Scandal in Fair Haven

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Scandal in Fair Haven Page 29

by Carolyn G. Hart


  My la­te hus­band, Ric­hard, al­ways ca­uti­oned me not to jump to con­c­lu­si­ons.

  I jum­ped to this one fast and po­un­ded down the ma­in sta­ir­ca­se.

  I was mad.

  That sorry, no-go­od, mur­de­ring bas­tard!

  I did ha­ve wit eno­ugh to click on the ma­in hal­lway light, grab the pho­ne, punch in 911, and yell, "Fi­re! 1903

  King's Row Ro­ad," be­fo­re I slam­med out the back do­oi flas­h­light in hand.

  "Craig! Cra­ig!"

  The stench of ga­so­li­ne was over­po­we­ring he­re.

  My thin pen­cil of light swept the back of the ho­use.

  I ca­ught a glim­p­se of a dark, run­ning fi­gu­re.

  A he­avy pi­ece of me­tal clan­ged on the dri­ve.

  And my bra­in ca­ught up with my emo­ti­ons.

  The gre­en Por­s­c­he wasn't in the dri­ve.

  Someone had Patty Kay's gun.

  I flic­ked off the light, jum­ped to the gro­und and ran be­hind the Le­xus.

  Over the thud of my he­art in my chest, 1 lis­te­ned as hard as I've ever lis­te­ned in my li­fe.

  A dog yap­ped hyste­ri­cal­ly.

  But I didn't he­ar the so­und of a car star­ting.

  Then the night was ali­ve with si­rens.

  I had on the out­si­de lights aro­und the po­ol and play­ho­use when the fi­re en­gi­ne ro­ared in­to the dri­ve be­hind the ho­use. Fi­re­men jum­ped to the gro­und, drag­ging he­avy ho­ses.

  The ot­hers ar­ri­ved hard on the he­els of the fi­re truck: Cap­ta­in Walsh, two pat­rol cars, and sket­c­hily dres­sed ne­ig­h­bors hur­rying up the dri­ve or ac­ross the bac­k­yard.

  The Jes­sops first, then the For­rests. The Krafts, in mat­c­hing black silk pa­j­amas, ar­ri­ved next, fol­lo­wed by the Gut­h­ri­es. Stu­art Pi­er­ce wo­re warm-up pants. He jog­ged up the dri­ve, Bri­git clo­se be­hind him, a he­avy car­di­gan pul­led over her pink pa­j­ama top. A bre­at­h­less Gi­na Ab­bott trot­ted up the dri­ve with her da­ug­h­ter, Chloe. Last to ar­ri­ve, the­ir eyes dull and ex­ha­us­ted, we­re the Hol­li­ses.

  I sho­uted abo­ve the spa­te of qu­es­ti­ons, po­in­ting to the ga­so­li­ne tin lying in the dri­ve ne­ar the end of the ho­use.

  The fi­re chi­ef her­ded all of us to the deck by the po­ol;

  two fi­re­men be­gan to ho­se down the ho­use, was­hing away the ga­so­li­ne from the thick ivy.

  Gina Ab­bott's un­com­bed black ha­ir stuck out on her he­ad in sprigs and tan­g­les. Chloe Ab­bott kept pul­ling down her shor­tie nig­h­t­gown and glan­cing shyly to­ward Dan For­rest. The Hol­li­ses sto­od si­de by si­de, si­lent and som­ber. The Jes­sops ran­ged une­asily up and down the deck, chat­te­ring ner­vo­usly.

  Brooke For­rest clung to her son's arm. She sta­red at the ho­use, her be­a­uti­ful fa­ce a mask of fa­ti­gue. Dan's che­eks we­re pink with ex­ci­te­ment and his eyes dar­ted from the po­li­ce cars to the fi­re truck to the ho­use, but the te­ena­ger sto­od the­re de­co­ro­usly with his mot­her. Da­vid For­rest's navy-blue ro­be fit him li­ke a uni­form. A scowl cre­ased his fa­ce.

  "Things li­ke this don't hap­pen in Fa­ir Ha­ven," Carl Jes­sop in­sis­ted.

  Bob Kraft lo­oked at the tree limbs sig­hing in the night bre­eze. "If this ho­use bur­ned, the fi­re co­uld easily ha­ve spre­ad to us." Cheryl shi­ve­red and step­ped clo­ser to her hus­band.

  A fi­re­man tur­ned his ho­se from the ro­of-the wo­oden ro­of-back to the ivi­ed wall.

  The ivy qu­ive­red be­ne­ath the for­ce from the ho­se. If the ivy had ca­ught on fi­re, the fla­mes wo­uld ha­ve dan­ced up to the wo­oden shin­g­les.

  Some of the spray mis­ted over the Gut­h­ri­es. Wil­lis skip­ped nimbly bac­k­ward. "Watch it, watch it!" But Pa­me­la didn't mo­ve. She simply sta­red at the dren­c­hed sto­ne of her de­ad sis­ter's ho­use.

  Captain Walsh, un­s­ha­ven, his shir­t­ta­il bun­c­hed in his tro­users, on­ce aga­in sto­od be­si­de me with his arms fol­ded, his fa­ce im­pas­si­ve.

  I sho­ok my he­ad. "No," I sa­id qu­i­etly. "I did not."

  That's when Bri­git bro­ke away from her fat­her. She rai up to me, grab­bed my arm. "Whe­re's Cra­ig? Whe­re is he?

  "I've no idea."

  Brigit whir­led to­ward the po­li­ce chi­ef. "So­met­hing: hap­pe­ned to Cra­ig. Why aren't you lo­oking-"

  And the gre­en Por­s­c­he sle­wed aro­und the fi­re en­gi­ne jol­ted to a stop. Cra­ig jum­ped out. He ran to­ward us.

  "My God, what's hap­pe­ned? What the hell's go­ing on?

  "Somebody tri­ed to set the ho­use on fi­re." I wis­hed I co­uld see him mo­re cle­arly, but the re­vol­ving light on the ne­arest po­li­ce car was­hed over his fa­ce li­ke a la­ser show, dis­tor­ting his de­li­ca­te fe­atu­res.

  "I can't be­li­eve it!" No­body ever so­un­ded mo­re shoc­ked.

  Or mo­re sca­red.

  Craig swal­lo­wed, sta­red at the ho­use with frig­h­te­ned eyes. "I sle­ep li­ke the de­ad. If it had ca­ught fi­re-"

  The fi­re chi­ef un­s­nap­ped the clasps of his he­avy as­bes­tos co­at. He sho­ok his he­ad grimly. "If the ro­of ca­ught, the ho­use wo­uld ha­ve go­ne up li­ke wil­d­fi­re."

  Patty Kay's cup­bo­ard of­fe­red an as­sor­t­ment of cof­fee be­ans. I cho­se Co­lom­bi­an, in my mind al­ways the best. The last drops we­re se­eping in­to the ca­ra­fe when Cra­ig po­ked his he­ad in­to the kit­c­hen.

  "Are you ma­king cof­fee?" He lo­oked to­ward the kit­c­hen clock.

  It was a qu­ar­ter to three. In the mor­ning.

  We we­re alo­ne. Fi­nal­ly. The po­li­ce go­ne. The fi­re­men go­ne. The ne­ig­h­bors go­ne.

  "Yes. I've got so­me thin­king to do."

  He rub­bed his eyes and lo­oked ab­surdly yo­ung and vul­ne­rab­le.

  I ga­zed at him co­ol­ly. I hadn't he­ard a car le­ave when the ar­so­nist fled. But Cra­ig co­uld ha­ve par­ked on the next stre­et.

  "Yeah. God. I can't be­li­eve ever­y­t­hing that's hap­pe­ned. And the way Walsh tal­ked, it so­un­ded li­ke he tho­ught one of us tri­ed to burn the ho­use down."

  "It's oc­cur­red to him."

  "Why in the hell wo­uld we do that?" The out­ra­ge in Cra­ig's vo­ice so­un­ded ge­nu­ine.

  I ad­ded two sco­ops of su­gar and stir­red. I ne­eded energy. "Oh, Cap­ta­in Walsh can see whe­re I-yo­ur do­ting aunt, of co­ur­se-wo­uld do it to di­vert sus­pi­ci­on from you." The cof­fee tas­ted mag­ni­fi­cent.

  Craig slum­ped in­to a cha­ir. "May­be we ought to tell him you aren't my aunt."

  "Maybe."

  "Is that why he thinks I'd try to set the ho­use on fi­re?"

  "Perhaps. Of co­ur­se, if you did it, that isn't the re­ason." I held his ga­ze. The­re wasn't a flic­ker of un­der­s­tan­ding in his we­ary eyes. "No, Cra­ig. If you did it, it wo­uld be be­ca­use I know that Amy-very stub­bor­n­ly-in­sis­ted you left the bo­ok­s­to­re at a qu­ar­ter to fo­ur on Sa­tur­day." My hand tig­h­te­ned on the mug of ste­aming cof­fee.

  I co­uld throw it in his fa­ce and be out of the kit­c­hen and down the dri­ve in an in­s­tant.

  But Cra­ig sat un­mo­ving, his fa­ce pe­tu­lant and angry.

  "She was wrong. That's all. Wrong."

  "Where did you go Sa­tur­day af­ter­no­on, Cra­ig? What we­re you do­ing du­ring that ex­t­ra fif­te­en mi­nu­tes?"

  He sho­ok his he­ad. His mo­uth clo­sed in a tight li­ne.

  "Same pla­ce you went to­night? To Ste­vie's?"

  "I didn't go an­y­w­he­re." He re­ali­zed that was no an­s­wer. "I me­an, I co­uldn't sle­ep. Hell, I just went for a dri­ve. That's all. A dri­ve."

  He jer­ked to his fe­et
and sho­ved thro­ugh the do­or in­to the hall.

  In a mo­ment the sta­irs cre­aked.

  Once aga­in Cra­ig ran away.

  He ap­pe­ared up­set by the at­tem­p­ted ar­son, frig­h­te­ned, shoc­ked at the sug­ges­ti­on he was be­hind it.

  When I'd awa­ke­ned and smel­led ga­so­li­ne, I'd im­me­di­ately be­li­eved it to be Cra­ig's ef­fort to si­len­ce me. v

  But I co­uld simply be a bystan­der. Per­haps the ho­use was to be set ab­la­ze to kill Cra­ig. Cer­ta­inly the per­son who splas­hed the ga­so­li­ne co­uldn't ha­ve known Cra­ig wasn't in his ro­om. Tho­ugh su­rely a mind bent on mur­der wo­uld no­ti­ce the ab­sen­ce of Cra­ig's Por­s­c­he.

  A mind bent on mur­der… I'd tal­ked with all of them now, the men and wo­men who knew Patty Kay Mat thews well eno­ugh to en­ti­ce her in­to her play­ho­use to her de­ath.

  Craig Mat­thews. De­fi­ni­tely un­der the thumb of his strong-wil­led wi­fe. Had he ti­red of Patty Kay's do­mi­na­ti­on? He was in­vol­ved with Ste­vie Cos­tel­lo. Whet­her he wo­uld ad­mit it or not. Did he want both Patty Kay's mo­ney and Ste­vie as his wi­fe? Was the flung-abo­ut che­ese­ca­ke a da­ring ef­fort on his part to ap­pe­ar the vic­tim of a fra­me?

  But was the­re ti­me for him to ar­ri­ve ho­me, sho­ot Patt Kay, trash the kit­c­hen, and be go­ne be­fo­re the po­li­ce ar ri­ved at 5:09?

  Oh, yes. Es­pe­ci­al­ly if he left the bo­ok­s­to­re at a qu­ar­ter to fo­ur-and had a lit­tle help from his gir­l­f­ri­end.

  Stevie wasn't at the sto­re Sa­tur­day af­ter­no­on. She co­uld ha­ve ma­de the calls to Cra­ig and to Amy. Per­haps that was the ca­use of Amy's mur­der. Cer­ta­inly Ste­vie wo­uld ha­ve tri­ed to dis­gu­ise her vo­ice. But so­met­hing-so­me in­to­na­ti­on, so­me phra­se-may ha­ve bet­ra­yed her.

  Stevie's swe­ater co­uld al­so be part of the ela­bo­ra­te

  double bluff. Who'd be dumb eno­ugh to com­mit mur­der and le­ave her swe­ater be­hind? That wo­uld be the de­fen­se cla­im.

  But that wasn't the only pos­si­bi­lity. Cra­ig co­uld be in­no­cent as a lamb, the han­gups for­tu­ito­us, the de­li call ac­tu­al­ly from Patty Kay. A ne­ig­h­bor co­uld ha­ve fo­und Patty Kay's body and ma­de an anon­y­mo­us call that bro­ught the po­li­ce.

  Because the mur­de­rer co­uld be Ste­vie. It wo­uld su­rely be much ni­cer to be mar­ri­ed to Cra­ig than to be his mis­t­ress. And the­re was all that mo­ney Cra­ig wo­uld ha­ve-if Patty Kay di­ed.

  The che­ese­ca­ke? A lit­tle har­der to ima­gi­ne a ra­ti­ona­le he­re. It was su­rely in­ten­ded to in­c­ri­mi­na­te Cra­ig. But Ste­vie might ha­ve be­en a lit­tle too cle­ver. She co­uld ha­ve thrown the ca­ke, con­fi­dent all the whi­le that Cra­ig was at the bo­ok­s­to­re, well ali­bi­ed. Yes, of co­ur­se. Sho­uld she ever co­me un­der sus­pi­ci­on, the ac­cu­sa­ti­on wo­uld be we­ake­ned be­ca­use Ste­vie of all pe­op­le wo­uld not want Cra­ig ar­res­ted.

  Complicated. May­be too com­p­li­ca­ted.

  The swe­ater?

  If Ste­vie and Patty Kay strug­gled, the swe­ater might ha­ve fal­len or be­en pul­led off. It wo­uld be hard for Ste­vie to pick up her swe­ater if it was ste­eped in Patty Kay's blo­od.

  Committing a mur­der co­uld rat­tle even the co­olest he­ad.

  In a way, I was pla­ying a ma­cab­re ga­me of pa­per dolls, slip­ping in pla­ce each ti­me a dif­fe­rent fa­ce for the dolly with the gun.

  Brigit Pi­er­ce?

  So yo­ung and so old at the sa­me ti­me. Al­most a child, de­fi­ni­tely a wo­man. And crazy abo­ut Cra­ig.

  Could that gir­lish in­fa­tu­ati­on for her step­fat­her ha­ve tur­ned to an ugly hat­red if she tho­ught Cra­ig ag­re­ed with

  her mot­her that she sho­uld be sent away to scho­ol? Had Bri­git tri­ed to set the ho­use ab­la­ze to kill Cra­ig? Bri­git hun­ge­red for her step­fat­her's to­uch. Her mot­her had la­ug­hed. Wor­se, Patty Kay had thre­ate­ned to send Bri­git away Yo­ut­h­ful pas­si­ons burn hot and bright with no tho­ught for to­mor­row.

  I'd co­me to li­ke Patty Kay. I ad­mi­red her co­ura­ge, her hu­mor, her com­pe­ti­ti­ve­ness, her bras­h­ness, her re­fu­sal to knuc­k­le un­der to what she be­li­eved to be wrong.

  But she was far from per­fect. She was a wo­man who had be­en unab­le to ima­gi­ne how ot­hers felt. She was so cer­ta­in of her co­ur­se, it didn't oc­cur to her that what se­emed so cle­ar, so ob­vi­o­us, so right to her might be im­pos­sib­le for anot­her to ac­cept.

  Even Des­mond Ma­ri­no, who'd lo­ved Patty Kay, knew that she had a fa­tal lack of per­cep­ti­on. Yes, Des­mond had lo­ved his old fri­end. Un­re­qu­ited lo­ve can turn bit­ter and dan­ge­ro­us. In a twis­ted way, I co­uld see him eager to des­t­roy the man who had the wo­man he wan­ted. Had it gal­led the cle­ver, ebul­li­ent law­yer that Patty Kay was con­tent with a man Des­mond con­si­de­red inef­fec­tu­al? For a highly suc­ces­sful law­yer, Des­mond had mo­un­ted a lac­k­lus­ter de­fen­se for his cli­ent un­til I ar­ri­ved to prod him.

  Gina Ab­bott. Qu­ick, in­ten­se, pas­si­ona­te. She cla­imed she'd qu­ar­re­led with Patty Kay over the lat­ter's li­a­ison with Stu­art. Why sho­uld Gi­na ca­re? Was the true qu­ar­rel over re­zo­ning land? Gi­na saw the re­zo­ning as a tic­ket to col­le­ge for her chil­d­ren. How des­pe­ra­te was she to re­mo­ve Patty Kay's op­po­si­ti­on?

  Brooke For­rest. It was so ter­ribly im­por­tant to Bro­oke to do the right thing. Ap­pe­aran­ces we­re the re­ality to her. She didn't se­em to be ab­le to fo­cus on her fri­end's mur­der as much as the ne­ces­sity for the trus­te­es to cho­ose the

  proper me­mo­ri­al for the de­ad wo­man. An up­si­de-down world vi­ew? ~

  David For­rest. He didn't li­ke Patty Kay. Her dis­re­gard of so­ci­al stan­dar­ds-his so­ci­al stan­dar­ds-de­eply of­fen­ded him. But su­rely the world was full of pe­op­le who of­fen­ded Da­vid For­rest?

  And they we­re qu­ite ali­ve and well.

  Stuart Pi­er­ce. His emo­ti­on over the loss of his for­mer wi­fe se­emed ge­nu­ine. But he might ha­ve grown res­ti­ve sin­ce suc­cum­bing on­ce aga­in to her charm. Had she thre­ate­ned to tell Lo­u­ise abo­ut the­ir re­la­ti­on­s­hip, to ru­in his se­cond mar­ri­age?

  Louise. A smug, sa­tis­fi­ed wo­man, happy with her li­fe. I didn't think she'd stop at an­y­t­hing to pro­tect it.

  Willis and Pa­me­la Gut­h­rie. Both wor­s­hi­ped at mam­mon's shri­ne. They lo­ved things, not pe­op­le. Wo­uld eit­her of them ha­ve be­en wil­ling to des­t­roy Patty Kay's ho­use and its be­a­uti­ful con­tents?

  Chuck Selwyn. Gi­na cal­led the he­ad­mas­ter Mr. Eter­nal Yo­uth. It was hard to se­pa­ra­te him from his up­lif­ting twad­dle. How much of it did he be­li­eve? He tho­ught Wal­den Scho­ol was an Eden. He'd do an­y­t­hing to pro­tect it.

  But how co­uld bur­ning down Patty Kay's ho­use pro­tect his pre­ci­o­us Wal­den Scho­ol?

  Why try to set this ho­use on fi­re?

  I drank de­eply of the cof­fee. That was the im­por­tant qu­es­ti­on.

  Why did so­me­one want this ho­use to burn?

  To sca­re me? To kill me? To kill Cra­ig? But what a hit-and-miss, un­cer­ta­in met­hod of mur­der.

  There was not­hing hit-and-miss abo­ut the gun­s­hots that en­ded Patty Kay's li­fe.

  So why a fi­re?

  To des­t­roy the ho­use.

  That was the ob­vi­o­us, qu­ick, im­me­di­ate an­s­wer.

  Take the ob­vi­o­us an­s­wer first.

  The ho­use, the ho­use-itow co­uld it be a thre­at..

  I sat very still.

  Because the se­ar­c­her hadn't fo­und what he or she so­ught in Patty Kay's of­fi­ce M
on­day af­ter­no­on.

  Yes. Oh, yes.

  That se­arch had be­en so vi­olent, so des­pe­ra­te, so fu­ri­o­us.

  Yes.

  Something in Patty Kay's of­fi­ce…

  The Wal­den Scho­ol fi­les.

  My sho­ul­ders sag­ged. I'd be­en thro­ugh tho­se fi­les thro­ugh them and thro­ugh them.

  Craig lin­ked Patty Kay's un­hap­pi­ness to the fi­les she'd bro­ught ho­me la­te Thur­s­day night.

 

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