A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (19 page)

I don't like Peyton Mayerson, don't trust her one bit, and that
flashy Italian boyfriend of hers is an odd duck if I ever saw one.
There was something funny about the way he followed that
woman around, unable to speak any English at all, but always giving Donny a look like he knew just what was going on.

Then there was that magazine ...

Donny dipped his paintbrush into the can and reached for a
spot that he'd sanded only minutes before. He'd been thinking
about the magazine all day, and just couldn't seem to make sense
of it.

It had happened the night before, when Donny was still shaken
up over finding that murdered doctor at Fairview. He'd gone back
to his house, taken a little nap, and woke up still picturing those
shears protruding from the guy's stomach. That's what had bothered him the most, he realized now, those stupid shears. I probably
dreamed about them too, he thought. Sticking right up like a toothpick in a turkey club sandwich, for crying out loud ...

He shook his head to clear away the image, remembering what
he did after his nap. I drove over to the Eye, he thought, 'cause I
wanted a little whiskey to steady my nerves. The Eye of the Storm
was the island's only bar, and that afternoon it was busier than ever.
Everyone was talking about the murder, and of course Donny had
to tell and re-tell his story of the discovery. Each time he told about
the body, his horror lessened a little, or maybe it was the whiskey that was helping him to forget. At any rate, he'd just finished
recounting the tale for the third time when a figure in the corner of the bar caught his attention. It was a man in a baseball cap,
nursing a beer and reading a magazine. Nothing unusual about
that-Donny knew that guys liked to hang out in bars, especially
the married ones who needed breaks from their wives. Donny saw
the man glance at this watch, then get up, looking around the bar
as if he did not want to be noticed. He threw some money on the
table and turned to leave.

Donny saw the man head on. Curly hair, puffy lips ... It was
the Italian guy, Peyton's boyfriend, but he hadn't noticed Donny. Without making eye contact with anyone in the bar, Emilio left the
Eye and walked hurriedly down the street.

Donny decided it was time for him to get going as well. He was
due to pick up some passengers that evening, a party of four who
were having dinner on Manatuck. Donny downed the rest of his
whiskey and said goodbye to his buddies. Before leaving, he decided to visit the bar's bathroom. No sense in using the boat head
if he could go right here, he reasoned.

On the way he walked by the table where the Italian fellow had
been sitting. He saw the wad of bills waiting for the overworked
waitress, and the magazine left behind on the bench. Curious,
Donny leaned over to see what kind of European crap the foreigner had been looking at. Maybe a girlie rag, or one of those
fancy race car publications. A moment later he stood up, puzzled.
The man who couldn't speak a word of English, who had been
sitting and reading so intently, had left behind the latest issue of
TIME magazine.

After punching in Helen Near's phone number, Darby climbed
carefully into the truck and drove to Lucy Trimble's little farmhouse, listening to the rings and anticipating an answering machine. She was surprised when a strong, clear voice answered the
phone just as she pulled into Lucy's rutted driveway. Darby introduced herself, gave the information about Jane Farr's service, and
sat in the parked car to listen to the Florida woman's grief.

"It doesn't seem possible," Helen said softly, her voice breaking
a little. "Tina called me yesterday morning and told me Jane was
dead. She was definitely getting on in years-I am, too!-but Jane -your aunt-she was such a strong force that it didn't seem like
anything would extinguish her." She gave a big sigh. "Oh, I'll miss
her. I'll miss her, all right. I spoke to her last week, you know. She
sounded fine." She sighed again. "Is the service this weekend?"

"Saturday. I understand if you can't be there... "

"Of course I'll be there! Jane Farr was not only my business
partner, she was my best friend. Oh, we go back a long way." She
chuckled, and then her voice became businesslike once more. "I'll
be there, and I would like to read a passage or two."

"Wonderful." Darby made a mental note to call Laura Gefferelli as soon as she left Lucy's house. "Do you need a place to stay,
Helen?"

"There's a house I've stayed in before, but I believe Jane told
me she'd rented it for the winter. The Hurricane Harbor Inn will
be fine, and don't worry, I can give them a call." She paused. "How
about you, Darby? How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," Darby answered, glad the other woman could not
see her tears.

Although it was Darby's first visit to Lucy's home and studio, she
could tell that Chief Dupont and his deputy had been through
the property. Drawers were partly out, papers were scattered, and
clothes spilled from the bedroom closet. Even the studio looked as
if it had been searched.

Darby remembered her promise to inventory the paintings for
Mark. After admiring her old friend's talent, she found a list labeled "Finished Works" taped on the wall. By matching the titles
with the actual canvasses, she could see exactly what Lucy had in tended to sell. When she was about halfway through the list, however, she came across a painting on the list that appeared to be
missing.

"Island Respite," read Darby. She looked through the stack of
work again, and left a little mark next to the title. Toward the end
of the list, a similar situation happened with the painting "Shorefront Foes." Although it was listed as a finished work, Darby could
not find it anywhere in the studio.

Puzzled, she checked the other rooms of the house, as well as
the closets, without any luck. According to Lucy's list, she had finished two dozen paintings in time for the show. Darby recounted
the stack of canvasses. There were twenty-two.

With the list in hand, she left Lucy's house. Before starting the
car, she phoned Laura Gefferelli at the church and left a message
on her machine, informing her about Helen Near's participation
in the service, and asking if she knew where Dr. Hotchkiss might
be living. After hanging up the phone, she sat and thought a minute. Had Chief Dupont learned about the rape, and had that piece
of information pushed him to arrest Lucy? Had Dr. Hotchkiss contacted the police? Darby Farr was determined to find out.

DARBY DROVE BACK To Near & Farr in silence. Tina was out on an
afternoon errand and the office seemed unnaturally quiet without her presence. The ringing of the phone startled Darby; she answered it and heard the voice of Mark Trimble.

"The judge set a bail amount for Lucy," he said. "I just spoke to
her on the phone. She's wiped out, but happy to be going home.
I've got Donny Pease and his water taxi lined up to take me over
there so she doesn't have to come back on the ferry. He's got a
truck at the landing and can drive me to the jail. Do you want to
come?"

"Definitely," said Darby. "I'll meet you at the boat."

An air of quiet disbelief hung over the little party of Darby, Mark,
and Donny Pease as they sped across the water toward Manatuck.
As if to echo their mood, the weather had turned gray and chilly, with dark clouds forming on the horizon. The wind was starting
to blow harder, and Darby found herself wishing she'd worn a
warmer jacket.

Mark Trimble seemed to be in a daze. Darby began to feel concerned, but just then he cleared his throat and asked Darby whether
she'd inventoried Lucy's artwork.

She quickly described the two missing paintings. "Lucy will
have an explanation, I'm sure. Perhaps she'd sold them and hadn't
had a chance to note it, or maybe she decided to put them in a gallery on Manatuck"

"We'll find out," he said, resuming his brooding air.

Donny Pease opened a locker and offered Darby an oilskin
coat.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, slipping it on.

He smiled shyly. "Thought you looked a bit chilly," he observed,
deftly avoiding a lobster trap. He seemed to think a minute before
saying anything else.

"I helped out at the inn this morning," he offered. "Heard
quite a lot of squawking coming from that Miss Mayerson's room
around noon."

Darby gave him a shrewd look.

"Peyton Mayerson? What happened?"

"She was shouting at the Italian fellow, so loud I could hear it
through the door. Something about things falling apart, and that
he wasn't any help. Then she slammed the door and left the inn,
alone. She took that fancy car of hers and left him shut up in the
room. A little while ago, he was in the Eye, all by himself."

Mark and Darby were silent a moment.

Mark asked, "Do you think it's strange that we haven't heard
from her about Fairview? Has she heard anything from her investors?"

Darby hugged the jacket tighter around her shoulders. "My
gut feeling is that Peyton Mayerson doesn't have a whole lot of say
over this purchase. She seems to be at the mercy of her backers,
so if they are taking their sweet time, there isn't much she can do
about it."

"You're saying she doesn't have much, if any, control," Mark
said.

"Exactly," said Darby. "It could make someone feel pretty desperate. The question is: could it drive them to murder?"

"Hey, someone killed the guy, and I know it wasn't my sister,"
said Mark, his tone becoming stronger. "Do you think the police
have even questioned Peyton and Emilio? Asked them their whereabouts? Maybe Peyton knew about Emerson Phipps all along." He
thought a moment. "What if Phipps contacted Peyton, hoping to
flip Fairview for more money? Or maybe he called her to rub it in
her face? He was arrogant enough to do something like that."
"

I wouldn't discount anything," said Darby. "I'm planning to
visit Peyton Mayerson as soon as I'm back on the island. In my
book, she had a very strong motive to want Emerson Phipps dead,
and there's something bizarre about that doting boyfriend of
hers."