by Anne Canadeo
Dr. Fielding nodded. “Please. Share with us.”
“Thank you, Dr. Fielding. And thank you for bringing us together this way. I think it’s very helpful. My name is Helen Shelburn,” she said, gazing around at the group. “I live on Hurricane Hill, next door to the Mortons. We moved into the community when it was first built and were very happy here. But when the Mortons moved in, we considered selling our place and moving to the opposite side of the development, or moving away altogether.
“Tanya is all right,” she continued. “I’m friends with her, in a way. But I can honestly say that Dr. Morton was the nastiest neighbor and the most awful person you could imagine. A total nightmare.”
“In what way?” Dr. Fielding leaned forward in his chair. “That is, if you feel inclined to tell us. If not, that’s okay too.”
“It’s all right. I can tell you. He complained that we put our trash bins out too early. He said they were unsightly and should only go out after dark. When he found them out before sunset, he’d tip them over. Of course, that left a huge mess for us to clean, and raccoons sniffing around at night. But that was nothing compared to Harvey, our Cairn Terrier. Morton poisoned our dog. He claimed it was an accident, but it definitely was not. He hated Harvey.”
Helen paused and looked down a moment, clasping her hands in her lap. Lucy could tell this part of the story was hard for her tell. “We have a fence around the whole yard, but Harvey loved to dig and often dug his way out. We called him Harvey Houdini.” She smiled at the recollection, but her eyes still looked sad. “He’d usually end up in Morton’s yard, but never did any real harm. Scared their cat. Dug up a flower bed, maybe. But Morton was livid. He said, ‘The next time I find that dog here, he’s not going to make it home.’ Later, he claimed that he’d only meant he’d bring Harvey to a shelter to teach us lesson.”
Helen shook her head and brushed her hair back with her hand. Her voice sounded a little shaky as she continued. “The next time Harvey got out, he didn’t come home. The vet said he ate rat bait. Morton claimed he’d put the bait down because mice were getting into his house. But the vet did an autopsy and said the bait had been mixed with bacon. We never gave Harvey bacon. Morton wrapped the poison in meat so Harvey would eat it. He did that purposely. But we could never prove it.” She paused and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “What kind of man would do that to a poor, sweet, innocent dog?”
No one answered. Not even Dr. Fielding.
Helen continued. “I’ve come here because . . . well, after everything Dr. Morton did to us, I feel guilty. Ironic, right? I told everyone I know about what he did to Harvey and said some awful things about him. I wished him ill, and now he’s met such a horrible death. I know it’s irrational, but I’m afraid all those bad wishes will turn back on me.”
“I see,” Dr. Fielding said. “You feel guilty about wishing him ill, as if you somehow caused his death?”
Helen shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far . . . but in a way, I guess I’m afraid those bad feelings will boomerang back.”
“Like bad karma? That concept?”
“I suppose so. I was taught to never speak badly about people, even if they deserved it. Partly out of the idea that no one is perfect, and it’s not our place to judge. But also, because all that negativity could bounce back to you. I mean, look at how Dr. Morton lived . . . and how he died.”
Helen made a good point. One that gave Lucy a chill. She wondered what Dr. Fielding would say to Helen, but another woman raised her hand and seemed eager to speak. She wore a pink polo shirt and white capris. Her shoulder-length brown hair was touched with blond highlights, and styled with a swoop of bangs above her bright blue eyes. When Dr. Fielding called on her, she introduced herself as Regina Thorne. She seemed nervous but also eager to speak.
“I’ve had a few run-ins with Dr. Morton, too, and I feel the same as Helen. One day, I bumped into his car in the parking lot outside the fitness center. There was a very minor dent to his bumper, more of scratch if you ask me. I offered to pay for the damage, but he got so incensed, I thought he was having a stroke. He called me some awful names. I was afraid of him, so I called security.” She sighed and sat back. “Of course, I told the story to everyone I knew. Now I feel guilty for speaking badly about him, like Helen does.”
“I see. Perhaps that’s the reason many of you came today. Conflicted and unresolved feelings. Thank you for sharing your stories, Helen and Regina, and for sharing your feelings and fears so honestly,” Dr. Fielding said.
“I didn’t plan on speaking much,” he added. “This is your time. But I will say that you shouldn’t blame yourself for your honest reaction to losing your dog, or bumping a car, or anything else that went on between you and Dr. Morton. You had, and still have, a right to your feelings, and you should not feel guilty for them. Personally, I don’t believe our lives are governed by karmic laws of actions and punishments or rewards. Just look around. Many who treat others in a disrespectful and totally insensitive way are doing just fine . . .”
He seemed about to say more, when a young man staggered into the circle, an open beer bottle in one hand. Lucy had noticed him enter the building, but thought he was headed for the café.
He was not very tall, but handsome in a raffish way, with bright blue eyes and thick blond hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed in a while. A shade of beard covered his chin and cheeks.
He squeezed past a chair and took center stage, right in front of Dr. Fielding, pointing his bottle as he spoke. “How true, Doctor. Some awful people do just fine. My father, case in point. Until someone pushed him off a cliff,” the young man added. “There’s a karmic punch line for you.”
He spun around, nearly losing his balance. He wore a rumpled suit and tie, loosened around his neck. “Excuse me for crashing the party. But I’d like to share my feelings now.... I think you’re a bunch of phonies and hypocrites. No one here liked my father. No one is sorry to see him go. For all I know, one of you may have even pushed him over the edge.”
“Cory . . .” Meredith stood up from her chair and walked toward him. She tried to touch him, but he shook his head. “Please . . . that’s enough.”
“That’s her son. She was Morton’s first wife,” Lucy whispered to Dana.
Dana nodded, her gaze fixed on the scene in the center of the support circle.
“I’m not done sharing yet, Mom,” he said in slurred words. He gazed around at the group. “You’re probably the only one grieving here, Dr. Fielding. But my guess is that’s over losing the hefty fee my father paid you for therapy. You had him hooked. But then again, dear old Dad always loved to talk about himself. His favorite topic.”
Dr. Fielding was Julian Morton’s therapist? That was an interesting twist, Lucy thought.
Cory faced Dr. Fielding.
“That’s not true. Though he was my patient. I won’t deny that,” Dr. Fielding replied evenly.
Cory laughed, a bitter edge to the sound. “Not your most successful case, I hope. No offense. But he was still a nasty bastard even after all those sessions. What did you talk about? All his little grievances? How he laughed at me when I asked him for a loan to start a business? How he treated my mother so despicably?”
“You’ve said enough. Let’s go home now.” Meredith stood between Cory and Dr. Fielding. She tried to take her son’s arm, but he shook it off.
Dr. Fielding stood up now, too. “I’d be happy to talk to you privately about your father, Cory. But this is not the time or place.”
Cory answered with an angry stare. He dropped his head and took a swig of beer. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, looking suddenly deflated.
“Not the time and place? Geez, man, I thought this was a grief circle. Guess I got it wrong again. Story of my life, if you ever heard my father talk about me.” He turned to his mother, this time allowing her to take his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Meredith nodded and then glanced back at Dr. Fielding. Her gaze
met his for a long moment. She seemed distressed, but his answering look was one of sympathy and comfort. Lucy had a feeling that Dr. Fielding would visit Meredith after the circle broke up. In fact, she was sure of it.
Several more residents spoke, most either expressing fear about a possible killer in their midst or telling stories that further illustrated Julian Morton’s toxic personality.
One person did relate a kind moment when Morton helped him carry a heavy cooler from the beach up the steps. Of course, this was because Morton pushed past the man and made him fall to his knees on the steps. Morton helped him up, grabbed the other end of the cooler, and openly admitted he didn’t want the man to sue him.
It was almost kind, Lucy decided.
After a few more comforting words from Dr. Fielding, the circle dispersed. Many people had seemed eager to express their feelings about Morton, but Lucy wondered if the circle had helped them.
She did think about what Oscar Newland had said, and even what Cory had shouted accusingly to the group. Was the killer among them, hiding behind the beautiful, serene, and safe surroundings of Osprey Shores?
Chapter 7
“Time to crank up the barbie and break out the margarita ingredients, gang,” Suzanne said, heading straight into the kitchen when they returned from the grief circle. “I don’t know about you, but something about that support group made me very nervous.”
When Suzanne was nervous, she liked to cook . . . and eat. And it was time for dinner. Or at least, appetizers and cocktails. They’d decided to barbeque and enjoy a leisurely dinner at the cottage. Lucy was happy about that. Any suggestion to repeat last night’s festivities would have sent her straight to her room.
Everyone pitched it to do their share—making a salad, setting the table, and chopping onions and other ingredients for Suzanne, whom they all recognized as the master chef and kitchen boss.
“Phoebe, whip up those cocktails, will you? The blender is ready to launch.” Suzanne handed Phoebe a bowl of ice. “Just add a few cubes.”
Phoebe did as instructed, whirring up Suzanne’s tasty blend.
“What’s for dinner, chef?” Lucy sliced red and green peppers into the exact dimensions Suzanne had requested.
“Shish kebabs. Lamb and chicken, and shrimp for our non-carnivores. A Greek salad and rice pilaf.”
“Sounds yummy.” Phoebe began to pour out the cocktails but stopped when Suzanne gasped.
“Phoebe, honey . . . you forgot to dip the rims in the sea salt. Use those glasses in the fridge. I’ve been chilling them.” Suzanne pushed a dish with the salt mixture toward their newbie barista.
Phoebe stared at the glass, then at the salt. “I always wondered how you got that stuff on there.”
Suzanne dipped the first glass, showing her how to do it. “Easy, right? But a nice presentation.”
Phoebe coated the rims and filled the chilled glasses, handing them out around the kitchen. Lucy took a refreshing sip. “Yum. Best margarita in town, I’ll bet.”
“Thank you. No applause necessary. Wait till you taste the kebabs. My secret marinade is to die for,” she promised.
“Speaking of secrets, there was a lot of confession going on at the support circle,” Dana said. “I was surprised at the openness and honesty. It’s not as if all of the residents are friends. But I wasn’t surprised about the stories concerning Morton.”
Phoebe had finished serving the drinks and Suzanne set down a mezze platter on the kitchen island where they had gathered. The tray of Middle Eastern appetizers she’d prepared to complement her menu looked good enough to star in a cooking show: a bowl of homemade hummus, another of yogurt dill dip, tzatziki sauce, a bowl of Gaeta olives and a basket of toasted pita chips.
“The worst was poor Harvey. I felt so bad, I started to cry. That story would give me good motive to hurt somebody. Hurt them bad.” Phoebe sounded angry and like she might cry again.
“I’m not surprised the Shelburns wanted to move,” Dana said.
“I’m sure Betty Rutledge felt validated, even though she didn’t tell her story,” Maggie said. “I felt sure she would. I wonder why she held back.”
“Maybe, after all the other dark tales, she decided she didn’t need to,” Lucy said.
Suzanne turned from the counter where she was seasoning skewers of meat and vegetables. “Maybe, after what Oscar said, she thought people might suspect her or her brother of giving Morton his fatal, final push.”
“We’ve always thought she could have done it with some help. Maybe not even her brother. Maybe a neighbor.” Lucy popped an olive into her mouth. “There were plenty of candidates airing serious grievances this afternoon.”
Dana dipped a celery stick into the hummus. “I’m more interested in people who had grievances and didn’t show up.”
“Tanya Morton, you mean?” Maggie replied. “I wondered about that.”
“I did, too,” Lucy said. “But I can understand why she stayed home. I’m sure she knew there would be few—if any—pleasant remembrances about her husband. Maybe she didn’t want to be embarrassed, or put on the spot, feeling like she had to defend him. Maybe she didn’t want to share her feelings about his passing.”
“You mean his pushing,” Suzanne said. “Maybe because she teamed up with that hunky handyman, who did the heavy lifting?”
Maggie picked up a pita chip but seemed undecided about where to dip it. “From what Lucy saw last night, it seems those two have a relationship. But it’s a big jump to say they conspired to murder her husband.”
Suzanne was whisking together olive oil and two kinds of vinegar for the salad dressing. “Not so big a jump in my book. And by relationship, I think you mean affair. Unless he was making a late-night call to unclog her garbage disposal.”
“Not likely.” Lucy had to laugh. “But from what I saw, even at a distance, they didn’t look happy. He was pounding on the door, and she greeted him with a real scowl.”
Suzanne seasoned the dressing and set it aside. “A lover’s quarrel. These deadly duos always turn on each other sooner or later. Didn’t you ever see Double Indemnity? When illicit lovers team up to do in a spouse they always go for each other’s neck right after the crime. Remember when Barbara Stanwyck says, ‘We’re both rotten’? And Fred MacMurray says, ‘Yeah. But you’re a little more rotten.’ ”
Dana tried the yogurt dill dip with a carrot stick. “I don’t remember that part, but I remember everyone smokes a lot of cigarettes, and he shoots her at the end.” She shaped her hand like a pistol and pointed it at her stomach. “She says something like, ‘But I love you,’ and he says, ‘I love you, too, baby.’ Then bam. It was very film noir.”
“As much as I love film noir, I still think it’s a big leap to say Tanya and Sam are another dark-hearted duo,” Lucy said. “There could be an innocent explanation for Sam going to her house that night.”
“Right, Lucy. You’re so naïve sometimes. I love you for that, honestly.” Suzanne made a kissy face as she lifted a lid and checked what was cooking underneath.
“I’m just trying to be objective. To keep an open mind. There are a boatload of people who had motive to kill Morton.”
“It’s like a line at the deli counter. Take a number, please.” Phoebe pulled a ticket from an imaginary machine.
“And we’ve totally forgotten Derek Pullman,” Lucy added. “ A man with a lot of motive, and one who physically threatened Morton. Didn’t he say, ‘Watch your back, old man’?”
“He did. And painted CHEATER on Morton’s car,” Suzanne added.
“I still think that would be an illogical thing to do if you were about to kill somebody.” Lucy took a sip from her margarita to wash down the dips, which were delicious.
“I agree.” Dana nodded, munching a mini carrot. “But, as Lucy and I have already discussed, I still think it’s possible that Pullman started off just wanting to damage the car, and then saw Morton on the cliff walk later. Or followed him out there and lost control. Ma
ybe he confronted Morton again about the card game and his debt, and it got physical.”
“He does have a good alibi. But alibis can have holes in them once you look closely,” Lucy pointed out. “I guess the police are also figuring out these scenarios. And even if there aren’t any security cameras on the cliff walk, the police can probably search tapes to figure out who was headed in that direction Friday morning.”
“But it was so foggy. That will make it harder to identify people conclusively,” Dana pointed out.
Right, the pea soup fog. Lucy had forgotten about that. “Tanya was going to the yoga class, so she would have some logical reason for leaving her cottage in the time frame of the murder. But she got to the class late. That would have given her an opportunity to go out onto the walk and push her husband over the edge. Or sneak out there and wait for him while he was fussing over his car with the security guards, and then rush back to the fitness center for Meredith’s class.”
“That would have worked out perfectly for her,” Phoebe said. “Maybe Sam was already on the walk, waiting, and she went out there just to distract Morton.”
“And Sam Briggs is all over the development from early in the morning, riding around in his pickup truck,” Maggie said. “No one who saw him driving or walking around the grounds that morning would have thought it odd or suspicious.”
“It all seems to fall together, if they are having an affair,” Lucy said. “But maybe a little too easily?”
“How do you mean?” Dana asked.
“Well, if we can come up with this scenario so quickly, why aren’t the police taking Tanya and Sam in for questioning?”
“Maybe they are, and we just haven’t heard about it,” Phoebe said.
“I doubt it. News like that would travel fast around here,” Maggie said. “Maybe they both have good alibis for the time of Morton’s murder and were eliminated from the suspect list. But now that Lucy told the police she saw them together in a compromising situation, it might change things.”