Darby's voice was calm. "You're doing just what you should be doing, Mark. Don't worry about Fairview-leave that to me. I'll make sure that the estate is back in order as soon as possible. I've already contacted Peyton Mayerson and I think she'll want another shot at making this work. Please, leave it to me." She looked at her watch. "What you need is some food. Can I bring you something from the cafeteria?"
Mark shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll head down there myself in a little bit." He gave Darby a meaningful look. "I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done. Your aunt would be so proud of you"
Darby gave him a tight smile. "Let me sell that house of yours," she said. "Then you can thank me."
Peyton Mayerson gave Emilio Landi a playful slap on his well-muscled derriere and rolled out of bed. She grabbed her silk robe and pulled it on, enjoying the feel of the fabric against her skin. Life was good again. First, the news yesterday on the hotel's cable channel that Emerson Phipps had been found murdered in the Fairview garden shed. Peyton was sipping coffee, waiting for Emilio's ferry, when she'd seen the report and nearly choked. Could she have ordered that hit, and had it happened that soon? When she heard the details of the killing, she knew it wasn't a professional job but some bloodthirsty hack. No matter. The murder had the exact same effect. She really didn't care how the competition was eliminated, as long as it was eliminated.
She smiled. It had been a pleasure to use the IP Relay service and type in "Hurricane Harbor Job Canceled." She pictured the hit man, some muscled bald guy named Vito or Mitch, answering his phone and hearing that message. Like a kid hearing he had a snow day, she thought.
Next had come the call from Darby Farr, inviting her and her partners to submit another offer for Fairview. No doubt that was a pride swallower for the prissy little agent! Peyton chuckled to herself. Any gloating she did would be in private. The important thing now was to salvage the deal and get the guys in New Jersey off her back.
"Off her back" made her think of the third pleasant thing that had happened on this beautiful Tuesday, and that was a leisurely encounter with Emilio, her personal Italian Stallion. God, that man was what the Italians called splendido.
She checked her watch. Nearly ten. She thought briefly about hopping in the shower, but just then Emilio rolled over and gave her his lazy Roman smile. Before Peyton Mayerson knew it, she had slipped off her silk robe and slid back into his arms.
Darby and Laura were making an effort to talk about Jane's service while they waited for the noon ferry back to Hurricane Harbor. Laura had appeared only a half hour earlier, and together they had tried to see Lucy Trimble, only to be rebuffed by a police guard outside her room.
"You might as well go," he'd said, shaking his head. "She's going to be tied up for a while." Discouraged, the women left the hospital and made their way to the Manatuck dock.
"I have some scripture picked out to show you," Laura said. "It's about charity, which was certainly one of your aunt's best virtues."
Darby nodded. Her cell phone rang and startled them both.
"Hello?"
She listened for a moment and gave a quick intake of breath. "No," she said, in a tone of disbelief. Then she added, "I'll come to the boat as soon as I can." She snapped her phone shut and looked at Laura, her eyes flashing. "That was Mark Trimble. Lucy has just left Manatuck General Hospital in handcuffs. She's been arrested for the murder of Emerson Phipps."
"What?" Laura Gefferelli was aghast. "Lucy?"
Darby nodded. "They found a package of her cigarettes at the scene, as well as a painting smock covered in Phipps' blood"
"Surely they need more evidence than that? And what about her alibi? I saw her at the church that morning."
"They say they'll find all the evidence they need"
"My God, poor Lucy. This could push her right over the edge."
Darby gritted her teeth. "If it hasn't done that already."
The two rode the ferry back to Hurricane Harbor in silence. Back on dry land, Darby left Laura and headed directly to the berth of the Lucy T. She knocked purposefully on its gleaming sides.
A moment later, Mark Trimble emerged from below deck, his hair disheveled and a haggard look on his face.
"I can't believe this, can you? First the call that she is near death, and now this?" He lowered his voice as a tugboat chugged into the harbor. "Murder? My sister? She would no more kill someone than you or I! I'm absolutely in shock." He put his hands over his face and continued shaking his head.
"What happens now?" asked Darby.
"They will process her-you know, take the photographs, do all the paperwork, and then there's a hearing to see if they will set bail. I called our family attorney, Willis Foster. He thinks they probably will, as Lucy is a low flight risk. Assuming that goes as planned, I'll pay her bail as soon as I can."
"Does she have any idea how the cigarettes got there?"
"She probably dropped them." He ran a hand through his hair. "Darby, do you think the chief knows about the rape?"
Darby thought for a moment. "I don't know. Could Dr. Hotchkiss have contacted the police?"
"From what I hear, he's in a nursing home in Manatuck with dementia. It seems unlikely he would have contacted Chief Dupont, but who knows." He ran a hand through his hair again. "Darby, she's in a juried art show this weekend. What should I do?"
"Keep her in the show. She'll be free by then and hopefully cleared of these ridiculous charges. Do you want me to drive over to her studio? I'd like to take a look and maybe I could start transporting some of her work for the show?"
Mark grimaced. "You better not. Dupont told me not to take anything out of there. But if you don't mind, you could take a look and see how many she's got finished. I think she had a price list started."
Darby agreed to check the inventory and see what else she might find. "I may pay a visit to Dr. Hotchkiss as well. Who might know where he's located?"
"Laura, perhaps, or someone else at the church. I think a group of ladies visits people who used to live on the island." Mark rose and gave Darby a quick hug. "Thanks," he muttered. "It's good to know I'm not alone with all this."
Darby stopped in at the office to grab her keys for Jane's truck. Tina was on the phone when she entered, an incredulous look on her face.
"You've heard the news?" she asked, slamming down the receiver. "About Lucy?"
Darby nodded. "Unfortunately."
"Of all the stupid ass things. I swear, that Chief Dupont is just as lame brained as his father was. To even imagine that little Lucy Trimble would smash a guy's head and shove scissors in his gut -why it's ludicrous." She caught her breath. "How's your ankle?"
"Better. I'm going over to Lucy's, to take a quick inventory of her paintings for Mark. He's hoping she'll make bail so she can still sell at the Art Show."
"Good. That's just what that girl needs, something to take her mind off all this." She crossed her arms and regarded Darby. "Your aunt's obituary will be in tomorrow's newspaper. Somebody needs to call Helen Near and let her know when the service is. Do you want me to do that?"
Darby gave a quick sigh. "No, I will, Tina. Thanks for the reminder. Any chance you have her number?"
Tina handed her a piece of paper, and eyed Darby's limp. "Be careful," she warned. "We don't need you damaging any more body parts."
Donny Pease was touching up the paint on the porch at the Hurricane Harbor Inn when the tall lady from Boston with the funny name-Peyton, was it?-brushed by him with an impatient air. She seemed in a hurry to get somewhere, and as far as Donny was concerned, she could just keep on hurrying right off the island. Now, don't go getting huffy, he reminded himself. It's flatlanders like her who put meat on the table.
Still, Donny knew there was a difference between people like Peyton and some of the other folks from away, people who didn't come over looking to change everything. Peyton and her kind were always trying to turn his pretty little island into some kind of hoity-toity suburb. They
didn't care enough to talk to locals, or gather the wisdom of the old-timers who gathered for breakfast at the Cafe every morning. Naw, they didn't care about the way things had always worked. They just wanted what they wanted, whether it was malls or trash pick up or "no hunting" signs plastered on everything.
I don't like Peyton Mayerson, don't trust her one bit, and that flashy Italian boyfriend of hers is an odd duck if I ever saw one. There was something funny about the way he followed that woman around, unable to speak any English at all, but always giving Donny a look like he knew just what was going on.
Then there was that magazine ...
Donny dipped his paintbrush into the can and reached for a spot that he'd sanded only minutes before. He'd been thinking about the magazine all day, and just couldn't seem to make sense of it.
It had happened the night before, when Donny was still shaken up over finding that murdered doctor at Fairview. He'd gone back to his house, taken a little nap, and woke up still picturing those shears protruding from the guy's stomach. That's what had bothered him the most, he realized now, those stupid shears. I probably dreamed about them too, he thought. Sticking right up like a toothpick in a turkey club sandwich, for crying out loud ...
He shook his head to clear away the image, remembering what he did after his nap. I drove over to the Eye, he thought, 'cause I wanted a little whiskey to steady my nerves. The Eye of the Storm was the island's only bar, and that afternoon it was busier than ever. Everyone was talking about the murder, and of course Donny had to tell and re-tell his story of the discovery. Each time he told about the body, his horror lessened a little, or maybe it was the whiskey that was helping him to forget. At any rate, he'd just finished recounting the tale for the third time when a figure in the corner of the bar caught his attention. It was a man in a baseball cap, nursing a beer and reading a magazine. Nothing unusual about that-Donny knew that guys liked to hang out in bars, especially the married ones who needed breaks from their wives. Donny saw the man glance at this watch, then get up, looking around the bar as if he did not want to be noticed. He threw some money on the table and turned to leave.
Donny saw the man head on. Curly hair, puffy lips ... It was the Italian guy, Peyton's boyfriend, but he hadn't noticed Donny. Without making eye contact with anyone in the bar, Emilio left the Eye and walked hurriedly down the street.
Donny decided it was time for him to get going as well. He was due to pick up some passengers that evening, a party of four who were having dinner on Manatuck. Donny downed the rest of his whiskey and said goodbye to his buddies. Before leaving, he decided to visit the bar's bathroom. No sense in using the boat head if he could go right here, he reasoned.
On the way he walked by the table where the Italian fellow had been sitting. He saw the wad of bills waiting for the overworked waitress, and the magazine left behind on the bench. Curious, Donny leaned over to see what kind of European crap the foreigner had been looking at. Maybe a girlie rag, or one of those fancy race car publications. A moment later he stood up, puzzled. The man who couldn't speak a word of English, who had been sitting and reading so intently, had left behind the latest issue of TIME magazine.
After punching in Helen Near's phone number, Darby climbed carefully into the truck and drove to Lucy Trimble's little farmhouse, listening to the rings and anticipating an answering machine. She was surprised when a strong, clear voice answered the phone just as she pulled into Lucy's rutted driveway. Darby introduced herself, gave the information about Jane Farr's service, and sat in the parked car to listen to the Florida woman's grief.
"It doesn't seem possible," Helen said softly, her voice breaking a little. "Tina called me yesterday morning and told me Jane was dead. She was definitely getting on in years-I am, too!-but Jane -your aunt-she was such a strong force that it didn't seem like anything would extinguish her." She gave a big sigh. "Oh, I'll miss her. I'll miss her, all right. I spoke to her last week, you know. She sounded fine." She sighed again. "Is the service this weekend?"
"Saturday. I understand if you can't be there... "
"Of course I'll be there! Jane Farr was not only my business partner, she was my best friend. Oh, we go back a long way." She chuckled, and then her voice became businesslike once more. "I'll be there, and I would like to read a passage or two."
"Wonderful." Darby made a mental note to call Laura Gefferelli as soon as she left Lucy's house. "Do you need a place to stay, Helen?"
"There's a house I've stayed in before, but I believe Jane told me she'd rented it for the winter. The Hurricane Harbor Inn will be fine, and don't worry, I can give them a call." She paused. "How about you, Darby? How are you holding up?"
"I'm okay," Darby answered, glad the other woman could not see her tears.
Although it was Darby's first visit to Lucy's home and studio, she could tell that Chief Dupont and his deputy had been through the property. Drawers were partly out, papers were scattered, and clothes spilled from the bedroom closet. Even the studio looked as if it had been searched.
Darby remembered her promise to inventory the paintings for Mark. After admiring her old friend's talent, she found a list labeled "Finished Works" taped on the wall. By matching the titles with the actual canvasses, she could see exactly what Lucy had in tended to sell. When she was about halfway through the list, however, she came across a painting on the list that appeared to be missing.
"Island Respite," read Darby. She looked through the stack of work again, and left a little mark next to the title. Toward the end of the list, a similar situation happened with the painting "Shorefront Foes." Although it was listed as a finished work, Darby could not find it anywhere in the studio.
Puzzled, she checked the other rooms of the house, as well as the closets, without any luck. According to Lucy's list, she had finished two dozen paintings in time for the show. Darby recounted the stack of canvasses. There were twenty-two.
With the list in hand, she left Lucy's house. Before starting the car, she phoned Laura Gefferelli at the church and left a message on her machine, informing her about Helen Near's participation in the service, and asking if she knew where Dr. Hotchkiss might be living. After hanging up the phone, she sat and thought a minute. Had Chief Dupont learned about the rape, and had that piece of information pushed him to arrest Lucy? Had Dr. Hotchkiss contacted the police? Darby Farr was determined to find out.
EIGHT
DARBY DROVE BACK To Near & Farr in silence. Tina was out on an afternoon errand and the office seemed unnaturally quiet without her presence. The ringing of the phone startled Darby; she answered it and heard the voice of Mark Trimble.
"The judge set a bail amount for Lucy," he said. "I just spoke to her on the phone. She's wiped out, but happy to be going home. I've got Donny Pease and his water taxi lined up to take me over there so she doesn't have to come back on the ferry. He's got a truck at the landing and can drive me to the jail. Do you want to come?"
"Definitely," said Darby. "I'll meet you at the boat."
An air of quiet disbelief hung over the little party of Darby, Mark, and Donny Pease as they sped across the water toward Manatuck. As if to echo their mood, the weather had turned gray and chilly, with dark clouds forming on the horizon. The wind was starting to blow harder, and Darby found herself wishing she'd worn a warmer jacket.
Mark Trimble seemed to be in a daze. Darby began to feel concerned, but just then he cleared his throat and asked Darby whether she'd inventoried Lucy's artwork.
She quickly described the two missing paintings. "Lucy will have an explanation, I'm sure. Perhaps she'd sold them and hadn't had a chance to note it, or maybe she decided to put them in a gallery on Manatuck"
"We'll find out," he said, resuming his brooding air.
Donny Pease opened a locker and offered Darby an oilskin coat.
"Thanks," she said gratefully, slipping it on.
He smiled shyly. "Thought you looked a bit chilly," he observed, deftly avoiding a lobster trap. He seemed t
o think a minute before saying anything else.
"I helped out at the inn this morning," he offered. "Heard quite a lot of squawking coming from that Miss Mayerson's room around noon."
Darby gave him a shrewd look.
"Peyton Mayerson? What happened?"
"She was shouting at the Italian fellow, so loud I could hear it through the door. Something about things falling apart, and that he wasn't any help. Then she slammed the door and left the inn, alone. She took that fancy car of hers and left him shut up in the room. A little while ago, he was in the Eye, all by himself."
Mark and Darby were silent a moment.
Mark asked, "Do you think it's strange that we haven't heard from her about Fairview? Has she heard anything from her investors?"
Darby hugged the jacket tighter around her shoulders. "My gut feeling is that Peyton Mayerson doesn't have a whole lot of say over this purchase. She seems to be at the mercy of her backers, so if they are taking their sweet time, there isn't much she can do about it."
"You're saying she doesn't have much, if any, control," Mark said.
"Exactly," said Darby. "It could make someone feel pretty desperate. The question is: could it drive them to murder?"
"Hey, someone killed the guy, and I know it wasn't my sister," said Mark, his tone becoming stronger. "Do you think the police have even questioned Peyton and Emilio? Asked them their whereabouts? Maybe Peyton knew about Emerson Phipps all along." He thought a moment. "What if Phipps contacted Peyton, hoping to flip Fairview for more money? Or maybe he called her to rub it in her face? He was arrogant enough to do something like that." "
I wouldn't discount anything," said Darby. "I'm planning to visit Peyton Mayerson as soon as I'm back on the island. In my book, she had a very strong motive to want Emerson Phipps dead, and there's something bizarre about that doting boyfriend of hers."
Donny nodded. Darby watched as he seemed about to add to the conversation, but instead picked up his handheld radio. Advising the Manatuck marina that he was pulling up to the dock, he readied the lines and slowed his engine.
A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 12
