Secrets Don't Sink, page 15
“I’m not trying to pressure you, but I need your first Kupit segment.”
“I can’t just do a puff piece and ignore everything I’ve discovered. I don’t want to get into too many specifics, but after talking with Peter Chatterton yesterday, I’m more convinced than ever there’s a huge scandal waiting to be salvaged from the depths of Chattertowne’s history, and it’s linked to Marcus’s murder.”
“That’s a pretty strong statement. Got anything to back it up?”
“Peter got furious yesterday when I mentioned Nettie, the Flathead woman who helped raise Michael Chatterton after his mother Madeleine died. He made a derogatory comment about Nettie getting herself knocked up on purpose, basically admitting they’d had a love child.”
“Michael and the woman who raised him?”
“No, Nettie and Jonathan. So, that means Michael had a sibling.” My statement was met with silence. “Hello?”
“I’m thinking,” came the gruff reply. “If what Peter said is true, if they had a child, did that child have children?”
“I have no idea. What are you getting at?”
“Audrey, think. Why would it matter if Jonathan had an affair with an Indian woman resulting in a child? What would motivate a hundred- and fifty-year cover-up?”
“His reputation? I don’t know.” Being semi-sedated wasn’t conducive to connecting dots.
“His wife had died; he needed someone to help take care of the kid. He was probably lonely. I doubt anyone would care about him getting companionship to endure the harsh winters and help raise his kid. Even the Puritans in this town would chalk it up to necessity.” He paused. “If they had a child together, however, that child would not only be Michael’s sibling, but would also be a legal co-heir with him, as would that child’s descendants.”
“You’re right, and I just realized something else! Marcus Washburn’s final blog called out the Chattertons for stealing his birthright. I’d assumed he meant Jimmy was somehow responsible for his father’s disappearance. Now I’m wondering…do you think Marcus Washburn is…was…a descendent of Jonathan Chatterton and Nettie?”
“That’s a mighty big leap, my dear, although not out of the realm of possibility,” he said.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Jonathan’s original house was, would you?” I asked.
“It’s over on Main. There’s a historic marker.”
“I know about that one. They took us there for a field trip in the fourth grade. Is it the original homestead, though?”
“I’ve always assumed it was. Why?”
“A long time ago, Marcus told me his house, the one where he spent his childhood and moved back into after his mother passed away, was Jonathan’s original home, the one he lived in before the one on Main was built. It’s a saltbox on Madeleine Avenue. What if Marcus’s family lived there because they were descendants of the original owner, Jonathan? Is that possible?”
“Audrey, I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but you know that young man was prone to exaggeration, right?”
“Yes, I’ve heard. I just thought if it were true, it could tie this whole thing together in a pretty little bow.”
“Unfortunately, in journalism, as in life, rarely will you discover convenient resolutions with no loose ends. It’s often messy and complicated and not pretty,” he said.
“So, you think it’s a dead end?”
“Not necessarily. It’s worth investigating. At the very least, I think you’ve stumbled upon one hell of a story. I don’t know where it will lead, but if what you’re saying is true, it could turn the town’s history upside down.”
“It’s not only about history, though. If Marcus had proof he’d descended from Nettie and Jonathan, Peter might have worried his assets were at risk,” I said. “Have you seen Peter’s house? I can’t begin to imagine its worth, not to mention the dozens of acres and any other business holdings which were passed down to him through the official Chatterton line. That’s a strong motive for Peter to kill Marcus and put an end to any inheritance claims.”
“I knew Peter,” Mr. Anderson said. “Not well, but we were acquaintances. Sure, he talked like Al Capone, but I never took it seriously. I just can’t imagine him killing anyone.”
“I can. I had his gun in my face. And I’d say it was more Whitey Bulger than Capone.”
Anderson sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Not only that, but Peter also admitted his dad, Jimmy, was involved in organized crime. He said it was a Chatterton family legacy, which makes me think Peter was carrying on that legacy. I need to find out if anyone else might have a claim to that fortune now Peter’s gone. It’s the least I can do for Marcus and his children, if they’re the rightful heirs.”
“I’m giving you permission to follow the story, but please be careful. We don’t know what the organized crime angle is about, and that’s a dangerous world. As for putting Chattertowne’s history in a new light, don’t worry about how it’ll be received. Seems to me this community has been in denial long enough. In the meantime, can you finish your other projects? Also, do I need to find you a replacement for the widows’ luncheon this afternoon? I checked your calendar to see if anything needed to be covered during your recuperation and spotted the notation.”
I smacked my forehead. “I forgot about the widows’ luncheon. Do you have anyone who can go in my place?”
“I’ll send one of the twerps from the high school and have them email you their notes. I’d still like you to write it up. I don’t have the patience to deal with their grammatical errors and casual style.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll get you the mock-ups for my section and keep you updated on anything I find.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, Audrey. No story is worth risking your life, you know that, right?”
“There was a time when Marcus was the most important person in my life. If he died trying to discover the truth about what happened to his father, the best way I can honor him is by completing the mission on his behalf.”
“Take care of yourself…and watch your back. Feather ruffling can have pretty rough consequences.”
The phone hadn’t even completed a full ring on my next call before the tirade began.
“Audrey Jeanne O’Connell, what in the world have you gotten yourself into?”
“Morning, Mom.”
“Dad and I were so worried, but Vivienne told us not to come to the hospital.”
“I was treated and released. There was no time for visitors, and when I got home, the pain pills knocked me out for the night.”
She shifted from chastisement to motherly clucking. “What can we do for you, honey? Do you want me to bring you soup? I can make a pie if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Mom. It’s okay. The pain pills have robbed my appetite.”
“Well, I guess losing weight’s a nice, unexpected benefit to nearly getting yourself killed. Did Vivienne tell you she’s starting a real job today at the CPD?”
“Waitressing is a real job, and singing is her passion.”
She tsked. “Waitressing is what you do while searching for a real job, and singing at a nightclub is a hobby.”
I choked down my reply like the lima beans she’d forced me to eat as a child and feigned a yawn. “Sorry, Mom, meds are kicking in. I’ll call you later.”
I hung up the phone, and my fake yawn led to a real yawn and then another. Fatigue and painkillers overtook me once more.
Chapter Nineteen
A buzzing sound had woken me up, but my phone showed no call coming in. I was confused and discombobulated until a second buzz came from the front door, accompanied by a knock.
“Just a minute!”
A brief self-evaluation left me dissatisfied. I wore no bra, no makeup, no deodorant, and my hair and teeth were fuzzy. Sliding my booted foot off the pillow and onto the floor, the doorbell buzzed again.
“I said, hold on!” Using my crutches, I pulled myself up from the sofa. “Who is it?” I bellowed my deepest, most threatening voice.
“You’re not fooling anyone. Open the door.”
Shoot, it was Holden. I attempted to smooth my hair which caused me to lose balance and fall against the door with a thud.
“You okay in there?” His voice held an equal amount of concern and amusement.
“Hold on. I’m trying to figure out how to open the door without falling over.”
Hopping back a half-step, I unlocked the deadbolt. I turned and pulled the knob until the crack widened enough to reveal Holden’s smirking face.
“You gonna let me in?”
“I’m trying.” Pivoting to swing the door open, I lost my balance again and fell into Holden’s broad chest. “You smell so good you give me the collywobbles,” I moaned, my words muffled by his shirt.
His chest rumbled with laughter. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I said nothing. You heard nothing.”
With one hand, he stabilized me. With the other, he reached for my crutches and positioned them under my armpits. Stepping back, he put his hands out to steady me in case I fell again.
“You good?”
“I’m good.” I staggered across the room and thrust myself onto the sofa.
“Whoa! Careful.” He lowered himself onto the armchair.
“I’m fine. I hate these stupid things.” I threw the crutches onto the ground.
“It’s day one.” He clasped his hands and rested them on his stomach.
“Yeah, well, one day is about all I’m willing to give it.”
“You want me to get you a wheelchair?”
“I’m gonna hobble around on this boot. Can’t be any worse.”
“The doctor said you shouldn’t put any weight on it for a while.”
“Doctor-schmockter.” I waved my hand dismissively.
“I’ve gotta ask you something.”
“What?”
“What in the hell’s a collywobble?” He smiled broadly, his white teeth gleaming.
I buried my face into a pillow. “It means you give me butterflies.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“So, did you just come to say hi? Because I don’t see you’ve brought me chocolate or booze to help me cope.”
“There’s something you should know.”
His shift to a serious tone caught my attention. Maybe he’d say I gave him the collywobbles, too. He looked somber. Definitely wasn’t that. I raised my left eyebrow for him to continue.
“Renee Washburn’s missing.”
“Missing? Missing how? When?”
“An officer went by this morning to let her know the primary suspect in her husband’s murder is dead. Her car was in the driveway, but no one answered when he rang the doorbell. The neighbor said she’d seen Renee getting the mail yesterday morning in her nightgown but never saw her leave the house otherwise. I guess she’s got a Rear Window thing going on. She’s disabled…sets herself in her front room with a view of both the television and the street so she can watch her neighbors’ comings and goings.”
“Do you have any idea how much it turns me on you just made a Hitchcock reference?” As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I covered it. “Ack! These pills have not only stolen my appetite, they’ve taken my verbal filter.” I waved my hand. “Disregard. Sorry, go on.”
“The neighbor never saw Renee leave, but she did see a man, a big guy, show up around ten thirty, sometime during The Price Is Right. At first, she thought it was Marcus. Then she remembered…it couldn’t be. Anyway, the dude knocked, and Renee let him in,” Holden said.
“Maybe Renee has a boyfriend. That would explain her accusations about Marcus and me. Cheaters like to point fingers to redirect from their own misdeeds.”
“The neighbor gave him the sister’s number. The sister said she hadn’t heard from Renee since she dropped the little boy off at her house. When the officer went back to Renee’s, he knocked instead of ringing the bell, and the door swung open. He called out to her, but there was no response. When he saw how disheveled the living room was, he’d assumed there’d been a home invasion or at least a struggle.”
“Did anyone tell him that’s the normal condition of her house?” I asked.
“Yeah, but the whole thing smells rotten.”
“That house smelled rotten. Kind of like what emanated from the backside of my old dog Gunther after he’d eaten from the garbage can.”
“Renee wouldn’t take off without her car or her kids, would she?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know; I wouldn’t think so. Did I mention Peter told me Renee called him?”
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“About what?”
“He accused me of working with Renee and Marcus to extort him. He said Renee had called earlier that morning to make a deal. After we visited her, she must’ve gone through Marcus’s stuff and found the notes or proof of his claims. Peter said I got a deal for her, same deal I got for you. Real Godfather-like. Do you think he meant he killed her? Because I know he had bad intentions toward me.”
Holden rubbed the side of his nose. “Anything’s possible. Sounds like he was a real thug.”
“He talked like every stereotypical gangster character from every mafia movie I’ve ever watched, playing a role, trying to be like his father…who, by the way, probably had David Washburn killed. He made references to cement blocks and sleeping with the fishes. People don’t disappear, never to be heard from again without something bad happening to them. I’m guessing Marcus’s dad saw shady stuff at the port, and he may have tried to use that and what he’d discovered about Nettie’s baby as leverage to blackmail Jimmy. I think that was only part—”
“Audrey!” Holden barked.
“What?”
“Why do I feel like I’m missing half the story…again?”
“Sorry, I get confused about what I’ve said and to whom. I spoke with Anderson this morning, and he picked up on things Peter said, which I hadn’t yet finished processing. When Nettie’s name was mentioned, Peter went completely sideways. He told me she got pregnant because she was a gold digger, which means she had a baby with Jonathan Chatterton! I’d been looking at the cover-up from a scandal perspective, but Anderson pointed out—”
“If there was a baby, there was another heir, possibly several by now.” Holden brought his tented index fingers against his mouth.
I lost focus watching him bounce his fingers off his lips. “Yeah. I, uh,” I cleared my throat. “I didn’t catch that when he said it.”
“You were under duress. You had a cool enough head to escape, which is pretty impressive.”
“Survival instincts kicked in. I saw an opportunity to get out and took it.”
“I know you’ll give a complete statement about what happened to the police, but if we talk through it, maybe we’ll discover something.”
“Well, I can tell you, when he first opened the door, I almost peed my pants.”
Holden smiled. “That would’ve been quite a shock, your parking thief standing right in front of you.”
“I tried to play it off, but I think he sensed something from the get-go. When I started asking questions, he got defensive. No, defensive isn’t the word. Hostile.”
“At what point did he pull the gun?”
“We’d been talking about Marcus, and things took a dark turn, almost gloating over Marcus’s death. I made an excuse and got up to leave, but the next thing I knew, he was directing me back onto the sofa with a gun in his hand. I tried to ignore the weapon pointed at me and got him talking, partly as a stall tactic, partly curiosity. I asked about his dad. He told me he absolutely did not believe Jimmy killed himself. He said his father was on the verge of being indicted and had dirt on lots of people, which he could use as leverage. Insurance, he called it. Peter said those people he had the dirt on made sure Jimmy stayed quiet by shutting his mouth permanently and then making it look like suicide. Anyway, if there were a secret heir to the Chatterton fortune, and Marcus blackmailed Peter because he believed he was descended from that heir, that would explain everything.”
“Maybe.” Holden looked over at my foot. “I’m not sure your toes should be that color.”
I craned my neck. Purple piggies peeked out from the boot. “They do look a little like stuffed eggplant.”
Holden got up, lifted my foot, removed the pillows, and slid himself underneath my leg. He gently rested it in his lap and began rubbing my toes.
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure my feet smell. I haven’t showered since yesterday morning, and this boot’s sweaty.”
“I’m fine. You’re fine. Keep talking.”
He caressed each toe to get the circulation moving, which caused all the blood to leave my brain and rush to my feet…and other places.
“Uh. Where was I?”
“You said that would explain everything.”
I blinked three times. “Oh, yeah, so, get this. Marcus is a weirdo…was a weirdo.” I sighed. “Anyway, he’s poking around, digging into conspiracy theories, generally pissing people off. Most of the time, he’s way off base, which makes him a nuisance, not a threat. According to his blog, Marcus believed his dad had hidden documents that were supposed to be financially beneficial in some way, but his mom had forgotten where he’d stashed them. She’d also told him David had warned her she wasn’t to trust anyone because corruption had infiltrated even the highest levels of law enforcement and city government. Then, supposedly while cleaning out the house after his mom died, he found the documents.”
“When did Jimmy die?”
“Mid- to late-eighties, I think. Why?”
“I’m trying to remember who the mayor was back then.”
I held up my index finger and grabbed my phone. It rang several times before the call connected.
“Hello?”
“Mildred, hi, it’s Audrey O’Connell. Are you okay? You sound breathless.”
