A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (6 page)

Her pulse quickened. There was something trapped in the
bathroom. As Darby reached for the door handle to escape, she felt
the force of someone grabbing her from behind in a bear hug, pinning her arms back in a painful squeeze. She screamed and twisted
toward her attacker. Getting a good look at a face before escaping
meant identification. Of course, that would be the last thing her
assailant would want ...

A huge man loomed over her.

Bushy black hair in the form of a beard and thick black eyebrows covered most of his face. A tangle of black curls sprung from
his head and his plaid flannel shirt. The smell of unwashed skin
assailed her senses, but that was the least of Darby's problems.

"Where ya headed, little girl?" His voice was thick, slurred,
dangerous.

Quickly she reacted with the defensive fighting skills she'd honed
at San Diego's Akido Academy. Keeping her breathing controlled
and forcing herself to focus, she brought her knee up hard, hoping
to connect with his groin. Instead, she encountered hard musclehis thigh. She refused to give into the panic that was rising like bile
in her throat.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Let go of me!" Her
screams were accompanied by the hardest stomp on his foot she
could muster.

His eyes widened in surprise. Darby could see the edge of a
large tattoo on his forearm.

"You always were a wildcat. A little Oriental spitfire." He lunged
closer, his face now only inches from hers.

"I saw you in the truck with Tina," he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. "What're you doing back on the island,
Darby Farr?"

Cold dread washed over her body. He knows my name ...

She took a quick breath and forced herself to focus. His arms
were on her neck, squeezing against her throat. With all the
strength she could muster, she raised her arms above his shoulders, and brought them down hard on his forearms. He pulled his
hands back in surprise, the hold broken. Darby tried to flee the
small space, but her attacker's instincts were too quick. Before she
could wriggle out of the bathroom, he lunged at her torso, pinning
her against the grimy wall.

A second passed with no sound. Darby's attacker let out a low
chuckle, crystallizing her dread into pure fear.

"Where'd you learn those moves, huh kitten?" He gave her arm
a wrench that made her wince in pain, and then, to her surprise,
shoved her away.

"Stay away from the island," he snarled. His eyes, cold and black,
seemed to bore right through her. "Unless you want to end up like
your parents."

Darby felt for the doorknob behind her back and yanked it hard.
Pain shot through her wrist as she swung open the heavy metal
door.

"Don't threaten me, you sack of shit," she spat, backing away
and beginning to run.

The door clanged shut as Darby dashed toward the truck, his
throaty laugh ringing in her ears.

Tina was sipping a Diet Coke when Darby, panting, reached the
truck.

"What the hell?" Tina asked, seeing the younger woman's
ripped shirt and bloodied hand.

Darby looked back toward the bathroom. "Call the police. That
guy-there-" She pointed at the flannel-clad figure now slouched
by the outside of the bathroom door. "He jumped me in the bath,,
room.

Tina's mouth set in a grim line. "Soames Pemberton," she said.
"You okay? What'd he do?"

"Pinned me from behind, told me to stay off the island." She
tried to catch her breath. Soames Pemberton-the name was definitely registering. For some reason, she didn't want to mention his
threat about her parents. Without meaning to, she shuddered. "Is
he as dangerous as he seems?"

"Oh yeah. He's as bad as they come, now. Used to be a boat
captain and drive this ferry, but the state yanked his license when
he came back from the Gulf. Drug use-heroin to be exact." Her
eyes lingered on the man before flitting to Darby. "Was he high?
Could you tell?"

"Possibly. I couldn't exactly administer a drug test." She rubbed
her wrist. "Why isn't he locked up?"

"Has been, here and there. But you barely turn around and he's
out again, you know?"

Darby did know, all too well. In California there were similar
creeps who never seemed to get what they deserved.

Tina gave her another of her sideways glances. "Soames' grandfather or great-grandfather owned the whole of Pemberton Point
at one time, from where the Trimble estate is right clear around to the cove. I think the family got it way back from the King of England or something. Little by little they sold chunks of it off, and I
think the only piece of land any Pembertons own now is Soames'
sorry little doublewide on the property line."

She started up the truck and followed the line of cars onto the
ferry, then parked behind a small economy car and turned to face
Darby. "I'm surprised you don't remember him. Left before you
did and joined the Navy. Became a SEAL-you know, the ones
who never get taken prisoner? It was a big deal for the island. Only
a small percent of guys make it, and Soames was one of them."
"

I think I do remember. There was a parade and a ceremony
at the dock." She had the sudden image of her father, tanned and
smiling, holding tightly to her hand. He had spoken to Soames
Pemberton, told the powerful-looking young man something in
a low voice. After that he'd clapped him on the back, wished him
good luck.

Darby remembered the look in the Navy SEAL's eyes. Cold and
hard, like metal. It had matched what she'd seen in the restroom
just minutes before. "What happened to him?"

"Nobody really knows. He finished his training and got sent
to the Gulf War, the first one, in the early 90s, some top-secret
guerilla warfare missions that he could never talk about. He came
back with that post-traumatic stress disease, plus the heroin habit.
And he was never what you'd call a nice person to begin with."

Her voice softened. "An island's not an easy place to live, you
know? It pushes some people right around the bend. They start
talking to themselves, running around in their pajamas in broad
daylight, that kind of thing. But Soames?" She shuddered. "He's
become a monster, pure and simple."

"Then let's call the cops. Get him locked up, at least for tonight."

Tina put the truck keys in the turquoise purse. Her brilliant
blue eyes were suddenly brittle and Darby could see she was furious. "Believe me, it will only make it worse. Listen, just stay away
from Soames Pemberton. One of these days he's gonna kill someone and get locked up for good, but until then, he's like a great
white in a plastic kiddie swimming pool."

She reached across Darby and yanked open the glove compartment, rummaged around and pulled out a small cylinder which
she tossed on Darby's lap. "Pepper spray. I got a bunch of 'em.
Stick it in your pocket and don't be afraid to use it. Way more effective than calling the cops any day."

Darby fingered the spray and jammed it in her denim jacket as
instructed. She'd used the stuff back in California on a guy who'd
grabbed her when she was out running, and he'd hit the pavement
like a sack of bricks, giving Darby enough time to sprint to safety
and call the police. "I wouldn't have the least problem giving Soames Pemberton a blast or two," she said.

"Good." Tina looked at her carefully. "You want some night air?
Let's go on top."

The two women left the truck and climbed up a set of stairs to
an observation deck. The ferry began moving, heading purposefully across the bay with engines sounding as if they were at full
capacity. In the wake of the vessel, two porpoises followed along,
their bodies jet black and shiny in the foamy water. Tina pointed
through the darkness at a small island, no bigger than a parking
space, where Darby could see nothing but boulders and a few
spruce trees. "Your aunt sold that a couple of months ago. Two
million dollars. Amazing what these flatlanders will buy."

The sky overhead was studded with stars. Darby and Tina
picked out the few constellations they recognized: the Big Dipper,
the Pleiades, and the Little Dipper. Outwardly, Darby Farr looked
content, her episode with Soames Pemberton nearly a memory.
Inside, however, her thoughts churned like the water behind the
boat. Any minute now and she'd see the island emerging out of the
inky black night. Was she prepared?

She let her thoughts wander back to California and the various
deals she'd left in her assistant's capable hands. Enrique Tomaso
Gomez, or "ET" as Darby called him, was an aging Ricky Martin,
debonair and suave, his back always ramrod straight and his sense
of propriety even straighter. Because she depended so much on her
solo employee, Darby compensated him well, paying a hefty salary
plus commission, most of which, she suspected, he spent on designer-label clothes. He favored silk shirts, open at the neck to reveal
a thick forest of slightly graying chest hair, and pressed pants.

Just then the ferry's engines slowed as the vessel entered the
slow harbor zone. Darby took a deep breath and looked toward
the bow of the boat. There it was: Hurricane Harbor. In the darkness she could just make out the tiny ramshackle ticket office, just
as she remembered, with a curving road leading up the hill and
past the Cafe.

Darby reached out to grab the handrail with shaking hands.
Her heart was beating so quickly she could barely catch her breath.
She felt like an engine that was constantly revving and would seize
up at any moment. Get a grip. This isn't life or death.

Tina motioned to return to the truck and Darby followed her
down to the parked lines of vehicles. Tina started the engine and
drove off the ferry and onto the road.

I'm back, Darby thought. I never thought this day would come,
but I'm back on Hurricane Harbor.

She stole a glance in the passenger side mirror. I look exactly
the same. Straight black hair parted in the middle and hanging to
the middle of her back; arched black eyebrows; and dark, almondshaped eyes. Anyone looking would see a slim half-Asian, halfCaucasian woman in her late twenties. Your typical Islander, Darby
thought wryly. Just another kid from Maine.

If Darby Farr's outward appearance hadn't changed in ten years,
neither had the look of her hometown. Even in the dark, Darby
could see that the Cafe and neighboring bar were exactly the same:
tall, wooden structures with weathered paint and tattered awnings.
So, too, was the Hurricane Harbor Inn, where Darby had waited
tables one summer. Inexplicably, Darby felt strangely comforted
by the familiar buildings. These landmarks feel like a life raft, she
thought, as she watched Tina maneuver the truck on the narrow
island roads.

The bar was called The Eye of the Storm, or, in local parlance,
"the Eye." It was the only real nightspot on the island, unless one
counted the gas station on the other end of town, where islanders often hung around the dumpster and downed a six-pack or
two. Darby remembered at least one occasion when she and Lucy
Trimble had managed to sneak into the Eye and order rounds
of Cape Codders. While picking at their chicken wings and fried
clams they'd gotten pretty drunk. One night the two girls were so
inebriated they had passed out on the floor of Fairview's potting shed, only to have the gardener scream bloody murder when he
discovered them in the morning.

The road curved uphill from the Hurricane Harbor Cafe and
around a bend Darby had once known very well. She held her
breath and there it was: Long Cove, stretching before them in
moonlit beauty, a smile-shaped piece of beach with gently ebbing
water. It had been Darby's playground as a child and her sanctuary
as a teen. Now, as an adult, she saw it for what it truly was: a beautiful piece of nature, unspoiled and tranquil. Her heart ached for
what she knew lay around the next bend.

As if anticipating Darby's tenseness, Tina slowed the truck
and lowered the volume on the radio. They rounded the bend,
and there was the low white farmhouse with its wide front porch,
framed by magnificent maples that Darby knew turned a vivid
bright orange in October. In the darkness she could make out a
tricycle parked on the patch of green lawn in front, and a swing
hanging from one of the maples. Darby's eyes welled with tears.
Once again she told herself to get control of her emotions.