A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (3 page)

Emerson Phipps felt the warm gush of his own blood coursing like a red river across his face, spilling down the gullies of his
cheeks and making a waterfall off his jutting chin. He heard another grunt and instinct kicked in, warning him to move before he
was bludgeoned again. His battered brain begged his legs to run,
or crawl at least, but it was useless-he couldn't even feel his toes.
He was incapacitated, like so many of the patients he'd treated over
the years. Images flashed before him like flickering strobe lightshis car, little Celina with her gap-toothed baby smile, the rows of
trees lined up like sentinels in the orchard-and then, just before
the blow that would split open his skull, Emerson Phipps lost consciousness.

DARBY FARR SLOWED HER fast run to a stop and pulled her cell
phone out of the liner of her Lycra running shorts. Finally, she
thought. The buyer for the Costa Brava mansion is stepping up to
the plate. The fact that it was a sunny Sunday morning didn't matter in real estate, at least not to Darby Farr. Her position as the
top selling agent for San Diego's Pacific Coast Realty meant that
she conducted business at any hour of any day, to virtually anyone
willing to buy one of her listings, the most inexpensive of which
was a mere million dollars.

Out of habit, she glanced quickly at the display before answering. What she saw made her heart, already pounding from her run,
race even faster. Displayed on the screen was a number from a
place she'd spent ten years forgetting, a place that still haunted her
dreams. With a trembling hand she switched her phone to silence,
stashed it back in her shorts, and ran toward the beach.

The boardwalk was dotted with bikers, bladers, and skateboarders, but Darby barely noticed their presence. While her feet beat a steady drumbeat along the wooden walkway, she sifted through a
confusing maze of long-forgotten images. She saw the red pickup she'd stolen and driven cross country to San Diego's Mission
Beach. The cash that she'd found in her aunt's desk and stuffed in
her denim jacket. She remembered her final trip on the ferry, the
gulls wheeling and circling, the sky a brilliant blue like today ...

She shook her head. Her long glossy black hair rippled and she
forced the unwelcome memories out of her mind. She'd kept the
past buried for ten years, and she wasn't about to let it resurface
now. Focus on your breathing, she told herself. Forget everything else
but the coffee waiting for you back at the bungalow...

Sirens wailing down the next street brought Darby's thoughts
back to the present. She ran off the boardwalk and onto Pacific
Street, slowing her pace to begin her cool down. The next street
was Palm, a mix of homes built in the 1950s, most of which had
been restored in the past decade. She admired the Arts and Craftsstyle home of her neighbor, Doug Henderson, who was sweeping
off his front porch as usual and humming show tunes. He gave
Darby a little wave as always. She smiled and waved back, then
walked up the neat little path that served as her walkway.

"Your phone's been ringing and ringing," he yelled from the
porch. "I don't think your voice mail is picking up."

Darby groaned. Her answering machine was ready for retirement, but she'd been too busy to replace it this week. "Thank you,"
she called. She picked up her newspaper and tucked it under her
arm.

"Hey!" yelled Doug. "Got a second to taste something for me?"

"This wouldn't be another one of your little tests, now would
it, Doug?" Darby walked across the grass, a smile playing about her
lips.

"Oh, come on," her neighbor cajoled, disappearing back into
his home.

Darby waited, enjoying the rush of post-run endorphins. She
stole a glance at the headlines, heard a thrush singing in one of
Doug's flowering shrubs.

"Here you go," Doug said, emerging back on the porch and offering her a blue china cup full of steaming tea.

She frowned. "Now Doug, you know the rules: white cups only.
Using a colored one is cheating." She took a moment to note the
pale yellow color; inhaled the tea's rich aroma. "However, I think
I'm going to get this one even with your flagrant disregard of the
rules."

She took a sip and smiled.

"Doug, you've gone all out today. This is one expensive cup
of tea." She took another sip. "It's delicious: sweet and lingering. I
taste fresh grass, seaweed, and a hint of the woods."

Doug waited expectantly. "What do you think it is?"

She smiled. "I know what it is. Hongyokuro, a rare grade of
Gyokuro, from the Yame region of Japan near Fukuoka. `Precious
Pearl Dew' is the translation. Harvested in the early spring, I believe."

"Unbelievable!" He shook his head. "Palate memory, huh?
That's what you call it?"

She nodded. "That's right."

"Your mom was Japanese, right? Is this a tea she used to make?"

Darby laughed. "My mother couldn't have afforded this. She
was a 'Constant Comment' drinker from the day she set foot in America." Darby thought back to the first time she'd tasted the exquisite green tea now in her hands. "I tried Hongyokuro two years
ago, over at the Beach House Tea Room." She took another sip and
handed him back his cup. "Delicious. Thanks for letting me enjoy
it again."

Back at her bungalow, Darby removed her sneakers and placed
them on the stoop, then reached discreetly into her jog bra to find
her house key. Opening the door she inhaled the rich smell of coffee, as welcome in the morning as an embrace. She loved teas of
just about every variety, but coffee was what got Darby Farr fired
up each morning.

I want nothing more than to sit in the sun and read the paper,
she thought, but her intuition told her such leisure wasn't to be. As
the most sought-after real estate professional in San Diego County,
she had a duty to an ever-growing list of clients with properties to
market and sell, and an even longer list of eager buyers craving her
expertise as a broker. She loved every minute of it, despite the fact
that her newspaper often went unread. Sighing, she poured herself
a cup of Hawaiian Morning Blend and took a long sip. She savored
its flavor for a minute more, then pulled out her cell phone and
turned it on.

Ten missed calls. Ten, all from the same number. Her heart sank.
She knew where the calls had come from, and could guess who'd
made them. She just didn't know why.

Darby Farr took another sip of coffee, fighting the feeling of
nausea that threatened whenever she thought about her hometown
and Jane Farr, the only living family member she had left in the world. Her aunt Jane had swooped into Darby's life just as she was
entering her teens, becoming her guardian and destroying her previously blissful childhood. A predatory woman with shrewd eyes and
jet black hair, Jane had devoured Darby and the town of Hurricane
Harbor, Maine, like a fish hawk in a stocked pond.

Darby took a deep breath and another sip of coffee. It had been
hard work, putting distance between herself and the craggy island.
It had meant attempting to forget the people and things she had
loved, too. Darby didn't know if it was coincidence, or the fact that
her thirtieth birthday was in sight, but lately she had wondered
whether it was time to face her demons, chief amongst whom was
Aunt Jane Farr. And yet, there was so much at stake ...

Darby looked at the last call from Maine. Fifteen minutes had
elapsed; perhaps Jane Farr had given up on reaching her runaway
niece. If she calls again, I'll answer, Darby promised herself. If not,
I'll forget all about it. A second later, the ring of the phone made
her jump.

Darby braced herself for the voice of her aunt, a sound she recalled as quite similar to the rasp of a rattlesnake.

"Is this Darby Farr?"

"Who's calling please?" The speaker's voice was definitely not
the one she remembered as belonging to her father's only sister.

"This is-this is Tina Ames. From Hurricane Harbor. I worked
with your aunt..." She paused and Darby felt a strange sensation
in the pit of her stomach. Apprehension, mixed with curiosity ...

Darby heard the other woman sniffle and attempt to regain her
composure. "I've been trying to reach you all morning. Jane's in
the hospital in Manatuck. She's in a coma and the doctors don't think she'll pull through." The woman choked, and Darby could
hear her soft sobs.

Jane Farr was on a bed, comatose. The news shocked Darby,
and yet she felt oddly detached as well.

"What happened?"

"She has a brain tumor, and it was scheduled to be removed next
week. But this morning, she was rushed to the hospital for the operation, and she still hasn't come around." The sound of Tina's sniffles
grew louder.

"I'm sorry about Jane. I appreciate your tracking me down and
I hope you'll keep me in the loop..." Darby paused, not wanting
to state the obvious "when she dies" and add to Tina's pain.

Tina blew her nose. "There's something ... something she'd like
you to do."

"Me?"

"Yes" Tina paused. "Your aunt needs you to finalize a deal she's
been working on for months."

"What are you talking about? A real estate transaction?"

"The sale of the old Trimble property, Fairview. One of the
prettiest places on the island. You must remember it..."

"Look, I-"

"Just listen. Last week your aunt sat me down and made me
promise to call you if anything happened to her. She knew her surgery would be risky, and that there was a chance she'd be hospitalized before they got her on the table." She paused, took a breath.
"I'm the one who types up all the documents for your aunt, and
believe me, the sale of Fairview is a done deal. I've got all the files,
and everything's in order. The parties pass papers on Tuesday."

"Tina, I'd like to help, but I'm really busy with my own work.
And I'm on the other side of the country. I'm sure you've got brokers there who can handle this for her."

"I know where you are, Darby. I'm only asking for a few days of
your time. And as for other brokers, your aunt didn't trust them to
handle this. She wants you."

"I'm not even licensed to practice real estate in Maine."

Tina barked out a laugh. "You think your aunt hasn't got that
figured out? You'll take the Maine law portion of the exam on the
plane. You pass it, and you're licensed."

"That's impossible!"

"Not for Jane Farr it's not. That means you'll get the commission, too."

Darby shook her head. Her compassion for Tina was fast turning to irritation. Who was this woman and why did she think she
could summon her to Maine on what certainly appeared to be a
whim? Her aunt had always been a master manipulator, and apparently nothing had changed.

She struggled to keep her voice neutral, despite her annoyance.

"Look, it's not about the money... "

"Jane says it's always about the money," Tina interrupted,
"which in this case is $5.5 million with a 6% commission. You get
half and Jane keeps half. It's not exactly pocket change."

Darby closed her eyes. No amount of money is worth the pain of
going back, she thought. I'm just not ready...

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Tina was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone
was stony. "Are you getting what I'm trying to tell you? Your aunt
is lying here unable to brush her own teeth, never mind conduct business. You've been given power of attorney to handle her decisions: medical, financial, you name it. And, in the event of her
death-" Tina choked a little, "you've been appointed her personal
representative. You've got responsibilities here. This isn't some
whimsical jaunt back to Maine." She paused and continued. "No
one can force you-least of all me-but I hope you see that it's the
right thing to do. If it's money that's on your mind, the real estate
company will pay all of your expenses, and, like I said, you'll earn
commission as well."

The implications of Tina Ames' words struck Darby like a blow.
Why, after ten years of silence, had her aunt chosen her to step
in like this? Was there truly no one else to whom Jane Farr could
turn? Darby knew she was not bound by law to go to Hurricane
Harbor, and yet it seemed the old woman had made it impossible
for her to refuse. And, she realized with some surprise, I'll admit
that I'm intrigued ...