From the Murky Deep

by Kerry J Charles

  "I have no idea, but if you say so." She looked at Nick. "Dan's the extrovert of the family. He keeps up with that stuff. I should pay more attention probably, but I'm just not very interested. I figure that if I haven't stayed in touch all along, what could I have in common with them now?"

  "Well, in this case, maybe a wealthy donor?" Dan smirked.

  "Good point." Dulcie sipped her beer. "Good point," she said again quietly. Something was stirring in her mind. She could feel it. She got up, walked to the bow of the boat, and then sat down again, alone.

  Nick glanced at her, then at Dan. "She all right?" he asked quietly.

  "She does that. Something hits her and she goes away until she works it out. When she was a kid people thought she was rude. She learned to be more polite, which she wasn't just now since she's here with me. Sorry about that."

  "No, it's ok. I know she has a huge job. I appreciate that she's even giving me the time to talk about things." They both looked out across the harbor, watching a pleasure craft attempt to navigate a tight docking procedure. It bumped nearly every boat around it. They both laughed.

  "Hey!" Both men jumped as Dulcie yelled from the bow. "I’ve got it!" She clamored back to them. "Dan, that's it! Remember Lydia Hully had an older sister? I think her name was Jennifer? She and Lydia looked a lot alike. I think the woman in the picture, the one that died, might have been Jennifer Hully!"

  "Dang, girl." Dan pulled his legs up from over the side. "Hang on one second…" He scooted into the cabin, and came out a moment letter pulling a wad of papers from a thick envelope. "The reunion committee sent some pictures." He leafed through the papers, then stopped. "There's Lydia. Does she look familiar?"

  Nick and Dulcie nearly clocked heads leaning over the photo. "Wow, that does look like her!" said Nick.

  "Sure does," replied Dulcie. "Now I'm wondering which one it actually might be."

  Nick reached for his phone and began scrolling through the photos to find the images of the dead woman on the beach again.

  "I know how to find out for sure," said Dan. He pulled out his own cell phone.

  "Who are you calling?" asked Nick.

  "The reunion committee chair. They may have heard from Lydia recent…" Dan put up his hand to stop anyone from speaking, and said, "Hey Jack! Dan Chambers! Great to hear from you! … Yeah, I'm definitely coming! Wouldn't miss it! But hey, quick question. Have you heard form Lydia Hully? Did she get in touch? … Today? …Oh, too bad. I'd like to have seen her. OK, just wondering. I'll talk to you soon before the big event. Thanks!" He put the phone back in his pocket. "Lydia called them today and said she couldn't make it."

  "So she's still alive! Then it might be Jennifer. And I wonder if Lydia has seen her recently," Nick said. "How close were they?"

  "Don't know," replied Dan. “I remember seeing Jennifer around, back when we were in school, so they must have been fairly close. I think she was only a couple years older."

  "Yes, you're right." Dulcie had been silent, thinking. "If I remember correctly, Jennifer was kind of a daredevil. I think she had a motorcycle for a while that she rode to high school. The boys couldn't get over it."

  Nick shook his head, smiling. "I can imagine!"

  A heavy mist had been creeping slowly across the bay toward them. Dulcie drained her beer and shivered. She turned to Nick. "Well, that mystery may be solved, but we still don't know why she would be calling me. I haven't seen her in years, and I don't know how she could have my cell number, although it's far from private. Do you need me anymore right now? I really have to get home and get some things done." She handed her empty bottle to Dan.

  Nick shook his head. "No, but if you think of any reason why…"

  "Yes, you'll be the first to know!" Dulcie smiled at him, gave her brother a punch on the arm, and jumped off the boat onto the dock. Half way back toward to the street she pulled out her cell phone.

  "Who do you think she’s calling?" asked Nick. His eyes hadn't left her.

  Dan chuckled. "Jade Palace. Chicken fried rice. And steamed vegetables if she's feeling fat, beef teriyaki and an egg roll if she isn't. She has them on speed dial."

  I would rather die of passion

  than of boredom.

  ― Vincent van Gogh

  CHAPTER 6

  Ross Davenport-Jones had been driving aimlessly, or so he thought. Before he realized it, he was approaching Winterhaven Stables. His only true love was there, a chestnut mare named Attagirl. She was a thoroughbred, recently retired. Her career had been moderately successful, to the point where her owner, Donald Winters, thought she could breed more success if sired appropriately. But Ross knew that Winters didn’t love her the way he did. As always, Donald Winters was in it for the cash.

  Winters took care of his horses well, certainly. He spared few expenses in stabling them, kept them safe and healthy for racing, and looked after them when their running careers were over. You couldn’t fault him for doing the right thing when it came to his horses. They were his indulgence. Yet they were only an indulgence to the point where they were still income generating. Ross doubted if Donald would continue in the business if it did not provide a positive cash flow.

  Ross viewed it differently. Horses were in his blood. His father had been a trainer and had made a fortune from his work along with some very successful long-shot bets. He had introduced Ross to the racing world at an early age. Ross loved the smell of the stables, the sound of the hooves beating on the dirt, and the feel of a well-cared-for horse’s coat after he’d brushed it. He remembered that feeling even as a young child. His father had taught him to respect the horses, “And they’ll respect you, too,” he had said. He was right.

  His father had been a gentle man. Ross learned from him that every horse had a personality. Once you knew the horse well, understood their likes, dislikes, and motivations, everything was easy. As always, his father had been completely correct.

  Attagirl had the kind of personality that owners dreamed of. She was easygoing and hard-working, in the paddock and on the training course. When she was at the starting gate, however, it was as though she was a different creature. Her eyes would light up. Once, Ross swore he saw her mane stand on end. A demon would emerge that would not subside until she crossed the finish line, often ahead of everyone else. Sometimes Ross thought that she didn’t actually need a jockey.

  Although her racing days were over, Ross wanted her. He wanted to own her. He wanted to continue to see her run, to see what foals she could produce, to be a part of her life and make her a part of his.

  Everyone had a price, even Donald Winters. And Ross had the inside track with a plan that he thought would be perfect. He knew that he probably couldn’t afford the horse outright. Well, he could actually, but Amelia would kill him. Plus, there were the increasing expenses of Clark’s, now that he was married but still unemployed. The trust fund seemed to have run dry for him all too quickly. Ross knew that if he wanted Attagirl at a reasonable price, he would need to lay the groundwork quietly and cleverly. First, he had to convince Donald that she wasn’t quite as healthy as he thought. That would make him consider selling. Then, Ross needed to offer enough cash for her to make the sale go through quickly.

  Convincing Donald of the first part was not going to be easy. He knew his horses, and anything obvious would cost Ross the lucrative Winterhaven Stables as a client, not to mention ruin his reputation on the circuit. If Attagirl suddenly became ill, Ross bought her for a discounted price, then she was miraculously better, he’d be in the midst of a lawsuit for sure. That’s when he realized that he needed an intermediary in his plan.

  Jennifer Hully had been the perfect choice. He had met the sister of his new daughter-in-law at Clark’s wedding. She had an aura about her that terrified most men: beautiful, confident, and fearless. But best of all, it was obvious to Ross that Jennifer couldn’t stand his wife Amelia.

  Ross and Jennifer had struck up a relationship that could not entirely be called a fri
endship. They shared mutual interests certainly. The first time they had lunch together was merely by chance at a local clam shack. He had bumped into her the day after the wedding, and it seemed rude not to join her at the outdoor picnic table for twenty minutes while she was finishing her lunch.

  He had been surprised by her knowledge of horse racing. “I like betting,” she said. “It’s different from gambling. Gambling is all about numbers and probabilities and bluffing. Betting on horses requires knowledge. You have to understand animals, people, weather, track records… and just plain luck.” He had asked her if she ever wanted to own a horse. She hesitated, thinking for a moment, then shook her head. “Too much work, and I don’t want to put my eggs in one basket. I’d rather learn about all of the baskets and all of the eggs, then just put my money on the ones I think are best.” He had known then that she would do quite well for his plan.

  It was natural for Jennifer to want to spend time with him. His knowledge of horses was seemingly bottomless. But he was always careful to keep their liaisons away from anyone else in the racing realm. That would interfere with his plan. No one could suspect that he and Jennifer knew each other so well.

  He introduced his plan to her about two months after that first lunch. He felt that he could trust her sufficiently by then. It was simple. He would sicken Attagirl just slightly, but enough so that Donald Winters would not want to keep her. Then Jennifer would approach Winters with an interest in buying the mare. She would offer him a cash sum, all of which would be fronted by Ross. Then Jennifer would be compensated well for her work in the transaction, and Attagirl’s ownership would be signed over to Ross after a reasonable period of time.

  As he drove, Ross turned over the plan again in his mind for the hundredth time. He steered his old Land Rover onto the dirt road of Winterhaven Stables, slowly drove by the training track, and eased to a stop by the paddock. He leaned his head back on the seat’s headrest and closed his eyes for several seconds before taking a deep breath, opening the door, and sliding out of the vehicle with his medical bag in hand.

  #

  Dulcie had been drinking coffee that was by now at room temperature. She took one more gulp, made a face, and swallowed hard. She sat in her office looking blankly out the window at the fishing boats. Jennifer Hully. Why on earth would Jennifer Hully want to be in touch with her? Strange.

  And stranger still was the fact that Lydia had recently married Amelia Davenport-Jones’s son. Amelia hadn’t mentioned it, but then why would she? She wouldn’t have any idea that Dulcie knew Lydia, although “knew” was probably a bit of a stretch. They had merely gone to school together years before.

  Dulcie smirked. “She did well, though, to marry into that family,” she said aloud. Dulcie herself wasn’t without money now, although the loss of a good friend and mentor was the price that was paid. Joshua Harriman, the museum’s chief benefactor and chairman of the board had left her a million dollars in his will after he had been killed tragically. She still felt sick thinking about it. Dulcie shook her head to clear away the shadows.

  How could she find out more about Jennifer Hully? Would Nick have contacted Lydia by now to tell her that her sister had died? Probably, so it wouldn’t be appropriate to call her and chat about Jennifer. But maybe Nick could arrange a meeting with the three of them? She decided to call him.

  The phone rang only once when she heard his voice. “Dulcie?”

  Dulcie thought, ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he has me programmed into his phone since this is our second case together.’ That idea seemed odd to her. She’d never imagined herself as any sort of crime-solving entity before. “Hi Nick. How are you?” she quickly answered.

  “Good. What’s up?” He grimaced thinking that he hadn’t been exactly polite. He could have at least asked how she was, or even thanked her for identifying the woman on the beach. He took a deep, silent breath.

  She didn’t seem to notice, however. “I’ve been thinking about Jennifer Hully and why she would have my number written on her hand. Have you been in touch with Lydia yet to tell her about her sister?”

  It was the worst part of his job. He hated it. He tried to get his partner, Adam Johnson to do it for him whenever he could but Adam usually just shook his head with a sad smile and said, “Ayuh, nice try. Not gonna happen. I’ve done my share.”

  Nick sighed. “No, not yet. But I’m going over to her house this afternoon. I spoke with her husband. He told me that she would be around then, and I need to see her in person for this. I have to see her reaction. Why did you want to know? Do you have a question that you want me to ask her?”

  Dulcie hesitated. She did not really have a question other than, “Why did your sister have my cell phone number written on her hand when she died?” She thought for a moment. “Well Nick, other than the obvious question about my phone number, I just wanted to talk with her a little about her sister. I wanted to see if there was some connection I could establish. This doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “Nope, they never do at this point. Do you want to come with me? It may not be pretty, but it could be the best time to find out a few things. People tend to talk in a strangely intimate way when they get news like this.” He held his breath. On the one hand, he wanted her to come. She had a way of seeing everything very clearly, and certainly differently than he would. On the other hand, he did not want to subject her to a scene. They did need any scrap of information that they could possibly get, though. Yes, she should come. He heard her voice distantly.

  “Nick? Can you hear me? Are you still there?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was distracted. What was that?”

  “I said that I’d like to come if you think it’s all right. I won’t say anything until you give me the go-ahead. If she recognizes me, she’ll think it’s strange that I’m there.”

  “Yes, we’ll explain that as quickly as we can.”

  “Good. Shall I meet you there or do you want to go together?”

  “We should go together. Can I pick you up at one-thirty? Her house is out on Prouts Neck. We’ll easily get there by two o’clock.”

  “Yes, that sounds fine,” said Dulcie. “I’ll be at the museum. Just come around to the front entrance. I’ll be outside there watching for you.”

  “Perfect. See you then,” he said. The call clicked off.

  Dulcie leaned back in her chair and looked at the dregs of her coffee. She glanced at the clock. Noon. ‘Guess I’d better get some lunch if I’m going to be ready by one-thirty. This won’t be easy,’ she thought. She stood up, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  #

  At precisely five minutes before two o’clock Nick steered his car into the gravel drive of Clark and Lydia Davenport-Jones’s home. The house itself was a modest bungalow-style cottage with a large porch on the front. The view was anything but modest. Situated just above the sand dunes, it looked over a wide expanse of honey-colored beach and the glistening Atlantic Ocean. Without realizing what she was doing, Dulcie exhaled a long, low whistle.

  Nick laughed softly. “Yeah, doesn’t hurt to marry money, does it?” His own mind raced back to the summer beach house that his family kept in Chatham out on Cape Cod. He had known this life very, very well. And rejected it.

  They got out of the car and rang the bell. A man in madras shorts, a faded polo shirt, and docksiders answered. Nick showed his badge, identifying himself and shook his hand. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. I’m Clark Davenport-Jones. I’m sure this isn’t good news, is it.”

  Nick shook his head. “If we could see your wife, please.”

  Clark looked inquisitively at Dulcie, but then gestured them in. “Lydia’s in the kitchen.” He ushered them through. The kitchen was at the front of the house and had windows looking out toward the beach. Pearly quartz countertops gleamed in the sunshine. The room opened directly onto a spacious sitting area with furniture all slipcovered in white. Gentle, detailed paintings of shells hung on the walls. Throw pillo
ws, perfectly placed, were white as well but with textured patterns and fabrics. French doors led to the generous front porch that wrapped around the house.

  Nick introduced himself and Dulcie. Lydia looked at her oddly, as if vaguely recognizing her. Nick gestured to the porch and suggested that they sit outside. Lydia had not yet spoken.

  Comfortably seated on the designer wicker furniture, Nick turned to Lydia. He cleared his through. “I’m afraid that I have some very bad news for you, Mrs. Davenport-Jones.”

  “Please, just call me Lydia.” Her voice was very small.

  “Lydia. I’m sorry to tell you that we believe your sister Jennifer has died. We’ll of course need someone to identify her. That could be you or another close family member if you’re not up to it.”

  Lydia sat very still. Dulcie wasn’t even sure that she was breathing. Then, in a faint whisper, she said, “I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I knew it.” She began rocking back and forth convulsively but her face did not change. Clark slid over on the settee beside her and put an arm around her. Her face was still frozen as she rocked back and forth with such force that she moved him along with her.

  Without warning, she stopped. “How?” she said, looking at Nick. The single word came out as a sort of strangled cough. Dulcie thought that Lydia had stopped breathing again.

  “I’m afraid she drowned in a scuba diving accident. She was found on a beach in Cape Elizabeth two days ago. It’s taken us this long to learn who she was. She had no identification on her.”

  Lydia inhaled loudly. One huge gulp of air. She looked at Dulcie but couldn’t seem to speak.

  Nick followed her gaze. “This is Dr. Chambers from the Maine Museum of Art. She helped identify your sister. All of you went to high school together years ago, evidently.”