Scandal in Fair Haven

Home > Other > Scandal in Fair Haven > Page 13
Scandal in Fair Haven Page 13

by Carolyn G. Hart


  and Mrs. Mat­thews are both mem­bers of the bo­ard of di­rec­tors for the Fa­ir Ha­ven Pub­lic Lib­rary.

  Supporters of the mi­nis­ter sho­uted in op­po­si­ti­on to a re­cent lib­rary bo­ard de­ci­si­on, pro­po­sed by Mrs. Mat­thews, to add ma­te­ri­als on pre­ven­ti­on of AIDS to the lib­rary's Sa­tur­day mor­ning re­ading prog­rams for chil­d­ren.

  Mrs. Mat­thews yan­ked the mic­rop­ho­ne from Re­ve­rend Hol­man, then chal­len­ged the pro­tes­ters to ad­mit that the­ir op­po­si­ti­on to the dis­se­mi­na­ti­on of in­for­ma­ti­on on sa­fe sex wo­uld re­sult in ne­ed­less suf­fe­ring and de­aths. "You pe­op­le will do an­y­t­hing to pre­vent abor­ti­ons be­ca­use you want to sa­ve li­ves, but you are wil­ling to see yo­ung pe­op­le die rat­her than per­mit them to dis­cuss se­xu­al ac­ti­vi­ti­es. For sha­me," she cri­ed.

  Mrs. Mat­thews has mo­un­ted an ac­ti­ve cam­pa­ign to see Re­ve­rend Hol­man de­fe­ated in the next lib­rary bo­ard elec­ti­on.

  The much- ballyhooed "strip­te­ase" was the hig­h­light of the Re­velry Dan­ce Club's an­nu­al Chris­t­mas ball last ye­ar. Mrs. Mat­thews's "per­for­man­ce" was of­fe­red at an auc­ti­on to ra­ise mo­ney for Wal­den Scho­ol and was the item brin­ging in the hig­hest bid, 1,400 dol­lars. As pro­mi­sed in the auc­ti­on of­fer, Mrs. Mat­thews di­ves­ted to a skin­to­ne body su­it at the dan­ce to the ac­com­pa­ni­ment of drum­rol­ls. She ex­p­la­ined, with a la­ugh, that she had on mo­re than most of her fri­ends wo­re to aero­bics and that ra­ising mo­ney might as well be fun.

  Last Oc­to­ber, Ma­yor Jane French pre­sen­ted Mrs. Mat­thews with an Ho­no­red Ci­ti­zens Award for her fund-ra­ising ef­forts over the ye­ars. "I wish

  we had mo­re de­di­ca­ted ci­ti­zens li­ke Patty Kay," the ma­yor sa­id.

  Oh, my, yes. Patty Kay lo­ved to ha­ve fun-and to hell with an­y­body who didn't li­ke it-or her.

  It to­ok only a few mi­nu­tes to do the dis­hes and le­ave the newly cle­aned kit­c­hen im­ma­cu­la­te. I had no in­ten­ti­on of tac­k­ling the play­ho­use. Scrub­bing wo­uld ne­ver cle­ar away the dre­ad­ful rem­nants of blo­ody de­ath.

  Twenty mi­nu­tes la­ter I was sho­we­red and dres­sed for the day. I cho­se a navy knit with gold but­tons. I was in the ma­in hall, wal­king to­ward the te­lep­ho­ne desk, when I he­ard a key in the back do­or. The lock clic­ked, and the do­or swung in.

  "Mr. Mat­thews? It's me. Jewel." A small black wo­man in a ne­at gray ma­id's uni­form bus­t­led in­si­de. She duc­ked out of a plas­tic ra­in cap and prop­ped a wet um­b­rel­la in the cor­ner, then lo­oked up and saw me.

  Jewel. Of co­ur­se, the ma­id em­p­lo­yed by both Patty Kay and Cheryl Kraft.

  I smi­led in wel­co­me. "Go­od mor­ning, Jewel. I'm so glad to see you. I'm Hen­ri­et­ta Col­lins, Mr. Mat­thews's aunt." The lie ca­me easily.

  She shif­ted a croc­he­ted bag from one arm to anot­her. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I did he­ar you was he­re.'*

  It's a small town, for chris­sa­kes.

  She he­si­ta­ted, then ad­ded softly, "I'm re­al sorry, ma'am. Abo­ut the tro­ub­le." She cle­ared her thro­at and mo­ved to­ward the do­or in­to the kit­c­hen. "I gu­ess I'll do my re­gu­lar."

  I fol­lo­wed her in­to the kit­c­hen. "That will be fi­ne. I'm go­ing to be in and out to­day. I ex­pect Mr. Mat­thews will be ho­me so­me­ti­me this af­ter­no­on."

  Dark eyes slid qu­ickly to­ward me, then as qu­ickly away. She ope­ned a bro­om clo­set, pla­ced her bag in­si­de.

  "Jewel, you know the po­li­ce ha­ve ar­res­ted Mr. Mat­thews?"

  "Yes, ma'am." She con­ti­nu­ed to avo­id lo­oking at me as she clo­sed the clo­set do­or.

  The ra­in was he­avi­er now, drum­ming aga­inst the pa­nes.

  "What do you think abo­ut that?"

  She wal­ked to­ward the sink. "1 rec­kon it's har­der to get out of ja­il than get in ja­il. Le­ast, that's true for black pe­op­le. Ja­il is a bad pla­ce to be."

  "Mr. Mat­thews is in­no­cent."

  Jewel bent down, ope­ned a ca­bi­net, be­gan to lift out cle­aning ma­te­ri­als.

  She didn't say a word.

  "How long had you wor­ked for Patty Kay?"

  She pic­ked up a pa­ir of rub­ber glo­ves, then tur­ned to fa­ce.me, crum­p­ling the glo­ves in her hand. "I wor­ked for her ma­ma. I was with Mrs. Patty Kay when she and Mr. Stu­art li­ved he­re. I was with her when Miss Bri­git was born." Her mo­ur­n­ful eyes glis­te­ned with te­ars. "No one had ought to ha­ve hurt her li­ke that. No one."

  "Craig didn't do it, Jewel."

  "You ha­ve to be for yo­ur kin," she sa­id qu­i­etly. "But I tell you, even ni­ce men so­me­ti­mes they go­es af­ter a pretty fa­ce and they do things they sho­uldn't ha­ve."

  She yan­ked on the glo­ves, grab­bed up a plas­tic pa­il, and wal­ked swiftly to­ward the hall do­or.

  She pa­used only long eno­ugh to say, "I don't know not­hing but that Mrs. Patty Kay she was up­set as she co­uld be all day Fri­day and if I was you I'd ask Mr. Cra­ig abo­ut that apar­t­ment he go­es to so much. My gran­d­son Matt

  works the yard over the­re at tho­se San­dal­wo­od apar­t­ments, and he's se­en him the­re. Plenty."

  It was at that mo­ment, of co­ur­se, as I lis­te­ned to the tat­too of the ra­in and grap­pled with a new and chil­ling con­si­de­ra­ti­on of Cra­ig that the te­lep­ho­ne rang. I re­ac­hed for it.

  "Hello."

  "Henrie O, you're the­re."

  And, for God's sa­ke, it was Mar­ga­ret.

  I ga­ve her a crisp fac­tu­al re­port of ever­y­t­hing-ex­cept the dis­tur­bing en­co­un­ter with Jewel.

  "Henrie O, you're won­der­ful. Of co­ur­se that stuff was thrown af­ter she was de­ad!"

  "I'm ma­king prog­ress." But not all of it po­si­ti­ve. "How are you fe­eling?"

  She was, she sa­id firmly, do­ing well.

  But her vo­ice was very we­ak.

  "You con­cen­t­ra­te on get­ting well. And don't worry abo­ut things he­re. I'll ta­ke ca­re of ever­y­t­hing." Oh, Hen­rie 0, such bra­ve words. "I'll ke­ep in clo­se to­uch."

  But I wasn't fe­eling che­er­ful when I hung up.

  If Cra­ig had a lady lo­ve…

  Distantly I he­ard the growl of a va­cu­um.

  The gran­d­fat­her clock bo­omed ni­ne.

  I set­tled at the te­lep­ho­ne tab­le and fo­und in my pur­se my copy of Patty Kay's use­ful num­bers.

  My first call was to La­ver­ne. I was lucky. She'd had a can­cel­la­ti­on for her ten o'clock. She co­uld ta­ke me for a sham­poo and set.

  My se­cond call was an­s­we­red promptly. "Mt. Zi­on Re­vi­val Church."

  "May I spe­ak to Re­ve­rend Hol­man, ple­ase?"

  "Our as­sis­tant pas­tor, Mr. Wic­key, is ta­king Re­ve­rend Hol­man's calls."

  "I'm sorry. I can spe­ak only to Re­ve­rend Hol­man."

  "Reverend Hol­man won't be back in the of­fi­ce for at le­ast fo­ur mo­re we­eks."

  "Where is he?"

  Her vo­ice qu­ive­red. "In Van­der­bilt hos­pi­tal. He had open he­art sur­gery last Fri­day."

  "I see. The mat­ter will wa­it. Thank you."

  I chec­ked with Van­der­bilt Me­di­cal Cen­ter. The Re­ve­rend James Hol­man was still in in­ten­si­ve ca­re.

  That an­s­we­red that. I was sorry. I'd tho­ught it might be qu­ite in­te­res­ting to talk to the re­ve­rend abo­ut Patty Kay Mat­thews. A ple­asu­re I wo­uld ha­ve to fo­re­go.

  My last call was to Des­mond Ma­ri­no. I'd left him with a list of things to do when we'd par­ted yes­ter­day.

  "Yes, ma'am," the law­yer sa­id briskly. "I've got what you wan­ted." His vo­ice oozed sa­tis­fac­ti­on. "An old fri­end from law s
cho­ol's in the D.A.'s of­fi­ce. Now, in an­s­wer to yo­ur spe­ci­fic qu­es­ti­on, the lab didn't find any tra­ce of the stuff in the kit­c­hen on Patty Kay's clot­hes. Dit­to her sho­es."

  "That ma­kes an enor­mo­us dif­fe­ren­ce."

  "It do­es?" He so­un­ded skep­ti­cal.

  "Look, Des­mond, the po­li­ce the­ory is that Cra­ig ar­ri­ved ho­me, he and Patty Kay squ­ab­bled abo­ut the fru­it bas­ket, she was co­oking, he lost his tem­per and star­ted flin­ging stuff aro­und, and she ran out to the play­ho­use to get away from him."

  "Right."

  "So pic­tu­re it. If Cra­ig and Patty Kay qu­ar­re­led and Cra­ig star­ted thro­wing li­qu­ids aro­und, su­rely at le­ast a bit of it wo­uld ha­ve splas­hed on her. Even if not, how co­uld she ha­ve be­en stan­ding the­re co­oking and not ha­ve had to walk thro­ugh the stuff to run out to the play­ho­use?

  "The fact that her sho­es ha­ve no tra­ce of cho­co­la­te or

  cream che­ese or li­qu­e­urs has to me­an that when she left the kit­c­hen, not­hing had yet be­en thrown.

  "And the only re­ason to throw it af­ter she'd be­en kit­ted had to be to in­c­ri­mi­na­te Cra­ig. Be­si­des, the ti­ming do­esn't work. I'm go­ing to check that out la­ter to­day. If we get de­fi­ni­te tes­ti­mony abo­ut when he left that de­li and when the po­li­ce ar­ri­ved on the sce­ne, it won't le­ave eno­ugh ti­me for a qu­ar­rel, the mess in the kit­c­hen, and her mur­der."

  "You sho­uld ha­ve be­en a law­yer." The hig­hest pra­ise any at­tor­ney ever gi­ves. "I can use this to­day with the jud­ge."

  "Good."

  "Oh, one thing mo­re. The sta­te po­li­ce fo­und a swe­ater in a ro­ad­si­de gar­ba­ge bin that mat­c­hes the snag­ged thre­ad on the mur­der we­apon. The swe­ater's sta­ined with Patty Kay's blo­od." He so­un­ded qu­e­asy. "The po­li­ce think it be­lon­ged to Patty Kay and Cra­ig tri­ed to dump it be­ca­use he'd used it to try to stop the flow of blo­od af­ter he shot her. You know, re­mor­se. Then he just to­ok it with him in a pa­nic."

  A swe­ater. Patty Kay's swe­ater? If this we­re so, why on earth was Cra­ig stub­bornly re­fu­sing to ad­mit it?

  "Do you ha­ve a des­c­rip­ti­on of the swe­ater?"

  A pa­use, a rat­tle of pa­per. "He­re it is. One hun­d­red per­cent cot­ton car­di­gan, be­ige, si­ze lar­ge. La­bel from Lands' End."

  I re­cal­led Patty Kay's clo­set. Cram­med with gor­ge­o­us, vi­vid clot­hes. Lots of na­tu­ral fi­bers, of co­ur­se. All de­sig­ner la­bel and ex­t­re­mely ex­pen­si­ve.

  I didn't re­call a sin­g­le item that lo­oked li­ke Lands' End.

  I'd not chec­ked all the la­bels. I co­uld do that. But I was cer­ta­in what I wo­uld find.

  Nothing from Lands' End.

  I'm not knoc­king the clot­hes from that gi­ant ca­ta­lo­gue

  company. I'm very fond of them myself. The­re was a black ' Lands' End car­di­gan up­s­ta­irs in my su­it­ca­se.

  But it wasn't Patty Kay's kind of swe­ater.

  "Desmond, are the po­li­ce su­re the cloth frag­ment on the mur­der we­apon ca­me from this swe­ater?"

  "Yep. Ab­so­lu­tely. They've got de­ta­ils abo­ut mic­ros­co­pic eva­lu­ati­on of fi­bers in he­re." The pa­pers rus­t­led aga­in.

  "All right," I sa­id slowly. "We're on to so­met­hing he­re And the po­li­ce ha­ve it all wrong. Cra­ig may ha­ve grab­bed that swe­ater up in a pa­nic, that's true eno­ugh. But the rest of the­ir the­ory's wrong. Eit­her the swe­ater be­lon­ged to the mur­de­rer or the mur­de­rer bro­ught it to the sce­ne and de­li­be­ra­tely sop­ped it in Patty's blo­od, then left it."

  "Jesus, why?"

  "Because, Des­mond, the po­li­ce will dis­co­ver ul­ti­ma­tely that the swe­ater didn't be­long to Patty Kay."

  "Why not? It's a wo­man's swe­ater. It must be the right si­ze-"

  "It isn't the si­ze that mat­ters. It's its mo­dest pro­ve­nan­ce. And its co­lor."

  "Huh?"

  "Desmond, Patty Kay ne­ver ow­ned a be­ige swe­ater or­de­red from a ca­ta­lo­gue in her li­fe."

  "But why wo­uld so­me­body le­ave so­me ot­her wo­man's swe­ater the­re and why wo­uld Cra­ig-" He stop­ped short. "Oh, Christ. You me­an it be­lon­ged to so­me ot­her wo­man and Cra­ig re­cog­ni­zed it?"

  "I'm af­ra­id so."

  He gro­aned. "God, that'll ma­ke it wor­se for Cra­ig."

  "Not if we can pro­ve that swe­ater was a plant and Cra­ig ran away be­ca­use of pa­nic over the pre­sen­ce of the swe­ater and not be­ca­use he shot Patty Kay."

  "Oh, su­re. Walsh is re­al­ly go­ing to be­li­eve that."

  "Don't so­und so glum, Des­mond. Pa­nic is bet­ter than gu­ilt."

  "But I can't go to the po­li­ce and say the­re was anot­her wo­man-you know damn well how that's go­ing to so­und -and Cra­ig was trying to pro­tect her. Hell, Mrs. Col­lins, that's all he ne­eds."

  "Don't do it, then. Let's ke­ep po­king aro­und." I had one fi­nal qu­es­ti­on. "Obvi­o­usly, so­me­one who knew Patty Kay well mur­de­red her. Who do you think it might be?" My to­ne was en­co­ura­ging.

  I ex­pec­ted the usu­al law­yer's spa­te of words en­ding in a firm re­fu­sal to do an­y­t­hing as out­ra­ge­o­us as ma­ke an ac­cu­sa­ti­on aga­inst an­yo­ne.

  Instead, af­ter a som­ber, lengthy si­len­ce, Ma­ri­no sur­p­ri­sed me. "She ma­de ene­mi­es. You'll find that out. The prob­lem was that Patty Kay ne­ver to­ok an­y­t­hing too se­ri­o­usly and she didn't ha­ve the ima­gi­na­ti­on to see how ot­her pe­op­le co­uld be so, well, so de­adly se­ri­o­us. I'm thin­king abo­ut a pre­ac­her he­re in town-"

  "The Re­ve­rend James Hol­man?"

  "So you've al­re­ady dug that up?"

  "It didn't ta­ke ge­ni­us," I sa­id dryly. "And I've not only dug it up, I've re­bu­ri­ed it," and I told him why.

  "Oh."

  "Is the­re an­yo­ne el­se Patty Kay had in­fu­ri­ated?"

  "No. No, I don't think so."

  Craig had sa­id to Bri­git, It's a small town, for chris­sa­ke­es.

  But not small eno­ugh, ap­pa­rently, for Des­mond to of­fer any ot­her sus­pects. The Re­ve­rend Hol­man was the only can­di­da­te Des­mond was re­ady to pro­po­se. His law­yerly in­s­tincts hadn't de­ser­ted him. Far be it from him to fo­cus on an­yo­ne in his own po­ker gro­up.

  "In any event, we ne­ed to check on the whe­re­abo­uts of

  the po­ker pla­yers when Patty Kay was shot. Will you do that?"

  He didn't so­und over­w­hel­med with joy at the task, but he gruffly ac­qu­i­es­ced.

  "What are you go­ing to do?" he de­man­ded.

  "Talk to pe­op­le. Lots of them."

  The fu­ne­ral pro­ces­si­on was a long one. I pul­led over to j awa­it its pas­sa­ge. The he­avi­er ra­in had eased, but a ste­ady sprin­k­le spat­te­red aga­inst the win­d­s­hi­eld. The tre­es along the stre­et lo­oked sod­den, the­ir spring glory dim­med. It was a fit­ting day for gri­ef. Patty Kay's fu­ne­ral wo­uld be to­mor- I row. Su­rely Des­mond wo­uld be ab­le to get Cra­ig out of ja­il by then.

  Finally, the long cor­te­ge was past. I dro­ve out to the Fa­ir Ha­ven Mall. The­re we­re plenty of par­king spa­ces in front of Bo­oks, Bo­oks, Bo­oks.

  I sho­ok my um­b­rel­la and left it drip­ping in the en­t­ry-way. Bo­oks, Bo­oks, Bo­oks was a bo­ok­lo­ver's dre­am. Per­haps twenty tho­usand squ­are fe­et, is­lands and is­lands of bo­oks fa­ce out (bo­ok bu­si­ness lin­go for the co­ver sho­wing in­s­te­ad of the spi­ne), and a cof­fee and sur­p­ri­singly la­vish des­sert bar.

  It to­ok only a mo­ment for me to find Amy shel­ving new bo­oks in the his­tory and po­li­tics sec­ti­on. The clerk Cra­ig had men­ti­oned was small, dark, a
nd very thin. She wo­re her ha­ir in two lengthy bra­ids. Over­si­ze glas­ses mag­ni­fi­ed her eyes. She wo­re a na­me bad­ge: amy foss.

  "Pardon me."

  'Tes, ma'am?"

  "Amy, I'm Mrs. Col­lins, Cra­ig Mat­thews's aunt."

  Amy got that lo­ok of dumb an­gu­ish that af­f­licts pe­op­le con­f­ron­ted with a si­tu­ati­on they ha­ven't the fa­in­test no­ti­on

 

‹ Prev