The Burnt Orange Sunrise

by David Handler

  “You can see right in here from your front windows,” Des observed.

  “Yes, we can.”

  “You didn’t notice a light in here last night, did you? A candle, a flashlight—any sign that Norma or someone else might have been up?”

  “Someone else?” Jory peered at her, confused. “Like who?”

  “Like Ada.”

  “No, I didn’t see anything.”

  “Do you have any idea whether Jase was up?”

  “I’m not sure. You’d have to ask him.”

  “Is Jase generally a sound sleeper?”

  “Very. He works long, hard days.”

  “He didn’t have any issues with Norma, did he?”

  “None. Jase loved her dearly. We both did.”

  “And both of you were in here when we heard Hannah scream, am I right?”

  “Pretty much. I’d just brought out the oatmeal, and I was on my way back in here for a fresh coffeepot. Jase was over there in the mudroom,” she said, glancing at the open doorway. ’Td given him some Handi Wipes so he could tidy up, since Carly was being such a—” Jory broke off, curling her lip. “She was not being very kind.”

  “I forget, was Les in here with you, too?”

  “Do you mean when Hannah screamed? No, Les was still out in the dining room with you folks. He was bringing out the eggs, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” This jibed with Des’s own recollection. Which, by the way, happened to be perfect. “So in the moments just prior to Hannah’s scream, you, Jase and Les were all in here together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there any point when Les wasn’t in here with you?”

  “Not really. He did go down to the laundry room for a few seconds.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “To fetch a pile of fresh napkins. We were running low.”

  “How many seconds was he down there?”

  Jory shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Twenty, maybe thirty?”

  “And Jase?”

  “Jase never left the mudroom.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I’m positive. Des, do you mind if I ask you something now?”

  “Not at all. Go right ahead.”

  “I sort of heard you guys talking before in the taproom, but I wanted to make sure I heard it right.” Jory hesitated, clearing her throat uneasily. “Aaron’s the new boss of us, isn’t he?”

  “That’s something you ought to talk to Les about,” Des replied, since the details of Norma ’s last will and testament were not for public consumption. Then again, she reflected, the future of Astrid’s Castle did matter a great deal to this woman. Jory deserved to know the truth sooner rather than later. So the hell with it. “Apparently, Norma and Les signed a pre-nuptual agreement, whereby Les has no ownership rights to this place. Aaron gets it.”

  Jory nodded her head glumly. “I guess that means all three of us are out. Aaron and Les can barely tolerate each other. And there’s no way Jase or I will ever work a single day for Carly.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Carly may not be in the picture for long.”

  “Well, that much is true,” Jory agreed, brightening a little.

  “Besides, Aaron said he had no intention of making any changes.”

  Jory let out a short laugh. “Sure, that’s what they always say—just before they shut down the factory and move all of the jobs to Malaysia or somewhere.”

  Des’s cell phone squawked again.

  She answered it and heard an excited Soave blurt out, “Des, you have not lost your touch.”

  “What have you got for me, Rico?” she asked him as Jory started for the service stairs. Des didn’t want anyone wandering around the castle alone, so she motioned for her to sit. Jory flopped down at the kitchen table, puffing out her cheeks.

  “Well, for starters,” Soave reported, “Dr. Lavin is in Aruba for two weeks.”

  “Dumb he’s not. And …?”

  “And the doctor who’s covering for him is going to look into Norma Josephson’s records and get back to me.”

  “And…?”

  “And I bounced your theory off of the medical examiner. He said that if somebody ODs on digoxin it can trigger, wait a sec, I wrote all of this down … ‘Excessive slowing of the pulse, thereby leading to atrio-ventricular blockage. Which, if someone is elderly or has a heart condition, can lead to complete cardiac arrest within a half hour.’ That’s an induced heart attack, in dumbo English. Which is to say, ka-ching.”

  “That’s good work, Rico,” she said, her mind starting to race. Whoever killed Norma had known more than a little about her heart condition. Meaning it was someone close to her as opposed to, say, Spence or Hannah. Although Hannah could have known about it by way of Aaron.

  “Yolie’s reaching out to your local pharmacist. And I just spoke to the Connecticut Light and Power people.”

  “This news is not so good. I hear it in your voice, Rico.”

  “Hey, I got you bumped to a high priority, right behind the hospitals, schools and the governor’s mother’s house. But they still can’t promise anything before the end of tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Rico, we will freeze to death by then.”

  At the table, Jory nodded her head solemnly.

  “Hey, at my house we’re looking at seventy-two hours,” he complained. “So consider yourself lucky.”

  “What did the SP-One people say?”

  “According to the latest forecast, the snow and wind are supposed to taper off early this afternoon. They think we might be able to land up there maybe one, two o’clock. I’ve got the authorization.”

  Des glanced at her watch. It was not quite eleven now.

  “Des, I’m still willing to do it the old-fashioned way. Just say the word and me and Yolie will be on the road in ten minutes.”

  “No, take the chopper, Rico. You’re a bigger help to me right where you are. And you’ll get here faster.”

  “Deal. Back at you when I know more.”

  Des rang off and she and Jory started back upstairs.

  “Would it be okay if we looked in on Jase?” Jory asked her as they climbed. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Any reason he wouldn’t be?”

  “He doesn’t do well under certain circumstances.”

  “None of us are doing particularly well right now.”

  “I know, but he’s real sensitive, and he can get kind of …”

  “Kind of what, Jory?”

  “Upset,” she said quietly.

  “Sure, okay,” Des said, pushing open the steel door to the second-floor corridor. Mitch was still at his post at the top of the main stairs. “I need to talk to him anyway.”

  “Can I come in with you?” Jory asked, somewhat pleadingly.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then I’ll wait right out here in the hallway, if you don’t mind. Just in case you need me.”

  “That’ll be fine.” Des tapped on the door to room eleven. It wasn’t bolted. She opened it and went inside, shutting it behind her.

  Jase sat hunched on the edge of the bed, facing the windows. The unheated room was beginning to smell of his unwashed presence.

  “How’s it going, Jase?” she asked, starting toward him.

  He didn’t respond. Didn’t so much as acknowledge her presence.

  When she made her way around the bed to face him, Des found Jase Hearn to be perspiring heavily despite the chill. He was nodding his head up and down, wringing his hands, jiggling his knee.

  Jory knew her brother, all right. He was definitely upset.

  “It won’t open,” he said suddenly. “The window won’t open.”

  Indeed not. The deep granite sill was heavily encrusted with ice, frozen solidly shut.

  “Are you going somewhere, Jase?” she asked him, keeping her voice low.

  “I have to work on the driveway,” he replied, his voice rising with urgency. “Trees ar
e down.”

  “In a while, Jase.”

  “No, that’s no good,” he protested. “I take care of things. I’m supposed to be out there, not sitting here doing nothing.”

  “Soon, okay?” Des perched on the bed next to him. “And you’re not here doing nothing. You’re helping me out.”

  He turned and looked at her blankly. “I am?”

  “Absolutely. I need to ask you some questions about last night, okay?”

  “I guess,” he said, relaxing a little. “I mean, sure.”

  “Did you get up at all during the night? I’m wondering if you might have seen anything going on downstairs in the kitchen.”

  Jase cocked his head at her curiously. “Like what?”

  “Somebody’s flashlight. Somebody moving around in there.”

  Jase shook his head. “Jory gave me my pill.”

  “What pill is that, Jase?”

  “So I can sleep.”

  “You take one every night?”

  “I do,” he said, scratching at his beard. “If I don’t I can’t stop thinking about stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Stuff I need to do. There’s just so much stuff.”

  “Okay, sure,” she said easily. “Jase, I’d like to go over what happened this morning. Where were you when Ada got strangled?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered flatly.

  Des frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know when it happened. I only know when I heard that girl scream.”

  “You’re right. That wasn’t a very precise question. My bad. Where were you when you heard Hannah scream?”

  “Washing my hands,” he said, staring down at them as if they belonged to someone else. “In the mud room.”

  “And Jory was in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And where was Les?”

  “With her, serving breakfast.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Very good.” Des stood back up, her hamstrings and calves starting to ache from the cold. “Thank you, Jase.”

  “Can I go outside now?” he asked her.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put.”

  “How much longer?” he wondered, squirming around on the edge of the bed.

  “A little while. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sure. I’ll stay right here,” he promised, nodding his head—up, down, up, down.

  Des went back out in the hallway, closing the door softly behind her.

  A very anxious Jory stood right there before her, eyes searching Des’s face. “Is he okay?”

  “A little twitchy, but hanging in there,” Des replied. “Tell me, what’s his story?”

  “He doesn’t like to be cooped up. It makes him very uncomfortable.”

  “I noticed.” Des also noticed that Jory was highly protective of her brother. This was to be expected. She was several years older than he. Their mother had died giving birth to him. So Jory had had to raise him herself, with an assist from Norma. Still, she seemed particularly worried. Des wondered if she had a reason to be. “He’s not going to throw a chair through the window or anything, is he?”

  “No, nothing like that. He’s a good, sweet boy. Just emotionally fragile.”

  “I told him to stay put.”

  “If that’s what you told him, that’s what he’ll do.”

  “He said you gave him a sleeping pill last night.”

  “I did,” Jory admitted. “He has nightmares. They’re anxiety-related. His doctor at the family practice here in town prescribed a mild sedative called diazepam a couple of years ago.”

  “His name is …?”

  “Dr. Dillon,” Jory replied. “Why?”

  “Just being thorough.”

  “Honestly, Jase is fine. It’s not like he’s seeing a shrink or anything.”

  “I understand. Except for one thing, Jory. When we were downstairs just now, you told me he slept well because he worked so hard. You didn’t say anything about meds.”

  “I know I didn’t. And I’m sorry. I was afraid that, see, if Aaron thinks Jase is drug-dependent, that would give him just the excuse he needs to get rid of us.”

  “Is Jase drug-dependent?”

  “Totally not. Dr. Dillon said it isn’t strong or habit-forming or …” Jory trailed off, scrunching her mouth nervously. “Des, does Aaron have to know about this?”

  “He won’t hear about it from me,” Des promised her.

  Jory’s face broke into a dimply, pink-cheeked smile. “Thanks. You’re a real friend.”

  Mitch moseyed toward them from the top of the stairs and said, “Les wants to know if he can go down and stoke the fires.”

  “Not now,” Des replied. “I want everyone right where they are.”

  “He needs to keep those fireplaces going, Des,” Mitch pointed out. “Otherwise the pipes might freeze.”

  “You do have a point there,” she conceded, shoving her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Okay, go ahead and take him downstairs. Feed the fires—and yourselves while you’re at it.”

  “I am liking this plan,” he said, grinning at her.

  “Somehow I thought you would. And take Teddy, why don’t you?”

  “Safety in numbers?”

  “Something like that.”

  “May I join them, too?” Jory asked.

  “I may need to ask you some more questions.”

  “But I don’t know anything else.”

  “Jory, please return to your room.”

  Sullenly the housekeeper went back into room nine, closing the door behind her.

  “How will you keep tabs on everyone while I’m downstairs?” Mitch asked.

  “I can move a second chair out to your sentry post and conduct my interviews there.” Des ducked into their room, grabbed their desk chair and brought it out with her. “Be careful while you’re down there. Keep them in front of you at all times.”

  “Not to worry,” he said over the sound of his growling stomach. “You can count on me.”

  Les was exceedingly grateful to be sprung from his room. “Norma would never, ever forgive me if our pipes froze,” he told Des, his eyes moistening. “I may have to go get more firewood from the woodshed. Is that okay?”

  “Do what you have to do, Les. Just don’t do it alone.”

  Teddy seemed plenty thrilled himself. “I’m so hungry I’m ready to start gnawing on the wallpaper,” he exulted.

  The three of them started down the center stairs immediately, Mitch bringing up the rear.

  Des watched them go, mulling over her next move. She’d made a bit of progress, she believed. She knew what had gone down, and pretty much how. But she still didn’t know the why. Or the who. Or what kind of a crowbar would pry this damned thing open. Or how to …

  Actually, come to think of it, she still didn’t know a damned thing.

  CHAPTER 11

  “WHO GETS REFUELED FIRST?” Mitch asked when the three of them had arrived downstairs. “The fireplaces or us?”

  “Well, what’s your vote?” Les asked him.

  “I’m definitely going to come down in favor of us. Unless, that is, a few more minutes is critical to the pipes.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” offered Les, ever the good host. “Let me just check the taproom fire real quick. It’s the smallest one, and usually goes out first. Then we’ll hit the kitchen. Sound good to you, Teddy?”

  “Whatever you’d like,” Teddy responded. “I’m not very hungry, actually.”

  “You just told Des you were starved,” Mitch pointed out,

  “Sure, I did. I wanted to get the hell out of that room.”

  The fire in the taproom fireplace had burned down to hot, glowing coals. There were three logs left in the wood bin. Les laid them onto the coals and took a bellows to them, pumping vigorously.

  “It’s important that we keep all of these fires going,” he explained, as the logs caught fire, crackling. “Especially in the
Sunset Lounge, which has the most windows. Even a few degrees of warmth can make a critical difference.”

  Les seemed genuinely worried about the castle’s pipes, Mitch observed. But he also sensed that the innkeeper was purposely trying to keep busy so he wouldn’t have to think about how totally blown to bits his life was. This was something that Mitch could relate to. When he’d lost Maisie, his own method had been to sit in his apartment watching tapes of old Jimmy Cagney movies and eating Krispy Kreme doughnuts. In fact, if his editor, Lacy Nickerson, hadn’t shooed him off to Dorset to write a weekend-getaway travel piece, the chances were good that Mitch would still be sitting there watching old Cagney movies, all 495 pounds of him.

  “Not that I’m what you would call an ace fire builder,” Les confessed as they started toward the dining hall. “Jase is our resident wizard. That kid can start a fire by rubbing two wet sticks together. But I guess Des still has him in isolation. What’s the point of that, anyway?”

  “What she said. She doesn’t want witnesses comparing notes.”

  “Why not?” Teddy asked.

  “I’m sure she has a good reason. Believe me, she knows what she’s doing.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Teddy said. “I may not have much in the way of a life, but I’m still not ready to give it up. Not yet.”

  Their breakfast serving platters had not fared very well in the drafty dining hall. The oatmeal had thickened into a mucilaginous glop that looked far more like mortar than it did something to eat. The scrambled eggs resembled what might be left behind after the explosion of someone’s rubber ducky.

  “Ordinarily, I’d just zap all of this in the microwave,” Les said rather helplessly.

  “No problem, I’m the king of the stove-top reheaters,” Mitch assured him, snatching up the egg-and-bacon platters. The oatmeal seemed beyond all hope. He left that. “Besides, you’ve got enough on your mind right now.”

  “I’ll just make do with some bread and jam, methinks,” said Teddy, slathering apricot preserves on a hunk of day-old French bread. He started toward the entry hall, chewing on it.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Mitch asked him.

  “The piano. I’ve got to play.”

  “No, no, we’re supposed to stick together.”