Dangerous Secrets (11 page)

‶
Sure.″

I started the car, pulled out of the lot and
noticed the patrol car slowly roll out behind me. Driving to the store, my eyes
constantly darted to the rearview mirror. We parked and I waited while Maggie
went inside. The cop car took a space at the other end of the lot.

Maggie smiled as she exited the store and got
in the car.
‶
I
got some Vermont cheddar and a box of crackers, too. We can have a nice happy
hour before we go to dinner.″

I pulled back onto the highway, looking to see
if my shadow followed.

It did.

‶
I don′t want to
disappoint you, love, but I don′t think we′re going to get a happy
hour tonight.″

‶
Why not?″

‶
Because we′re being
followed by a police car.”

Maggie’s carefree expression changed to
concern. She craned her neck to look behind us.

‶
Don′t panic. They might
have had us staked out for a very good reason.″

‶
Like what?″

‶
They probably just want to ask
us a few more questions about Eileen′s death. There′s nothing to
worry about,″ I reassured her.

I obeyed all the traffic laws. My shadow stuck
to us like glue.

I pulled into the Sugar Maple′s drive and
saw two more police cars. Richard waited by the Buick, his expression grim.
I′d had a feeling something was going to break in the case. I just
didn′t know the break was going to be me.

Richard hurried to my car.
‶
Scuttlebutt
is the ME has ruled Eileen Marshall was murdered,″ he said tightly.
‶
They′ve
searched the place and found an empty scotch bottle in your room. Don′t
say anything until I get you a lawyer.″

‶
Rich, I didn′t do
anything. I only found the body. I didn′t kill her.″

Sgt. Beach shot out the front door, heading
straight for us. I turned to Maggie.
‶
They′ll split us up.
Don′t tell them anything. Let me do the talking?″ She nodded, her
eyes mirroring her growing fear.

I got out of the car and leaned against it, my
hands plainly visible. I was probably being overly cautious, but I didn′t
want to give the cops a reason to get rough with me.

‶
Sir, we have some questions
we′d like to ask,″ Beach said.

‶
Ask away.″

‶
Sir, we′d like to ask you
these questions at the village police station. We′d like you to come
along, too, ma′am.″

‶
I don′t have a
lawyer,″ Maggie said uncertainly.

‶
You don′t need one,
ma′am.″

My gaze darted to Richard. His eyes flashed,
but he kept silent, unsure if he should leap to my defense. I shook my head
slightly and he looked away.

‶
Sure, we′ll go with
you.″

The sergeant escorted us to his patrol car. We
climbed into the back seat and the door closed behind us.

There were no handles on the doors, which made
me feel like a trapped animal.

Maggie plastered herself against me, clutching
my hand like a lifeline. I gave her a smile.
‶
It′s okay, Maggs.
Everything will be okay.”

To say she looked skeptical was a definite
understatement. I only hoped my assurances weren′t blatant lies.

Chapter 12

As predicted, upon arriving at the brick police
station, they immediately separated Maggie and me, taking me to an
interrogation room. Police Chief John McFadden himself and Sgt. Mark Beach did
the honors. More than once they stressed it was just an informal meeting. I
wasn′t being charged with anything. Still, the word
‶
yet″
seemed to hang in the air.

McFadden sat across from me at a gray
steel-and-Formica table, while Beach hovered nearby. The metal chair was cold,
the room drab. I folded my hands on the table, trying to look the epitome of
composure. I didn′t succeed.

‶
I take it the medical examiner
ruled Eileen Marshall′s death a homicide.″ I didn′t bother to
phrase it as a question.

‶
No determination has yet been
made. It′s officially classed as undetermined,″ McFadden answered.
Not according to Richard.
‶
We′re very interested in you since you were
apparently the last person to see the victim alive, and you also found the
body.″

‶
That guy Adam
and
I found the body.″

‶
You said Ms. Marshall was
drinking scotch. That was corroborated by other guests at the inn. We found an
empty plastic scotch bottle in your room. It was identified by several guests
as the bottle Ms. Marshall had on Friday evening.″

‶
Where was it found?″ I
asked.

‶
In one of the photographic
trunks in your room. Wiped clean, no fingerprints. We′d like to know how
it got there,″ Beach said.

‶
It had to be a plant.″

‶
Why do you think that?″
McFadden said. If he was trying not to be patronizing, he was failing
miserably.

‶
Because somebody pushed me down
a flight of stairs last night.″

‶
We heard you fell,″ Beach
said.

‶
I was pushed. Either I
interrupted someone planting the evidence, or I messed up their escape.″

‶
Or it could′ve been a
clever ploy to divert suspicion.″

I looked at Beach in disbelief.
‶
Ask
the doctor who checked me out. He can tell you I was knocked out—totally
unconscious—from the fall. I have a lump on the back of my head to prove
it.″

‶
So maybe you′re a good
actor.″

I took a breath to steady my nerves. They were
trying to get to me, and in only a few short minutes they′d succeeded.
Maybe I did need a lawyer.

‶
Am I going to be charged with
murder?″

‶
Not at this time.″

Great. Were they going to hold off until
tomorrow?

‶
Let′s go over your story
again,″ Beach said.

We did.

In detail.

Twice.

When I′d finished, McFadden was glaring
at me.
‶
Your
story hasn′t changed in all the tellings. Like you rehearsed it.″

‶
I′ve done my best to keep
it the same.″

McFadden′s intense gaze betrayed his
growing anger.

‶
Listen, Chief, I used to be an
insurance investigator. I know what I saw, and I know how to tell my story in
exactly the way the police need to hear it.″

‶
Which leads me to believe
you′re lying.″

‶
What reason do I have to lie?
What motive would I have to kill a complete stranger?″

‶
You tell me. ″

I exhaled loudly, desperate to keep my own
rising anger in check. I spoke slowly, distinctly.
‶
I don′t have
any reason to lie. Until three days ago, I didn′t even know Eileen
Marshall. I didn′t know any of the people at the inn. I came to Stowe to
take pictures of the inn for a magazine article. That′s all.″

‶
Then why did we find that scotch
bottle in your room?″

‶
Obviously someone put it there
to frame me. The locks on those guest room doors are as sophisticated as
latches. You can open them with a hairpin.″

‶
How would you know that?″
McFadden asked.

I didn′t answer.

McFadden shifted in his seat.
‶
What′s
going on with you and this Dr. Alpert—the one who says you were knocked out
last night.″

‶
Can′t you tell?″

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‶
Look,
if you want to be a wiseass, you can rot in a cell in St. Johnsbury for
obstruction of justice. It′s your choice.″

I bristled at his tone. Cops are notoriously
humorless. It was in my best interest not to make him angry.

‶
Now,″ he continued,
‶
we
happen to know you spent a good deal of time with this so-called doctor today.
You were seen in Waterbury by two of the other guests. What′s your
connection to him?″

I hesitated. There was no point keeping this
truth to myself.

‶
We′re brothers.
Half-brothers. And he really is a doctor.″

‶
What′s he doing
here?″

‶
I asked him to come.″

‶
I thought you were here with
your girlfriend.″

‶
I am.″

‶
So what′s he doing
here?″

‶
He′s here because I asked
him to come,″ I repeated.

The cop spoke slowly, as though I was
dim-witted.
‶
Why
did you ask him to come to
Stowe?″

I answered in kind.
‶
Because I wanted
him to be here.″

He exhaled loudly.
‶
So, your brother
drops everything, travels from where—Buffalo?—just because you asked him
to?″

I nodded.

McFadden′s patience snapped.
‶
Listen,
Resnick, you know more than you′re telling me. ″

I would′ve been more than happy to agree,
but I was already in enough trouble.

‶
Are you going to tell me what
you know?″ he demanded.

I could ... but they weren′t going to
believe me. What I needed was instant credibility.

‶
Maybe. But I′m not saying
a word until—″

‶
I don′t make deals.

‶
You haven′t heard it
yet.″ The edge to my voice took some of the steam out of him.

‶
What do you want?″

‶
Call Detective Carl Hayden of
the Orchard Park, New York, Police Department.″

‶
Why?″

‶
Just ask him about me.″

‶
And?″

‶
Then I might tell you
everything I know.″ I couldn′t keep the belligerence out of my
voice.

McFadden′s glare could blister paint.
‶
What′s
the number?″

‶
Call directory assistance. The
area code is 716.″

He dialed, wrote down the number then punched
it in. Of course Detective Hayden wasn′t there—it was, after all, a
holiday weekend. McFadden gave them the number and asked them to pass on a
message, agreeing to accept a collect call.

Beach went in search of coffee, and McFadden
and I were left to stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. I wondered how
much slack he′d cut me. An hour—less?—before he threw me in a cell. Lucky
for me, Detective Hayden called back within five minutes. I owed him one for
that.

The Chief introduced himself.
‶
I
have a man in custody who′s either a suspect or a material witness in a
murder investigation. Name′s Jeffrey Resnick, of LeBrun Road in—″

McFadden listened for a few moments, then
turned his skeptical gaze on me.
‶
He′s a what?″

I shrugged, sat back in my chair, listening to
the one-sided dialogue. Beach returned half way through the conversation with
only two cups. He set one in front of McFadden and sipped the other.

‶
And how about Richard Alpert?
Uh-huh. You′re sure?″ McFadden paused, listening for a couple of
minutes. I could just about hear the voice on the other end of the line, but I
couldn′t make out what was being said.

‶
Yes. I see. Thank you.
Good-bye.″ He replaced the receiver, keeping his laser-like glare fixed
on me.

‶
So, you′re a
psychic.″

Beach spewed his coffee.

‶
That′s what Detective
Hayden calls it. I call it knowing some things about some people ...
sometimes.″ No way did I want to label myself all-knowing.

‶
Just what do you know?″

‶
About this murder?″ I
thought about it for a moment, wondering how I could begin to explain it.
‶
Sometimes
I know things. Sometimes something trivial will trigger a flash of insight.
Something like shaking hands when meeting someone.″

They weren′t buying it. I cleared my
throat and decided to just tell them everything. If it already confirmed what
they knew, so much the better.

‶
I shook hands with Eileen
Marshall and I knew she was sick—probably deathly ill. She came to Stowe to see
her married lover. I don′t know why. I kind of thought there′d be a
confrontation.″

‶
Is that it?″ he said, his
tone indicating I was wasting his time.

‶
Something is going on between
Ted Palmer and Laura Ross. Eileen knew what it was.″

‶
Going on how?″

‶
You′d have to ask Laura.
But whatever their connection is, Eileen Marshall knew about it and may have
been in a position to use it against her.″

‶
So who′s Marshall′s
lover?″

‶
I′m not sure. It could be
Fred Andolina, or Zack Dawson, or anyone in Stowe—or even you. I don′t
know.″

‶
What made you look outside the
inn to find Ms. Marshall?″

‶
I woke up that morning and had
a feeling that something was very wrong. I knew someone was dead.″

‶
How did you know?″

‶
I don′t know. I just
did.″

Beach did a slow circuit around the table.
‶
You
say you get this insight by shaking hands?″

I nodded.
‶
Sometimes. Then I′ll just
know things.″

He thrust his hand in my face.
‶
Try
me.″

‶
It doesn′t work like
that. I can′t turn it on and off like a faucet.″

‶
Try me,″ he challenged
again.

My fists clamped shut. I hate this kind of
crap. What I feared most was looking utterly stupid. Yet I could feel the air
around him begin to charge with emotion.

Reluctantly I reached out and clasped his hand,
hanging on. I looked him in the eye for a long moment. His brow furrowed and I
could feel him draw inward, away from me. I took a sharp breath as his hand
clenched convulsively around mine. An image from long ago flashed through my
mind. I yanked back my hand, stared at the table for long seconds.

‶
Well?″ he demanded. He
sounded less confident than he had moments before. Whatever passed between us,
he′d felt it, too.

I took my time before answering. The burst of
strong emotion I′d experienced was a little overwhelming.

‶
Your sister ... is dead. She ...
drowned. The two of you were just kids, fishing on a dock. You weren′t
supposed to be there.″ I thought about it for a moment, trying to
remember exactly what I′d seen.
‶
She ... had on a blue dress.
Her shoes were—″

‶
Shut up!″

Waves of anger and embarrassment radiated from
him like heat from a fire. Eileen Marshall′s drowning had reignited
Beach′s grief, shame, and guilt over his sister’s death. My words had
reinforced it.

McFadden stared at his subordinate in
disbelief.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to distance
myself from his distress.
‶
Sorry. But you asked.″

He leaned in close, his eyes only inches from
mine, his breath hot on my face.
‶
I don′t trust you.″

I backed away.
‶
Hey, the feeling′s
mutual.″

McFadden cleared his throat.
‶
Mark.″
He motioned the sergeant to follow him to the door. They spoke in hushed tones
for several moments, looked back at me, and then abruptly left.

I sat in self-conscious silence, noticing the
mirror on the wall. Was it two way? I really didn′t care. I rubbed at my
eyes, realizing I had the beginnings of another one of my headaches. The one
I′d gotten the night before had never really left me, and invoking this
psychic ability only seemed to aggravate it. I grabbed my prescription bottle
from my pocket, doled out a pill and let it dissolve under my tongue, wondering
how long they′d hold us here.

I′d told Maggie not to say anything to
the cops, but what gentle means of persuasion would they use on her? How soon
would she crack?

Folding my arms on the table, I rested my head on
them. Was there a way to manipulate McFadden, get him to see another viewpoint?
Had they established the time of death? The inn provided guests with towels for
the pool. Did they leave them out all night? Was the Jacuzzi heated day and
night? Were the lights trained on the pool on a timer or did they have to be
turned off manually?

Maybe McFadden didn′t really suspect me
at all. Could this little exercise be a ploy to give the real killer a false
sense of security? Anything was possible in a murder investigation.

My eyes squeezed tighter, and I felt a pang of
pity for Eileen. Her lover had chosen not to make himself known. She′d
lived with the prospect of a fatal disease, and she′d died naked and
alone, possibly at the hand of one she′d loved.