Fogged Inn (22 page)

“Every once in a while, you should trust us to do our job.” Lieutenant Binder's mouth was a thin, straight line as he sat across the folding table from me in the multipurpose room. Flynn was so angry, he couldn't keep still. He paced the room, not looking at me, as we spoke.

I'd spent a couple of long hours sitting in the Busman's Harbor police station, waiting while Binder and Flynn made their separate journeys to town. I suspected Binder had been called at his home in Augusta, while Flynn was roused in Portland from Genevieve Pelletier's warm bed. Both had been summoned in the early hours of Sunday morning to deal with a case they were sure they had closed. No wonder they weren't happy with me.

“Enid Sparks killed Austin Lowe and then jumped or fell into the harbor and drowned,” Binder said. “It's true her note didn't explicitly say she planned to kill him, but she procured the insulin and syringe before she left Guilford. She was prepared for what she thought she had to do.”

“Lowe's backpack was filled with cans of Coleman fuel,” Flynn spat. “The kind used in camp stoves. He spent the time between when he left the Snuggles and entered the restaurant gathering kindling along the road and pushing it through the opening under your building. He never did figure out who left the burning cigarette that killed his parents and maimed him. His plan was to burn all of them—and you and Chris—alive.” Flynn's eyes blazed with fury at my foolishness.

I shuddered to think of it. If Austin Lowe hadn't turned up in the walk-in, I would have described that evening as a normal, after-holiday weekday evening at the restaurant. I had no idea what was going on beneath my feet.

Binder took up the story. “Enid Sparks must have lurked by the kitchen door, waiting for Lowe to leave. When he came through the parking lot to get the gas cans, she led him into the restaurant and into the walk-in, so no one would hear them arguing. She wore winter gloves, which is why she left no fingerprints.

“Despite his plan, Lowe was feeling mellow from the effects of the diazepam and the Wild Turkey. He went along willingly. When she saw there was no other way to stop him, Enid did what she thought she had to do.”

“That poor woman.” It broke my heart to think of her, killing the person she had raised.

“That kind of desperation, seeing no other way out, is what drives normal people to murder.” Binder paused, then continued. “When she saw that wall her in nephew's study and understood what he planned to do, she was so shocked, she lost all capacity for rational thought. Then add in the trauma of her car accident . . .” He shrugged. “There's no doubt about it, Julia. That's what happened.”

My face flushed with embarrassment. I had been so sure Enid couldn't have been the killer. “But how did she give him the Valium?”

Binder looked at Flynn who glowered back, but nodded.

“You weren't completely wrong,” Binder said. “Of all the diners, only Phil Bennett recognized Austin Lowe.”
The portraitist
.
Just as he'd recognized Michael Smith's features in Quinn's face. “
When Bennett realized that all but one of the living guests from the fatal New Year's Eve party were there in your restaurant, he figured there was something wrong. He put the Valium in Lowe's drink. He's confessed to this. He's also confessed to breaking into your building three times and to stealing the gift certificates, as well as your copy of the yacht club photo, along with the one from the yacht club. Apparently tonight he was after the copy of the insurance report you picked up in Guilford, though why he thought getting rid of a copy would make a difference, I don't know.” Binder squinted. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

I sat, still and silent. I was already in enough trouble.

When Binder understood I wasn't going to speak, he said, “There's no one left to prosecute for Austin Lowe's murder. I'll talk to the DA's office about bringing charges against Bennett on the Valium, but I doubt they'll want to pursue it.” He moved some papers around on his desk, obviously buying time for whatever was coming next. “In the meantime, it's a local matter, but I'd recommend you drop the trespassing and burglary charges against Bennett in exchange for his dropping the assault charges against you.”

“Assault charges!”

“You broke at least two of his ribs, Julia.”

“I was defending my home.”

“Were you in your home when you assaulted him? You chased the guy for a hundred feet underground and up a ladder. And what was the monetary value of the items he took?”

Flynn looked at me for the first time in the interview. His face was triumphant.

I was crushed, and mortified. On three previous cases, I had been a real help to these detectives. Now I'd shredded whatever standing I had with them in a single day.

Binder took my silence as indecision. “Perhaps it would help if you and Mr. Bennett spoke,” he suggested.

* * *

We sat side by side in folding chairs. Binder and Flynn had left the room to give us privacy. Bennett was obviously in pain. His next stop was the hospital.

“You broke into my place three times.” I wasn't cutting him any slack. “You stole from me. You scared the crap out of me. And Chris.”

“I'm sorry. I really am.” Phil shifted in his seat. “That whole evening at your restaurant was like a bad dream I couldn't wake up from. To walk in and see Henry and Caroline sitting there. And then the Walkers and the Smiths. Deborah had her back to the room, but I was staring out at all those people. And that man had come in and sat at the bar.

“Even though I hadn't seen him in forty years, those eyes of his were something I'll never forget. I thought they would drill right through me. When I got up and went to the men's room, I came back by way of the bar. As soon as I spotted the scar on his neck, I knew absolutely the man was Austin Lowe.

“I wasn't sure what was planned, but we were all there, including Austin, so it felt ominous. I went back to our booth, hurried Deborah through her meal without telling her why, and got ready to leave. Just as we finished, Officer Dawes arrived to say the road was blocked. We were stuck. My anxiety climbed by the minute.

“When we moved into the bar, I observed Austin more closely. He was jumpy, no doubt about it. I became convinced he planned some sort of public accusation.”

A public accusation. If only that had been all Austin Lowe had planned.

“I carry Deborah's anxiety medication in my jacket pocket whenever we go out,” Phil continued. “I went into the restroom, crushed ten tablets with a spoon, and on my way back, I stopped at the bar and slipped them into his drink. I didn't want to hurt him. God knows we'd hurt that boy enough. I wanted him to be sleepy or mellow and forget about whatever he'd planned to do.

“I thought I'd succeeded. There was no public scene. No one was more astonished than I was to wake up the next morning and learn he'd been murdered. And I never, ever would have hurt you or Chris. I only wanted to get rid of the evidence of our connection to one another and to the fire. You have to believe me.”

“You took a lot of risks,” I said.

“I didn't do it for myself.”

I realized he was telling the truth. As I'd guessed, Phil Bennett had crept out in the night, broken into my apartment, and stolen evidence all for love. “You did it for Deborah, because you're afraid she was the one who left the cigarette.”

“Deborah?” Phil sat back in his chair. “I never thought Deborah burned down that house. I thought it was Sheila.” He looked down at his lap. “I did it for her.”

“Sheila?”
The last piece of the puzzle and I couldn't even get that right.
I was never interfering in police business again.

“I was the reason Sheila was drunk and out of control that New Year's Eve,” Phil said. “I had hurt her, and then she killed Howell and Madeleine. She never intended what happened. So much time has gone by. To prevent the truth from coming out was the least I owed her.”

I hadn't liked Phil much when I first met him, but my heart went out to him. This tortured man deserved the truth. “The insurance report was inconclusive. Austin Lowe never figured out who was to blame. His plan was to kill you all by setting fire to the restaurant. Enid Sparks murdered him to stop him.”

“Oh, my God.” Bennett gave into his emotions and his physical pain. Like a landslide, his defenses came down. He took off his glasses, put his head in his hands, and wept. “We were all so young and careless. Look at what we've done.”

* * *

I trudged back along the road toward the restaurant. The sun had come up while I was at the police station. Gus would be busy with his early morning crowd. I had to have one more conversation I dreaded this morning.

What I had done to Chris might be unforgiveable. Why hadn't I trusted him enough to tell him my plan? Was there a problem in our relationship?

No. There was a problem with me. Somewhere deep in my brain I had known the plan was stupid and I hadn't wanted anyone to tell me so. Especially not the person whose opinion I most valued. The person who would tell me the truth.

I thought about the couples in the Rabble Point set. Each of them had been together for decades. And though they'd lived lives haunted by the fire that killed the Lowes, within their marriages they had supported one another. Sheila and Michael had become grown-ups together. Caroline had supported Henry's career, despite the disruption the frequent moves caused in her own life. He, in turn, valued her sacrifice and had brought her back to Busman's Harbor as she wanted. Fran and Barry were good parents to Quinn and good grandparents. They still loved each other, despite the challenges, financial and otherwise, in their lives. Phil and Deborah had overcome her alcoholism and injuries and the demands of his career and stayed together throughout. There was a lot of resilience there. I thought if I could achieve a relationship like that in my lifetime, I would have a good life.

And yet, love wasn't quite enough. Caroline, Deborah, and Sheila, all strangers in a new town, longed for friends. Despite the trauma caused by the Lowes' deaths and awkwardness of the changing partnerships, Phil had sought out both Barry and Michael, and neither had turned him away. Even people in good relationships needed friends.

At Gus's, I entered through the kitchen door and snuck up the stairs to the apartment. It had been a morning full of painful conversations, and I had to have one more before I could sleep. Part of me hoped Chris had gone back to bed after our crazy night, but he was sitting on the couch, waiting.

“I thought we weren't going to have any more secrets.” The hurt in his deep voice stabbed me in the heart. I'd been so focused on proving I was right about the murder, I'd done the one thing we'd promised each other we'd never do. Kept secrets. I was ashamed of myself.

“Forgive me,” I pleaded. “I've been such an idiot.”

He rose from the couch and turned toward me. “Do you know how you keeping things from me made me feel?”

I shook my head. The long, sleepless night; the embarrassment; and now the regret at how I'd treated Chris took their toll. A tear slid down my cheek.

“It made me feel shut out and not trusted. I was hurt that you were keeping a part of yourself from me. I was scared, after all we've been through, that we weren't going to make it.” He took a breath. “In other words, it made me feel exactly what you felt last summer when I was the one keeping the secrets. Secrets about things that put me in danger. Secrets about stupid, wrongheaded, bullheaded stuff I did.” His voice was ragged. “I can't believe you stayed. Or that you forgave me. Or that you still love me.”

“Of course I do.” I could barely breathe. “Now you need to forgive me.”

In three long strides, he took me in his arms. “You are the smartest, bravest person I know. There is nothing to forgive. But we have to promise, whenever one of us is going to do something stupid, we have to tell the other. Full disclosure.”

“I promise.” We kissed, a deep and satisfying kiss. My heart pounded and my knees went weak.

No end of that in sight.

They stood in a circle on Rabble Point Road. The mid-December wind cut through the vacant land, sucking out our breath. Everyone was bundled in heavy winter coats, scarves, and gloves. Deborah's face was hidden behind enormous dark glasses, even though so near the winter solstice, the sun barely crept over the horizon.

Jamie and I stood outside the circle, a few yards back. We wanted to show respect and acknowledge their loss, but we didn't want to intrude. He was off-duty and we'd ridden out to Rabble Point together in his pickup. As the miles had rolled along on deserted Eastclaw Point Road, I thought about my friend. I couldn't get the image of him, alone in his patrol car on Thanksgiving Day, out of my head. I hadn't valued our friendship enough. I hadn't even called him when I first got back to town. And then this summer . . .

“I miss you,” I said. “I want us to be friends again.”

“Oh, Julia. Me too.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I can't stop thinking about what happened this summer. If I hadn't kissed you, we'd still at least have what we had.”

“That's gentlemanly of you, but we kissed each other. It was a mistake. We were drunk. Can we put it in the past and move on? I don't think I can stand to live in Busman's Harbor without us being friends.”

“Deal,” he said, taking his right hand off the steering wheel for a fist bump. “Friends.”

They scattered Austin's ashes first. It was painful to think of this man, whose life had devastated by fire, consumed by flames at the end. But his and Enid's wills had been specific. Both had requested cremation, and Enid had asked for her ashes to be scattered at Rabble Point. The police were never successful in notifying a next of kin for either of them. Austin and Enid had just had each other. Austin left all his money to the Connecticut Burn Unit.

The group was largely silent as the wind carried Austin Lowe away. They hadn't known him, though each of them had probably thought of him every day for the last forty years. For these people, he'd remained the wide-eyed boy who'd haunted their imaginations. But they were the only ones left to mourn him.

Henry produced the urn that contained Enid's remains. Barry took it and scattered the first handful. “I loved Enid,” he said. “She was my first love, and that never leaves you.” He stepped back next to Fran. “I found happiness after we parted. I hope she did too.”

Fran stepped forward next. “Enid gave me my greatest gift. My husband. I will be grateful forever.”

Caroline was next. She stepped to the center of the circle, took a handful of the ashes, and opened her hand, letting the wind carry them off. “Enid was my friend. She and Madeleine were sisters by blood, but during those long childhood summers, I was their sister too. I'm ashamed of myself that I let my own guilt and horror of what happened to Madeleine and Howell separate us for all these years. I want Enid back.” Her voice broke, and she picked her head up, pivoting to look at each person in the group in turn. “I want you all back in my life, before we lose the chance again.” She stepped back into the circle and finished. “You cannot make any new old friends.”

Henry put a hand under Caroline's elbow, and Deborah stepped forward to hug her. Slowly, the rest of them circled in, until they all embraced.

I stepped closer to Jamie, and he put his arm across my shoulders. I'd teared up as Caroline spoke, and now the tears came freely. “I love you,” I said to Jamie. “You are my oldest friend.”

“I love you too.” He hugged me tighter. “I'm so glad you've come home.”

In front of us, at the edge of the group of old friends and lovers, Caroline held aloft the vessel with the last of Enid's remains, and she blew off into the wind.