Deception Cove h-10

by Jayne Castle

  “Seems to me it’s the least the Foundation can do under the circumstances,” Alice said. “Besides, any way you look at it, a few days’ worth of free meals is just pocket change to the Sebastians.”

  “That may be true,” Burt said. He closed the cupboard door. “But at the rate things are going, we may have to start rationing canned soup. Which reminds me, the power has been off for almost a week now. I managed to keep the freezer going for a while with my old amber-based generator, but it gave up the ghost two days ago. We need to start using up the frozen food and fast. Figure it won’t last more than another day at best.”

  “I’ll go downstairs and assess the situation,” Alice said. She wiped her hands on her apron and headed toward the steps that led to the basement. “The kids will be thrilled when we tell them they have to eat ice cream for dinner tonight.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t leave the locker door open any longer than necessary.”

  “I won’t,” she promised.

  “And Alice?”

  She paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Thanks for volunteering to help out here in the tavern. I don’t mind telling you, it’s been a tough few days. Betty, my waitress, and Carl, my bartender, both made it off the island in the first wave of evacuations. I’ve been holding down the fort alone since they left. Feels like all I do is work eighteen hours a day, get a few hours’ sleep, get up, and repeat the process.”

  “I’m just happy to have something to do,” Alice said. “Nothing worse than doing nothing in circumstances like this. Besides, I’ve done a fair amount of food-and-beverage work in the past.”

  Burt nodded approvingly. “Yeah, I can tell you’ve had some experience.” He reached up to a shelf and took down a large can of tomato sauce. “Sure hope Sebastian and Attridge get back here soon. That fog was worse than ever last night.”

  “Drake has a plan to put a stop to what’s happening inside the Preserve,” Alice said.

  Burt glanced over his shoulder, his brows elevated. “Is that right?”

  “It has to do with some information he found in the old North records,” Alice explained.

  Burt’s expression lightened. “Yeah?”

  “You’ll be hearing more about it soon,” she assured him in her best breezy accent.

  She grabbed a small amber lantern and started down the steps. An eager chortle behind her made her pause and look back over her shoulder. Houdini was in the doorway. He fluttered down to where she stood and then zipped past her to the bottom of the stairs. He disappeared into the shadows of the basement. She followed him on down.

  Burt had cause for concern about supplies. Many of the shelves holding canned goods, boxes of cereal, and crackers were less than a third full. Some were already empty. She did not want to think about what might happen if Drake’s plan did not work. She also did not want to think about what would happen if it did work. She was quite certain that Drake could take care of himself, but the knowledge that he was deliberately making a target of himself unnerved her.

  She crossed the concrete floor to the frozen food locker and used both hands to haul open the heavy door. Cold air rushed out. She could tell that the temperature was well above the freezing point.

  She carried the lantern into the locker and set it on an empty shelf. The yellow glare cast odd shadows among the packages of frozen goods.

  Houdini chortled and raced in after her.

  “Suit yourself,” she said. “But it’s still pretty cold in here.”

  She pulled the door shut, wrapped her arms around her midsection to ward off some of the chill, and looked around, taking stock. The packages of frozen meats, pizza dough, and other items were all starting to show signs of thawing. She moved closer to one shelf and poked at a carton of ice cream. It gave slightly.

  “The ice cream won’t last another day,” she informed Houdini. “Definitely ice cream for dinner tonight.” She went to the shelves that held the hamburger meat. “Some of this will last another twenty-four hours or so if we keep the door closed, but no longer.”

  Houdini scrambled up onto her shoulder and muttered.

  “I warned you it was cold in here,” she said. She took down a large package of hamburger meat. “We’ll need this for dinner.”

  Reasoning that the remaining items might stay colder longer if she positioned them closer to one another, she started rearranging the shelves. Although the temperature was no longer freezing, it was the equivalent of working in a refrigerator. The chill was starting to get to her.

  “Should have brought gloves,” she told Houdini. She reached for a large carton of partially thawed sausages, struggling to push it up against the remaining packages of meat. When she got it moved, she saw that there was another bulky, oddly shaped object behind the sausages.

  Houdini rumbled a warning. She knew that growl. Hurriedly, she stepped back, her breath tightening and her senses spiking.

  “What is it?” she asked, scanning the interior of the frozen food locker for threats.

  Houdini growled again. Then she saw what had focused his attention. A man’s shoe extended out from behind one of the cartons of sausages. A terrible dread descended on her.

  She made herself push the next carton aside. The eyes of a very dead, partially frozen man stared back at her. The face was horribly familiar.

  Chapter 26

  “HIS NAME IS SAMSON CRISP,” ALICE SAID. “HE WAS THE private investigator I told you about, the one I hired to look into Fulton’s death. No wonder he never got back to me or bothered to send me a bill. I feel absolutely terrible about this. All the time I was thinking he had scammed me he was in that freezer, dead. And it’s probably my fault.”

  Drake watched her stalk past him as she made another circuit of the small space. He was seriously annoyed by the distress and the guilt that he saw in her eyes.

  “Alice, pay attention. This is not your fault.”

  “But I’m the reason he wound up on Rainshadow,” she said.

  “He was a professional. You employed him to investigate the murder of a very wealthy man. He had to know that might be dangerous work.”

  They were in their room at the Marina Inn. The location was the only place Drake could think of that guaranteed them some privacy. News of the discovery of the body had flashed through the tiny community like lightning. The rumors that Alice had been acquainted with the victim had riveted everyone’s attention. Kirk Willis and the town’s only doctor, Ed Forester, had taken charge of the rapidly thawing Crisp. Forester had made it clear up front that he was a family practitioner, not a forensic pathologist, but he had agreed to examine the body to see if he could determine the cause of death.

  Drake was sprawled in one of the room’s two chairs, mostly because it was the only way he could stay out of Alice’s path. She had begun pacing the room almost as soon as he had gotten the door open. Every so often she started to fade a little around the edges, enough so that he had to use some energy to bring her back into focus.

  Houdini was hunkered down on the window ledge watching Alice. Whenever she went past his perch, he made small, comforting noises.

  “I had no idea that Crisp had come here,” Alice said. “He never told me that he planned to do that.” She came face-to-face with a wall, spun around, and started back toward the opposite wall. “He must have traveled here to see if he could verify my version of events.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Drake said. Personally, he had his doubts.

  “I must say, Crisp’s investigation was certainly a lot more thorough than I gave him credit for,” Alice continued. She locked her hands behind her back. “I expect that when he started asking questions, he alerted the killer, who followed him here and murdered him.”

  “When confronting new facts, the first rule is, don’t jump to conclusions,” Drake said. “We don’t know for certain what Samson Crisp was doing here on the island.”

  Alice stopped and turned to face him, startled. “It’s obvious
why he was here.”

  “No,” Drake said evenly. “Nothing is obvious, not yet. But we may know more when we read his notes.”

  Alice looked at the leather-bound notebook on the table. She had notified Drake first after discovering Crisp in the freezer. Drake had done a quick search of the body before Kirk Willis and Myrna Reed had arrived. He had found the notebook inside a waterproof pocket of Crisp’s trench coat. Making an executive decision, he had quietly confiscated it before Willis and Reed got to the restaurant.

  There was no telling what Samson Crisp had discovered in the course of the investigation, but whatever it was had most certainly gotten him killed. It was Crisp’s motive for being on Rainshadow that made Drake suspicious. It was a long and expensive trip for a low-rent PI to make without checking to be sure the client would pay for all costs.

  “Maybe he found out who really killed Whitcomb,” Alice said. She watched the notebook with an expression of wary hope. “Maybe he also came up with some proof. But why would the killer stick him in Burt’s frozen food locker?”

  “I can think of two possibilities,” Drake said.

  Alice blinked. “Two?”

  “The murder may have been an impulsive act that left the killer with a body to dispose of in a hurry. Evidently Burt’s freezer was the most convenient place to stash it.”

  Alice gave that a moment’s thought. “What’s the other possibility?”

  “The murder was premeditated but it did not go according to plan. Same outcome. The killer is stuck with a body.”

  “And Burt’s freezer was the most convenient place to stash it,” Alice concluded.

  “It wasn’t a great option because sooner or later someone was bound to discover the body. But it wasn’t a bad choice, all things considered.”

  “How can you say that?” Alice widened her hands. “Who knows how long poor Mr. Crisp’s body has been lying there behind the breakfast sausages?”

  “Long enough to give the killer plenty of time to get off the island undetected,” Drake said.

  Alice winced. “I see what you mean.” She frowned, her brows scrunching. “I hired Crisp about two months after Whitcomb was murdered. That’s how long it took me to realize that the cops probably were not going to find the real killer. I’ll bet he came here immediately to start his own investigation.”

  “Let’s see what Crisp has to say for himself,” Drake said.

  He sat forward and picked up the notebook. The freezing process had done very little damage, but nevertheless he turned the pages cautiously.

  Alice hurried across the room to look over his shoulder. “Oh, damn, it’s in code.”

  “Not exactly.” Drake studied the somewhat cryptic entries that had been made in cramped handwriting. “Some sort of personal shorthand. Since we know the names of several of the people involved in this thing, as well as the locations where the events took place, the initials should be easy enough to identify.” He pointed to the letters A and N. “That’s you. This looks like the date you initially contacted him. And the W has to stand for Whitcomb.”

  “Yes. Hang on, I’ll get a pen and take some notes while you read.”

  Drake waited until she was settled at the table with a pen and a pad bearing the legend The Marina Inn on each page. Then he started to read aloud. It didn’t take long to pick up the telltale signs.

  “Crisp was looking for an angle, right from the start,” Drake said.

  Alice frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He realized that the real money involved in the case was the Whitcomb fortune. He started hunting for a way to tap into that the minute you walked out of his office.”

  “You mean he tried to sell his services to Ethel Whitcomb?”

  “No, at least not yet.” Drake turned another page. “But he did what the cops should have done more thoroughly—what I plan to do as soon as we get the computers up and running again. He looked into the background of everyone who was closely associated with Fulton Whitcomb.”

  “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense. Did he find anything that might point to the killer?”

  “Do the initials AH mean anything to you in connection with the Whitcomb Museum?”

  Alice went still. “The director of the museum is Aldwin Hampstead. He was the one who hired me to work in the gift shop.”

  “If I’m interpreting these notes correctly, it looks like Hampstead was operating a thriving business in black market Alien antiquities out of the basement of the museum.”

  “Good grief, are you sure?”

  “Looks like Crisp was certain about it, which is the critical point.” Drake flipped another couple of pages. “I think it’s safe to say that, after a short but evidently solid investigation, Crisp believed that he had found a way to turn a handsome profit on the Whitcomb case.”

  “By finding out that Aldwin Hampstead was dealing in illegal antiquities?” Alice asked. “How does that—?” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Yes, of course, he intended to blackmail Aldwin. But that makes no sense. Aldwin wasn’t the one with the money.”

  “No, but Aldwin Hampstead had a pipeline into the Whitcomb money. He had evidently been convincing Ethel to spend a fortune on fake antiquities for years. Looks like Crisp figured Hampstead could find a way to get more money out of Ethel and use it to pay Crisp for his silence.”

  “So how did Crisp wind up on Rainshadow?”

  Drake turned another page. “Here we go. At some point along the way Crisp realizes that Hampstead and Fulton Whitcomb are into something very, very big here on Rainshadow, an important Alien find. Compared to the potential profits of a discovery that yields a substantial amount of Alien technology, blackmail would be penny ante stuff.”

  Alice put down her pen. “He wanted in on the project?”

  “Yes. Hampstead agrees. They set up a meeting here on the island to show Crisp the ruin.”

  “Instead of taking Crisp on a tour of the ruin, Aldwin Hampstead murdered him,” Alice concluded.

  “Looks like it.” Drake turned the last page. “Crisp notes that he made a reservation here at the Marina Inn.”

  “Well, it’s not like there are a lot of options here in Shadow Bay,” Alice said. “There are a handful of B-and-Bs, but people tend to remember you in small establishments. The Marina Inn would have seemed much more anonymous.”

  “Given that Crisp’s body was found in the basement of the tavern, we can assume he was killed at the inn.”

  “It still seems strange that the killer stashed the body in the freezer.”

  “He was probably killed there,” Drake said, “or somewhere close by. It’s not easy to dump a body in a small town like Shadow Bay. The obvious location is inside the Preserve, but that would require the killer to carry the corpse through the inn and outside to a vehicle. There would have been too much risk that someone would see something suspicious.”

  Alice tipped her head to one side. “We’re assuming that because Crisp came here to meet Hampstead, Hampstead is the killer. But what about Zara Tucker?”

  “Zara is a very petite woman. She would not have had the upper body strength to lift Crisp up onto that shelf in the freezer where you found him.”

  “Petite, huh? And I think you also said she was beautiful.”

  Alice’s tone was a little too neutral and her expression was unreadable.

  Drake suddenly felt as if he was walking on eggshells. He cleared his throat. “Take it from me, Zara is not the one who stuffed Crisp into the freezer. She never does her own dirty work if she can avoid it.”

  “Which leaves Aldwin Hampstead as our most likely suspect.”

  “If Hampstead and Zara are both in on this, which seems likely, you can be sure that Hampstead is taking orders from Zara Tucker. She’s the one running the show.”

  Alice nodded once. “I believe you. What’s our next move?”

  Drake got to his feet and went to stand at the window. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Excu
se me?”

  “Crisp’s body wound up in Burt’s freezer, not the freezer at the grocery store or the one at the fish market.”

  “Good heavens, surely you don’t think Burt Caster killed the investigator.” Alice hesitated. “Unless he’s Zara Tucker’s spy here in town.”

  Drake shook his head. “I don’t think Burt is the killer. He wouldn’t have sent you downstairs to clean out the last of the frozen hamburger meat if he had stashed a body inside the locker.”

  “Right. Whew. That’s a relief. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” Alice held up one hand and ticked off facts. “Samson Crisp came here to Rainshadow to meet with Aldwin Hampstead. Crisp wanted a piece of the action at the ruin that Zara Tucker is excavating somewhere on the island. The meeting between Crisp and Hampstead took place at the Marina Inn where Crisp was killed.”

  “It seems likely that Hampstead would have been staying here at the inn for the same reason that Crisp got a room there,” Drake said, thinking it through. “It’s the largest and most anonymous motel in Shadow Bay.”

  Alice jumped to her feet, excitement sparking in her eyes. “If they both stayed here, there will be a record.”

  “The killer would have used a fake name,” Drake warned her. “Rainshadow isn’t a major tourist destination in the Amber Sea, but it gets a fair number of day-trippers during the summer months and on the weekends.”

  “But we’ve got dates and descriptions of both men.”

  Drake smiled slowly. “We also know that one of the guests never checked out, at least not in person. In a community the size of Shadow Bay, you can be sure that someone will remember something.”

  Alice made a face. “Small towns. Gotta love ’em.”

  Chapter 27

  “I REMEMBER THE DEAD GUY NOW.” SYLVIA BENETZ peered at the card she had taken out of a file box. “Checked in as Fred Smith. Paid cash. Didn’t see him the next morning. Just assumed he left on the early ferry. I didn’t worry about it at the time. After all, he’d paid for the room.”