Alicia Komolsky signed for the items and spoke with the chief about returning her brother's body to Massachusetts. He discussed plans for transporting the BMW to Boston, and Alicia nodded as if under heavy sedation.
Chief Dupont consulted his watch and Alicia jumped.
"His watch-is that in this duffel?"
The chief frowned. "What watch?"
"My brother wore a very expensive watch called a Vacheron Constantin. It was pink gold, made in Switzerland. He never went anywhere without it."
The chief scribbled a note on a small pad of paper. "We haven't located it yet," he said. "When we do, I'll give you a call."
Again she gave a slow nod and followed Darby back to the truck.
"I guess I should be going back to Boston."
"Would you like some lunch first?" Darby offered. "We could go to the local place in town."
"No, I don't feel up to being in public."
"I understand. How about a sandwich on the ferry? They make a mean chicken salad. We can dine in your minivan."
Alicia Komolsky smiled. "Okay. But how will you get back?"
"On foot. We islanders do it all the time."
The two women drove back to Near & Farr and fetched Alicia's minivan. Darby tried not to smile as Alicia bundled school papers, candy wrappers, pencils, and small sweatshirts and tossed them hurriedly in the back.
Once on the ferry, the two women ate their sandwiches in silence. Alicia took a drink of her water and turned to face Darby.
"Do you think the police chief will solve Emerson's murder?"
"I think the murder will be solved, yes." She paused. "Would you mind if I had a look at your brother's things?"
"Of course not."
The two women walked to the back of the van and opened the hatch where Emerson Phipps' duffel bag sat. "ESP," said Darby. "His initials stood for Extra Sensory Perception?"
Alicia giggled. "Yes, I used to tease him about that when we were kids. He, of course, claimed he had ESP because his initials spelled it out. His middle name was Samuel. My oldest boy is named after him." She was quiet a moment, then clapped her hands. "Oh! I think I have a photo of Emerson with the boys. I picked up some copies the other day and I think they are still in the glove compartment. Would you like to see my sons?"
"Definitely."
While Alicia Komolsky hunted for the photos in the front of the car, Darby looked at the contents of the duffel bag. The clothes were clean and folded, with nothing in the pockets. His toiletry bag held the standard items-toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, razor. She opened the file folder and checked the documents. There was the contract, along with a copy of the earnest money check, the deed, and the property's listing packet.
There was nothing else in the file, and Darby returned it to the duffel bag. Idly she opened the medical thriller. There was nothing written on the inside cover, and Emerson Phipps' bookmark was a receipt from a bookstore in Boston. He'd read only the first chapter.
Darby turned over the receipt and saw a handwritten phone number. From the first three digits, Darby guessed it was for a Manatuck residence. She pointed it out to Alicia Komolsky.
"I have no idea," the other woman said. "You can use my cell phone and call it, if you'd like."
"Thanks. I have my own." Darby punched in the numbers and waited. The phone rang and was answered by a man saying, "Manatuck Agway."
Darby confirmed that it was the Agway store just a few blocks from the ferry landing and hung up.
"Interesting," she said. "Your brother took the time to look up the number for the local hardware store. Maybe he was planning to do some repairs on Fairview."
Alicia Komolsky laughed. "That would be the day! My brother was fine when it came to fixing people, but he could barely flip off a light switch inside a house. He didn't lift a finger to do repairs on his condo in Boston. He had a guy who took care of even the easiest things, and a cleaning lady too, of course." She pulled a 3 by 5 photo out of an envelope. "Here's the picture. This one is Samuel, and this is Michael. Isn't that a great shot? Look at the way Michael is grabbing his arm. The boys just adored their Uncle Emerson. He was like a dad to them." Her eyes filled with tears. "Do you want one? There are some wallets."
"Sure" Darby accepted a photo and gave Alicia a hug. The sound of the ferry docking brought both the women back to the present. Darby zipped up the duffel bag and closed Alicia's minivan hatch.
"Are you going to be okay to drive?"
"I am. I find it helps, actually. Gives me something to do. And I need to prepare myself to deal with the boys. You know, be strong for them."
Darby squeezed her bony shoulder. "Take care of yourself. I'll do my best to find out who did this, and I'll keep you posted, okay?"
"Thank you. And good luck."
Alicia climbed into the minivan and drove carefully off the ferry and onto the mainland. Darby watched as she turned toward the coastal route to drive south, back to Massachusetts. Her heart ached for Alicia and her sons. Emerson Phipps may have been a total bastard, she thought, but he had a sister and two nephews who will miss him terribly.
Once Alicia Komolsky and her minivan were out of sight, Darby pulled out the photo and studied it carefully. Phipps had been a handsome man, no doubt about it, and she thought his younger nephew Michael, with his thick sandy hair and square jaw, looked like him in miniature. Michael was clutching his uncle's arm, and Darby thought she glimpsed the pricey timepiece that was now missing. Perhaps I'll get a better look with magnification, she thought.
Darby tucked the photo back in her pocket and began walking the block or so from the ferry terminal to the Manatuck Agway store. Why had the surgeon scrawled down the number of a hardware store if he was not a handy person? Had it been a place to rendezvous with Jane Farr, or Mark Trimble?
A gangly teenager in the midst of restocking lightbulbs answered her inquiry about the manager. "He's not in," he said. "But he'll be back in an hour, 'cause that's when I go on break." Darby thanked him and pulled out the photo of Emerson Phipps and his nephews.
"Do you recognize the man in the middle?" The boy looked at the photo and shook his head.
"Nope. Don't think he's a regular customer, not that I've seen anyway.
Darby looked around the store for a few minutes, hoping that the manager would come into work early. Finally, she left her cell phone number with the teenaged clerk and left the store. She knew the Manatuck Public Library was only a block away, and she hoped to get more information on Surgeons Who Serve.
"May I use a computer?" she asked the desk clerk, once inside the handsome brick building. The librarian pointed to a machine and within minutes, Darby was logged on.
She typed in Emerson Phipps.
The first entries dealt with Phipps' murder in the small town of Hurricane Harbor, Maine. Darby glanced over them and found they contained the usual information, but no useful facts. Her eyes lit on an entry from Boston Memorial Hospital's website. Knowing this was the hospital where Emerson Phipps had privileges, Darby clicked on the link. Someone in the public relations department had written a flattering article about Dr. Phipps' involvement in Surgeons Who Serve. Darby learned that Phipps had participated in three missions with the group, all to a remote part of Haiti. A photo showed the surgeon smiling beside a pretty Haitian girl. Her spine had been severed, and with the help of SWS and Emerson Phipps, she was now able to walk. "The good doctor did a miracle," the girl's mother was quoted as saying.
There were several entries from professional journals, mentioning Phipps' work as a surgeon and his pioneering technologies. Darby flipped through them quickly, wishing she knew more medical terminology. The rest of the stories were easier to understand. They dealt with the surgeon's brushes with hospital disciplinary boards for actions related to tardiness, absence, and misconduct. Alicia Komolsky was correct: there were angry patients and frustrated administrators who had been unable to rein in her brother. Darby figured that a few of the articles were the
ones Miles had already found and given her; nonetheless she forwarded them all to her computer at Jane's house.
She checked her watch. If she hurried she would have time to speak to the Agway manager and make the next ferry back to Hurricane Harbor.
Darby jogged back to the hardware store, grateful that her ankle was feeling stronger all the time. Once inside, she spotted an employee she guessed was the manager, checking over a clipboard by the paint department.
To her surprise, he glanced at the photo and recognized Emerson Phipps almost immediately. "He came in here once," he said. "About a week ago. Left a few things for me to hold for a customer."
"Is that something you normally do? Hold things for other people?"
"Oh yeah. I'm like the frigging post office for some of these people, you know?" He chuckled and pointed to a shelf under the counter. "I'm in a good location, near the ferry and all, and it makes it easy for people to drop stuff off. Keys to their house or car, a bill they want paid, things like that. Been doing it for islanders for years, and I don't mind at all. Makes them loyal customers, is how I figure it. 11
Darby couldn't recall her parents ever using the Agway's unusual service, but she recalled Tina's comment about her aunt.
"What did this man leave here?"
"Couple of envelopes. Two, I guess. One was 81/2 by 11, the other just a normal size envelope. They were numbered one and two."
"Who were they for?"
"Who needs to know?"
"I do." She gave a sweet smile. "I was working with him, as his real estate agent. We were getting along so well and then he was murdered." She paused. "I suppose I could ask the police about this..."
The manager squirmed visibly. "There's no need to get them involved," he said. "The envelopes were initialed `SP ."
"Soames Pemberton?"
"Guess so. At least, he was the one who opened them up. He picked up the big envelope on Sunday, and the small one on Monday, just before I closed. Soames had a big smile both times, like he'd won the lottery or something."
"Maybe he thought he had," murmured Darby, as she left the store and hurried to the ferry.
Miles Porter called on Darby's cell phone as she sat watching the water churn behind the ferry. She told him about Emerson Phipps' drop-offs at the Manatuck store.
"He left envelopes for Soames Pemberton. I bet the large one was the old deed, which Soames picked up on Sunday. The small one was undoubtedly a check, which Soames picked up on Monday, after he'd made his little scene at the planning board meeting."
Miles whistled under his breath. "How in the world did Emerson Phipps know about Soames? Or the Agway store for that matter?"
"I'm betting Jane Farr," Darby said. "I think she made the suggestion to use Soames to present that old deed. If Soames grew greedy after one payment, maybe he killed Phipps when he wouldn't pay more."
"But Phipps was killed before the planning board meeting, right?"
"True. Maybe Soames contacted Phipps before the meeting and demanded more money. When Phipps said no, he killed him in a fit of rage."
"Then why would he have gone through with presenting the deed? And why frame Lucy Trimble?"
Darby was quiet for a few seconds. "You're right, it just doesn't fit. Maybe I'm trying too hard to make Soames the murderer. It just seems like it has to be him, Miles. After all, he knew Lucy had a drug problem from the stories they'd shared at the counseling group. She was trying to help him kick his habit, but maybe in doing so, she gave him all the information he needed to frame her."
Miles nodded, "Soames is a dangerous man. He's got to be found, and fast."
Darby sighed. "I haven't heard anything more from Chief Dupont. If Lucy is still his prime suspect, he's wasting valuable time not pursuing Soames. He must have had those chocolates analyzed by now."
"I'll try to find out. Are you coming back to the island?"
"Right now." She consulted her watch. "I'll be there in five minutes."
"Meet you at the dock and we'll go see the chief together."
Chief Dupont gave Darby a frosty look as she and Miles entered his office.
"You again? What is it you want this time? I don't mean to be rude, but I'm a busy man." He shuffled a stack of papers on his desk as if to reinforce his words.
"There are a few things involving Lucy Trimble that I'm not sure you're considering."
"Oh really? So, you're not just an expert on real estate, eh? You've come all the way from California to tell me how to do my job?"
Darby pressed on. "Have you tested those chocolates? What if Lucy was poisoned?"
"The chocolates are still at the lab in Manatuck. So what if she was poisoned? She still could have killed the guy."
"What if someone was trying to frame her?"
Chief Dupont snorted. "Look, we've got ourselves someone who always thought she was above the law. It's a typical mentality of the summer people. She didn't want to sell her big fancy house, but her brother did. And then she didn't like the guy buying it. So, she puts on her jumpsuit, and goes over to Fairview, and smashes in his skull. And just because she's a Trimble, she thinks she can get away with it."
"Lucy Trimble's not a 'summer person'," Darby said. "She grew up here just like I did."
"You know damn well she's not one of us," Chief Dupont sneered. "She's never had to worry if she could pay her heating bill come winter. She's never had to clip coupons, or cook for somebody because her husband was scraping by... " He stopped abruptly and sank back into his chair.
Darby leaned forward. "What are you saying?"
"Nothing" His voice was tired.
"Are you talking about my parents?"
Miles touched her hand gently. "Darby, let's go, we can... "
"No! I want him to tell me what he's talking about." She glared at Chief Dupont. "You've been hinting at something ever since I set foot on Hurricane Harbor. Now's your chance to get it off your chest."
"It doesn't have anything to do with this investigation," he said gruffly.
"It has to do with how you're treating me."
The chief was quiet for a moment, regarding Darby under bushy eyebrows. He cleared his throat.
"Your mother cooked for me twice a week," he said quietly. "For a year or so. My wife was useless, half in the bag, and Jada said she could use a little extra cash."
Darby stood up, stunned. "She never said anything about cooking for anyone."
"She didn't want your father to know."
Darby turned and walked toward the door.
"I'm just trying to tell you," the chief called after her. "Your friend Lucy Trimble is not one of us."
Darby was reeling as she and Miles left the police station. She made her way to Jane's truck and climbed in, wordlessly. Miles got in beside her and they sat quietly for a few minutes. Finally, Darby turned to Miles.
"I don't want to believe what he said, but it makes sense," Darby said. "I remember her making large quantities of food, and I always wondered who she packed it up for."
"There's nothing wrong with what your mother did," Miles said. "She was a personal chef, making some extra money for her family."
"I know. But she kept it a secret from my father. Why?"
"Maybe she didn't want to tell him she needed more help with the household finances. A lot of couples don't like to talk about money, even people who seem very savvy."
Darby thought a moment. "Now I know why the chief has been acting so strangely toward me. Miles, I think he had a crush on my mother-I don't think it was more than that-and for some reason I make him uncomfortable."
"Do you resemble your mother?"
Darby glanced in the mirror at her almond eyes and glossy black hair. Her features were softer than her mother's, but there was an undeniable family resemblance. "Yes" She took a breath, wanting to change the subject, hoping to keep the pain at bay.
"He's dead set on pinning this whole thing on Lucy Trimble. If he were to get his hands on that medical record..
. "
Miles nodded. "That would be the nail in her coffin, if you'll forgive the terrible cliche" He paused and looked Darby in the eye. "What next?"
She caught the scent of his soap, something woodsy and clean, and felt her face grow warm with the force of his gaze. Why did he have to make it so hard for her to concentrate?
"Well, I think we need to find out where Soames Pemberton is holing up." She made a major effort to focus on something other than his rugged face. "I'm going to see Laura Gefferelli. She may have some ideas as to Soames' whereabouts. What about you?"
"I want to be with you, naturally, but I do think I need to plug away on this article, for a little while at least. Are you going to be okay?"
Darby nodded.
"Then I'll head back to the cottage. Promise you'll stay in touch?"
"Promise" Darby was glad he couldn't see the flush in her cheeks as he climbed out of Jane's truck and waved goodbye.
The church was hushed and quiet as Darby made her way through the sanctuary and back to Laura Gefferelli's cramped office. Despite its small size, the minister had made the little room cheerful and pleasant. A neat row of books lined a shelf, a few framed pictures hung on the walls, and Laura's diploma from seminary school was on the wall.
She looked up with pleased surprise as Darby knocked on the open door.
"Come in, Darby. Great to see you." She stood and moved a few things off a chair and indicated she should take a seat. "I assume you're here to do some finishing details on Jane's service..."
"No," Darby admitted. "Actually, I'm looking for Soames Pemberton."
"A difficult person to find. Has new evidence come to light?"
"Not really, but I believe he killed Emerson Phipps and framed Lucy."
Laura Gefferelli shook her head. "I can't say that I'd be surprised," she said quietly. "Soames Pemberton is a very troubled man. A brilliant, but deeply disturbed man. Did you know he was a Navy SEAL?"
"I'd heard something like that."
"I've pieced together the gist of his story. He was in the Persian Gulf when Iraq invaded Kuwait in August of 1990, retrieving downed pilots and taking part in mine hunting missions. Then he was sent to patrol the water border between Kuwait and Saudi Arabia, and one of the mines he was detonating exploded. Soames was hospitalized for months. He came back dependent on pain killers. Added to the post-traumatic stress from his missions, it makes it nearly impossible for him to function in everyday society." She closed her eyes and murmured something, which Darby assumed was a quick prayer. "It hurts me to see a soul that troubled," she said with feeling.
A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 16
