A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (30 page)

Miles Porter was waiting when Darby and Tina drove off the ferry
and on to Hurricane Harbor. "I left you a message," he told Darby,
a concerned look on his face. "Did you get it? I've been worried."

"I'm sorry, Miles. I looked for my phone on the ferry, but I've
misplaced it." She turned and hugged Tina. "You're sure you're
okay?"

Tina nodded. "Takes more than that to kill me," she said.

"Kill you? What happened?"

Darby sighed. "It's been an eventful day. Can you drive me back
to my aunt's house? I promise I'll tell you what happened."

Miles agreed and Darby climbed into his car. While he listened
attentively, she brought him up to date on what she and Tina had
found at the cabin and Chief Dupont's reaction. When she told
Miles about their encounter with Soames Pemberton at the warehouse, he narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"That maniac could have killed you both," he said sharply.
"What did Dupont say about that?"

"He doesn't know yet," Darby said. "I'm going to call him as
soon as I get to Jane's"

Miles followed Darby into the house. "I'm going to make you
some tea," he said. "After the day you've had, you need a good
strong cup."

Darby nodded gratefully and dialed Chief Dupont's home
number. After a few rings he answered.

"You're saving me a call," he said, interrupting her mid-sentence.
"We searched the shack by the quarry and found the file and the
heroin, as well as something else."

Darby waited, her heart beating.

"The doctor's fancy watch. My men will be combing the island
for Soames come morning. It's only a matter of time before we
find him and bring him in for questioning."

"He's not on Hurricane Harbor," said Darby, trying her best
to remain calm. "He's in Manatuck, living in the basement of an
abandoned warehouse by the Rusty Scupper Restaurant. He nearly
strangled Tina."

"What the hell-" began Chief Dupont. "What about you? Are
you all right?"

"Just more convinced than ever that Lucy is innocent. Soames
admitted to blackmailing Phipps..." She couldn't bring herself to
mention Mark Trimble's involvement in finding the old deed or
her new suspicions. After all, he was her client. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd give Mark Trimble a piece of my mind tonight. But I'm
in no state to confront him now.

The chief promised to call the Manatuck Police Department
immediately. He hung up and Darby replaced the receiver, her
heart racing. Maybe by the morning, Soames would be in custody.
Lucy would be cleared of all charges and life on Hurricane Harbor could get back to normal. And I can bury my aunt and return to my
life in California, she thought.

Miles asked her how she took her tea.

"Strong," she said wearily. Although it was only nine o'clock,
Darby felt as if it was midnight.

"Why don't you go out to the cottage," Miles suggested. "I'll
bring this out to you and then head back to my little house."

Darby complied and walked through the dark garden to the
cheerful cottage. She was enjoying the comfort of a chintz-covered
chair when Miles appeared with two steaming mugs of tea.

"I used to hate American coffee cups," he said, handing Darby
one of the mugs, "but I have to say, they come in handy when you
require a nice big portion."

Darby smiled. "Thanks. This is just what I need." She took a sip
of the hot liquid. "Darjeeling. One of my favorites." She gestured
toward the other comfortable chair. "Take a seat. I need to process
out loud a moment." Miles obeyed and waited for Darby to compose her thoughts.

"There's something that's bothering me," she began. "Soames
Pemberton is a braggart. He's an ego-driven, highly trained man
who thinks he is smarter than everyone else. If he killed Phipps,
why didn't he boast about it to Tina like he did the blackmail?"

"Maybe the seriousness of killing someone has actually sunk
in," Miles said. "Maybe it dawned on him that this time he's going
to prison for the rest of his life."

"Maybe" She thought back over the days since she landed at
Portland Jetport. "I arrived here in Maine on Sunday, the day the
murder of Emerson Phipps took place."

Miles nodded.

"Tina and I stopped at the ferry terminal in Manatuck and I
used the restroom, where Soames Pemberton surprised me for
the first time. Thinking back on it, he didn't act like a man who'd
killed somebody that day."

"Is Soames the kind of person who ever behaves in a predictable fashion?" asked Miles.

"That's just it. The person who killed Emerson Phipps lured
him to his death in that garden shed. They somehow knew he was
going to be at Fairview that morning. It was calculating, and premeditated, and our friend Soames the Navy SEAL could easily have
carried out that plan. And yet it was a sloppy, bloody mess in that
shed. That doesn't seem like a military-type execution."

"I see what you mean," Miles agreed. He looked down at his
mug of tea and then back at Darby. "Couldn't the whole thing have
been a coincidence that worked to Soames' advantage? You know
that Soames loitered about Fairview, living in the woods where he
did God knows what. Perhaps he was there, sleeping off a drunken
binge, and heard the BMW roll up the road. He guesses that it
is Phipps-maybe he even recognizes the flashy motorcar-and
sneaks into the shed. When Phipps comes in to investigate, Soames
uses the first thing he gets his paw on and smashes in his skull."

"Maybe. I keep thinking about Soames' combat missions, but
all he seems to do of late is blunder into situations in which he
tries to destroy everything in his path."

Darby took another sip of tea and leaned back against a cushy
pillow. Should she bring up Mark Trimble? She wanted Miles' reaction, but she was so tired ...

"I am so comfortable, I might actually doze off," she said, sighing.

"With all you've been through the past few days, I won't take it
personally if you do nod off," he said.

She turned toward him and smiled. "Another hot date with
Darby Farr."

"Indeed" Miles' gaze became more intent. He touched her arm
lightly and a tingle went up Darby's spine.

"Your life isn't always so dramatic, is it?" he asked. "I mean, setting traps for murderers and making multimillion dollar deals ...
surely there are times when you catch your breath, so to speak?"

Darby laughed. "I live a much quieter life in California, that's
true. I'm sure things will settle down after Jane's funeral."

"That's Saturday morning, correct? And you fly back on Sunday?"

"Yes"

"And once you are back in Mission Beach, may I visit you and
see your peaceful West Coast life?"

Darby took a sip of her tea, feeling it warm her right down to
her toes. "I'd like that very much," she said lightly. "I think you
should plan on it."

Moments later, after she'd said goodbye to Miles and thanked him
for the tea, she sat wrapped in her bathrobe, making a few last
minute notes for the next day. First on her list was to see Mark
Trimble. Soames said that Mark put up the money for him to present
the old deed, she thought. He's been lying to me all along.

And then there was the sale of Fairview. Peyton's verbal offer
was much lower than what Mark and Lucy expected, and yet she
was still willing to buy it, even with the archaic deed restrictions. The closing is supposed to take place tomorrow, Darby thought.
What are the chances of that?

Written in large letters at the bottom of the list was the single word JANE. I'll call Laura Gefferelli as soon as I wake up, she
thought, and make sure we are all set for my aunt's funeral. She
needed to touch base with Jane's attorney as well, to be sure she
was correctly executing her duties as personal representative. With
that resolved, she padded over to the comfortable bed. A wave of
tiredness overtook her and she eased against the pillows, falling
into a sound sleep.

A vivid dream, fueled perhaps by the caffeine in the tea, filled
her thoughts.

She was alone in the woods behind Fairview and had lost her
way. As she wandered through the brush, she came to a clearing
where a huge easel was set up. A large canvas was propped on the
easel, and Darby drew closer to see what it depicted. As she approached, a hooded figure appeared silently from the back of the
easel and began painting using broad, sweeping strokes.

Darby was certain that Lucy Trimble was the hooded artist,
and she continued to walk closer to the easel. When she was close
enough to touch the canvas, the hooded person slowly turned,
laughing, and the hood slid away. Darby drew back in horror. It
was Soames Pemberton, laughing maniacally, his face painted in
desert camouflage. He lunged at her and Darby screamed. As she
sprinted through the woods and away from danger, she heard a
strange noise. Against her better judgment she glanced backward.

Soames was reaching into the hood to pull something off his
face. A mask, Darby realized. He is wearing some kind of mask. She watched, mesmerized, as a new set of features peeked below his
own. Someone else is behind Soames, she realized with dread.

She woke with a jolt, her heart pounding, and thought about
the dream. Who had been under Soames' mask? Emerson Phipps?
Mark Trimble? Peyton Mayerson? Or someone else entirely?

Donny Pease drove his truck through the darkness to the Hurricane Harbor Inn. He'd been asleep when the night manager
phoned, asking if he'd help with an emergency water leak. "Right
there," he'd answered, his voice groggy with sleep.

He couldn't resist a grin as he pulled into the inn's parking lot.
The islanders knew who to call when an emergency happenedDonny Pease. With his ability to fix just about anything, he was an
invaluable part of the community fabric. Over the years he'd been
summoned to repair everything from boat engines to washing machines, and had been quizzed for advice on the finer points of carpentry, tree trimming, and landscaping. Why, he'd even helped the
new lady minister, Laura, deliver a baby who came during one of
last winter's worst snowstorms. And the little tyke was doing just
fine.

The night manager, a young kid with a worried look on his
face, met him in the lobby.

"Mr. Pease, I'm so glad you're here. There's water coming down
and I don't know what to do." Donny saw little drops of perspiration beading the boy's forehead, and had to suppress a chuckle.

"Easy, son, just show me where the problem is."

The boy took him to the first floor hallway and pointed up at
an elaborate chandelier. The plaster around the fixture was dark gray with moisture, and Donny saw a steady stream of drips falling
from the ceiling and onto the carpet, where a soggy circle the size
of a beach ball had formed. Serious water damage was occurring;
that much Donny knew.

"What's up above this?" he asked. "Laundry room?"

The boy shook his head. "Second floor suite."

Donny imagined the layout of the second floor and realized the
boy was right. "What did you find when you went in there?"