Mermaids of Bodega Bay

by Mary Birk

  Trying to break the tension, Reid asked, “Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee?”

  Bolton got up, seemed to shake off his attitude, poured Reid a cup of coffee, then refilled his own. “So what can I help you with?”

  Reid paused to take a sip of his coffee, felt his stomach rebel that it wasn’t real food he’d sent its way. He wondered if Anne had made those eggs. “You remember Jack Shelton, the FBI agent in charge of this investigation?”

  “Of course.” Bolton’s voice was polite, but not particularly interested.

  “He had some people checking on some of the telephone records and computer records here, that kind of thing. They found some interesting things about the database entries for the sketches.”

  “They did?” Bolton’s head snapped to an alert position and he finally looked interested. Interested and wary.

  Reid leaned back in his chair, put on his intentionally intimidating lie-to-me-if-you-dare face. “Turns out the database that shows when those missing sketches got moved to the house from the storage vault wasn’t changed to show that they were in the house until Thursday morning. Days after they were already gone.”

  “Oh?” Bolton didn’t look up. His fingers fiddled with some pens, then he jumped as they clattered from his hand.

  “Strange, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  “So we were wondering, how many computers have access to the database? And I asked Andrew.” Reid took another gulp of coffee trying to stop the whining of his stomach. “He told me that any changes to the database have to be done on your computer.”

  Bolton’s eyes darted around like a fly locked in a freezer at night, sensing where this was going and knowing he wasn’t going to like it.

  Reid went on. “Andrew tells me only you and he have keys to the office.”

  “That’s not quite right.” Bolton’s face flooded with relief, the fly seeing the freezer door open. His hand went to his head, then pulled away before actually wiping his brow. “There’s a key to the office on the missing set of keys. So whoever took those keys could have used the computer.”

  “Maybe, but they would have to know the database existed, and they would have to have been in the office on Tuesday as well as in the house late Saturday night or early Saturday morning to take Lenore.” Reid pushed his coffee cup away. Any more coffee and he wouldn’t have a shred of stomach lining left. “Besides, the computer must be password protected if it’s where you keep all the financial data.”

  Bolton deflated in front of his eyes, the fly’s escape from the freezer thwarted when the door slammed shut again.

  “And Andrew tells me only you and he know the password.”

  Bolton said nothing.

  Reid flipped through the print-out of the inventory database. “According to the date and time at the top of this, it was printed out about ten minutes after the database was changed, and Andrew tells me he wasn’t in the office that morning.”

  “He might have forgotten. It’s been such a crazy time, with what happened to Lenore.”

  Reid shook his head. “I don’t think so. You were in Philadelphia before you came here?” He could tell his abrupt change of direction startled the other man.

  “What? Yes, at the Watson College of Art. I was the Director of Fine Arts.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I was going through a divorce, and also, I wanted to do something a little different, even if the pay wasn’t as good. I’d always been a fan of the Grainger artists and the Colony intrigued me.”

  “It must have been hard to take a pay cut to come out here. I imagine you have child support, maybe alimony?”

  “No alimony. The salary isn’t great, but there are perks, like that bonus for my work on putting the Marisol Series sale together.”

  “Right. You told me about that. It was three-hundred-fifty thousand, wasn’t it?”

  Bolton picked up a pen and rolled it in his fingers absently. “Might even be more. There’s a percentage calculation they used, but the details aren’t all finalized, so I don’t have an exact amount.”

  “Why did you really leave your job at Watson?”

  Bolton put down his pen and looked up at Reid. “I told you.”

  Reid shook his head. “No, I mean the truth. Why did you leave?” He caught the man’s eye and held his gaze steady.

  Bolton looked away. “You know already, don’t you?”

  Chapter 67

  “IT WAS a long time ago. I got involved with one of the graduate students.” Bolton hung his head. “Not like she was underage or anything. She was twenty-two and it was as much her idea as mine. But someone found out, and it’s against their policies, and they let me go. I threatened to sue them so my file is supposed to say I quit. They agreed to give me a good reference if I left quietly. So I did.”

  “And the divorce?”

  “That came after my wife found out about the girl. And about me getting fired.” Bolton sat back in his chair, looking at the photograph of his children. “It almost destroyed me. I lost everything and had no idea where I could go from there. I couldn’t believe it when I heard about this job coming open. Like I said before, I was already a fan of the Grainger Colony and there aren’t many jobs for my particular skill set that would allow me to still be involved in the art world. At least, not many good ones. This one is good, great, even, but I did have to move across the country to take it. The bad thing is it’s so far from my kids—I miss them.”

  Reid nodded. “It must be tough.”

  “It is. But it was my only chance to rescue my career, so I had to take it.”

  “So, back to Saturday night. After the party, you said you went home?”

  “After I’d finished up with the caterers and the artists that were taking off that night.”

  “It turns out one of your neighbors saw you leaving your house again just after one in the morning. She says you didn’t get home until after four on Sunday morning.”

  Bolton’s lips opened as if he were going to say something, then closed before any sound came out.

  “And, back to the sketches, according to Interpol the sketches showed up in Amsterdam a couple of days ago. And coincidentally, you’d been talking to someone in Amsterdam a lot lately, although Andrew Grainger says the Colony doesn’t have anything going on there.” Reid pulled some papers out of a folder McLendon’s officer had sent with him. “You took the sketches, didn’t you?”

  Bolton didn’t speak, but his shoulders sagged.

  “And if the same person that took the sketches kidnapped Lenore, as you’ve been leading us to believe, then you took Lenore as well. Was it an accident? After you took the girl, and left the ransom note, did something happen? She died and you didn’t think you could still get anyone to pay a ransom when you couldn’t prove she wasn’t dead?”

  Bolton stammered, “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Lenore.”

  “But you took the sketches?”

  The answer came after a reluctant pause. “Yes.” Bolton looked up at Reid, his eyes bleeding defeat.

  “And you decided that with Grainger looking for the sketches, you had a perfect way to account for their absence. Make it look like the person who took Lenore stole them.”

  Bolton shrugged. “I didn’t think about the database showing when I made the change.”

  “How much did you get?”

  “Three hundred thousand.”

  “Still have it?”

  “Yeah. I was afraid to spend it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In a metal box. Buried out there.” Bolton pointed out the window to the area between the Colony and the sea. “I couldn’t figure out what to do with it once I got it. I didn’t know how to spend it without people noticing. I knew I couldn’t just put it in the bank.”

  “Where were you between one-thirty and four the Sunday morning when Lenore disappeared?”

  Bolton sighed. “That’s when I took the sketc
hes to the buyer. After I got home from here Saturday night and changed my clothes, I took them on my boat and met another boat with someone who gave me the money. I think they were going to take the sketches out through Canada, then to wherever they were being sent.”

  “And the calls to Amsterdam?”

  “That’s where my contact was. I didn’t know that’s where the sketches were actually going.”

  Reid didn’t say anything; he’d made up the part about the sketches showing up in Amsterdam figuring Bolton wouldn’t know any better.

  Bolton seemed dazed, both by being caught and the realization of the consequences of what he had done. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Lenore. I was just strapped for money. I didn’t know about the bonus they were going to give me or I wouldn’t have done it.”

  Reid needed to find out about the child. “Did you see anything at the marina? Any other boats? Any other people?”

  “Nothing. I was so nervous, I could hardly drive the boat. I kept thinking, what if they just kill me and take the sketches. Now I almost wish they had.”

  Reid decided not to remark on that either way. “Let’s talk about Lucy Shearling. You know she was murdered?”

  “Yes, of course. Martha’s been a wreck.”

  “You and Lucy had been seeing each other?”

  “We were last spring when she was at Graham and Meg’s, then through the summer. But it had run its course and luckily for me, she’d found someone else to latch onto.”

  “Lucy was at your place last Thursday night, Frank. We have a witness.”

  “That was just because she needed a place to stay. She showed up at my apartment, late, out of the blue, no call, no warning.”

  “And you got into an argument?”

  “No. I just hustled her inside so the neighbors wouldn’t see her. There’s a woman on my street that I’ve been dating and I didn’t want anyone to tell her Lucy had been over.”

  “But you hit her?”

  He looked surprised. “Her bruise, you mean? Not me. She had that when she came to my house. The guy she was seeing hit her. I gave her an ice pack and let her spend the night. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t turn her away.”

  “Who’s her boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know. She was secretive about it. She said they were getting married as soon as he got things settled.” He gave a little laugh and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Just makes you wonder what kind of wife she would have turned out to be.”

  “Because?”

  “Because she insisted on paying me back for me letting her spend the night at my place. By, you know…” He looked down at his hands.

  Reid didn’t want to hear the details. “Did she say what she meant by getting things settled?”

  “No, but I didn’t ask.”

  “I understand you have an alibi for this Wednesday night? The night Lucy was killed?”

  “Right. I was with that woman I mentioned. All night. I told the FBI agent that called yesterday morning about it. I gave them her name and number. She called me and said they’d called her and she told them we were together.”

  “I’m going to ask that you consent to a search of your car and house.” Reid remembered the photograph of Bolton’s children on a boat. “And your boat.”

  “Go ahead. There’s nothing to find that you don’t already know about now. I’ll show you where the money is.”

  “Let me call the station, get someone to do that with you and we’ll get those searches started.”

  When Reid hung up, Bolton spoke, fixing his eyes out the window. “Do you think the Graingers are going to want to prosecute me?”

  “My guess would be yes. I doubt there’s much chance of getting the sketches back from the buyer. And the sketches were worth a lot more than they paid you. So I’d guess, from what I’ve been told, you’re looking at felony theft of over several million dollars. You’ll be going to prison.”

  *****

  Now that he had resolved the question of the Marisol sketches, Reid thought that he was entitled to return to the Mermaids and Anne’s arms. He had to leave tomorrow and they still needed to talk. But when he left the Colony office, Andrew Grainger emerged from the front door of the Colony house and raised a hand in greeting. Great, Reid thought. Keeping the image of Anne in the other man’s bed out of his mind was hard enough when the man wasn’t standing right in front of him.

  But he crossed the drive to where Grainger stood. “The chief called you and filled you in on Bolton?”

  Grainger nodded.

  “I would have come over to tell you myself but I was stuck babysitting him until the others arrived. Didn’t want him to do a runner.”

  “I understand. But he had nothing to do with Lenore?”

  Reid shook his head. “I don’t think so. But the FBI and police won’t just take his word for it. They’re searching his boat, his house, his car. I’m sure the court will order that money turned over to you—the money he got for the sketches.”

  Grainger waved his hand at the mention of the money. “They were insured. Frank was in charge of those details and he was good at it. Damn him. He was the best director we’ve ever had. I don’t know how we’re going to replace him.”

  Reid didn’t ask if the family wanted to press charges. He knew the insurance company would insist.

  Grainger’s eyes scanned past the house to the sea. “So, what now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m still the chief suspect in Lenore’s murder.” He looked at Reid. “Apparently my motive was to get Anne to marry me.”

  Reid didn’t want to talk about Anne with Grainger. He didn’t even want Grainger to say her name. He wanted to forget the man even knew her.

  “Funny thing is that when we had that stupid argument, I knew Anne was just using that as an excuse. If she’d been ready to marry me, I could have had twelve children and it wouldn’t have stopped her. She must have been hoping you’d come back to her.”

  Reid couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Grainger didn’t seem to mind his silence, and Reid had the feeling he’d been talking more to himself than to Reid. “Do you suspect me?”

  Without any hesitation, Reid shook his head. “No. Convenient as it would be for me for you to be a villain, I just don’t see that in you.”

  Grainger gave a thin smile. “Thanks, I guess.” Then he looked down, and away towards the sea. “I want Anne to be happy, whatever it takes.”

  Reid nodded. “Me, too.”

  “This isn’t easy for me to say.” Grainger voice had an underlying desolation to it. “But if you have any doubts that you can make her happy, or look past what happened with me here, or any thought that she might not be what you want, I hope you decide that soon. Because if you don’t want her, I do. I don’t care what’s happened between you two since she left me.”

  There weren’t many men Reid would listen to say those words, but Grainger had earned the right to say them.

  “Understood.”

  Chapter 68

  RITA KEMPTON woke up late on Saturday. She knew it was late by the ferocity of the light assaulting her from her enormous bedroom window. Why hadn’t she pulled the damned drapes last night? Turning toward her bedside clock she saw with shock that it was almost one-thirty in the afternoon.

  How could she have slept so long? After they’d gotten home from the country club last night she had taken a sleeping pill, no, two sleeping pills and washed them down with a glass of wine. But still, she’d been asleep before ten, so this was still awfully late to have slept in. She’d better not take two again. Especially not when she was drinking. Not that she drank that much, she thought. It was just that she was so tiny. She could feel the beginnings of a headache. Sinuses, though, definitely not a hangover.

  Remembering the gossip she’d heard after the funeral, she picked up the portable telephone and dialed Meg’s cell phone. Me
g answered and Rita spoke, trying to keep her voice casual and calm. She didn’t want Meg to think that she was over-interested in her friend’s bad luck, but she wanted Meg to know that she was there for her.

  “Meg, honey, how are you?” Rita heard her friend sigh. Poor thing. That damned man.

  “I’m fine, Rita. I guess you’ve heard.”

  “I just wanted you to tell you that I’m here for you. I wish you’d called me, hon.” Rita eyed the stainless steel coffee maker on the other side of the room, tried to remember if she’d programmed it to go on automatically at eleven. If so, the thermal carafe would have kept it hot.

  “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.”

  “You can always talk to me. I’ve had experience with this kind of thing. My first husband, was a cheating son-of-a-bitch.” She decided to forego the warmth of the bed to check out the coffee situation. She needed coffee and lots of it.

  “Thanks, Rita.”

  “The bottom line is does he want to be with you or her?” She picked up the coffeepot. It felt full, and when steamy hot coffee poured out into her cup, she sighed in relief.

  “I’m not sure that is the bottom line. He says me. But how can I believe him?”

  “Hon, all you can do is take it a day at a time.” Rita took the cup back to bed with her.

  “You may be right. I need some time away to think about it.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t take too much time. That little waitress is sitting there waiting to grab him up.”

  “Right now, as far as I’m concerned, she can have him.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Rita smoothed her covers up to just under her breasts, and sipped her coffee. Already her head was feeling better. Today she’d stick to wine. No vodka. And only one sleeping pill tonight.

  “Actually, I think I do.”

  “Don’t do anything rash. You shouldn’t make any kind of decision while you’re upset. Give yourself some time to think it over.”

  “I’m not sure what there is to think over. Would you stay with Will if he’d done this to you?”

  “Oh, honey, that’s different.”

  “Why is it different?”