Murder on the Bluffs, page 17
The dispatcher told me to wait for the ambulance and the fire department, that their ETA was three minutes.
I watched as someone helped Gloria out, led her to sit on a patch of lawn, offered her a drink of water, handed her a blanket. A man who climbed out of the SUV tried to open the driver’s-side door of the sports car without success. He went around to the passenger side and leaned in. When he stood up again, his face was a grim mask. He caught my eye and shook his head.
I felt sad to my core. It seemed the crazy Sunday driver had taken his last spin. I looked over at Gloria where she sat, a baby-blue fleece blanket draped over her shoulders despite the balmy weather. Could that be Vincent Waters in the driver’s seat? He was a lawyer, he could certainly afford a sports car, which I now saw was a Porsche. And he had been drinking and snuggling with Gloria only a couple of hours earlier.
Several emergency vehicles roared up all at once. Lights flashed as professionals got to work. A police officer shooed the neighbors back to a safe distance and set out orange cones at the curve in the road. Paramedics tended to Gloria, while a firefighter pried open the sedan’s door and helped the elderly driver out. Another EMT repeated the SUV driver’s motions of leaning in toward the Porsche’s driver’s seat and also emerged alone.
As I disconnected from the call, Chief Flaherty strode toward me.
“Dr. Rousseau.” He greeted me with a nod. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. They aren’t,” I said in a sad voice.
“Why is it you’re always on the scene of the accident?”
I stared at him. I folded my arms. I wasn’t going to stoop to answer that.
“I hear you were the one who called this in.”
“Yes. I was running and the green car nearly clipped me speeding by.” I turned and gestured toward the bend behind them. “Right around the curve there. Then I heard brakes and an awful noise. He must have fishtailed because he was driving so fast.”
“Did you recognize the driver?” Flaherty squinted at me.
“No, I couldn’t see in the window. But . . .” I glanced over at Gloria.
“But what?”
“I was up in Newburyport earlier at lunch with my mother. And I saw Gloria there having drinks with Vincent Waters.”
“Oh? Where was that?”
“At the Grog. They looked pretty cozy. Is that Vincent Waters’s car?” I felt sure it was.
The chief nodded. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it. He should have known better than to drive so fast on the Bluffs.” He shook his head. “They both live out here. Separately, I mean,” he blurted with a grimace. “Vincent was going through a messy divorce from his wife.”
That must have been the “plan” Vincent Waters had referred to in the conversation in the churchyard. I didn’t care who lived with whom. I was just sad a life had been extinguished, and for such a senseless reason as driving too fast.
After I was dismissed, I resumed my run but felt jumpy and unsettled. I kept seeing Gloria shaking under the blanket. When a white sedan startled me by roaring up to a stop sign at a side street not far from home, I leapt to the edge of the road. My right foot landed in a depression in the pavement, and as my velocity propelled me forward, a wrenching pain shot up the outside of my lower leg.
I sprawled on someone’s ground cover, cursing as I rubbed my ankle. It was definitely strained. I hoped I hadn’t torn anything. Pushing myself up, I took a cautious step. It bore my weight, so I limped home. Not much of a karateka, letting myself be caught off guard. But there were extenuating circumstances. Now it was time for an ice pack, a stiff drink, and no more surprises.
• • •
“Police report a fatality in Ashford this afternoon. Well-regarded lawyer Vincent Waters died at the wheel in a two-car collision only yards from his home in the area known as the Bluffs. The authorities would not say if drugs or alcohol were involved. His passenger and the driver of the other car were not seriously injured.”
I opened my eyes. The radio announcer moved on to another story. I lay on my couch. The ice pack fastened around my ankle was now a room-temperature pack. The dark room matched the sky outside. I must have fallen asleep. From his bed across the room, Wulu watched me with calm black eyes.
The radio felt like an intrusion. I sat and switched it off. I’d been part of the news today. I didn’t need to hear any other tales of woe.
After turning on a lamp and the kitchen light and feeding Wulu, I emptied a can of lentil soup into a bowl and heated it in the microwave. I carried it and a glass of Merlot into my study, where I sat and opened my email.
Zac had written to me. That was sweet. He seemed so far away now. This was the longest we had been apart since we’d met a year earlier. Out of sight, out of mind? I guessed so. He wrote that he missed me, and filled me in on other news. He invited me again to visit, but said he knew he probably wouldn’t see me until he returned in August.
Which was a long time from now. I sighed. I opened the digest from the Ashford Freecycle group, the local version of an organization founded to keep things out of landfills. Members either advertised items they wanted to give away or items they needed or wanted to own. I liked to check it regularly. Someone might be giving away an item I could use. I noticed a post from someone named Clammer4Ever that offered furniture. I clicked the link and smiled. “Offer: four-draw bureau. Quite electeric space heater.” Someone with the local dialect who spelled words like they pronounced them, leaving off the final consonant of “drawer” and sticking an extra vowel in “electric.” Hmm. Clammer4Ever. That name rang a bell. That had been the guy in the personals ad on the Bluffs page. At least he was consistent in how he misspelled “quiet.”
On Facebook, I navigated to the Bluffs community page. I wondered if they’d have a news item about the crash, but I didn’t see one. I checked the Trustees page. It didn’t look like they’d appointed anyone new yet, and there was certainly no discussion of the controversy that raged in town. Maybe they only posted what they considered to be positive news.
A Bluffs resident and local lawyer was dead. That wasn’t at all positive, for him or for them.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning sun already warmed the sidewalk when I locked my bike to a signpost in front of Iris’s Bakery. My ankle still throbbed, but I’d wrapped it in a stretchy bandage and had stuck a couple of anti-inflammatory pills in my pocket to take with breakfast. Biking downhill had been easy. I wasn’t so sure how returning home would go. Fortified with good Greek coffee, one of Iris’s chocolate scones, and a dose of gossip, I ought to be able to make it back. Karate this afternoon would be out of the question, though.
The shop’s door stood open. I inhaled a myriad of delectable aromas as I hobbled in. I took my usual table by the window. Not a minute later, Iris took the seat opposite. She wiped her hands on her apron.
“Did you hear?” She gazed into my face.
“Hear what?” I wasn’t sure how Iris made her eyes broadcast serious and mischievous at the same time, but she did. “Did the lawyer get Joey off?”
“No, we don’t know nothing about that yet.” Iris looked around, then back at me. She said in a low voice, “In the Dodd Pub last night. Mary Heard attacked your Dan.”
I opened my mouth to protest that he wasn’t my Dan by any means. I stopped before I started. “Wait, what? Mary attacked Dan? What do you mean, attacked? And why?”
“Joey heard it from Katie Eames. You know her brother is bartender at the pub.”
“I know. But what happened?”
“Katie said Dan was there having beers with some buddies of his. Mary stormed in, walked right to the bar, and whacked him with her pocketbook. She screamed that Dan killed her brother!” Iris looked almost pleased at this.
“Dan Talbot? Why would he kill Charles? Why did she think that?” I was totally confused. This didn’t make sense. And Mary losing her temper? Whacking someone upside the head with her purse sounded completely out of character for the elegant, grieving bonsai artist. “Are you sure?”
Iris nodded. “It’s what Katie told Joey. Dan had Mary on the floor in a lock before you could blink, Katie said. And a cop was there, too. He was off-duty, but he took over, calmed her down.”
Stunned, I pictured the scene. I had considered going to the Dodd last night myself, and only hadn’t because I didn’t want to walk around on my sprained ankle. Getting somebody in a headlock? Why hadn’t he just stepped back?
“Did the police take Mary in?”
“I doubt it. Your Dan probably didn’t press the charges, and she could have done the same against him. Listen, time for working.”
I nodded. “He’s not my Dan,” I added, without any hope of convincing Iris of that. Gazing out the window, I thought it might be a good day to ask Mary Heard over for lunch.
The bell on the door dinged as Walter pushed it open. He stood there for a few seconds, his eyes searching the place. He wore his usual banker clothes, but he looked like his concentration had been elsewhere when he got dressed. His tie was askew, his hair wasn’t neatly gelled into place, and one shoe’s laces flopped on the ground.
He saw Iris and beckoned to her with an urgent look on his face. She rose and joined him. He whispered in her ear.
She set her hands on her hips. “Then you have to go,” she said in a normal voice.
He shook his head.
Iris put her hands on his arms and turned him around. She gave him a little push out the door. He complied. I saw him walk slowly down the sidewalk in the direction of the pub.
Iris sat down again, shaking her head.
“What was that all about?” I asked. “He’s not going to the pub, is he? It’s not even open until eleven thirty.”
“Police want to question him.”
“At the pub?”
“No, silly. At the station. They want to talk to him about the murder.” The police station was two blocks beyond the pub.
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“He doesn’t know. Something about him being a Trustee and his history with Charlie. It’s a long history and not a very friendly one.”
“Do you think Walter killed him?”
“I sure hope not. But there’s stuff he isn’t telling me. He’s hiding something.” Iris narrowed her eyes as she gazed out the front window. “And it’s eating at him, Lauren. Making him crazy.”
“Maybe you should stop spending time with him. You don’t want to be alone with a murderer, Iris.”
Iris slowly drummed her fingers on the table. “No. No, I don’t.”
• • •
At the peal of the doorbell, I glanced at the kitchen clock then hobbled to my condo’s front door, an ice pack still strapped around my ankle. Bicycling home uphill from Iris’s had aggravated the sprain, and this was the third time I’d iced it. One o’clock. Mary was right on time.
“Mary, come in.” I gestured to my guest. “I’m so glad you could join me.”
Mary preceded me into the room and set a good-sized Vuitton handbag on the couch. She turned and folded her arms. “What’s this all about, Lauren?” She glared. “Suddenly we’re pals or something?”
I stared at my guest. Face haggard and free of makeup, Mary looked ten years older than usual. She wore a faded blue Sail magazine sweatshirt of many years’ vintage over a pair of jeans that looked like she’d dug a ditch in them.
I opened my mouth, then shut it. Mary was right, of course. I wanted to find out, from Mary’s own mouth, what had happened at the pub.
“Let’s sit. Lunch is all ready.” I motioned toward the table. I had to think of what to say and figured there was nothing wrong with stalling. “I’m going to have a glass of white wine. You?” I held a bottle of Oregon Pinot Gris and a narrow-bowled glass by its stem.
Mary took a deep breath and let it out, although she didn’t seem to exhale her anger with it. She perched on the edge of a chair at my round table and nodded, her face set in a grim look.
I handed her a full glass and poured myself one. I brought the plate of ham-and-cheese-on-sourdough sandwiches I’d made to the table, silently blessing the existence of the Coastal Greengrocer, purveyor of fine cheeses, meats, and breads only steps from Iris’s Bakery. A bowl of mini-carrots and another of sour dill gherkins completed the table.
“Shall we?” I sat and sipped the wine. Should I come out and tell Mary the truth about why I asked her over? Or wait to see if my guest volunteered it?
Mary sipped her own, then set her glass down. “Very nice luncheon, Ms. Rousseau.” The sarcasm was unmistakable. “Now, what gives?”
“After you called me to join you at Ithaki Friday night, I thought we were becoming friendlier. I’m on vacation, and—”
“Quit the crap, Lauren. You want to know what happened at the pub last night. Why didn’t you simply ask me?”
Well, that cleared the air. I nodded. “You’re right. I apologize. I should have asked.” I gazed expectantly at Mary.
Mary stood with her wineglass. She took a step until she towered directly over me. Her hand shook. A splash of wine crested the lip of the glass and anointed my knee. She didn’t seem to notice.
Ignoring the wet spot, I looked up at Mary’s expression to see a mask of, what? Anger? Hurt? Plotting? I wished I were standing, too, but I couldn’t push out of my chair without bumping into her. I hoped I wasn’t going to have to employ some of my own karate moves, and on a busted ankle, no less.
In a raspy voice so low I could barely hear, Mary stared down at me and said, “Dan Talbot killed Charles.”
I stared right back up at her. So Iris’s story had been correct. Mary sounded convinced of the truth of her statement. Dan had acted a little odd since I’d known him, but kill someone? I didn’t think so. Maybe Mary had created the scene in the pub because she herself had killed Charles.
“Mary, will you please sit down?” I wanted to add, “You have me trapped here,” but decided against planting even the idea of being trapped. “And tell me why you think Dan killed Charles?”
Mary stalked to the front window, glass in hand. She peered out, then whirled. “I know he did.”
“But how do you know? And why would Dan do something like that?”
“You’re just like all the rest. Cool, handsome Mr. Carpenter can do no wrong.” She sneered. “Sensei Trustee is regarded as some kind of god around here. I heard even you’re under his magic spell.”
“Me?” My voice came out in a croak. I cleared my throat. “I went clamming with him one time. And he’s my karate instructor. No magic spell, believe me.”
“Well, that’s what the town gossip mill says. Including your little Greek friend. And speaking of gossip, I heard that Vincent Waters’s brake lines were cut. That’s why the crash killed him. Poor Vinnie.”
“I wonder who would do something like that?”
“In Ashford, who wouldn’t?” Mary turned back toward the window. “I am so completely sick of this town and all its petty issues and dramas.”
It sounded like Mary was talking to herself more than to me. She went on, “If I didn’t have to deal with Charles’s business and so on, I’d clear out of here so fast you’d never even see my taillights. Move to France. Or Costa Rica. San Francisco. Anywhere but this ingrown bed of spite and malice.”
San Francisco. Exactly where Dan’s father had fled to, a fellow escapee from spite and malice, apparently. Also apparent was that Mary didn’t seem willing to tell me why she thought Dan killed her brother.
“So what happened last night, Mary?” If I couldn’t hear the reason, at least I might learn the story of the altercation firsthand. “Come and eat, too.”
Mary walked back to the table but did not sit. “I went down to the pub for some dinner, and when I saw Dan, I just flipped. I called him a murderer.” Her voice shook. “I started whacking him with my bag.” She pointed her chin toward the bag on the couch. “And I carry some weight in that baby.”
I restrained myself from saying, “You go, girl!” in time. Mary’s account was both so honest and so out of character that it delighted me at the same time it made me uneasy. “Then what happened?”
“The jerk threw me to the floor in some fancy martial-arts move. Luckily Officer Stelios—Bud, to those of us who went to school with him—was there having a bite to eat. He hauled Dan off of me.”
“Did the officer arrest you for assault?”
“I should have had Dan arrested instead.” Mary waved a hand in dismissal. “Your honey declined to press charges.”
I opened my mouth to object, but she held up a stalling hand.
“Honey, no honey, whatever. I told that Talbot boy if he tried to come after me next, no amount of martial arts would help him.” She took two steps to the couch and pulled an object out of her handbag. She faced me, pointing a handgun.
“Hey! Put that thing down.” I flung my arms in the air. “What are you doing?”
She laughed, sounding slightly crazed. “Don’t worry, the safety’s on, and I’m licensed to carry. I only wanted to show you why Dan Talbot better not mess around with me.” She lowered the weapon and stuffed it back in her bag.
I lowered my arms, shaky with relief. “Did you have the gun in your bag when you swung it at Dan? That could have gone off, you know.”
She shook her head. “Yeah, no. I mean, I had it, but it wasn’t loaded. Sure gave the bag a little extra heft, though.” Looking pleased with herself, she finally sat across from me and took a sandwich from the platter, biting into it. Her face relaxed as she chased the food with a generous swig of wine. Her demeanor was much calmer than how she’d appeared minutes earlier, although she wasn’t quite back to the collected dignified persona I had seen her as until now.
“Nice sandwich. Greengrocer?” Mary looked over her wineglass at me. “He stocks fabulous ingredients. Now, I thought you wanted to talk with me more about your bonsai tree.”
I was happy to engage in small talk for the rest of the hour. And not to see the gun again. Once Mary had let her fury out, it seemingly evaporated, and her customary personality reemerged. When the visit seemed to be over, I saw her to the door.
