He considered that for some time. “Then how about a compromise?”
“What sort of compromise?”
“We go to your place and plan the whole thing there. I tell you everything I know, and you tell me what you found in Alice’s room. You don’t have to show me, just tell me, and we can decide together how best to use it.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
He seemed surprised at how quickly I agreed to that, and took a few steps away. “What’s the catch?”
“Only one. You wipe your boots on the doormat before you come in.”
That offset his suspicion, and we made our way through the forest—without flashlight—to my side of town. And inside the rucksack, my cell phone would (I hoped) still be on, beckoning Billy Langdale toward the biggest arrest of his career.
Chapter Six
Windward after dark on a week day was as empty and ghostly as an eighteenth century seaside village on smuggling night. People kind of knew everyone’s business, the various stealthy visitors, the timing of their arrivals and departures. My street, located in the working class property band between the retail and business owners and the outlying affluent retirees and summer home owners, was one of the most densely packed in Windward. About a dozen large families lived there, alongside divorced fishermen, a couple of schoolteachers, and three or four single women, of whom I was the youngest. We were all mostly on speaking terms, and loaned out the odd step-ladder or bag of sugar without thinking twice. Every year, twice a year, on the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, we held a street party. They were always fun, but usually ended up more flirty and swinging than I liked. Of those fisherman, at least two had partied their way to a long-term alimony hangover after being lured by Edith Fawcett’s prom queen honey trap.
Edith lived next door but one to me. A knockout, even at forty-six, she was unfortunately prone to highs and lows, but was always friendly enough with me. Three children by three different fathers—she’d never married—tended to give her more lows than highs in those days, but Edith never let that get in the way of a good time.
When Gordo and I crept up the street past her house, she was draped all over one of her gentleman callers at the front door. She threw me a wink, as if to welcome me to the club—I shuddered at the thought—and then snogged her man goodnight. I couldn’t tell if she’d seen Gordo’s face or not. If she had, and recognized him, and my cell phone trick hadn’t worked, I could be in deep trouble with the authorities. This could be construed as harboring a fugitive, maybe even something worse.
Manuka bounded across the street to greet me, but kept his distance from Gordo, who smelled like the floor of a men’s toilets (or my egg custards, if you believed that one reviewer). At least Mr. Fugitive wiped his boots on the mat as promised. Not wanting my sofa or armchair soiled, I took him into the kitchen and told him to sit on one of the breakfast stools. Made us a pot of coffee. He asked if I could spare a snack, seeing as he hadn’t eaten anything since a hot dog in the afternoon—the cash in his wallet would last him another week or so, he reckoned. I made sure I fed Manuka first, and thought about giving Gordo his leftovers, maybe a little something to chew on from the litter tray as well...
I toasted him a couple of Pop-Tarts instead, gave him a banana. That was my limit for the scumbag who’d tried to turn my cousin into a Stepford wife.
“Okay, your turn,” I told him. “What’s the Elysium deal all about?”
“It’s the investment opportunity of a lifetime. And I mean opportunity with a capital O. Not just for me and my consortium, but for the people of Windward. You’d all benefit from the revenue stream it would introduce. Only your damn Select Committee seems to stonewall anything more original than offering free baggies for dog poop disposal. Folks like that can’t be reasoned with. They took a set against me last time, so I knew I had to try a different strategy, a more, shall we say, indirect one.”
“I’ve seen the brochure. The only way you’re ever getting Del Brady and Melissa Briggs to approve something like that is by major league bribery or blackmail.”
He said nothing.
“So which is it?”
“Irrelevant,” he replied. “Sure, we had to put pressure on them or they’d never have budged. But they still have a choice.”
“You’ve scared the living hell out of them. They won’t even answer their doors to me.”
“Then it’s probably worked. You see, everyone has a dirty little secret or two they don’t want the public to know about. Especially politicians, who’ll do anything to stay in office. I just wish I’d made this move years ago. Windward would be on its feet by now, raking in the big bucks.”
“You mean you’d be raking it in—you and your grubby little gnome convention.”
“Consortium.” He actually had the balls to correct me. The urge to punch him in the face was starting to take over. “But the point is,” he went on, crunching a mouthful of strawberry Pop-Tart, “is that we were all set to get this thing passed. If a certain someone had kept his hands to himself and not forced Alice to confront me that night, everything would have been fine. But she was drunk, and he was desperate for her to tell me the truth about them. I think they both knew I’d found out they were sleeping together, and that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the deal; so Alice just came right out with it, right there in the living room. Just exploded! I’d never seen her like that. Never. She told me what a sonofabitch I’d been and the reasons why she was going to run off with...him. All the while she was trashing the house, and I had to just stand there and take it. Well, almost—I did swing a baseball bat at the wall in frustration. But I knew everything she was saying was true. I also knew that I loved her. I-I’d just never known how to show it, that’s all.”
“So what happened next?”
“She screamed her piece and then stormed out. And I let her. I figured if the worst that happened was she left me, maybe it was time we both moved on. I had the deal, and she’d done her part in cultivating my image as a sound financial partner.”
“You used her all those years. She was your trophy, your pretty little prop. She dazzled the big cojones while you greased their palms. I don’t think I could possibly hate you any more right now.”
He leaned back on his stool, sensing I was about to hit him. “But I didn’t kill her, Sylvia. I swear to God I didn’t.”
“But you wanted to.”
He didn’t respond, just stared at me like the coward he was.
“Then who killed her?”
Unpeeling the banana, he muttered something to himself, then took a deep breath. “He must have been standing outside the back door the whole time, listening in, waiting to intervene if things got out of hand. My suspicion is he wanted me to hit her, so then he’d have an excuse to kill me. He wanted me out of the way.”
“So he could have Alice?”
“And my stake in Elysium. Do try to keep up. Money always trumps love in the end, Sylvia. I thought that was common knowledge.”
“Only among heartless assholes who don’t know what love is.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, when she’d had her tantrum and stormed out, he was there waiting for her in the back garden. But she didn’t go with him, at least not the way he wanted, which would have been to his car. No, she ran down to the jetty, crying. And he followed. I watched the whole thing. She screamed something about her father and what he’d always done when the world got too much for him—”
“He used to row around the bay, said it gave him perspective.”
“I figured. Later. At the time I didn’t have a clue what she meant. She was still a little drunk, although the demolition job she’d done on the living room must have sobered her up some.”
“And you followed them down to the jetty?”
“Yes. I kept my distance, though. They were a while on the jetty, talking. I didn’t hear much of what was said until they really started going at it, hammer and tongs. She told him she knew all about an
illegal deal he’d made with a certain Selectman, and that if he didn’t leave her alone from now on, she’d go public with it. I knew it was all bluster on her part—the same as it had been with me—she was just venting—but he was a different story. He’s as calculating as they come. Said it was a good idea of her dad’s, to take the boat out like that. They could talk peacefully out there, in private, and he’d listen to everything she wanted to get off her chest, without argument.”
Gordo bowed his head. “So they took the boat out. That was the last time I saw Alice alive.”
“Then you suspected. You knew how calculating he was, that she wasn’t thinking straight, taking the boat out at night with someone whose whole future depended on her silence.”
“I never thought he’d actually do it. Maybe just scare her a little. And I still don’t think he intended to murder when they first set out.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked him.
“Because of how sloppy it turned out. Like I said, he’s a calculating piece of work. There’s no way he intended to leave her body and the boat to drift ashore like that.”
“Then you think it was an accident?”
“Yes and no. I’ve thought long and hard about it. What I think happened is this...”
There was a knock on the front door. Gordo dropped the banana and bolted for the back door, unlatched it, and sped out into the night. I ran to open the front door, expecting to see Billy Langdale. Instead, Chief Mattson and Deputy Kramer stepped up, asking me if everything was all right. They’d received a call from Deputy Langdale asking them to trace my cell. I’d left it switched on after calling him, and he was worried something had happened to me, with Gordo McNair still on the loose and all. He’d even driven round to my house earlier, but hadn’t gotten a reply. That was when he’d rang the station.
“That was smart of him,” I admitted, “and I feel bad for causing you all this trouble. It was Manuka, my cat. He must have stood on the redial button on my cell. Damn near used up all my credit.”
Mattson heaved a sigh. “Can we come in, Sylvia?”
“It’s late, Chief. I was about to turn in.”
“This won’t take long,” he said.
“Why do you want to come in? Why can’t you say what you have to say from out there?”
“Because, frankly, your story insults my intelligence.”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware you had any to be insulted.” I don’t know what made me crack wise like that, but it was all the excuse Mattson needed to cite probable cause and force his way in.
“We traced your cell signal right away,” Kramer explained, “and it led through the woods. That alone would have been suspicious, but the way you’re dressed, your cagey behavior—”
“Where did you go?” Mattson asked.
“For a walk. Is that a crime?”
“You went for a walk through the forest at night? Why would that be, then?”
“I was looking for the Gingerbread Cottage. Always did have a sweet tooth.”
My back porch light flicked out. The terrier from next door but one started barking, and that porch light switched on. Both officers palmed their holsters.
“Did he threaten you, Sylvia?” Mattson asked.
“Who? Bourne?” The Gaskells had named their little yapper after Matt Damon’s superspy. At least he’d finally lived up to his name, rooting out the bad guy.
“Don’t play games with me,” he said. “I know Gordo McNair’s been here. You went out to meet him tonight, only he turned nasty. You felt threatened, so you called Deputy Langdale. God knows why he forced you to bring him here, or why you’re covering for him. Tell me where he’s headed.”
I didn’t know why I was covering for him either, other than I wanted to find out myself—for certain—who the real killer was. Selfish maybe, but no one had wanted my help, they’d told me to sit back and watch. But the police and the FBI hadn’t found Gordo. I had. They hadn’t figured out the Elysium plot and the blackmailing of town officials. I had. Little old me, who everyone thought was a second rate baker’s assistant who’d done nothing with her life. This was my case to crack, my family to be avenged.
But the gig was up. “I don’t know where’s he headed,” I said. “But I found him in the woods opposite Alice’s house. There’s a small hollow behind a fallen tree.”
Mattson turned to his deputy. “He won’t be going anywhere near there again. I think you’d better call it in. Get Agent Jimenez on the horn.”
“Just one thing before we do, Chief.” Kramer tore the orange and silver wrapper off a stick of gum as he addressed me. “Did McNair say why he stayed around in Windward? I mean if it was me, I’d want to get as far away—”
“He’s trying to extricate himself,” I interrupted. “Alice’s murder—he’s adamant he didn’t do it. And he’s close to proving it.”
“Did he give you a name?” asked Mattson. “Who he thinks killed her?”
“No. But he’s convinced it was Alice’s lover, someone from Windward. Her diary confirms she had one. But I’m afraid all I have is an initial. If Gordo’s right, and that man is the killer, his name begins with the letter—”
The shock of a gunshot made me cover my ears. Chief Mattson staggered back, clutching the wound in his chest. He tried to draw his own sidearm but the bullet had gone right through his heart. He was dead before he hit the carpet. His final glance never quite met the eyes of his killer, the man who stood over him, chewing NicoTime with cold, regular efficiency.
“She called me Lee,” said Kramer. “She always liked it better than Jerry.”
“L.”
“Sylvia. She spoke highly of you. It’s a shame you’ll be meeting up with her again so soon.”
The clues tumbled into my brain like loose tiles I’d noticed but hadn’t quite been able to reach. The answer was right behind them, written on the walls, only I hadn’t figured it out in time. He aimed his weapon at me. I was about to close my eyes and accept my fate when I glimpsed a figure racing up the front path, drawing a gun.
“You were the perfect insider, but you forgot one small detail,” I said to distract Kramer, who hadn’t seen the stranger’s approach. “I see why Gordo chose you: a man of influence, trusted in Windward. You knew exactly who to blackmail on the Committee and how to dish the dirt on them. But he didn’t count on you and Alice hooking up. That was the chink in his armor, and yours.”
The front door sneaked ajar, but still Kramer didn’t see it. His aim was fixed on me. He needed to know exactly what I knew and who I’d told before he could shoot me, too, and blame these two new murders on Gordo McNair.
“You really don’t have anything, do you.” He sneered.
In desperation, I clutched at the only clue I could think of to give him pause. “The gum.”
He stopped chewing. “What of it?”
“It’s been your unwitting calling card all across town. You left wrappers at the jetty, Del Brady’s house, and other places you’ve visited. It had to be someone who’d given up smoking recently.”
“Who else did you tell that to?”
I shrugged. “First you’ll have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“That you’ll...”
“Drop the weapon and step away!” yelled Billy Langdale, his police-issue sidearm aimed at the side of Kramer’s head. “Do it, asshole!”
Kramer began to shake, gave a pale grimace that made me think he might pull the trigger anyway out of sheer spite. But he lowered the gun, let it fall out of his grip onto the carpet.
“Sylvia, get behind me,” said Billy.
I obeyed, and watched in a kind of incredulous semi-shock as one deputy handcuffed another over the dead body of Windward’s Chief of Police. In my living room.
Things were never quite the same for me after that night. After being subjected to a thorough and nerve-wracking interrogation by the FBI, I was exonerated of any wrongdoing—words like ‘interference’ and ‘
trespassing’ had been mentioned at first—thanks in no small part to Billy’s testimony. He’d been on my side all along, if only out of friendship at first. My conspiracy theory, though, had proved accurate, and under the noses of the State Police and the FBI, who probably thought I’d just gotten lucky, an amateur meddler who’d tripped onto the truth.
But my tenacity in solving the case was rather like my baking: I wasn’t afraid to take risks, to try things no one else had thought of. Unlike the comments my desserts had garnered, I received almost unanimous praise for my role in the investigation, and I didn’t have to pay for a meal anywhere in Windward for the next couple of weeks.
Jerry-Lee Kramer—Alice’s mysterious “L”—was arrested and tried for two homicides and four counts of blackmailing public officials. One clue I’d missed was that the newest Town Selectwoman, Brenda Tyne, recently voted into office, was Kramer’s aunt. The only evidence that she was complicit in the Elysium scandal was circumstantial, but no one trusted her after that. She, Del Brady, Melissa Briggs and one other Selectman resigned shortly after the conclusion of the FBI probe. Some asked me to run for office, given my obvious smarts and integrity, but I said I’d rather be burned alive inside a clam bake than get involved in politics.
In the rowboat that night, Lee Kramer had apparently tried to convince Alice to rethink her attitude, but she was so appalled by the conspiracy and the way she’d been treated, she reacted violently to his threats. They struggled. The boat tipped. What happened next was the subject of intense speculation—did he drown her deliberately or did she hit her head on the side of the rocking boat—but the fact that he’d murdered Chief Mattson in cold blood pretty much buried his “reasonable doubt” argument. He’d swam back to shore that night and had caught a chill in the cold water, hence the fever. But Alice had not. That he hadn’t told anyone there’d even been an accident was the final nail in his coffin. He received a double life sentence.
The Clam Bake Murder: A Windward Bay Mystery Page 6
