A moment later, the engine roared to life,
"Gun it!" Darby yelled.
Tina stepped hard on the gas and the truck lurched forward, thrusting Soames backward against the pavement. The tires squealed as she sped out of the parking lot and down the road. The two women rode in stunned silence, breathing heavily, putting distance between them and Soames. Finally, Tina found her voice.
"Holy shit. That was close."
Darby nodded. She could not get the picture of Soames' hands around Tina's throat out of her mind. "How's your neck?"
Tina rubbed it gingerly. "Sore. That bastard."
"You're not kidding."
"Did you hear what he said? Mark Trimble paid him to present the deed."
No!
"That's what he claims. Mark paid the money, but Phipps was the one behind it. When Soames tried to blackmail him for more money, he just laughed."
"Who laughed? Phipps?"
"Apparently. When I asked him if he killed Phipps because he wanted more money, he said no. He said, `I could have, but I didn't want to'."
"Yeah, right. Just like he wasn't going to hurt you. Tell that to your neck."
Tina gave a rueful smile. "I asked him who killed Phipps and he acted like he knew."
"He knows all right: it was him." Darby turned to her friend. "Mark knew from the beginning that the sale to Peyton wasn't going to happen. He lied to me."
Tina nodded. "I can't believe it! With as much money as he's got, what's he going and getting greedy for? Sounds to me like Phipps came along, offered more money, and that was the end of the whole wedding idea." Her face darkened. "Although I never did like that Peyton Mayerson, and there's something fishy about her boyfriend."
Darby heard the rumble of a train in the background and guessed that she and Tina were driving past a seldom-used freight line. The noise only added to the confusion in her brain. She had never felt so mentally or physically exhausted.
"Tina, there's something I haven't considered. What if Mark knew what happened to Lucy way back when? What if Phipps told him about the rape on one of his trips up here this month? Bragged about it over drinks or something?" She paused. "He might have even confessed to Mark in remorse."
Tina's face grew ashen. "What are you saying? That Mark could have killed Phipps as payback for what he did to Lucy all those years ago?"
"You said it yourself: Mark would do anything to help his sister. What if he learned about the deal my aunt concocted with Phipps, even helped her to put Phipps in the position to buy Fairview, and then found out about the rape. When he realized he'd made a terrible mistake, he met Phipps at the property and killed him."
Tina shook her head. "Then he would have known Phipps was already dead when he met you at that planning board meeting. Did he act like someone who'd butchered his buddy the day before?"
"No. But clearly he's a better actor than we thought."
"Guess you never do know what people are really thinking. Look at that old Jane for example! Here she is doing this double deal, and me never knowing. Could Mark have killed that doctor if he found out what he'd done to his sister, all those years before? I guess anybody might do anything if they were provoked enough, but my money's on that loser Soames Pemberton." She touched her throat again and winced.
"You blasted him with my spray, didn't you?"
Darby nodded.
"Good," Tina said grimly. She turned to Darby. "You going to read Mark the riot act?"
"You bet," vowed Darby. "I'm finding Mark Trimble first thing tomorrow morning. And this time, he's telling me the truth."
Miles Porter was waiting when Darby and Tina drove off the ferry and on to Hurricane Harbor. "I left you a message," he told Darby, a concerned look on his face. "Did you get it? I've been worried."
"I'm sorry, Miles. I looked for my phone on the ferry, but I've misplaced it." She turned and hugged Tina. "You're sure you're okay?"
Tina nodded. "Takes more than that to kill me," she said.
"Kill you? What happened?"
Darby sighed. "It's been an eventful day. Can you drive me back to my aunt's house? I promise I'll tell you what happened."
Miles agreed and Darby climbed into his car. While he listened attentively, she brought him up to date on what she and Tina had found at the cabin and Chief Dupont's reaction. When she told Miles about their encounter with Soames Pemberton at the warehouse, he narrowed his eyes and frowned.
"That maniac could have killed you both," he said sharply. "What did Dupont say about that?"
"He doesn't know yet," Darby said. "I'm going to call him as soon as I get to Jane's"
Miles followed Darby into the house. "I'm going to make you some tea," he said. "After the day you've had, you need a good strong cup."
Darby nodded gratefully and dialed Chief Dupont's home number. After a few rings he answered.
"You're saving me a call," he said, interrupting her mid-sentence. "We searched the shack by the quarry and found the file and the heroin, as well as something else."
Darby waited, her heart beating.
"The doctor's fancy watch. My men will be combing the island for Soames come morning. It's only a matter of time before we find him and bring him in for questioning."
"He's not on Hurricane Harbor," said Darby, trying her best to remain calm. "He's in Manatuck, living in the basement of an abandoned warehouse by the Rusty Scupper Restaurant. He nearly strangled Tina."
"What the hell-" began Chief Dupont. "What about you? Are you all right?"
"Just more convinced than ever that Lucy is innocent. Soames admitted to blackmailing Phipps..." She couldn't bring herself to mention Mark Trimble's involvement in finding the old deed or her new suspicions. After all, he was her client. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd give Mark Trimble a piece of my mind tonight. But I'm in no state to confront him now.
The chief promised to call the Manatuck Police Department immediately. He hung up and Darby replaced the receiver, her heart racing. Maybe by the morning, Soames would be in custody. Lucy would be cleared of all charges and life on Hurricane Harbor could get back to normal. And I can bury my aunt and return to my life in California, she thought.
Miles asked her how she took her tea.
"Strong," she said wearily. Although it was only nine o'clock, Darby felt as if it was midnight.
"Why don't you go out to the cottage," Miles suggested. "I'll bring this out to you and then head back to my little house."
Darby complied and walked through the dark garden to the cheerful cottage. She was enjoying the comfort of a chintz-covered chair when Miles appeared with two steaming mugs of tea.
"I used to hate American coffee cups," he said, handing Darby one of the mugs, "but I have to say, they come in handy when you require a nice big portion."
Darby smiled. "Thanks. This is just what I need." She took a sip of the hot liquid. "Darjeeling. One of my favorites." She gestured toward the other comfortable chair. "Take a seat. I need to process out loud a moment." Miles obeyed and waited for Darby to compose her thoughts.
"There's something that's bothering me," she began. "Soames Pemberton is a braggart. He's an ego-driven, highly trained man who thinks he is smarter than everyone else. If he killed Phipps, why didn't he boast about it to Tina like he did the blackmail?"
"Maybe the seriousness of killing someone has actually sunk in," Miles said. "Maybe it dawned on him that this time he's going to prison for the rest of his life."
"Maybe" She thought back over the days since she landed at Portland Jetport. "I arrived here in Maine on Sunday, the day the murder of Emerson Phipps took place."
Miles nodded.
"Tina and I stopped at the ferry terminal in Manatuck and I used the restroom, where Soames Pemberton surprised me for the first time. Thinking back on it, he didn't act like a man who'd killed somebody that day."
"Is Soames the kind of person who ever behaves in a predictable fashion?" asked Miles.
"That's just it.
The person who killed Emerson Phipps lured him to his death in that garden shed. They somehow knew he was going to be at Fairview that morning. It was calculating, and premeditated, and our friend Soames the Navy SEAL could easily have carried out that plan. And yet it was a sloppy, bloody mess in that shed. That doesn't seem like a military-type execution."
"I see what you mean," Miles agreed. He looked down at his mug of tea and then back at Darby. "Couldn't the whole thing have been a coincidence that worked to Soames' advantage? You know that Soames loitered about Fairview, living in the woods where he did God knows what. Perhaps he was there, sleeping off a drunken binge, and heard the BMW roll up the road. He guesses that it is Phipps-maybe he even recognizes the flashy motorcar-and sneaks into the shed. When Phipps comes in to investigate, Soames uses the first thing he gets his paw on and smashes in his skull."
"Maybe. I keep thinking about Soames' combat missions, but all he seems to do of late is blunder into situations in which he tries to destroy everything in his path."
Darby took another sip of tea and leaned back against a cushy pillow. Should she bring up Mark Trimble? She wanted Miles' reaction, but she was so tired ...
"I am so comfortable, I might actually doze off," she said, sighing.
"With all you've been through the past few days, I won't take it personally if you do nod off," he said.
She turned toward him and smiled. "Another hot date with Darby Farr."
"Indeed" Miles' gaze became more intent. He touched her arm lightly and a tingle went up Darby's spine.
"Your life isn't always so dramatic, is it?" he asked. "I mean, setting traps for murderers and making multimillion dollar deals ... surely there are times when you catch your breath, so to speak?"
Darby laughed. "I live a much quieter life in California, that's true. I'm sure things will settle down after Jane's funeral."
"That's Saturday morning, correct? And you fly back on Sunday?"
"Yes"
"And once you are back in Mission Beach, may I visit you and see your peaceful West Coast life?"
Darby took a sip of her tea, feeling it warm her right down to her toes. "I'd like that very much," she said lightly. "I think you should plan on it."
Moments later, after she'd said goodbye to Miles and thanked him for the tea, she sat wrapped in her bathrobe, making a few last minute notes for the next day. First on her list was to see Mark Trimble. Soames said that Mark put up the money for him to present the old deed, she thought. He's been lying to me all along.
And then there was the sale of Fairview. Peyton's verbal offer was much lower than what Mark and Lucy expected, and yet she was still willing to buy it, even with the archaic deed restrictions. The closing is supposed to take place tomorrow, Darby thought. What are the chances of that?
Written in large letters at the bottom of the list was the single word JANE. I'll call Laura Gefferelli as soon as I wake up, she thought, and make sure we are all set for my aunt's funeral. She needed to touch base with Jane's attorney as well, to be sure she was correctly executing her duties as personal representative. With that resolved, she padded over to the comfortable bed. A wave of tiredness overtook her and she eased against the pillows, falling into a sound sleep.
A vivid dream, fueled perhaps by the caffeine in the tea, filled her thoughts.
She was alone in the woods behind Fairview and had lost her way. As she wandered through the brush, she came to a clearing where a huge easel was set up. A large canvas was propped on the easel, and Darby drew closer to see what it depicted. As she approached, a hooded figure appeared silently from the back of the easel and began painting using broad, sweeping strokes.
Darby was certain that Lucy Trimble was the hooded artist, and she continued to walk closer to the easel. When she was close enough to touch the canvas, the hooded person slowly turned, laughing, and the hood slid away. Darby drew back in horror. It was Soames Pemberton, laughing maniacally, his face painted in desert camouflage. He lunged at her and Darby screamed. As she sprinted through the woods and away from danger, she heard a strange noise. Against her better judgment she glanced backward.
Soames was reaching into the hood to pull something off his face. A mask, Darby realized. He is wearing some kind of mask. She watched, mesmerized, as a new set of features peeked below his own. Someone else is behind Soames, she realized with dread.
She woke with a jolt, her heart pounding, and thought about the dream. Who had been under Soames' mask? Emerson Phipps? Mark Trimble? Peyton Mayerson? Or someone else entirely?
Donny Pease drove his truck through the darkness to the Hurricane Harbor Inn. He'd been asleep when the night manager phoned, asking if he'd help with an emergency water leak. "Right there," he'd answered, his voice groggy with sleep.
He couldn't resist a grin as he pulled into the inn's parking lot. The islanders knew who to call when an emergency happenedDonny Pease. With his ability to fix just about anything, he was an invaluable part of the community fabric. Over the years he'd been summoned to repair everything from boat engines to washing machines, and had been quizzed for advice on the finer points of carpentry, tree trimming, and landscaping. Why, he'd even helped the new lady minister, Laura, deliver a baby who came during one of last winter's worst snowstorms. And the little tyke was doing just fine.
The night manager, a young kid with a worried look on his face, met him in the lobby.
"Mr. Pease, I'm so glad you're here. There's water coming down and I don't know what to do." Donny saw little drops of perspiration beading the boy's forehead, and had to suppress a chuckle.
"Easy, son, just show me where the problem is."
The boy took him to the first floor hallway and pointed up at an elaborate chandelier. The plaster around the fixture was dark gray with moisture, and Donny saw a steady stream of drips falling from the ceiling and onto the carpet, where a soggy circle the size of a beach ball had formed. Serious water damage was occurring; that much Donny knew.
"What's up above this?" he asked. "Laundry room?"
The boy shook his head. "Second floor suite."
Donny imagined the layout of the second floor and realized the boy was right. "What did you find when you went in there?"
The boy blushed a deep crimson. "I didn't go in," he confessed.
"What? Why the heck not?" Donny strode toward the stairs, hating to reprimand the boy, but unable to keep quiet. "That suite's where the problem is, any fool can see that."
He turned to face the boy. "You can get me the key at least, can't you?"
The boy nodded and raced to the registration desk. He returned a moment later and handed Donny the key.
"Is it vacant?"
The boy shook his head. "No. It's occupied by that lady with the Italian man." He squirmed. "Usually they have their `Do Not Disturb' sign out..."
Now Donny understood why the boy had chosen to avoid Peyton Mayerson's suite, water damage or not. The night manager, barely old enough to shave, was petrified of catching the amorous couple in an intimate act.
Donny held out his hand for the key. "Come with me. I may need you to fetch something."
The boy and Donny ascended the stairs and found the suite. Donny rapped hard on the door, asking "Ms. Mayerson? Ms. Mayerson?"
No noise came from the suite. Donny knocked again.
Hearing no answer, he took the square room key and used it to open the door. It swung open and Donny said loudly, "Housekeeping ... we have an emergency."
Again there was no answer. Donny and the night manager crept into the room. "Turn on the light," Donny told the boy, who did as he was directed.
The brightness of the overhead fixture startled Donny, and it took him a few moments to adjust to the light. The boy, meanwhile, had ventured toward the bedroom suite and returned with a relieved look on his face.
"They're not here," he said, pointing toward the bedroom.
The room had not been cleaned, that much was for sure. Plates with half eaten muffins we
re stacked on the coffee table, and newspapers and trash overflowed the waste basket. Glancing inside the bedroom, Donny caught a whiff of perfume still lingering on the air. He noted that the bed was a rumpled mess.
Donny moved toward the bathroom, searching for the source of the leak. The gurgling of running water stopped him short.
The Jacuzzi tub, the focal point of the suite's bathroom, was filled to overflowing, with water gushing out of the faucets and splashing over the edges onto the pale pink tiles. One of those idiots was going to take a bath. Then he looked in the tub.
There, stuck into the drain, was some sheer black material. Women's lingerie, Donny thought. Not that he'd had much firsthand experience with it, but he'd seen those racy catalogues just like all the other men on Hurricane Harbor. Donny turned off the water and yanked the lacey fabric out of the drain. There were two pieces: the tiniest pair of ladies underpants Donny Pease had ever seen, and the fanciest brassiere he'd ever dreamed existed.
"Most likely they were drying and fell into the tub," Donny surmised. "Ladies like to wash little things like this by hand, and then hang them up to dry."
"But the water-why was it on?" stammered the boy.
"Who the heck knows. You just get your butt down to the utility room and bring the big shop vac up here lickety split. We gotta get this floor dried up and quick."
The ringing of the cottage's telephone woke Darby Farr. It was seven; far later than she usually slept, and she fumbled for the receiver and said hello.
"Darby, this is Chief Dupont. There's something you need to know right away. The Manatuck police found Soames Pemberton an hour ago. Looks like he threw himself in front of the old freight train by the Industrial Park. He's dead."
Darby was too stunned to reply. She stood for a moment, absorbing the news that Soames Pemberton had ended his life in such a horrific way.
"The train hardly runs anymore, except for a late-night delivery of gravel," continued the chief. "Soames obviously knew the train's schedule."
A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 19