Secrets Don't Sink, page 28
Despite her zombie-like appearance, a whimper escaped Renee.
“I wonder why George didn’t take the journal and the pages with him when he sold the house,” I said.
“I’m not sure. Maybe he forgot where he’d hidden them. Maybe he didn’t want to carry that burden anymore.” David cleared his throat. “Back to Jimmy Chatterton. I confronted him. Days later, he was floating in the river, and I got scared. Scared for me and scared for Marcus and my wife, Gayle. I called the FBI and told ‘em what I knew. There was a suggestion made…” He formed quotation marks with his fingers to indicate the suggestion was more an order. “For me to enter witness protection. I knew if I testified, even if they put us into WITSEC, my family would be looking over our shoulders until the day we died. I didn’t want that life for them. I thought it would be easier if they thought I was dead. So, I took off. I went to Cleveland, got a fake passport and a cheap Toyota from my cousin Ricky, crossed the border into Canada at Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, and settled in Toronto. Sometimes I’d get drunk and call home, but I’d hang up soon as I heard Gayle’s voice. Eventually, I stopped calling.” He swiped under both eyes.
Holden returned his attention to Darren. “I still don’t understand how you fit into all this, besides being a Chatterton with everything to lose from Marcus’s exposure of your family secrets.”
Darren ignored him, instead choosing to address me. “I’m sorry I’ve been withholding information from you, but I had a job to do.”
“I’m guessing that job isn’t financial reporter for a small-town periodical, Agent Benson.” I folded my arms.
He had the decency to appear contrite. “I was recruited out of MIT by the FBI’s Criminal Investigative Division to work financial crimes with an emphasis on cyber-activity. My superiors were well aware of my family connections. When things heated up again in Chattertowne with Peter heavy in the mix–smuggling, money laundering, corruption–it was decided I should come back, set up residence, reconnect with my uncle, and try to infiltrate his organization. Unfortunately, Peter got suspicious when I tried to talk to him about the so-called family business. He’d heard from his mole or moles at City Hall I was nosing around, and he didn’t trust anybody, family or not. He knew my mom had never approved of his activities. He figured she’d turned me against him. He was right on all counts.”
“So, you planned to use my research for your investigation?”
“That, and I needed to make sure you didn’t reveal my identity. You’re a relentless pursuer of truth, Audrey. Tenacious. Even with the lightweight topics Anderson assigned, you didn’t miss a detail. I had no doubt you’d uncover something about the missing Chatterton heir and the history of corruption. I began monitoring your email and social media accounts when I heard you’d been given the story. I’d already been observing Marcus because of his blog posts. Audrey, I did…I do…care for you. That wasn’t an act. Yes, getting close to you gave me access, but I could’ve monitored your activity without doing so in such an intimate manner.”
Holden grunted. David observed the entire scene with enthrallment. Renee looked like she wanted to punch me or vomit…or both.
“Tell me about Peter.” I gritted my teeth.
“Peter was a short man with a Napoleon complex and an affinity for Francis Ford Coppola movies. He had daddy issues because Jimmy was unkind to him, always making him feel like a screw-up. His wife was an awful woman who, although I’m sure he was no picnic to live with, shattered what was left of his fragile manhood. His own sister, my mother, wanted nothing to do with him. All he had was a twisted legacy of his father’s connections with the Whelan Crime Family. So, even though they were responsible for Jimmy’s murder, he reached out to Mickey Whelan to restore what he viewed as the heyday of the Chattertowne Port. He already had DiLupo in at Port Commissioner. The Whelans and DiLupos have a tentative alliance dating back at least fifty years. Peter had at least one insider within the police department…and he had you at City Hall.” Darren glared at Holden and crossed his legs.
Holden returned Darren’s stare with a smirk and a cock of his eyebrow. “She already knows everything.”
Darren blinked, glanced at me, and returned to his showdown with Holden.
David blew out a long breath, still consumed in his reverie and oblivious to their ego battle. “After Marcus was killed, I hightailed it down here and got ahold of Renee. Unfortunately, she’d found these pages,” he pointed at the papers on the table, “mentioning Nettie. They were stuffed under Marcus’s side of the mattress. She put it together with what you and Holden had said. By the time I showed up, she’d already contacted Peter to try and shake the tree a bit, see if she could get cash out of him. Peter threatened to unleash holy hell on her. I convinced her to call the FBI. They sent Darren, and he put us here with Mr. Clean over there.” He indicated the man in sunglasses.
“So, it’s settled, then. Peter killed Marcus,” I said.
“Not so fast, Audrey,” Darren interjected. “I talked to Peter about Marcus. I’d just left his house when I passed you on the road. I’d asked him about the port operation, about the lost heir, and if he’d killed Marcus because he was getting too close to the truth about either or both. I mentioned he was missing one of his antique wooden golf clubs from St. Andrew’s. He said it was in the shop being refinished, and he had people to take care of the situation without getting his own hands dirty. He refused to give specifics when pressed for details. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t responsible for Marcus’s death, but I don’t think he administered the death blow.”
David flinched. Renee looked stoned.
“When you ran into Peter on the docks, he’d been there to confront Marcus,” Darren continued. “Peter had seen the blogs and had sent Marcus messages warning he’d take legal action, or worse. Marcus responded by threatening to expose what he knew if Peter didn’t pay him five hundred thousand dollars. One reason I was shocked to discover you and Vivienne are the long-lost Chatterton heirs, besides the fact we were sort-of dating….”
A collective groan echoed across the room.
“Marcus gave Peter the impression he was the heir. I don’t know if he actually believed it or if he thought he could con Peter into handing over the money. Renee, do you know?” Darren asked.
Renee’s placid face turned sour. It was her go-to expression whenever she was forced to acknowledge my existence.
“Like I told these two when he dragged this one to my house uninvited.” She pointed at Holden and me. “I knew nothin’. He told me nothin’. If I woulda known, I woulda figured out a better plan.”
I chose not to argue the point that Renee’s approach had nearly gotten her killed.
“If not Peter, then who?” I asked.
Darren rubbed the back of his neck. “The running theory is someone in the City Hall building killed Marcus. Peter’s mole, someone he could’ve ordered to handle Marcus after the confrontation, who had the ability to get to the docks right away.” He turned again to Holden. “Any thoughts? In addition to yourself, I mean.”
Holden grimaced. “I didn’t kill him. Like I told Audrey earlier today when she also accused me of murdering Marcus, I was in my office eating barbeque brisket. I sent several emails during that time, in between bites. You can check my records if you haven’t already, which I’m guessing you have, otherwise, you would’ve arrested me.”
“What about Tony?” I asked.
“Bianchi? Why do you think Bianchi’s dirty?” Holden sounded surprised.
“Tony told me Marcus had a file on him, and you said Tony was being hypocritical when he warned me about you.”
“He meant you should be wary of getting romantically involved with me. That’s why I was giving him grief at Mildred’s the other night. I said, ‘that’s rich,’ because Bianchi’s got a reputation for crossing those very lines, even though he’s married. Besides, Marcus had a file on everyone, including me, and that doesn’t make me a gangster. Despite,” Holden glared at Darren, “what some people may think.”
“What about George Hart?” I asked.
“You think a hundred-year-old man killed Marcus?” Darren scoffed.
His condescension had irritated me when we were sort-of dating. Now we were family, it was insufferable.
“Ninety-nine. I mean, who killed George? The receptionist said the fake nephew who came to visit him right before Viv, and I arrived looked like a boy band member. Darren, you could pass for a One Direction guy with a baseball cap on.”
He laughed. “Boy band, huh? Yeah, that was me. Unfortunately, George had passed by the time I got there. The coroner confirmed it was a heart attack in his sleep. I’d hoped to find out what he’d told you, since you were cagey about your visit. I couldn’t report his death because I’d have to be there when the police arrived, and I didn’t want to jeopardize my case. I’d recently been questioned regarding Peter’s death, and it was tough enough pulling strings to get out of the Police Station the first time without blowing my cover. My presence at two suspicious deaths in as many days didn’t bode well. I promise you, Audrey, George wasn’t murdered. He died of old age.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I had visions of him being suffocated. He was a sweet man, and I was hoping he’d make it to his hundredth birthday. I’m going to feature him in my Kupit Festival articles, if I still have a job after all this.”
I observed the gathered ensemble.
Marcus’s missing dad, back from the dead.
His hostile wife, also no longer missing.
Darren, my cousin/FBI agent, no longer of romantic interest, as I had a strict policy against dating people with whom I shared DNA.
Then there was Holden.
Holden remained unclassified, unavailable, and off-limits.
Finally, Darren broke the silence. “You and Holden never saw David and Renee. As far as you’re concerned, they’re still missing persons. We don’t know what Peter told Whelan, and we don’t know the identity of Peter’s mole. My only clue is something Peter told me the morning he died about alliances being multi-generational legacies. I assumed he was referring to a previous connection of Jimmy’s.”
“The King cousins!” I yelled.
Darren looked at me with bewilderment.
“Mildred told me Jimmy was running his operation while Mayor Harold King and his cousin, Andy, the Police Chief, looked the other way,” I said. “Maybe it’s someone related to them. What about Peg? She’s got such a nasty disposition. Is she related to Mayor King or Chief King?”
Holden shook his head. “After her divorce, she changed her name from Anderson back to her maiden name. She goes by Peg Hoffmueller now.”
My shoulders sagged. “Well, it was worth a shot. I don’t see Tony being related to the Kings, so it can’t be him. I saw a photo of Mayor King in the archives, and he’s the WASPy-ist of WASPs. He doesn’t look Italian at all.”
“You’re on the wrong track anyway,” David mused. “They aren’t related through their dads, but through their moms. Andy isn’t a King. He’s a Kimball.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
David’s off-the-cuff declaration that Police Chief Andy’s last name was Kimball fell like a lead weight onto my chest.
A flashback to photos on the credenza behind Kimball’s desk connected the final dots. Kimball, playing college softball. Kimball and her dad, Chief Andy Kimball, the one she could never please.
I doubled over, gasping for air. Each attempt to fill my lungs was accompanied by a yip. Holden and Darren both looked at me with alarm. They jumped up and hovered over me.
“Audrey, breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth,” Holden ordered, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“K-k-k…”
“Her sister works for Assistant Chief Lacey Kimball. Must be Andy’s daughter,” Holden said.
“I know,” Darren snapped.
“N-n-no!” I wheezed. “V-v Viv- Vivienne. She’s on a date!”
“I was with you when she said she had a date after work, remember?” Holden said. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t go into the station until we figure out if Kimball’s the mole.”
I didn’t enjoy the feeling of being handled and pacified like a child. The only thing missing was a placating pat on my hand.
“No! Listen to me! She’s on. A. Date. With. Kimball. Right. Now!” I clapped my hands between each word for emphasis.
“Oh shoot,” said Holden.
Darren called to the agent standing guard. “D’Almada! Get Agent Shalhoub on the radio. Let him know we need an APB on Lacey Kimball, white female approximately thirty-five to forty. Short crew-cut hairstyle. She may be at one of the bars in Chattertowne in the company of Vivienne O’Connell.” He turned to me. “How old’s your sister?”
“Twenty-seven. S-short blond hair and big golden eyes. She’s f-five two, about one hundred fifteen pounds.”
Darren nodded at D’Almada, who scuttled into the other room.
“Wait! You can’t put out an APB! Kimball’s a cop; she’ll either get the alert or someone from the force will let her know!”
“She’s right, Benson.” Holden grimaced.
Darren grunted and went into the bedroom.
A cold hand enveloped mine. Renee had reached out to comfort me. Closing my eyes briefly, I squeezed her hand in gratitude and released it. It was an unexpected act of compassion.
A moment later, Darren returned to stand in the middle of the living room with his arms folded across his chest. “We need to go.”
“Audrey.” Holden’s hand still gripped my shoulder. “I think you should stay here with David and Renee.”
Breaking his grip by jumping from the sofa, I waved my arms in protest.
“No! I’m going with you. She’s my sister!”
Darren shook his head. “I agree with Holden.”
I gave a maniacal laugh. “Oh, isn’t that sweet? Now you wanna play nice with Holden? Now you pick his side? Are you freaking kidding me?”
I was primed to unleash all my frustrations of the past several months upon those two infuriating men. Giving up my life in Portland, working for less than a living wage at a small-town newspaper, pining over an ambivalent Darren only to discover we were related, and Holden, Mr. Hot-and-Cold who couldn’t decide how he felt about anything in his life, including me. Throwing in the antagonistic wife of an ex, his father who’d abandoned him, three dead bodies in less than two weeks, and the cherry on top, my sister dating a homicidal cop, I’d finally reached my limit.
I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, I’d harnessed so much chill the blood running through my veins felt ice cold. “I can ride with Holden or Darren, or I can call a freaking Uber. Regardless, I’m going to help my sister. Capiche? Or whatever the Irish word is for Capiche.”
Hands on my hips in defiance, I dared any of them to argue. I held my ground and my breath, waiting for the onslaught. It didn’t come.
Holden sighed in resignation. “You can ride with me.”
Darren’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t protest. “Any ideas where they might be on this date?”
He grabbed his jacket and gave a nod to Filipino Vin before jerking his head toward the door. Renee and David murmured good luck wishes as Holden and I followed Darren into the hallway.
“They could still be at Nautilus. Normally Viv sings at six-thirty and eight, but she only had the early show tonight,” I said. “She should have finished her set within the last fifteen minutes.”
Holden pushed the button when we reached the elevator. “You should call her, say you’re checking in. Be careful, though. You don’t want to alert Lacey.”
I glanced at my phone and grumbled. “No service.”
“Give it a minute.”
As we stepped into the lobby, a half bar appeared in the upper left of my phone screen. I attempted the call again, with the same result. By the time we’d reached the valet stand, I had full service. I redialed, and at the sound of Vivienne’s voice mail, tears streamed down my face. Holden put his arms around me. Darren watched us, stone-faced.
“Hey, Viv, it’s me. Holden and I just finished dinner and are headed back to Chattertowne. We were hoping to grab a drink after your shift. Not sure if you’re still at Nautilus. When you get this message, could you—” My voice caught. I cleared my throat and continued. “Could you give me a call? Love you.”
As soon as I hung up, my body was wracked with sobs. Holden tightened his grip before releasing me when his car arrived.
Darren put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you. I just need to stop for gas.”
I nodded, unable to speak for fear a whimper would escape my throat.
Holden clutched the steering wheel. I gnawed my fingernails and cuticles. The radio was off, so the only sound was tires rolling rhythmically over the asphalt. Outside my window, fog swirled like dry ice in a bowl.
“Where do you think they might go if they aren’t at Nautilus?” he asked.
“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure that out. I knew from my initial meeting with Kimball, that farce of an interview after Marcus’s death,” I spit the words, “that she was interested in Viv, but I didn’t expect Viv would reciprocate her feelings because she’s only dated men. I sensed something was going on, though, because I know my sister, and I can tell when she’s smitten. I asked her about it, and she said when or if there was something to tell, she would. Today she referred to it as a relationship, but it wasn’t until we were at your office that she mentioned the date.”
“That’s a difficult conversation for her to have, I imagine. She might not yet have come to terms with her feelings or what that means. You never know how people will respond, even those who love you.”
“I don’t judge her for falling in love with a woman! Leave it to Viv, though, to pick a woman who’s a killer. She’s really got a gift for seeking out destructive relationships with any gender.”
Holden’s laugh was bitter. “Do you hear yourself? You contradicted yourself between one breath and the next. You’re all about judgment, Audrey. If you’re not judging others, you’re judging yourself. I’d go so far as to say it’s your superpower.”
