A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (8 page)

Donny walked across the deck, noticing that the finish was
looking a little dull. Normally he re-varnished the entire thing at
the end of June, and it was looking like it needed it. That's something I can offer to do right away, he thought. Show her I know this
place inside and out.

He took the steps down to the lawn and glanced toward the
ocean. Nothing. He looked at the orchard, noticing the grass was
getting ready for a trim, when he spotted an unusual sight: both
doors to the garden cottage were wide open. That was strange. The
building looked like a charming little home, but it was used as a
shed for lawn and garden equipment. No one but the landscapers
ever opened the building.

Donny walked slowly across the green expanse and toward the
outbuilding. In the air over the cottage were two black ravens, fly ing in slow arcs around the cottage doors. That, too, was unusual.
He felt a growing sense of uneasiness. Something was wrong.

The garden cottage was flanked by several old trees that marked
the end of the manicured lawn and the beginning of a thickly
wooded section of the property. The sun was still very low in the
sky so the trees cast dark shadows. Donny heard a rustling in the
bushes and jumped. Probably just a squirrel, he thought. Then the
shape of a man seemed to dart through the gloom.

"Hey," he called out as he approached the building. Had he really seen a person, or was his mind playing tricks on him? "Who's
there?" he cried hoarsely.

A blue jay shrieked from a tall pine, just as a thudding blow
felled Donny Pease from behind and he crumpled, like a dead leaf,
onto the dew-soaked ground.

Peyton Mayerson could no longer ignore the sun streaming through
the Hurricane Harbor inn's thin curtains. She frowned and opened
her eyes, willing the slight headache just beginning behind her eyes
to go away. She glanced at the sleeping man beside her and felt a
curious mixture of lust and revulsion. Emilio Landi was gorgeous:
there was no denying that. His soft curly brown hair framed a face
that was classically Roman: long aquiline nose, strong chin, and full,
sensuous lips. His body was flawlessly muscled and proportioned
and he knew how to show it off. Too bad he can't speak a damn word
of English, Peyton thought. Then he'd be just about perfect.

She stretched languidly and climbed out of the rumpled kingsized bed, being careful not to wake him. Peyton had some business
with her partners to attend to on this sunny Monday morning, then the silly town meeting at ten A.M., and then the little howdy-do
with the caretaker at eleven. Given everything she needed to accomplish, it was certainly easier to let sleeping Italians lay than to pantomime every single thing on her agenda. She shook her head with
mild frustration. Despite her best efforts to teach Emilio even rudimentary English phrases, he remained unable to communicate except through gestures or his native tongue. In the month since they
met, she'd picked up more Italian than he had English, despite the
fact that they were in America! She arched an eyebrow as he rolled
over, revealing tight abs of which Michelangelo's David would have
been envious. Maybe this Roman God of a man-however well endowed-was truly stupido.

Quietly she entered the bathroom and turned on the water for a
shower, thinking that whatever Emilio Landi was lacking in terms of
brains, he more than made up for as a lover. Peyton couldn't recall a
time when she'd been so physically spent by someone with a seemingly inexhaustible capacity for lovemaking. She regarded herself in
the mirror and saw an attractive yet determined woman, thirty-five
years old, gazing back at her. I've got a sexy Italian lover in my bed,
and yet I haven't let this relationship dull my business sense one bit, she
thought proudly. I'm still making things happen ...

She tested the water temperature, shrugged off her silk robe and
shivered. Even though it was late June, the mornings still held a chill
in Maine. I'm sick of this place, she thought. Sick of this substandard
hotel with its local-yokel clientele. She sighed and then smiled. One
more day! Tomorrow at this time, the deal would be done. Finito.
Not only would she be off this dismal island, but she'd satisfy her
partners, the men she thought more and more of as greedy Boston
sleazebags. What had happened to turn Tony Cardillo-and even Reggie, who was always Mr. Mild Mannered-into such bullies?
Something else must have gone south for them, she reasoned. One of
those mysterious South American schemes they only hinted at. Why
else would they be breathing down her neck and threatening to tell
the New Jersey guys? She couldn't believe that the money she owed
them-a mere drop in the proverbial bucket-was worth the attention they'd given her deal.

None of it mattered, anyway, because the purchase of Fairview
was nearly complete. They'd have their precious acreage and she'd
be back to civilization. As she entered the shower and felt the steaming water caress her skin, she pushed away any doubts that threatened to destroy her confidence. It will all work out, she told herself.
It simply had to.

A stone's throw from the Hurricane Harbor Inn, Darby Farr sat at
her aunt's mahogany partner's desk in the compact office of Near
& Farr Realty, sorting through a stack of files with growing impatience. She'd located one folder, neatly labeled FAIRVIEW 1, which
contained the same contracts she'd reviewed on her flight the day
before. Her annoyance stemmed from her inability to find the rest
of the Fairview files in any of Jane's cabinets, drawers, or on her
desk. She made an exasperated sound. "That's it! I give up."

Tina poked her head around the corner of the door.

"Hell of a lot of rummaging going on for 8:15 in the morning," she commented. "Why you didn't just sleep in a bit more, I
don't know. It's just a little town meeting, nothing to sit here poring over papers about." She paused, saw that Darby was still deep
in thought, and sighed. "Anything I can do?"

Darby looked up at the redhead's concerned face, her eyes dark
from lack of sleep, and sighed. "Maybe. My aunt's got a file here for
Fairview numbered `one', but I'll be darned if I can find any others. It doesn't make sense to number a file unless there are others,
right? Somewhere there must at least be a `two' kicking around."

Tina shrugged. "You would think so. But your aunt was doing
some odd things lately, so I wouldn't put too much store in what
you find."

"What kinds of odd things?"

"Oh, this and that..." She shrugged. "Trips to the hardware
store in Manatuck at all hours of the day, for one. In the past week,
she probably went over there two or three times."

"What was she buying?"

"I don't know. I never saw anything. When I'd ask her, she was
vague and said she needed supplies for `projects"' Tina snorted.
"Your aunt was not the type to sit home and build a bookcase or
learn basket weaving. If she wanted something, she hired somebody
to take care of it for her. Her idea of a night at home was running
on one of those crazy machines. I'll bet she didn't even know how to
swing a hammer. "

"Even if Aunt Jane wasn't a fixer-upper, going to the hardware
store a few times isn't exactly strange behavior."

Tina sniffed. "There were other things, too. She was distracted,
you know? Forgetful. And that was never, never, your aunt. Not for
as long as I knew her."

"Forgetfulness could have been caused by the tumor, Tina.
Maybe even the trips to the hardware store had something to do
with the pressure on her brain."

Tina looked doubtful. "Maybe" She rifled through a stack of
documents on an adjoining occasional table. "I don't think there
are any other Fairview files. Hopefully the one you've got has all
the relevant docs... " She stopped. "Speaking of forgetfulness,
I nearly forgot to tell you that Mark Trimble called. He said he's
looking forward to seeing you at the meeting."

"Thanks." Darby stood and glanced at Tina's worried face. "Forget about that other file. I'm sure you're right-it's no big deal."

Tina nodded and hurried to answer the ringing phone. A moment later, she was back.

"Laura Gefferelli is on the phone."

Darby looked puzzled and Tina whispered, "The minister."

Darby picked up her line and said hello. The voice on the other
end was gentle.

"I know you have a lot on your mind today, Darby, but I was
hoping we could meet and discuss Jane's service."

Inwardly, Darby groaned. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with the details of her aunt's death, but as personal representative, those details were now her responsibility, however uncomfortable she felt. "How about this afternoon? I have a meeting this
morning, and I'm not sure how long it will take."

"Planning board, right?" Laura Gefferelli chuckled. "No telling
how long those guys can talk. I have to be there, too. We can touch
base then."

"Is it part of your ministry to attend town committee meetings?"

Again Laura laughed, a light, musical sound that Darby welcomed. "It should be! God knows I go to enough of them." She
paused. "I'm attending today on behalf of a woman's shelter we're setting up on the other side of the island. The church bought a
small raised ranch over there, and we just found out that the septic system is partly on the neighbor's yard. Luckily the neighbor
is being very understanding, but we need to get permission from
the board to continue renovating the structure." She sighed. "You
know how it goes, I'm sure."

"I do. I'll keep my fingers crossed. If I can help you while I'm
here... "

"You have enough on your plate," Laura said quietly. "We're the
ones who are here to help you."

Darby felt a knot in her throat at the other woman's kind tone.
"Thanks," she said quickly, fighting to regain her composure. "I'll
see you shortly."

Tina Ames was standing in the doorway, touching up her manicure with practiced dexterity. She blew on her nails, sending the
scent of polish wafting toward Darby, and gave her a knowing look.
"Awful lot of folks are gonna miss that Jane Farr." She shook her
head sadly, then glanced at her watch. In a flash, her mood changed
from melancholy to anger. "Where the hell is that Donny Pease?" she
fumed, striding to the window. "I'll have his hide if he forgot to pick
me up.

Forty minutes later, Darby scooped up the only file on Fairview
and walked two blocks from Jane Farr's office to the town hall. A
brick building constructed in the late 1800s, the hall held the island's few administrative offices, including those of the police department, as well as a tiny library and the town meeting room.

Darby pulled open the heavy door. Inside, the meeting room
was set up theatre style with a few long tables across the front
where the planning board members sat. Although the meeting
wouldn't start for another fifteen minutes, already several people
were milling about, claiming their seats, and greeting fellow islanders.

Darby glanced at the others and spotted a tall man dressed in a
polo shirt and khakis. He turned around and she locked eyes with
Mark Trimble.