A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (24 page)

An hour later, a freshly showered and dressed Darby met Tina at
the door to the Near & Farr office. Tina clutched a bag from the
Hurricane Harbor Cafe in hand.

"Bet you didn't have breakfast," she said, wiggling the bag before Darby's face. "I've got muffins and coffee, so help yourself."

"Actually, I am hungry, and that coffee smells wonderful.
Thanks."

"You can't solve a murder on an empty stomach, is what I always say.

"Why does everyone think I'm trying to solve the murder? I'm
trying to sell a house, that's what I'm trying to do"

"Well, Lucy was a good friend of yours, maybe still is, and you
know she's not getting much help from anybody else." Tina bit into
a blueberry muffin and munched for a few seconds. "Hey, how was
your little dinner with Miles?"

"Very nice."

"No more details than that? What did he make?"

"Haddock chowder."

"Okay, I get it. Despite this wonderful breakfast I've prepared,
you aren't going to tell me about your love life. I'll just go back to
my typing, I guess."

Darby checked messages and e-mails for a good forty-five minutes while Tina worked in the other room. It's liberating to think
about something other than Emerson Phipps' murder, she realized.
She saw that the Costa Brava mansion, her newest waterfront listing for Pacific Coast Realty, was still available, although ET had
made progress with a few of their lower-priced listings.

Darby stood and stretched, checking her watch. Nearly ten
minutes after nine, and no Peyton Mayerson ...

The door opened with a rush and in flounced Peyton.

"Whew!" she exclaimed. "They've started setting up for that art
show by the hotel. I could hardly walk on the sidewalk! And the first
boat is in from Manatuck and it was full of tourists. Full! Too bad
Lucy Trimble can't sell her paintings. She'd make herself a bundle."

"Lucy will be selling paintings," said Darby. "She's free on bail
and is looking forward to working in her booth."

"What?" shrieked Peyton Mayerson. "They're going to let a
murderer sit in the sun at the art show? What kind of justice is
that?"

Tina stood up. "Lucy Trimble didn't kill that man. Everyone on
this island knows that."

"Well somebody sure as heck did, and they wore her little
painting outfit to do it!"

Darby glanced at Tina, who took the hint and turned on her
heel. Once Tina had stomped back to her desk, Darby indicated a
chair. "Please sit down, Ms. Mayerson."

Somewhat mollified, Peyton Mayerson sank into the chair.
Darby gave her a few moments to cool off before continuing.

"Now, Ms. Mayerson, as you know, Fairview is no longer under
contract. My clients have asked me to convey their willingness to
enter into another contract with you as soon as possible on the
same terms. We are prepared to grant you the time you need for
proper approval concerning your plans for the property."

Peyton snorted. "What about that idiot Soames and his rantings? Is it true I can't have a gin and tonic on the premises?"

"I've looked into that issue, and I think your attorney can make
a good case that the old restrictions were meant to only benefit the
original Pemberton homestead, a structure that was once located where Soames' shack is now. I'm hopeful it can be cleared up so
that you'll be able to get approval for a liquor license and zoning
change after all."

Peyton Mayerson waved her arm impatiently. "I don't really
care about that anymore," she said. "My plans for the property
have changed-but so has my offering price." She smiled coyly at
Darby. "I'm not willing to spend $5.5 million for the property any
longer. We'll give you $4.9."

"And your reasoning?"

"A murder took place in the backyard! An as yet unsolved murder. Imagine the advertising I'm going to have to do to overcome
that stigma! Surely you can't expect me to pay the same amount
when Fairview is now damaged goods."

Darby held her tongue. Peyton Mayerson had a point, and if
she were her buyer's broker, she would advise her to do the same
thing.

"I will convey your verbal offer to my clients and see what they
say. Thank you for your time, Ms. Mayerson."

Peyton Mayerson rose and glanced toward the conference
room, where Tina was still sequestered. She lowered her voice.

"I admit, it is hard to imagine that Lucy Trimble killed that
man. It's worked out awfully well for me, but still, what a drastic
thing to do!"

Darby stood as well and looked Peyton Mayerson squarely in
the eye. "Lucy Trimble didn't kill him," she said. "I believe she was
framed." She paused a moment. "Just out of curiosity, where were
you on Sunday morning?"

"You think I had something to do with the murder! How ridiculous!" Peyton Mayerson laughed. "You Mainers can be so strange." She cocked her head and thought a moment. "Let's see.
Sunday morning ... oh yes! I was in bed with Emilio, and as I recall, neither one of us were sleeping... " She chuckled. "Well, if
that's all the questions you have for me, Detective Darby, I'm off
to see how things are coming for the art show." She paused a moment. "I hope your friend Lucy Trimble keeps painting in prison.
Her work is becoming quite valuable, you know."

No sooner had Peyton Mayerson sashayed out the door than
Tina burst out of the conference room.

"That little ... !" she seethed. "I heard every word out of her
nasty mouth. Painting in prison! I'd like to smack her, Darby, really I would. Don't let her buy Fairview, no matter how badly the
Trimbles want to sell. That woman doesn't deserve to live on Hurricane Harbor."

"I know what you mean, Tina. Believe, me, Peyton Mayerson is
not my favorite person either." She thought a moment. "I'm going
to call Mark and let him know about Peyton's offering price for
Fairview. Why don't you go over to the hotel and see if you can
catch Emilio alone? Maybe you can find out from him whether
Peyton and he were really so cozy on Sunday morning."

"I'm on it." Tina stood and grabbed her turquoise purse and was
about to exit when a pale, petite woman stepped into the office. She
wore a linen suit that was wrinkled and large dark glasses, which she
removed as she looked at Tina and Darby.

"I'm looking for Darby Farr," she said quietly. "I'm early for
our appointment. I'm Alicia Komolsky. Alicia Phipps Komolsky.
Emerson was my brother."

Darby introduced herself and offered a chair. Tina gave a discreet little wave and left the office.

"I'm so sorry," Darby murmured.

"Thank you," Alicia Komolsky whispered, her voice quavering.
"I'm still-I still-I can't believe it."

"I understand."

"Did you know my brother?" She looked up almost hopefully.

"I met him many years ago. Our agency was helping him to
purchase a property."

Alicia nodded. "I know. Fairview. It was all he could talk about,
from the moment he saw it was for sale." She managed a weak
smile. "He was like a little kid about it. So excited. He said it would
be a place for me and the boys-my sons-to spend the summer.
He told them they could learn how to sail." She brought a tissue to
her eyes and dabbed at them, struggling to regain her composure.

Taking a steadying breath, Alicia went on. "I'm on the island
to bring home his personal things, and I thought I would see if he
had paid any money for the house, you know, any deposits"

Darby pulled a file from her desk. "Yes, he did give us an earnest money check with his agreement to buy Fairview," she said.
"And I see now that it was never deposited." She frowned. Why
hadn't Jane deposited the check in the company trust account? That
was a violation of state laws, to say the least ...

She handed Alicia Komolsky a copy of the contract and the
check.

"This is for one hundred thousand dollars!" she exclaimed.

"That's right. But as I said, it was never deposited. Are you the
executor of his estate?"

She nodded. "I am. It was just us-Emerson and myself-and
my two sons. He left everything to them, well, except for a donation to SWS."

"SWS?"

"Surgeons Who Serve. It's a charitable group that travels to
Third-World countries to operate on the underprivileged. Emerson
went on three or four trips to the Caribbean with them every year,
Haiti mostly. He'd come back so invigorated. Once he showed the
boys and I photos of the work they were doing, the people they were
helping." She paused and looked down at her hands. "He had faults
just like anyone, but he was a wonderful man"

Darby touched the woman's shoulder gently. "Would you like me
to come with you to the police station to get your brother's things?"
she asked.

"I hate to put you to the trouble," Alicia Komolsky said, "but I
would be so grateful for the company. As you can see, I'm not functioning very well right now."

"Did you drive up here alone?"

She nodded. "A friend of mine is watching Sam and Michael
-those are my sons-and I just got in the car and drove. It wasn't
too bad, really."

Darby grabbed her purse and escorted Alicia Komolsky to the
door. "Would you like to ride with me?"

"Yes, thanks," she said. "I'd hate to subject you to the horror
show in my car." She indicated a dark blue minivan with a dented
rear fender.

"I'm afraid it's a little messy. I'm sort of a soccer mom, transporting the boys back and forth to all of their activities, and I guess
I don't clean up the car too often." She sighed. "I've had to raise
them alone since they were in diapers. My ex took off with a waitress and I haven't heard from him since. I guess I didn't choose
too wisely, but at least I got Sam and Michael." She glanced back at the minivan. "It's a convenient car, though. When my old station
wagon bit the dust, Emerson said I should get a minivan, and he
was right. He helped me pick out this one and even helped with
the financing." She choked a little and Darby knew she was close
to tears.

"The police station is up this road, by the town office," Darby
said, opening the truck's door and starting the engine. Once Alicia Komolsky was inside, she began driving up and away from the
harbor. "The police chief is a man named Charles Dupont. Have
you spoken with him?"

"Yes, he's the one who called." She blew her nose and looked
blankly out the window. After a few moments, she gave a deep
sigh.

"I used to worry about my brother, when he went on these trips
to all these dangerous places. And I worried about him in Boston,
too, because he had such a high profile, and not everyone liked him.
You know, he was famous, and that makes some people jealous. But
I never thought I had to worry about him up here."

"Who didn't like your brother in Boston?"

"Oh, I don't know if there was anyone in particular. He used to
tell me there were other doctors who were envious of his talents,
and patients who didn't understand how trivial appointments and
things were to a skilled surgeon. Nobody specific, though, nothing
like that. Just, you know, he was a brilliant and handsome man,
one of the city's most eligible bachelors, and that was bound to
make some people dislike him."

Darby thought of the newspaper stories Miles had found on the
Internet. She hadn't yet taken the time to read them, but perhaps
they would shed light on Emerson Phipps' enemies in Boston.

"These people who were jealous of your brother. Did they dislike him enough to kill him?"

Alicia Komolsky's face was vacant. "I don't know," she said
dully. "I don't know anything anymore."

EMERSON PHIPPS' EFFECTS FIT in a small duffel bag. He had
brought a few changes of clothes, a medical thriller novel, some toiletry items, and a manila file folder labeled, "Fairview."

"We've gone through it, of course," Chief Dupont said conspiratorially to Darby. "There's nothing out of the ordinary. A copy
of the contract, the deed, and the listing packet on the property
-that's about it."

Alicia Komolsky signed for the items and spoke with the chief
about returning her brother's body to Massachusetts. He discussed
plans for transporting the BMW to Boston, and Alicia nodded as
if under heavy sedation.

Chief Dupont consulted his watch and Alicia jumped.

"His watch-is that in this duffel?"

The chief frowned. "What watch?"

"My brother wore a very expensive watch called a Vacheron
Constantin. It was pink gold, made in Switzerland. He never went
anywhere without it."

The chief scribbled a note on a small pad of paper. "We haven't
located it yet," he said. "When we do, I'll give you a call."

Again she gave a slow nod and followed Darby back to the
truck.

"I guess I should be going back to Boston."

"Would you like some lunch first?" Darby offered. "We could
go to the local place in town."

"No, I don't feel up to being in public."

"I understand. How about a sandwich on the ferry? They make
a mean chicken salad. We can dine in your minivan."