Cozy (Stanley Hastings Mystery, #14)

by Parnell Hall

  2 tablespoons Dijon mustard

  1 cup dry white wine

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  2 tablespoons crème fraiche

  1 teaspoon lemon juice

  kosher salt and pepper

  Preheat oven to 375°. Wash and dry chicken thoroughly.

  Prepare the chicken by rubbing kosher salt and pepper on the skin and in the cavity. Stuff the cavity with fresh tarragon sprigs. Coat the chicken with Dijon mustard and let sit at room temperature for 1 hour.

  On top of the stove in a heavy Dutch oven, brown the chicken on all sides in 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Add 1 cup of dry white wine. Bring to boil. Cover with a lid and place in the oven for 1 1/4 to 1 1 1/2 hours.

  Remove the chicken from the pot. Skim fat from cooking liquid. Remove the tarragon, chop and return to the pot liquid. Add the crème fraiche, stir in lemon juice and simmer 1-2 minutes until thickened slightly.

  Divide the chicken into serving pieces and top with sauce. Serve with small steamed new potatoes.

  Serves 4.

  “Alice,” I said.

  Alice looked somewhat defensive. After all, a friend of hers was in jail. “I couldn’t help it,” she said. “That chicken was to die for.”

  Jean and Joan were in complete agreement that Alice’s actions were totally justified. What a surprise. I wondered cynically if their support had been purchased by the promise of Xerox copies.

  While we were bantering about the recipe a hush fell over the dining room. It was sudden and unmistakable. I knew without looking that Lars Heinrick had walked in.

  I took a sip of water, which allowed me a sideways glance over my shoulder. Lars Heinrick was plodding along behind Louise. He was taking no apparent notice of his surroundings. If I’d aroused his suspicions by searching his room, you wouldn’t have known it. He followed Louise to a table on the far side of the dining room and sat down.

  “I don’t know why he’s here,” Jean/Joan the thinner said.

  “Who?”

  “Lars. I don’t how he can stand to be here.”

  “The man has to eat.”

  “Yes, but here? With everyone staring at him? You think he doesn’t notice everyone stops talking when he enters the room?”

  “Well, he can’t leave,” I said. “The police ordered everyone to stay.”

  “That was before they made an arrest,” Jean/Joan the plumper said. “Do they really expect us to stay now?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it.”

  “Then you must be staying the week. Jean and I were checking out tomorrow.”

  Aha. Jean and I. Thank you, Joan the plumper, for that valuable bit of information.

  “Are you going to make an issue of it?” I said.

  “We would,” Jean said. “Except ...”

  “Except what?”

  She shrugged. “Well, how could we leave now?”

  “Yes,” Joan said. “With poor Florence in jail.”

  I stifled a grin. So that was how they had worked it out in their minds. Poor Florence, indeed. Jean and Joan weren’t checking out, and it had nothing to do with Florence or Pinehurst’s instructions. They couldn’t bear not to see how this turned out. Jean and Joan had signed on for the duration.

  As if on cue, Louise arrived at the table. I had a premonition— she somehow knew what we’d been discussing and was about to inform us that, in light of Florence’s arrest, the police were now allowing the guests to leave. This, of course, proved to be entirely wrong.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Hastings,” she said. “You have a phone call.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You can take it at the front desk.”

  “Who is it?”

  Louise lowered her voice. “The police.”

  I got up and left the room, leaving three very curious women at my table.

  The receiver was lying next to the phone on the front desk. I picked it up, said, “Hello?”

  “Stanley Hastings?”

  “Yes. Chief Pinehurst?”

  “Yes. Sorry to drag you away from dinner, but I thought you’d want to know. I got the results back from the lab.”

  “So soon?”

  “You’d like them to take longer?”

  “No, no, Chief. I’m glad. Just surprised. So, what was it?” I lowered my voice. “Was it poison?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. At least, not officially. It’s poison in my book. But it isn’t cyanide.”

  “So what is it?”

  “Cocaine.”

  “What?”

  “Cocaine. Evidently you stumbled upon a stash of drugs.”

  “Oh.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Well, it’s not what I was hoping.”

  “I understand. But the facts are the facts. The sample is cocaine. Now, however you may feel about that, it is not what killed Christine Cobb.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “Me? Absolutely nothing. I’m not about to make a drug bust on the basis of an illegal search and seizure. Life is too short. That type of aggravation one simply does not need.”

  “Oh, good lord.”

  “Well, now, don’t be too upset. We follow lots of leads. Not all of them pan out.”

  “No kidding. So, I don’t suppose you got anything on our friend?”

  “Who?”

  “The hiker from Champney Falls. You get anywhere with him?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Why do I ask? What kind of question is that?”

  “I’m just wondering why you chose to ask that now.”

  I took a breath. “I’ll tell you why, Chief. You just had me paged in the dining room. I’ve got three women at my table dying to know why the police wanted to talk to me. What could possibly be so urgent. When I get back to the table, I am going to have to answer questions. My wife knows about the sample I gave you, but the other women don’t. And I don’t particularly want to tell them. So when they ask me what you had to say, I have to come with something else.”

  “And that’s the reason for your interest?”

  “Frankly, yes. I’m grasping at straws. I didn’t expect you to have anything by now.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have the information you’ve been bugging me about. That’s partly why I called.”

  My patience with Pinehurst was wearing awfully thin. “Then why couldn’t you just say so?”

  “I am saying so. I wasn’t withholding anything. I was merely curious why you would be asking now.”

  “I’m asking now because I’ve been asking all along. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the connection.”

  “Connection?”

  “Exactly. No pun intended. But there you are. The man you refer to as the hiker from Champney Falls is Delmar Hobart. That is confirmed both by his address and the registration of his car. The license plate number of which I have still not gotten close enough to read. But which I now possess. And it was issued to a blue Ford that matches the description of the car in the gentleman’s driveway.”

  “And what has this man got to do with the case?”

  “Absolutely nothing. However, he happens to have a record. Guess what for.”

  I blinked. “Drugs?”

  “Very good, Mr. Hastings. Very good, indeed. Of course, this is just circumstantial, but putting two and two together, and considering the fact that Delmar Hobart came to the Blue Frog Ponds but did not eat there, I would think we can conclude why he was there.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I know you’re not happy to hear that. You would have preferred some bizarre murder plot. And not just to get your friend off the hook, either. You strike me as the type of man whose taste gravitates toward bizarre murder plots. If that’s an unfair assessment, I can only say I’m sorry.”

  I sighed. “What about Florence?”

  “What
about her?”

  “Has her lawyer showed up yet?”

  “No, but don’t hold your breath. If you were expecting her back, I mean. Because it isn’t going to happen. I know the judge. He’s not about to set bail in a case like this. No matter what some smart city lawyer says.”

  “Smart city lawyer? Chief, did a prejudiced observation just cross your lips?”

  “Prejudiced? Don’t be silly. Which word were you objecting to? Smart, city, or lawyer? I assure you, all three apply.”

  “Never mind, Chief,” I said. “Nice talking to you.”

  “My pleasure,” Pinehurst said, and hung up the phone.

  The line did not immediately go dead. After the click of Pinehurst hanging up, the line stayed open.

  A moment later there was another click.

  The sound of someone hanging up a phone.

  27.

  I STOPPED IN the door of the dining room, looked around.

  Alice and Jean and Joan were at our table.

  At the next table was the family with the little girl, all of whom were present.

  Behind them was the Mclnnernys’ table. Johnny Mclnnerny was there, but his wife was gone.

  Next to them was a table at which sat one of the two possibly gay businessmen. The other was nowhere to be seen.

  Neither was Lars. I wasn’t sure exactly what table Louise had shown him to, but wherever it was, he wasn’t there.

  I strode back to my table, sat down, leaned in, and lowered my voice. “Who went out right after I did?”

  “Huh?” Alice said.

  “Someone listened in on the call. Keep your voice down, don’t spread it around, and don’t point. But who went out right after me?”

  “Lars Heinrick,” Jean said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure. He left right after he placed his order.”

  “Anybody else?”

  “Mrs. Mclnnerny,” Alice said. “She left right after you did.”

  “Before Lars?”

  “Absolutely. She left right after you.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “How about the businessman over there?”

  “He came in after you went out. I haven’t seen his brother.”

  I blinked. “His brother?”

  “Yes, of course,” Alice said. “Didn’t you know they were brothers?”

  “It never occurred to me.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless. You can’t see the resemblance?”

  I was in no mood for a lecture on my powers of observation. I spotted Louise in the doorway, got up, intercepted her, led her outside.

  “Anything wrong, Mr. Hastings?” she said.

  “No, not really,” I said. “I was just wondering.”

  “What?”

  “About the phone. The one at the desk. Where I just took the call. Is there any extension to that phone?”

  “Extension?”

  “Yes. Could I have taken that call in another room?”

  “Yes, if it was important. Is anything wrong?”

  “I’m just trying to understand the mechanics. Where is the extension?”

  “Actually, there are two. One in the kitchen, and one in the den.”

  “The den?”

  “Yes. Just off the living room. There’s a small reading room we call the den.”

  “With an extension phone?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t understand. You mean any guest could go in there and make a call?”

  “No. It’s locked.”

  “Locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “The room?”

  “No. The phone.”

  “The phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “Now?”

  “Please.”

  I followed Louise down the hall through the living room into the den. It was a small room, boasting a bookcase, a desk, and two overstuffed chairs.

  There was a phone on the desk. A black rotary phone. Almost an anachronism in the day and age of Touch-Tones.

  A metal lock protruded from one of the holes in the dial.

  “See,” Louise said. “It’s locked. You can’t dial it. There’s no way to call out from here.”

  “But I could have taken my phone call?”

  “Of course. That’s why it’s here. I’m not always at the desk. If I’m working on this side of the house, I’ll answer the phone here.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “They’ll get it in the kitchen. Though I prefer that not to happen.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. I noticed she’d said they, rather than referring to her husband.

  Louise was looking at me closely. “Can you tell me why you’re so interested?”

  I smiled enigmatically. “Just getting the lay of the land.”

  I reached for the phone. And felt a thrill. It was stupid, I know, but it occurred to me if this were a mystery story, the phone would be warm, so the detective could tell it had been used. Or cold, so he could tell that it hadn’t.

  I picked up the receiver.

  It didn’t tell me a thing.

  28.

  “WHAT’S THE REAL story?” Alice asked.

  “Real story?”

  “Don’t be dumb,” she said as we went out the front door. “I heard what you told Jean and Joan. Now what really went on?”

  “Let’s take a walk,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “Down by the swimming pool.”

  “I thought it was closed after dinner.”

  “It is.”

  We went down to the pool, sat in deck chairs. As expected, we were the only ones there. We watched the sunset and discussed the crime.

  I had told Jean and Joan that Pinehurst had identified the hiker, but not as a drug dealer. I told Alice now.

  “Interesting,” she said. “So the man was Lars’ connection. I wonder if he appreciated having a rendezvous at Champney Falls.”

  “He certainly didn’t look like it,” I said.

  “No, he didn’t,” Alice said. “And I apologize.”

  “You do? For what?”

  “What I said. When we saw him on the path. You pointed him out as a hiker grumpier than you. I said, maybe so, but at least he was a volunteer. No one was forcing him to do it. It now appears that wasn’t the case.”

  “If Lars did indeed set it up. Which would seem likely. On the other hand, the guy shows up on the top of Mount Washington. Where I saw him talking to a young man. Who, in all likelihood, was buying drugs. At least, that would seem a reasonable assumption. So, maybe it’s the hiker who had a penchant for conducting drug deals outdoors.”

  “A penchant?”

  “I used the word wrong?”

  “No. You just used it. Do people really say penchant?”

  “Alice, I’ve had it up to here with Pinehurst. Don’t you start digressing on me too.”

  “Okay. Sorry. Say the man did like to deal in the great outdoors. How come he shows up here?”

  “The first time he ate here. Which might have been coincidence. I don’t like coincidence, but you can’t rule it out. The second night he popped in and out, undoubtedly a sale. I would imagine Lars had gone through his stash.”

  “So, he leaves the dining room, buys some dope, and then what?” Alice said. “Hides it in his room?”

  “I would tend to think so,” I said. “One, because that’s where I found it. And, two, because the cops didn’t. After the murder, I mean. I didn’t ask Pinehurst, but I would assume the police searched Lars. In which case, he could not have been carrying drugs.”

  “Does that make sense?” Alice said. “That he would buy the stuff, and immediately hide it in his room?”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in the middle of dinner. Why wouldn’t he just put it in his pocket?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure where this transaction took pl
ace. Say it was in or around the men’s room. That’s right near the stairs. It would only take a minute to pop up to his room, stash the stuff, and return to the booth. Which he might do if he were at all uneasy about making the buy in a semipublic place. Just in case he was seen, he might feel better not having it on him.”

  “Thin,” Alice said. “But, since you found it there, you’re probably right. So, what do we do now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have a major problem here. The click on the phone line—if that was Lars, listening in on the conversation, then he knows you found the cocaine.” She looked at me. “He would know that, wouldn’t he? Did you discuss that with Pinehurst—the fact it was your sample he was testing?”

  “I’m not sure. I would tend to think so.”

  “So would I. And, even if you didn’t, he can put two and two together. The drugs came from his room. He caught you opening his door. So, even if he doesn’t remember seeing you earlier on the stairs—and you don’t think he did?”

  “He looked totally oblivious. And if he had seen me with the dog, he would have known what I was telling him couldn’t be true.”

  “Right. So we have to assume he didn’t. But he knows you opened his door. So, if he overheard the conversation, that would give him enough. So, if it was him listening in on the line, what’s his first move?”

  “To get rid of the drugs.”

  “Or to get rid of you.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We can’t be too careful here. Christine Cobb was killed. You have got to be very careful here not to fall into a trap.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re used to big-city crime. Now you’re here on vacation. This is not all fun and games. You’ve got to be sure you don’t take this too lightly just because you’re in a New England bed-and-breakfast.”

  “You realize you just said bed-and-breakfast?”

  “Stanley, I’m not kidding. I don’t like the idea this man may have seen you going into his room.”

  “So, whaddya wanna do, follow him? We shouldn’t be here now, we should be back at the inn, waiting for him to come out of the dining room?”

  “You realize you just called it an inn?”

  “Alice, I’m very upset I got caught in his room. I said the first thing that came to mind, which was a very stupid thing to say if he had seen me earlier with the dog. But I don’t think he did. He came down the stairs walking like a zombie. And the dog took off for the kitchen. So we didn’t pass him. I saw him from a distance, and I don’t think he saw me.