A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery)

by Vicki Doudera

  "The Italian fellow is an odd one," he muttered, shaking his head.

  "In what way, Donny?" asked Darby.

  The captain shook his head again and Darby knew he would not elaborate. Moments later, he was tying them up to the dock.

  Darby and Mark climbed into Donny Pease's truck and he drove them in silence to the jail. After waiting for a few minutes in a dingy reception area, they spied the frail figure of Lucy Trimble emerging from a door, accompanied by a female police officer.

  She practically collapsed into her brother's arms.

  "I'm sorry," she said, her eyes ringed with dark circles. "I am so sorry for everything."

  "It's okay, Lu, it's okay," Mark murmured. He turned to the police officer. "Are we free to go now?"

  She nodded and pointed toward a plastic shopping bag sitting on a metal table. "Those are her things," she said curtly.

  "I've got them," said Darby, picking up the bag.

  Donny hustled to open the door for Mark and his sister. Darby was sure he was thinking the same thing she was: Lucy seemed to have become an old woman overnight. She was hunched over and shuffled her feet as she tried to walk the few steps from the jail door to Donny's truck.

  Donny's face showed concern. "Here, now, Miss Trimble, you just come right over here. Can you climb up okay? Dang truck, it's so high off the ground. I can give you a boost if you like?"

  "That's okay," Lucy managed, giving a weak smile. "I'm not an invalid, I just look like one."

  After she was settled in the front seat with Donny, Mark and Darby climbed into the back of the cab. Avoiding the ferry was a good idea, Darby thought. Lucy would never have been up to the inevitable questions of the islanders, however well-meaning their comments may have been.

  Donny drove them to the Manatuck dock and soon they were speeding through the water to the island.

  It was Lucy who brought up her drug use first. "I don't remember anything about this," she said. "I don't remember doing any drugs. How would I have gotten them? The whole thing is lost to me.

  "When you were using drugs before, would you have remembered things?" Darby saw the wind whip her friend's blonde hair across her face.

  "No," Lucy admitted. "I often had total blackouts. But I swear to you, I wasn't doing drugs. I was clean. Unless I have a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde kind of split personality, I didn't do it."

  "If you didn't take the drugs, they must have been given to you somehow without your knowing it. Did anyone visit you in the hospital?"

  "I had a few visitors from Coveside yesterday afternoon. Today was the day I normally ran the group."

  "Group?"

  "A support group for those struggling with addictions. A few of them came over to see me."

  "Who are the members of your counseling session?"

  "I'd rather not say. Client confidentiality and everything."

  Darby thought a moment. "Could one of those people have given you something? Injected you?"

  "They wouldn't do that! None of them would do that." She frowned. "I don't see how or why any of them would want to hurt me, Darby."

  "Did any of them give you anything to eat or drink?"

  She shook her head. "Darby, these people are my friends! None of them gave me anything." She leaned back in the truck, exhausted.

  After a moment, she cleared her throat. "I need to get some legal advice..."

  "Lu, don't think about it today," her brother advised. "I've already made some calls. We'll deal with all that tomorrow" He gave Darby a quick glance, his expression grim.

  "Mark is right. Get some rest so we can figure this all out tomorrow.

  Lucy nodded at Darby, her eyes filling with tears. "I didn't kill Emerson Phipps," she whispered.

  "I believe you" Darby cleared her throat. "Lucy, I have a different question for you. When I was in the studio, I noticed that you had a list of twenty-four paintings to hang at the art show. By my count though, there were only twenty-two. `Island Respite' and `Shorefront Foes' are missing. Any idea what happened to them? Did you give them to a gallery, or sell them privately?"

  Lucy shook her head once more. "No. I suppose I could check with the arts festival coordinator-perhaps she needed a few for a photo?"

  "Do you have the name of the festival coordinator?"

  "I've got it at home, but it's on the town website as well." She shook her head. "What a giant mess."

  "It'll all work out in the end," said Donny Pease, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he expertly docked his boat. "You listen to me, Miss Trimble. It'll all work out just fine in the end."

  Peyton Mayerson navigated the narrow streets of Westerly in her Mercedes, scrutinizing the numbers on the little shops. Already the streets of this touristy town were thronged with people shopping and eating ice cream cones, and Peyton felt her impatience growing. She said it was on this street, she fumed. She said it was past the whale watching dock ...

  Peyton glanced toward a narrow building with a hand-carved sign and smiled. The Beals Gallery. There it was, finally, with a parking space right in front.

  She parked, leaving Lucy Trimble's paintings safely stowed in the trunk. The sun was warm and for a brief moment she envied the tourists eating their mint chocolate chip cones with such oblivious delight.

  She locked the car and went inside the building's cool lobby.

  Immediately a woman in a tailored silk dress with upswept blonde hair appeared at her side. "May I help you?"

  Peyton pursed her lips. "I'm looking for the gallery owner."

  The blonde woman smiled. "You must be Ms. Mayerson. Come right this way."

  Peyton was taken to a room off the main gallery. The woman closed the door behind them and indicated a glass table with several modern chairs. A towering flower arrangement in the center of the table dominated the room. "I'm Camilla Beals," the woman said smoothly. "Please, sit down. Care for some iced tea?"

  "No, thank you," said Peyton, taking a seat. "I'm on a rather tight schedule..."

  "Of course." Camilla glided into a chair. "I understand. Have you brought the paintings?"

  "That was our deal, wasn't it?"

  Camilla gave a small smile. "Then I'll ask Joseph to bring them in. Where are you parked?"

  "In front of the building."

  "We do have a back entrance. Unless you'd like us to bring them in through the front door..." She arched an eyebrow and waited.

  "The back way will be fine" Peyton stood, tossing her hair. She gave the gallery owner a level gaze. "You'll be selling these paintings out of the state of Maine, correct?"

  Camilla rose and nodded. "That was our deal, wasn't it?" She handed a business card to Peyton. "We spoke about the Manhattan store, but I've made some calls and I prefer to place them in our Miami Beach location." She tilted her head to one side. "I trust that will be fine with you, Ms. Mayerson?"

  Peyton pretended to consider the question. The bitch knows I want those stolen paintings as far from Maine as possible, she thought... She's toying with me, and yet, I need that money...

  "I suppose," she said airily, removing the Mercedes' keys from her Gucci clutch. "I suppose Miami Beach will be fine."

  Once off Donny's boat, Darby stopped at the office for a quick update from Tina.

  "You had a visitor," she announced. "Alicia Komolsky. She's the dead doctor's sister. Seems nice enough, even with the shock of it all. Came by to talk to you about the contract and whether she needed to do anything. I told her to come back at five P.M"

  Darby consulted her watch. "That's in two hours. Perfect. I'm going to head over to Chief Dupont's office, see if I can find out anything more regarding the evidence he thinks he has on Lucy. Any word from Peyton Mayerson?"

  Tina made a face. "Her highness has an appointment for tomorrow morning. She said `first thing,' which to her means nine o'clock."

  Darby grinned. "Well, if we can get her to buy Fairview after all this, it will be worth dealing with her eccentricities. I'll be back at f
ive to meet Alicia. Will you be here?"

  Tina coughed. "Actually, I have a date with Donny."

  Darby gave a little smile. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow then."

  Miles called while Darby was en route to the police station.

  "How is the rest of your day going? Any developments?"

  "Yes, but nothing good so far. I'll tell you about it at the cabin. How's my dinner coming?"

  "Dinner? What dinner?" Miles joked and laughed. "So far, my humble palate is pleased, but you'll be the real judge."

  Police Chief Charles Dupont was seated at his desk, his round belly bulging in the blue uniform shirt. A broad grin broke out on his features when Darby entered his office.

  "Little Darby Farr, come to pay me a visit," he said. "Take a seat." He indicated a faded plastic chair into which Darby settled. "How's the foot?"

  "Better"

  "I remember your mother sitting so delicately in that very same chair," he said. "That glossy black hair, just like yours, twisted up off her neck. She always looked so fresh and clean, her hands folded just so on her lap..."

  His eyes grew dreamy. "And could she ever cook! Do you remember that chicken dish she would whip up with the mushrooms and tomatoes, what was it, pulley something..."

  "Poulet Saute Chasseur," said Darby.

  "That's it! Boy, I have tried to remember that name for years. Was it ever delicious. She was one fabulous cook, that Jada." "

  Darby knew that Chief Dupont wanted her to ask more about her mother's acquaintance with him, and although it made her uncomfortable, she complied.

  I didn't realize that you and my mother were friends."

  "Oh no? We were certainly friends. She needed help with a few things-" he coughed delicately-"and I was happy to oblige. I like to think that if it hadn't been for your father, we would have been more than friends."

  Darby felt her heart racing and struggled to keep her composure. "Chief, I wanted to ask you about Emerson Phipps' murder," she said carefully. "I don't think Lucy Trimble had a motive to kill him."

  "Heroin addicts don't need a motive," he said, his eyes narrow. "She might have wanted his cash or his car. She could have been looking to take some kind of drug-induced rage out on him. Everyone in town knew she didn't want to sell him that house. She told a friend at the clinic that she wanted the wedding lady to get it. Something snapped and the next thing she knew, she was whacking Emerson Phipps with the garden statue." He paused, a sly look on his face. "Besides, more evidence may come to light very shortly, I'm sure."

  The phone rang and Chief Dupont took the call. He made a few notes on a pad of paper, and hung up.

  "Lorraine?" Chief Dupont buzzed his secretary in the outer office. A thin woman with black-rimmed glasses appeared instantly, as if she had been waiting outside the door. "Find the parking ordinance and send it off to the dingbat who runs the charter fishing boat."

  She nodded nervously, glanced at Darby, and backed out of the room.

  "Remember her? Lorraine Delvecchio? She was in your class, wasn't she?"

  Darby tried to remember the secretary, but failed.

  "Can't recall her? It was only ten years ago. Ten years is nothing." He picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk. "Lorraine graduated and got a job as a medical transcriptionist. Pretty good at it too, from what I hear. She worked until last summer for the same employer, and he was very satisfied with her performance. That's a rare thing nowadays, wouldn't you say?" He tapped the pencil again and leaned closer to Darby. "Maybe you remember the man Lorraine worked for? Important doctor in town ... Theodore Hotchkiss?"

  Darby's quick intake of breath wasn't lost on Chief Dupont. He rose from his desk and gave a smug grin. "Your friend Lucy Trimble's got a good lawyer, right? Because I'll tell you what, Darby Farr, she's going to need one."

  Darby's pulse was racing as she drove back to Near & Farr Realty. He knows about the rape, she realized with a sinking heart. That secretary of his, Lorraine Delvecchio, knew Lucy's secret and has told the chief All he needs now is evidence...

  Evidence. Not for the first time, Darby wondered where the old records from Dr. Hotchkiss' practice had ended up. If I could find them first ...

  Darby grabbed her cell and called the Congregational Church, hoping that Laura was working. The calm voice of the minister answered on the second ring.

  Darby explained what the chief had said and Laura groaned. "That's all Lucy needs!" She paused. "Darby, I think I may know where those files are kept. And if I'm right, your aunt had a key!"

  Laura pulled into Near & Farr Realty at the same time as Darby. She gave a small smile as she exited the car.

  "Your aunt managed a property over on the cove. It's rented by Dr. Hotchkiss' daughter and her little girl. There's a storage shed on the property, and I believe that's where the doctor's records were unloaded when he went into the nursing home."

  "Terrific" Using her key, Darby opened the door of Near & Farr. Tina had already left and the place was quiet. A blinking light on her phone caught Darby's attention.

  "The keys are on that board, right there," Darby indicated. "Maybe you'll recognize the name? I'm going to check this message quickly."

  She listened to the voice of Alicia Phipps Komolsky explaining that she was delayed and would arrive on the island first thing in the morning. "I'll find your office and plan to be there at nine A.M.," she said.

  Darby groaned.

  "Anything wrong?" Laura inquired gently.

  "No, just back to back appointments first thing tomorrow morning." She hung up the phone and crossed the room to Laura. "That was Emerson Phipps' sister, Alicia. She's coming to see me in the morning."

  Laura nodded. "She's coming to the church as well. Wants to have her brother cremated and wondered if I could suggest some appropriate words to say goodbye." She sighed. "God, what an awful business. Can you believe the police would even suspect Lucy of something like this? It's ludicrous."

  Darby was surprised to hear anger in the normally calm woman's voice. "Who do you think killed Emerson Phipps?"

  Laura shot her a look as she pulled the key from a hook. "Given my position on the island, I shouldn't speculate, but I know you won't repeat this." She lowered her voice. "I'm convinced that Soames Pemberton is behind this. Not only is he one of the most dangerous people I've ever met, but he was one of Lucy's counseling clients." She looked Darby in the eye. "I believe he's stolen drugs from the clinic as well."

  "Prescription drugs?"

  Laura nodded. "I'm sure they help support his heroin habit." She sighed. "I'm telling you this because I trust you, and I know you are trying to help." She paused. "Please don't quote me."

  "Understood. Now let's go find that file."

  Donny Pease gave his boat a final spray with fresh water and nodded. She looked good and clean, ready for the next pile of people wanting a ride somewhere. So far, business was good. This water taxi thing would sure help, especially if the Trimble place ever sold and he was no longer the caretaker.

  For the most part, he enjoyed ferrying people back and forth in his vessel. He'd earned his captain's license as a young man, and he never tired of blasting over to the mainland. Each day was different. The sea had a thousand stories to tell, and so far, he'd heard only a handful.

  Donny took a look down below to make sure the cabin was shipshape. He saw a white bundle in the corner of the berth and picked it up. Lucy Trimble's sweater. She'd forgotten to take it when he, Mark, and Darby brought her home from the Manatuck jail.

  His face hardened. Jail! That pretty little thing, locked overnight in a jail. The thought made him so angry he wanted to punch something. Calm down, he said to himself. Think about your old ticker ...

  He felt his pulse slowing and went back above deck. The image of Lucy Trimble, sitting numbly on his boat, came back to him. She looked like a skinny little ghost, he thought. A ghost who's seen terrible things.

  The memory of Emerson Phipps' dead body flashed before his ey
es. Lucy had seen it too, had been right there. She'd reached down with her little hands and tried to pull those shears out of the surgeon's stomach. Then she'd lifted her bloodied arms to the heavens and run, horror struck, from the shed. I saw her running from him, and who can blame her? he thought. I would have run, too, if my stomach hadn't sent me into the bushes. Embarrassment washed over him. What a sissy, getting sick like that. Tina won't want to have anything to do with me.

  And yet, Tina had called just a few minutes earlier, inviting him over to her place for supper. Donny grinned. Tina was an excellent cook, and his mouth watered just thinking of her home-cooked meals. Last time, she'd fixed some sort of beef stroganoff, with the curly noodles he loved, and a fresh strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert. Strawberries are still in season, he thought. Just that morning he'd passed an old-timer selling some by the side of the road. Perhaps she'll have that pie again.

  Donny Pease closed up the companionway and climbed off the boat. Tomorrow he was going back to Fairview, back to the scene of that murder, but he wasn't going to let it stop him. Spruce the place up: that's what he was planning to do, and haul off some of the trash piled up in the woods by the garden cottage.

  Donny knew it would feel good to putter around the old estate again, to be useful to the Trimble family, and he was thankful to Mark for giving him the work. After all, I'm still the caretaker. I'm the one who needs to make sure it is in top condition.

  He clutched Lucy Trimble's sweater in his hand and thought again of all she'd endured. Parents who started drinking martinis at noon. Her brother Wes' suicide. And now being blamed for a murder she surely didn't commit. I'll drop this off on the way to Tina's, he thought, feeling the softness of the fuzzy material. Poor girl, it's the least I can do.

  With Laura seated next to her, Darby Farr drove her aunt's truck past Long Cove. "What's the address?" she asked Laura.