P'town Murders: A Bradford Fairfax Murder Mystery

by Jeffrey Round

  Brad winced. The answer was a resounding "No!"

  "Have you even seen this bicycle he was supposed to have been riding?"

  The answer was again "no," Brad had to admit.

  "Someone's on to you, Red. I'm not saying you've been careless, but someone has already tried to kill you at least once—who knows whether the first incident with the car was accidental. At this point it's hard to tell if the person who tossed the tape through your window is friend or foe. You can't trust anyone from now on."

  "Don't worry," he replied, turning the lock on the drawer. "I have no intentions of becoming somebody's next murder victim."

  "Neither did Rosengarten, I'm sure. And by the way, the bullet casing you sent us was fairly recently fired—probably at a duck, though. It came from a shotgun. Very likely it floated in on the tide. Didn't you say you found it on a salt marsh?"

  Bradford recalled Zach's words. He had found it on the marsh, he admitted. Grace gave him a brief update on the hurricane's approach before ending the call.

  Brad woke without feeling the least bit refreshed. The face in the mirror revealed the restless night he'd just spent. His fears had plagued him through his dreams and would doubtless pursue him all day, as well.

  He decided to go for a run to clear his head. It was the release he sought whenever work got to be too much for him. He found solace and solitude in the hours he spent moving faster than everyone else around him.

  Provincetown's bike trails were perfect for a long-distance jog. A path wound through dense scrub and sand at the tip of the Cape. As he jogged, Brad pondered the recent events and possible identity of whoever was behind them.

  Zach's declaration that he came to Provincetown every September sounded plausible enough, and it would be easy to check. Brad's trip hadn't been preplanned, but it would be easy enough for anyone following him to get here from anywhere in the country in less than a day. What did Brad know of Zach apart from a few intimate details of his body and the fact that the boy could be compulsively emotional?

  There was also his unexplained connection with Purgatory's sexy barkeep. Were Perry and Zach having an affair? Or could Perry be using Zach as a go-between for himself and the Ice House? And if so, why? Brad wasn't sure which of the two scenarios he preferred.

  Perry had admitted his past connection to the guesthouse. Had it resumed with the death of its owner? And where did Fred the drug dealer fit in? He'd once been the Ice House's official drug supplier. Could he have had a side deal going with someone who worked there even after his accident? Maybe Perry had been helping him all along, and somehow the pair had found an opportunity for revenge on the house's hated owner. It was plausible.

  Trees zipped past Brad's visual field as his feet found their rhythm. The sky was cloudless. Coming around a curve, he was momentarily stunned by the blue vista dotted with sailboats. Things didn't get much more idyllic than this. The view disappeared as he thudded past.

  And then there was Cinder, the man of a thousand faces and voices. He'd recognized Brad from the start and had even tipped him off to Ross's murder. He also worked at the Ice House. Had he known about the camera in the bathroom? That wasn't difficult to imagine. Cinder clearly made the short list of suspects. But that begged other questions. Why not just give Brad the tape instead of throwing it through his window? He could simply have said he found it in the guesthouse. Then again, that might implicate him in Hayden's murder.

  Whoever threw the tape through Brad's window knew both who he was and where he was staying. That was particularly bad news, no matter how you read it. Again, the trail pointed right back to Zach. He'd definitely been in the neighborhood at the time. And no one else had been to Brad's residence. Maybe Zach had assumed others knew where he was staying, not realizing he'd been the only one.

  A thought struck him. Tom Nava had escorted him home the first night. And Tom knew he was looking into Ross's murder! Now that he thought about it, Nava could easily be the dark cop who stopped Fred on his way into town with a drug shipment. Corrupt cops were a dime a dozen. Maybe that was why he hadn't shown up at the funeral!

  Grace might very well be right in saying someone had followed him home from the graveyard. It didn't necessarily have to be someone who attended the funeral. Halle had been the other notable absentee that day, along with Ruby's gun. Suddenly the suspects were everywhere.

  One thing was clear in all this mess: despite his precautions, someone was clearly onto him. But why try to kill him one night and then deliver taped evidence of a murder the next? Surely that pointed to two different perpetrators? His thoughts went on in much the same vein till his feet returned him to the trail's starting point.

  Exhausted, he headed home and soaked in the Jacuzzi until a buzzing at his front door interrupted him. He scampered downstairs in a towel, half hoping it would be Zach, but it was the repairman coming to replace the window.

  Brad was momentarily elated when he opened the door to the man in the checkered shirt and goatee. He'd had any number of fantasies about hot encounters with service men, but he quickly realized the man standing in his living room was straight by the way his eyes discreetly avoided Brad's midriff wrapped in its towel. Clearly, none of his fantasies would be coming true today. He wondered for the tenth time that week if he was becoming a sex addict. He was still wondering by the time the man replaced his window and left.

  All day long, doubts about Zach and the others clouded his mind. His instincts said he needed to talk to Ruby. She might at least be able to tell him if the person in the tape was one of the houseboys. She might even know who'd thrown the tape through his window.

  He waited till just before closing to return to Coffee Joe's. To his surprise, the cafe was locked and dark. The NEARLY OPEN sign hung across the door. As far as Brad could remember, the cafe never closed early during tourist season. He banged on the door and heard Bill whine.

  "Ruby?" he called out, his senses alert.

  Someone or something shuffled about inside. A door opened and closed. Brad was about to rush around to the back of the building when the front door opened slightly. Ruby stood before him.

  "It's you," she said in a tone that wasn't the least bit welcoming.

  "Closing early?"

  "I wasn't feeling well," she said. "I worked all day by myself and I was afraid you were a pesky customer who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."

  "You still might think that," he said with a forced laugh. "I was hoping for some chai and conversation."

  Ruby hesitated, then opened the door. "Come on in," she said. "I can still whip you up a cup."

  The cafe was empty except for Bill, who skidded around the floor at breakneck speed. I bet you could tell me what's going on, Brad thought. He realized it must have been Halle he'd heard leaving by the back door. He'd just missed her.

  "Any news from Halle?" he asked.

  "No... well, yes. She called to let me know she's all right," Ruby lied, and not very convincingly.

  "Did you find out if she took the gun?"

  "Uh-huh." Ruby nodded. Her hands fumbled nervously as she placed a cup under the steamer. "She said she was trying to protect me."

  "Protect you from what?"

  Ruby looked sheepish. "She said she heard me threatening Rosiegarters one time too many and didn't want to take the chance I'd follow through on my threat, though God knows I wouldn't."

  Brad nodded.

  "You hear anything more about the murder?" she asked over the sound of frothing milk.

  "I think we have a pretty good lead on who killed Hayden," Brad said. "I thought you might help me figure something out."

  Ruby brought the cup over to him. "How's that?" she asked.

  He took a sip and smiled. "Ahhl Perfect every time."

  Ruby sat beside him at the counter. Bradford held up the cassette. He'd brought his camera. He plugged it into the cafe's monitor and they sat and watched the tape together. Ruby held her breath as the shoulder passed in front of the lens
and the robe slipped to the floor.

  She turned to Brad. "I can't tell you a thing," she said, perplexed. "It's just some guy in a kimono."

  "Let's watch it again," Brad said. "This time in slow motion."

  They watched the tape to the point where the second figure stepped in front of the lens. Brad stopped the tape.

  "You know everyone in town," he said. "Anybody have a tattoo like that on his right shoulder? Or maybe hers?"

  Ruby's face was a pale moon reflected in the light of the screen. She bit her lip. "It wasn't me and it wasn't Halle. That's all I care!" She looked as though she might cry.

  Brad knew not to push things. It wouldn't be a good time to suggest that Halle had a few well-placed tattoos on her body, and that she'd have no problem passing for a man if she wanted to, though probably not enough to fool Rosengarten. And certainly, not once her clothes were off. If she really was a woman, that is.

  "Did Rosengarten's taste run to women?" he asked casually.

  Ruby started, fearful. "Not that I ever knew of."

  "All right," he said, disconnecting the camera. "Thanks for taking the time to look at this with me." He stopped at the front door. "If you think of anything, call me. You have the number."

  "I will," she said, diminished. She hesitated. "Did you find out what kind of gun killed him?"

  "It was a Colt .45," Brad answered. "What was yours?"

  "I think it was a Smith and Wesson," Ruby said. "I don't know much about guns, really."

  And that, thought Bradford, is the third time you've lied to me tonight.

  28

  He'd just entered the house and locked the door when his phone rang. Brad recognized Cinder's rasp instantly.

  "Darling, you may not believe this, but I think it was an inside job," Cinder squawked into the phone.

  "What makes you say that?" Brad asked, setting his camera case on the floor.

  The burglar alarm indicator blinked a warning at him. He walked over and reset it. He was clear on what he and Grace had discussed—that he could no longer trust anyone.

  "I've been doing a little investigating at the Even-Less-Than-OK Corral," Cinder answered. "Everyone was nice as pie till after the funeral. Now they're all accusing one another, lest the fickle finger of blame be pointed at them first. The tall skinny guy at the door is first among all the finger pointers."

  "What do you know about him?" Brad asked as he sat on a chair and pulled off his sneakers. "It seems to me he held a pretty high position of trust with Hayden. In fact, he seemed to be second in command when Rosengarten wasn't there."

  "You're bang-on, hon. He did most of the hiring and firing around the place. Old Rosebud didn't do much of anything without his say. But I don't think they were business partners."

  "Why's that?" Brad asked.

  "Because there was no end to his grumbling about how little he got paid for all his hard work."

  Brad recalled overhearing the man's litany of complaints the night he'd broken into the Ice House.

  "To hear him go on," Cinder continued, "you'd think he moved heaven and earth to keep old Rosie-o happy."

  Brad threw his shoes into a corner and peeled off his socks. "Was that true?"

  "He did a lot around the place, that's for sure. Still, I'd be surprised if Hayden left him anything in his will."

  "By any chance do you know who receives the bulk of the estate?"

  "I just heard. The monks spent the last twenty-four hours meditating to determine where Hayden is going to be reincarnated. They've come up with the answer and most of the money is going there."

  This, Brad thought, might be the clue he was waiting for. If the estate had been designated for anyone affiliated with the Buddhist group, or anyone among the employees at the guesthouse, it would be a cinch to figure out who murdered Hayden Rosengarten. On the other hand, if it was some whacko plan to give his money away to a third-world family who'd never heard of him, in the ridiculous belief he'd be reborn there, it wouldn't help things much. Fitting, perhaps, but not much use as motives went.

  "So," he said. "Who's the lucky recipient?"

  "The Boston Zoo. Apparently he's coming back as an orangutan."

  There was a notable silence on Brad's end.

  "It's a kind of monkey, I think. That's just how it goes if you're a Buddhist," Cinder said. "If you don't live your life doing good deeds, you have to come back as a lesser animal and get kicked around till you realize what it's like to be low species on the totem pole."

  "Gee," was all Brad could manage. He tried to imagine Ruby kicking an orangutan.

  "Aren't you glad you're not a Buddhist?" Cinder said.

  "I guess there's something still to be said for Presbyterianism, even if all you get for Christmas is walnuts and oranges."

  "You betcha! On the other hand, those Buddhists get to wear some pretty kitsch outfits!"

  Brad interrupted him. "Listen, Cinder. How much do you know about what went on in that house?"

  "Well, I'm not a nosey queen for nothing, hon. I've had a good look around that place in my time. And believe me, I've had far better times in far worse places."

  Brad reached into the camera case. "What do you know about the cameras?" he asked, holding the tape up in front of the new window-pane.

  "The ones over the bathtubs, in the guestrooms, down the polar bear's snout, or behind the aquariums? Or were you referring to the ones in the hallways, perhaps?" Cinder asked.

  Brad tucked the cassette into its case and locked it back in the drawer. "Let's start with the bathtubs."

  "Well, that Hayden sure was one for kink. But more than that, he had business smarts, too. Remember, he was no Eve Harrington..." Cinder did what amounted to a double-take on the phone. "Or was he? Anyway, he always said if his guesthouse went tits-up he could go into the video business."

  "So the cameras were there to help out with that?"

  "Hayden kept tapes of all the big-name clients who came to the establishment. And I think he meant what he said. If things went wrong for him, he'd find a way to get money out of some of those guys."

  "Blackmail?"

  "Sure, why not? Some of those guys are still in the prime of their careers. He could've wrecked more than a few public profiles with his private records. Remember Rob Lowe?"

  "He went there?"

  "I cannot tell a lie."

  Brad rolled his eyes. "Do you think one of the clients found out about it?"

  "That's exactly what I think. You sure are a smart little cookie. I think somebody discovered what old Rosetta had up his sleeve. I guess he told the wrong person...."

  "Who in the house knew about the tapes?"

  "Just about everyone," Cinder said. "There wasn't much that was a secret. When Hayden got drunk he'd go around saying all kinds of things. He just never drank when the clients were there. It was his golden rule."

  Which says a lot about the champagne in the bathtub, Brad thought. "So you're saying everybody who worked there had access to the tapes?"

  "Oh, no!" Cinder said. "No one knew where they were at, except for one or two of his most trusted staff."

  "And who was that?"

  "Well, Johnny K. for one—you must've seen him at the funeral yesterday. He's the rough-looking one. Johnny K. was Hayden's chief bodyguard. I never got too close to him. He'd step on a girl's hem as quick as pick it up for her."

  "Anything else?"

  "I hear he has a legendary cock, but I never laid lips on it myself." "Big?"

  "And how! Apparently it was the biggest of the lot in that place."

  "Do you know if he has a snake tattoo on his right shoulder blade?"

  "Oooh!" Cinder trilled. "I love phallic symbols! I'm sure that boy has tattoos all over his body, but whether one of them is a snake I can't be sure."

  "Would he have had any reason to kill Hayden?"

  "Johnny K.? Nah—he knew which side his dick was buttered on."

  "But if he thought he could get away with it and
be better off... ?"

  Cinder thought for a moment. "Maybe, but I doubt it. Why bite the hand that feeds you when you can eat out of it?"

  "Cinder, do you have any idea who would want to kill Hayden?"

  "Maybe Mozart?"

  Brad hung up and peeled off his T-shirt. He was checking the outline of his tattoo in the mirror when the phone rang again.

  "Bradford? Ruby here."

  His ears picked up immediately. "Hi, Ruby."

  "Listen, can we get together? I got something to tell you."

  Brad sucked in his breath.

  "I don't want to say much on the phone, but I think I know something you should know."

  Bingo!he thought. "I'll be right over."

  "No," she said. "Meet me on Bradford Street, all right? You walk toward me and I'll walk toward you and we'll meet somewhere in the middle."

  "Give me five minutes."

  "Fine, but I'm leaving now. It gives me goose bumps to stay here knowing what I think I know."

  Brad grabbed his socks and shoes. He was back out on the street in under a minute. All along he'd had the feeling that Big Ruby might lead him to the killer, and at last it seemed to be happening.

  29

  Bradford passed the bicycle rental shop and the cheery cafe where he sometimes stopped for breakfast before the rest of the world came to life. Both were dark and empty now. He'd gone only three blocks when the car came racing toward him down the hill. With its headlights off, it was a mere shadow moving at lethal speed.

  Without thinking, he flipped himself over a hedge as the car went careening by at breakneck speed. As he lay there in the dirt he remembered his dream about the Porsche. It'd happened so fast he hadn't even had time to notice what type of car it was.

  Whew! I sure as hell don't want to end up dead on Bradford Street, he thought, remembering Ruby's words the night they met. He picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. Then he felt the twinge in his ankle. He tried out a few careful steps—it was painful, but he could walk.