The Hot Pink Farmhouse bam-2

by David Handler

  “I think Ronnie might be getting into something that he’ll be real sorry about when he’s old enough to know better.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Ronnie-he’s way smart.”

  “I know he is. I’m just trying to help. That’s my job.”

  “I thought your job was to bust people.”

  “That’s only when I fail. I’m just like a fireman, okay? Sure, I know how to put out fires. But what I really want to do is prevent those fires from ever getting lit. Understand what I’m saying?”

  He shook his head at her. “You’re still the law.”

  “I’m somebody who you can talk to about things,” Des persisted, handing him one of her cards. “You have a problem, call me anytime, twenty-four seven.”

  He pocketed it without comment. “My dad gave me money for dinner.”

  “Your money’s no good here. When I ask a man to dinner, I pick up the tab.” After she’d paid it and said good night to Sandy, they headed back outside together. “Yeah, I think I’d better go have myself a talk with Ronnie.”

  “No, don’t!” Ricky pleaded. “He’ll pound me.”

  It was a crisp, starlit evening. Des stood there by her cruiser, inhaling the fresh sea air and waiting the little tough guy out.

  “What if I tell you a secret?” he finally offered. “Will you stay away from him then?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “Something he told me. But you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”

  “I can’t do that, Ricky. I’d be lying to you if I said I could. What I can do is promise not to tell anyone where I heard it. And I’ll do my best to keep Ronnie’s name free of it. But I have to know what it is.”

  Ricky thought this over carefully as they got back in the car. Then he took a deep breath and told her Ronnie’s secret.

  Town hall was buzzing that evening. Lights blazing all over the building. The WE CARE leaders were holding a strategy session in the upstairs meeting room. The Planning Commission was having its monthly meeting in the main conference room. And the Major Crimes Squad was working the Moose Frye murder in the spare conference room.

  Soave had not been happy when Des phoned him with her news. He wanted to see her right away. Tommy was out following up on it when she got there.

  He was alone in the makeshift office, sipping take-out coffee and fuming. “I thought you weren’t going to butt into my case, Des.”

  “Don’t be a chump, Rico,” she responded coolly. “I came into information pertinent to your investigation and I reported it directly to you. If I were trying to butt in, I would have run with it on my own.”

  “Okay, that’s true,” he admitted grudgingly. “But, damn it, I’ve already got Jim Bolan all sewn up.”

  “Maybe so. Then again, maybe you ought to be keeping your mind open.”

  “Stop lecturing me, will ya?”

  “I can’t help it. I changed your diapers-once a mother, always a mother.”

  Tommy came walking in now with Dirk Doughty in tow. Ben Leanse’s baseball tutor seemed composed and calm.

  “Thanks for coming by, Mr. Doughty,” Soave said to him.

  “Not a problem. Your sergeant said it was important.”

  Bringing Dirk to town hall had been Des’s idea, actually. Soave had been all for bracing him in the lounge of the Frederick House. But people would talk about it, and she didn’t feel that would be fair to him. In a place like Dorset, it was important to tread lightly on someone’s reputation.

  Dirk was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. On his head was a bright-blue DOUGHTY’S ALL-STARS baseball cap. He turned a wooden desk chair around backward and sat, his big arms folded imposingly before him. Dirk still possessed the effortless physical confidence of a professional athlete. It was the kind of animal self-assurance that Soave sought to achieve with all his weight lifting. And failed at.

  “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Doughty,” he began, pacing back and forth in front of him. Tommy remained in the doorway, watching impassively. “We came into some information this evening from a local individual who likes to scope out the Frederick House’s parking lot in the middle of the night. If any of the guests leave their cars unlocked, he takes whatever he can find.”

  “I haven’t had anything stolen, Lieutenant,” Dirk said.

  “This individual spotted Takai Frye’s red Porsche parked halfway down the block from the inn late last night,” Soave went on. “What’s more, Trooper Mitry claims she’s been hearing a couple going at it up on the third floor in the wee hours. According to the inn’s registry, Mr. Doughty, your room is on the third floor.”

  Dirk looked at Des curiously. “You figured that was me?”

  She didn’t respond. It was Rico’s interrogation.

  Dirk took a stick of sugarless gum out of the back pocket of his jeans, slowly unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. “I only wish it was,” he said, his jaw muscles going to work on it. “I’ve been hearing them myself, and they sound like they’re having themselves one hell of a time. But I’m a married man, Lieutenant. My wife Laurie is in Toledo-”

  “And you’re here,” Soave said roughly. “Cards on the table, Mr. Doughty-were you seeing Moose Frye romantically?”

  “No, I was not,” he answered forthrightly. “And that’s the truth.”

  “What about her sister, Takai? Are you mixed up with her?”

  “Not hardly.” Dirk’s weathered face tightened. “Not anymore.”

  Soave frowned at him. “Are you telling me you used to be?”

  Dirk let out a laugh. “I used to be married to her. Takai was my first wife.”

  Des drew her breath in, stunned. Wheels within wheels-that was life in Dorset. How long would she have to live in this place before she’d comprehend its tricky little ins and outs? Ten years, twenty years, ever?

  “I’m talking ancient history here,” Dirk added as explanation. “We were just kids. I was twenty. She was barely out of high school. Mind you, Moose was the one who I dated when we were growing up, not Takai. Moose was my high school sweetheart, I guess you could say.”

  “Well, was she or wasn’t she?” Soave asked him irritably.

  “We were friends,” he answered carefully. “Good, close friends. But we didn’t… she wasn’t ready for anything more than that.”

  “And Takai was?”

  “Takai was a runway model in New York when she was sixteen. That girl slept with whoever she wanted. Not that she ever wanted Dirk Doughty, star of the Dorset High Fighting Pilgrims. Not until I was a bonus baby with money in my pocket. Suddenly, I intrigued her. So she decided to steal me away from her big sister. That’s the kind of person she is. And I let her steal me away. That’s the kind of person I was. Not that I was very proud of myself. But, believe me, it’s hard to be a healthy young male and have a gorgeous creature like that coming after you.” Dirk trailed off into regretful silence, his jaw working on the gum. “Moose never forgave me. I couldn’t blame her. I treated her badly, and I was never man enough to apologize to her. I wish I had, because now I’ll never get the chance.”

  Des cleared her throat. “Lieutenant, if I may…?”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” he growled, smoothing his see-through mustache.

  She remained seated. She’d never been a pacer. “It was Moose Frye who recommended you to the Leanses for tutoring Ben. Did you know that?”

  Dirk’s eyes widened with surprise. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t see her when you got back to town?”

  Dirk shook his head. “Babette just said she got my name from a-a friend.” He broke off, swallowing. He seemed genuinely moved. “Thank you for telling me that. It’s nice to know.”

  “How would you describe your relationship with Takai these days?”

  “That’s easy,” he replied. “We don’t have one.”

  Nonetheless, someone might have thought they did-seen her car parked near the inn, figured she was visiting Dirk and went af
ter her in a jealous rage, taking out Moose by mistake. It certainly played. And Takai certainly had a way of stirring men up. “You mentioned an ex-wife when we spoke yesterday,” she went on. “You said she cleaned you out of your signing bonus when you divorced. That was Takai?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you share that with me?”

  “I don’t air my dirty laundry.”

  “What happened to your marriage?”

  “The accident happened,” he said quietly. “She was behind the wheel when I blew out my elbow. We were coming home from a New Year’s Eve party here in town. It was a cold, cold night. There was ice on the road, and she was driving too fast. She always drove too fast. Flipped us into a ditch up on Route 156. She didn’t have a scratch on her. I needed two operations to put my elbow back together. She got tired of me sitting around the house with my arm in a sling. We lasted eighteen months.”

  “Sounds to me like she ruined your career,” Soave spoke up pointedly.

  “I might have been a star if it hadn’t been for that,” Dirk admitted. “Then again, I might not have. I don’t let myself go there. Nothing good comes from that woulda-coulda stuff. Pain is mandatory. Suffering is optional. You have to move on. Takai sure did. Soon as she realized I wasn’t going to make it to the show, I was of zero use to her. I soon discovered she was no longer being faithful to me. Had herself a string of men, some of them married men. And we were history.”

  “And it’s been eating away at your guts for years, hasn’t it?” demanded Soave, moving in on him. “She ruined your baseball career, slept around on you, made a fool out of you…”

  Dirk refused to be baited. “Look, man, I know where you’re trying to go with this. But I didn’t try to kill her. And that’s the truth.”

  Des said, “Dirk, you told me that being back here was giving you a chance to catch up with some old friends. Who did you mean exactly?”

  “Well, Timmy Keefe,” Dirk responded, as Soave resumed pacing. “He was my best friend growing up. We’re like brothers. And his wife, Debbie, is my cousin. She’s the only real family I have left around here. I’ve been up to their place for dinner a few times since I’ve been here. Timmy and me took out his Boston Whaler Sunday. He’s got a few lobster pots. We cleaned them out. Had ourselves one mean feast when we got home.”

  “Tim’s been fixing up my house,” Des said.

  “Yeah, he told me. You’ll be real pleased with how it turns out. Timmy never cuts corners. He may take a little longer than some of the others, but it’ll be worth it.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Des knew no such thing, although she sure did know about the taking longer part.

  “He’s been trying to get me to come in with him for years,” Dirk said. “Buying places and fixing them up together. Plenty of money to be made, if you’re good with a hammer and have some capital. Laurie and me have talked about it, too. But her family’s in Toledo. She’s got a real support network there. And a good job with a regional bank. Still, I’m not getting any younger,” he added wistfully. “And I’m away from home an awful lot. That gets old fast.”

  “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts at five-twenty this morning?” Soave asked him.

  Dirk shook his head. “I was asleep in bed-alone. I don’t fool around on Laurie. I had me a lot of seasons on the circuit. And a whole lot of girls. But I made a promise to myself that when I settled down with the right one I’d give all of that up. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in four years either. A lot of peace of mind comes with that. I sleep soundly at night.”

  “Yet you don’t wear a wedding ring,” Des observed, her eyes falling on his meaty ex-catcher’s hands. “Why is that?”

  Dirk’s face broke into a broad grin. “Can’t grip a bat-especially an aluminum one.” He reached inside the collar of his sweatshirt and pulled out the gold chain he wore around his neck. His wedding ring was suspended from it. “I keep it right here.”

  “Let’s talk about Bruce Leanse,” she suggested, shifting gears on him.

  Dirk immediately chilled. “What about him?”

  “You gave him a decidedly nasty look when I was there yesterday. What was that about?”

  “I’d rather not say,” he replied, lowering his eyes.

  “We have zero time for crap, Doughty,” Soave said harshly, his chest puffing out. “Give it up right now or you’re on your way to Meriden for formal questioning.”

  Dirk remained stubbornly silent.

  “Does it have anything to do with him and Takai being romantically involved?” Des asked him.

  Dirk drew back, narrowing his eyes at her. “No way to keep a secret in Dorset, is there?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” she responded. “Moose sure managed.”

  “Takai’s up to her old tricks,” he disclosed reluctantly. “I don’t like it. Don’t like to see her messing up another marriage. Ben’s a nice, nice boy. And Babette’s one tough lady, but she’s a good mom and she genuinely cares about that lying bastard. Those two deserve better than what he and Takai are doing to them.”

  Soave moved in on Dirk again. “You didn’t try to rescue that family, did you?”

  “I didn’t shoot anyone,” Dirk said patiently.

  “Any chance that Bruce was seeing both sisters?” Soave pressed.

  “Moose was no home-wrecker.”

  “And yet, she was visiting someone on the third floor of the Frederick House just prior to her death, correct?”

  Dirk shrugged his broad shoulders. “Certainly sounds that way.”

  “And you’re trying to tell us it wasn’t you?”

  Dirk looked Soave right in the eye, his gaze steady and unwavering. “I am.”

  “Do you actually expect us to believe you?”

  “I do,” Dirk said, refusing to be shaken from his story.

  Des found herself believing him. Even though it absolutely did not add up. Not at all. Because, damn it, they’d checked the inn’s registry. And they knew who else besides Dirk had been staying up on the third floor. And if it wasn’t Dirk who Moose was mixed up with, then, well, this case was getting more whacked by the minute.

  In fact, it made absolutely no sense at all.

  “Yo, this is just like old times,” Soave remarked as Des steered her cruiser down the Old Shore Road toward Smith Neck Cove. He rode shotgun. Tommy was running Dirk back to the inn. “You and me going out on a call together, huh?”

  “Don’t let Tommy hear you say that. He’ll think you miss me.”

  “I do miss you, Des. Geez, I thought I made that awful clear

  …” Now the man sounded hurt. He was still pouting over her stinging rebuke in the art academy lounge. “We worked good together. Our minds meshed. Plus you notice things quicker than I do.”

  “Only because I’m a woman.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Women listen. Men are too busy strutting around, trying to impress people.”

  “I miss working with you, Des.”

  “Rico, you’re a day late and a dollar short,” she said to him coldly.

  He fell into troubled silence for a moment. “The thing is, I had my whole future to think of.”

  “Yeah, you made that pretty clear at the time.”

  “No, you don’t understand! Hear me out, will ya? I was under a ton of pressure from up above to stick with my boys.” He was referring to the Brass City crew-his brother, his uncle, the whole lot of them. “They watch out for me, Des. I need that. I need them. I’m nowhere on my own. And you…”

  “I was a lone wolf. Say no more.”

  “If I had it to do all over again, I would have protected you better. I owed you that. I realize it now.”

  Des kept her eyes on the road. “We all do what we have to do,” she said grudgingly.

  “I realize that, too. But tell me this-why do I still feel so lousy about it?”

  “You’re picking at your own scabs, Rico. I can’t help you.”
<
br />   He peered at her intently from across the seat. “You’re a hard woman, Des.”

  “I have to be. If you want soft, call Tammy.”

  “It’s Tawny!”

  Along with her family’s thriving art gallery, Greta Patterson had inherited a sprawling Cape Cod-style cottage out at the end of Smith Neck Cove. Its half-mile-long private driveway was flanked by vineyards. Going into the entry hall, where Greta greeted them, was practically like walking in the front door of an art museum. Paintings lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Landscapes, mostly, many of them by Wendell Frye’s father and grandfather. One of Hangtown’s own sculptures was featured prominently in the entryway, a tower comprised of old beauty-salon hair dryers, toasters, television sets and the front end of a 1957 T-Bird.

  Greta’s wide-bodied frame was covered in a caftan of purple silk lined with gold brocade. She wore a pair of black velvet lounging slippers on her feet and an extremely guarded expression on her square, blotchy face. Her mouth was freshly painted a garish red. In one hand she was clutching a long-stemmed goblet of red wine. She was drinking alone-her husband was nowhere to be seen. “May I offer you folks a taste of mine own merlot?” she asked them.

  “You folks produce your own wine here?” Soave asked her, awestruck, after they’d politely declined her offer.

  “Well, I’m getting there,” she replied huskily. “The vines are starting to yield grapes of genuine depth and subtlety.” She held her goblet up to the light, the better to admire its color. “There’s a cooperative winery in operation in Stonington that I belong to, although I am by no means a winemaker myself. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “Nothing to it,” Soave said, grinning at her. “You just got to be Italian-my grandfather used to make it in his bathtub.”

  Des, for her part, was thinking about how many times Greta had used the word I instead of we.

  She led them into the living room, where there were more paintings, a well-stocked bar, a roaring fire. Also a gold-inlaid Browning twelve-gauge shotgun in an ornate glass case. Des’s eyes fell right on that.

  So did Soave’s. “Who’s the shooter?” he asked Greta.

  “I am. Colin hates guns.”