Mort signaled his deputies, who took Brian into custody. “If you’re tired, these gentlemen will be happy to give you a warm, comfortable bed for the night when they drive you down to headquarters.”
When he returned, Lyla was crying. “I was so sure everything was going to go right this time. So much has gone wrong in my life.”
“What was it that went wrong for you, Lyla?” I asked. “I thought you had a good life.”
“I never made a success of anything,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Sure, I won a few skating competitions, but everything went downhill after that. My pro career was a flop, and I had to come home to Cabot Cove and beg Mr. Coddington for a job. And Brian, too, missed that thrill of victory we had when we were young and competing for medals. I thought, this time, we’ll do it together. But I was wrong.”
There was a flurry of activity at the door, and I looked over to see my cabdriver waving at me from behind one of Mort’s deputies.
“You ready to go home, Mrs. Fletcher?” he called out. “I finished the book. It was great. I never guessed who the murderer was.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Had Jeremy Hapgood not recovered in time to relate to Mort Metzger and to me what had transpired at the arena that night, Brian Devlin might have walked away without any charges being filed against him. Here’s what Jeremy told us during a bedside interview early the following morning.
“I came to the arena to meet with Mr. Devlin about becoming Christine’s pairs partner. He turned me down flat. He told me that I was a second-rate skater who’d never make it in competitions, and that I should stick to driving the Zamboni and hang up my skates. I guess I got hotheaded and started swearing at him. I might have even pushed him. I don’t remember. Anyway, this was right before I called Mrs. Fletcher and asked her to meet me at the rink. I had my own theory about how Alexei died. I was sure that Mr. Devlin had done it to shut him up about the coach’s past, and I wanted to tell Mrs. Fletcher about it.”
“How did you know about his past?” I asked.
“Alexei told me.”
“I thought you and Alexei weren’t on very good terms,” I said.
“We weren’t. Only Cabot Cove’s pretty small. Sometimes we’d end up at the same bar; he’d have too much to drink and start blabbing, you know, boasting about how he was going to become the greatest pairs skater in the world, stuff like that. Anyway—did you know that his girlfriend back in Russia had his kid?”
I acknowledged that I did know.
“So, one night he starts in on how he knows that his coach was a crook, a guy who’d been involved in shady land deals in Las Vegas, and owed money everywhere, and how he was going to use it against him if he ever gave Alexei a hard time. I put two and two together and figured that Mr. Devlin had pushed Alexei into that pit to shut him up.
“After I called Mrs. Fletcher, I went back to him and told the coach what I knew. It was dumb of me, I suppose, to think I could blackmail—I guess you could call it blackmail—him into taking me on as Christine’s skating partner. That’s when he hit me. That’s all I remember.”
“You had a fractured skull, son,” Mort said. “The doctors did a good job of stopping the bleeding. They saved your life.”
“I’m not sure what kind of life I’ll have after all this.”
“You’ll have whatever life you choose to have,” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some movement at the door. “You have another visitor,” I said.
“Who?”
“Hi, Jer.” Marisa cocked her head at him. “You okay?”
“You must be pretty sore at me for trying to ditch you so I could skate with Christine, huh?”
She stood by his bed and picked up his hand. “I’ll get over it,” she said.
“Chris is going home to San Francisco, you know.”
“I heard. Probably too many bad memories here.”
“Yeah. Plus she doesn’t have anyone to skate with here. No way her father was going to let me be her partner.”
“You would have been a great partner for her,” Marisa said.
“Mark Rosner said her father is bringing Wolfgang Meister from Austria to team up with her.”
“He’s pretty famous. They’ll be good together.”
“Maybe we’ll compete against them someday,” Jeremy said. When she didn’t answer, he added, “Marisa, I just want to tell you it was wrong of me to desert you.”
“We were both wrong,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I said some pretty bad things about you I hope you never hear.” She glanced at me. “I have to go to work now. I just came up to see how you were.”
“Wait!” he said. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”
“The most important thing is for you to get better so you can get back on your skates. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Do you think she’ll forgive me, Mrs. Fletcher?” he asked when Marisa had left.
“Judging from her reaction,” I said, “I’d say you two might still have a future as a pairs team—and maybe even more than that. Sheriff Metzger and I are going to go now and let you rest.”
“Thanks for the information, son,” Mort said. “I’ll put it to good use.”
“Oh, by the way, I’ve brought you a present, Jeremy. This saved both our lives.” I reached into a shopping bag and retrieved the Zamboni remote control he had designed.
“Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher. Good thing I made it, huh?”
“A very good thing, Jeremy.”
“Mr. Coddington said I should show it to the Zamboni people and see if they want to manufacture it. That would be pretty neat.”
“It would,” I said.
Over the following months, the resolution of Alexei Olshansky’s murder restored a sense of normalcy and calm to Cabot Cove, although everyone closely followed the process being played out in our court and what ultimately happened to the players in this sordid affair. Evelyn Phillips’s Cabot Cove Gazette enjoyed record newsstand and subscription sales, and business at the ice arena boomed.
Based upon my testimony and Jeremy’s, Devlin was charged with assault and attempted murder. He pleaded not guilty, and his trial is pending. Lyla was booked on manslaughter charges and offered no defense for what she had done. Nevertheless, her attorney worked out a plea deal; she was sentenced to thirty years but could be released after fourteen for good behavior.
Tommy Mulvaney (aka Hunter) was tried as an adult under Maine’s stringent antistalking act. Because Christine’s father had not elected to press charges in California, Tommy was considered a first-time offender and was initially sentenced to sixty days in jail for having “engaged in behavior that created a credible threat for the person being stalked.” His notes to Alexei constituted, according to the judge, a tangible threat of bodily harm and were taken into consideration during his sentencing.
Contrary to Tommy’s claim that both his parents had died in an automobile accident, they were very much alive and traveled to Cabot Cove to stand by their disturbed son during the sentencing phase of his trial. Taking their support into consideration, the judge reduced Tommy’s sentence to time served, provided that he would be placed under the care of a licensed psychiatrist and enrolled in an approved abuser-education program. My heart went out to his parents, good, solid citizens who obviously loved their son and would do all they could to help him achieve mental stability.
Eldridge Coddington announced that he was not selling the Cabot Cove Ice Arena and instead committed a sizable amount of new money to upgrading every aspect of it. That he’d successfully enticed a semipro hockey team to call the arena its home venue meant hefty revenues, which may have played some role in his decision. The end result was a much-improved public facility that could be enjoyed by all of the town’s citizens—at least those for whom ice-skating had appeal.
Coddington’s announcement that the arena would remain in his hands meant, of course, that Eve Simpson had lost out on a lucrative
real estate commission from Harvey Gemell. I bumped into her at Loretta’s beauty parlor one afternoon a few days after Coddington’s decision was announced in the Gazette and commiserated with her on the loss of a potentially large commission. “You must be upset,” I said.
“Au contraire, Jessica,” she said. “I knew something was fishy about Gemell, knew it from the very beginning. He was not the real thing, a poseur.”
“I thought you’d thoroughly checked him out,” I said.
“Oh, I did, and he looked solid on paper. But there was something about the guy that set me on edge. It makes me sick to think that he was in cahoots with that Coach Devlin to try to steal the arena from Eldridge.” She wrapped her arms about herself and shook her head with an exaggerated shudder. “I’m only sorry he didn’t have to suffer some consequence,” she said.
As smarmy as he was, Gemell had left all the dirty work to Devlin. He himself had done nothing to warrant legal action.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“As far as I know, he is home in Greenwich, Connecticut, planning his next scam.” She stood and checked her image in Loretta’s mirror. “I’m off to meet a potential client. He’s interested in buying a dockside restaurant. Do you think Mara might want to sell?”
“I certainly hope not.”
The following winter, the Cabot Cove Ice Arena hosted its first major figure skating exhibition. The stands were filled with admiring fans as a succession of skaters—mostly children and teens—showed off their skills in singles, pairs, and ice dancing, gliding over the ice with finesse and athleticism. I sat with Seth Hazlitt, Mort and Maureen Metzger, Mayor Jim Shevlin and his wife, Susan, and other friends. As I watched the skaters perform their magic, I couldn’t help but think back to my first time back on the ice following that fateful night at the arena when Jeremy’s electronic device had saved our lives.
When I’d told Seth of my intention to skate again, he’d surprised me by saying, “Mind if I tag along and watch?”
I would have preferred that he not accompany me—his presence would make me more nervous than usual—but of course I said he could come. I didn’t want to be rude.
Seth dropped me at the entrance, and I went inside to put on my skates while he parked his car. When he rejoined me, he was carrying a large shopping bag from Charles Department Store. He set it on the floor in front of me.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Don’t really know. Why don’t you open it and find out.”
The bag contained a box, and the box contained a spanking-new skater’s helmet in black with JESSICA painted in pink script across the front.
“Oh, Seth, this is so thoughtful, but I’m afraid I’ll look silly wearing it. No one else on the ice is wearing one.”
“Better to look silly, Jessica, than end up in the ER again. Wear it, please. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.”
I didn’t have a choice. I put on the helmet. It fit perfectly.
“You look like a champion,” he said, grinning.
I stepped out onto the ice, and I have to admit, the helmet gave me more confidence. And the first time I executed my left crossover, Seth applauded in appreciation.
An announcement on the PA system brought my attention back to the present: “Ladies and gentlemen, representing the Cabot Cove Skating Club, please put your hands together for the winners of the New England Regional Championships, and the stars of our show, Marisa Brown and Jeremy Hapgood. Brown and Hapgood are coached by our own Mark Rosner. They will be skating to Tchaikovsky’s ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ ”
A roar of approval rose from the crowd. I clapped my hands, and next to me Seth Hazlitt gave out a loud whistle. I smiled. Aside from an occasional murder, Cabot Cove, Maine, is a wonderful place to live, and I count my blessings every day.
OTHER BOOKS IN THE Murder, She Wrote SERIES
Manhattans & Murder
Rum & Razors
Brandy & Bullets
Martinis & Mayhem
A Deadly Judgment
A Palette for Murder
The Highland Fling Murders
Murder on the QE2
Murder in Moscow
A Little Yuletide Murder
Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch
Knock ’Em Dead
Gin & Daggers
Trick or Treachery
Blood on the Vine
Murder in a Minor Key
Provence—To Die For
You Bet Your Life
Majoring in Murder
Destination Murder
Dying to Retire
A Vote for Murder
The Maine Mutiny
Margaritas & Murder
A Question of Murder
Coffee, Tea, or Murder?
Three Strikes and You’re Dead
Panning for Murder
Murder on Parade
A Slaying in Savannah
Madison Avenue Shoot
A Fatal Feast
Nashville Noir
The Queen’s Jewels
Skating on Thin Ice Page 22
