by Kate Wilhelm
Charlie nodded. “Okay. A chance encounter, that’s all it was.”
“Should I tell them, the police, anyone?”
“Not yet. Maybe you will later, but for now just sit tight. There’s nothing to tell them yet and they could already have the guy that did it. But, Stuart, keep away from Pamela. No more yelling at her, especially when Alice is within a mile.”
And Alice, he knew, would spread it around town that Stuart Bainbridge had been with the girl that afternoon, that he had gone home with her. God only knew how much more she would add to that bare-bones narrative. It would get to the cops and if they didn’t already have the guy they’d come asking questions.
He stood and patted Stuart on the shoulder. “I’ll nose around and see what I can find out, just to satisfy my own curiosity. If they question you, just tell it exactly the way it was. Did Tricia pick you up and take you back to your camp after the concert?”
Stuart nodded.
“Did you leave her at any point?”
“Once, to get her coffee. It got cool out there by the lake and she was chilled. The Pub had an outside bar set up. It was crowded and I had to wait but that’s all.”
Wrong answer, Charlie knew, but he made no comment. “Okay. Just take it easy, Stuart.”
As soon as he and Constance left the table, Lawrence and Ted sat in the empty chairs. In the kitchen, Alice and Pamela were together by the sink. They drew apart and became silent when Charlie and Constance entered.
“Alice,” Charlie asked, “who owns a burgundy BMW convertible?”
“That big purple car with all the leather inside?”
He nodded. “That one.”
“Earl,” she said. “Earl Marshall, the big-time writer.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said and continued to walk to the front door with Constance. In their own car a minute later he said, “Who the hell is Earl Marshall?”
“He’s the man Andrea Briacchi married,” she said. The two tracks, hers and Charlie’s, had now become one.
Charlie groaned. “The snake is biting its own tail. No matter where you start, it comes back to Andrea Briacchi. This damn thing is spinning out of control. I’m hungry.”
11
“TELL ME AGAIN ABOUT TED’S LIVE-IN girlfriend,” Charlie said after he had finished eating a very large Italian sausage sandwich that he said was just okay.
“Lori Shaeffer, age thirty-one,” Constance said. “They had been together for six months or a little longer. One day while he and three other men were putting up a greenhouse on the farm, she said that she had some shopping to do and that she would be back in about an hour. They worked on the greenhouse most of the day and he never gave it another thought. When he went in to shower he realized she had not returned, and again he thought little of it and simply assumed that she had run another errand. He began to get uneasy later and started calling around, but no one had seen her, and then someone said her car was parked at the supermarket. She was gone. No one had seen anything happen, and she was never heard from again. End of story.”
He scowled at the late and the pretty, cavorting people. They had gone to the Lakeview resort again for lunch and had said little while they ate. She knew he had not paid much attention to the accounts Tricia had given them concerning the dead or missing young women associated Bainbridge men, associated with a curse, since the track he was on had to do with missing cashier’s checks. Not wanting to get involved with anything that hinted of curses, he had ignored the past until forced to look at it now. That the two tracks had become one was undeniable, and the junction point was Andrea Briacchi Marshall.
Charlie knew that Constance had read all the news stories about the deaths and the disappearance of women associated with Bainbridge men. He had tacitly assigned the curse business to her, hoping to keep it far removed from him. Now he leaned back in his chair scowling. “Tell me about the other two,” he said with grudging reluctance tempered by resignation. “When, where, how.”
“It stinks,” he grumbled when Constance finished reporting, complete with names, places, and dates. “Let’s get out of here.”
Back in the car, they headed toward Stillwater, but before they reached the Bainbridge house, Charlie slowed down, keeping an eye out for a side road. It came into sight and he made a right turn onto a black-topped road that was narrow, without shoulders, and potholed. The forest closed in near the road on both sides. The road climbed, curved, and dead-ended at Crest Drive. “Thought so,” Charlie said. “Back door to town.”
#
He turned on to Crest Drive. On the right side of the road were mansions with grounds meticulously maintained and on the other a wooded slope. After passing three or four of the expensive houses, he slowed even more and whistled softly through his teeth. Parked in the driveway they drove by was a burgundy colored BMW convertible. “Bingo,” Charlie murmured and kept driving. A short distance later the road began a sweeping curve and started downward.
He followed the curve until he came to a place where a guard rail had been positioned twenty feet from the roadway. He pulled over and stopped.
“It’s where Andrea went into the lake,” he said. “Let’s have a look.”
They walked around the guardrail and beyond for another twenty feet of gently sloping ground that turned into a steep plunge. There were a few low-growing bushes on the slope, a maple sapling or two and a few rocks, nothing to stop a car rolling downward once it started. The lake was clearly visible.
Charlie gazed at the scene broodingly. “Why pull off the road at that spot? Why let a car start rolling? Why not pull on the hand brake? They said she headed straight down. Why? Didn’t anyone even ask the obvious questions?”
“Why put a guardrail there?” Constance said. “It must have been installed after Andrea’s accident. She couldn’t have gone around it or over it. Even if someone was going fast and went off the road, there’s plenty of room to get back on.”
“Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As they neared the car again, his cell phone chimed. He pulled it from his pocket. “Meiklejohn,” he said, then listened as Constance went to the passenger side and got in. A moment later he got behind the wheel.
“Rasmussen,” he said. “She wants to see us as soon as we can make it.”
The house he was directed to was one of the fine, old lakefront residences he had labeled establishment, across the street from the college campus, and the first of the establishment houses at the end of the park. He assumed that it went with the presidency exactly as the secretary did. A wide porch with planter boxes of geraniums flanked the top of steps. His ringing of the bell brought a prompt response.
Debra Rasmussen opened the door and said, “Thanks for coming. Please come in.” Inside, in a foyer, keeping her voice low, she said, “You must have heard about the death of Eve Parish.” At his nod, she continued. “I have her sister Jenna Parish here with me and we both think that Eve’s murder was not the act of a stranger on meth or something. The sheriff believes it was. Jenna is in a state of shock, and I’m not sure of what I should do.”
“One thing at a time,” Charlie said. “Where is she?”
Debra ran her hand through her hair, turned and motioned for them to come with her down a hallway to a large, antique-furnished room with a view of the lake. Jenna Parish was sitting bolt upright on a sofa, wide-eyed and staring straight ahead. She was pale down to her lips.
“Jenna,” Debra said, “Mr. Meiklejohn and Dr. Leidl are here to talk to you.”
Jenna didn’t move beyond a barely discernible nod of her head.
Constance went closer to her, saying over her shoulder, “Charlie, why don’t you and Dr. Rasmussen make coffee.” She sat next to Jenna and took her hand. It was icy. Gently she stroked Jenna’s cheek and said, “Jenna, you’re with friends. You can le
t go now.”
Slowly Jenna shifted her head until she was facing Constance, still wide-eyed and blindly staring.
“You can let go now,” Constance said again. She cupped Jenna’s chin, and watched as Jenna blinked and her eyes welled with tears. Constance put her arm around the young woman and drew her close and Jenna let go with a strangled sob followed by a paroxysm of body-shaking sobs as Constance held her.
“Coffee,” Charlie said, taking Debra Rasmussen’s arm.
He went to the kitchen with her and stood by as she grasped a chair back and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Sorry,” she said. “This has been one hell of a day. I’ll put on coffee.”
“In a minute,” he said. “Where’s the nearest bathroom to where they are? Maybe you can go there and open the door so Constance will find it when they’re ready.”
She nodded and walked out, returned seconds later, and went to the counter near the sink. “I’ll put on that coffee now.”
“Good. And start with the beginning of this hell of a day. What’s been going on?”
She talked as she prepared the coffee. “Early this morning, five thirty, the sheriff came here with a deputy. He had Eve Parish’s staff ID and needed to know where she lived, who she was, and the next of kin. I didn’t know, so the deputy and I went to the office and I looked her up and gave them the information we had on file. She was new here and I had not met her. An hour or two later the sheriff came back to tell me they were taking her body to Paterson and that someone from the family would come to identify her and claim her belongings. I told him I’d meet whoever came and take them to the morgue to make the identification. I asked him to let me know when that would be. I went to the police station and met Jenna when she arrived. On the way to the morgue she said that Eve called her last night and said she had to talk over something with her, something important. When I saw the body I realized that I had seen Eve although until then I hadn’t connected the name with her.” She had finished with the coffee maker and stood at the counter looking at it.
“It doesn’t need watching,” Charlie said. “Let’s sit down at the table.” When they were seated, he said, “So Jenna was talking before seeing her sister’s body. What else did she say? What did Eve tell her?”
“Nothing. She got the call late last night and called back but got no answer. This morning her mother collapsed on hearing about Eve and her father couldn’t leave her, so she came. Then, at the morgue, she froze and hasn’t said anything since. The sheriff tried to ask her some questions, but I don’t think she even heard him. He gave me the keys to Eve’s apartment. He said they had checked it out to make sure no one was lurking there and Jenna was free to use it. There will be an autopsy, but he wasn’t sure when it will be. People are already gone for the weekend. He’ll let me know and I can tell her. He’ll want to talk to her, and there will be papers to sign, but he saw that she was in no shape to deal with anything. Since he doesn’t have an office here in town, he said she should give him a call tomorrow and he’ll meet with her at the police station. We left and came here. That’s when I called you.”
#
She rubbed her eyes. “He said no doubt it was someone on meth, something like that, and you never know what the newcomers will bring with them. Kids crazy on drugs, lashing out. He thinks one of our students did it.”
“Town and gown,” Charlie said. “It’s an old story. Okay. You don’t believe that. Why not?”
“Yesterday, around five or a little after, I was on my way to a meeting with the trustees. I told you they were demanding a meeting to find out if there’s a fortune in that house and what I intend to do about it. I was on my way to the meeting, just starting to go inside the conference room when a young woman called out to me. I know now that she was Eve Parish. At the time I assumed she was a student. She caught up with me at the door and asked if I had a few minutes. Just then one of the trustees opened the door wider and said everyone was there and was I coming in. Eve looked past me and when she saw a number of people watching, she became flustered or embarrassed as if she realized that wasn’t the time or place. She said she was sorry and turned away. I told her to come to the office in the morning, but she just hurried away, almost running. I should have stopped for a minute to hear what she had to say, but I didn’t. She looked so anxious to talk… I wish I had stopped just for a minute or two.” She looked down at her hands on the table, then shook herself. “Young people always seem so desperate about what turns out to be trivial. I had so much on my mind, people waiting, that damned house… ”
“Did she say anything else before she left?”
“She said it was about the program on Monday. She looked anxious about something, but that was all she said because Stan Whitaker opened the door then.”
“What program on Monday?
“I’ll make a little welcoming speech, and there’s a presentation of an achievement award for Earl Marshall. It’s the tenth anniversary of the publication of his novel. Some of the trustees thought it would impress the parents to know we had a former student who had achieved such an accomplishment. A social hour with refreshments is to follow.”
“Did you tell any of that to the sheriff?”
“Yes, but he dismissed it as unimportant.”
“And you have no idea what was on her mind?”
“None. As I said, I had never met her and at the time I had no idea who she was. I saw her one more time. I saw her go into the park to hear the concert.”
“Tell me about it.”
“After that meeting, four of us went to the Regency for dinner. The meeting had gotten a bit contentious and it was not a comfortable meal. I didn’t want to linger, but those things always take longer than you want them to. I had walked over and Dorothy Dumond had parked her car in my driveway and walked over. We came back here together. We were on the opposite side of the street and could see that the park was crowded. It always is for the concerts and parking becomes impossible. I saw a woman come from the campus and start up the street, perhaps half a block ahead of us. She appeared to be looking at the park, as if searching for a place to go and still hear the concert. Then, under a streetlight, she looked back toward us. I thought she was just making sure there was no traffic. I could see her clearly. It was Eve Parish. She hurried across the street and went into the park a short distance and sat down.”
“She was alone?”
“Yes.”
“You saw her sit down. Was she near a light?”
“No, it was dark in that area, the lighting was around the swings and the path to the water front. There’s no parking at the park entrance by the swings, but cars were jammed in on both sides beyond the no parking area. I could see her head and part of her shoulders over cars, and she had a light colored shirt and I could see that. I’m sure she sat down, and I couldn’t see her any longer.”
“Where in the park? Near the playground, farther up?”
“Almost to this end. As I said, it was crowded, with people all the way up to the playground. I saw Pamela Bainbridge there on a swing, smoking a cigarette. That set off another furious tirade from Dorothy. Of course, smoking isn’t permitted, but you can’t control crowds like that, prevent such behavior.”
Charlie nodded. “Then what?”
“Nothing. We crossed the street near the house here. I invited Dorothy to join me on the back porch to hear the rest of the concert. You can hear it quite well out there, but she said she had a headache and just wanted to go home. She got in her car and I came inside and made myself a drink and took it out to the porch.”
“If they can’t do the autopsy immediately,” Charlie said, “it might be put off until Tuesday and the body won’t be released until after that. Jenna will have to make arrangements to transport the body to wherever the funeral will be, probably someplace in Connecticut. She’ll have to
close out a bank account if there is one, pack up Eve’s belongings, so she’s going to be around for several days, maybe even a week. Since she doesn’t know anyone here, is there someone who can see to it that she gets to where she needs to go for the next few days?”
Debra shook her head. “God, I can’t do it myself. My phone’s been ringing all day. I turned it off and told Sonya to field the calls that come in at the office any way she can. There are meetings, receptions, more meetings… I’ll just have Sonya, that’s my secretary, Sonya Talmadge, take the time to help Jenna. I’m going to have panic-stricken parents to deal with… ”
“Well, let’s wait and see what shape’s she in,” Charlie said, not envying the president a bit. Panic-stricken parents translated to hell on earth. He suspected that her nice black hair would have more than a little gray before she was done with this. “Dr. Rasmussen,” he said then, “exactly what is it that you want us to do for you?”
“I want you to determine if this was a premeditated act of murder, and not a random killing by a kid on drugs. That girl was disturbed by something and wanted to tell me about it, and she wanted to tell her sister about it. For a random act of violence to prevent that from happening is too much of a coincidence to be acceptable. I don’t believe it.”
“On the other hand,” Charlie said, “if she’s only been here a couple of weeks, that’s hardly time to have made many friends or enemies.”
“I know,” she said. “But she did.”
Although he thought so, too, he did not say as much. What Rasmussen really wanted, he understood, was to protect her students, protect her college. He was very much afraid that if she got wind of any suspicion directed at Stuart Bainbridge, he would serve her purposes nicely. An outsider, not one of her kids did it, case closed. Panic-stricken parents could rest easy.
