Jumping Rise

by S. W. Hubbard

  Frank arched his eyebrows. “What did Desmond say to that?”

  “Nothing. He barely glanced at his son. Then he came up to my desk and asked me if I thought readers were made or born.”

  “Huh?” Frank rattled the ice cubes in Penny’s glass trying to squeeze a little more gin out of the drink.

  “Desmond said that Keith had always loved to read, but Justin hated to read even though he and his ex-wife had read to them both from the time they were babies.” Penny offered Frank a wry smile. “So of course that softened me up towards him a little bit, and I talked about how despite parents’ best efforts, some kids never embrace reading. I said it wasn’t too late—maybe Justin just hadn’t found the type of book that captured his imagination. I told Desmond to encourage Justin to visit me at the library, and I’d see what I could find for him.”

  Frank smiled. Next to death or crippling disease, Penny couldn’t conceive a worse fate than not liking to read. “Did you offer to put together a reading tote bag he could take home to Justin?” Frank teased, picturing the inexpensive totes with a reading elephant that Penny passed out to kids in town.

  “I didn’t think Justin would be captivated by an elephant who turns pages with his trunk, but I did ask Desmond about Justin’s interests. After all, we never did find out where—or if—he works. And that’s when our conversation took a weird turn. Or maybe I should say, weirder.”

  Frank cocked his eyebrows waiting for the next installment of the saga.

  Penny leaned closer to Frank. “Desmond started telling me how his ex-wife wasn’t strict enough with the boys when they were young. That she indulged them and didn’t impose high expectations. He must’ve noticed the disapproving look on my face—imagine blaming everything on the mother!—so he backpedaled and said he’d been too busy with work when the boys were young and hadn’t participated enough in parenting. Now he says it’s up to him to redirect them.” Penny made a face.

  “They’re grown men. What does he think he’s going to do at this late date?’ Frank asked.

  Penny shrugged. “Desmond says Justin has a very short attention span. That he takes up one enthusiasm after another but never sticks with anything.”

  “Not so uncommon,” Frank said, “especially for a rich kid who doesn’t have the motivation of keeping a roof over his head.”

  “I know. So then Desmond goes on about how Justin’s only pleasure is in competition, but even though he’s a good athlete, he’s not a great one. And he actually had the nerve to say that Justin needs to find a way to redirect his competitive spirit into something productive.”

  Frank snorted. “Instead of something murderous? Maybe Desmond could help him in that regard by not setting up life-and-death races for his sons.”

  “That’s what was going through my head as well,” Penny agreed. “Meanwhile, Keith seemed like he was plenty impatient. He stomped out of the library in a snit like a temperamental child.”

  Frank contemplated a ladybug strolling across the screen. “Odd. That night at dinner and during the race, I would have said Desmond had more of a bond with Justin than Keith. Those two seemed thick as thieves, and Keith seemed the odd man out. And when Keith accused his brother of intentionally hurting him, Desmond brushed it off. You’d think he’d want to keep the Harvard grad alive.” Frank stroked Yogi’s head, which was propped on the arm of Penny’s chair. “So how did you respond?”

  “What could I say? Agree that Justin is a lout? Encourage Desmond in his attempts at remedial parenting? So I muttered some nonsense about young people needing time to find themselves.” Penny leaned toward Frank. “And then Desmond gave me this deep, soulful look and said, “Young people have to find a higher purpose before trouble moves in and finds them.”

  “Those were his exact words? Was he looking for sympathy?”

  Penny shrugged. “If he was, he didn’t get it from me. I have no clue what’s going on in Desmond Hale’s head. But whatever it is, it’s intentional. I don’t think the man is the least bit impulsive.”

  “So how did your encounter end? When did you get the check?” Frank asked.

  “Desmond said he needed to meet back up with Keith and turned toward the door, so I said good-bye. Then he pivoted back and pulled the envelope from the outside pocket of his backpack. He slid it across the desk and explained why it was for fifty thousand. Told me to keep up the good work and there would be more. Then he turned toward the door again and said, ‘Good-bye, Penny. This little town is lucky to have you.’”

  “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

  Penny smiled and pushed her husband’s leg with her bare foot.

  “Do you think he was debating whether to give the money to you or not?” Frank asked. “Surely, he couldn’t have forgotten why he came.”

  Penny rose and opened the door into the house. “I think he was testing me somehow. And maybe he couldn’t decide until the end whether I’d passed or not.” She went inside and called over her shoulder. “I’m not willing to audition for the second payment.”

  Chapter 25

  Frank stayed on the porch thinking about what Penny had told him. When his phone vibrated for the fourth time, he finally answered Meyerson’s call. By this time, the state trooper had calmed from incensed to merely pissed off. Of course, he expressed no gratitude to Frank and Earl for delivering Regis Kendall on a platter, but in the course of yelling at Frank, he let slip some important information. The toxicology report had come back and showed no signs of drugs in Caitlin’s system.

  “Wait...Kendall was wrong? She didn’t leave the Mountain Vista to search for drugs?” Frank felt like he was on a carnival ride, flung in one direction to the next without warning.

  “I’m saying she hadn’t yet found them at the time of her death. She died from suffocation, and unfortunately for her, she was stone cold sober at the time.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, AS Frank followed up on some calls regarding security cameras at the town dump, Doris materialized before him with a pink message slip in her hand. She passed it over while proceeding to tell Frank exactly what it said. “The warden of the county jail called while you were on the phone. He says Blaine wants to talk to you about something important.”

  “Do you know what it is?” Frank asked Doris.

  She shook her head while chewing on her thumbnail. “Blaine hasn’t been talking to anyone in the family since the overdose. We’re all real worried.”

  Frank kept his eyes focused over Doris’s left shoulder. He hated when she gazed at him like he was capable of parting the Red Sea, curing cancer, and coaching the Mets to a winning season all in one week.

  “Okay, I’ll try to make it over there later today,” Frank said, then picked up his phone to make more calls before Doris could start thanking him.

  The day dragged with this onerous task hanging over Frank’s head. After lunch, he decided to end his misery and headed out to the county jail. With every passing day that he hadn’t heard from Blaine, Frank had dared to hope that Doris’s nephew had decided against the deal. If so, Frank could honestly say he’d done all he could and walk away with a clean conscience. Now he had to put his reputation on the line again for Blaine Timmons, who was, despite Doris’s love for him, one of the most unsympathetic criminals Frank had ever met. Asking Trudy Massiney for a favor and getting screwed for his trouble was one thing. As a kind and generous human being and a personal friend, Trudy had waved off his embarrassed apologies. But if Frank reached out to other law enforcement officers who were merely professional acquaintances and promised them something that Blaine didn’t deliver on, then he’d be on everyone’s shit list forever.

  He pulled into the jail parking lot and took a deep, steadying breath before getting out of the patrol vehicle. He’d listen to what Blaine had to say and then decide how to proceed.

  Blaine was waiting in a private interview room. To say he looked good would be an exaggeration, but he did project an air of alert engagement that had bee
n missing from their last encounter.

  Frank sat down across from Blaine. “So—what do you have for me?”

  “That chick who turned up dead in Mallard Lake—you’re working on that, right?”

  Against his will, Frank flinched at this unexpected opening. Had Blaine been supplying drugs to Caitlin before his arrest? Could he possibly know what circumstance had brought her to Mallard Lake? He replied warily. “Yes. Why?”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, Blaine smiled. “I have information that would help you with that case. That’s what I want to trade for the deal to go to a Federal prison out of state. Forget about my heroin supplier.”

  “What is it?” Frank demanded. “How do you know Caitlin Lupton? Did you visit her at the Mountain Vista? Were you selling her drugs?”

  Blaine leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased by Frank’s excited reaction. “You get the terms of the deal worked out with the people who can make it happen. I’ll talk after my lawyer okays it.” Then Blaine signaled the guard to take him away. “Oh, and don’t mention this to my family.”

  “Wait!” Frank jumped to his feet. “I need to understand what kind of information you have.”

  Blaine paused by the door. “I know how she got out there. I don’t know which one of them did it. That’s on you.”

  Chapter 26

  When Frank reported his conversation with Blaine to Meyerson, the lieutenant was not impressed. “He’s going to tell you what we already know. Caitlin went out there to find drugs.”

  Frank had considered this and had an answer ready. “I don’t think so. He spent days thinking and planning, and then he offered this up as an alternative to ratting on his supplier.”

  “Speaking of Blaine’s supplier, the narcotics team knows who he is. Some turd named Lenny Vicker in Plattsburgh. They’ve been building a case against him for weeks. Don’t really need Blaine’s help. Maybe Blaine knows that, and that’s why he’s coming up with some other scheme to buy his freedom.”

  Frank hated to admit Meyerson’s theory made some sense. He still felt Blaine might know something valuable about Caitlin’s murder. “I think he knows something more about why Caitlin went to The Balsams and who she was with.”

  Meyerson’s cluck of disapproval came through the phone line loud and clear. “Fine. I’ll send someone over to the jail to get the truth out of him.”

  Frank had zero confidence that anyone on Meyerson’s team had the interrogation skills to get Blaine to give up his information before a deal had been struck. But he’d let Meyerson discover Blaine’s intransigence himself. “Say he does have good intel. How can we structure a deal for him?”

  “That would put him in a Federal prison?” Meyerson snorted. “Caitlin’s murder is a state crime. I don’t see how Blaine can bargain his way into a federal prison no matter what he tells us.” And he hung up.

  THE NEWS COVERAGE AROUND Caitlin Lupton’s murder grew more frenzied by the day as Frank continued to agonize over what, if anything, Blaine really knew about the case. The story had all the elements beloved by tabloid journalists: a beautiful young victim, a remote and scenic location, and proximity to wealth and privilege. First, the Albany and Plattsburgh TV stations sent film crews, and then the national news showed up.

  Malone’s Diner, the Mountainside Tavern, and the Trail’s End Restaurant all benefitted from the hungry and thirsty reporters swarming Trout Run. Sanjiv and Mina were at their wit’s end.

  “All these terrible news stories saying that a guest of the Mountain Vista Motel has been murdered! No respectable family will ever want to stay with us again,” Sanjiv moaned to Frank. He had dropped by while running errands, and his unannounced visit to the police department office played right into Frank’s hands. But he let his friend vent a little before he quizzed him about the cleaner.

  “Nonsense. It’s not like she was killed at the motel. And besides, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. The motel looked beautiful last night on the Channel 4 news.” Frank continued reviewing last night’s patrol reports as Sanjiv slumped in the visitor’s chair on the other side of the desk.

  “But the state police asked me for a list of all the other guests staying at the motel while Caitlin was a guest. They are going to contact them all. Surely, this is a terrible inconvenience that will be held against us.”

  Frank was glad to hear this tid-bit of information on the course of the investigation since he wouldn’t have received it from Meyerson. “You worry too much, Sanjiv. You’d be surprised how much people enjoy having a slight brush with fame. Or tragedy. Has anyone cancelled an upcoming reservation?”

  Sanjiv bit his lip as he thought. “Only one cancellation and already Farhan has rebooked it through our waiting list. Perhaps you are correct, Frank. Still this situation has caused Mina and me many sleepless nights.”

  “It will pass. By next week, those bloodsuckers will be on to something new.” Frank rested his chin on his hand. “So, the list of guests that you gave to the state police—do you think any of them could have helped Caitlin make contact with her killer?”

  Sanjiv shrugged. “Most of them were families. A few were young hikers, closer to her age. But I never saw her speak to another guest. She only went out to the pool when no one else was using it.”

  “What about your cleaner? I know you said Caitlin didn’t allow anyone else to clean her room, but could the woman have helped her?”

  A V of worry creased Sanjiv’s forehead. “Phyllis? She is very focused on her work.”

  Frank perked up—there was only one Phyllis in Trout Run, so far as he knew, and she did clean vacation homes. “Phyllis Gartner?”

  “Yes, we have been very pleased with her work. Quite thorough. Surely, she—" Sanjiv’s phone beeped and he checked it. “Ah, that is Farhan. He has returned from the park. He has been playing basketball with his friends. I must go.”

  Frank watched out the window as Farhan met his father at their car. The boy had shot up over the past year and now was as tall as Sanjiv. He was glad to see the kid taking an interest in basketball—too much screen time was bad for kids, even if Farhan did have a talent beyond just playing computer games.

  Frank was pleased with himself for getting Phyllis’s name from Sanjiv without upsetting him. Now, to figure out how to follow up without igniting another argument with Meyerson. Like a teenager eager to avoid face-to-face contact with a girl, Frank decided to text. He made his conversation with Sanjiv sound totally spontaneous, and offered to call on the cleaner since he’d pass her house on his afternoon patrol. Surprisingly, Meyerson agreed.

  So Frank set off on the afternoon patrol, figuring he’d swing by Phyllis’s house at the end of the run. He checked on the overflow parking at the Finley Notch trailhead, the teenagers hanging out at the Stop ‘n’ Buy, and the unattended honor system cash box at the maple syrup stand. He stopped to give directions to obviously lost tourists, and warnings to kids biking without helmets. Finally, he turned toward Phyllis’s house.

  Frank knew the Gartner’s house because he’d been called to a domestic disturbance there a few months ago. Phyllis’s husband, confined to a recliner by some unknown disability, could still throw beer bottles at his wife with astonishing accuracy. The couple was raising two grandchildren left to them by the careless driving of their unmarried daughter. Their house, a sagging bungalow at the end of a dirt road, hadn’t seen a paintbrush in years.

  Frank passed a junked tractor and an abandoned maple sugar house before he pulled up in front of Phyllis’s home, taking care not to crush a jumble of rusty bikes and faded plastic cars and trucks. His arrival set off a cacophony of barking and growling, but Frank kept biscuits in the patrol vehicle for those occasions when he was greeted with canine suspicion. Two Milk-Bones distracted the hungry guards, and he mounted the porch, stepping over a hole in the third step.

  The front door stood open to admit a cooling breeze. There was no doorbell, so Frank called through the screen door. “Hello
, Phyllis? It’s Police Chief Bennett.” He could see directly into the living room where Mr. Gartner reclined in the glare of a large TV, unconcerned by his visitor.

  Phyllis soon appeared from a hall that led to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel she tossed over her shoulder. Frank smiled, preparing to explain his visit, but Phyllis didn’t need his introduction.

  “I figured you’d show up eventually,” she said as she came out onto the porch. Frank guessed she was his age or possibly younger, but her face, lined by years of worry and cigarette smoke, made her look ready for Social Security. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I don’t want trouble. I can’t afford to lose my job at the motel.”

  Frank felt a surge of excitement. If Phyllis knew why he was here, she must have something to offer. He tried to offer a reassuring smile. “You’re not in any trouble. But you’ve heard about the body found in Mallard Lake. Caitlin Lupton was a guest at the Mountain Vista. Did you ever talk to her?”

  “Nope. She cleaned her own room. Mina told me not to go in there.”

  Frank could see that Phyllis planned to answer questions without offering any extra information. But at least she wasn’t playing dumb. They could cut to the chase. “Did a man named Regis Kendall approach you for information on Caitlin?”

  Phyllis’s mouth opened and she glanced to the left. She hadn’t expected that question. Frank waited, but Phyllis remained silent. He could see that she didn’t want to lie outright, but didn’t want to share information.

  “Look, Phyllis—if he offered you money to talk to him, that’s not illegal. I’m not here to hassle you. I’m working with the state police to find Caitlin’s killer. I just need to know what Kendall was after.”

  “He told me he was a family friend.” Phyllis bit her thin lower lip. “He said he wanted to know how she was doing, but didn’t want her to know he was checking up on her.”