A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (18 page)

He shook his head. "No. They're running some tests and didn't
want me in there." He struggled to get a hold of his emotions. "I
can't believe it. She's been clean for so long." He swore softly under
his breath. "I really thought she'd kicked it this time. She's been
so-happy, so focused on her art. Her work in the clinic, all the
people she was helping ... But addiction has too tight a grip on
her, I guess."

Mark's voice was little more than a whisper. "How did she get
that stuff into the hospital? She'll be awake soon, I suppose, but
I don't think I can face seeing her again today. I'm too afraid of
what I would say." He looked at Darby with a look of such vulnerability that her heart ached for him. "I don't know what to do. I'm
angry.

Darby nodded. "Of course you are. That's natural."

He ran his hands through his thick hair. "What do I do now?"
he asked. "My sister's a junkie, our house is a crime scene... "

Darby's voice was calm. "You're doing just what you should be
doing, Mark. Don't worry about Fairview-leave that to me. I'll
make sure that the estate is back in order as soon as possible. I've
already contacted Peyton Mayerson and I think she'll want another
shot at making this work. Please, leave it to me." She looked at her
watch. "What you need is some food. Can I bring you something
from the cafeteria?"

Mark shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll head down there myself
in a little bit." He gave Darby a meaningful look. "I want you to
know that I appreciate everything you've done. Your aunt would
be so proud of you"

Darby gave him a tight smile. "Let me sell that house of yours,"
she said. "Then you can thank me."

Peyton Mayerson gave Emilio Landi a playful slap on his well-muscled derriere and rolled out of bed. She grabbed her silk robe and
pulled it on, enjoying the feel of the fabric against her skin. Life
was good again. First, the news yesterday on the hotel's cable channel that Emerson Phipps had been found murdered in the Fairview garden shed. Peyton was sipping coffee, waiting for Emilio's
ferry, when she'd seen the report and nearly choked. Could she
have ordered that hit, and had it happened that soon? When she
heard the details of the killing, she knew it wasn't a professional
job but some bloodthirsty hack. No matter. The murder had the exact same effect. She really didn't care how the competition was
eliminated, as long as it was eliminated.

She smiled. It had been a pleasure to use the IP Relay service
and type in "Hurricane Harbor Job Canceled." She pictured the hit
man, some muscled bald guy named Vito or Mitch, answering his
phone and hearing that message. Like a kid hearing he had a snow
day, she thought.

Next had come the call from Darby Farr, inviting her and her
partners to submit another offer for Fairview. No doubt that was
a pride swallower for the prissy little agent! Peyton chuckled to
herself. Any gloating she did would be in private. The important
thing now was to salvage the deal and get the guys in New Jersey
off her back.

"Off her back" made her think of the third pleasant thing that
had happened on this beautiful Tuesday, and that was a leisurely
encounter with Emilio, her personal Italian Stallion. God, that
man was what the Italians called splendido.

She checked her watch. Nearly ten. She thought briefly about
hopping in the shower, but just then Emilio rolled over and gave
her his lazy Roman smile. Before Peyton Mayerson knew it, she
had slipped off her silk robe and slid back into his arms.

Darby and Laura were making an effort to talk about Jane's service
while they waited for the noon ferry back to Hurricane Harbor.
Laura had appeared only a half hour earlier, and together they had
tried to see Lucy Trimble, only to be rebuffed by a police guard
outside her room.

"You might as well go," he'd said, shaking his head. "She's going
to be tied up for a while." Discouraged, the women left the hospital
and made their way to the Manatuck dock.

"I have some scripture picked out to show you," Laura said. "It's
about charity, which was certainly one of your aunt's best virtues."

Darby nodded. Her cell phone rang and startled them both.

"Hello?"

She listened for a moment and gave a quick intake of breath.
"No," she said, in a tone of disbelief. Then she added, "I'll come to
the boat as soon as I can." She snapped her phone shut and looked
at Laura, her eyes flashing. "That was Mark Trimble. Lucy has just
left Manatuck General Hospital in handcuffs. She's been arrested
for the murder of Emerson Phipps."

"What?" Laura Gefferelli was aghast. "Lucy?"

Darby nodded. "They found a package of her cigarettes at the
scene, as well as a painting smock covered in Phipps' blood"

"Surely they need more evidence than that? And what about
her alibi? I saw her at the church that morning."

"They say they'll find all the evidence they need"

"My God, poor Lucy. This could push her right over the edge."

Darby gritted her teeth. "If it hasn't done that already."

The two rode the ferry back to Hurricane Harbor in silence. Back
on dry land, Darby left Laura and headed directly to the berth of
the Lucy T. She knocked purposefully on its gleaming sides.

A moment later, Mark Trimble emerged from below deck, his
hair disheveled and a haggard look on his face.

"I can't believe this, can you? First the call that she is near death,
and now this?" He lowered his voice as a tugboat chugged into the
harbor. "Murder? My sister? She would no more kill someone than
you or I! I'm absolutely in shock." He put his hands over his face
and continued shaking his head.

"What happens now?" asked Darby.

"They will process her-you know, take the photographs, do
all the paperwork, and then there's a hearing to see if they will
set bail. I called our family attorney, Willis Foster. He thinks they
probably will, as Lucy is a low flight risk. Assuming that goes as
planned, I'll pay her bail as soon as I can."

"Does she have any idea how the cigarettes got there?"

"She probably dropped them." He ran a hand through his hair.
"Darby, do you think the chief knows about the rape?"

Darby thought for a moment. "I don't know. Could Dr. Hotchkiss have contacted the police?"

"From what I hear, he's in a nursing home in Manatuck with
dementia. It seems unlikely he would have contacted Chief Dupont,
but who knows." He ran a hand through his hair again. "Darby,
she's in a juried art show this weekend. What should I do?"

"Keep her in the show. She'll be free by then and hopefully
cleared of these ridiculous charges. Do you want me to drive over
to her studio? I'd like to take a look and maybe I could start transporting some of her work for the show?"

Mark grimaced. "You better not. Dupont told me not to take
anything out of there. But if you don't mind, you could take a look
and see how many she's got finished. I think she had a price list
started."

Darby agreed to check the inventory and see what else she
might find. "I may pay a visit to Dr. Hotchkiss as well. Who might
know where he's located?"

"Laura, perhaps, or someone else at the church. I think a group
of ladies visits people who used to live on the island." Mark rose
and gave Darby a quick hug. "Thanks," he muttered. "It's good to
know I'm not alone with all this."

Darby stopped in at the office to grab her keys for Jane's truck.
Tina was on the phone when she entered, an incredulous look on
her face.

"You've heard the news?" she asked, slamming down the receiver. "About Lucy?"

Darby nodded. "Unfortunately."

"Of all the stupid ass things. I swear, that Chief Dupont is just
as lame brained as his father was. To even imagine that little Lucy
Trimble would smash a guy's head and shove scissors in his gut
-why it's ludicrous." She caught her breath. "How's your ankle?"

"Better. I'm going over to Lucy's, to take a quick inventory of
her paintings for Mark. He's hoping she'll make bail so she can still
sell at the Art Show."

"Good. That's just what that girl needs, something to take her
mind off all this." She crossed her arms and regarded Darby. "Your
aunt's obituary will be in tomorrow's newspaper. Somebody needs
to call Helen Near and let her know when the service is. Do you
want me to do that?"

Darby gave a quick sigh. "No, I will, Tina. Thanks for the reminder. Any chance you have her number?"

Tina handed her a piece of paper, and eyed Darby's limp. "Be
careful," she warned. "We don't need you damaging any more body
parts."

Donny Pease was touching up the paint on the porch at the Hurricane Harbor Inn when the tall lady from Boston with the funny
name-Peyton, was it?-brushed by him with an impatient air.
She seemed in a hurry to get somewhere, and as far as Donny was
concerned, she could just keep on hurrying right off the island.
Now, don't go getting huffy, he reminded himself. It's flatlanders like
her who put meat on the table.

Still, Donny knew there was a difference between people like
Peyton and some of the other folks from away, people who didn't
come over looking to change everything. Peyton and her kind
were always trying to turn his pretty little island into some kind
of hoity-toity suburb. They didn't care enough to talk to locals, or
gather the wisdom of the old-timers who gathered for breakfast
at the Cafe every morning. Naw, they didn't care about the way
things had always worked. They just wanted what they wanted,
whether it was malls or trash pick up or "no hunting" signs plastered on everything.