Mermaids of Bodega Bay

by Mary Birk

  He had no trouble finding the house. He went around to the back door. Before he had a chance to knock, Anne let him in. “Martha’s gone to lie down. She’s exhausted, and luckily her mother-in-law’s stayed in her own room the whole time. I think she was afraid someone would ask her to help.”

  She took his hand and pulled him along. “I found them in here.” Anne showed him some kind of a wedding magazine. “Martha had put all of the stuff from Lucy’s desk in this box, and then put the magazines in the box, too. They had been in Lucy’s guest room closet, up on a shelf. So, I was just sort of going through the pages, and there it was. An envelope.”

  “You looking to have another wedding, lassie?” His hand went around her waist and he pulled her to him.

  She pushed him away playfully. “No, of course not. I was looking at the dresses. Anyway, I found this envelope, and opened it.”

  He grabbed her hands, put his arms around her, and kissed her neck.

  “Now, Terrence, be serious.” Her voice was breathless. “You need to listen to me.”

  “I am serious. I miss you. It’s been hours. And before that, months.” He let his hand go up her shirt. Lord, this woman felt so good.

  She held his hand still against the warm place it had found. “Pay attention and behave yourself.”

  “As long as I can touch you while I look.”

  “You can touch me all you want later. Martha asked me to be on the lookout in case Lucy had made a will. So I thought maybe I’d found it, but when I opened the envelope, it was these hospital records or medical records or whatever you call them.” Then she pointed out the words to him. “Full term. It may not have anything to do with what happened to Lenore, but I’d guess it has something to do with who her father was.”

  He looked them over carefully, pulled his hand from underneath her shirt. “I think you’re right, girl.” He nodded, and repeated. “Damn, I think you’re right.”

  “You know who the father is, don’t you?”

  “I think I have a fairly good idea.”

  “The diary?”

  “Right.”

  “Andrew’s read the diary. Do you think he knows?”

  “If he knew Lenore wasn’t premature, he knows.”

  “Even if he knew, it doesn’t give him a reason to kill Lenore. Or Lucy. Or mean he…did things to Lenore. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe not.” Reid didn’t bother to tell her that who Lenore’s father was didn’t change the FBI’s theory about Grainger’s motive to get rid of Lenore.

  “So who was the father?”

  “I’ll tell you when I know for sure.” He kissed her and held up the records. “Can we take these with us?”

  “Yes. Martha said we could. Tell me now.” She rearranged her bra, smoothed her shirt down. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going home. I’m going to take these to the station.”

  She looked at him, her face indignant. “What do you mean? I found them.”

  He gave her another quick kiss. “Yes, you did. Good job.” Then he patted her on the rear. “Now you go home and please make me something to eat for dinner.” He smiled at her. “Preferably something we can eat in bed. I’ve had exactly one bite of pasta all day and I’m starving. And not just for food.”

  “Don’t I need to give my statement or something official about how I found it?”

  “That can wait. This is official enough. Right now I need you to go home. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Tell me who you think it is, and I’ll go home.”

  “Not yet. Go home.”

  “This is not a good way to talk me into cooking for you.” She smirked. “Or doing anything else.”

  “I love you. How’s that? And before you leave, will you tell Martha not to mention it to anyone? We don’t want whoever was trying to get these from Lucy, if that’s what was going on, coming to look for them here. And I don’t want them finding you here.”

  Startled, she nodded.

  Chapter 72

  ON HIS WAY to the police station from the Warren house, Reid tried to call Jack Shelton to tell him what Anne had found. He got voicemail, left a message and then fumed. Where was the bloody man? Because Reid had no jurisdiction here, he couldn’t bring someone in for questioning, let alone arrest him, without going through either the FBI or the police chief.

  Thanks to his time spent poring over Marisol Grainger’s diary, Reid had immediately made the connection after seeing the medical records. No matter what Shelton thought, Reid’s gut told him that Lenore’s biological father was connected to her murder. Not because he had anything concrete. Certainly there must be children born in marriages all the time of which the husbands, without their knowledge, were not the father, and events progressed without ending up in the murder of the child. Or the molestation, if that was even related.

  But, that Lucy Shearling, who had the records, had also been murdered led him to the inescapable conclusion that there was a connection between the two deaths and Marisol’s hospital records. And, as far as he could tell, the only thing in those records that could have been significant enough for someone to kill Lucy for them was that Lenore had not been conceived when she was supposed to have been.

  Officer Burke was just hanging up the telephone when Reid walked in. Colin pushed back his chair, got up and grabbed his jacket. “What a Saturday. Now some kids found a man dead in Bell Tower Park. Shot. The chief’s meeting me there.”

  Reid frowned. “They know who it was?”

  “I don’t think so. Want to come along?”

  “I’d better stay here. I’ve got to get ahold of Shelton or your chief as soon as possible.”

  “Try the chief’s cell. He’s on his way to the park right now.”

  “I will.”

  Holding up a hand in farewell, the young officer left.

  Reid tried again to call Shelton, but had no success, so he punched in the chief’s number.

  To his relief, McLendon picked up. Reid quickly explained about the records that had been found in Lucy Shearling’s belongings. “So not only does this look to be connected to Lenore Grainger, but now we have a link between the Shearling woman’s murder and this case.”

  “You tried Jack’s cell?”

  “Twice. Is there any other way to get hold of him?”

  “Not that I know of. You heard about a body being found at the park?”

  “Yes.”

  “Probably some poor homeless guy who came here to die, but I’ve got to go check it out. Happens, unfortunately. What do you want to do?”

  “I think we need to pull Will Kempton in for questioning right away. No matter what else, he had to have known Lenore wasn’t premature. There’s no way he could have been that off on calculating a baby’s due date, or misread the baby’s age at birth by two months.”

  “Do we know if he knows Lucy Shearling?”

  “I would think so. She works at a hospital where he has privileges and was here in Bodega Bay taking care of Meg Grainger last fall.”

  The chief’s voice was thoughtful. “Jack feels pretty strongly that it’s Grainger. And doesn’t this evidence cut that way, too? Maybe Kempton is covering for Grainger. Maybe he told Grainger about the baby’s real age, and Grainger found out the girl wasn’t his.”

  Reid thought. “What do we know about Marisol Grainger’s death? Was an autopsy done?”

  “I can check. It would have been done in Santa Rosa. You’re thinking that Grainger might have found out she cheated on him and killed her? Right in the hospital?”

  “I don’t know.” Reid had a good idea of what had happened, but he wasn’t sure enough to say. Not without knowing more about how Marisol had died.

  McLendon was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe Andrew had been molesting Lenore, then needed to kill her to hide it. Maybe he thought this specialist would find out.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense to me. Even so, why would Grainger kill Lucy Shearli
ng?”

  “Hold on, I’m at the park now. Give me a minute.” The transmission crackled a little and Reid couldn’t tell what the other man had said. “I missed that. Can you say it again?”

  “Sorry, it’s the wind. The body’s been identified. It’s Gus Warren. He’s been shot.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Reid’s mind spun, trying to fit this new fact into his theory.

  “Nope. Not kidding.”

  “It’s got to be connected.”

  “Probably. At least we know Gus’s killer couldn’t have been Grainger. Shelton had me park someone on the guy all night. I just released my officer to go home at eleven this morning. She said he was home all night and all this morning.”

  “Why did Shelton want him under surveillance?”

  “He said he has a meeting with some people to get the go-ahead to arrest Andrew Grainger. With someone that high profile, he has to go through all the hoops. He wanted someone sitting on Grainger in case he tried to run.”

  Chapter 73

  RITA LOOKED at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, pulling her nightgown taut so that she could see the shape of her figure better. She wasn’t feeling brave enough to inspect herself in the nude. That would be too much reality for her to deal with right now. Her breasts, at least, were firm. They weren’t going anywhere, no matter what gravity tried to do. After that surgery, she didn’t even have to wear a bra. Perfect support. But was her stomach starting to pooch out a little? Maybe she should cut back on the vodka. Maybe. Tomorrow she’d go back to her exercise regime. Leave it for a few days and it was like she’d been sitting on her ass for a year. She certainly had been today.

  She decided to get in the shower and then get dressed. She’d been in her nightgown most of the day, which was not like her. Now it was almost time to get ready for dinner.

  She’d found Will downstairs in his office after she’d gotten off the phone with Meg. He’d been distracted, going through papers. When she tried to talk to him about her suspicions that Andrew had killed Lenore, he hadn’t been happy. He’d told her that he was standing behind Andrew, no matter what. Afterwards, Will left to go over to the Colony house to see Andrew, which she wasn’t too happy about, considering that creeped out feeling that kept crawling up her spine when she thought about Andrew and Lenore.

  She pushed the button on the shower’s steam controls, turned the water on as hot as she could make it, and got in. Breathing deeply, she let the hot steam energize her. Something was making her uneasy, something she couldn’t quite remember, and whatever it was gave her a bad feeling about Andrew. She massaged gardenia-scented shampoo into her hair and thought about Lenore’s illness and her worries that Will hadn’t handled Lenore’s treatment very successfully.

  He wasn’t a specialist, after all, and the case had been difficult. Perhaps he should have turned his treatment of the child over to a specialist earlier. But in the end, whatever his treatment mistakes were, it hadn’t mattered, had it? At least this time, Will couldn’t be on the hook for anything medical he’d done. Or had not done. Not like in San Diego. That had cost her a bundle.

  The steam rolled through her nose to her lungs, and as if it was clearing her brain along with her sinuses, she suddenly remembered what had been bothering her. It had happened that day she had gone to visit Lenore when she was sick. She’d picked up some books and a stuffed animal at a local gift shop and went over to the Colony house one morning when she knew Will was over there with Lenore. Andrew had been up with the child all night and he’d called Will to come over and sit with her so he could sleep because Martha was off that day.

  Rita had gone upstairs and found Will carefully changing the girl’s sheets from around the little girl as she slept. Will had told her that when he’d gotten there the bed was wet. Lenore had had a little accident, and Andrew had asked him to help clean it up. Rita had put down the gifts she brought and helped Will with changing the sheets and Lenore’s nightgown.

  At the time, the odor on the sheets was so out of context that she hadn’t realized what it was. But now she knew.

  The wetness hadn’t been urine. It had been semen.

  *****

  Rita tried to calm herself but couldn’t stop the outrage surging through her. Will better not think she would cover this up for his friend, no matter who the man was. Even if Will didn’t agree, she was going to tell the authorities. She and Will couldn’t continue to associate with a child molester and murderer, no matter how famous or rich. He’d go with her to the police, or she’d know the reason why.

  Feeling better now that she’d resolved what to do, Rita decided to shave her legs to prolong her time in the steamy shower, hoping her headache would get better. She sat on the shower bench and creamed one leg with shaving gel while she thought about what was going on with Meg and Graham. Meg was a pretty girl, but she could wear a little more make-up and dress a little better. Had Meg really not seen anything? Maybe she just hadn’t looked. Big mistake.

  Rita finished her other leg, turned off the steam. She dried off and quickly used the blow dryer on her hair, then pinned it up in a French twist on top of her head. It was definitely time for a drink. Not vodka, just some wine. Reaching for the intercom, she remembered it was Bertha’s day off, and pulled her hand back. She’d have to get it herself.

  Her tightest black jeans were in order for today. Since she hadn’t worked out, she’d have to be doubly careful about not eating too much. She inhaled deeply, pulling her stomach in so she could zip the jeans, then pulled on a black cashmere sweater and carefully applied her eye make-up, checking to see how her eyelift was holding up. It still looked pretty good. She could go another year before having it done again.

  Meg must have been too complacent in her marriage for this thing with Gloria Olsen to have happened. She must have taken Graham’s being faithful for granted. Rita wondered if she could be guilty of the same thing. She thought about it. She was pretty sure she would know if Will were fooling around, but when was the last time she actually checked up on him? Not that he would do anything. Not and risk losing her and her money.

  But, she admitted to herself, aside from the money part, that’s probably exactly what Meg had thought. She screwed up her face, thinking. If Will were fooling around, if he were that stupid, where would he keep anything incriminating? His medical office? She didn’t think so. That office was almost austere in its contents. Just a few decorative books, her glam photo, and some knick knacks. And Trixie, the nurse Rita had chosen largely because of her unattractive appearance, had access to everything. Not much privacy there.

  If he had anything to hide, it would probably be in his study here at home. Yes, his study, definitely. Rita never went in there because he was sensitive about his privacy. He said it was because he frequently brought home patient information, and she had always respected his wishes, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek while she was thinking about it. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She’d better not find anything or she’d divorce his butt so fast he wouldn’t know what had hit him.

  She finished her makeup, put on her watch and dabbed perfume on her wrists, neck and temples. Looking at the clock, she calculated that she had about an hour before he got back. He always had drinks when he visited the Colony this time of day, and always stayed later than he planned.

  Rita opened the door to Will’s study and looked around the room quickly. Where should she start? She tried the desk, but it was locked¸ so she decided to check out the bookshelves first. She opened the glass doors that protected the books from dust, quickly scanned the bookshelves, then climbed the library stool and examined in between the shelves.

  On the top shelf, she noticed something stuck between two medical texts. She reached up and pried the thick books apart, pulling out something from between them. A program from the ballet Giselle. They had gone to that ballet because Marisol Grainger was dancing it and Andrew and Marisol were seeing each other at the time. S
he didn’t know Will had kept the program. The cover showed Marisol dancing the title role, her last big role before she retired to marry Andrew Grainger.

  Rita flipped through the program’s pages to see Marisol in the ballet’s various scenes. Marisol had been so lovely, so young. A sheaf of photographs that had been stuck between the pages fell out onto the carpet. Rita frowned and leaned down to pick up the photographs. She thumbed through them and gasped. Photographs of Marisol Grainger, completely nude. Photographs that had clearly been handled a lot.

  What in God’s name was Will doing with photographs like this of Marisol Grainger? Her heart was racing and her hand trembled as she turned the photographs over and looked at the backs. There was some writing on the back. Will’s handwriting, dates the photos had been taken, and little notes: Marisol resting, Marisol aroused, and Marisol after love.

  She turned the desk lamp on and examined the photographs more carefully. Marisol did not seem to be aware her photograph was being taken in any of the shots—she seemed to be asleep, her body placed in different poses. Asleep, or, Rita thought, drugged.

  Rita shook the program upside down to make sure she hadn’t missed anything else and another photograph fell out. Rita leaned over and picked it up. It had fallen upside down, showing the writing on the back: Marisol’s flower. She turned it over. At first she didn’t realize what she was looking at.

  Then she knew. She felt bile rising in her throat, and she heard her own voice, sounding like a croak. “Oh my God.”

  She thought back, trying to make sense of what she remembered from that time with what she saw here. She slapped the photos and the program on the desk, got back on the stool and frantically continued her search, needing to find out what other awful secrets her husband might be hiding. On top of one of the volumes of scientific volumes, Rita’s fingers closed around a single key. She pulled it out and examined it carefully. A house key, but not their house key. She reached her hand along the rest of the volumes of that shelf until her hands felt a metallic bundle. More keys. This time a whole set. She pulled the key ring out and read the label. Colony Master Keys. Her ears began to ring and her head to throb.