He let go of Darby's right arm and grabbed his knife. Before he could use it, Darby rammed her knuckle into his glassy eyes with all the force she could muster. He cried out in pain and released her arms, but still she could not wriggle free ...
The crack of gunfire echoed through the trees, and faster than Darby could have imagined, Soames Pemberton sprang up and fled. Slowly Darby rose to a sitting position, her head thudding, and looked for the source of the sound. She knew whomever had fired the gun was close by and that she was in great danger. Painfully, she rose to her knees.
A branch cracked to her left and Darby froze.
"You okay?" It was Charles Dupont, wearing jeans and his uniform shirt. He stopped beside her and squatted.
"I asked if you were okay."
Darby nodded. "What are you doing here?"
"Me? Why I'm a police officer, the chief to be exact, out doing my job. What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay out of the way?"
"I was out for a run. I know a path that goes through these woods... "
"This land belongs to Soames Pemberton, and surely a smartypants real estate agent like yourself knows that. You are meddling in my investigation, and you almost got yourself killed."
"You took a shot at Soames. Were you trying to hit him?"
The chief snorted. "If I'd been trying to hit him, he'd be lying here dead. I fired my weapon to get him off you."
Darby rose to her feet gingerly. Her ankle was twisted, but she wasn't about to tell the chief of her injuries.
His eyes narrowed. "You're hurt."
"No," she said, trying not to wince. "Not really."
"You could have fooled me. That leg needs to be looked at." He scanned the woods briefly then seemed to make up his mind about something. "Soames isn't going anywhere we can't find him, not on this island anyway." He paused a moment. "Come on, I'll take you over to the Coveside Clinic. They open at seven, and you need some attention."
Because she was in no shape to argue, Darby grudgingly acquiesced.
The Coveside Clinic was a trim, modest building with a wooden sign and a handicapped accessible ramp. "Look," Chief Dupont commanded, indicating a bronze marker by the front door. Darby exited from the police cruiser and walked closer to the marker. The inscription thanked a "longtime islander" for her "dedication and generosity."
"Your aunt," the chief said quietly. "She built this place."
Inside, the clinic was cheerful and clean. A nurse was on duty at the front desk, and Chief Dupont approached her, motioning for Darby to sit down. Darby complied and was surprised to see the familiar face of Laura Gefferelli enter the waiting room.
"What are you doing here?" Laura asked, a concerned expression on her face. "Everything okay?"
"I had a fall while I was running," Darby lied. "What about you?"
"Oh, I see a few counseling patients, and one or two prefer the early morning hours," she said. "It's pastoral counseling, incorpo rating the spiritual aspect into your more typical sessions. Lucy volunteers here too. Are you waiting to see Yvette?"
"If she's the Physician's Assistant, then yes."
"She'll be with you in a moment." Laura gave Darby a searching look. "Mind if I sit down?"
Darby nodded. "Be my guest."
Laura sighed. "I've been thinking about you, Darby. About what's happened since you left California. There's quite a lot on your shoulders, and I want you to know that I'm here if you need to talk about anything."
Darby smiled. "Do I look that bad?"
Laura gave a kind smile. "It's not your outward appearance I'm concerned with. It's what's inside, the things you may be dealing with on top of your aunt's death, and now this." She hesitated. "May I give you a piece of advice? Allow yourself to grieve for Jane Farr, and help me with the funeral preparations. It's part of the healing process, and it isn't time you'll get back, Darby. I know you want to help Mark and Lucy, but please, think about what I'm saying."
"I will."
A fresh-faced young woman wearing white scrubs and carrying a clipboard entered the room. "Darby Farr?" she inquired.
Darby rose to follow the PA into the patient room. Her ankle throbbed and she found it difficult to walk.
"That looks like a sprain," said Laura. "You may need crutches."
Darby groaned and accepted the help of the PA, feeling the eyes of Laura Gefferelli and Charles Dupont follow her as she left the waiting room.
Half an hour later, pain killers in hand, Darby was back at Jane's house to shower and change. After a quick cup of coffee, she wrapped up her throbbing ankle and drove to the office of Near & Farr, where a distraught Tina Ames met her at the door.
"What did that asshole Soames do now?" Tina ran a well-manicured hand through the tangle of red curls on her head. Darby could see she was fuming. "What's this I hear, he cornered you again?"
"Calm down. I went over to Fairview and he surprised me. I'm fine."
Tina yanked off an orange jacket and sat down at her desk. "You're hurt. Did he break something?"
"I twisted my ankle. I'll ice it, and it will be fine."
"I suppose I should tell you the whole story with him and me, because I can't help but feel some of his anger is misdirected at you.
"If you'd like."
She sighed and shook her head. "I was foolish to ever get mixed up with him, and now that I'm dating a nice guy like Donny, I really wonder about my sanity. What did I ever see in Soames, God only knows. Anyway, I was going through a bad patch and found myself at the Eye one too many nights, half in the bag and feeling sorry for myself. Soames was always there and he bought me a couple of drinks. I started to tell him things and believe it or not, he listened. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was in his trailer on a stinky old mattress, and not just once, either." She gave Darby an embarrassed grimace.
"We've all done things we regret, Tina."
"I can hardly stand to think about it, but there it is. Finally I woke up one day and came to my senses. I told him we were through and he didn't much like that"
"What did he do?"
"He followed me around, hid out behind the bushes, you know, creepy stuff like that."
"He stalked you." Darby felt her anger toward Soames Pemberton rising again.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that. I reported him to the police. Not that it did much good. Just made him angrier. He surprised me one night at my mother's house and beat me up pretty good. I went back to the police and this time they listened."
"So then what happened?"
"He got some sort of suspended sentence, no jail time, but he has to go to counseling. I doubt it is making one dent in his perverted brain."
"How long ago was this, Tina?"
"Last year." She glanced down at her long fingernails then back at Darby. Her face was grim. "I told you, he's a dangerous man. I wish to God he'd take one too many pills and stumble off a cliff somewhere." She paused and gave Darby a dark look. "And don't think I wouldn't like to be there to give him a shove."
"Do you think he killed Emerson Phipps? Does it make sense to you?"
"Soames isn't about making sense," Tina said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you." She sighed and picked up a yellow pad. "Not to change the subject, but ... this is your aunt's obit. We need to get it to the paper by noon and they'll print it in Wednesday's paper, plus the time of her service." She paused. "I hope you don't mind that I started working on it."
"Not at all." Darby sat down on a chair. "What have you got so far?"
Tina consulted the pad. "Jane Jenson Farr, Real Estate Broker and Island Benefactress, came to Hurricane Harbor from Sarasota, Florida. Soon after her arrival on the island she established the New England office of Near & Farr Realty.
Jane Farr was born in Connecticut, and attended local schools and the University of Connecticut, where she majored in business. She was a Vice President of a Florida import-export business before discovering real estate, a profession which quickly became
a passion. She served on the Florida Board of REALTORS(r) and was a past president of the Maine Association of REALTORS(r). Her many generous gifts to her community of Hurricane Harbor include major donations to the new ferry terminal on Manatuck, Coveside Clinic, and the Community Center."
Tina paused a moment. There were tears in her eyes.
"Jane Farr was predeceased by her parents, as well as her brother John, and sister-in-law, Jada. She leaves behind many friends in Maine and in Florida, as well as her niece, Darby Farr of Mission Beach, California"
Darby swallowed. "Very nice," she said.
"Should I have left you to do it? I'm sorry-"
"No. It's perfect. Thank you."
Tina's eyes were moist as she nodded. "I'll send it in."
Darby rose from the chair, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm going to hobble over to the Cafe for a muffin. Can I bring you back something?"
"Diet Coke."
The day was getting warmer, and a soft breeze was blowing off the bay. Boats were appearing in the harbor with more frequency and Darby knew that within a week, the little harbor would be full of vessels. Across the stretch of water she could see the tall mast of the Lucy T, and bobbing beside it, Laura Gefferelli's little boat.
She's right, Darby thought suddenly. I need to focus on Jane's service, and details like the obituary. She took one more look at the harbor before opening the Cafe's curtained doors. I'll bury my aunt, she vowed, and then I'll see if I can't make peace with the rest of my past.
SEVEN
DARBY ORDERED A MUFFIN and breakfast burrito at the Cafe and was waiting to pick them up when a friendly tap on the shoulder made her turn around.
"Miles!" she felt the physical reaction to his presence once more and hoped it didn't show. "I was going to call you. Thanks again for that fantastic dinner last night."
"The pleasure was all mine, I assure you." Miles was wearing jeans and a polo shirt with a light jacket. He raised his eyebrows at Darby's order. "Local fare? Any good?"
"Very good, if memory serves me right."
"Then I suppose I'll have to try one." He glanced around the Cafe and lowered his voice slightly. "Any news on the murder? Have the police apprehended the suspect?"
Darby shook her head. "No. They don't seem to be in too much of a hurry. I'm not sure what is going on."
Miles frowned. "Your leg-is it injured?"
"I had a little run-in with Soames Pemberton at Fairview this morning." She saw his look of concern and hastened to add, "I'm all right-fortunately for me, Chief Dupont showed up and scared him off. He basically fired a shot in the air, and let Pemberton escape." She thought a moment. "Why didn't the chief actually hit him? And why, once Soames ran away, didn't he pursue him? Instead he took the time to lecture me about staying away from the crime scene."
"Maybe this will muddy the waters a little." Miles Porter handed Darby a large gray envelope and she looked at him questioningly.
"Newspaper articles, about our friend Dr. Phipps," he said. "I did a little research online at the hotel this morning. It seems the good surgeon had a slightly checkered past."
"Interesting. I'll take a look at them this afternoon and call you.
"Not to add another duty to your `to do' list, but I was hoping you might have dinner with me this evening?" Miles' smile was almost shy; Darby liked the contrast with his normally confident, capable, demeanor.
"I don't know if I'm up to it, Miles," she said truthfully. "I think I need to ice my ankle and spend a quiet night. Besides, weren't you heading back to Boston today?"
"Quite right, that had been my plan. But this island, the murder, and the possibility for a really in-depth story ... it's got me feeling energized again. I've decided to stay on a bit and have rented a little beach house for a few days. Maybe you know the property ... I believe locals refer to it as the old Kendall place?"
"That's a great spot! I used to visit Mrs. Kendall when I was a girl. What a wonderful sandy beach, and the house has such character."
"I've checked it out, and although there is a modest kitchen, I think I'll be able to make you one of my specialties. I do hope you'll come. I promise it can be, as you say, a quiet night."
"I'll come on one condition: we spend some time trying to make sense of this murder."
"I'd love to. As I told you, I do love a mystery."
"Great. What can I bring?"
"Just your lovely self,"he said lightly. "Shall we say around six P.M.?" Darby picked up her order and paid the tab, hoping that the flush she felt in her cheeks didn't show. "I'll look forward to it. Thanks for the reading material and I'll see you this evening."
Back at the office, Darby handed Tina her Diet Coke and half of the burrito with a flourish. "There you go, Tina. A little sustenance from the Cafe"
"Thanks. Let's get that ankle elevated while you have breakfast. I've got a bag of ice and a pillow."
Darby allowed Tina to help her get settled. The cold comfort of the ice plus the two ibuprofen she'd popped earlier were finally keeping the throbs at bay.
"Speaking of sustenance," said Tina. "I'd like to see some cash coming in here. Are you going to give our friend Peyton Mayerson a jingle and tell her Fairview's back on the market? If she wants to do her wedding thing, now's her chance to pony up and buy."
"Don't forget those old deed restrictions haven't disappeared," Darby said. "If they are legitimate, Peyton is going to have a hard time hosting weddings."
"They won't be any fun, that's for sure," sniffed Tina. "Didn't she say she wanted Fairview even if she couldn't do weddings?"
"She did, but she was pretty angry at the time. I'm sure she's already heard the news about the murder of Phipps. The time it takes to clear up this investigation will give Peyton just enough headway to line up her backers again. I've already called her, and when we speak, I'll do my best to convince her that she still wants the estate."
"What happens to a property when a guy gets bashed to death in the garden shed? That would affect its value, right?" Tina bit into the burrito and looked at Darby patiently.
"That depends," Darby answered. "When a property has a stigma attached to it, such as a violent death, the value is usually affected in an adverse way. But some stigmas-such as a ghost -can actually boost a property's value." She paused. "I've already considered how this murder affects a future sale, and I'm thankful Phipps' death occurred in the shed and not the main house."
"Would that have made a difference?"
"I think so. The garden shed is a utilitarian outbuilding-no one actually lives in it. Nevertheless, if the fact that a murder took place there proves troubling to a new owner, the shed can always be torn down and rebuilt, at a fraction of what it would cost to replace the main house."
Tina took a quick swallow of her Diet Coke. "I can't see that Peyton Mayerson being bothered one tiny bit about some guy who was about to ruin her plans getting murdered. Why, she'll probably make it some kind of tourist destination. The House and Haunted Garden Shed Tour. You'll see. She won't give a hoot about it."
Darby smiled. "Let's hope you're right. Mark Trimble tries to be philosophical about it, but he really is ready to move on with the sale of Fairview. And so is Lucy." She frowned. "Speaking of Lucy, I wonder if Mark has an update on her."
Darby went over to her desk and called Mark Trimble's cell phone. He picked up on the first ring.
"Thank God it's you, Darby. I was just about to call. I'm with Lucy. We're in intensive care"
"What?"
"It's drugs again. Heroin. The nurses found her in a stupor."
Darby sank into a chair, unwilling to believe what Mark was saying.
"What is her condition?"
"Alive. They think she might have done it on purpose. Like Wes." His voice broke.
"Oh, Mark." Darby's head was reeling. What more did this poor family have to suffer? "I'll get the next ferry. Do you need anything?"
"No." His voice was hollow, defeated.
/> "Just call me if you do." Darby hung up, her breakfast clutched in one hand, too stunned to move. The idea of Lucy Trimble taking her own life did not make sense. She turned toward Tina, feeling numb.
"That was Mark. Lucy's in intensive care with a heroin overdose"
"Good God," Tina breathed.
Darby grabbed her jacket from the back of her desk chair. "I'm going to the mainland," she said. "I need to be with my friends."
After waiting ten or so minutes for the next boat, Darby boarded the ferry, sinking into one of the plastic seats by a window. She sat in silence, and before long she was disembarking at the terminal and limping the few blocks to Manatuck Community Hospital. The morning sun was warm, the sky clear and blue, but visions of Lucy flashed before her eyes-Lucy as a happy young girl; Lucy as a wasted junkie; and Lucy as a successful artist, older and wiser. The image of Lucy as a relapsed drug addict did not fit Darby's visions, and she resisted even forming that mental picture.
Mark met her in the ICU waiting room. His face was pale and his voice, normally so resonant, shook. "She's going to be okay," he said. "They-we-found her just in time."
Darby gave him a hug and felt tears welling in her eyes. "Can I see her?"
He shook his head. "No. They're running some tests and didn't want me in there." He struggled to get a hold of his emotions. "I can't believe it. She's been clean for so long." He swore softly under his breath. "I really thought she'd kicked it this time. She's been so-happy, so focused on her art. Her work in the clinic, all the people she was helping ... But addiction has too tight a grip on her, I guess."
Mark's voice was little more than a whisper. "How did she get that stuff into the hospital? She'll be awake soon, I suppose, but I don't think I can face seeing her again today. I'm too afraid of what I would say." He looked at Darby with a look of such vulnerability that her heart ached for him. "I don't know what to do. I'm angry.
Darby nodded. "Of course you are. That's natural."
He ran his hands through his thick hair. "What do I do now?" he asked. "My sister's a junkie, our house is a crime scene... "
A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 11