by Glen Ebisch
At eight-fifty, Clarissa parked her car several streets away from The Ship Wreck Inn. Staying out of the glow of the streetlights, she walked to the inn, slipping up the side alley behind the building. Rudinski was already waiting at the door, and he whispered a soft hello. At exactly nine o’clock, the back door opened and Sylvia appeared. The usually vague Sylvia’s punctuality was an indication to Clarissa of how seriously she was taking the situation. Putting a finger to her lips, the innkeeper led them up the backstairs to the second floor. Opening the door and peeking down the hall to make sure no one was in the hallway, she led them to their observation room.
“Let’s hope we catch someone or something tonight,” Sylvia said, once the door to the room was closed. “I’d like to be able to start taking bookings again. The fall is a busy season, and I could certainly use the revenue.”
“We’re hoping to have the matter settled shortly,” Officer Rudinski said confidently.
Giving him a doubtful look, Sylvia opened the door, peered around the corner, and disappeared.
“Are you really that confident?” Clarissa asked.
“Let’s just say that I’m hopeful. It’s a good plan, and should work. But I’ve seen lots of good plans fail in this business. And it was my idea, so I’ll be carrying the can if it doesn’t work out.”
“Surely Lieutenant Baker couldn’t blame you if a good plan fails.”
Rudinski smiled. “Somebody always has to take the blame for failure, and usually it’s the guy who had the bright idea in the first place.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It isn’t, but I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of unfairness in your line of work. It isn’t always the bad people who suffer.”
Clarissa nodded. “It sometimes seems that it’s usually the good. That’s one of the hardest things to reconcile with a belief in God. A problem that goes all the way back to the Book of Job.”
“Not to change the subject,” Rudinski said, clearing his throat. “But there’s an Eagles tribute band playing at the pavilion on the boardwalk this Saturday. I have a couple of tickets and wondered if you might like to go. Do you like the music of the seventies?”
“The sixties and seventies both.”
“Sounds like the foundation for a beautiful relationship.”
Clarissa smiled. “It’s a start, but I think it might take a bit more than that.” She frowned. “The thing is, I don’t usually go out on Saturday nights because Sundays are so busy.”
“I promise to get you back early. And what kind of a social life can you have if you never go out on Saturday nights?”
He looked so earnest that she had to laugh. “All right, it’s a date. But I have to be back by eleven. I can’t be falling asleep in the pulpit.”
“Or putting them to sleep in the pews.”
“That, too.”
“Okay, guys. I’m sitting down in the parlor waiting for the ghost,” Ashley’s voice suddenly broke in over the speaker. “I’ll let you know if I spot anything.”
Clarissa and Rudinski gave each other guilty glances for having lost sight of the reason why they were there.
Clarissa pulled the door slightly ajar, so she could make out the door to Ashley’s room. She took out a book she had brought with her and began to read, while the officer checked over his equipment. Clarissa could clearly hear Ashley breathing, a reassuring sound. They sat there without speaking for quite a while, not fully relaxed, waiting for something to happen. Rudinski produced a local newspaper from the pocket of his coat and began to read.
“Keeping up with the area news?” Clarissa asked.
He nodded. “You’d be surprised how important it is to local law enforcement to be aware of what’s happening in town, and not just the crime news. You have to know the name and location of new businesses, who holds what political office, and what issues have got people most riled up. A cop is frequently called upon to moderate disputes, and knowing the local politics is essential.”
“I never thought of that.”
The officer was about to reply when Ashley said, “I’m going to take a little walk around the first floor, just to see if anything is happening.”
“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Clarissa muttered.
Rudinski shrugged. “She’s probably as safe on the move as she in sitting in one spot.”
They sat silently for fifteen minutes waiting for some sign that Ashley was in distress.
“Okay, I’m back in the parlor. No sign of anything happening down here. I’ll give it another ten minutes, then I’m going up to bed. Looks like tonight is another bust.”
“If this plan doesn’t work out, what do we do next?” Clarissa asked.
“I suppose Sylvia will have to close for the rest of the year. Maybe by the time she opens again in the spring, this will all have blown over.”
“I’m not sure she can keep paying the mortgage and taxes with no income from this fall and Christmas season. That’s probably a quarter of her yearly income.”
“And whoever is trying to put her out of business is counting on that.”
“I still don’t know why anyone would want this particular inn so much. There are probably five or six around town already up for sale. Sure, it’s got a good location, but so do some of the others.”
Rudinski nodded. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a license to print money.”
Thy sat silently for several more minutes, staring at the Victorian carpet.
“All right, time for all good little girls with blond wigs to go to bed,” Ashley announced. “I’m heading upstairs.”
There were a couple of moments of silence. “I’m going up the stairs now, still nothing to report.”
Clarissa opened the door slightly wider so she could see the door to Ashley’s room. There was no sign of anyone lurking there.
“I’m at the top of the stairs,” Ashley whispered. “I’m coming down the hall to my room. I’ve got the key in the lock and opening the door.”
Clarissa saw Ashley standing by her door. Suddenly there was a blur of movement.
“Wha!” Ashley exclaimed.
Clarissa pulled open the door and charged down the hall. In the shadowy hallway all she could see was a tall person in a uniform struggling with someone in Ashley’s doorway. Clarissa drew nearer and was about to tackle the figure when she was vaguely aware of motion to her right side. Something slammed into her, and her head jerked to the side, striking hard into the heavy wood frame of a doorway. Everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Slowly Clarissa became aware of the world around her. Her face was wet. She wondered where the water was coming from. She reached up to touch her face, and her hand came away covered with blood. She tried to stand up, but her knees were weak and she found herself leaning against the wall. Her eyes came back into clear focus, and she saw that right across the hall from her Ashley had Denise pinned to the floor and was slapping her hard across the face.
“If my friend is hurt, you’re going to pay,” Ashley shouted.
Denise tried to buck her off, but Ashley held her position and only slapped her harder. Clarissa wanted to tell her to stop, but her voice didn’t seem to work. She pushed herself off the wall and saw that further down the hall Officer Rudinski had the tall figure in uniform pushed face first against the wall, and he was handcuffing him.
“Get down here, Rudinski!” Ashley shouted. “Clarissa is hurt.”
The office pulled his prisoner by the handcuffs down the hall to where Clarissa stood. He stared at her, and she could see the shock and concern in his eyes. He even let go of his prisoner momentarily, and grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Clarissa, backup is on the way, and I’ve already called for an ambulance.”
She glanced at the tall man, his beard had been pulled away and she recognized the face.
“You’re Dave the bartender from the Slipped Anchor Bar,” she muttered. She grabbed Rudinski by the arm. �
��Find out what he knows about Sam Cryer’s murder. These crimes have to be linked.”
Rudinski looked confused for a moment then he nodded. “Sure I will. And don’t worry; you’re going to be fine.”
“Of course I am,” Clarissa said, as she slid down the wall and lost consciousness again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning Clarissa was in the police station with Ashley and Andrew. She had spent several hours in intensive care getting her head wound stitched up. A surgical bandage now covered the sutures. Her forehead itched, and she made a conscious effort not to scratch it. The doctor had told her that head wounds always bled profusely, so she shouldn’t be very concerned about the blood loss. He did warn her, however, that the injury would probably leave a small scar, but a cosmetic surgeon could always take care of it. After that, she had been kept under observation for what little remained of the night to make sure she didn’t have a concussion. She was only able to leave the hospital right after breakfast by calling Lieutenant Baker and having him send Officer Rudinski to get her released. When Clarissa found out they were about to question the suspects, she insisted on being taken directly to the station, even though she’d had next to no sleep and felt shaky.
Rudinski spent much of the ride over apologizing for allowing Clarissa to get hurt, until finally she had said rather testily that it was her own fault for running out of the room ahead of him when she saw Ashley being attacked. And there really wasn’t that much harm done. Rudinski nodded, but continued to look miserable.
When she arrived at the station, Andrew and Ashley expressed concern over her injury, but she brushed it off as inconsequential. Lieutenant Baker said that they were about to question Dave Connors, the bartender at the Slipped Anchor, who was also apparently moonlighting as the ghost of Captain Boudreau.
“Make sure you press him hard on a connection between Sam’s death and the scheme to get Sylvia’s inn. I think Sam found out about it, and Dave killed him,” Clarissa said. “Remember, Sam asked Ricardo, his boss in the kitchen, if it was ever right to squeal on someone. I think he was talking about Dave.”
“I’ll be sure to follow up on that,” Baker said. He studied the three of them. “Although it’s somewhat unusual to have civilians observe an interview, I’ve invited you here because you’re all involved in one of these cases in some way. Ashley admirably performed undercover duties in the Captain Boudreau case, so I think she deserves to be in on the conclusion. Clarissa, you’ve been involved in investigating both cases, and Andrew, you’re the lawyer for the accused in the Sam Cryer murder. If the two cases are linked, you should be here.”
“I appreciate being included,” Andrew said.
Baker led them down the hall and into a small room with a large window along one wall.
“This is the other side of a two-way mirror. You’ll be able to see who’s in there, but they can’t see you. But keep the noise down, the soundproofing isn’t what it should be.”
The three of them stood in front of the window and watched. A uniformed officer led Dave Connors into the room and stayed with him until the Lieutenant and Officer Rudinski entered. Baker had told them that Connors had waived his right to a lawyer.
After the preliminaries were completed, Baker gave Dave Connor a long, hard look.
“So can you explain to us why you were assaulting people at The Ship Wreck Inn while dressed up like a nineteenth century sea captain?”
Dave licked his lips. “I never intended to hurt anyone. I just pushed a couple of people and knocked on a few doors.”
“Pushing people is still assault, and you broke into the Inn.”
“No, I didn’t. Denise let me in.”
“So she was your partner in crime.”
He nodded. “She scoped things out and got me into the Inn.”
“What was she scoping out?” asked Baker.
“The antiques at the Inn. She owns an antique store and is an expert on nineteenth century stuff. That’s why we started all this. We were trying to get Sylvia to sell the inn cheap, then we planned to buy it, strip it of all the antiques, and sell it again.”
“How did you know the antiques were there?”
“My Uncle Ed told me. He visited the inn and looked around. He knows a lot about that stuff. He happened to mention to me that it held a fortune in antiques, and Sylvia wasn’t even aware of it.”
“Ed Schyler is your uncle?”
“Yeah.”
“Was he aware of your scheme?”
Dave hung his head. “He knew nothing about it, and he’ll be furious. Now I’ll probably lose my job as bartender.”
“And probably go to jail.”
Dave looked like he was about to cry. “All we wanted to do was make a little money. No one was going to be hurt.”
“Except for Sylvia,” Rudinski said.
Dave didn’t answer.
“How did you know Denise Lambson?”
“We met at a bar. When she told me she owned an antiques store in addition to being a librarian, I got her phone number and kept her in mind because I already knew from Uncle Ed about The Ship Wreck Inn.”
“So you put this scheme together in your mind and then got in touch with her?”
He nodded. “I could tell that Denise liked me. Women often do,” he said with a slightly embarrassed smile. “So I thought I could talk her into it. She agreed readily enough. Denise was going to look around the inn, and make an estimate of what everything was worth. She would slip me in at night, and I would scare the guests. It seemed like a good plan. Sylvia would have to sell, and we’d buy the place through a third party and no one would even know we owned it. Then we’d sell all the antiques. Denise said they’re worth at least a half-million. Eventually we’d sell the inn, and make a tidy profit.”
“Sounds like a great plan,” Lieutenant Baker said. “How did Sam Cryer find out about it?”
“What?” Dave said, looking puzzled. “Sam had nothing to do with this.”
“Didn’t he find out about your scheme and threaten to turn you in either to the police or your uncle so you killed him?”
“No, no. I had nothing to do with Sam’s death. And there’s no way he could have found out about it. I made sure that no one at the bar knew because it would have gotten back to my uncle.”
“But despite your best efforts, somehow Sam found out, didn’t he?”
Dave clenched his fists. “Look, I was tending bar until ten o’clock the night Sam died. Lots of people were there and can testify that I never left the room. I don’t know what happened to Sam, but it has nothing to do with me.”
“We’ll go over to the bar today and have a long talk with the staff and speak with some customers tonight. If anyone remembers your leaving the bar that night, even for a few minutes, we’ll throw the book at you. It will go easier on you if you tell us now.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not going to confess to anything I didn’t do. And now I want a lawyer.”
The interview was terminated, and an officer led Dave out of the room. A few minutes later, the same officer brought Denise Lambson into the room. She looked bedraggled and her face was swollen as if she had been crying.
“Well, Ms. Lambson, we’ve just had a chat with Mr. Connors, and he’s filled us in on your little scheme to get the inn and strip it of its antiques.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong. He asked me to provide him with an estimate of what was there, and that’s what I did. There’s nothing illegal in that.”
“You also allowed an intruder into the inn at night.”
“He came to see me. We’re romantically involved. I suppose I was wrong to let him in, but people do that sort of thing all the time.”
The Lieutenant gave her a skeptical look. “According to Mr. Connors, you were interested in him, but he wasn’t interested in you at all, except as a means to make some money.”
Denise blushed. “I never hurt anyone. That was all Dave. He was th
e one trying to scare people. I didn’t have any part of that. I was just there to evaluate antiques.”
“But that isn’t exactly true, is it? You attacked Pastor Abbot last night.”
“I didn’t know it was her. I just saw someone trying to stop Dave from getting away.”
“That would be Dave when he was in the act of attacking Ashley Reynolds, who surprised him by grabbing on to his leg so he couldn’t escape.”
Next to her, Clarissa saw Ashley grin.
Denise shook her head. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let Dave get caught.” She paused for a moment. “Was the pastor hurt?”
“She suffered a head wound that required stitches.”
“Well, I’m really sorry about that.”
“Not so sorry that you stopped to see how she was after plowing into her. In fact you would have escaped if Ms. Reynolds hadn’t detained you until the police arrived.”
“Detained! She was on sitting top of me and hitting me. I’m the one who should be filing assault charges.”
“I’m afraid we have no record of that attack,” the Lieutenant said coolly.
Denise paused and glanced around the room as if looking for a way out. “Look, will you go easier on me if I tell you everything I know about Dave’s plan?”
The Lieutenant smiled and shook his head. “Oh, we’ve already got a pretty good understanding of that. But if you could tell us how he came to kill Sam Cryer, we might be able to reach a deal.”
“Whoa! I don’t know anything about that,” the woman said, sliding her chair back from the table. “If Dave killed anybody, it has nothing to do with me.”
“If you were part of a crime where your partner killed someone, you can be charged as well.”
She seemed to shrink inside herself for a moment. “There’s nothing I can tell you about any murder. Believe me, I would if I could.”
“Dave didn’t tell you that Sam had found out about your scheme and threatened to talk so he had to shut him up?”
“No. I knew nothing about that boy’s death until I read about it in the papers.”