Debra Burroughs - Paradise Valley 06 - The Harbor of Lies

by Debra Burroughs

  “So, you’re saying this quaint little fishing village has a seedy underbelly?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a seedy underbelly, Detective, but we have been experiencing a problem with,” he paused and cleared his throat, “with heroin.”

  “Heroin? Here?” Colin would never have guessed. The place was so picturesque.

  “Every town has a bit of a bad element.” The chief took a seat again. “I figure the drug addicts are burglarizing homes to sell the stuff to pay for their habit.”

  The phone on his desk buzzed and his receptionist’s voice came over the speaker. “Call on line two, Chief. It’s the medical examiner.”

  He grabbed up the receiver and punched the button to answer it. “This is Chief Taylor.” He listened while the person on the other end of the line spoke. “I see. All right. So what is his name?”

  The chief scribbled something on a small notepad. “Thanks, Doc.” He hung up the phone then, with two fingers, spun the notepad to face Colin.

  “Benjamin Kingston,” Colin read aloud. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Chief Taylor entered the name into the computer, and it spit out all kinds of information—criminal history, last known address, known associates, and the like. He then did a search for Benjamin Kingston’s financial history, but it didn’t garner much information. A checking account in New York that hadn’t had much traffic in the last six months, which was about the time the man had come to Rock Harbor.

  “Any family, so you can notify them of his death?” Colin asked.

  “Nothing listed.”

  “Google him, see what comes up.” Colin moved around the desk to see the computer screen.

  Chief Taylor punched his name into the search box and hit enter. After a number of links to news stories popped up, he clicked on one of them and scanned the article. “Looks like he was a witness in some RICO case in New York. He was set to testify against some big muckety-muck, but then he disappeared.”

  Colin leaned in and glanced over the article. “Maybe that’s who he was hiding from.”

  “And the kingpin’s hired gun may have found where Ben was hiding out.”

  “I have a friend in the New York City Police Department.”

  “Of course you do,” Chief Taylor mumbled.

  “Why don’t I give him a call and see what he can tell us?” Colin pulled out his phone and made the call.

  The chief stared at the computer screen, listening to Colin’s side of the conversation until he hung up. “Any luck?”

  “Not right off.” Colin slipped the phone back in his pocket. “He’ll check into it and get back to me.”

  “I wonder how Ben got Pastor Jansen to hire him if he wasn’t a minister.” The chief rubbed a hand over his chin.

  “Why don’t we go pay him a visit and find out?” Colin suggested.

  “I’ll get my coat.”

  Chapter 8

  An older woman escorted Chief Taylor and Colin into Pastor Jansen’s office.

  “Good to see you, Chief.”

  “This is Detective Colin Andrews. He’s assisting me on a case.”

  “Detective.” Pastor Jansen shook Colin’s hand. “Have a seat, gentlemen.” He motioned to the two chairs opposite his desk.

  He was a tall, thin man, in his forties, with thick, wavy dark hair, graying at the temples. “What can I do for you?” he asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  “From the way your young secretary was crying out there, I’m assuming you’ve probably heard by now that Pastor Ben was killed last night,” the chief said as he and Colin took their seats.

  “We’ve heard.” The pastor nodded as he sat down in a large leather chair behind his desk. “Poor Whitley. She worked closely with Pastor Ben. She’s taking it hard—we all are. Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

  “Not yet. That’s why we’re here,” Chief Taylor said.

  Colin leaned forward in his chair. “What can you tell us about him?”

  “Like what?”

  “Does he have any family in the area? Did you know of anyone he might have had a beef with?”

  “No family around here that I know of. He might have had some in New Hampshire, I think that’s where he was from, before moving here—at least that’s what it said on his resume. As far as anyone he might have had a problem with? No. As far as I know, everyone liked him. His methods were a bit unorthodox, but he was charming and friendly, and the townspeople seemed to really take to him.”

  “A bit unorthodox?” Colin asked.

  “Irreverent sometimes.”

  “So why did you hire him?”

  “He came highly recommended by Mayor McCormack.”

  “Ella?” Chief Taylor wore a quizzical expression. “She recommended him?”

  The chief glanced at Colin, as if he seemed to be thinking the same thing Colin was. Why would the mayor recommend someone who was clearly not who he was pretending to be?

  “There were other candidates,” the pastor said, “but Ella applied considerable pressure, practically pleading with me to hire him. With her being the mayor and all, I told her I’d give him a trial period. We needed the extra help with all the growth the church has had, and like I said, the whole town seemed to warm to him. Ben was staying at her bed and breakfast, you know. Perhaps you should go talk to her.”

  Colin and Chief Taylor stood. “Thanks for your time,” the chief said. “I think we’ll just go on over and pay a visit to Miss Ella.”

  “By the way,” Colin said, “where were you between six and eight o’clock last night?”

  The pastor breathed a laugh. “You think I murdered someone? I’m a pastor.”

  “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, sir, but anyone is capable under the right circumstances,” Colin said.

  “Last night I was home with my wife and kids. They’ll verify.”

  The chief appeared a bit embarrassed at Colin’s questioning the minister. “Sorry, but we have to ask everyone. Not that we would ever think…well, you know.”

  “I understand.” The pastor rose and shook the men’s hands before ushering them out to the reception area. As Colin walked past the secretary’s desk, he paused. “Miss—”

  “Whitley. Whitley Donovan.” Her pale green eyes were moist and rimmed with red.

  “We’re investigating Pastor Ben’s murder,” Colin said.

  The young woman looked up into Colin’s face, tears began to flood her eyes. She turned away and pulled a handful of tissue from the box sitting on the corner of her desk. She dabbed the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about Pastor Ben that would help us solve his murder? Anyone who might want him dead?”

  Continuing to avert her eyes, she shook her head, her shoulders quaking as she wept into the tissue.

  The chief pulled another tissue from the box and handed it to her. “Whitley,” his voice was soft, “if you think of anything, you know where to find me.”

  She nodded her agreement, still not looking at them.

  The chief motioned to Colin to keep moving out the door.

  “Sorry, Miss Donovan, but I have to ask,” Colin said, ignoring the chief’s suggestion. “Where were you between six and eight o’clock last night?”

  With her eyes lowered, tears trickled down her cheeks. “I was at home.”

  “Is there anyone that can verify that?” Colin asked.

  “Just my cat.” Her voice trembled with sadness, her eyes continuing to avoid his. “You can’t think I had anything to do with Ben’s death.”

  The chief laid a hand briefly on her shoulder. “Sorry, Whit, we had to ask.”

  Once they were outside, Colin stopped and turned to the chief. “What did you make of that?”

  “Sounded to me like neither of them knew anything. Why do you ask?”

  “I think there’s something she’s not telling us.” Colin only had a feeling about her, but when someone wouldn’t loo
k him in the eye, there was usually a reason.

  “How do you figure?”

  “She wouldn’t make eye contact. There’s something fishy about that.”

  ~*~

  “Simple, Susan,” Emily repeated. “I don’t want anything fancy.”

  The two women stood on the grassy area where the ceremony would take place.

  “But, Emily,” Susan argued, “flowers are one of the only decorations we can have out on the lawn to make it festive. Otherwise it’ll be so boring. And the photos won’t look that great either.”

  “Photos? You mean you lined up a photographer?” She hadn’t thought of that in the last-minute rush of details to get the wedding party, and guests, to Maine.

  “Of course, Sis. This is what I do—I’m the wedding coordinator, remember?”

  “Sorry,” Emily apologized, rubbing a couple of fingers against her right temple. “I appreciate that. My mind is kind of a blur. This wedding is happening so fast, and my body is trying to catch up with all the time zones. Then, falling on a dead body and getting his blood all over me didn’t help. And with Evan—”

  She hadn’t meant to actually say that last part to her sister, it just slipped out. Susan had never been fond of Emily marrying Evan, believing he was too old and worldly for her young naïve sister. If Susan knew he was weighing on Emily’s mind as she was about to say I do to Colin, well, she didn’t want to hear what Susan would have to say about that.

  “Evan?” Susan’s eyebrows wrinkled as her expression turned perplexed. “Don’t you mean Colin? Because you certainly don’t want your husband-to-be to think you’re confusing him with your first husband.”

  “Yeah, that could be bad.” Emily gave a little laugh. That wasn’t what she meant, but it was probably better to let Susan think it was.

  Emily’s phone jangled in her purse and she rummaged around inside of it, tugging the cell out. She smiled when she saw it was Colin, glad for the diversion from her sister’s prying questions. “Hello. How’s the investigation going?”

  “Haven’t turned up anything yet.” Colin filled her in on how things went at the church. “I think the secretary is hiding something, but she seems pretty closed off.”

  “Maybe she’d open up to another woman,” Emily proposed. “What’s her name?”

  “Whitley. You want to give it a try?”

  “Can’t right now. I’m still with Susan, talking about the flowers and things.”

  “We’re heading over to the boarding house where our victim was staying to see what we can dig up there. Then I’ll be back to the inn. Alex and Isabel should have returned from their hike by then. Maybe we’ll get in a round of golf before dark.”

  “That would be wonderful. As much as I like the thought of catching this bad guy, I want you to have fun while you’re here. You know what they say, all work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy.”

  “Who’s Jack?” Colin laughed. “All right, Babe, I get it. I’ll check in with you before we head out.”

  Emily and Susan stepped back inside the inn and continued talking. Loud voices drew Emily’s attention to the check-in desk where the manager stood, dressed in a stylish black suit and tie, arguing with a stocky man with dark wavy hair and a mustache, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. Susan’s head whipped around as well.

  Soon after, the burly man stomped off. The manager came around from behind the desk, straightening his tie and glancing around the lobby, as if checking if anyone witnessed their exchange.

  “I wonder what that was about,” Susan mused, dragging her gaze away from the manager, bringing it back to Emily.

  A young woman with long, auburn hair entered through the front doors and headed toward the desk. Susan prattled on, but Emily watched as the young woman leaned her elbows on the counter and appeared to be quarreling with the manager as well, although, they were doing a better job of keeping their voices down.

  “Who’s that?” Emily asked in a low voice.

  “That’s Pastor Ben’s secretary, Whitley,” Susan replied. “Or, at least, she was.”

  “Whitley?” That was the name Colin had given her. Emily watched as the young woman whirled away and hurried back out the doors.

  “Can you excuse me for a minute?” Emily asked her sister, backing toward the french doors. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Emily.”

  Susan called after her, but Emily had to try to talk to the girl and pushed through the doors. Once outside, she glanced around for Whitley and spotted her walking briskly down the driveway toward Main Street. Emily rushed after her. “Whitley!”

  The woman stopped and turned toward the sound of her name.

  Emily pulled to an abrupt stop, huffing a little from the run.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Whitley asked.

  “No, you don’t.” Emily drew a deep breath. “I’m helping Chief Taylor figure out who murdered Pastor Ben.”

  Whitley’s eyes moistened at the mention of it.

  “I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

  “Questions?” Whitley’s gaze flew around the area, as if she wanted to make sure no one was watching. “I don’t know anything.”

  “You were pretty close to him, weren’t you? You and Pastor Ben, I mean.”

  “What are you inferring?” Her eyes rounded. “Ben was a gentleman and he—”

  “You worked for the man, right?”

  “Yes, but I thought you meant…uh…no, I don’t know anything of importance. I’ve got to get back to work, I’m only on a break.” Whitley turned and began walking away again, but Emily stayed with her.

  “Was there anyone you can think of that would have wanted to harm him?”

  Whitley stopped and faced Emily. “He was kind and thoughtful. He listened to your problems and didn’t judge. Everybody loved him. Everybody.” Tears came to her eyes and she blinked hard a few times.

  Had she been in love with him? It almost seemed that way.

  “I’d like to hear more about him. It might help find his killer.”

  Whitley shook her head. “I don’t know anything else.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice you arguing with the manager back at the inn. Did that have anything to do with Ben Kinney?”

  “No. I work there part-time and I told him I couldn’t work for him anymore. He was irritated I was giving him such short notice because I’m on the schedule for tonight.”

  “I see.” Interesting timing. Did her decision have anything to do with the murder? Probably not, but then again…

  Whitley checked her watch. “I really need to get back.” She rushed down the street and disappeared around the first corner.

  Emily stood alone on the sidewalk, torn between returning to her sister and following the young woman. Colin was right—she was hiding something. Knowing Susan would be fuming if she didn’t return soon, Emily hurried back to the inn.

  ~*~

  Colin and Chief Taylor climbed the few steps to the front porch of the Bayside Bed and Breakfast. It was a large, stately old home with lots of southern charm. Three-stories high with a wide, wrap-around porch, it was painted a cheery shade of yellow with white trim and black shutters on the windows. Colin wished Emily could have been there too. She would love seeing this grand historical home.

  The chief knocked on the front door, carefully avoiding the floral wreath hanging on it. A small woman opened the door, appearing to be in her late fifties, with shortly cropped brown hair.

  “Hello, Chief,” the woman greeted with a warm smile.

  “Afternoon, Ella. Or should I say, Mayor McCormack?” He tipped his head toward her.

  “Oh, Ella is just fine there, Alvin. And who is this young man?”

  “This is Detective Colin Andrews. He’s helping me on a case.”

  “A case? Ooh, that sounds official.”

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  She flashed a broad grin at the men. “Where are my man
ners?” She stepped back and swung the door open wide. “Please, come in.”

  The formal entry was wide with dark, polished hardwood floors and a staircase on the right. Framed pictures hung on the walls—weathered black-and-white photos that looked like they were possibly of ancestors, or people who had originally owned the grand old house.

  Ella led the men into the sitting room, which was decorated with pastel floral wallpaper and matching chintz draperies.

  “Have a seat, won’t you?” She motioned toward the overstuffed striped chairs that sat opposite the tufted sage-green sofa, replete with embroidered pillows.

  As the men took their seats, she went to the marble-topped antique sideboard in the corner of the room, against a half-wall that abutted the dining room, which had been laid out with a fine china teapot and several matching cups and saucers.

  “Can I get you some tea, gentlemen? I have freshly baked blueberry muffins to go with it.”

  “None for me, thanks,” Colin responded.

  “No, Ella, we should get right to the point,” Chief Taylor said.

  “Then you won’t mind if I have a cup. Go on with your questions while I pour.”

  “We’re here about the murder last night at the Rock Harbor Inn,” the chief stated. “Have you heard about it?”

  “I did hear that some unfortunate man was found bludgeoned to death, or some such. Our town doesn’t need a scandal like that. It might hurt our tourist trade, as you can imagine.” Ella moved toward the sofa with her cup and saucer.

  Colin turned to the chief. “You didn’t have his room checked out last night?” he muttered.

  The chief leaned toward Colin, partially covered his mouth, and lowered his voice. “I didn’t know I needed to. Sorry.”

  “So, Alvin,” Ella said, drawing his attention back to her, “why do you want to talk to me about it?”

  “We were told that the man lived here, Ella. One of your boarders.”

  She perched on the edge of the sofa with a bewildered furrow to her brow. “Oh? Which one?” She took a sip of tea as she waited for the answer.

  “Pastor Ben Kinney,” the chief said.

  She gasped and began to cough, her cup and saucer falling from her hands, crashing down onto the coffee table. “Oh my God!” Tears filled her eyes.