A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (17 page)

"So then what happened?"

"He got some sort of suspended sentence, no jail time, but he
has to go to counseling. I doubt it is making one dent in his perverted brain."

"How long ago was this, Tina?"

"Last year." She glanced down at her long fingernails then back
at Darby. Her face was grim. "I told you, he's a dangerous man. I
wish to God he'd take one too many pills and stumble off a cliff
somewhere." She paused and gave Darby a dark look. "And don't
think I wouldn't like to be there to give him a shove."

"Do you think he killed Emerson Phipps? Does it make sense
to you?"

"Soames isn't about making sense," Tina said. "That's what I'm
trying to tell you." She sighed and picked up a yellow pad. "Not to
change the subject, but ... this is your aunt's obit. We need to get
it to the paper by noon and they'll print it in Wednesday's paper, plus the time of her service." She paused. "I hope you don't mind
that I started working on it."

"Not at all." Darby sat down on a chair. "What have you got so
far?"

Tina consulted the pad. "Jane Jenson Farr, Real Estate Broker
and Island Benefactress, came to Hurricane Harbor from Sarasota,
Florida. Soon after her arrival on the island she established the New
England office of Near & Farr Realty.

Jane Farr was born in Connecticut, and attended local schools
and the University of Connecticut, where she majored in business.
She was a Vice President of a Florida import-export business before
discovering real estate, a profession which quickly became a passion.
She served on the Florida Board of REALTORS(r) and was a past president of the Maine Association of REALTORS(r). Her many generous
gifts to her community of Hurricane Harbor include major donations to the new ferry terminal on Manatuck, Coveside Clinic, and
the Community Center."

Tina paused a moment. There were tears in her eyes.

"Jane Farr was predeceased by her parents, as well as her brother
John, and sister-in-law, Jada. She leaves behind many friends in
Maine and in Florida, as well as her niece, Darby Farr of Mission
Beach, California"

Darby swallowed. "Very nice," she said.

"Should I have left you to do it? I'm sorry-"

"No. It's perfect. Thank you."

Tina's eyes were moist as she nodded. "I'll send it in."

Darby rose from the chair, wiping her eyes with the back of her
hand. "I'm going to hobble over to the Cafe for a muffin. Can I
bring you back something?"

"Diet Coke."

The day was getting warmer, and a soft breeze was blowing off
the bay. Boats were appearing in the harbor with more frequency
and Darby knew that within a week, the little harbor would be full
of vessels. Across the stretch of water she could see the tall mast of
the Lucy T, and bobbing beside it, Laura Gefferelli's little boat.

She's right, Darby thought suddenly. I need to focus on Jane's
service, and details like the obituary. She took one more look at
the harbor before opening the Cafe's curtained doors. I'll bury my
aunt, she vowed, and then I'll see if I can't make peace with the rest
of my past.

DARBY ORDERED A MUFFIN and breakfast burrito at the Cafe and
was waiting to pick them up when a friendly tap on the shoulder
made her turn around.

"Miles!" she felt the physical reaction to his presence once more
and hoped it didn't show. "I was going to call you. Thanks again
for that fantastic dinner last night."

"The pleasure was all mine, I assure you." Miles was wearing
jeans and a polo shirt with a light jacket. He raised his eyebrows at
Darby's order. "Local fare? Any good?"

"Very good, if memory serves me right."

"Then I suppose I'll have to try one." He glanced around the
Cafe and lowered his voice slightly. "Any news on the murder?
Have the police apprehended the suspect?"

Darby shook her head. "No. They don't seem to be in too much
of a hurry. I'm not sure what is going on."

Miles frowned. "Your leg-is it injured?"

"I had a little run-in with Soames Pemberton at Fairview this
morning." She saw his look of concern and hastened to add, "I'm
all right-fortunately for me, Chief Dupont showed up and scared
him off. He basically fired a shot in the air, and let Pemberton escape." She thought a moment. "Why didn't the chief actually hit
him? And why, once Soames ran away, didn't he pursue him? Instead he took the time to lecture me about staying away from the
crime scene."

"Maybe this will muddy the waters a little." Miles Porter handed
Darby a large gray envelope and she looked at him questioningly.

"Newspaper articles, about our friend Dr. Phipps," he said. "I
did a little research online at the hotel this morning. It seems the
good surgeon had a slightly checkered past."

"Interesting. I'll take a look at them this afternoon and call
you.

"Not to add another duty to your `to do' list, but I was hoping
you might have dinner with me this evening?" Miles' smile was
almost shy; Darby liked the contrast with his normally confident,
capable, demeanor.

"I don't know if I'm up to it, Miles," she said truthfully. "I think
I need to ice my ankle and spend a quiet night. Besides, weren't
you heading back to Boston today?"

"Quite right, that had been my plan. But this island, the murder, and the possibility for a really in-depth story ... it's got me feeling energized again. I've decided to stay on a bit and have rented a
little beach house for a few days. Maybe you know the property ...
I believe locals refer to it as the old Kendall place?"

"That's a great spot! I used to visit Mrs. Kendall when I was a girl.
What a wonderful sandy beach, and the house has such character."

"I've checked it out, and although there is a modest kitchen,
I think I'll be able to make you one of my specialties. I do hope
you'll come. I promise it can be, as you say, a quiet night."

"I'll come on one condition: we spend some time trying to
make sense of this murder."

"I'd love to. As I told you, I do love a mystery."

"Great. What can I bring?"

"Just your lovely self,"he said lightly. "Shall we say around six P.M.?"
Darby picked up her order and paid the tab, hoping that the flush
she felt in her cheeks didn't show. "I'll look forward to it. Thanks
for the reading material and I'll see you this evening."

Back at the office, Darby handed Tina her Diet Coke and half of
the burrito with a flourish. "There you go, Tina. A little sustenance
from the Cafe"

"Thanks. Let's get that ankle elevated while you have breakfast.
I've got a bag of ice and a pillow."

Darby allowed Tina to help her get settled. The cold comfort
of the ice plus the two ibuprofen she'd popped earlier were finally
keeping the throbs at bay.

"Speaking of sustenance," said Tina. "I'd like to see some cash
coming in here. Are you going to give our friend Peyton Mayerson
a jingle and tell her Fairview's back on the market? If she wants to
do her wedding thing, now's her chance to pony up and buy."

"Don't forget those old deed restrictions haven't disappeared,"
Darby said. "If they are legitimate, Peyton is going to have a hard
time hosting weddings."

"They won't be any fun, that's for sure," sniffed Tina. "Didn't she
say she wanted Fairview even if she couldn't do weddings?"

"She did, but she was pretty angry at the time. I'm sure she's
already heard the news about the murder of Phipps. The time it
takes to clear up this investigation will give Peyton just enough
headway to line up her backers again. I've already called her, and
when we speak, I'll do my best to convince her that she still wants
the estate."

"What happens to a property when a guy gets bashed to death
in the garden shed? That would affect its value, right?" Tina bit
into the burrito and looked at Darby patiently.

"That depends," Darby answered. "When a property has a stigma
attached to it, such as a violent death, the value is usually affected in
an adverse way. But some stigmas-such as a ghost -can actually
boost a property's value." She paused. "I've already considered how
this murder affects a future sale, and I'm thankful Phipps' death occurred in the shed and not the main house."

"Would that have made a difference?"

"I think so. The garden shed is a utilitarian outbuilding-no
one actually lives in it. Nevertheless, if the fact that a murder took
place there proves troubling to a new owner, the shed can always
be torn down and rebuilt, at a fraction of what it would cost to
replace the main house."

Tina took a quick swallow of her Diet Coke. "I can't see that
Peyton Mayerson being bothered one tiny bit about some guy who
was about to ruin her plans getting murdered. Why, she'll probably
make it some kind of tourist destination. The House and Haunted
Garden Shed Tour. You'll see. She won't give a hoot about it."

Darby smiled. "Let's hope you're right. Mark Trimble tries to be
philosophical about it, but he really is ready to move on with the
sale of Fairview. And so is Lucy." She frowned. "Speaking of Lucy, I
wonder if Mark has an update on her."

Darby went over to her desk and called Mark Trimble's cell
phone. He picked up on the first ring.

"Thank God it's you, Darby. I was just about to call. I'm with
Lucy. We're in intensive care"

"What?"

"It's drugs again. Heroin. The nurses found her in a stupor."

Darby sank into a chair, unwilling to believe what Mark was
saying.

"What is her condition?"

"Alive. They think she might have done it on purpose. Like
Wes." His voice broke.

"Oh, Mark." Darby's head was reeling. What more did this
poor family have to suffer? "I'll get the next ferry. Do you need
anything?"

"No." His voice was hollow, defeated.

"Just call me if you do." Darby hung up, her breakfast clutched
in one hand, too stunned to move. The idea of Lucy Trimble taking her own life did not make sense. She turned toward Tina, feeling numb.

"That was Mark. Lucy's in intensive care with a heroin overdose"

"Good God," Tina breathed.

Darby grabbed her jacket from the back of her desk chair. "I'm
going to the mainland," she said. "I need to be with my friends."

After waiting ten or so minutes for the next boat, Darby boarded
the ferry, sinking into one of the plastic seats by a window. She sat
in silence, and before long she was disembarking at the terminal
and limping the few blocks to Manatuck Community Hospital.
The morning sun was warm, the sky clear and blue, but visions
of Lucy flashed before her eyes-Lucy as a happy young girl; Lucy
as a wasted junkie; and Lucy as a successful artist, older and wiser.
The image of Lucy as a relapsed drug addict did not fit Darby's visions, and she resisted even forming that mental picture.

Mark met her in the ICU waiting room. His face was pale and
his voice, normally so resonant, shook. "She's going to be okay," he
said. "They-we-found her just in time."

Darby gave him a hug and felt tears welling in her eyes. "Can I
see her?"