Boston Scream Murder

by Ginger Bolton

  Terri ran her hands through her pixie-cut brown hair. She barely seemed to hear either of us. “Rich said I should put my canoe away when I got back. I’ll do that.”

  I knew I should try to stop her, but the sound of sirens, still far away, distracted me. Unless the hills and valleys around Lake Fleekom were throwing echoes in strange directions, the sirens were coming toward us.

  Terri shrieked, “Is there a fire?” She glanced up toward Rich’s house as if expecting flames to spew out of upper story windows. Because the house was set into the hill, there were three floors in back. The neighbor put his arm around her. She sagged against him for a second, then detached herself and marched down to her canoe. She lifted it to her shoulders and carried it above her head up the hill. The neighbor retrieved her paddle from the beach and followed her to the back of the house. She lowered the canoe and slid it underneath the deck. Although she was only about my size, she made it all look easy. I was certain her canoe weighed more than my kayak, which I tended to carry with both hands in front of me like the novice I was.

  Rich’s neighbor leaned the paddle against a pillar supporting the deck, led Terri to the lawn chairs, and helped her sit in one. She was still wearing her life jacket and binoculars. The neighbor eased down into a chair next to hers and stared down toward the tent. I had an uncomfortable feeling that he was watching my every move in an assessing and judgmental way.

  Two police cars raced down the hill and tore into the driveway. I told the 911 dispatcher that first responders had arrived. She let me disconnect.

  Finally, I could use my phone’s camera. I ran into the tent, quickly snapped pictures of the guest list and the to-do list, and ran out again.

  Two of the four officers emerging from squad cars were close friends of mine, Misty Ossler and Hooligan Houlihan. Beckoning, I called to them. They waved and trotted down the grassy slope toward me. The other two officers went out of my sight, toward the front door of Rich’s mansion.

  I stared up at the tall stone structure. Was anyone inside it? Did Rich have servants? Family?

  Terri was standing, the back of her hand against her mouth. The neighbor had stood, too, and again had his arm around Terri. He was glaring at me as if he’d watched me dash into and out of the tent and had figured out that something was very wrong. Maybe the neighbor had attempted to kill Rich, was afraid he hadn’t succeeded, and didn’t want me or anyone else reviving him.

  I wished that reviving Rich were possible.

  Misty grasped my arm. “What’s up?”

  I babbled, “I brought donuts to Rich Royalson’s birthday party and found him lying inside the tent. I think he’s dead, and it looks like he could have been attacked with a skillet.” I pointed. “He’s behind that flap, between it and the bar.”

  A bit taller than her auburn-haired, freckle-faced patrol partner, Misty was also senior to him in the police department. She preceded him into the tent.

  An ambulance screeched into the driveway. Samantha jumped out of the driver’s seat. I called to her, and she ran down the hill while her partner, a man I didn’t know, opened the back of the ambulance.

  I pointed to the tent doorway. “Misty and Hooligan are in there with him. I think we’re all too late.”

  Samantha gave me a concerned look, patted my arm, and went into the tent.

  I glanced at Terri again to see if she showed any signs of recognizing Samantha, who, I thought, lived near her.

  I couldn’t tell if she recognized Samantha, but she probably recognized Samantha’s EMT uniform, and she and Rich’s neighbor had to have recognized Misty and Hooligan’s uniforms. Terri cradled her cheeks in her hands. She looked about to scream.

  Samantha’s partner wheeled a gear-covered stretcher down to the tent. He left the stretcher outside and carried gear inside.

  I heard Misty radio headquarters and request a detective.

  She didn’t need to. An unmarked police car pulled up behind the marked cruisers. A tall and handsome man wearing a dark gray suit unfolded himself from the driver’s seat.

  Brent Fyne, the man Nina called my handsome detective.

  Chapter 7

  Although the most devastating night of my life had been six years before, again seeing Brent in an emergency situation brought it back to me in a painful flash.

  That evening I had traded shifts with a recently trained dispatcher so that I could have dinner with out-of-town friends. While we were at the restaurant, Alec and Brent were shot. If only I’d been at work, maybe I could have arranged for help to arrive sooner for my fallen husband. Brent had told me that, despite his own injured arm, he had radioed for help even before a bystander called 911, and that I shouldn’t blame myself. I wasn’t sure I could help letting guilt eat away at me. Brent also blamed himself and mourned the loss of his best friend. Our rational selves knew that neither of us could have prevented Alec’s death. Our emotional selves hurt.

  In the half second I was remembering that, I was running up to the hill toward him. His deep green tie and unbuttoned jacket flapping, he strode down the slope. There was no wind, but his light brown hair looked windblown, as if he’d run out of the police station and jumped into his unmarked police car in a hurry. Usually the responding police officer made the decision that a detective was needed, as Misty had, but by that time, Brent had been pulling into Rich’s driveway.

  He grasped my upper arms, shot a glance toward the mist-covered lake, and murmured, “I’d rather be kayaking.”

  Despite the grim tightness of his lips and chin, those gray eyes were comforting. “Me, too.”

  But we couldn’t wander off together into that magical mist. Brent let me go and took out his notebook. “You called this in, Em?” Had he rushed out here because he knew that I was the one who had called about a deceased person?

  His concern nearly unhinged me. “Yes, I found Rich.” My voice shook. “His skin was already cold.”

  “Who else was here?”

  “No one that I know of, but someone was here before me, his attacker. Also several people showed up so quickly that they had to have been nearby when I discovered him. He’s Richmond P. Royalson the Third.”

  Brent raised one eyebrow in question.

  I summarized how I’d met Rich Royalson and why I was at his lakeside home on that sunny October Tuesday instead of in Deputy Donut. I described the people who had arrived soon after I did. “Cheryl, the Deputy Donut customer who arranged the date with Rich at Deputy Donut, and her date, Steve, are still in the driveway.” Pointing up at the deck at the back of Rich’s house, I explained Terri’s previous and newfound relationship to Rich. “The man hovering with her near the lawn chairs came from the next yard, so I guess he’s Rich’s neighbor. And Terri’s ex-boyfriend Derek showed up just before Terri did, but he left. On a motorcycle, I think.” I told Brent about the quarrel that Derek had initiated in Deputy Donut and about the threats he’d made against both Rich and Terri. “He told them they’d be sorry for the way they treated him. And just now, Derek had dirt in the creases of his palms, as if he’d handled something like a sooty skillet.” I described the skillet I’d seen beside Rich’s body. “It or one like it was hanging in his cottage last night.” I explained why Nina and I had explored Rich’s cottage.

  “When did you leave Deputy Donut this morning, and when did you arrive here?”

  “I must have left there a little after eleven forty. I was due here at eleven fifty-five, and parked my car at eleven fifty-four. I found Rich a minute or two after that.” Brent would be able to pinpoint the exact second that I had called 911.

  Brent gave my shoulder a quick, encouraging squeeze. “Stay here.” He took out his phone, tapped the screen, waited, and then said into his phone, “Tom? It’s Brent. Emily’s fine, but she’s a witness to a possible crime, and we’re going to talk to her for a while. She should be free to return to Deputy Donut in an hour or so. Can you tell me when she left there this morning?” Brent gave me a friendly nod. “Can
anyone else confirm that? Let me talk to Nina, then.” He asked Nina the same question. “About eleven forty-five? Great. Thanks.”

  Brent disconnected and said, “So . . . about the earliest you and the hundred and ten horses under your hood could have gotten here would have been eleven fifty-five.”

  I folded my arms. “Those horses got me here at eleven fifty-four.”

  “Speeder.” He held out his hand. “Did his skin feel colder than mine does right now?”

  I rested my fingers on the back of Brent’s hand for a second. “Definitely. And he was pale.”

  He slanted a sad look down at me. “I don’t suspect you.”

  “Thanks,” I managed. “I didn’t think you did.”

  He called headquarters and asked them to send an officer to Deputy Donut to take Tom’s and Nina’s official statements confirming when I’d left work.

  While he was talking, Samantha and her partner pushed the wheeled stretcher up the hill. Nothing was on it besides equipment. Samantha called to me, “See you Thursday, Emily!”

  “Okay.” At the moment, I didn’t feel much like partying, and Samantha, Misty, Hooligan, and Brent probably didn’t, either. Maybe by Thursday evening, we would feel more like ourselves. Our fire chief, Scott Ritsorf, was also invited to Samantha’s potluck. The six of us always had a good time together. Thursday evening, with Rich’s death still on the minds of most of us, we might lean on one another emotionally more than usual.

  Brent disconnected and asked me, “Can you wait for me in your car? I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  Hooligan came out of the tent. Brent went the rest of the way down the hill to him, and they talked in low voices. Hooligan climbed toward Terri and the man I guessed was Rich’s neighbor. Brent joined Misty inside the tent. The ambulance chugged up the hill, away from Lake Fleekom and the patient the EMTs weren’t able to revive.

  I trudged up to the donut car. The two police officers who had arrived when Misty and Hooligan did were chatting with Rich’s arriving guests, probably taking names, addresses, and phone numbers before sending them away. Both officers were occasional patrons at Deputy Donut. Cheryl and Steve were already gone. I told one of the officers that Brent had asked me to wait for him in my car.

  He glanced from my donut hat to my donut car, nodded, and waved the next car forward.

  I climbed into the donut car’s driver’s seat and fiddled with the keys in the ignition. The car smelled like coffee and the chocolate and vanilla in the Boston cream donuts. Ordinarily I loved those aromas. I cranked down the driver’s window and then flung myself across the wide bench seat to reach the handle for the passenger window. I rolled that window down, too, and opened the little vent on my side.

  About a half hour later, Brent slipped into the passenger seat. “Can you finish telling me all about it, Em?”

  “The ambulance left without him. He’s dead, right?”

  He ran his fingers through the hair above his forehead. “He has been for, I’m guessing, since before you left Deputy Donut. The medical examiner is on his way.”

  I described finding Rich and told Brent I hadn’t been able to see the boat or boats I’d heard on the mist-covered lake. “Tom said that Rich’s wife drowned out there about twenty years ago.”

  “That case was before I joined the Fallingbrook Police Department, but I heard about it. You and I definitely need to go kayaking on Lake Fleekom.”

  “But not when it’s slushy.” I gave Brent every detail I remembered of Rich’s two dates in Deputy Donut, of the quarrel between Derek and Rich, and of Derek’s threats. I described the unsigned and undated wills in Rich’s cottage; the previous will made out to Rich’s parents, both of whom had since died; the notebook recording rentals in the desk drawer where I’d found Derek’s last name, Bengsen; and the sooty gash in the kitchen wall. “Another thing we saw in Rich’s cottage kitchen, besides the skillet that made that gash, was a platter like the one that is now in pieces near his body. That platter might have been the murder weapon, if there was one, but I’m guessing that the skillet would have done more damage.”

  Brent gave me a terse nod. “You didn’t see the side of his head that was on the ground?”

  “No.”

  “I’m betting on the skillet, also, but the postmortem will tell me more. The platter could have been broken by accident or in a fight.”

  Picturing Rich attempting to defend himself with one of his prize platters and some sliced Boston brown bread, I was overwhelmed by sadness for the man and his senseless death. I gave Brent the key and directions to Rich’s cottage. “The donuts and coffee he ordered for the party are still in the rear seat. Want some?”

  “A coffee would be great.”

  We got out. The two officers were standing at the ends of the circular driveway, in front of the open gates. A minivan was coming down the hill.

  I opened the donut car’s back door, moved the coffee urn to the edge of the seat, filled a paper cup, and handed it to Brent. While he sipped, I guessed, “Maybe there was another beneficiary in the years since Rich’s mother died. Maybe Rich was about to change his will to the woman I pointed out to you earlier beside Rich’s back deck, Terri Estable. Maybe his current beneficiary, whoever it is, couldn’t let that happen.” I waved my hand toward the stone building towering over us. “Rich seems to have been wealthy. He told me that he’d done well with what he called quality investments.”

  “We’ll find out if a will was filed for him since his mother died. Hooligan got a statement from Terri Estable, but we need to have a more thorough discussion with her. From what you saw, it sounds like Royalson changed his will in a big hurry after he reconnected with the alleged love of his life. Could she and her ex-boyfriend, the one with the possibly sooty hands, have been only pretending to quarrel?”

  “If so, they’re good actors, but yes. However, if they planned it all, including murdering Rich, Derek was stupid to come to Deputy Donut first and threaten Rich and Terri.”

  “Criminals can do strange things. Did you and Nina have a good look inside the deceased’s cottage last night?”

  “We went into all of the rooms, but we didn’t examine every nook and cranny. The skillet we saw was hanging in the kitchen, and a platter like the broken one was in a cabinet above the counter near that skillet, to the right of the sink.”

  “I’d like you to take another look around that cottage with me. Can you meet me there after you’re done at Deputy Donut tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Nina, too, if she can make it?”

  “I’ll ask her, but I’m sure she can. The two of us scheduled a meeting with Rich in his cottage this evening to discuss our suggestions for his renovation and redecorating project.” I swallowed to dislodge another lump in my throat. Rich had been annoying at times, but he had obviously enjoyed his life, and although he had just turned seventy, he might have enjoyed many more years.

  Brent explained, “I’d like you to check for the skillet, the platter, and for anything that looks different from last night. Also, I’d like you to show me the wills and the rental records.”

  “Okay.” I pointed at the coffee urn. “Would the investigators like the coffee and donuts I brought for Rich’s party?”

  “We’d all like that. I’ll see that you get the urn back.”

  He carried the urn to his cruiser while I brought the boxes of donuts and the bags of cups, napkins, creamers, sugar packets, and stir sticks. He put it all into the cruiser’s rear seat.

  I told him, “Rich’s platter, the one I was supposed to arrange the donuts on, is also in my car. Would you like that?”

  “I’ll get it from you later. I might have a DCI agent with me this evening.” For serious crimes, the Fallingbrook police called in the Wisconsin Division of Criminal Investigation. DCI detectives were called agents, and when they helped in an investigation, they took over and directed it.

  I was certain that Brent was pe
rfectly capable of running the investigation. “Do you think your chief will call them in this soon?” Other times, it had taken a couple of days.

  “I’m going to ask for them right away.”

  “Are you going to put in the request yourself?”

  “Yes, because you called it in, and you were the first on the scene.”

  I felt my face blaze. Brent and I weren’t dating each other, but we’d probably been seen together, especially on nearby lakes and rivers in our kayaks and in restaurants before and after our watery adventures. We were friends, close ones, but only friends.

  With his free hand, he touched my shoulder. “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right. See you tonight at Royalson’s cottage.” He headed down the hill toward the tent and his investigation.

  I climbed into the donut car, waved at the police officer at the gate, and started back toward downtown Fallingbrook and Deputy Donut.

  Brent had said I’d done everything right, but I hadn’t. I’d gone back into the tent and had taken pictures of the guest list and the to-do list. There was nothing wrong with that, but Rich’s neighbor had been watching, and he’d looked disapproving.

  And I hadn’t even thought of telling Brent that I’d taken those pictures.

  Chapter 8

  I told myself not to worry about those two quick snapshots.

  I seldom showed Brent my photos.

  But my photos were not usually associated with crimes or possible crimes.

  I’d merely wanted a better look at the to-do and guest lists without touching them. Besides, I hadn’t needed to tell Brent about my photos. He would examine those lists himself.

  Could this new investigation challenge Brent’s and my friendship? I gripped the old steering wheel tightly. In addition to eating together and kayaking together, we occasionally showed each other affection in ways that were a little warmer than when Alec was alive. I liked Brent a lot, but Brent had been Alec’s best friend. That complicated our relationship and prevented us from becoming as close as we might have been if Alec had never existed.