Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (40 page)

“He
probably couldn't wait to leave,” their mom remarked cynically.  “Look at all
that's happened.  This used to be such a safe place...”

“Well
are you guys gonna stay in touch?” Alyssa persisted. 

“No,”
she answered.  “It wasn't like that.  I mean, he was just passing through and
he was nice.  But that's all there really was to it.  Hey, by the way, where’s
Linda?” Nicole asked suddenly.

“She
and Neil went away to Mystic for an extended weekend,” Nicole’s mother explained. 
“I didn’t call her about what happened, because there’s nothing she can do and
I didn’t want to ruin her trip.  Considering that Neil and Linda have enough
problems as it is,” she added with a pursed mouth.

Alyssa
jumped in.  “Oh, yeah, Nicole, I forgot to tell you!  I found out why Linda has
been so MIA and totally blowing us off lately.  She and Neil are on the
rocks—but for real this time, I think.” 

“It’s
bad?” Nicole said, sounding sympathetic.  “Now I see…”

“Yeah,
it makes total sense,” Alyssa agreed.  “Here she’s been on and off with Neil for
ten years already; with no wedding in sight, and apparently now a bad breakup
looming, she probably doesn’t want to get ‘I told you so’ from Mom and pity
from us.”

“Makes
sense,” Nicole agreed.

Sounding
indignant, their mother said, “Pardon me?”

“Oh,
no offense,” Alyssa added.  “I’m just saying…if I were as pretty as Linda and
had wasted a decade on a noncommittal drip like Neil, hey, I’d be bitter, too.

“Now,
back to the matters at hand,” Nicole's father interrupted.  “Nicole, whatever
happened with Abel?  Did you end up having to meet him for lunch?”

“Since
when were you meeting Abel for lunch?” her mom interrupted.  “Nobody told
me
that.”

“Oh...no...um...” 
Curiously, then, Michael watched Nicole's face, as she deliberated where to
begin with the whole Abel topic.  Jesus, she hadn't told her family that part,
either.  It hit him then that she hadn't needed to because she'd been confiding
in
him
lately.  “Actually... Abel's dead,” she blurted feebly. 

“What!”
her mother exclaimed. 

“What
are you talking about?” her sister joined in. 

“God...”
Nicole's father said, “please tell me you're kidding.”

“No,
um, I happened to find his body down in the basement, uh...”

“What!” 

“The
police are looking into the cause of death—”

She
didn't get a chance to say more before her mother was hemming and hawing,
firing both questions and commentary at once.  How could this happen?  How
could Nicole not have told her this?  Had her father been told?  Had her
sisters been told?  Who else knew before her? 

Finally,
Nicole spoke.  “I'm really sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but it literally
just happened and I was so caught up with...everything,” she finished vaguely.

“Caught
up with what?” her mother persisted.  “What were you so busy with?”

This
was her chance to tell them about the clues left by her aunt and anything else
that had filled the last few weeks, but she didn't.  Seeming enervated, she
just said, “I was going to tell you...”

“Nicole,”
her father said, “it's not good for you to keep things like that inside.  This
is too much for one person to deal with on her own.”  Briefly, Michael frowned,
because Nicole hadn't been alone.  At the time, she'd had him.  Why was she so
intent on covering for him? he wondered now.  Was it because she still cared
about him?  Or because she felt too foolish to tell her family the truth?

Time
up.  He pushed off the wall.  He'd gotten lucky so far, but he shouldn't push
it.  Thank God Nicole was going home with her family.  Keeping his head down,
Michael moved through the hospital corridor under a shield of a baseball cap. 
On his way to the stairwell, he stopped short.  Christ!  Lucius's face
plastered on the TV screen that hung over the nurses' desk!  Two nurses sat
with rapt attention as the newscaster reported that a man was found dead along
the
shore
of
Pleasant
Bay.  Appeared
to be a drug overdose.  The man was also the chief suspect in a robbery earlier
that week.

Apparent
overdose?
he thought, disbelieving.  No fucking way.  That was too convenient. 
Michael had assumed that Lucius had come to, dusted himself off, cleaned up the
mess in Nicole’s kitchen and taken the paintings to his partner.  Perhaps the
partner was the one who’d done the clean up…and perhaps the “clean up” included
wiping Lucius out altogether.  

As he
ducked into the stairwell, Michael wondered if his plan to take Nicole out of
the line of fire would work.  Would the cops get his delivery today and simply
dismiss it as a prank?  Or would they act on it?  With any luck, they would get
off their asses—and go ruin Chester Northgate's day.

After
rolling down the private, narrow road of
Harbor Street
, Donovan and
Spackel came to stop.  The black iron gate was tall and imposing.  As they
approached the front door, Donovan spotted a familiar face.  Jim White of
White’s Nursery was pruning some bushes. 

“Hey,
Jim,” Donovan said.  “I didn’t know you did landscaping work, in addition to
keeping the nursery.” 

Jim
nodded.  “With times being the way they are,
Chester
’s been real good
to me.  Thrown a lot of work, and clients, my way.  I really owe him.”  With
that, he went back to his pruning. 

Donovan
rapped the brass knocker on old
Chester
's door, expecting his weird
housekeeper to answer.  But
Chester
himself pulled the heavy wooden door
open.  He wore bifocal glasses and a light blue robe with shiny gold
stitching.  Today's paper was nestled in his elbow.  Immediately, his elderly
face pinched in confusion.  “Yes?  Hello gentlemen?  What can I do for you?” 
His voice sounded more garbled and crackly than Donovan remembered.

“Morning,
Mr. Northgate.  Sorry to drop in on you like this, but I got a strange...parcel
today and wondered if you might be able to help me with it.”  Donovan took the
folded papers out of his coat pocket and handed them to
Chester
.  The old man's
watery eyes widened as they darted over the top sheet.  Knobby fingers pried
through the pages.  “Does it mean anything to you?” Donovan asked.  “There was
no name with it, no return address.” 

Almost
imperceptibly, the paper shook in
Chester
's hands.  Now his eyes appeared
beady and concentrating.  Donovan thought he saw a slight twitch in the side of
his face. 

Keeping
his tone light, Spackel said, “Any idea who might send us something like that?”

Chester
's hand began to
shake noticeably now.  A strange kind of anguish seemed to spread over his
face, twisting his features, as though pained, uncertain, on the verge
of...fear?  Eyebrows raised, Donovan threw a quick glance to Spackel, who,
implicitly, shrugged back. 

“I
take it this note means something to you?” Donovan pressed.

Squeezing
his eyes shut,
Chester
seemed to lose his footing; he tipped, grabbed the
edge of the door, at the same time crinkling the papers up.  “I can't
anymore...not now...” he managed.

“Can't
what?” Spackel probed then, clearly intrigued himself.

“I'm
too close to the end,”
Chester
nearly whispered.  Slowly, he curled his eyes open
again.  His shoulders appeared to tremble.  Donovan realized then that the
rumors were true: Chester Northgate was not a well man these days.  The old guy
fidgeting before him was obviously haunted by something.  “I wanted to come
forward,”
Chester
explained shakily.  “But she convinced me not to...she
coerced me into going along with her...”  Finally, he looked Donovan in the
eye.  “It was an accident, I swear to you.”

Donovan
managed to keep his cool—a tool of the trade—but his adrenaline had spiked
fifty times over.  Was
Chester
admitting that the implication in the anonymous
pages was
true
?  Was he about to confess to some involvement in an old
unsolved case? 
Take that, State Police
, Donovan thought suddenly and
immaturely.  Then focused back on the critical moment at hand.  One false step
now, and
Chester
might slam the door shut and withdraw like a turtle. 
“How about we come in and talk about it,” Donovan said with faux camaraderie
and nudged inside without an invitation.  Spackel stepped along with him. 

As
both men entered the foyer, they saw
Chester
's housekeeper, Edith, at the top
of the steps.  Her uniquely sculpted and normally inscrutable face now showed
signs of alarm.  “
Chester
, what is this about?”  She spoke with a stern voice
that belied her position as mere housekeeper.

“They
know, Miss Winchell,”
Chester
responded.  “They know about Marlee.”

“
Chester
, you're
confused,” Edith snapped.  “You need to lie down.”  Coming down the stairs
purposefully, Edith looked at Donovan and Spackel and added, “He hasn't been
well.  He's elderly and needs rest.”

Spackel
spoke up.  “Ma'am, we understand that.  However, we'd like to talk to him for a
moment about Marlee Wurther.”

Something
flickered in Edith's face  But she covered it quickly, and assumed a stately
posture and confused countenance.  “Who?  I don't understand.”

Millions
of dollars aside, in this moment, the wealthy philanthropist and enterpriser
appeared a defeated heap.  Five foot seven and slumped at the shoulders,
Chester
wore the ragged
look of someone who was both remorseful and resigned.  “We have to tell
them...I can't die with this on my conscience.”

“He's
not well,” Edith said again, this time her voice rising, as she reached over
and snatched
Chester
's arm.  “Come on, you need to go back to bed.”

“Ma'am,”
Donovan began, his tone forceful now. 

“Can't
you see he's not well? 
Chester
, you're imagining things again—you're confused.  If
you keep badgering him, it will only lead to him having a stroke, or worse!” 
She took the papers from
Chester
's feebly clutching hand. 

As
she skimmed the article, Spackel said again, “We'd like to ask
Chester
—and you—a few
questions about Marlee Wurther—”

“Oh
what do you know about Marlee Wurther,
Officer
?”  She said the word with
unmistakable derision.  “You were probably barely out of high school at the
time!  Now I insist you leave and stop harassing
Chester
, or—”

“It's
true...she's under the tree,” a voice whispered.  Everyone looked at
Chester
, who finished,
“We buried her there, but I swear it was all...an accident.”

“
Chester
, shut up!” Edith
yelled now, her voice straining beyond its usual huskiness.  “I don't know what
he's saying!”  Suddenly she dropped his arm, and turned. 

“Ma'am,
wait—come back—” Spackel said, stepping forward, as Edith Winchell darted up
the stairs. 
Chester
faced Donovan and Spackel, and explained:

“I
never meant any harm...from what I could tell, the girl had wandered on to the
property and fell into our root cellar.  The trap door had been left open,
because we were...unloading.  The little girl must have hit her head, I don't
know.”  He buried his face in his veiny hands and began to sob.  “I knew we
should call the police, but Edith convinced me not to.  And all that we would
lose.  With a little girl dead on my property, the family would sue
and...worse...the police would see all that I had in storage down there...” 
Stolen
items
, Donovan extrapolated.  Maybe even smuggled items?  Everyone knew
that
Chester
lived on
Cape Cod
only half the
year; the other half he lived abroad, mostly in
London
.  “God help
me...” the old man continued, digging the heel of his hands to his eyes. 
“Edith convinced me that the scandal would destroy my lifestyle, our
lifestyle.”

“
Chester
, for the last
time, shut up!”

Edith
was at the top of the stairs again.  So consumed in his reverie, though—his
confession long overdue—
Chester
didn't even turn.  “She might've been alive though,”
he went on.  “At the last moment, we thought we saw her arm move, but I'll
never know for sure..”

“
Chester
—no!”  Edith
Winchell gripped the banister then with one hand, and the fiercest, most
hateful look on her face Donovan had ever seen.