A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery)

by Vicki Doudera

  "No way." The voice was feeble, but all three heard the words clearly. Lucy Trimble's eyelids flickered and she said again, "No way are we keeping that house"

  "Lucy!" Mark rushed to the bed and bent over his sister. "You scared me, Lu. I couldn't take it if something happened to you."

  Lucy Trimble swallowed painfully and Laura offered her a sip of water through a straw. She accepted, wincing as the liquid touched her parched lips.

  "Thanks, Laura." She winced again. "Darby, I thought I heard your voice. It's good to see you. Sorry I'm such a mess."

  "I'm glad you're okay, Lucy. That was quite a fall"

  Lucy tried to lift her head up, but sank back on the pillow in pain. "It wasn't a fall," she said firmly. "Somebody gave me a good, hard shove."

  Her brother gasped. "What?"

  Lucy nodded. "I walked over to Fairview for one last look. I saw the BMW, Donny's truck, and the shed with the doors open. When I saw the body..." she paused and looked at Laura Gefferelli. "I've got to tell them the whole thing."

  "You're not up to it," Laura said quietly. "Tell them later"

  Lucy shook her head. "No. This is the time."

  She motioned for another sip of water and Laura once again complied. When Lucy spoke, her voice was stronger than before.

  "You know how much I hate Fairview," she said, her eyes searching Mark's face. He nodded and she continued. "I want nothing more than to sell that place and be done with it once and for all. I don't care if it becomes a wedding resort, or a dog kennel, or if it burns to the ground. But I didn't want it sold to Emerson Phipps."

  She took a ragged breath, her eyes focused on Mark. "I was sixteen the summer Phipps came to visit you." She turned her head slowly toward Darby. "You must remember that summer? We were having such a blast..."

  Darby nodded. She had only a hazy memory of Emerson Phipps, and the image of him mangled on the shed floor at Fairview wasn't helping.

  "He visited for a few days in late June, and then he came again in July. And it was on his second trip that he raped me."

  "What!" Mark exploded out of his chair, his eyes blazing. "That bastard! How..."

  "The details don't matter," Lucy said wearily. "I played tennis with him, I saw him that night in the library, he gave me some whiskey... "

  Suddenly Darby saw it all: Lucy, laughing in her tennis skirt and sleeveless blouse, swinging her racket and talking to her brother's charming friend from Dartmouth; Mrs. Phipps' vacant glance at the dinner table, as she pushed away her chair and retired to her private wing; the easy friendliness of Mark Trimble, offering a sunset sail, but his friend turning it down, looking instead at the lithe teenager in her tennis whites, his eyes a cold blue ...

  Darby shuddered. She knew now why Lucy had not returned to school that summer, why she had changed from a carefree girl to a careless addict. She understood it all, except for one thing.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. "We were best friends. I could have helped you."

  "I wanted to," Lucy said softly. "I wanted to with all my heart. But I was ashamed, Darby. I thought that if I didn't say anything, it would go away." She exhaled and closed her eyes for a brief moment. "But of course, it didn't." She bit her lip. "Six weeks or so later, I knew I was pregnant. I had to tell someone, so I went to see Dr. Hotchkiss. He promised that he wouldn't tell my mother, but of course he did. He wasn't going to keep something like that from the most powerful family in town."

  "You went away to school," Darby said. "You went to boarding school in New York."

  "I went to a home for unwed mothers in New York," said Lucy. "My mother told everyone I was at a private academy, but I was tucked away in Albany until the baby was born. Not even my father knew what was going on."

  Mark looked dumbfounded. "I can't believe it. Phipps ... he did that to you. Why didn't you ever tell me, Lucy? All these years..." His voice took on a hard edge. "I'm sorry I wasn't the one to kill him."

  "Somebody beat you to it," said Laura Gefferelli, placing a calming hand on his trembling arm.

  Darby stood up, her mind racing. "Lucy, what happened after you found Phipps?"

  "I think I went into some sort of trance," she said. "I looked down, and the next thing I knew, I was covered in blood. I got up and ran across the lawn and toward the ocean. I stopped at the edge of the cliff, screaming. I felt a hard shove, and all of a sudden I was falling..."

  "Did you see who pushed you?"

  Lucy's eyes were brimming with tears. "I know it's impossible, but I keep thinking it was Emerson Phipps."

  Given Lucy's painful news, Darby decided to postpone her trip to the Manatuck courthouse, and instead made a coffee run to the hospital cafeteria. Although she hadn't eaten since eight A.M. that morning, the sight of the doughnuts and stale muffins repulsed her. As she made her way back to Lucy's room with the steaming Styrofoam cups, she saw the bulky form of Charles Dupont passing the nurse's station. Her heart sank. His presence could mean only one thing: Lucy Trimble was about to be questioned for murder.

  Chief Dupont looked up as she approached. "Why thank you, darling, don't mind if I do." He grabbed a coffee and gave her a hard look. "Shouldn't you be planning a funeral?"

  "It just so happens that I have been meeting with Reverend Gefferelli in Lucy's room," she said. The chief didn't need to know what they'd been meeting about, she reasoned.

  "That so? I'm here to ask Lucy Trimble a few questions, now that we know what time of day Dr. Phipps was killed."

  Darby kept herself from asking and opened the door. "Coffees," she announced. "Coffees, and Chief Dupont."

  The others were silent as he made his way inside the room. He regarded Lucy's open eyes with satisfaction. "Why you're awake, Miss Lucy. That will make the job of questioning you that much easier."

  He pulled up a plastic chair and eased onto it. "Normally I would ask you all to clear out of here and leave us alone. But if you can keep your mouths shut, I'll allow you to stay, seeing as how Miss Lucy is pretty banged up." He glanced at Mark Trimble. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  Mark nodded. The chief grunted and turned back to the hospital bed. After a sip of coffee, he gave Lucy a hard look that made Darby shiver. "Let me get right to the point. Where were you on Sunday morning, Miss Trimble?"

  "Sunday?" Mark questioned.

  Dupont put up a hand. "Yes, Mr. Trimble. That's what the medical examiner tells me. Dr. Phipps was killed with a blunt instrument yesterday morning between seven A.M. and eleven. The gardening shears stuck in his gut were a nice touch, but they didn't kill him."

  Mark Trimble rose to his feet. "You can't think Lucy had anything to do with Emerson Phipp's death," he cried. "That's ridiculous!"

  "Mark, please," said Lucy. "He's just doing his job." The effort of talking seemed to exhaust her and she took a long breath. "Sunday I was at the church, in the kitchen. I went in around seven A.M. and was there until the service started at nine A.M. I attended worship, and then came back and cleaned up. I was home around eleven A.M. or so"

  "What were you doing in the kitchen before church started?"

  "I was preparing for communion, cutting cubes of bread and pouring the juice into the communion glasses."

  "That takes two hours?"

  "It takes longer than you think," she said.

  Laura Gefferelli interrupted. "It has to be cut up into small cubes and arranged on the platters. Plus Lucy made coffee and helped set up for the hospitality hour."

  The chief turned back to Lucy. "So there were other church members present?"

  "Rhonda Davis and her sister-Lillian's her name, I thinkshowed up at 8:15."

  "You were alone until that time?"

  "Yes"

  The chief shook his head and was about to comment further when Laura Gefferelli spoke up once more.

  "Chief, I don't know if it's helpful, but I saw Lucy in the kitchen on my way to the sanctuary. That was at 7:30, maybe even earlier. I could tell she'd been working for some ti
me, as the glasses were already full."

  "Did you speak to Miss Trimble?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Why not?"

  "I was praying." She turned her calm blue eyes toward the chief and continued. "Every Sunday I wake at sunrise, get ready for the service, and spend as much time as possible in quiet contemplation until the service starts. I've always done it. I find it helps center and prepare me for my duties as a minister."

  "I see" Chief Dupont turned to Lucy. "Lucky for you Reverend Gefferelli has a set routine." He scratched his head and frowned. "That's all for now, I guess, but I may be back with more questions. You'll stick around, right, Miss Trimble?"

  Lucy nodded.

  Darby rose and walked Chief Dupont out of the hospital room. "Do you have any other leads?" she asked.

  He looked at her warily. "Maybe. Why would you want to know?" His cell phone rang and he answered it with a curt yes. She watched him narrow his eyes and nod.

  "My deputy just found Emerson Phipps' wallet in the woods not far from Fairview," he said. "There was no money, but his driver's license was still intact." "

  I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, Chief Dupont," said Darby quietly. "But I don't think Lucy Trimble was anything but an innocent victim today. In fact, she says she was pushed from that cliff. Whoever murdered Emerson Phipps may have been the one who hit Donny Pease and shoved Lucy. She could have been killed as well."

  The chief appeared to consider Darby's statements. "I suppose you have a suspect in mind?"

  "Soames Pemberton's trailer is in the woods, not far from Fairview. He could easily have seen Phipps arrival Sunday morning in the BMW. Perhaps Soames lured Phipps into the shed, killed him, and returned the next day looking for money."

  "Soames? He's got one or two screws loose, but he's not a murderer." The chief turned and started down the hospital corridor. "Look, I'm not discussing my case with you, Darby Farr, and I'd like it if you kept your suppositions, however plausible they may seem, under your hat." He paused and glanced back at Darby. "Tell Lucy Trimble I said get well soon"

  Darby watched the bulky form of the chief as he rounded the corner. She thought back to the morning's planning board meeting and Soames Pemberton's appearance with the old deed. Could he have come before the town knowing he'd killed a man in cold blood only twenty-four hours earlier? Soames is a madman, thought Darby. I know that firsthand ...

  She entered Lucy's hospital room to find Mark Trimble pacing the floor, eyes blazing with anger. He whipped toward Darby, his hands gesticulating wildly.

  "Can you believe Chief Dupont thinks Lucy had something to do with this? That man is an idiot."

  Laura Gefferelli sat quietly by Lucy's bedside, observing Mark Trimble's anguish without comment.

  Lucy tried once more to calm her brother down. "Mark, please, he's just doing..."

  "I know, I know, his job," Mark scoffed. "Lucy, if you're a suspect now, imagine if he knew about what Phipps did to you. If he were to find out..."

  "I think we need to let you sleep, Lucy," said Laura softly. "I see they've given you Vicoprophen, which should help with the pain." She leaned over the hospital bed and gave Lucy a hug. "Don't worry about the art show," she said. "I'm organizing a few volunteers to help me and we've got it covered."

  "Thanks," Lucy said with a weak smile. "You'll probably sell more paintings without me."

  "I doubt that, but we'll certainly give it our best." Laura turned her gray eyes toward Darby. "Care to sit down with me in the cafeteria? I'd like to go over a few details about your aunt's funeral."

  Darby felt a pang of guilt. With all that had happened at Fairview and the hospital, she'd nearly forgotten about Jane Farr's memorial service.

  "Sure," she said. She turned to Lucy. "You and I need some time to catch up. I'll be back to talk after you've rested"

  When Lucy nodded, Darby gave her shoulder a small squeeze and left the room.

  The fluorescent lights of the cafeteria buzzed overhead. The two women chose a table and pulled out plastic chairs.

  "Want anything?" Laura Gefferelli asked, gesturing toward the coffee machines and food.

  "No, I'm all set." The air reeked of macaroni and cheese, but Darby was beyond hunger. She gave a sigh and regarded the older woman. "I'm still in shock over Lucy's news that Emerson Phipps raped her. I remember that summer, although I barely remember him, but I certainly have memories of the way Lucy changed. She kind of withdrew into herself, you know, and then her problems with addiction started."

  Laura nodded. "That's often the way it progresses. The shame, the inability to process the rape, and the effort of acting like all is normal-it's more than anyone can bear, especially a vulnerable girl of sixteen." Her normally relaxed face hardened with anger. "When I think of the way Lucy's mother reacted..." she paused, and with only minimal effort, seemed to calm herself down. "In Lucy's case, the fact that she was sent away probably saved her from going completely over the edge. She's told me before that there were some caring individuals at the home for unwed mothers, and they tried to make a very painful experience less traumatic."

  Darby pictured Lucy giving birth in New York, away from her family and friends, and then handing the baby off to strangers ...

  coming back to Hurricane Harbor, pretending that she'd spent the academic year at a prestigious boarding school.

  "When did she tell you?"

  Laura thought a moment. "A month or so ago. We were working together at the Coveside Clinic, and she chose to open up." "

  I wish I had known she was in such pain," Darby said quietly.

  Laura shook her head. "From what little I know of your story, Darby, you were in pain yourself. You'd suffered your own trauma." She took a small notebook out of her pocketbook. "Forgive me for getting down to business, but I have a meeting after this and I want to get some details together for Jane's service."

  "You go from one meeting to another. Do you ever sleep?"

  Laura Gefferelli laughed. "Not much, hence the bags under my eyes. This meeting is about that Women's Center that I told you about, on the west side of the island. We did get our approval for the septic system, by the way, so the project is on track." She paused, and looked down at her notepad. "The whole thing was actually Jane's idea. She was like that, you know, she thought big. Instead of adding a wing onto something, Jane suggested a new building, found it for us, and helped fund it. She really was a remarkable woman."

  Darby was silent as Laura ticked off items from her list: Scripture passages, pallbearers, music, flowers ... She tried to listen but her mind wandered from images of Jane Farr to Lucy Trimble as a teen. The past-her Hurricane Harbor past-was intruding upon her present. She heard herself agreeing with things Laura was saying, without knowing, or caring, what they were.

  Her confused mental state was abruptly interrupted by a deep cough.

  "Excuse me," said a voice tinged with a British accent. "I'm looking for Darby Farr."

  Darby looked up. She was ten inches away from a rugged face with a thick shock of dark hair, unquestionably the sexiest face she had ever seen.

  She said nothing for a moment or two, drinking in the feeling of lust that was overwhelming her whole body. Then she willed herself to take control of her hormones and answered.

  "I'm Darby," she managed. "What can I do for you?"

  He smiled and held out a hand. "Miles Porter, journalist from the Financial Times of London. I wonder if I might have a word?"

  They shook hands and Darby glanced toward the amused face of Laura Gefferelli. Quickly she introduced the other woman and invited Miles to take a seat.

  Laura rose from her chair. "Actually, Darby, I really need to get back to the island. I have to work on this service and get ready for my meeting. Nice to meet you, Miles." She gave Darby a little smile and left.

  Miles Porter pulled up a chair and sank gratefully into it. "I'm bushed. I flew in yesterday and drove up from Boston this morning. I'm afraid I'm not my
usual chipper self yet."

  You look pretty darn good anyway, thought Darby, noticing the way his khaki pants fit in all the right places. "What are you doing in Maine?"

  "I'm here to write a story for the FT about real estate," he said. "Specifically, high-end waterfront property." He paused and pulled a business card out of the pocket of a tweedy jacket. "Actually, I was supposed to meet up with your aunt. Tina at the office just told me of her passing. Please accept my condolences."

  "Thanks. You didn't know until you arrived in the United States?"

  "I didn't know until I rang the office an hour ago to say I'd be a little late for our appointment." He touched his fingertips together and said lightly, "Turns out I was quite late."

  "I'm sorry that you weren't notified, Mr. Porter. I checked her appointment book but I didn't see your name."

  "It's Miles. Please don't worry on that account. It's a business trip for me, and besides, Tina said I could get an even better story from you."

  "She did?"

  He laughed. "She suggested the bicoastal angle-you contrasting the Maine market with the California coast. I think it's a very good idea. What do you say? There's a free dinner at the restaurant of your choice in it for you. I'm afraid it does need to be tonight, however, as I have to be back in Boston tomorrow."

  Darby considered. Although she wasn't in the mood for socializing, the Financial Times' affluent, international readership represented just the kind of buyers she coveted as clients. "I'll do it, but it's going to cost you," she warned. "I have pretty expensive tastes"

  "Seeing you in person, I wouldn't doubt it."

  He gave her a frank look and she felt the color rising in her cheeks. Since when am I someone who blushes?

  "The restaurant I'm choosing is called Firefall," Darby said. "It's -"

  "Fabulous"

  "You know it?"

  "I love it. I was hoping you'd pick Firefall. They have room for us at seven. Will that be too late?"

  Darby glanced at her watch. "The ferry back to Hurricane Harbor leaves in fifteen minutes. I need to shower, and change, and it takes about an hour to get there..."