A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (10 page)

Darby hesitated, still on the dock, her heart beginning to thud
in her chest. With the exception of the ferry ride, she hadn't set
foot on a boat for more than ten years. She'd convinced herself
that it wasn't fear that kept her off the sea, but a lack of interest.
When invitations came her way to sail in the bay of San Diego, she
politely declined, thinking to herself that she had better things to
do. Now she knew the truth. She was petrified.

Mark misinterpreted her delay. "Hey, don't worry about your
shoes. I'm not one of these boat owners who care about that.
Come on, climb aboard."

He reached out a hand and Darby grabbed it.

"Thanks," she managed. She wondered if Mark could see how
her legs were shaking. She sank into a deck chair and waited for
her body to return to some degree of normalcy.

"Thirsty? I've got some drinks below."

"Sure" She took a deep breath and felt her pulse slowing.

Mark disappeared below deck, and Darby heard the clink of
glasses. She took out her cell phone and called the office of Willis
Foster, the Trimble family lawyer. "Have him call me as soon as
possible," she told the secretary who answered.

She glanced idly at the papers on the table. On top was a file
folder, the same kind Jane Farr used. She looked at the tab. File 2
was written in neat letters.

Mark reappeared with two glasses of an amber liquid, one of
which he handed to Darby. "Ginger ale." He raised his glass in a
toast. "To old friends," he said.

"To old friends," echoed Darby. She took a sip, feeling the crisp
carbonation on her tongue. What was Mark doing with Jane Farr's
folder?

"Your boat's a real beauty," she said, admiring the pristine condition of the Lucy T. Every inch was scrubbed and shining, from
the aft decks to the polished stairway banister.

Mark grinned. "Thanks" He snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot. I've got some nibbles for us." He hopped up and went below
deck. Darby heard him rummaging in the boat's little galley. Carefully, she lifted the cover of the file folder.

Inside was a contract for the sale of Fairview. Darby scanned
the page and stopped, confused. The name of the buyer was not
Peyton Mayerson, but an Emerson Phipps, III. She let the folder
close.

Mark Trimble emerged from below deck a minute later carrying a tray with a few cheeses, crackers, and some sliced fruit.
He eased himself into a deck chair next to Darby and offered her
the plate. "You never answered my question. You do any sailing in
California?"

"No," she admitted. "I admire the boats from the shore, but I
haven't been on the water in a long, long, time." There was an awkward silence. Darby spread some aged blue cheese onto a rice cracker
and popped it into her mouth. "So who is Emerson Phipps?"

Mark managed a shaky laugh. "How did-"

"This folder is twin to one in Jane's office and I've been looking
for it. I recognized it immediately, and yes, I looked inside. I don't
mean to snoop, but I'm now the listing agent for Fairview, and I
have a right to know what's going on. So why don't you stop with
the snack service and tell me exactly what is happening."

Mark took a deep breath. "I was about to do just that." He took
a sip of his drink and continued. "Phipps is an old college friend.
We were in a few classes together our second year at Dartmouth,
and he came up here to see me the following summer. We were
twenty or so at the time. He visited twice, and then he never came
again. But he never forgot Fairview, or so he says.

"About three weeks ago, I had a call from Phipps. It was quite
a surprise, as we hadn't been in touch since graduation. He went
to medical school after Dartmouth and became a surgeon in Boston. Spinal injuries, I think. He's done quite well from what I hear.
Anyway, he saw an ad for Fairview in some Boston magazine. He
recognized the place and tracked me down. I told him to get in
touch with Jane and left it at that. Last week he called again and I
said he was too late. He chuckled and said it was never too late to
buy something if you had the right price. I told him about Peyton
and the contract and figured that was the end of it."

He took a long drink, draining his ginger ale.

"Jane called me a day later. She'd spoken with Phipps and she
seemed excited. We met in her office and drew up another contract, one that only went into effect if Peyton's fell through."

"A backup," Darby said softly.

"That's what she called it. A backup. She said it was a long shot
but that you never knew how things would turn out." He paused.
"Wouldn't she love to know what happened today! Soames Pemberton shows up with that old deed, totally taking Peyton out of
the picture..."

"And now Emerson Phipps is our new buyer." Darby reached
for the folder and opened it. Her brow knotted with concern. "The
price on Peyton's contract was $5.5 million."

"I was waiting for you to notice," said Mark. "When Phipps
came on the scene, Jane told him the price had gone up to $5.8
million. She wasn't going to budge, and Darby, he didn't even care.
`The price really doesn't matter,' he said. Jane was in heaven."

"I bet," Darby said dryly.

"I think she had a premonition that something would go
wrong with Peyton's plans, you know? She'd been at this so long; it
was like she could predict the future."

Darby thought back to the planning board meeting. Not even
Jane Farr could have imagined a scene like that. A nagging suspicion entered Darby's thoughts. Could her aunt have known about
the old deed? She told herself no, that Jane would have been just as
surprised by the revelations of Soames Pemberton.

She looked back over the pages and noticed only one signature
in the seller's area.

"Lucy hasn't signed this."

"She will," Mark stated confidently. "She doesn't care who buys
Fairview, she just wants out."
"

I see that Phipps had no contingencies-no building inspections, no water tests, and no financing. He's paying cash?'

Mark nodded. "Yup" He took out his cell phone and glanced
at his calls. "He's due to call me any time now," he said. "He wants
to know as soon as possible what happened at the Planning Board
meeting, and whether or not he's the lucky winner."

"I wouldn't make that call just yet," said Darby. "I want to speak
to your attorney to verify the legitimacy of Soames' claims. I was
hoping he'd call me back this morning."

"Does it matter? Whether the restrictions are enforceable or
not, Peyton didn't get her approval for a liquor license or a zone change. The contract says if she doesn't get that approval by the
end of today, the deal is off. I think that puts Phipps on top."

"I'd still like to check with Willis Foster." She paused. "And if
Emerson Phipps is, as you said, the lucky winner? What happens
then?"

"He's going to drive up from Boston and buy the house this
afternoon."

"Today?" Darby forced herself to focus. In the space of an hour,
one deal had crashed and burned while another, even more lucrative one arose, like a phoenix, from the ashes. This is why I love real
estate, she thought. And why my aunt had loved it, too.

DARBY LISTENED WHILE MARK relayed the events of the planning board meeting to his sister. When he mentioned the backup
offer from Emerson Phipps, his tone changed from enthusiastic to
incredulous.

"What do you mean you won't sell to Phipps?" Darby heard
him say. "It doesn't matter who the buyer is, don't you see that, Lu?
Who cares if it is Peyton and her silly Italian sidekick, or Phipps?
What matters is that we are done with it; that we can travel, or buy
new homes, or just sit around and paint. I know, I know, you don't
just sit around and paint. The point is, what do we care who purchases the place?"

There was a pause while Mark listened to his sister. Finally he
said in a subdued tone, "Okay. Thanks."

He clicked off his cell phone and turned to Darby with a frown.
"She'll do it, but she's not happy" He rose and stretched his legs.
"I don't get it. Yeah, Phipps is an arrogant son of a bitch, but why should she care if he takes a major headache off our hands?" He
ruffled his hair in frustration. "Plus he's paying more money!"

"Lucy says she remembers Emerson Phipps. You were around
that summer, Darby. Do you remember the guy?"

Darby thought a moment, and then shook her head. "No, I
don't. Maybe when I see him, I'll have some recollection." Possessed of a photographic palate memory, Darby was unusually good at remembering faces, too. And yet the name Emerson
Phipps did not spark any associations.

"Is this why Lucy hasn't signed the back-up offer yet? If she
doesn't feel comfortable with this sale..."

"Who knows why she's going off on this tangent? She's got a
big gallery opening in July and the annual art show this weekend.
Maybe it's tension from trying to get ready. She's got a copy of the
offer, and she says she hasn't even opened the envelope!" he sighed.
"She's doing well, you know, as an artist. Her career is poised to
really take off."

He ran a hand through his hair and continued. "I don't know
what her story is, but she'll get over it. She'll definitely get over it
and sign anything we need her to sign. After all the work I've done
to get this place sold..."

Darby debated her next comment and her instincts as a realtor
won out. "Mark, have you thought about keeping the property for
a while, at least until the vote on the bridge is over? There's a good
chance that you and Lucy could make even more money if that
bridge from Manatuck is constructed."

Mark Trimble wheeled toward Darby, taking her by surprise.
A dark look contorted his face. "Wait? Wait? I've been waiting my whole life to get rid of that place. It's a prison, Darby, a fucking
prison. I won't own Fairview one day longer than I have to. And
you know what? I don't care if the man in the moon buys it." He
rammed his hand on the side table and papers from the file scattered on the deck. The blast of a horn signaling the arrival of a
passenger tour boat broke the silence.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Darby." He ran a hand through his thick hair.
"I shouldn't take it out on you. It's just that-well, I didn't expect
Lucy to react in this way. I thought she'd be happy." He sighed.
"She's been through so much, I thought she'd be able to let the
old place go as easily as I can." He knelt and collected the papers
and placed them back in the file. "She's headed over to Fairview
shortly. Let's go over there together. I know she'd love to see you,
and I sure as hell hope she'll sign this backup offer."

Darby consulted her watch. "Okay. I'll do my best to point out
the advantages of this sale, but I represent both you and your sister. If she refuses to sign, the deal is off."

He looked up quickly. "I'll just have to hope she comes around,"
he said.

"Stop at the office," Darby requested, as she and Mark climbed into
his vintage blue convertible. "I need a copy of this contract."

"Fine. I'll run over to the Cafe for a sandwich. Want anything?"

Darby declined. They pulled into the parking lot and he strode
across the street.

Tina met Darby at the door. "Mark Trimble's attorney returned
your call. It's on your voice mail."

"Thanks" Darby listened to the message, wondering whether
the restrictions on the Pemberton property could possibly be for
real.

"That old covenant against drinking and dancing could certainly be legitimate," the voice on the machine equivocated, "but
then I can't be sure until I have a chance to look at the old deeds
in the registry on Manatuck. Prohibitions like that were common
at the time. Why, we even have some dry towns remaining here in
Maine."

Darby groaned as she saved the message from Willis Foster. A
typical lawyerly response, she thought. It tells me absolutely nothing.

Her gut told her that the crazy story was somehow the truth,
and yet she had a hard time imagining that Soames Pemberton
had merely happened upon the old deed. I'll go to the registry myself and search the records, she thought. Chances are, I can find what
I need in an afternoon. She rose and made copies of the agreement
with Emerson Phipps. Whoever he was, a twist of fate was putting
him in the position to buy his dream house. Some people are born
lucky, Darby thought.