger and brighter than it appeared. Wide plank floors painted light blue and whitewashed walls gave it a light, summery feel. A full-sized iron bed, with a yellow and blue patterned quilt, anchored the room, with a little white writing desk nearby. A comfortable armchair on a braided rug took up another corner. Tucked back through a small door was a tiny bathroom and kitchenette.
"It's adorable," she said.
Tina smiled. "Lucky she didn't get the chance to turn this into a gymnasium. Got enough room? It's not exactly what you'd call spacious."
Darby's bungalow in Mission Beach was larger-but not by much. "Small spaces suit me. I spent a lot of time on boats when I was a kid." An image of her mother laughing as she tried to hoist sails while her father smiled from his vantage point at the tiller filled her with a sudden sadness, but Tina interrupted the memory.
"I'll get your bag. You must be tuckered out."
Darby nodded. "I am. Tomorrow-"
"Don't think about it now. Get a good night's sleep."
Darby watched as Tina disappeared into the darkness to retrieve her suitcase from Thelma. Sleep was fogging her brain like mist over the harbor, and yet one fact kept pounding relentlessly. Jane Farr was dead. Tomorrow, plans would be underway for her service-whatever form it would take-and before the week's end, she would be laid to rest. Whatever remained unsaid between the aunt and niece would stay unsaid. Their relationship, best described as stormy, was over.
I could go back to California tomorrow, Darby thought. There's nothing binding me here. She was now her aunt's personal representative, but any duties associated with her aunt's estate could be handled long distance. And the Fairview closing... I could find another broker to take care of it. Jane's dead. I can do what I want.
And yet, as Darby drifted off to sleep a half hour later, she knew she would remain on Hurricane Harbor until Jane's memorial service. Her aunt had summoned her to Maine, almost from the grave, as if challenging her to one final power struggle, and Darby Farr wasn't about to back down.
Donny Pease woke just after dawn on Monday morning. He headed down the steep back stairs to his kitchen in time to see a young fawn step tentatively through his vegetable garden and back into the woods. He smiled at this glimpse of nature. The little fella was probably nibbling on the buttercup lettuce shoots that were just starting to poke out of the ground. Donny shrugged. He didn't mind shar ing, especially with a creature as magical as a spotted young whitetail, and he never had been that fond of lettuce to begin with.
As was his regular routine, he ate a bowl of oatmeal and drank a cup of strong coffee, relishing the jump start he always got from the bitter beans. He was more tired than usual, having picked Tina up at midnight from Jane Farr's house. He pictured Tina's face, her eyes puffy from crying. She'd loved that old battle axe Jane Farr, although Donny couldn't for the life of him see why.
Once his dishes were washed and put back in the cupboard, he took special care shaving his lined face and combing what little hair remained on his head. Today he would meet the new owner of Fairview-his new boss if all went well-and he wanted his first impression to be especially good.
Donny didn't need to be at Fairview until eleven o'clock, but there was no sense waiting until the last minute to get ready. He was always prompt, and he prided himself on his preparedness. Being ready for any situation imaginable was a trait that made him an exemplary property manager and a reliable boat captain as well. You just never knew what would happen with a house or a boat, and it made darn good sense to be ready for just about any calamity: an ice storm, a burst pipe, an oil leak, you name it.
Donny paused and thought about the last time he'd checked on the old Trimble property. Must have been a week, yes, a week ago. Donny didn't imagine anything much had happened to the place since that time, but what if something had? In his years as a caretaker, he'd seen just about everything from squirrels running rampant in a house (then chewing every piece of window sill in an effort to get out) to pot-smoking teenagers partying their brains out in a yacht parked right in the owner's yard. What if something had happened at Fairview since his last visit?
Talk about a good impression! What kind of caretaker would this new owner think he was if a nest of rodents were living the high life in the master bedroom? Donny Pease fought his mounting panic as visions of Fairview fiascoes danced in his brain. There's plenty of time, he thought. Plenty of time to take my key and go over there and fix what needs to be done. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and remembered what Tina always told him. One thing at a time. Tina! He'd nearly forgotten. Today was the day he picked her up mid-morning for their weekly visit with Donny's aging father. Donny thought a moment. The island was small and he was getting an early start. I can go check on Fairview and still scoot out in time to meet Tina.
When he felt calmer, he put on a light jacket, grabbed the keys to his truck, and headed out the door.
The ride to Fairview took only a few minutes and Donny was pleased to see that the day would be beautiful. His tires crunched on the long winding driveway, and he anticipated the rush of pride he always felt when he saw the house appear around the bend. This time, though, he felt a sense of puzzlement instead of joy. A sleek black car was parked directly in front of the house's main entrance.
Donny Pease parked and walked past the gleaming automobile. It was a BMW, and he knew enough about cars to know it was mighty damn expensive. No doubt it belonged to the new owner, as nobody he knew on the island would buy such a thing. He struggled to remember the new owner's name and came up with it at last. Peyton. The woman was named after a damned movie.
Donny took the key out of his khaki pants pocket and let himself in. "Hello?" he called, relieved to see nothing furry running across the glossy wood floors. With a thoroughness bordering on reverence, Donny walked through the many rooms of the grand old house, inhaling the lemony smell of the polish he'd used on the banisters, checking to see all was in order as he had so many times before. Fairview was as silent and still as a mill pond at dusk.
Once satisfied that the house was shipshape, Donny headed onto the vast back deck to inspect the rest of the property. He paused for a moment to listen to the waves breaking against the jagged cliffs, a sound he never tired of hearing. It seemed odd that the BMW's owner was not inside the house, but the weather was fine and the grounds lovely. No doubt she was strolling through the orchard or admiring the dramatic view.
Donny walked across the deck, noticing that the finish was looking a little dull. Normally he re-varnished the entire thing at the end of June, and it was looking like it needed it. That's something I can offer to do right away, he thought. Show her I know this place inside and out.
He took the steps down to the lawn and glanced toward the ocean. Nothing. He looked at the orchard, noticing the grass was getting ready for a trim, when he spotted an unusual sight: both doors to the g
arden cottage were wide open. That was strange. The building looked like a charming little home, but it was used as a shed for lawn and garden equipment. No one but the landscapers ever opened the building.
Donny walked slowly across the green expanse and toward the outbuilding. In the air over the cottage were two black ravens, fly ing in slow arcs around the cottage doors. That, too, was unusual. He felt a growing sense of uneasiness. Something was wrong.
The garden cottage was flanked by several old trees that marked the end of the manicured lawn and the beginning of a thickly wooded section of the property. The sun was still very low in the sky so the trees cast dark shadows. Donny heard a rustling in the bushes and jumped. Probably just a squirrel, he thought. Then the shape of a man seemed to dart through the gloom.
"Hey," he called out as he approached the building. Had he really seen a person, or was his mind playing tricks on him? "Who's there?" he cried hoarsely.
A blue jay shrieked from a tall pine, just as a thudding blow felled Donny Pease from behind and he crumpled, like a dead leaf, onto the dew-soaked ground.
Peyton Mayerson could no longer ignore the sun streaming through the Hurricane Harbor inn's thin curtains. She frowned and opened her eyes, willing the slight headache just beginning behind her eyes to go away. She glanced at the sleeping man beside her and felt a curious mixture of lust and revulsion. Emilio Landi was gorgeous: there was no denying that. His soft curly brown hair framed a face that was classically Roman: long aquiline nose, strong chin, and full, sensuous lips. His body was flawlessly muscled and proportioned and he knew how to show it off. Too bad he can't speak a damn word of English, Peyton thought. Then he'd be just about perfect.
She stretched languidly and climbed out of the rumpled kingsized bed, being careful not to wake him. Peyton had some business with her partners to attend to on this sunny Monday morning, then the silly town meeting at ten A.M., and then the little howdy-do with the caretaker at eleven. Given everything she needed to accomplish, it was certainly easier to let sleeping Italians lay than to pantomime every single thing on her agenda. She shook her head with mild frustration. Despite her best efforts to teach Emilio even rudimentary English phrases, he remained unable to communicate except through gestures or his native tongue. In the month since they met, she'd picked up more Italian than he had English, despite the fact that they were in America! She arched an eyebrow as he rolled over, revealing tight abs of which Michelangelo's David would have been envious. Maybe this Roman God of a man-however well endowed-was truly stupido.
Quietly she entered the bathroom and turned on the water for a shower, thinking that whatever Emilio Landi was lacking in terms of brains, he more than made up for as a lover. Peyton couldn't recall a time when she'd been so physically spent by someone with a seemingly inexhaustible capacity for lovemaking. She regarded herself in the mirror and saw an attractive yet determined woman, thirty-five years old, gazing back at her. I've got a sexy Italian lover in my bed, and yet I haven't let this relationship dull my business sense one bit, she thought proudly. I'm still making things happen ...
She tested the water temperature, shrugged off her silk robe and shivered. Even though it was late June, the mornings still held a chill in Maine. I'm sick of this place, she thought. Sick of this substandard hotel with its local-yokel clientele. She sighed and then smiled. One more day! Tomorrow at this time, the deal would be done. Finito. Not only would she be off this dismal island, but she'd satisfy her partners, the men she thought more and more of as greedy Boston sleazebags. What had happened to turn Tony Cardillo-and even Reggie, who was always Mr. Mild Mannered-into such bullies? Something else must have gone south for them, she reasoned. One of those mysterious South American schemes they only hinted at. Why else would they be breathing down her neck and threatening to tell the New Jersey guys? She couldn't believe that the money she owed them-a mere drop in the proverbial bucket-was worth the attention they'd given her deal.
None of it mattered, anyway, because the purchase of Fairview was nearly complete. They'd have their precious acreage and she'd be back to civilization. As she entered the shower and felt the steaming water caress her skin, she pushed away any doubts that threatened to destroy her confidence. It will all work out, she told herself. It simply had to.
A stone's throw from the Hurricane Harbor Inn, Darby Farr sat at her aunt's mahogany partner's desk in the compact office of Near & Farr Realty, sorting through a stack of files with growing impatience. She'd located one folder, neatly labeled FAIRVIEW 1, which contained the same contracts she'd reviewed on her flight the day before. Her annoyance stemmed from her inability to find the rest of the Fairview files in any of Jane's cabinets, drawers, or on her desk. She made an exasperated sound. "That's it! I give up."
Tina poked her head around the corner of the door.
"Hell of a lot of rummaging going on for 8:15 in the morning," she commented. "Why you didn't just sleep in a bit more, I don't know. It's just a little town meeting, nothing to sit here poring over papers about." She paused, saw that Darby was still deep in thought, and sighed. "Anything I can do?"
Darby looked up at the redhead's concerned face, her eyes dark from lack of sleep, and sighed. "Maybe. My aunt's got a file here for Fairview numbered `one', but I'll be darned if I can find any others. It doesn't make sense to number a file unless there are others, right? Somewhere there must at least be a `two' kicking around."
Tina shrugged. "You would think so. But your aunt was doing some odd things lately, so I wouldn't put too much store in what you find."
"What kinds of odd things?"
"Oh, this and that..." She shrugged. "Trips to the hardware store in Manatuck at all hours of the day, for one. In the past week, she probably went over there two or three times."
"What was she buying?"
"I don't know. I never saw anything. When I'd ask her, she was vague and said she needed supplies for `projects"' Tina snorted. "Your aunt was not the type to sit home and build a bookcase or learn basket weaving. If she wanted something, she hired somebody to take care of it for her. Her idea of a night at home was running on one of those crazy machines. I'll bet she didn't even know how to swing a hammer. "
"Even if Aunt Jane wasn't a fixer-upper, going to the hardware store a few times isn't exactly strange behavior."
Tina sniffed. "There were other things, too. She was distracted, you know? Forgetful. And that was never, never, your aunt. Not for as long as I knew her."
"Forgetfulness could have been caused by the tumor, Tina. Maybe even the trips to the hardware store had something to do with the pressure on her brain."
Tina looked doubtful. "Maybe" She rifled through a stack of documents on an adjoining occasional table. "I don't think there are any other Fairview files. Hopefully the one you've got has all the relevant docs... " She stopped. "Speaking of forgetfulness, I nearly forgot to tell you that Mark Trimble called. He said he's looking forward to seeing you at the meeting."
"Thanks." Darby stood and glanced at Tina's worried face. "Forget about that other file. I'm sure you're right-it's no big deal."
Tina nodded and hurried to answer the ringing phone. A moment later, she was back.
"Laura Gefferelli is on the phone."
Darby looked puzzled and Tina whispered, "The minister."
Darby picked up her line and said hello. The voice on the other end was gentle.
"I know you have a lot on your mind today, Darby, but I was hoping we could meet and discuss Jane's service."
Inwardly, Darby groaned. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with the details of her aunt's death, but as personal representative, those details were now her responsibility, however uncomfortable she felt. "How about this afternoon? I have a meeting this morning, and I'm not sure how long it will take."
"Planning board, right?" Laura Gefferelli chuckled. "No telling how long those guys can talk. I have to be there, too. We can touch base then."
"Is it part of your ministry to at
tend town committee meetings?"
Again Laura laughed, a light, musical sound that Darby welcomed. "It should be! God knows I go to enough of them." She paused. "I'm attending today on behalf of a woman's shelter we're setting up on the other side of the island. The church bought a small raised ranch over there, and we just found out that the septic system is partly on the neighbor's yard. Luckily the neighbor is being very understanding, but we need to get permission from the board to continue renovating the structure." She sighed. "You know how it goes, I'm sure."
"I do. I'll keep my fingers crossed. If I can help you while I'm here... "
"You have enough on your plate," Laura said quietly. "We're the ones who are here to help you."
Darby felt a knot in her throat at the other woman's kind tone. "Thanks," she said quickly, fighting to regain her composure. "I'll see you shortly."
Tina Ames was standing in the doorway, touching up her manicure with practiced dexterity. She blew on her nails, sending the scent of polish wafting toward Darby, and gave her a knowing look. "Awful lot of folks are gonna miss that Jane Farr." She shook her head sadly, then glanced at her watch. In a flash, her mood changed from melancholy to anger. "Where the hell is that Donny Pease?" she fumed, striding to the window. "I'll have his hide if he forgot to pick me up.
Forty minutes later, Darby scooped up the only file on Fairview and walked two blocks from Jane Farr's office to the town hall. A brick building constructed in the late 1800s, the hall held the island's few administrative offices, including those of the police department, as well as a tiny library and the town meeting room.
A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 5
