Chained

by Eileen Brady

  The door chimes jingled as two couples rushed inside to get away from the cold. Laughing together at something amusing, the women immediately focused on the gourmet food while the guys milled around taking in the joke T-shirts and hunting knives behind the glass display counter.

  I got up to go. “You’re busy. If you can think of anything that might be helpful, anything bothering Flynn those last few weeks, let me know. You can always leave me a message at the animal hospital.”

  He nodded his head absentmindedly before making an effort and saying in a cheerful voice, “Can I help you folks?”

  Before I left I wrapped my scarf around my neck and braced for the cold. Getting into the truck I thought about Nate working at the store from high school to the present. That took up most of his adult life. I didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger nor had anyone mentioned a girlfriend. Was marrying some gorgeous California girl another part of his fantasy?

  While I drove out of town, I went back over what I’d learned about this member of Flynn’s gang. Basically, he came off as a nice guy. Resigned now to what fate handed him, I suspected he used liquor to smooth the waters. That led me to a question about the other two fellows in Flynn’s group.

  If this was a big-budget Hollywood movie, who would be cast as the villain? Or would some imaginative screenwriter have all of the three amigos strike angry blows at Flynn for pursuing his dream without them?

  Chapter Fourteen

  When I got home I busied myself with walking the dog and starting a load of laundry. Of all the personalities I’d met who were related to Flynn, his sister, Fiona, resonated with me the most. Hostile and discouraged at the age of eighteen, I supposed her anger struck a chord with me, a very familiar chord. Her life had theoretically changed the most because of Flynn’s death. If he had made it out to Los Angeles and had any success, he’d have rescued his sister. Instead of dealing with a hated stepfather and passive mother, her brother would have nourished and supported her with his love.

  After the car accident that killed my mom and brother, I was furious at the entire universe and lashed out at everyone around me. Unable or unwilling to deal with me, my doctor dad basically gave up and left me alone to fend for myself at age fifteen. Only four months after my mom died, he moved on with his life by marrying his surgical nurse who immediately became pregnant.

  I wanted nothing to do with him. He felt the same about me.

  That left Gramps, my mother’s father, who offered to take me into his home. He treated me like an injured wild animal and gave me plenty of attention—or space, if I needed it—even when I became particularly obnoxious. Although Gramps worked hard, he made a point to always sit down to dinner with me each night and never missed any event, even minor, in my life. With perceptive counseling and unconditional love, I slowly bounced back.

  Bounced back, but not forgiven my father.

  ***

  “Hey, Buddy, up on the sofa.” I decided to get comfortable and call Gramps. Even at the worst of times it helped to talk to him. My dog snuggled up and rolled over, presenting his belly to scratch. Scrunching up the pillow I settled in and pressed the auto-dial on my cell phone.

  “Hello.” His voice sounded gravely as usual.

  “Hey, Gramps, how are you doing?” We made a point of always talking once a week, even if we didn’t have much to say.

  “Doing tip-top. I won the poker championship last night—over fifty dollars—but don’t tell the staff here because we’re supposed to be playing for pennies.” He enjoyed breaking the rules sometimes.

  “Congratulations. What are you going to do with the winnings?”

  “I’m taking all the boys over to Rafferty’s Bar next door. We’ll jam the place with walkers and wheelchairs and have a great time.”

  The sight of my Gramps with his shock of white hair guiding all those old guys into Rafferty’s Irish Bar would have been funny as all get-out. “Wish I could see it.”

  “I’ll text you a picture.” He was very proud of all the things he could do now with his iPhone. Next, he’d be signing with smiley face emogi.

  Buddy grunted and pushed his nose into my hand, jealous for attention. “Gramps, do you remember that cold case I told you about?”

  Immediately I could feel the atmosphere shift. “Sure. The victim’s remains were found in the woods near Oak Falls.”

  “The sister of the victim is having a lot of problems. She’s sad, angry, doesn’t know who or what to blame, and wants answers. I feel sorry for her. If you were investigating this, how would you go about it?”

  Silence on the other end of the phone meant Gramps was carefully constructing his answer. In a perfect world he wouldn’t want me looking into any murder, cold or not. But the world is far from perfect.

  “Talk to everyone who knew him and really listen to what they have to say. You’ll get a host of different points of view, but pretty soon your victim will come into focus. Next, concentrate on his last few weeks, before moving on to that last day. If the killer was local, you might get lucky.”

  “And if he wasn’t?”

  His sigh said it all. “Despite everything you do, no matter how hard you try, the road might lead to a dead end. Correct me if I’m wrong. The police have no DNA evidence. No motive. No nothing. All anyone knows for sure is where he was buried. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “That burial site is an important clue. Why was that particular place chosen? Was it a makeshift grave or dug in advance? Near a hiking trail or completely isolated?”

  “Okay.”

  “And another thing. Lots of times a makeshift memorial springs up at these gravesites. People who knew him, strangers, all kinds of people visit and leave things—candles, pictures, teddy bears, you name it. Take pictures of everything left on that original gravesite. Killers have been known to return to the scenes of their crimes. Look for something unexpected.”

  “That’s a good idea.” My comfortable pillow no longer felt comfortable. “I’d like to find out what happened to Flynn, if only to help his sister and the rest of the family.”

  Gramps didn’t reply immediately. A coughing spell caught him by surprise. When it passed he said, “Don’t forget the victim, Katie. He deserves justice too.”

  After we hung up I stared at the old quarry photo one more time. Four boys posing on a sunny day, not a single care in their world. Grinning the easy grin of kids enjoying a lazy summer and getting away with something.

  Three of them were alive and one of them was dead. What was it about Flynn that had made him a target for murder?

  Most of the detective shows on television I watched featured a murder board. I decided to set up one of my own in the living room using a discarded corkboard stashed in the hospital supply/junk room and a handful of computer paper. Getting into the project, I color-coded and labeled all of my suspects. Next, I drew a basic map of the town with various landmarks noted, took a red Sharpie and marked the roads in and out of town. Now I could locate everyone and move each person around at will.

  With my notes in front of me, I began plotting out August 10, that fatal Friday ten years ago. Flynn had decided to leave on a weekday, not a weekend. Probably less confrontation with his family and friends, I figured. At three o’clock in the afternoon, multiple people saw him standing in front of Judy’s Place on Main Street. Fiona was still in school and Flynn’s mother, Lizette, had been confined to the house recuperating from a bad MS relapse. Stepfather Bruce reportedly had been at work in Kingston.

  I could put Shiloh aside since two people told me she wasn’t even in New York State that day. As far as the other jealous girlfriend, Angelica, was concerned, I had no idea.

  Now for Flynn’s gang. First, I concentrated on Denny Alantonio. His uncle’s car dealership was located on the outskirts of town, near the junction of the main road leading into the Kingston bus s
tation. According to Fiona, Denny worked at the dealership during that summer, so he would have access to a variety of cars. I wrote car across his paper chest and fixed him to the board.

  With pins in hand, I moved to the next suspect, Rusty. What was it Nate said? That Rusty’s dad had gotten him a “sweet ride” that summer? In black ink I wrote “sweet ride” on the chart. With no knowledge of his location that day I wrote “car” with a question mark in pencil. For now he’d have to wait on the sidelines.

  Nate was easy. I placed him in the Country Store in the middle of town.

  That left a wild card, our motorcycle-riding Diabolo, who carried a grudge against Flynn and had plenty of gang friends to back him up. Judy told Luke she’d seen an unusual number of bikers in town that day. I attached a note for myself to find out why.

  Something Gramps said nagged at me. Then I remembered. He’d asked if there was a makeshift memorial on the gravesite. Samantha described exactly that when she brought her Malamute in for a recheck, mentioning that people had left photos and flowers. I slapped my forehead. I’d also completely forgotten about the climbing rose deliberately planted by someone.

  With my scissors I cut out a vaguely plant-shaped form, wrote “rose” on it and stuck it next to the spot marked Flynn’s grave. Still not sure if the rose meant anything, I drew a big question mark on it. To remind me, I cut out a paper cross and stuck it on the burial site with “memorial” written on it.

  When I glanced back at my notes more suspects clamored for my attention. Where would I put Flynn’s suspiciously dramatic drama teacher or the beautiful Alessa, hiding behind barbed-wire-topped walls? My head started spinning with the bevy of possible murderers running around. Not to mention, verifying all the alibis. At least seeing everything in front of me made the timeline clearer, easier to interpret.

  Okay, Flynn, I thought, let’s see how cooperative your buddies and friends are.

  Maybe they have secrets as deep and dark as the woods they found you in.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When I got up the next morning, that murder board stared me in the face. Cold daylight made me realize that snippets of information were all I had. I decided to jump into the snakepit and go to the one place in town where you could ask inappropriate personal questions and get away with it, where gossip and rumors swirled in the air as thick as blackstrap molasses:

  The Oak Falls Ladies Bridge Club.

  When I called my friend, Candy, she quickly signed me up as an alternate player for the next meeting. “Someone always cancels at the last minute. I’m sure we can fit you in.”

  “Thanks. It will be great to see you again.”

  “I suspect another motive here, other than visiting me.” Her voice bubbled with interest.

  Not wanting to drag her into my scheme, I ignored her fishing. “Any chance Mrs. Lieberman or Denny Alantonio’s mother will be there?”

  “I knew it. You’re investigating the whole Flynn Keegan thing, aren’t you?”

  From the tone of her voice I figured she wouldn’t give up easily. “The family asked me to find out what happened, but so far all the trails are ice cold. I’m just trying to clean up some details, that’s all.”

  “Sure you are.”

  Candy was sounding like my Gramps.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” she continued. “Mrs. Lieberman is a founding member of the Bridge Club. She’s been playing for almost thirty years and is an old fireball. There might be a few of the Gianetti family playing, too, if that’s of any interest to you. Of course,” her voice turned coy, “now that you have another handsome man in your life…”

  I hadn’t talked to Candy in weeks but, sure enough, she was up-to-date on my personal life, like everyone else in town.

  Being nosy about your neighbors was par for the course in a small town.

  This time I was counting on it.

  ***

  Snuggled in my bed that night I picked up an old paperback book of bridge rules and bidding strategy I retrieved from my bookshelf. Gramps and his friends originally taught me the game and I played all through high school. During college I’d participated in sporadic amateur tournaments and I’d already spent an evening a few months ago with the Oak Falls Ladies. Although they talked a lot, the women in this local club were sharks with their cards and unforgiving of a bad bid.

  Before I fell asleep I reviewed the rules on bidding and boned up by playing a few practice games on my phone.

  Maybe that’s why I dreamt I was in the woods chained to a bridge table, forced to watch helplessly as rows of playing cards dug a deep moat around me, bloody shovels clenched in their skeleton hands.

  ***

  Candy called me the next night after work to say one of the club’s regular bridge players had dropped out on short notice due to illness. Could I fill in that evening?

  Although water still dripped off me from my shower, I told her I’d be there in thirty minutes. Hopefully my wet hair wouldn’t freeze on the drive over to her place. Slicking the damp strands into a ponytail, I threw on the first things I saw in the closet and bolted out the door. On the short sprint to the truck, I swear I felt ice crystals forming on the top of my head.

  Parking at Candy’s place was limited, so most people were forced to park on the side of the road. My F-150 truck ended up at the tail end of a long line of vehicles. I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked along the dark road until I arrived at her driveway. Through the brightly lit living room window I saw women milling around, enjoying the pre-game socialization time before getting down for the kill.

  My doorbell rings went unanswered so I walked in. The noise level inside had effortlessly overpowered the bell. Several women clustered nearby cackled about something at an ear-piercing volume.

  As soon as I spied Candy circulating among her guests, I pulled her aside. Her streaked blond hair and stylishly short dress paired with fashionable heels made her stand out from the more conservatively dressed crowd.

  “If you could point out Mrs. Lieberman, I’d appreciate it.” Maybe by talking to the moms I’d get an idea of what their sons were really like ten years ago.

  A sea of gray bouffant hair bobbed up and down around me, wearing floating waves of colorful polyester. Candy tugged at my sleeve. “Don’t worry. I’m going to introduce you to her.”

  Before I could agree, I was shaking hands and saying hello to woman after woman, many who were vaguely familiar, probably from seeing them in the supermarket, or at the gas station, or somewhere in town. Three I recognized as clients and another identified herself as Luke’s cousin.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Candy slipped past my latest introduction and slowly approached two women standing with their backs to us. The taller one had faded red hair streaked with gray.

  As Candy made the introductions, I noted that Rusty’s mother had the same serious eyes as her son, and they were staring straight at me. Uncomfortably aloof, Missy Lieberman was polite to a fault, most likely saving her quills and arrows for the perfect moment. Her friend, however, chewed my ear off for several minutes asking why her dog rubbed its butt on the floor. Thankfully our hostess rescued me by announcing the start of the round robin bridge games. I cleverly had been paired with an annoyed-looking Missy.

  “Dr. Turner. I expect you to strictly adhere to American Contract Bridge League rules.” Her request was as subtle as an automatic nail gun. My ass would be grass if I messed up.

  “Of course, I’ll do my best.” The radiant smile I flashed back didn’t dent her armor.

  “Oh, Missy, lighten up will you?” the round-faced senior to my left interjected while opening a new deck of cards set in front of her. “We’re here to have some fun and get away from our husbands.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve met you.” I turned toward the friendly face, temporarily escaping the frowning Missy. “I’m Kate Turner, ju
st filling in for the night.”

  “Yes, you’re the veterinarian. So happy to meet you, I’m Betsy Alantonio. She shuffled the deck like a Las Vegas pro.

  Bells went off. I’d hit the jackpot. “Do you have a son named Denny?”

  “Yes.” Betsy regarded me warily, probably hoping I wasn’t one of her son’s unhappy real estate clients.

  I immediately vanquished her fears by saying my friends gave Denny a glowing review and hinting that I might be hiring him to look at properties soon. Then I secretly thanked Candy for being so efficient.

  The silent third member of our table, introduced only as Elsa, sat bolt upright in her chair. Perhaps ten or fifteen years younger than the average player in the room, she appeared scared out of her mind.

  We both lucked out with the first game, an uncomplicated and obvious two-heart bid. Betsy played the hand and her frightened partner was the dummy.

  Flushed with power at winning the opening game, Betsy began to chat. “How do you like Oak Falls, Dr. Turner?”

  “Please call me Kate.” I took a sip of water. “It’s a wonderful town, very picturesque.”

  “Humppph.”

  The grunted comment came from Missy, who Betsy blithely ignored. If her real estate salesman son, Denny, took after his mom, no wonder he was successful.

  “Yes, but it’s getting a little too picturesque, in my opinion. Sometimes Main Street is so clogged with weekenders I can’t do my errands.”

  That elicited nods of agreement from everyone around the table.

  With fingers crossed, I threw in the bait. “Speaking of the town. My grandfather is worried about me. You know, what with the discovery of the body.” I made my voice as dramatic as I could stomach.

  If I had expected a big reaction I would have been disappointed. The ladies carried on as if bodies were falling out of the sky every day.

  “Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Flynn Keegan was not a good influence on his friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got in with the wrong crowd and met his maker.” A sniff followed this bizarre statement by Missy.