A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery)

by Vicki Doudera

  "But why? Why kick Peyton out and introduce a whole new buyer?"

  Darby smiled. "Money. The classic root of all evil, Miles. I can't go into specifics, but let's just say Emerson Phipps was offering a substantially higher amount for Fairview than Peyton and her investors. Enough to make a difference. Rather than tell him `no dice,' Jane Farr found a legal way to get Peyton out of the picture." "

  "And where does Soames Pemberton come in?"

  I don't believe his story that he found the deed on his own. I think my aunt found it, and needed someone to deliver it to the planning board."

  "Why not do it herself?"

  "Too obvious. Chances are she paid him off for his little theatrical scene."

  Miles motioned towards the living room, where a small fire was ready to be lit. He touched a match to the tinder and it crackled to life. They sat on the sofa before the fire, and Miles watched the flickering shadows on Darby's thoughtful face.

  "I wonder if Mark knew about the old deed as well," she said slowly. She looked at Miles. "I'm trying to remember what he said at the planning board meeting-something very cavalier. He wasn't really surprised, Miles. Now that I think of it, he was the only one in that room who wasn't shocked by Soames Pemberton's revelation."

  "How do we find out if Mark knew?"

  "I'm going to use an old-fashioned method. I'm going to ask him."

  "Capital idea." He rose to poke the fire. "All this sleuthing has made me want dessert. May I interest you in a coffee drink and an assortment of chocolates?"

  "Perfect. I'll have Bailey's if you have it."

  Miles emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later with coffee, liqueurs, and a beautiful box of chocolates. "I know, I know, they look like the kind you see in hospital..."

  Darby sprang to her feet. "Miles, you've made me think of something. When I went with Mark to pick up Lucy, I took the bag of her personal items, things she had used at the hospital. The bag brushed against my leg in the truck and I felt something hard, like a rectangular box. What if it was a box of chocolates? Suppose that's how she was poisoned? Someone brought them as a gift ... a gift intended to kill."

  She grabbed her cell phone and called Mark. A moment later he had checked his sister's items from the hospital and was back on the phone.

  "Darby, you're right. There is a small box of chocolates among her items, and two are missing." He paused. "Do you really think they're laced with heroin?"

  "I do, Mark, Lucy was adamant about not abusing drugs herself, and I believe her. There simply is no other explanation."

  "What should I do? She's sleeping now, and I hate to wake her."

  "Get them to the police so Chief Dupont can have them analyzed. If we can prove that Lucy was poisoned, perhaps he'll stop trying to pin her as Emerson Phipps' murderer."

  Miles looked incredulous as Darby hung up the phone.

  "Lucy Trimble ... poisoned? Who? Why?"

  Darby's face wore a grim expression. "I don't know, Miles. But I have a hunch it was the murderer."

  Darby rose early the next morning, feeling as if she needed some exercise before her appointments. Gingerly she tested her ankle; it was still tender. I'll take it slow, she told herself. Five minutes later, she had laced up her sneakers and was trotting carefully down the winding roads. Determined to face her fears, she forced herself to head to Fairview.

  Even under the cloud of a murder, the grand old house retained an almost majestic air. Darby jogged around to the side of the house, hearing the waves crashing against the rocks below. She rounded the corner of the building and her eyes could not help but stray to the garden cottage, where the door was ajar.

  Darby stopped and walked cautiously toward the cottage. A man emerged and Darby froze, expecting the malevolent force of Soames Pemberton. Instead, she was greatly relieved to see Donny Pease.

  The caretaker looked up and smiled.

  "Got my old job back," he said, indicating the house and estate. "At least until somebody buys the place. Any takers, or does the thought of a murderer on Hurricane Harbor scare 'em all off?"

  "It's not helping sales, that's for sure," said Darby. "What are you up to?"

  "Cleaning up the property, that sort of thing. There's a pile of junk behind the cottage I've been meaning to get to. Those police detectives made a mess of the landscaping over here, and I'm just getting it all shipshape again." He smiled happily. "Did you know my father worked for the Trimbles way back? I grew up helping him. I can remember as a little tyke watching him build that stone wall over there. He was quite a gifted stone mason. Knew just where to place the rocks so it would last forever." He gave a wistful look. "Now who knows what'll happen with the old place. You don't suppose the Trimbles would decide to keep it, do you?"

  Darby shook her head. "I don't believe so, Donny. I think they've decided that they need to move on."

  He shrugged. "Time was when a family kept a place, and passed it on, you know? Nowadays it's all about the money." His grim expression became cheerful once more. "Still, I don't think they'll sell it all that quickly. Not with a murderer on the loose" He glanced at his watch. "Gotta close up and run to the harbor. Don't see your vehicle ... You want a ride anywhere?"

  "That would be great, actually. Could you drop me off at Aunt Jane's house?"

  He seemed glad for the errand and whistled as they made their way around the yard to the old truck. Darby noticed the back of the vehicle was full of old bottles, rusted pieces of machinery, and several old tires.

  "Mark asked me to work on the old junk pile, you know, get rid of some of the trash piled up in the woods," he said. "Used to be that islanders didn't have a landfill to put their castoffs, so they made their own dumps at the edge of the property."

  "Have you found anything interesting?"

  "At times I have. Mostly, though, it's just a lot of beat-up junk." "

  They drove the winding roads to Jane's house in silence. When they reached the driveway, Darby thanked Donny for the lift and he smiled.

  "I hear you're trying to help Miss Lucy, and I'm grateful," he said. "She wouldn't kill anyone, that girl. Just plain nonsense is what it is." His expression grew grim. "That idiot police chief... "

  I take it you don't think he's investigating thoroughly enough?"

  Donny Pease snorted. "I know he's not investigating anywhere near enough. He's fine when it comes to vandalism or a parking ticket, but he's in way over his head on this murder. Hate to see Lucy suffer 'cause Chief Dupont doesn't have a clue"

  "I'll do my best to help her, Donny. Thanks again for the ride."

  An hour later, a freshly showered and dressed Darby met Tina at the door to the Near & Farr office. Tina clutched a bag from the Hurricane Harbor Cafe in hand.

  "Bet you didn't have breakfast," she said, wiggling the bag before Darby's face. "I've got muffins and coffee, so help yourself."

  "Actually, I am hungry, and that coffee smells wonderful. Thanks."

  "You can't solve a murder on an empty stomach, is what I always say.

  "Why does everyone think I'm trying to solve the murder? I'm trying to sell a house, that's what I'm trying to do"

  "Well, Lucy was a good friend of yours, maybe still is, and you know she's not getting much help from anybody else." Tina bit into a blueberry muffin and munched for a few seconds. "Hey, how was your little dinner with Miles?"

  "Very nice."

  "No more details than that? What did he make?"

  "Haddock chowder."

  "Okay, I get it. Despite this wonderful breakfast I've prepared, you aren't going to tell me about your love life. I'll just go back to my typing, I guess."

  Darby checked messages and e-mails for a good forty-five minutes while Tina worked in the other room. It's liberating to think about something other than Emerson Phipps' murder, she realized. She saw that the Costa Brava mansion, her newest waterfront listing for Pacific Coast Realty, was still available, although ET had made progress with a few of their lower-priced li
stings.

  Darby stood and stretched, checking her watch. Nearly ten minutes after nine, and no Peyton Mayerson ...

  The door opened with a rush and in flounced Peyton.

  "Whew!" she exclaimed. "They've started setting up for that art show by the hotel. I could hardly walk on the sidewalk! And the first boat is in from Manatuck and it was full of tourists. Full! Too bad Lucy Trimble can't sell her paintings. She'd make herself a bundle."

  "Lucy will be selling paintings," said Darby. "She's free on bail and is looking forward to working in her booth."

  "What?" shrieked Peyton Mayerson. "They're going to let a murderer sit in the sun at the art show? What kind of justice is that?"

  Tina stood up. "Lucy Trimble didn't kill that man. Everyone on this island knows that."

  "Well somebody sure as heck did, and they wore her little painting outfit to do it!"

  Darby glanced at Tina, who took the hint and turned on her heel. Once Tina had stomped back to her desk, Darby indicated a chair. "Please sit down, Ms. Mayerson."

  Somewhat mollified, Peyton Mayerson sank into the chair. Darby gave her a few moments to cool off before continuing.

  "Now, Ms. Mayerson, as you know, Fairview is no longer under contract. My clients have asked me to convey their willingness to enter into another contract with you as soon as possible on the same terms. We are prepared to grant you the time you need for proper approval concerning your plans for the property."

  Peyton snorted. "What about that idiot Soames and his rantings? Is it true I can't have a gin and tonic on the premises?"

  "I've looked into that issue, and I think your attorney can make a good case that the old restrictions were meant to only benefit the original Pemberton homestead, a structure that was once located where Soames' shack is now. I'm hopeful it can be cleared up so that you'll be able to get approval for a liquor license and zoning change after all."

  Peyton Mayerson waved her arm impatiently. "I don't really care about that anymore," she said. "My plans for the property have changed-but so has my offering price." She smiled coyly at Darby. "I'm not willing to spend $5.5 million for the property any longer. We'll give you $4.9."

  "And your reasoning?"

  "A murder took place in the backyard! An as yet unsolved murder. Imagine the advertising I'm going to have to do to overcome that stigma! Surely you can't expect me to pay the same amount when Fairview is now damaged goods."

  Darby held her tongue. Peyton Mayerson had a point, and if she were her buyer's broker, she would advise her to do the same thing.

  "I will convey your verbal offer to my clients and see what they say. Thank you for your time, Ms. Mayerson."

  Peyton Mayerson rose and glanced toward the conference room, where Tina was still sequestered. She lowered her voice.

  "I admit, it is hard to imagine that Lucy Trimble killed that man. It's worked out awfully well for me, but still, what a drastic thing to do!"

  Darby stood as well and looked Peyton Mayerson squarely in the eye. "Lucy Trimble didn't kill him," she said. "I believe she was framed." She paused a moment. "Just out of curiosity, where were you on Sunday morning?"

  "You think I had something to do with the murder! How ridiculous!" Peyton Mayerson laughed. "You Mainers can be so strange." She cocked her head and thought a moment. "Let's see. Sunday morning ... oh yes! I was in bed with Emilio, and as I recall, neither one of us were sleeping... " She chuckled. "Well, if that's all the questions you have for me, Detective Darby, I'm off to see how things are coming for the art show." She paused a moment. "I hope your friend Lucy Trimble keeps painting in prison. Her work is becoming quite valuable, you know."

  No sooner had Peyton Mayerson sashayed out the door than Tina burst out of the conference room.

  "That little ... !" she seethed. "I heard every word out of her nasty mouth. Painting in prison! I'd like to smack her, Darby, really I would. Don't let her buy Fairview, no matter how badly the Trimbles want to sell. That woman doesn't deserve to live on Hurricane Harbor."

  "I know what you mean, Tina. Believe, me, Peyton Mayerson is not my favorite person either." She thought a moment. "I'm going to call Mark and let him know about Peyton's offering price for Fairview. Why don't you go over to the hotel and see if you can catch Emilio alone? Maybe you can find out from him whether Peyton and he were really so cozy on Sunday morning."

  "I'm on it." Tina stood and grabbed her turquoise purse and was about to exit when a pale, petite woman stepped into the office. She wore a linen suit that was wrinkled and large dark glasses, which she removed as she looked at Tina and Darby.

  "I'm looking for Darby Farr," she said quietly. "I'm early for our appointment. I'm Alicia Komolsky. Alicia Phipps Komolsky. Emerson was my brother."

  Darby introduced herself and offered a chair. Tina gave a discreet little wave and left the office.

  "I'm so sorry," Darby murmured.

  "Thank you," Alicia Komolsky whispered, her voice quavering. "I'm still-I still-I can't believe it."

  "I understand."

  "Did you know my brother?" She looked up almost hopefully.

  "I met him many years ago. Our agency was helping him to purchase a property."

  Alicia nodded. "I know. Fairview. It was all he could talk about, from the moment he saw it was for sale." She managed a weak smile. "He was like a little kid about it. So excited. He said it would be a place for me and the boys-my sons-to spend the summer. He told them they could learn how to sail." She brought a tissue to her eyes and dabbed at them, struggling to regain her composure.

  Taking a steadying breath, Alicia went on. "I'm on the island to bring home his personal things, and I thought I would see if he had paid any money for the house, you know, any deposits"

  Darby pulled a file from her desk. "Yes, he did give us an earnest money check with his agreement to buy Fairview," she said. "And I see now that it was never deposited." She frowned. Why hadn't Jane deposited the check in the company trust account? That was a violation of state laws, to say the least ...

  She handed Alicia Komolsky a copy of the contract and the check.

  "This is for one hundred thousand dollars!" she exclaimed.

  "That's right. But as I said, it was never deposited. Are you the executor of his estate?"

  She nodded. "I am. It was just us-Emerson and myself-and my two sons. He left everything to them, well, except for a donation to SWS."

  "SWS?"

  "Surgeons Who Serve. It's a charitable group that travels to Third-World countries to operate on the underprivileged. Emerson went on three or four trips to the Caribbean with them every year, Haiti mostly. He'd come back so invigorated. Once he showed the boys and I photos of the work they were doing, the people they were helping." She paused and looked down at her hands. "He had faults just like anyone, but he was a wonderful man"

  Darby touched the woman's shoulder gently. "Would you like me to come with you to the police station to get your brother's things?" she asked.

  "I hate to put you to the trouble," Alicia Komolsky said, "but I would be so grateful for the company. As you can see, I'm not functioning very well right now."

  "Did you drive up here alone?"

  She nodded. "A friend of mine is watching Sam and Michael -those are my sons-and I just got in the car and drove. It wasn't too bad, really."

  Darby grabbed her purse and escorted Alicia Komolsky to the door. "Would you like to ride with me?"

  "Yes, thanks," she said. "I'd hate to subject you to the horror show in my car." She indicated a dark blue minivan with a dented rear fender.

  "I'm afraid it's a little messy. I'm sort of a soccer mom, transporting the boys back and forth to all of their activities, and I guess I don't clean up the car too often." She sighed. "I've had to raise them alone since they were in diapers. My ex took off with a waitress and I haven't heard from him since. I guess I didn't choose too wisely, but at least I got Sam and Michael." She glanced back at the minivan. "It's a convenient car, though. Wh
en my old station wagon bit the dust, Emerson said I should get a minivan, and he was right. He helped me pick out this one and even helped with the financing." She choked a little and Darby knew she was close to tears.

  "The police station is up this road, by the town office," Darby said, opening the truck's door and starting the engine. Once Alicia Komolsky was inside, she began driving up and away from the harbor. "The police chief is a man named Charles Dupont. Have you spoken with him?"

  "Yes, he's the one who called." She blew her nose and looked blankly out the window. After a few moments, she gave a deep sigh.

  "I used to worry about my brother, when he went on these trips to all these dangerous places. And I worried about him in Boston, too, because he had such a high profile, and not everyone liked him. You know, he was famous, and that makes some people jealous. But I never thought I had to worry about him up here."

  "Who didn't like your brother in Boston?"

  "Oh, I don't know if there was anyone in particular. He used to tell me there were other doctors who were envious of his talents, and patients who didn't understand how trivial appointments and things were to a skilled surgeon. Nobody specific, though, nothing like that. Just, you know, he was a brilliant and handsome man, one of the city's most eligible bachelors, and that was bound to make some people dislike him."

  Darby thought of the newspaper stories Miles had found on the Internet. She hadn't yet taken the time to read them, but perhaps they would shed light on Emerson Phipps' enemies in Boston.

  "These people who were jealous of your brother. Did they dislike him enough to kill him?"

  Alicia Komolsky's face was vacant. "I don't know," she said dully. "I don't know anything anymore."

  TEN

  EMERSON PHIPPS' EFFECTS FIT in a small duffel bag. He had brought a few changes of clothes, a medical thriller novel, some toiletry items, and a manila file folder labeled, "Fairview."

  "We've gone through it, of course," Chief Dupont said conspiratorially to Darby. "There's nothing out of the ordinary. A copy of the contract, the deed, and the listing packet on the property -that's about it."