Suddenly, the hallway door flew open and someone switched on the overhead light. Lois stood in the doorway holding a golf club. She was wearing a nightgown and had curlers in her hair.
“Stop it this instant,” she screamed. “Tanner! Porter! Please stop. You are destroying this bedroom.”
Tanner gave one last push that sent Porter back into the wingchair. He collapsed on the edge of the bed and both men stared at the Mayor.
“Why are you fighting?”
“Why not?” Tanner asked.
Lois let down her guard and slowly lowered the driver to the floor. “This is beyond anything I ever expected from either of you. Porter, you need to go back to your own apartment. And, Tanner, I seriously think you need to go back to your own house. Charlie will be fine here. Karen and I will look after him until you get your shit together. Do you understand me?”
“I’m leaving,” Tanner said. He located his phone and brushed by the old woman.
Porter took a few extra moments to collect himself. He didn’t actually remember entering the house and finding Tanner’s bedroom, or what he hoped to accomplish there. He stood and slightly bowed at his landlord. “I’ll clean this up tomorrow and pay for any damages, ma’am.”
“I would certainly hope so,” she said standing to one side of the doorway to allow him to exit. “Please go get some sleep. Everything will look better in the morning.”
“It is morning,” Porter said as he began to descend the stairs. “And it’s not better yet.”
The sun was indeed starting to rise just as Lois climbed back into bed. She listened as a car door slammed, an engine started, and a car drove away from the front of the house. She loved her grandson, but she feared that his days in Wabanaki—and in her great grandson’s life—were numbered.
Skyler watched as Tanner’s car turned left at the end of the street and disappeared behind the trees. She stood perfectly still until she couldn’t hear the engine any longer.
She hadn’t slept a wink and finally got out of bed at four o’clock. She’d made a pot of coffee and tried to read a novel, but it had been no use. She couldn’t concentrate. Outside, she drank in the fresh ocean air and looked up into the impossibly black sky at the constellations she and Brenda had studied as kids. She could still recall all their names and find each one easily: the faint Aquarius, the dogs of Canis Major, Cassiopeia (the one that was fun to say out loud), the Gemini twins, the great Orion, and, of course, the Big Dipper. She stared upward until her neck started to hurt and that’s when she saw something move out of the corner of her eye.
Skyler stepped backward behind a large hedge and squinted. She watched as a dark figure walked between the orangery and her side wall. It stopped, appeared to be looking for something in his or her pocket, then opened the side door that led into Lois’ kitchen. After the door closed behind the figure, she waited for a light to come on inside, but it did not. Titillated, she padded up her front steps and sat down on one of the rocking chairs, careful not to creak the wood beneath.
And she waited, her eyes trained on the great house next door. From the street, she thought her place looked teeny tiny in comparison, even though she had a very decent 2,500 square feet of indoor space. Her cottage had once been the home of the Millhouse’s house manager and groundskeeper—a married couple who did practically everything for Elrod and Lois in the 70’s and 80’s. But apparently, sometime in the mid-1990’s, the blueberry tycoon got tired of being waited on hand and foot and dispatched the couple to an early retirement in Florida and put the cottage on the market, to Lois’ dismay.
That’s when Skyler purchased it and began the extensive interior renovations. When the house was finally complete—in the Spring of 1999; nothing happens fast in Maine, she discovered—she’d never felt more at home in her life. The kitchen was absolutely perfect and to her complete specifications with a six-burner gas stove, double electric ovens, two dishwashers, a big country sink, glass-fronted cabinets, and light-grey granite countertops. It was all very classic and it was aging well. She was especially proud of the whole-house smart wiring that allowed her to listen to music in every room and control everything from her phone or on a main panel embedded into the kitchen wall. The windows were all triple-paned which kept out noise and made the house quite comfortable even on the coldest Maine night. The in-floor radiant heating helped, too, keeping the place toasty and allowing for bare feet all year long. It was the most money she’d ever spent on anything in her life, but it was worth it. And she thanked her lucky stars—and that Big Dipper hanging over the house—every night.
After sneaking inside to fill her coffee cup, she settled back into the rocking chair and looked over at Lois’ house. She saw a light come on in a third-floor window followed quickly by a few loud bangs. Was that an intruder? Was there a fight going on? Her heart began to race.
She stood up and considered calling 911. But she waited. She moved back into the front yard where she had a better view of the house.
That’s when she saw the front porch light come on and watched as Tanner tore out the front door just as the dark figure she’d seen earlier exited from the kitchen. Tanner got into his car and the figure disappeared toward the back of Lois’ yard.
When she couldn’t hear Tanner’s car anymore, she returned to the house and locked the front door. She was more confused than ever and completely wide awake.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Besides a broken heel in the biggest production number of the casino show, Carissa Lamb was pleased with Sunday evening’s performance. After meeting with an exceptionally large number of VIP audience members backstage, the pop star started to unwind in the upper level of her massive dressing room. Curled up on a white velvet loveseat with her iPad, she perused her social media feeds. She did her best not to read the comments, but she wasn’t always successful at avoiding them: people could be so mean!
She was primarily looking to see what her friends were doing. Since pulling together the show and setting up camp in Las Vegas—she was renting a ridiculously over-the-top house west of the strip in Summerlin—she felt like she was missing out on adventures back in L.A. and around the world.
The snapshots and short video clips on Instagram were making her jealous of their freedom. Cynthia was hiking in Peru with her fashion photographer fiancé. Stan and Mark were on a private yacht off the Croatian coast with a slew of A-list friends. Madonna was apparently buying a Spanish island for her ever growing family. Andy Cohen was relaxing on a perfectly serene looking deck overlooking the ocean…with Sarah Jessica Parker!
“I want to hang out with Andy and SJP, damn it!” she said out loud to no one.
She thumbed through folks posting pictures of their homemade dinners, stupid kids, a donkey, and a flower arrangement at the Four Seasons hotel in Maui. Then she zeroed in on a cute young couple holding up a live lobster. It was an Augie Alameda post about a quaint seaside vacation spot in southern Maine.
“Maine!”
It was about that time that the multi-Grammy winning singer, moderately successful film actress, and mega-selling QVC pitchwoman realized that she had the next seven days off and absolutely nothing on her calendar. And since it was well over 110° in the desert, making it nearly impossible to enjoy anything outside, she dashed off a quick text to her assistant:
Ask the pilots to set a course for Wabanaki, Maine for early tomorrow morning. I don’t know the closest airport. I’m going alone. No bodyguards!!! You should take the week off. You deserve it. I mean it.
xxoo, C ☺
She flicked through her contacts and found Brenda’s card. Given the late hour on the east coast, she sent a quick email:
From: [email protected]
July 11 @ 11:09pm PDT
To: Brenda Braxton
Subject: Ready or not, here I come
Brenda, Miss Braxton if you’re nasty,
I find myself with nothing t
o do this week so I’m taking you up on your kind, open invitation. I apologize for the short notice. Flying from LAS to Maine early-Monday morning and arrive mid-afternoon, I’d guess, and looking forward to some much-needed quality down time in Wabanaki. Saw an Augie post today about it – you said you know him, right?! Love his stuff, mostly because he loves me and I don’t have to pay him!!
I have wifi on the plane. Text me when you get this. Look forward to seeing you. Let’s COOK!!! I totally mean that.
xxoo,
C
Carissa Lamb: The New Vegas Show
Tickets - goldencactuslasvegas.com/carissatkts
She was good at inviting herself places and it never seemed to dawn on her that other people might have things going on; it always seemed to work out. Newly energized, the singer made her way outside to an idling limousine and they sped through the streets of Las Vegas back to her house. Although she was accustomed to having other people do it for her, she managed to pack casual stuff for a week in Maine then fell asleep quite content and excited for a few days that didn’t involve singing, dancing, VIP fans with money to burn, or the scorching summer temperatures of the Nevada desert.
* * *
Sunday was an uneventful, quiet day in Wabanaki—for a change—and everyone pretty much kept to themselves and lay low. Skyler was still unable to get Tanner to communicate with her—and she had no idea if he was still in town. Leonard and his father kept busy alternating between checking in on the fire investigators at what was left of the Shanty and moving boxes and furniture between their two houses. The home trade went well and they each slept soundly in their new (albeit old) digs.
On Monday morning, Brenda checked her email on her phone while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. She let out a little yelp when she opened Carissa’s message.
“What’s that all about?” Skyler asked when she entered the kitchen.
“You won’t believe this, but Carissa is on her way to Wabanaki as we speak.”
Skyler plopped herself onto a stool at the counter. “Carissa Lamb? Really?”
“Apparently so,” Brenda said. She poured them each a mug of coffee then got to work chopping tomatoes and mushrooms for an omelet. “And I think she should stay here with us!”
“You want one of the biggest superstars in the world to stay here? In my cottage? Don’t you think she’ll want to stay somewhere nicer with room service and, I don’t know, security? This is insane.”
“It’s the perfect opportunity for you to get to know her like I did in Vegas, Sky. She’s completely down to Earth and very easy going. She can have my room and I’ll move to that smaller one with the hall bathroom. I don’t care. She loves dogs, so Mulder and Scully will be thrilled. I think it’ll be fun.”
Skyler was unconvinced. “With everything that’s going on in this town, how do we have time to entertain Carissa Lamb? I mean, Tanner may have murdered his wife, the Shanty burned down, people are fighting in the middle of the night next door at that crazy house.”
Brenda started beating the hell out of a bowl of eggs. “I better get a cleaning crew in here. And we need fresh flowers. White ones. She’s all about white.”
“You’re not listening to me!”
“I need to call my producers!” Brenda screamed. She put down the whisk and picked up her phone. “Hey, it’s Brenda. The shoot planned for Tuesday…oh, gosh, that’s tomorrow…we need to scrap the whole plan. We’re going to tape it here at my friend Skyler’s house. She has a huge kitchen that will photograph wonderfully and there’s plenty of room for me to work. We’ll need a tent in the backyard for a staging area though because…oh my gosh! I forgot to tell you the best part. The surprise guest is none other than Carissa Lamb. You heard me right. Yes, she’s agreed. She’s on her way now. I don’t know what we’re going to make. Let me get back to you. Alright, I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll text the address and information about the hotel where you and the crew can stay. I’m SO excited I can’t even stand it. Okay, bye.”
“Seriously?” Skyler asked.
“Seriously. Trust me, it’s going to be great.”
Skyler realized she was hungry. “Make the fucking omelets. I’ll call my cleaning lady and see if she can come over right away. I absolutely can’t believe this is happening. You’re going to owe me big time.”
“Owe you!” Brenda said as she cooked. “One of the most famous chefs in the country is standing in your kitchen making you breakfast and one of the most famous pop stars is about to be your house guest for the week. How do I owe you?”
“She’s staying for a week?!”
* * *
At police headquarters downtown, Sheriff Maynard Little arranged notepads and pencils around the conference room table. It was the very first time the entire department would be meeting around the same table at the same time and he aimed to make it a weekly affair. No one would have Mondays off going forward, he decided. All hands on deck. It was time for changes in Wabanaki.
Leonard was the first to arrive, which surprised his father.
“You’re really stepping up,” Sheriff Little said, patting his son on the back. “I appreciate it. Especially given everything you’ve been going through. How’d you sleep?”
“I’m loving that house,” Leonard said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “No ghosts.”
“Well, that’s good to know, since I assume they’re all living in my house. A house that still smells like you, cigarettes, and your damned dog, by the way. The place needs a deep cleaning. I might need to use a hose.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Dad. I can’t imagine that would be good for the wood floors. They already creek something awful.”
“I was exaggerating,” the Sheriff said, “and you need to get your ass out of my seat. Go sit over there.”
Kristin was next to arrive and she looked nervous. The other deputies soon surrounded the table and the Sheriff called the meeting to order. He explained the new rules, told the assembled about the mandatory weekly meeting—which was greeted with grunts and sighs—and then he stood up before announcing the surprise.
“A surprise?” Leonard asked.
“Yes. And I think this one will make you all very happy.” The Sheriff opened a hanging bag that was folded over the back of an empty conference table chair. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a crisp white shirt and black pants. There was an audible gasp in the room as they all realized at the exact same moment that the itchy chocolate brown uniforms they were wearing were history.
“May I present the brand new Wabanaki Police Department uniform. And it is NOT made from polyester. And it is NOT brown!”
“How’d you pull this off?” Leonard asked. “I thought we had no money.”
“We didn’t. Here, pass it around.” Sheriff Little passed the uniform to Kristin to inspect. He sat back down and clasped his hands on the table top. “The Mayor finally made a deal with the gentlemen that govern her late husband’s trusts. Apparently, Elrod wasn’t in his right mind when he put the restrictions on how she could spend, what the lawyers decided, is her own money. And she has generously gifted Wabanaki several million dollars to get us over the hump until the tourists start generating enough money so that we can float on our own.”
“Several million dollars?” Kristin asked as she handed the uniform to the deputy sitting next to her. “Does that mean…”
“New cars,” Maynard Little said. He grinned from ear to ear. “New fucking cars, if you’ll excuse my French.”
“That’s not French,” Leonard said. “What kind of cars?”
“Six brand new Ford Explorers. Specially modified for police work. Souped up engines, built-in strobes on the roof, a cage between the front and back seats, the works. They’ll be here in September. And they’re white. With the Wabanaki seal on the doors. I have a mockup on my desk.”
“We’re finally a semi-pr
ofessional police department,” Kristin said.
“Semi?” the Sheriff asked sternly.
Kristin shrank down in her seat and bit the inside of her cheek.
“I want to update everyone on what’s been going on, too,” Sheriff Little said after staring down Kristin, who he still hadn’t decided how to handle.
He gave updates on the Patty murder—nothing new was known and he feared it would be a cold case; on the Wanda Millhouse murder—as far as he was concerned, her husband was suspect number one and Tanner Millhouse has been told not to leave town; and, on The Lobster Shanty fire—arson had been ruled out; it appeared to be an accidental kitchen fire.
“And Gerald Gains’ place?” a deputy asked.
The Sheriff wasn’t sure. “I have no clue. Tanner Millhouse’s finger prints were all over the knife and it was a knife from the Chowder House, but he had an alibi. I don’t know who cut Gains’ power, or who killed those damned llamas…”
“Alpacas!” all the deputies yelled at the same time.
“Alpacas, I’m sorry,” the Sherriff continued, clearly annoyed. “And on top of it all, we have a new problem to deal with.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “This is a photocopy of a letter that was pushed through the front door of the police station sometime late last night or early this morning.” He passed it around.
In typewritten text, it simply said:
Follow the money. Ricardo Solis paid Augie Alameda $150,000 to visit Wabanaki last week.
“Solis?” Leonard said. “What the fuck?”
“The original note is on its way to Portland for analysis. I had it messengered up there first thing. I doubt we’ll get anything, like the last one. I also checked the cameras here at the station. I saw the person who delivered the note, but there’s no image of his or her face. Whomever it was knew exactly where the camera was and was very careful. Dressed all in black with a ski mask. Stayed in the shadows.”
The Maine Nemesis Page 21