"That would be wonderful. You can meet Sam and Michael, too."
"Great. I will see you at the hospital, then."
Darby hung up, feeling torn. She didn't want to pay tribute to the man who had raped her friend Lucy, and yet she believed that memorial services were really for the living. His sister had nothing to do with the ugly parts of his personality. And she certainly had nothing to do with his murder...
Darby plugged in the hotel's blow dryer and began to dry her hair. Emerson Phipps was a young college student when he'd forced Lucy Trimble to have sex. Perhaps he'd regretted that action. Perhaps he had spent his adult life doing good works because of that one evil...
She thought again about Emerson Phipps' sister. Alicia seemed to be truly devastated with the murder. How close had the siblings really been? She is the only beneficiary of his estate. She stands to inherit not only his money, but his posh condominium, that pricey BMW...
Had Alicia Komolsky known about her brother's obsession with Fairview? Darby thought back. She remembered the tearful woman saying her brother had been fascinated by the property. Was it likely that she'd known about his planned trip to Maine to purchase it?
Darby willed herself to stop her mind from spiraling out of control. What is wrong with me? Why can't I accept that the case is closed and that the perpetrator is dead. Next thing I know, I'll be pinning this murder on Aunt Jane ...
Slowly she put down the hair dryer and looked in the mirror at her reflection. The raw pain caused by thinking about her aunt was etched across her face. She's dead, she thought. She's really gone. And no matter what Tina says, I will never be able to make my peace with her.
Darby dressed for dinner in a kind of a trance. She wondered if her inability to accept closure with Emerson Phipps' murder was really a way for her to avoid facing Jane Farr's death. In her dream, she'd known there was someone else under Soames' mask. Could that person have been Aunt Jane? Was the dream not about Emerson Phipps' murder, but about the true underlying demon Darby Farr had to face?
She pulled a rose-colored sweater set over her head and paired it with a slim gray skirt and gray flats. Surveying herself in the mirror, she thought she could detect a new calmness that she hadn't seen in days. There's one more thing to do, she thought, finding her cell phone. I need to call Laura Gefferelli and make sure my aunt's memorial service is a fitting tribute.
With her cell phone still useless, Darby dialed out on the hotel phone. The FBI is paying the tab, she realized. I ought to see what's in the mini-bar...
Laura Gefferelli offered several suggestions of readings and passages that complemented Jane Farr's character. "This will be a large gathering," she warned Darby. "Your aunt touched the lives of so many here on the island. She really was a legend. And after what you've done to help catch Soames Pemberton and solve this murder, well, the whole island and half of Manatuck are likely to come.
Darby smiled, thinking that her aunt would have loved being the center of a huge gathering. "I've prepared something to read," she said. "Maybe after Helen does her tribute?"
"Of course."
Darby and the minister discussed several other aspects of the service, including flowers, music, and the program. Darby told her that the Cafe was catering a simple lunch that would take place in the church's gathering room. When she and Laura Gefferelli finished, Darby was satisfied.
"Thank you so much for all of your help, Laura. I think it sounds like it will be a lovely service. I'm in Boston, but I'll check in with you when I get back tomorrow."
"Boston? What are you up to there?"
"It's a long story, but I'm here overnight and on the road tomorrow by one P.M. or so. I'm having dinner with Miles Porter, and tomorrow I'm meeting Alicia Komolsky, Emerson Phipps' sister, at the hospital where he worked. They are having some sort of memorial service for him and I told her I'd attend." "
I see," said Laura. "Did you drive down? Be careful coming back tomorrow-there's bound to be traffic and stormy weather is on the way."
"Good point. I'm in a rental car, and I'll be sure to take it slow."
They said goodbye and Darby grabbed her purse and locked her room. It was not quite four P.M., but she wanted to walk around the Public Garden before meeting Miles. Feeling more peaceful than she had since leaving California, Darby Farr went out the hotel's revolving door, intent on taking a leisurely stroll through the heart of Boston.
Miles was waiting in the lobby as she re-entered the hotel. He glanced up and smiled.
"Where have you been?" he asked with a grin.
"Taking a walk and window shopping," said Darby.
"I see. Ready to fill me in on all the details of your mysterious helicopter trip?"
"No," she said. "Actually, I'm ready to forget all about that and have a good time with you."
I get it. Mum's the word. I can definitely deal with that."
Darby and Miles laughed, ate, drank, and talked their way through a marvelous meal, capped off by a perfect creme brulee.
"Well? Is my little restaurant as good as the home-cooked fare you remember?" teased Miles.
"Definitely. My mother would have loved this place. I can just imagine her asking to meet the chef, and then questioning him about his techniques..." She smiled. "She was always trying to unlock the secret of the perfect creme brulee." She grew pensive. "You know Miles, some mysteries are just not meant to be solved, are they?"
"Are you thinking about the murder of Emerson Phipps?"
"No-my parents' disappearance. I've spent years wishing that someone, somehow, would tell me how and why they vanished on that August day all those years ago. In some ways, I think I hung on to the hope that they would actually reappear."
"That's a normal reaction to death, isn't it?" he asked gently. "What about your aunt? Did she try to help you with your grief?"
"My aunt knew that I wasn't accepting it. Today they call my behavior `denial,' right? In Jane's blunt and straightforward way, she tried to get me to face the fact that they were gone. Of course, I hated her for that."
"Maybe it was easier to hate her than to accept your loss?" Miles' voice was very kind.
Darby nodded. "I think you're right. It hurt less to be angry with Jane Farr than to grieve for my parents." She sighed. "I realized this afternoon that I was doing it all over again."
"What do you mean?"
"Avoiding the pain of a loss, only this time it is Aunt Jane's death that I'm trying to evade."
Miles placed his hand over Darby's. "In the newspaper business, we say knowing is the first step. Now you know. You'll figure it out. I know you will."
Darby smiled. "Thanks."
Miles walked Darby back to the Ritz Carlton while a warm June wind floated the scent of roses from the nearby Public Garden. Darby looked up at the beautiful old hotel and then back at Miles wistfully. "Miles, I would ask you to come up, but-"
He reached and very tenderly put a finger against her lips. "Our time will come." His voice was as soft as the breeze ruffling the flags outside the lobby. "This evening was a wonderful surprise for which I'm extremely grateful. This was a perfect gem of a night."
He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be in touch with you, Darby Farr. We'll take it slow."
"Slow," she murmured. "Slow would be good."
"I'm coming tip to Maine for the day early on Saturday, for your aunt's service. I'm happy to help you with anything you need."
"You don't have to drive up for that, Miles."
"I know I don't have to," he said. "I'd like to."
She nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude for the handsome, intelligent, and caring man who'd somehow dropped into her life. "I'll see you Saturday, then. It will be wonderful to have a friend there."
FOURTEEN
COCOONED IN HER QUIET room and comfortable bed at the Ritz Carlton Hotel, Darby slept deeply and dreamlessly. She arose feeling refreshed, looked at the clock on the bedside table, and decided she had time for a quick run around Boston C
ommon.
The air was warm and soft. A perfect June Friday, Darby thought, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and bare arms as she ran. The swan boats in the Public Garden were gliding back and forth, and a few mothers were already out with their babies, pushing strollers down the winding paths.
After logging three miles through the Common and around Beacon Hill, Darby bought a muffin and coffee from a little shop by the hotel. Once back at her suite, she took a quick shower, gave her room a once-over to be sure she'd packed everything, and took the elevator to the lobby.
The desk clerk handed her a key to a rental car and indicated which part of the parking garage she would find the vehicle. "Pretty nice one, too," he confided. "Not a scratch on her."
Darby accepted directions to Boston Memorial Hospital and took the elevator to the parking garage. She located the car-a brand-new Chrysler Sebring-without much difficulty and was soon navigating Boston's old thoroughfares. After only one misstep, she pulled into the parking lot of the hospital by the visitor's entrance. Out of habit, she thought of checking her cell phone for messages, frowning as she remembered that it was stuffed inside her overnight bag, useless.
"Rats," Darby said to herself. "No business calls for me today. I'll be listening to the radio on the way home."
She locked the car and entered the hospital's gleaming welcome area. Boston Memorial was massive, a series of old brick buildings connected with newer additions, many of them constructed in an airy, atrium style. Darby paused a moment to admire a striking sculpture in the foyer of the main entrance. It was a tangle of geometric shapes that reminded Darby of an angel bestowing mercy on a patient. She wondered if anyone else would come to this interpretation, especially given that the title of the work was "Working Waterfront." She smiled and thought of Lucy and her paintings back on the island. Perhaps some of Lucy's patrons bought her paintings never knowing they represented a healing from pain.
The lobby was surprisingly quiet, more of a funnel to other parts of the hospital than a waiting room. Darby located a receptionist who directed her toward the ceremony. "We all loved Dr. Phipps," she said sadly. "Such a shame to lose a great surgeon like him."
Darby nodded and took the elevator to the second floor. A brightly lit corridor led to a lobby where a number of hospital staff as well as dozens of well-dressed Bostonians were milling around, drinking orange juice. A woman turned and smiled. It was Alicia Komolsky, flanked by two dark-haired boys in matching suits and ties.
"Darby! You're here. I'm so glad you came." She turned to her sons with pride. "This is Samuel, and this is Michael." Both stuck out their hands for shaking and said in a pleasant, but automatic way, "Pleased to meet you," while their mother looked on, beaming. She gave the boys a nod and they rushed to a table laden with brunch items as if released from jail.
"Your boys are so much more grown-up than in the photo you showed me on the island," said Darby.
"Oh yes," Alicia beamed. "Haven't they just grown a ton! Emerson would be amazed." She paused and managed with difficulty to keep her emotions in check. "This ceremony is going to be so hard," she whispered.
Darby took her hand and thought about her aunt's memorial service, scheduled for the next day. "I know," she said. She glanced around the room. "There sure are a lot of white coats around here."
Alicia nodded quickly and smiled, grateful for the distraction. "Aren't there? Many are doctors who worked with Emerson here at the hospital, and a few of them went on the Haiti trips with him."
"With Surgeons Who Serve?"
"Exactly." A tall man in a tailored suit entered the room and Alicia brightened. "Excuse me, Darby."
"Certainly." Darby watched as Alicia hurried to the newcomer and they greeted each other, then hugged. She saw them talk animatedly and Alicia's quick smile as she pointed out her sons to the man.
Was this a love interest for Alicia Phipps Komolsky? Darby found herself thinking again of Phipps' murder. Would a lover have given Alicia any more reason to want her brother out of the picture?
Stop it, she chided herself. She walked over to the buffet table and selected a small serving of fruit salad and a bran muffin. Perhaps if you put something in your stomach you'll stop seeing murderers around every corner, Darby thought.
After a few moments, the ceremony began.
Several administrators from the hospital spoke about Phipps' career and his surgical accomplishments at the hospital. A grayhaired doctor in a lab coat described an operation he and Phipps had performed on a Haitian girl last year, and read a letter from her mother praising Dr. Emerson Phipps. Darby saw a few of the nurses dabbing their eyes with a tissue at the mother's gratitude.
Moments later, Alicia Phipps Komolsky stepped up to the microphone and pulled out a piece of paper.
She began by thanking everyone for coming and for honoring her brother. She briefly mentioned his career and her pride in his selfless devotion to medicine in the Third World. She then said she had two announcements to make.
"First, on behalf of my brother, I would like to announce a gift in the amount of $100,000 to the Coveside Clinic on Hurricane Harbor in Maine." She smiled at Darby and continued. "My brother loved this remote corner of New England and I know he would have wanted a part of his estate to benefit the good people who live and work on that island."
Impressed, Darby listened to the polite applause. Surely the gift had not been Phipps' idea, but his sister's. What an act of kindness, she thought.
Alicia Komolsky waited for the clapping to abate before continuing. "Second, I take great pride in announcing a gift in the amount of $500,000 to Boston Memorial Hospital, earmarked for the new spinal surgery wing. If my late brother were here, I know he would be spearheading the campaign for this new, state-of-theart center." She paused and again the onlookers clapped appreciatively. "Finally, I would like to introduce my sons, Samuel and Michael Phipps Komolsky, who have another exciting announcement to make."
The boys bounded to the microphone and their mother gave them an indulgent smile. Samuel elbowed his brother for the spotlight. "One million dollars to Surgeons Who Serve!" he shouted. The audience laughed, and then clapped. The man with whom Alicia had been speaking looked momentarily stunned. He approached the microphone as if in a daze, introduced himself as the president of SWS, and gave Alicia and her boys a big smile.
"I am truly overwhelmed at this generosity," he said. "We will miss Dr. Phipps and his medical missions, but this money will surely continue his good efforts." The onlookers clapped loudly as the SWS president hugged Alicia and her sons.
In her head, Darby tallied up the donations. Alicia Komolsky had just given away $1.6 million of her brother's estate.
A moment later she was at Darby's side, giggling. "That was amazing," she said. "Giving away that much money! What a rush!" She smiled. "Trust me, my brother is probably rolling around in his grave.
"What do you mean?"
She blushed. "He could be generous with his skills and time, but he hated to part with money," she said. "I look at it this way: I'll sell his condo and car and put the proceeds in a trust for the boys. I think that's what Emerson would have wanted. The rest of his estate-what do I need that much money for? I'm happy already."
Darby smiled. "Philanthropy becomes you, Alicia. I'm so glad I was here to see you make those donations."
She beamed. "Me too." Glancing toward the microphone, she said, "The ceremony is almost over. The hospital staff adds his name to their honor roll, something like that."
After a few more moments of elaboration on Emerson Phipps' surgical brilliance, everyone clapped again and the program was over.
"Darby, thank you for coming," said Alicia. "I'm so glad you were here." She motioned toward the window where the courtyard trees were moving with the breeze. "There's a storm coming up the coast. If you leave now, you'll probably beat it."
Darby hugged Alicia and waved to the boys, who were tussling over a plastic chair in the corner. She made he
r way through the crowd of people, heading toward the door she came in. The administrator who had taken the microphone at one point grabbed her elbow and wheeled around.
"You're going to miss it," she said cheerily. "If you go out that way, you're going to miss our Wall of Remembrance. It's over here."
The woman walked purposefully toward another door, leading Darby by the arm in her direction. In the hallway was a large bronze plaque.
"See?" She pointed with a pudgy finger adorned with peach nail polish. "There's our dear Dr. Phipps."
Darby looked dutifully at the name etched in the metal. Emerson S. Phipps, III.
"Wasn't that fabulous that he gave all that money to SWS?" The administrator had wonder in her voice. "He was quite a man."
His sister donated that money, Darby thought, although she nodded in agreement. Your dear doctor Phipps was a rapist. A rapist who perhaps did some truly good things in his life...
Darby was happy that Alicia could remember her brother fondly without knowing about Lucy and the pain he had caused her. Instead, she would have the legacy of his involvement with Boston Memorial and SWS, and the joy with which donating his money to worthy causes could bring.
The sound of a throat clearing brought Darby back to the present. The administrator was looking at her expectantly.
Darby thanked the woman for showing her the memorial plaque. Pointing at Emerson Phipps' name, she added, "I know it means a lot to his sister, Alicia, that he is honored in this way."
The stout woman nodded. "That's why we do it," she said. "Means so much to the families." She nodded and made way for others to step closer, among them, a pretty ponytailed nurse in light blue scrubs.
"I was in the ER with him the night before he died," she told Darby, sniffling at the memory.
Darby glanced up. The young woman bit her lip and managed a small smile. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Barnes. I actually thought Dr. Phipps was hitting on me, but then, he did that to all of the nurses.
"Why was he here?"
"I paged him to come in because the on-call doctor was in surgery, and there was a spinal patient needing attention. But he died before Dr. Phipps arrived."
A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 22