He stood on the threshold with Will Atwood peeking from behind, over his shoulder. Curtis pursed his lips, and I recalled, rather acutely, Hailey Davis’s accusations.
“Do you believe she knows who killed her husband?” Atwood asked, gently nudging Hartwood so he could enter the room.
“I believe she has her suspicions,” Curtis corrected. “But she’s too frightened to discuss them, and frankly, I can’t blame her.”
“This is getting out of hand, Monroe,” Hartwell said, gesturing vaguely in the air as if intending to encompass all the general unpleasantness of the last week. “We cannot go about allowing innocent folks to get killed wherever they go. As mayor, I will be held accountable, and God knows there are some people who’d absolutely dredge it up come election day. What about this Logan Davis? Wasn’t he arrested for Frank’s murder?”
“He was detained for questioning, yes,” Curtis said patiently. “But since he’s currently being held in the county jail, we can rule him out as a suspect in the Dutton case. Besides, as things stand, we can safely clear him of Porter’s death too.”
“We can?” I asked.
Everyone turned to look at me, and I shrugged. It probably wasn’t the best idea to ask Curtis about the details with all these men present, but I couldn’t hide a certain measure of relief in knowing Logan was innocent.
“I got a call from the sheriff’s office this morning just before you arrived,” Curtis said. “She’ll be sending me a full report later. Logan was captured on a traffic camera just outside of St. Albans a little before 7 p.m. on Tuesday. That coincides with the time frame for Porter’s death. Davis is not our killer.”
Hartwell and Atwood exchanged a startled look.
“So you mean that whoever is responsible for the death of two people is still walking around free?” Hartwell’s voice rose in pitch, and I winced. He definitely didn’t look very jovial anymore.
“Yes,” Curtis answered.
“Well.” Hartwell drew himself up to his full height and stuck a finger out in Curtis’s general direction. “I suggest you get on it, Commissioner Monroe. If this monster isn’t apprehended by the end of the weekend, I’ll be forced to hand the matter over to state police. If this job is too difficult for you, there are any number of competent individuals who would be happy to take it on.”
With a loud huff, he stormed out the door. Atwood threw Curtis an apologetic look.
“He’s under a lot of stress,” he offered.
“I understand,” Curtis said dryly.
I gave him mental kudos for not adding “Who the hell isn’t?” but kept my mouth firmly shut.
“I’ll take Martha home,” Atwood said. “Mayor Hartwell will be happy to lend me his car for that.”
“Officer Gleason will be escorting her.”
“Nonsense,” Atwood said firmly. “The Duttons are friends of the family. I’ll make sure she’s safe and comfortable, as much as the circumstances allow. Good day, Commissioner Monroe.”
I could barely wait before the door closed after him and he was out of earshot.
“Did the mayor just threaten to fire you? What a pompous ass!”
“Jack, I still want you to drop by Mrs. Dutton’s house later to check up on her,” Curtis said as he closed his notebook, ignoring my outburst.
“Sure,” Gleason said, looking far too smug for my liking as he pushed out of his chair. “Let me just get some takeout first. Can’t expect me to do a stakeout on an empty stomach.”
Was I imagining it, or was he a touch too happy about Mayor Hartwell’s displeasure with Curtis’s performance? I got it that the two men weren’t on particularly friendly terms, but Gleason was all but rubbing his hands in glee at the prospect of replacing Curtis as the public safety commissioner.
I glared at him, but I doubted he even noticed. Curtis waited until Gleason had left, and only then turned back to me.
“So,” I rushed to say before he could open his mouth, “Evan Dutton was most likely killed because he knew who the murderer was. But I don’t understand—why do it in my cabin?”
Strictly speaking, it shouldn’t have been of any concern to me. If I wanted to make it to my literary agency’s party, I had to leave for New York right about now. So what was I doing, continuing to sit here and discuss crimes I had no more business being invested in? Now that the mystery of the anonymous letters had been solved, the rest of it had nothing to do with me.
I knew I had to say goodbye to Curtis, but looking into his shadow-rimmed eyes, my courage failed.
“Martha either didn’t know or didn’t want to admit to it, but I suspect Evan was trying to blackmail the killer.” Curtis slouched a little in his chair, and my heart clenched at the realization that he trusted me enough to let his weariness show.
“He must have had photos of the murderer on his phone, then. So they’d agreed to meet at the cabin? Why?”
“The killer must have arranged for them to meet there while you were away,” Curtis explained, “ostensibly so they could conduct their transaction unobserved. But in reality, it made their job easier. You hadn’t checked the cellar once since your arrival.
“Only Evan and Martha knew what was down there, so it was a relatively safe place to hide the body. The maple syrup would mask any unpleasant odors, and fresh snow would conceal all traces of anyone having been near there. And when the body would have been discovered eventually, it would all point to you again. We were lucky you arrived just in time to notice someone had been there.
“And that you were too late to run into them,” he added after a pause, meeting my eyes.
The raw emotion in his gaze was too heavy for me to bear, and I looked away, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
“It has to be George Hartwell,” I said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Remember how nervous he was when he first saw me in your office and thought I was a reporter, and then when he was asking me about the book I said I was writing? He definitely has something to hide. If Hailey is right, he had every motive—”
“But not every opportunity.” Curtis rubbed his forehead again and sighed. “Sorry, but it appears the mayor was at the festival all of last night. Dozens of people saw him.”
“He could have slipped away unnoticed,” I insisted. The longer I thought about it, the more the idea of Hartwell’s guilt appealed to me. “It would have taken him less than an hour to drive up Pine Grove and back. Maybe forty minutes.”
“The Maplewood Christmas Festival is George’s pet project. He always gives a speech and mingles with the crowd and badgers everyone into admitting they’re having a good time. Trust me, if he were to disappear for longer than ten minutes, people would make note of it.”
“He could have had an accomplice. Or paid someone to do his dirty work while he’d have the perfect alibi. Hartwell knew I wouldn’t be at the cabin because I’d told him on Thursday I was going to go to the festival. That would’ve given him plenty of time to plan everything in advance, knowing the coast would be clear.”
“It’s possible,” Curtis said, though he was nowhere near as enthused as I was about the whole idea. “I’ll have a chat with George’s assistant later about the state of his affairs and go from there. Right now, I should arrange Davis’s release. Will you be staying with Beverly for the time being?”
There was no more putting off the inevitable. I cleared my throat.
“About that. Am I still under orders to remain in town?”
“No,” Curtis said slowly, his eyes searching my face, and it was all I could do not to avert my gaze. “You’re still a witness, of course, but I suppose it’ll be all right for you to go if I have your contact information. Why? Are you planning on leaving?”
“Yes. Today, as a matter of fact,” I said, my heart lodged firmly in my throat.
“Today?”
“Yes. I got a call from my agent this morning—my literary agent, I mean—inviting me to the agency Christmas party tonight. It’s all fancy and ver
y formal. There’ll be people from GoodFlicks there, scouting for new ideas to produce, and, well…it’s not something I can miss. My agent thinks I might get to pitch my Owen Graves series, and I don’t have to tell you what a big deal this is.”
I stopped, realizing that perhaps I’d gone too far in my explanations. Who are you trying to convince?, a mocking voice whispered in my head, him or yourself?
“All right.” Curtis’s voice was as calm and level as always, but his posture changed infinitesimally, as if he was bracing himself for impact. “That…sounds like an important opportunity.”
“The problem is, if this thing with movie rights and whatever does pan out—not that I can get my hopes up—I’ll have to move back to New York. Maybe I’ll have to move back even if it doesn’t pan out. There’s always some kind of publishing event or other, and it’ll be easier to be closer to the action, even it’ll mean relocating to the suburbs. This…retreat, vacation, hiding, call it what you will—was always meant to be temporary anyway until I figured a way to get back on my feet.”
“Sure, but…” He searched for the right words and finally said, “It’s just a little abrupt, that’s all. You seemed to be so committed. To solving this case, I mean. I almost had to take you into custody for snooping around a dead man’s house.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Let’s face it, I’m not a detective. What good has my sleuthing done besides cast suspicion on an innocent man? Of course, I want to see this case closed and the murderer brought to justice, but I have to trust you to do it.”
Curtis stayed silent for several long moments, each of them lasting an eon. I dreaded the question he had to be contemplating—the moment he’d ask me whether there wasn’t anything else in this town that might induce me to stay, aside from morbid curiosity. But when he finally spoke, it was a different question.
“Is that what you want? To go back to New York?”
“I think so. I mean, I’d be a fool not to, right?” I chuckled nervously.
“Then that’s what you have to do.” He lowered his eyes to his notepad, fiddling with the pen.
“That’s it?”
I don’t know what I was expecting. Certainly not proclamations of undying love and tearful pleas for me to reconsider—but not this offhanded sort of indifference either.
Curtis put the pen down, still avoiding my gaze. “I feel it’s not my place to say anything.”
“But you feel…something.” I didn’t bother to form it as a question.
Just a moment ago, I was afraid of hashing it out, but now I almost wanted him to challenge me.
Maybe, deep down, I wanted him to convince me to reconsider, but the thought was too desperate for me to hold on to, and I vehemently shrugged it off.
Curtis finally looked at me. For a second, I imagined I could glimpse the traces of the earlier raw emotion in his expression, but he once again schooled his features into his usual mask of careful equanimity.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I do. But I would never let my feelings stand in the way of someone else’s happiness. Especially not someone whom I have feelings for.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Look, none of it is definite. Besides, we could still see each other. Holidays, weekends, and it’s not like I have strict working hours I have to stick to. It’ll be difficult, but we could make it work, somehow.”
“Do you really believe that?”
The blue of his eyes, usually so vibrant, was now as cold and dark as the depths of the ocean.
“No,” I sighed.
“Me neither.”
There was a note of finality in his voice, but, foolishly, I decided to cast my little boat into the waves of that uncharted ocean anyway.
“I know you said you wanted some peace and quiet, but it looks like even a sleepy old village isn’t immune against trouble,” I said lightly. “Maybe it’s a sign that you were always meant to live in a big city. Don’t you ever miss it? The energy, the attractions, the variety?”
To be completely truthful, all these things had somewhat lost their appeal to me over the years. I appreciated the live pulse of the metropolis as long as I didn’t have to be an active part of it. But I had to find something to lure Curtis with, since I couldn’t in all seriousness ask him to upend his newfound life for the dubious privilege of dating me.
Again, Curtis didn’t answer right away, and I found some comfort in the fact that he seemed to actually consider it. But in the end, he shook his head.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded even more tired. “I can’t do that. My life is here now. I’d like to think I’m doing something good here, that I’m making a difference, however small, in keeping my community safe and looking after these people.” He shook his head ruefully. “I know your offer is sincere, Declan, and God knows it’s tempting, but it’s just—”
“Not tempting enough.” I stomped down on the rising bitterness. Could I really fault him for rejecting me, when I’d effectively given up on myself?
“Not exactly how I’d put it,” he said. “But nonetheless, I can’t accept.”
“So…that’s it?” I said. “We say goodbye and go our separate ways?”
“You could still say hello when you come here to spend your vacations.” Curtis’s smile was crooked. “But for now… Yeah, I guess it’s goodbye, Declan.”
Chapter Sixteen
Heavy rainclouds gathered above me as I walked from the town hall back to the Maplewood Inn, suiting my mood perfectly.
Considering it was my decision that had caused it, perhaps it was strange I was feeling so utterly wretched. As I strolled down the shaded paths that ran around the village green, absently listening to the birds squawking, I kept telling myself I was making the absolute right choice. I’d come here to figure out how to salvage my tanking writing career, and now the chance to do exactly that had been handed to me on a fancy silver hors d’oeuvres platter. As I had told Curtis, I’d be a fool to not at least give it the old college try.
And really, what would be the alternative? My finances being in the sad state that they were, I’d have to either stay here in Murderville, VT, or mooch off my sister and her family until I found a sufficiently stable nine-to-five job to be able to afford my own place somewhere on the periphery of New York City. And while Murderville—Maplewood—definitely had its advantages, was I really ready to move here on a permanent basis?
To put it bluntly, was Curtis worth staying for?
As far as the man himself was concerned, the answer was undoubtedly “yes.” Six days were too short to get to know someone well, but when they were as intense as these had been, it was possible to get a measure of their character. And unless I was a terrible judge of people, Curtis’s character was of the highest quality. He was kind, compassionate, and infinitely more patient than I could ever aspire to be.
He was so much more than anyone I could aspire to be with. It’d be too painful to watch our relationship turn sour, like all my previous ones, once he realized just how little I had to bring to the table.
Running away was what I did best, after all. I might as well do it now, before I got the chance to ruin everything again by being myself, as usual. At least this time, I had something to run toward, as flimsy as that opportunity might be—or so I kept telling myself.
I might as well accept my Porter-like fate and be done with it.
Beverly, burning with curiosity, accosted me as soon as I stepped inside the inn’s entry hallway and returned her umbrella. I was quite proud with myself for managing not to snap at her despite my dark mood and beat a hasty retreat to my room.
It was already around 11 a.m., and if I wanted to make that party tonight, I had to be on my way. Even with weekend traffic, the drive would take me about five and a half hours; even longer with pit stops. I’d have to call Jenny on the way and ask if she and Noah would be okay with me sleeping on their couch for a few days. There was some food left over in the fridge at the cabin, so I’d have to either
drop by and chuck it in the trash before I left, or ask Curtis to do it if the police weren’t done processing the crime scene that was my cellar.
I made all these mental to-do lists to distract myself while I packed my duffel bag—not that there was a lot of packing to do. I couldn’t dwell on how miserable this breakup with Curtis made me (could it be classified as a breakup if we hadn’t officially been going out?), so my thoughts naturally drifted to the next thing that bothered me—namely, that a perpetrator of a double homicide remained free.
I’d told Curtis I was walking away from the case, but that didn’t mean I’d completely lost interest. Curtis was right; I’d been too invested in it to let it go and forget about it. Yes, the source of the mysterious threats had finally been revealed, but the real monster was still out there, and so far, all the leads had resulted in dead ends.
Mayor Hartwell currently seemed like the most likely suspect, and I was beginning to believe he was much smarter than he wanted to appear. Besides, he was wealthy and a relatively powerful individual in the county. Even if he had the perfect alibi for both murders, he could have hired someone to do one or both dirty deeds for him—first eliminating Porter because the man had dug up some proof of Hartwell’s corruption, then silencing Evan for figuring it out.
If it were him, it’d take some solid detective work to link him to the murders, and it was already painfully clear I wasn’t cut out for it. I had to let Curtis do his job. Maybe I could ask him for an update.
Or maybe not.
“What a shame you have to go away, Mr. Kensington,” Beverly said when I went down to the lobby for my checkout. “Janice was so looking forward to hosting a book signing for you at Books and Hooks. Are you sure you can’t stay just a little while longer? We’ve been having a rough week here in Maplewood, for sure, but—”
“I’m very sorry, but I have a prior engagement,” I said as apologetically as I could. I hated being curt with her, considering how accommodating she’d been under the circumstances, but I doubted I could take any more friendly meddling at this point. “Please give my apologies to Janice.”
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