A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (20 page)

Donny nodded. Darby watched as he seemed about to add to
the conversation, but instead picked up his handheld radio. Advising the Manatuck marina that he was pulling up to the dock, he
readied the lines and slowed his engine.

"The Italian fellow is an odd one," he muttered, shaking his
head.

"In what way, Donny?" asked Darby.

The captain shook his head again and Darby knew he would
not elaborate. Moments later, he was tying them up to the dock.

Darby and Mark climbed into Donny Pease's truck and he drove
them in silence to the jail. After waiting for a few minutes in a dingy
reception area, they spied the frail figure of Lucy Trimble emerging
from a door, accompanied by a female police officer.

She practically collapsed into her brother's arms.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes ringed with dark circles. "I am so
sorry for everything."

"It's okay, Lu, it's okay," Mark murmured. He turned to the police officer. "Are we free to go now?"

She nodded and pointed toward a plastic shopping bag sitting
on a metal table. "Those are her things," she said curtly.

"I've got them," said Darby, picking up the bag.

Donny hustled to open the door for Mark and his sister. Darby
was sure he was thinking the same thing she was: Lucy seemed to
have become an old woman overnight. She was hunched over and
shuffled her feet as she tried to walk the few steps from the jail door
to Donny's truck.

Donny's face showed concern. "Here, now, Miss Trimble, you
just come right over here. Can you climb up okay? Dang truck, it's
so high off the ground. I can give you a boost if you like?"

"That's okay," Lucy managed, giving a weak smile. "I'm not an
invalid, I just look like one."

After she was settled in the front seat with Donny, Mark and
Darby climbed into the back of the cab. Avoiding the ferry was a
good idea, Darby thought. Lucy would never have been up to the
inevitable questions of the islanders, however well-meaning their
comments may have been.

Donny drove them to the Manatuck dock and soon they were
speeding through the water to the island.

It was Lucy who brought up her drug use first. "I don't remember anything about this," she said. "I don't remember doing any
drugs. How would I have gotten them? The whole thing is lost to
me.

"When you were using drugs before, would you have remembered things?" Darby saw the wind whip her friend's blonde hair
across her face.

"No," Lucy admitted. "I often had total blackouts. But I swear
to you, I wasn't doing drugs. I was clean. Unless I have a Dr. Jekyll
and Mr. Hyde kind of split personality, I didn't do it."

"If you didn't take the drugs, they must have been given to you
somehow without your knowing it. Did anyone visit you in the
hospital?"

"I had a few visitors from Coveside yesterday afternoon. Today
was the day I normally ran the group."

"Group?"

"A support group for those struggling with addictions. A few of
them came over to see me."

"Who are the members of your counseling session?"

"I'd rather not say. Client confidentiality and everything."

Darby thought a moment. "Could one of those people have
given you something? Injected you?"

"They wouldn't do that! None of them would do that." She
frowned. "I don't see how or why any of them would want to hurt
me, Darby."

"Did any of them give you anything to eat or drink?"

She shook her head. "Darby, these people are my friends! None
of them gave me anything." She leaned back in the truck, exhausted.

After a moment, she cleared her throat. "I need to get some
legal advice..."

"Lu, don't think about it today," her brother advised. "I've already made some calls. We'll deal with all that tomorrow" He gave
Darby a quick glance, his expression grim.

"Mark is right. Get some rest so we can figure this all out tomorrow.

Lucy nodded at Darby, her eyes filling with tears. "I didn't kill
Emerson Phipps," she whispered.

"I believe you" Darby cleared her throat. "Lucy, I have a different question for you. When I was in the studio, I noticed that
you had a list of twenty-four paintings to hang at the art show. By
my count though, there were only twenty-two. `Island Respite' and
`Shorefront Foes' are missing. Any idea what happened to them?
Did you give them to a gallery, or sell them privately?"

Lucy shook her head once more. "No. I suppose I could check
with the arts festival coordinator-perhaps she needed a few for a
photo?"

"Do you have the name of the festival coordinator?"

"I've got it at home, but it's on the town website as well." She
shook her head. "What a giant mess."

"It'll all work out in the end," said Donny Pease, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he expertly docked his boat. "You
listen to me, Miss Trimble. It'll all work out just fine in the end."

Peyton Mayerson navigated the narrow streets of Westerly in her
Mercedes, scrutinizing the numbers on the little shops. Already the
streets of this touristy town were thronged with people shopping
and eating ice cream cones, and Peyton felt her impatience growing. She said it was on this street, she fumed. She said it was past the
whale watching dock ...

Peyton glanced toward a narrow building with a hand-carved
sign and smiled. The Beals Gallery. There it was, finally, with a
parking space right in front.

She parked, leaving Lucy Trimble's paintings safely stowed
in the trunk. The sun was warm and for a brief moment she envied the tourists eating their mint chocolate chip cones with such
oblivious delight.

She locked the car and went inside the building's cool lobby.

Immediately a woman in a tailored silk dress with upswept
blonde hair appeared at her side. "May I help you?"

Peyton pursed her lips. "I'm looking for the gallery owner."

The blonde woman smiled. "You must be Ms. Mayerson. Come
right this way."

Peyton was taken to a room off the main gallery. The woman
closed the door behind them and indicated a glass table with several modern chairs. A towering flower arrangement in the center
of the table dominated the room. "I'm Camilla Beals," the woman
said smoothly. "Please, sit down. Care for some iced tea?"

"No, thank you," said Peyton, taking a seat. "I'm on a rather
tight schedule..."

"Of course." Camilla glided into a chair. "I understand. Have
you brought the paintings?"

"That was our deal, wasn't it?"

Camilla gave a small smile. "Then I'll ask Joseph to bring them
in. Where are you parked?"

"In front of the building."

"We do have a back entrance. Unless you'd like us to bring them
in through the front door..." She arched an eyebrow and waited.

"The back way will be fine" Peyton stood, tossing her hair. She
gave the gallery owner a level gaze. "You'll be selling these paintings out of the state of Maine, correct?"

Camilla rose and nodded. "That was our deal, wasn't it?" She
handed a business card to Peyton. "We spoke about the Manhattan
store, but I've made some calls and I prefer to place them in our
Miami Beach location." She tilted her head to one side. "I trust that
will be fine with you, Ms. Mayerson?"

Peyton pretended to consider the question. The bitch knows
I want those stolen paintings as far from Maine as possible, she
thought... She's toying with me, and yet, I need that money...

"I suppose," she said airily, removing the Mercedes' keys from
her Gucci clutch. "I suppose Miami Beach will be fine."

Once off Donny's boat, Darby stopped at the office for a quick update from Tina.

"You had a visitor," she announced. "Alicia Komolsky. She's the
dead doctor's sister. Seems nice enough, even with the shock of it all. Came by to talk to you about the contract and whether she
needed to do anything. I told her to come back at five P.M"

Darby consulted her watch. "That's in two hours. Perfect. I'm
going to head over to Chief Dupont's office, see if I can find out
anything more regarding the evidence he thinks he has on Lucy. Any
word from Peyton Mayerson?"

Tina made a face. "Her highness has an appointment for tomorrow morning. She said `first thing,' which to her means nine
o'clock."

Darby grinned. "Well, if we can get her to buy Fairview after all
this, it will be worth dealing with her eccentricities. I'll be back at
five to meet Alicia. Will you be here?"

Tina coughed. "Actually, I have a date with Donny."

Darby gave a little smile. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Miles called while Darby was en route to the police station.

"How is the rest of your day going? Any developments?"

"Yes, but nothing good so far. I'll tell you about it at the cabin.
How's my dinner coming?"

"Dinner? What dinner?" Miles joked and laughed. "So far, my
humble palate is pleased, but you'll be the real judge."

Police Chief Charles Dupont was seated at his desk, his round belly
bulging in the blue uniform shirt. A broad grin broke out on his
features when Darby entered his office.