Final Settlement

by Vicki Doudera

  Darby put a finger on the initials “TD” and the small “ab?” next to it. “You’re thinking that the ‘ab’ refers to Alcott, right?”

  Tina nodded her head, causing her red curls to jiggle. “Yep.”

  “Strange that they aren’t capitalized like the rest,” commented Miles, unwrapping his lunch and taking a bite. “Tina? Care for some sustenance?”

  “No, thanks. I had some soup with Bitsy.” She scrutinized the letters. “Well, what can they be if they aren’t initials?”

  “I don’t know. Bitsy didn’t have any ideas, did she?”

  “No.” Tina sighed and went to her computer to shut it down. “That poor woman. She’s hurting, and then she’s got this puppy making puddles all over the house. The Chief’s kids have been great, but it can’t be easy for any of them. I wonder what Bitsy will do when all this is over?”

  “She probably doesn’t know herself yet,” offered Darby. She glanced at Miles. “Let’s take a ride over there and visit. Do you think that’s a good idea, Tina?”

  Tina shook her head. “She’s gone over to Manatuck to get her hair done, so she’s all set for a while. I’m going to meet Donny when I finish this and we’ll go up to see her.” She paused. “Did you ever take a look at that thumb drive?”

  Darby nodded. “A man and a woman, embracing, but only the woman’s face is visible.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I couldn’t tell. You’ll have to take a look.”

  “Okay.” She frowned. “That’s enough about all this. You two need to do something fun. Go out for dinner or something.”

  Darby thought about Miles’s plan for a romantic bath. That can always happen afterward …

  Miles took the last bite of his submarine sandwich, chewed it, and grinned. “Dinner? What a brilliant plan.” He balled up his napkin and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. “I’m absolutely starving.”

  Darby and Tina couldn’t help but laugh.

  _____

  Bitsy settled into one of the ferry’s hard plastic seats and sighed. It had been nice to do some normal things in Manatuck—buy a few toys for the dog, flip through a magazine at the beauty salon—and not feel the crushing sadness of Charles’s death, if only for a few moments. She fingered her hair, happy with the way the trim felt. The hairdresser had been tactful, allowing Bitsy to say as much or as little as she felt comfortable. She sighed again. It had been good to take a break from the island.

  She closed her eyes. There was a dull throbbing behind her eyelids and she willed it to stop. Maybe if she got some coffee.

  She rose and walked to the small snack bar. A heavyset woman waited for a coffee as well, a coarse wool hat on her head. She accepted her Styrofoam cup and turned toward Bitsy, her eyes ringed with dark circles.

  “Hey Carlene,” said the man who’d handed her the coffee. “Too bad about Denny.”

  Bitsy squinted at the woman’s weather-beaten visage. Was this Carlene Ross?

  A scowl filled the other woman’s face. “What are you looking at?”

  Bitsy paused. What do I say now? Your brother was the one who killed Charles? She felt anger well up inside her. Because of your brother, my husband is dead …

  The woman’s rough face puckered and she looked about to cry. Was she feeling the same anguish, having lost a sibling in the shootout?

  Bitsy felt her anger cooling. “Sorry for your loss.”

  Carlene looked away and then back at Bitsy. It was obvious she had no idea who Bitsy was, but she gave a curt dunk of her head and pushed past her.

  Bitsy reached out a hand for her own cup of coffee. The ferry employee met her eyes and gave a barely noticeable nod. His hand seemed to linger over hers, as if he were blessing the bestowing of the hot liquid.

  She cradled the cup and returned to her plastic seat.

  _____

  Two hours later, Donny and Tina sat in Bitsy’s living room, watching a dog trainer discuss puppy behavior on Charles Dupont’s enormous television.

  “She makes it sound so simple,” complained Bitsy, taking a forkful of macaroni and cheese. Rosie whimpered from her corduroy dog bed, in the middle of a canine bad dream.

  “Well, it is simple. You’re the one in charge, Bitsy. You’re the alpha wolf.” Tina sipped her wine and grinned. “Don’t you feel like a wolf?”

  “Not yet.” She pushed away her dish. “I’m not sure what I feel like. I’m just hoping I can get through this service tomorrow without looking like an idiot.” She sighed. “I want Charles’s kids to be proud of me.”

  “Don’t you worry, Bitsy,” Donny said. “You’ll do just fine.”

  “Who’s in charge of the service, Bitsy?” Tina asked.

  “The Manatuck Police Department. They have been so helpful. I never knew how much work Charles did with them.” She asked in a soft voice, “Will you guys be there?”

  “Of course, Bitsy. We’ll both be there.” Tina gave a pointed look in Donny’s direction. “Would you like to come over with us? We can pick you up in the morning.”

  “No, I’m going with Alana and Derek.” She gave a shy smile. “But thanks.”

  “Okay, well Donny and I are going to head off, let you get some sleep.” Tina watched as Donny collected the dishes and took them into the kitchen.

  “Thank you for the dinner, Tina. It was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome. Get some rest, okay?” Tina gave the widow a quick hug while the dog trainer talked on about puppy socialization. “Oh! Almost forgot to tell you. Your hair looks fabulous.”

  Bitsy fingered her bristly hairstyle and nodded absently. “I think Charlie would have liked it,” she said.

  _____

  Miles and Darby lay opposite each other in the farmhouse’s clawfoot tub, thinking their own thoughts and enjoying the steamy water. “Tell me again what Hideki Kobayashi said about the formula,” said Miles thoughtfully, breaking the silence. The elderly Japanese man had sent Darby an e-mail just before they’d begun running the water.

  “He thinks that Kenji may have ‘appropriated’ the formula for its positive applications.”

  “Appropriated, rather than stolen, eh? Did he say what those positive applications might be?”

  “No, but he reminded me that many dangerous chemicals are now used in ways that turn out to be good. Take the botulinum toxin A, for example. It’s one of the neurotoxins produced by Clostridium botulinum, commonly known as botulism, and yet now it’s injected into people’s foreheads to prevent wrinkles.”

  “Not mine, thank you very much! Still, there’s a lot of money to be made with some of these accidental applications. Could that be why Kenji took the formula?”

  “I’d rather believe it’s because of good old-fashioned greed than because Kenji wants to cause mass extinction.” She sank deeper until the water came up to her chin. “I wish Ed Landis would call and say he caught the guy.”

  “He will.” Suddenly he splashed her playfully. “In the meantime, what’s next?”

  “We towel off, we have a drink before the fire …”

  “Oooh, I like where this is going, but that’s not what I meant.” His face grew more serious. “What’s next with our relationship? Seems I’m always jetting in to visit you wherever you are. Then you pick my brain and ravage my body for a few days, and it’s cheerio.”

  “Hey, the ravaging really just started,” she said.

  “True. I would have liked the ravaging to have begun months ago, but I do stand corrected.” He rubbed her shin with his hand absentmindedly. “Tell me where we stand, Darby.”

  She thought a moment before answering, because it was an important question and she did not want to blurt something out.

  “I know where I stand, Miles.” She swallowed and looked into his rugged face. “I love you.”

  He gave a slow grin. “Funny you should say that, because I love you, too. In fact, I’d kiss you right now Darby Farr, but you’re way at the other end of the tub.” He lifted up her foot, c
arefully smoothed away the bubbles, and planted a kiss on her big toe. “There. That will have to do for now.”

  She smiled as he placed her foot back in the warm water. “Maybe I should make the next trip to see you. Fair is fair, right?”

  “Fairness! Now that’s a novel concept.” His eyes twinkled like the bubbles dancing on the top of the water. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Things will happen in their own good time. Besides, I know you, and I know you don’t like to be rushed in these matters.”

  She bit her lip. He was right—she’d been skittish about commitment, so afraid to accept Miles’s love that she’d very nearly lost him. “What do you say we get our robes and move to the fire?”

  He sat up slowly, giving her a long, level look that was full of desire. “Sure. Put on your robe, but I promise you won’t be wearing it for long.”

  He eased himself to a standing position and climbed out of the bathtub, water streaming from his muscular thighs and broad back. Darby felt a pleasant stirring. She stayed in the tub for a moment more, enjoying the view.

  THIRTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED clear and cold. Darby and Miles joined the contingent of islanders boarding ferries bound for Manatuck and the funeral of fallen Police Chief Charles Dupont. The passengers were silent, huddled in their winter coats and hats, with only the shrieking of the gulls overhead to break the unnatural quiet. Miles clutched Darby’s gloved hand, squeezing gently as she fought to stay composed.

  In the Manatuck ferry terminal’s parking lot, garishly yellow school busses waited with engines idling, ready to bring mourners to St. Catherine’s for the service. Darby and Miles climbed onto a bus, catching the eye of the Café’s new owner as they crowded onto a seat. He acknowledged them sadly and looked away.

  Inside the church’s hushed sanctuary, row upon row of uniformed police officers stood at attention, ready to pay their respects to a fellow officer, whether they had known Charles Dupont or not. The resonant strains of a bagpipe played as the pews filled and then overflowed with those waiting to say a final goodbye to Hurricane Harbor’s Chief of Police.

  Bitsy, flanked by Charles’s grown children, sat in the front row. She seemed very small in a basic black dress with long sleeves, her blonde hair more subdued than usual, a grim expression on her face. Every few minutes she dabbed a white tissue at her eyes, and cried openly at the tributes from Charles’s colleagues, especially the poignant words of Deputy Tom Allen.

  “The Chief was a like a father to me,” the gangly man said, looking down at the Dupont children and Bitsy. “No words can tell you how very much I will miss him.”

  When the echoes of the twenty-one gun salute died away, refreshments were served in the church’s parish hall. Darby and Miles mingled with the other mourners, paying their respects to Alana and Derek, and giving Bitsy big hugs.

  “She looks numb,” Darby whispered to Miles.

  “I suppose she is,” he said. “But the healing has begun. I think she will be okay.” He looked into her almond-shaped eyes. “What about you? I know this death has hit you especially hard.”

  Darby thought back to her conversations with Chief Dupont and his memories of her mother, Jada Farr. That’s what I’ll miss the most. He’d been a bond to her family. And now that link was gone.

  “I’ll heal as well,” she said softly. “I guess we all will.”

  Tina and Donny approached, their arms linked. Tina’s eyes were rimmed with red and she sniffled and bit back tears.

  Darby put a hand on the redhead’s shoulder and the two exchanged looks.

  “Makes you realize how fragile life is,” Tina said, her voice breaking. “One day you’re here, and the next—gone.”

  Darby, Miles, and Donny nodded. They were silent as Tina sobbed quietly, her thin shoulders moving under Donny’s draped arm. Suddenly she stopped. “What the—”

  A streak of golden fur raced by them, headed for one of the tables laden with luncheon meats.

  “Rosie!” Bitsy’s wail pierced the mourners’ quiet murmurs. “Rosie, come!”

  Darby held her breath as the puppy stopped short and turned in the direction of Bitsy, who stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. “Come!”

  The dog wagged her tail and trotted to Bitsy.

  “Sit!”

  Rosie acquiesced. The crowd watched as Bitsy reached down and grasped the puppy’s collar. “Good dog,” she cooed, stroking its head.

  Spontaneous clapping broke out as Donny rushed to help Bitsy take Rosie to another room. Bitsy blushed and gave a tiny smile. “She was Charles’s idea,” she said, to general laughter. “I just couldn’t leave her at home.” She bit her lip and wiped her eyes. “I bet he’s up there right now, chuckling away.”

  Darby looked at Tina. “I can picture that so clearly, can’t you? Chief Dupont would have found this funny.”

  Tina agreed. “That man had a wonderful sense of humor.” She glanced toward Donny and the puppy and shook her head. “Why the heck would anyone bring a dog to a funeral? Oh, well, I suppose anything goes nowadays.”

  The mood of the room underwent a subtle change, thanks to Rosie’s intervention. Mourners were now telling stories about Charles Dupont in a lighthearted, almost celebratory, manner.

  Tina pulled her friend close. “I do think it’s gonna be okay.”

  Darby nodded. Miles was right—the healing had begun.

  _____

  Deputy Tom Allen wasn’t sure what to say when people praised him for the words he’d uttered about Chief Dupont. He’d said what was on his mind, that was all, and it felt strange to accept thanks for that. He picked up a soft finger roll, ripped it in half, and took a bite. Perhaps if he were eating, he could just wag his head and that would be enough. He wouldn’t have to talk anymore.

  The words of Detective Dave Robichaud had been especially hard to hear. “I know what you meant,” he’d said, “about the Chief being your family. It was the same for me when I was your age.” Dave Robichaud had paused, looked him straight in the eye. “Growing up, I was always the one watching out for everyone. When I joined the force, someone finally cared about me.” He’d scanned the room; put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “The rest of us are here for you, Dozer.”

  Deputy Allen had wanted to cringe at the use of his old nickname, but instead he’d thanked the detective and watched him lope away. Now, as he chewed on the roll and thought about Charles Dupont, he sent a silent prayer heavenward.

  Rest in peace, Chief. Rest in peace.

  _____

  Darby felt a tapping on her shoulder as she was pulling on her red coat. She turned, coming inches from the concerned face of Alison Dyer.

  “I was hoping to speak with you before you left, Darby.” The older woman glanced toward Miles and lowered her voice. “Any luck on finding the person who killed that poor girl?”

  “No. The only official who seems to have thought she was murdered was Chief Dupont, and now that he’s dead …” Darby paused. “I haven’t found anyone who saw anything, and there is no physical evidence. Perhaps it was an accident after all.”

  The woman’s lined face grew dark. “No, Darby. It could not have been an accident! That woman knew what she was doing on that Breakwater. She didn’t fall into that water. I saw the person who pushed her, I know I did.” She scanned the crowd of mourners, just beginning to dissipate. “Chief Dupont knew it, too.”

  Darby looked down at her hands. The words of Charles Dupont came back to her in a rush: I knew that woman and I know there is no chance in hell that she slipped. We are talking about someone who did this every stinking day, in weather way worse than this. She wore the right kind of clothes for this kind of thing, heavy boots with good soles. She didn’t slip, Darby. I know that.

  She glanced up. “I’ll keep looking,” she said simply.

  Alison Dyer closed her eyes and nodded. “I know you will,” she said. She peered at Darby throug
h her round glasses. “I just know it.”

  Darby watched as Alison hustled away and out of the church.

  “What was that all about?” Miles asked, pulling on his coat. He frowned in the direction of the retreating figure.

  Darby explained. “She’s right, Miles. I owe it to Chief Dupont to figure this thing out.”

  “Maybe Bartholomew Anderson will give us the answers we need,” Miles said. “Maybe he’s our guilty guy.”

  Darby zipped up her red coat, her face beautiful yet determined. “If he attended the service, he’s already left. Let’s go find out.”

  _____

  A pink sunburn made Bartholomew Anderson’s nose and cheeks look as tender as raw beef. Darby watched him register fleeting disappointment as they entered his office, and then quickly cover it with a superficial grin.

  “You’re still here,” he commented, shaking their hands. “I would have thought you’d have left this Maine weather for the West Coast by now.” His joviality was so forced that Darby wanted to laugh. Instead she raised an eyebrow.

  “Speaking of weather, I take it the sun was shining in Miami?”

  “Oh, yes. Lovely little getaway, but never long enough.” He put his fingers together in the shape of a tent. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I want to thank you for your confidence in Near & Farr Realty,” Darby began. “I know Tina Ames will do a great job selling Alcott Bridges’s property.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure of that.” The portly attorney pursed his lips. “Surely you didn’t come here to tell me that?”

  Miles glanced at Darby.

  “We’re here about Lorraine Delvecchio.”

  “Ah, yes, the girl who fell off the Breakwater. I told you, I didn’t know her …”

  “She knew you, Mr. Anderson. Well enough to blackmail you.”

  “What are you talking about?” He stood up and ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Blackmail? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Your name was found on a ledger in Lorraine’s home,” said Miles calmly. “She knew something about you, didn’t she?”