“She was murdered?”
“It appears that way. I hadn’t seen her in nearly a month. And now she shows up dead.”
“She wasn’t dead when she showed up,” Lillian said, emerging from the kitchen with a handmade sign that said, ‘closed tonight’ in large block letters.
“Well, I assumed that,” Leonard said. He turned back to Tanner. “You don’t have security cameras here, do you?”
“You know the answer to that, Deputy. We’ve never had a need. Hell, we don’t even lock the damned doors at night. Wait, help me understand this. Someone killed your wife in my bathroom?!”
Just as Lillian was taping the sign to the door, the Sheriff stepped into the restaurant and looked around.
“Someone killed my wife, Dad,” Leonard said, suddenly overcome with emotion as his father approached. “She’s in the bathroom. The ladies’ room.” He was full-on crying and sat down at a set table, knocking silverware and a glass to the floor. “Sorry, Tanner.”
“It’s okay, buddy.”
Sheriff Little turned to the table of waiters. “Stay put.” He grabbed his son by the arm and dragged him into the back hall. “Get a-fucking-hold of yourself.” He noticed that his own hands were shaking and that he was beginning to feel pressure build in his head as if he could cry at any moment, too. “We’re going to deal with this.” He reached for his radio on his belt. He cleared his throat before speaking. “This is Sheriff Little. I need everybody at the Chowder House on the double. No sirens, though. Take it easy.” He let go of the button. “I’m sorry, son. I know you loved Patty.”
“I’m very confused.”
“I know. You stay here. I’m going to go have a look.”
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I’m not an idiot, but thank you very much.” He patted his son on the back and entered the women’s bathroom. There was a pool of blood on the floor and a body lay half in and half out of an open stall. It was definitely his most recent daughter-in-law.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and covered his nose and mouth. He felt the bile buildup in the back of his mouth. His heart raced. He was instantly soaking wet. It all happened at once.
And then Sheriff Maynard Little, for the first time in his 30 years on the force, threw up on the floor.
SEVEN
Skyler didn’t want Brenda to have to lift a finger, and she herself wasn’t a world-renowned chef, so she had arranged for a complete meal to be delivered to the cottage. As Brenda showered upstairs and Mulder and Scully napped on the screened porch, she readied the buffet table in the great room and took an occasional sip of a crisp Austrian Grauburgunder. The wine came from a bottle Brenda swiped from Wayne’s jet just before she deplaned and it was fantastic. Skyler had looked it up online and discovered that it had a $250 price tag. She bookmarked it for a special occasion.
The plan was to stay close to the house and relax. They had been invited to a pre-Fourth of July party at a former classmate’s new seaside home, but Brenda was feeling antisocial. She was burned out from being “on, 24-7,” as she put it, and looked forward to decompressing. That was fine by Skyler, although she was curious to check out Ronald Lassiter’s new digs.
“Ronald was the biggest douche in high school,” Brenda said as she appeared in the kitchen dressed in a yellow and green sundress and a matching, lightweight cardigan sweater tied around her neck. “How on Earth did he afford to build a $10 million house?”
Skyler poured another glass of wine and handed it to her friend. “He used the money his grandfather left him and bought shares in Apple. At the beginning. Well, not the beginning beginning, but before the iPhone and iPad hit the market. I don’t think he’s worked a day in his life.”
“I hate him.”
“We all do. Especially his wife.”
“What’s her story?” Brenda sat down on a barstool at the kitchen island.
“She comes from big Newport, Rhode Island money. Old money. Oil or railroad or something. Her name is literally Muffy.”
Brenda snorted and nearly choked on her wine. “You’re kidding me!”
“I am not. Muffy Downing Lassiter. Her license plate is M.D.L.”
“On a Bentley, no doubt.”
“I think it’s a Range Rover. She has three kids.”
“Kids she probably doesn’t have a thing to do with. Do they have Spanish accents?”
“You’re bad!”
“It’s happening in New York, Skyler. All of these rich bitches hand over their offspring to Latinas and never spend any quality time with the children. The kids end up bilingual, which I guess is a plus, but they also end up with an affected, slightly Spanish accent. There’s a whole crop of them living in my building.”
“How much time do you actually spend in Manhattan?” Skyler asked as she topped off her glass.
“I’m a fucking nomad these days, Sky. I practically live out of the damned trunks and they are always packed and ready to go. But my main office is in Manhattan. There are the three restaurants and the new TV show’s studio is right in Hell’s Kitchen. It was designed to look just like my own kitchen, by the way. It’s so cool. You have to come see it.”
“Sounds very Ina Garten.”
“Don’t mention that woman’s name around me, Skyler.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Anyway,” Brenda continued, “I’m there a lot. But I’m also in Atlanta, L.A., Las Vegas, Vancouver, and Boston. After that, I have some feelers out about Santa Fe. I hear that New Mexico is hot again.”
“Was it hot before?”
“Absolutely. And their restaurant scene is pretty amazing. There’s a new Franklin-Lowery Hotel opening there in 8 months; it’s the hottest new chain of boutique hotels. They’re kind of like a W Hotel, but so much more real. Down to Earth. I might do the main restaurant for them. This business is going to kill me, Skyler.”
“I think it’s exciting.”
“I have offered, but you don’t want to come work with me. I could use your public relations talents.”
“You know I love you, Brenda. And I love your world. But I want to remain friends with you. Friends should not work together. Plus, I have my hands full with my own clients.”
“A shoe store and a chain of movie theaters? Exciting.”
“Excuse me, I have an up and coming designer now who did the First Lady’s inaugural dress. I have a few novelists. Oh, and I’m doing a new interactive children’s museum in D.C. I’m very satisfied.”
“I believe you.”
“I can tell you don’t,” Skyler said, “but, that’s okay. I like that I’m not doing crisis public relations work anymore. I can do most of the current work from wherever I am. In Washington, here in Wabanaki, in London, wherever.”
“No more London.”
“No more London,” Skyler echoed. “Where is that damned food? I don’t even have as much as a box of crackers in the house.”
Skyler pulled up the Chowder House’s number on her iPhone and listened to it ring and ring and ring. “They don’t even have voicemail?”
“Backwards town,” Brenda said. She slipped off her stool and rustled up the dogs. “I’m going to run them around the block while you figure this out.”
Skyler called Tanner.
“Hey,” Tanner said. “It’s not a good time.”
“Well, we’re sitting here without any dinner. I placed an order. I thought Shea was going to run it over.”
“Oh, that. That’s not happening. The kitchen is closed. We’ve had a situation here.”
“Well, I know you guys are busy, but you promised. Now we have nothing to eat.”
“You’ve got one of the top chefs in the country there with you, dontcha? I’m sure you won’t go hungry. Listen, someone got murdered at the Chowder House today, Skyler. I have bigger fish to fry. Well, not exactly fish. Not tonight. Which is why we can’t bring over…”
He was rambling and Skyler wasn’t sure if she heard her friend correctly. “Murd
ered? What are you talking about?”
There was a pause, then in a hushed tone Tanner said, “Patty Little. Someone bashed her head in in the women’s bathroom. She’s dead.”
“Leonard’s wife, Patty? That Patty? She’s dead? No.”
“Very dead. I have to go. The forensics team from Portland just arrived. The mighty men and women of the Wabanaki Police Department are not equipped to deal with this.”
And he hung up.
Skyler put the cork in the wine and placed it in the refrigerator. She met Brenda at the front door. “We’ve got to run down to the Chowder House. Patty Little has been murdered.”
Brenda’s face wrinkled as she let this information sink in.
“Really? Hmm. Well, I’m not running anywhere,” Brenda said, slipping by Skyler and following the dogs into the house. “I’ll call out for a pizza. You have fun.”
* * *
Unfazed by her friend’s complete lack of concern, Skyler speed-walked to the Chowder House and let herself under the yellow police tape and through the front door. A team of waiters and waitresses were being interviewed by a couple of Wabanaki police officers and a Maine state trooper—wearing blue, instead of the local brown—was talking on a cell phone at the bar.
“No press, ma’am,” the trooper said to Skyler. “You need to get out of here.”
“I’m not press, I work here,” she said brushing by him. She entered the kitchen and found Tanner standing with Sheriff Little. “That state trooper thought I was press.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Skyler,” the Sheriff said.
“I’m here on official business. I’m the Chowder House’s public relations manager. I have damage control to do.”
“Since when did I put you on retainer?” Tanner asked.
“I put myself at your disposal. We need to be on top of this before this restaurant gets a bad reputation.”
“Too late,” Leonard said as he approached the group. “There’s someone outside from the CBS affiliate in Portland. They’re putting up a satellite tower on their truck. Now everyone is going to know that this is the place where my wife died.”
Skyler bristled. “I’m so sorry, Leonard. I didn’t mean to sound uncaring.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. I just want to get to the bottom of this.”
“As do we all,” his father said. “But I can’t imagine how the television people heard about this or why they think it’s important enough to broadcast it to all of Southern Maine.”
“Maybe because no one ever gets murdered in Wabanaki, or anywhere around here, for that matter,” Tanner said. “Has there ever been a murder here?”
“Not since I’ve been alive,” the Sheriff said.
“Me either,” Skyler said.
“You’re much younger than me, Skyler,” the Sheriff said, “so it goes without saying.”
“But she said it nevertheless,” Tanner said.
“So she did.” Sheriff Little started writing in a little notebook. “Maine has one of the lowest murder rates in the nation, so it should go without saying that this is a very big deal. We need to stick close to the forensics team and keep track of what they’re doing and what evidence they come up with. I don’t have any experience with this whatsoever, but I have a feeling that they’re not going to be too keen on sharing stuff with the local yokels of the Wabanaki PD.”
“I’m going to draft a statement,” Skyler said. “Can I use your desk, Tanner?”
“Sure. But is that really necessary?”
“There are TV crews assembling outside. And neighbors. The people are going to start demanding answers. They’re going to want to hear from the Sheriff, too.” She turned to him. “Have you thought about that? Would you like to retain me, too?”
“Wabanaki doesn’t have the budget for that. I’m sure one of the deputies can come up with something.”
“I’ll do it for free, as part of my civic duty.”
The Sheriff threw up his hands. “You’re hired.”
Skyler got to work writing on Tanner’s desktop computer while the Littles went to the restroom to see what they could find out about the operation. As they were approaching the open door, a gurney was wheeled into the hall by two ambulance drivers. Leonard’s wife was zipped up inside a dark green body bag.
“Turn away, son.”
“I’m okay.”
The state trooper appeared behind them. “The body will be taken to the Portland Medical Examiner’s office for further analysis and an autopsy, probably tomorrow. I assume we can get all the required paperwork to allow them to do that work?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Our guys are almost done. There’s not much else in there. Blood splatter patterns, a few hair samples. But the place was immaculate, except for the Sheriff’s unfortunate upchuck, of course. The restaurant manager told me that the bathroom had just been cleaned and we couldn’t find a single usable fingerprint. The health department would give this place an A+ rating, that’s for sure. I’ll certainly come back and eat here. I hear the seafood chowder is amazing.”
“It is,” the Sheriff and his son said in unison.
“I’m sorry for your loss, son,” the trooper continued. “But we may need to ask you additional questions. Stick close to Wabanaki.”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” Leonard said.
“Good. We’ll get this wrapped up one way or another.” The trooper turned to the Sheriff. “If the deceased arrived in a car, it’s not here now. She had no purse, no wallet, no keys, no personal effects whatsoever, except for her wedding band, her clothing, and shoes. I asked the staff and they all confirmed that she wasn’t known to walk to work. I’ll leave it up to your department to figure out where she came from and why she didn’t have any personal property.” He looked out the front window. “And I have no intention on talking to the media outside when I leave. It’s up to you if you want to or not. It’s your crime scene now.”
“Thank you,” Sheriff Little said. “We’ll probably give a brief statement just so that we’ll get a little peace tonight. If we don’t, every last person in town will be…” His voice trailed off as the trooper walked down the hall and out the front door of the restaurant. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“He thinks he’s too good for a place like Wabanaki. If this was Kennebunkport, you betcha he’d be taking his time to show his face to the reporters.” Leonard signed deeply.
“You might be right. Why don’t you head home. There isn’t much else you can do here and once those people find out that it was Patty, they’re going to want to ask you questions you don’t want to answer.”
“I’m not afraid of questions. I just don’t have any answers.”
“Go on home. I’ll come see you in the morning.”
Leonard reluctantly slipped out the back door and sat in his car unable to make himself start the ignition. For just a fraction of a second, he was relieved that he was no longer married to Patty, until he realized that he’d have to do everything around that big house—all the stuff he’d been completely avoiding for the past three weeks. His mind wandered. He chain-smoked. And when he was done contemplating his life as a newly single man in a huge old house with a huge old dog, he returned to the restaurant. The dog, and the mountain of chores that wouldn’t be getting done by his wife, could wait.
EIGHT
It was starting to get dark by the time Skyler emerged from the Chowder House and descended the front steps to approach the lot where the CBS truck was parked. A dozen or so seagulls flew over as she walked down a walkway lined with broken oyster shells and she quickly prayed she wouldn’t get pooped on. She hadn’t done this kind of work in some time, so she was a bit nervous as she approached the assembled press—all three of them.
Before she scaled down her business, she made millions off this kind of thing. She used to thrive on the constant, frenetic pace and she was very good under fire. A local politician falsely accused of killing a prostitute went on to win a U.S. congressi
onal seat with her help. A chemical company blamed for thousands of cancer deaths bounced back to secure a place on the Fortune 500 list. She brought a down and out 80’s pop singer back from the dead. She even represented a former U.S. president who was sued for plagiarism. She was dubbed the ‘Queen of Spin’ by her colleagues, before she got too dizzy to do it anymore. And while part of her missed the excitement and the challenges, she didn’t miss addressing the media, no matter how small-town they might be.
“My name is Skyler Moore,” she said, followed by the spelling of her first and last name, before continuing, “and I am a spokesperson for the Old Wabanaki Chowder House. I’ll make a brief statement and I will not be taking questions at this time. At approximately four o’clock this afternoon, a woman was found dead in the first floor ladies’ bathroom of the restaurant by a restaurant employee. The deceased’s identity is known to both local and state law enforcement officials; however, that information will not be released until her family has been properly notified. An initial investigation determined that the victim did not die of natural causes. There are currently no known suspects and an accident has not yet been ruled out. The body has been transferred to Portland for further examination and an autopsy. The restaurant is currently closed, but the owners and staff have been given permission by law enforcement officials to re-open tomorrow. The Old Wabanaki Chowder House will not be releasing any additional statements. Further inquiries can be made at the Wabanaki Sheriff’s Department at City Hall during regular business hours. Thank you all and good night.”
She turned to return to the restaurant and realized that she was sweating profusely; she was disappointed in herself for not playing it cool. She was better than that. Or had been.
“Skyler,” the CBS reporter yelled, “Has the victim been identified as one Patricia LuAnn Little, the daughter-in-law of Wabanaki Sheriff Maynard Little? Skyler?! Was Patty Little murdered in the Chowder House?”
Skyler kept walking, perhaps a bit quicker than she intended.
“What the fuck?!” Leonard screamed in a loud whisper as he shut the front door once she was back inside. “How do they know that?”
The Maine Nemesis Page 5