by BV Lawson
“I’m surprised you don’t have a booth, Lucy,” Drayco said
She hesitated. “The money would be nice. I promised to buy Virginia those new paints Martin Questa started stocking at the gallery. Guess they’ll have to wait.”
Virginia reached up and patted her mother’s hand. “It’s okay, Mom. I can make the others last longer. Or I’ll switch to sculptures—recycled art is hot these days. Oh, look—cotton candy!”
Lucy clucked her tongue. “You haven’t had lunch yet.”
Reece bowed before Virginia. “Allow me to escort this fair maiden to ye olde confectioner’s stand.”
“You’re going to spoil her,” Lucy called out after them, not taking her eyes off the pair as they headed toward a booth to the right.
“We’ll be fine,” Reece said, over his shoulder. “And you know we won’t go near the water since rocks swim better than I do.”
“Reece will take good care of her,” Drayco said.
“I can’t protect her forever, I know. But I’m going to hang on to her for as long as I can.”
“Can you show me the spot where Virginia had her incident the Fourth of July?”
Lucy dragged her eyes away from her daughter and pointed at a road used for cars and trucks to haul in boats. “Over there, near that grouping of rocks.”
“That driver must have been drunk or insane to speed through a crowd of people the way he did.”
“It was after the main fireworks display. People rushed to beat each other out of the park.”
She took a step back and folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Virginia. But I know why my business sales are down. People are saying I arranged the attack on my daughter. What kind of monster do they think I am?”
She fumed for a moment, then stared up at him. “Does the sheriff think I’m a suspect?”
Drayco wanted to reassure her, tell her the sheriff didn’t count her among the suspects. But he couldn’t. She had more motive and opportunity than any stranger to harm Virginia—the strain from years of handling a handicapped child taking their toll.
“The sheriff still thinks it might be an accident, Lucy. And as long as that’s the case, you have no reason to worry.”
Lucy picked up on his careful choice of words. “Then he does think it could be true, that I’m a suspect. And I’ll bet you do, too. I told Maida it was a bad idea to ask your help.”
Virginia and Reece headed back toward them, holding wads of blue and pink spun sugar on sticks. If either heard the tail end of the conversation, they didn’t let on. But Virginia temporarily stopped wolfing down the cotton candy, a frown on her face. She slouched in the chair and avoided making eye contact with Drayco.
Just then, he spotted Deputy Nelia Tyler in uniform. He hated to leave Virginia, with the increasing chill coming from her direction. Reluctantly, he left the Harstons to Reece’s care while still doing his part to survey the crowd.
“How are the hoi polloi?” he asked the deputy. “I don’t see a paddy wagon.”
“We don’t attract the rowdier tourists in these parts. Yet. Still, this is one of the largest crowds here this summer. Second only to the Fourth.”
He joined her as she walked around the periphery of the crowd, stopping now and then for her to shake hands with a local she knew or to smile and chat with a child. The sheriff cultivated a folksy Mayberry attitude toward the townspeople and encouraged his staff to do the same. Nelia was good at it.
As they worked their way toward the pier, she said, “So, you had a meeting with local snake Caleb Quintier. Did he bite?”
“He leaves that to his Rottweilers.”
“If you’re willing to enter his lair, you must believe he had something to do with striking down the Sterlings.”
“If he wasn’t involved, he may know who was.”
“Remember, when you’re around Quintier, watch your back.”
“That seems to be a running refrain.”
Nelia moved her sunglasses on top of her braided hair and shot him a sly smile. “Speaking of watching your back, I don’t see Darcie Squier. If she’d known you were here, she’d have made the effort.”
“Seems déclassé for her tastes. I’m hardly enough of a draw for her to brave the unwashed masses.”
Nelia said lightly, “I wouldn’t say that.”
He started to add a retort when a series of percussive bangs rang out. Shrieks and confusion followed as people ran in every direction. Being tall had its advantages, with Drayco able to see over most of the heads swarming around. Thinking the noise was from one of the boats, he turned toward the water and saw a flash of silver falling off the deck. The silver of a wheelchair.
He rammed his way through the crowd, knocking people over like bowling pins. At the edge of the boardwalk, he kicked off his shoes and dove into the cool brackish water near the stanchions, dodging a stew of debris from floating wood, beer cans, and cigarette packs.
He didn’t know if Virginia could swim. Without lower legs, it would be difficult. She managed to stay afloat, rotating onto her back, but she was struggling. He put his arm around her and rested her head on his chest, swimming backward toward the pier. She was surprisingly calm and didn’t fight him.
They made it back to the deck where Nelia grabbed one of Virginia’s arms and Reece the other, hoisting her onto shore. When Drayco pulled himself up, Virginia was coughing but otherwise breathing normally. Lucy knelt beside her, crying.
Nelia cleared the crowd back to check Virginia’s condition for herself. Virginia refused to let her mother take her to the hospital, saying she wanted to go home. So Reece picked her up and headed off to his car, Lucy clutching his shirt.
Nelia touched Drayco’s wet shoulder. “Are you okay? Because I’ve got to help manage the crowd before things get out of hand. And get a team together to rescue that wheelchair as evidence.”
Water dripped down Drayco’s face, and he wiped it away. “I’m fine. It was getting hot, anyway. Go. See if you can find out what set off this stampede.”
Drayco rescued his shoes and headed toward his Starfire to drive back to the Crab for dry clothes. Regardless of the source of the explosion, he didn’t think for a moment it was an innocent prank. This was most definitely planned. Someone really did want Virginia Harston dead.
PART THREE
Young life is breathed
On the glass;
The world that was not
Comes to pass.
—From the song “Ecce Puer,” poetry by James Joyce,
music by David Del Tredici
Thursday 16 July
“She absolutely refuses.” Maida scrubbed the plate so hard that Drayco expected to see bits of glaze and paint go flying through the air. She continued, “And I thought Lucy was stubborn. Virginia says she’s always lived in that house, and she doesn’t want to go anywhere else.”
Sheriff Sailor pushed a pen back and forth on the kitchen table. The lawman was pressed into duty after the attack yesterday, corralling the crowds and taking witness statements. He slept as much as Drayco last night, which is to say, not much. Yet here he was, dark under-eye circles and all, taking the time to stop by the inn around lunchtime.
Sailor asked Maida, “She turned down your offer to stay here at the Crab?”
“She says no one has attacked her at home.” Maida picked up a glass, but it slipped and shattered in the sink. “Damn. I think I’m more upset than she is. Though I did see her trembling. Underneath that bravado of hers, she’s one scared little girl.”
When Drayco talked to Reece over the phone earlier, he said Lucy was reluctant for him to stay the night, despite his insistence. “So did you?” Drayco asked him.
“I camped out in my car, keeping watch on their house.” Drayco didn’t have the heart to tell him Sailor had appointed a junior deputy to do the same thing.
The phone rang, and Maida excused herself, leaving Drayco and the sheriff alone. At the right of Sai
lor’s hand lay a piece of key lime pie untouched. Drayco pointed to it. “I guess you took advantage of those therapy coupons I sent along. Looks like your pie addiction is history.”
The sheriff picked up his fork and started pushing the plate around. “I’m using a pie patch. Helps you taper naturally.”
Sailor managed a brief smile. “Are you sure you heard someone yell out ‘he’s got a gun’ before the bang, Drayco? It’s not that I don’t trust you. Other witnesses heard everything from ‘it’s just begun’ to ‘isn’t this fun.’”
Drayco pointed to his ears. “I may not use these for a living anymore, but they’re still in good shape. I’m positive a man’s voice mentioned the gun before the fireworks went off.”
“And gave himself a chance to push Virginia in the confusion.”
“Himself or an accomplice, yes. Did you trace the firecrackers?”
“It’ll be hard. We found remnants of M80s. They may be illegal but fairly easy to come by.”
“Also easy to make. Some flash powder, a tube, end caps, some visco fuse.”
“Exactly.”
“At least Virginia is certain she was pushed this time.” Reece had come to the same conclusion. As he told Drayco, the stampeding crowds wrenched the girl and wheelchair away from Reece and Lucy. But it was unlikely that alone was enough to steamroll the chair over the edge of the pier.
The sheriff jabbed his fork in the pie, leaving it standing straight up. “I’m motivationally-challenged here. Maybe some lunatic’s personal eugenics plan. I doubt a neo-Nazi type would target Virginia primarily. And we’ve had no similar attacks on the handicapped or minorities. Just Arnold Sterling.”
“If the Sterlings’ deaths and attack on Virginia are linked, it offers more possibilities for that motive.”
“Yeah, that’s a pet theory of yours. Got any candidates I don’t know about? It would save digging in the wrong backyards.”
Pulling out a deck of cards from his pocket, Drayco shuffled and cut the cards with one hand. At Sailor’s raised eyebrows, he said, “For when drumming my fingers gets on people’s nerves.”
“And that card thing doesn’t?”
“Sleight of hand can break the ice in awkward situations.” He moved the cards from one hand to another. “I learned card tricks as a way to keep the muscles in my hands and arms toned up for piano practice. Makes great therapy.”
“I’ll add that to your list of talents.”
Drayco tossed the Ace of Spades on the kitchen table. “To answer your question about leading candidates, there’s always Cape Unity’s citizen of the year, Caleb Quintier. He had his tentacles around both Arnold Sterling and Cole Harston.”
“Lucy swears Quintier hasn’t pressed her for money. No threats, no intimidation, no contact whatsoever.”
Drayco flicked three Jokers onto the table. “Sterling and Harston, along with Freaky Farland, were all caught up in that gambling ring years ago. More money connections.”
“You really think gambling is the ticket?”
Out came the Jack of Spades. “Virginia’s father Cole has a lot of holes in his background. He traveled around in the construction business and was gone a lot. Might have succumbed to temptation in some far-flung locale and sold a piece of his soul to the devil.”
“Swell. I’ll put out an APB for satanic foremen. Also per your suggestion, I ran a check on Faris Usher. No record.”
Drayco pitched out the Queen of Hearts. “Beth is at the center of all of this. We have to find out how.”
Sailor grunted. “That second ledger you found hasn’t led anywhere. I’ve started checking up on the names you wrote down. All I discovered is how many irresponsible fathers we have. It’s a game—knock a girl up, then run as fast as you can.”
“A game where everyone loses.” Cape Unity didn’t seem to have a large pool of paternal role models, Cole Harston and Freaky Farland not shining examples. Then again, Drayco’s father, Brock, never considered his long absences and detached style of parenting as neglect, either.
Sailor fingered the Queen of Hearts card. “A chat with Cole Harston’s sister may dig up familial dirt. The two were estranged, but I found a phone number to try.”
Drayco hopped up to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Estranged, as in hostile? Or drifted apart?”
“Hard to tell. Lucy says she hasn’t talked with the woman since before Virginia’s birth. So Cole’s sister never met her niece.”
“Virginia could use a friendly relative or two.”
“You got that right.” Sailor studied the pie as if it was out to get him. “It’s going to be impossible to compare those in attendance at the pier with the Fourth of July bash. Barry Farland was one of the few we can pinpoint both places. He was a little too helpful with those car reports. His father has both motive and a rap sheet. Barry and Freaky could be working together.”
“Maybe with the attacks on the Sterlings, but Virginia? They seem genuinely fond of her.”
“To be safe, I’m going to bring them both in for questioning.”
Sailor took a bite of pie, not bothering to chew it more than a couple times. “So, since you said Cape Unity was a dead end as far as being connected to your D.C. murders, why are you still here? Not that I’m pushing you out. You do have your uses.”
Drayco reached over and forked a piece of the pie himself. It was up to Maida’s usual high standards, but he wasn’t hungry, either. “There’s the matter of the goon who tried to send me in a body bag to the M.E. and this second attack on Virginia.”
“You’ll be sticking around?”
“A few days more.”
Sailor said, “Hmm,” and took another bite of pie. “Know how you can tell this is genuine key lime pie and not that artificial goo? It’s not green. And it has a baked crust, not that graham-cracker rubbish.”
Drayco leaned back. “And there you have it folks—Sheriff Ernest Hemingway Sailor, friend to pies and P.I.’s everywhere.”
36
Shoggoth buried himself in Drayco’s lap, barely waiting for Drayco to sit. He staked a claim as if Drayco’s sole responsibility in life was to provide the cat with a perch. What was it like to sleep twenty hours a day? Judging from the cat’s rapturous expression, couldn’t be that bad. If humans followed suit, the only professions would be mattress and sleepwear salesmen.
The Farland house looked the same as last time. Freaky himself did not. He kept picking at his face, and the corners of his mouth quivered like they were left and right turn signals being switched on and off.
Appearances aside, the most pronounced change was in Freaky’s demeanor. From gruff and defensive to subdued. He focused on the gold chain on the workbench as if too absorbed in his work to look up. But after picking up the chain, he put it down, the tools next to it untouched.
“I’m sorry to have missed Barry,” Drayco said. Which was truthful, but mostly he wanted to find Freaky alone before Sheriff Sailor hauled him downtown.
Freaky didn’t turn his head, staring at the necklace. “Barry’s got called into the repair shop early. He’s a hard-working lad. Guess he has to be. You come here just to discuss my son?”
“Tell me about the year Barry lived with the Sterlings. Was that an arrangement you initiated or did Beth?”
“She came to my trial and sat through the sentencing. Out of the blue. Didn’t ask her to come, didn’t expect her to stay. She approached that shyster lawyer of mine and made the offer. Didn’t have anyone else to turn to. What else could I do? I said yes.”
“Did she say why she was offering to take care of Barry? Had she done this for other children?”
“Barry was the first. Her life centered on kids—birthing them, taking care of them. Guess she saw a need and filled it.”
Even now, knowing Drayco was aware of his affection for Beth and the motive behind his maiming, the man shied away from discussing his feelings toward her. And Beth’s toward him—his love, her guilt.
“Mr. Farland, I�
��m trying to get a better picture of Beth’s life. Did you have any contact with her in the last year?”
“You should talk to Barry. He saw her more than I did. Guess you could say he was the token Farland in her life.”
“Token?”
“Poor choice of words. I’m not much of a talker.”
Drayco fingered a clock on a shelf nearby. Looked expensive. “How fortunate Beth came into that lottery money. It kept Arnold off Caleb Quintier’s hit list.”
“Beth had to do it.” Freaky rocked back and forth on the stool which amazingly stayed in place. “I can’t tell you nothing about Quintier. You ought to talk to his flunky, Efron Thawley.”
“You know Thawley personally?”
Freaky stopped his rocking. “Might have shared a few beers. In my former life.” He pointed to his face.
“So you wouldn’t know if Thawley hated either of the Sterlings?”
Freaky finally looked up, staring at Drayco. “You think he killed Beth?”
“Are you a gambling man, Mr. Farland?” Drayco couldn’t bring himself to call the man “Freaky.” According to Barry, his father also hated his given name of Ferguson. Too much like a drunken Irish fisherman.
“Used to play the ponies and other small-time games. Not anymore. Don’t want to go back to jail, or worse.”
“You had good gambling company—Arnold Sterling, Cole Harston. Did I leave anyone out?”
“Winthrop Gatewood, I guess.”
“Gatewood?” Quintier hadn’t mentioned this. Winthrop Gatewood, millionaire gambler. “Why would he need to gamble?”
“Once you get rich, you’re obsessed with getting richer. Good as any reason.”
“Did you have personal dealings with Harston or Gatewood?”
“Met Virginia through Beth and Barry. As for Gatewood, I’ve hardly seen, heard, or smelled one scrap of him. I doubt he’s aware I exist.”