The Ghost and the Mystery Writer (8 page)

T
he next morning
, Chief MacDonald sat at his office desk, reading the newspaper and drinking his coffee, when he heard a knock at his open door. He looked up and saw Joe Morelli standing in the doorway.

“I see you're reading the paper,” Joe said as he walked into the office and took a seat.

MacDonald shook his head and slammed the paper on the desk. “Can't we ever keep anything out of the damn paper?”

“It's—”

“Don't say it!” MacDonald snapped. “If I hear
it's a small town
one more time, I'm going to do something we'll all regret!”

“Well, it is,” Joe said with a shrug.

“How did the paper find out about Jolene's rings?”

“Come on, Chief, there were people on the pier when you recovered them. You didn't really expect to keep that under wraps.”

“It would have been nice. At least for a while. Now the killer knows we're onto him.” MacDonald downed the last of his coffee.

“I wish they could have found something at Jolene's house. Anything.”

MacDonald set his empty cup on the desk and shoved it to the side. “There really wasn't much in the house. She had hardly any furniture and relatively few personal items. It didn't take them that long to go through it.”

Joe frowned. “I don't understand that.”

“I called Melony to tell her we were going to go through her mother's house. She told me her mom had practically emptied the house when she moved to New York. I guess she sold everything before she moved back. Might have figured shipping it all a second time was too expensive.”

“I know when the guys first got over there, they wondered if someone had been in the house because the back door was unlocked,” Joe noted. “And then there was hardly anything inside.”

“It's entirely possible the killer got into the house and removed any incriminating evidence before we arrived. I know some of the longtime residents never lock their doors, and it's possible Jolene left that back door unlocked. There were some smudged fingerprints on the doorknob, but it wasn't wiped clean,” the chief explained.

“If the killer figured we wouldn't be looking for someone Jolene knew, he—or she—may not have even considered going through her house, looking for any possible connection. But now—”

“Which is why I've someone keeping an eye on her place,” MacDonald said. “And what I don't want is for the killer to go after someone he thinks might be a witness now that everyone knows the killer probably dumped Jolene's rings off the pier.”

“Like the fishermen who were on the pier when he tossed the rings,” Joe suggested.

“We need to figure out who they were and quick, before the killer does. And he has the advantage; he probably saw who they were. If he's afraid one of the fishermen can identify him as the person who tossed something off the pier, we might have more dead bodies to deal with.”

The office phone began to ring. MacDonald answered it. When he hung up, he said, “Pete Rogers is here. I'm going to go ahead and talk to him in my office. Check with Brian and see if he's made any progress tracking down whoever was on that pier when Jolene was murdered.”

“
S
orry I wasn't
able to come in yesterday,” Pete said when he walked into MacDonald's office. The two men briefly shook hands and then each took a seat, MacDonald behind the desk and Pete facing it.

Peter Rogers had moved to Frederickport thirty years earlier with his new bride. Just six months after exchanging vows, his wife was diagnosed with a terminal illness. She did not make it to their first wedding anniversary. In all those years, he had never remarried.

“I understand. How was Portland?”

“It was fine. Just a doctor's appointment. When your office called me, I was shocked to hear about Jolene.”

“I understand you saw her that night in Pier Café.”

“Yes. I stopped in late to grab something to eat.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah. She stopped by my table. Said hello. We didn't really have a long conversation.”

“I understand she made her rounds, chatting with the other diners. Did you happen to overhear anything, maybe a disagreement? Anything.”

Pete shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You know, Chief, I didn't really think anything about it yesterday. But when I read the paper this morning and heard the killer threw Jolene's rings off the pier—that it probably wasn't a mugging…”

“Did you see something, hear something?”

“I'm sure it really is nothing…” He shook his head, not sounding convinced.

“What?” the chief urged.

“Steve Klein from the bank was sitting in the booth across from me when Jolene first came in. She stopped and said something to him. I don't know what she said, but when she walked away from his table, if looks could kill.”

“What do you mean?”

“The minute she turned her back to him and walked away from his table, his smile disappeared, and he gave her the most hateful look. It was pretty obvious to me he couldn't stand the woman.”

“Was there anything else?” MacDonald asked.

Pete let out a sigh. “After I left the diner, I saw him again. He was walking up from the beach. He'd left Pier Café a few minutes after Jolene. I figured he was out for a walk and decided to come back up on the pier.”

“Do you remember what time you left the diner?”

Pete shook his head. “I didn't really pay any attention to the time. Sorry.”

“Do you think you left the restaurant maybe fifteen minutes after Jolene, thirty minutes, forty?”

“After Jolene?” Pete shrugged. “Like I said, I didn't pay attention to the time. Maybe thirty minutes, more or less.”

“When you saw Steve on the pier, after leaving the restaurant, did he say anything to you?”

“No. I don't think he saw me. To be honest, he seemed preoccupied. I was standing in the shadows; I doubt he would have seen me had he looked my way. But I was watching him. He kept looking around like he was nervous. I thought it was odd.”

“Where did he go?”

“I assume to the end of the pier, since that's where he was heading.” Pete shrugged.

“Did you see him again?”

Pete shook his head. “No. I went to use the bathroom on the pier. When I came out, I hung around for a while before walking home. I didn't see him again.”

“Did you happen to notice who was fishing on the pier that night?”

“There were a couple of fishermen, but I don't know who they were.”

“Did you see Jolene again after you left the restaurant?”

Pete shook his head again. “No.”

“You said Jolene stopped by your table.”

“Yes. After she left Steve's table, she stopped by mine.”

“Did she say anything, maybe mention anything about meeting someone later?”

“No. She just stopped, said hi.”

“Did you know Jolene very well?”

“I've known her for years. Her husband was my wife's attorney; he was one of the first people I met when I first moved to town. We used to do a lot socially when Doug was alive.”

“So you and Jolene were friends?”

“Yes, but after Doug died, Jolene left town, and we really didn't keep in touch. I've run into her a few times since she moved back, but honestly…”

When Pete didn't finish his sentence, the chief asked, “Honestly what?”

Pete shrugged. “She really wasn't the same Jolene I remembered. I don't recall her ever being so—bitter. She just wasn't pleasant to be around. Of course, one of the first times I saw her again since she moved back was after the
Eva Aphrodite
washed up on the beach, and the historical society had the ridiculous notion to keep it there as some tourist attraction. I suppose I didn't hold back when expressing my opinion. I sure as hell did not want to look at that eyesore from my back patio. That thing would have destroyed local property values. But fortunately it seemed to take care of itself.”

“Did you notice anyone else milling around the pier that night?”

“Not that I noticed. Just a couple of fishermen and Klein.”

“And you don't recall Jolene acting strange—maybe even anxious? Nervous?”

Pete let out another snort. “She was acting strange, for Jolene. But not anxious or nervous. Like I said, since she's moved back, I don't think anyone would accuse her of being Miss Sunshine. But that night, she seemed particularly happy—giddy maybe. Upbeat.”

“I don't think her evening turned out quite as she expected,” MacDonald muttered.

Pete let out a sigh and shook his head. “No, I don't imagine it did. This is just a horrible thing. I can't believe it happened here, in Frederickport. Seems like we've had more than our share of tragedies this past year.”

“Is there anything else you can remember about that night?”

“I really can't think of what else to tell you. Other than noticing Steve's reaction to Jolene and seeing him on the pier later, I can't think of anything else that might be helpful. But in fairness to Steve, his wasn't the only eye roll I noticed that night.”

MacDonald frowned. “What do you mean?”

“After Jolene stopped by to say hello, she continued to make her rounds, stopping by each table. No one seemed particularly welcoming, and when she moved on, the expressions weren't much different from Klein's—just not as severe. Of course, he was the only one I noticed hanging around on the pier.”

D
anielle passed
Pete Rogers in the hall of the Frederickport Police Station on her way to Chief MacDonald's office. She said a brief hello to her neighbor and then continued on her way.

“I passed Pete in the hallway,” Danielle said when she entered MacDonald's office, closing the door behind her.

“He was at Pier Café the night Jolene was murdered. We tried to talk to him yesterday, but he was in Portland.” MacDonald settled back in his chair while he absently rapped the end of his pen against the desktop. “This thing just keeps getting stranger.”

“Tell me about it.” Danielle plopped down in a chair and let out a sigh.

“Unless you've seen Jolene's ghost, I really don't have time to chat. Sorry, Danielle.”

“I haven't seen Jolene's ghost again—but I have something stranger to tell you.”

“Stranger than seeing a ghost?”

“Actually, this does involve a ghost, Walt. And what he tells me he saw.”

“Does it have something to do with my murder?” he asked wearily.

“Yes. But I'm afraid it's going to raise more questions than answer any.”

He tossed the pen aside and said, “Just what I need!”

Danielle then went onto explain everything Walt had told her—about Hillary going for a walk the evening of Jolene's murder, returning late that night, and then Walt reading the notes for her new book.

When Danielle finished passing on Walt's information, she and MacDonald sat quietly for a few moments. Finally, MacDonald said, “I knew Ms. Hemmingway was at the café that night.”

“You did? She never mentioned it to me.”

“Carla told us when we first interviewed her after finding Jolene's body. In fact, she was on my list of people to interview. If she wrote all that, she must have witnessed the murder. But why hasn't she come forward and said anything?”

“The entire thing is bizarre. I don't know Hillary very well, but I liked her—at least until Walt told me what he'd read. I know she's one of Ian's favorite authors; he's quite taken with her. But this. I just can't understand how anyone can just witness a murder and then walk away and not report it. Maybe Jolene was still alive when the killer left her on the beach. Maybe she could have been saved.”

“Unfortunately, it's not all that uncommon for someone to witness a crime and say nothing. It happens all the time,” MacDonald said.