Dark Homecoming (26 page)

T
he buoys clanged as the waves slapped hard against the pier. Gulls were circling in mad sweeps through the dark gray sky. The air was warm and humid. The papers in Joe's hands were curling from the moisture in the air, so he thrust them into his jacket pocket and continued on down the pier.

He scanned the line of boats off to his right. Leather-faced sailors were mooring them tightly to the pier. A few boats had been taken out of the water and were secured to metal contraptions. The pier was abuzz with activity, with a sense of urgency. The weather forecasters were calling the hurricane “Caroline,” and she was said to be a doozy.

Joe scanned the names of the boats, looking for the one that had been written on his paper. These captains sure could get creative.
The Codfather. Boobie Bouncer. Marlin Monroe. Aquaholic.
Joe smiled. The name he was looking for was simpler. The
Kathleen Marie.
He spotted it finally, close to the end of the pier. As he hoped, a man was tying her up.

“Ahoy there,” Joe called down to the man.

The man, who appeared to be seventy but was probably younger, looked up at him. His eyes were black. His face was like snakeskin, brown and rough and scaly. Large, sandpapery hands gripped a thick stretch of rope. He didn't smile. “Who you looking for?” he asked.

“Captain James Hogarth,” Joe said. “Is that you?”

“I don't know anybody else by that name.”

“Wonder if I could speak with you for a minute.”

“Kind of busy, as you see. Trying to get ahead of Caroline.”

“Yeah. They say it's going to be a big one. Some talk of evacuations from low-lying areas.”

Hogarth shrugged. “We've been through hurricanes before. We'll get through this one as well.”

“I imagine we will.” Joe opened his hand to reveal his badge. “I promise I won't take up much of your time.”

Hogarth studied him with his black eyes. “I thought I was done talking to cops.”

“Well, you never talked to me.”

The captain threw down the rope. “I'll be up in a second.”

Joe watched him as he climbed around his boat, a surprisingly agile old man. The wind was whipping along the pier, and caught Hogarth's long, thinning white hair, sending it flying upward, making him look for a moment like one of those toy trolls Joe remembered from his childhood. With his big, strong hands, Hogarth gripped the ladder and hauled himself up the pier. He took his time, but Joe didn't note any resentment in the old man's walk toward him. It was almost as if he had expected to be questioned again, and welcomed it.

“So I presume this is about the Huntingtons,” Hogarth said when he reached Joe.

“Why do you presume that?”

“Because their names are back in the news. Another murder of one of their people.” Black eyes danced under bushy white brows. “This time maybe David's got himself caught.”

“You say that as if you think he's guilty,” Joe observed.

“Everyone knew he'd been carrying on with that girl.”

“Did his wife know? His first wife, I mean.”

For the first time Hogarth smiled, revealing a mouthful of broken, missing teeth. “Dominique knew everything.”

“Why did your change your testimony?”

Hogarth laughed. “I thought that case was closed.”

“You originally said you hadn't taken the boat the day Dominique was killed, then you said you did. Which is true?”

The smile disappeared from the old man's face. “Am I going to be arrested for something?”

“Not if you didn't do anything wrong.”

“Isn't giving false testimony a crime?”

“We have ways of overlooking that if you can give us other helpful information.”

Hogarth shook his head, as if he was disgusted by the whole conversation. He yanked out from his stained white T-shirt a small gold cross on a thin gold chain. “I believe in Jesus Christ, Detective. I believe that telling lies is a sin. That's why I changed my testimony. Because I couldn't live with the lies I told.” He looked back down at his boat. “She was not a good woman. But she didn't deserve to die. No one deserves to have their life ended by someone else.”

“So you did take the yacht out that day? And Dominique was on it?”

“It's just as I told your chief. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, and Dominique wanted to go out on the water. I took her, sir, yes I did.” Hogarth's face clouded. “But Chief Davis wouldn't believe me.”

“Why do you think he wouldn't believe you?”

“Because of what else I said.”

“And that was?”

Hogarth looked at him. “Surely you know, if you've come to see me now.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I told him that once we were out at sea, I saw that David Huntington had come along for the ride as well. I hadn't seen him board. Perhaps he'd already been on board, waiting for us.”

“Did you speak with him?”

“No, sir. But I heard him. I was up on the bridge, and I heard loud voices, a man and a woman. That surprised me, because I thought Dominique was the only one on board. I peered down into the cabin as I saw her with him.”

“With David.”

“Yes, with her husband.”

“Are you certain it was him? You were looking from above, and from photographs I've seen, the Huntington yacht was a rather large vessel. Are you sure you got a good look at him?”

“Who else could it have been? It was
him
. It was David Huntington.”

“Then how do you account for him being at the house, that same day?”

“I
can't
account for it. Just like I can't account for that storm that suddenly whipped up.” Hogarth gripped the cross in his hand tightly. “The sky got as black as night and the waves were so high they were coming up onto the deck. I couldn't keep the boat steady. Within no time it was breaking apart underneath me. I called down to Dominique but she didn't respond. It was like she wasn't on board anymore. Like neither one of them was. They would have answered me in such a storm. The boat's not that big. But I never saw her or him after hearing them argue.”

“What happened then?”

“The storm was raging. I figured I was a dead man, that I'd go down with the ship.”

“But you didn't.”

“I had my life jacket on, and though I went under, I came up again and managed to grab ahold of some of the debris, and finally made it to shore. The storm ended just as quickly as it had come up. Suddenly the seas were calm again. Still, it was late before I made back it to land, and when I got there, I went straight to Huntington House to tell them what had happened.”

“Who did you tell?”

“Mrs. Hoffman, the housekeeper.”

This surprised Joe. There had been no mention of Mrs. Hoffman in the report.

“You told her that Mrs. Huntington was dead?”

“I told her that I feared the worst.”

“What was Mrs. Hoffman's reaction?”

“She was white as a ghost, but then again, she always is.” A small smile cracked across Hogarth's face. “She was upset, but she seemed to know already, even if she acted as if she didn't.”

“How could she have known already? There was no Coast Guard report of a storm, and no report of a capsized boat until they found remnants of the yacht the next day.”

“You want my opinion? I think David Huntington made it back in the lifeboat and he told her.”

“Did you see him at all?”

Hogarth shook his head. “I've never seen him since, except on the news. Mrs. Hoffman insisted I spend the night there, since I was so wet and cold. But in the morning, she handed me an envelope and told me, since the yacht was destroyed, they wouldn't be needing me anymore.”

“What was in the envelope?”

“More money than I ever dreamed of seeing in one place.”

At that moment the wind kicked up again. Waves were crashing over the boats.

“This is going to be a big one,” Hogarth said, looking away. “I'm going to have to bring
Kathleen Marie
up to dry land, I think.”

“First you've got to tell me why they gave you all that money.”

“They said it was for my years of service. But Mrs. Hoffman, she has a way of telling you things without actually saying them. She spoke of Dominique's death as if somehow it could be construed to be my fault. She wasn't blaming me, she insisted, but she implied others might. So it was best that I say I wasn't at the helm of the ship that day. It was best to say Dominique had gone out on her own.” He frowned. “The money guaranteed my silence.”

“But it didn't.”

“Nope. Look, Detective, I took that money in the first place because my daughter, Kathleen Marie, was sick and I thought it could maybe help her. But no amount of money was going to save her. She was in the end stages of leukemia, and I realized that taking that money was like making a deal with the devil, and you know that never works out. In fact, it might have even hurt Kathleen's chances of getting into heaven.” Hogarth took a step closer to Joe. “Blood money. That's what it was. I took that envelope and handed it back to Mrs. Hoffman and went down to the station to speak with Chief Davis. Don't you see, Detective? They gave me that money to keep me from implicating David.”

“Well, now, he can't be blamed for a storm.”

“But what he did, he did before the storm hit. I called down to the cabin at the first sign of rough waters. And no one was there. At least, Dominique wasn't.”

“Where had she gone?”

“I think David threw her overboard while they were arguing.”

“You wouldn't have heard this?”

“Not necessarily. And besides, just seconds later, by my reckoning, the storm kicked in, so that's what I was focused on. That's when I think David took the lifeboat and left me to go down with the ship. When I showed up alive, I was a problem that had to be dealt with.”

Joe narrowed his eyes at the captain. “It's a compelling story, but you have no evidence to back up your accusation. It's far more believable that the storm knocked Dominique overboard, perhaps as she was trying to secure the lifeboat for herself.”

“That storm is hardly a believable alibi.”

“Why's that?”

“Because there was no indication of a storm before it hit. No forecasts. Nothing. Not a cloud in the sky. Later, the Coast Guard would record that a brief storm had indeed struck the area, but they were baffled that they hadn't seen it coming. And its duration—let me tell you, Detective, I've been sailing these waters for forty years and I've never seen a storm whip up like that out of nowhere so suddenly and then disappear just as quickly.”

“Then how do you account for it?”

“I told you. I don't.” Hogarth sighed. “Except . . . maybe there's something to those stories the servants always told. Stories about witchcraft and black magic.”

“You don't buy any of that.”

“Maybe not fully. But there's something in that house. Dominique . . . she had some curious hobbies. Have you seen those statues of angels with the heads of cows? And when they brought that vodou priestess in to cook for them—”

“Vodou priestess?”

“Variola. The chef. She and Hoffman and Dominique were always whispering together, scuttling around through the house . . .”

Joe took out his notepad and asked Hogarth to spell the chef's name for him.

“I don't know what else to tell you,” the old man said after he was finished spelling. “I'll happily come down to the station if you like and give my testimony again—that is, if you can get the chief to listen to me this time.”

“I'll let you know if that's necessary, Captain.”

Hogarth rubbed his rough hands together. “Well, I've really got to hustle and get
Kathleen Marie
out of the water and tied up safely somewhere. Can I go now? We done here?”

“Yes. That's all the questions I have for now. Thank you.”

Hogarth nodded and returned to work, scrambling down the ladder to his boat like a man far younger than his years. Joe watched him for a while, then looked out at the crashing sea. Sails and banners were flapping furiously. The sky had become even darker. The hurricane was approaching quickly, Joe realized.

And it was going to be a doozy.

L
iz paused outside the parlor, trying to gather her wits before she met her father-in-law for the first time. This wasn't how she'd imagined it would be. She'd imagined David would be with her—not running from the law on a murder charge.

“Go ahead,” Nicki whispered to her. “He's in there waiting for you.”

Liz took a deep breath and was about to step inside the parlor when she heard Mr. Huntington speak. “Where is that little girl?” he was asking Mrs. Hoffman. “I can only stay a few moments longer. The pilot of my chartered jet is telling me that we only have a very small window to get out of here before the hurricane hits. By the way, have you prepared the house?”

“Thad is shuttering the windows even as we speak,” Mrs. Hoffman replied efficiently. “We've been through hurricanes before, here. We know the drill.”

“There's quite a bit you'll have to teach this little girl,” he said.

Nicki fumed. “Where does he get off calling you a little girl? I've got a mind to walk in there and tell him off.”

“Nicki, please, don't make things worse.” Liz sighed. This was precisely why she hadn't been thrilled with the idea of her friend visiting. “Let's just smile and make our way through it.”

Not very convincing smiles stretched across both women's faces. Liz lifted her chin and stepped into the parlor, Nicki following behind.

“I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Mr. Huntington,” she said, extending her hand.

Her father-in-law shook it briefly, his eyes appraising her. “Unfortunately this will have to be a very brief visit,” he said.

“That's too bad. I had hoped our first meeting would be more pleasant. By the way, this is my friend Nicki Stone.”

Nicki chirped a “Hullo.” Huntington barely gave her a nod.

“But I'm sure you want to get out before the hurricane makes landfall,” Liz continued, turning to Mrs. Hoffman. “On my way down here, I saw Thad. I'm pleased to see he's battening down the hatches.”

The housekeeper just stood there stonily.

Liz returned her gaze to Thomas Huntington. “Have you heard from David?”

The old man stiffened. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Not a word.” Liz stood opposite him, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Why do you think that is?”

“I assume he's deep in negotiations with this Dutch miscreant who's trying to take over our company's assets. When he's in the midst of business, David has a laser-like focus.”

“You think he hasn't gotten the messages from the police to return, or to at least contact them, regarding the murder of Rita Cansino?”

Huntington's eyes hardened. “David understands priorities.”

“I would think his priority should be to clear his name.”

“I have just come from a meeting with the police chief, Davis,” Huntington told her. “He assures me David is not a suspect, and they will be calling a press conference to make that clear.”

“Of course I want to believe that David is innocent,” Liz said. “But I'd like to hear that from his own lips. If you speak with him, Mr. Huntington, would you ask him to please get in touch with me?”

“I'm sure he will do so at his first available opportunity. In the meantime, Elizabeth, you do understand the necessity of not speaking further to anyone—no police officers, no detectives, certainly no reporters.”

“I have no intention of speaking to anyone until I've spoken with David.”

“Very good.” The old man took a step toward her. Liz could see the family resemblance to her husband: the same high cheekbones, square jaw, and chocolate-brown eyes. But there was something hard in the old man's eyes, something mean. Cruel. “And among those you should avoid would be my younger son, Roger.”

“Roger?”

“I understand you had dinner with him last evening.”

Liz glanced over at Mrs. Hoffman, who kept her eyes averted. “Yes, I did. He was very kind in offering me a chance to get out of the house after all this terrible news.”

“Roger is not to be trusted.”

“I'm aware that he and David have not always seen eye to eye, but Roger has been very kind to me—”

Huntington took another couple of steps closer to Liz, who found herself taking a step back, feeling all at once a little bit threatened. Nicki placed her hand on Liz's arm for support.

“You listen to me, young lady,” the old man seethed, wagging a finger at her. “You have no idea what sort of a hornet's nest you've stirred up by befriending Roger. I assume you know about, or have at least figured out, David's little dalliance with the dead girl, Rita Cansino?”

“If it happened, it happened well before he knew me.”

“It happened,” Huntington told her harshly. “And Dominique found out about it.”

“That's all in the past,” Liz said defiantly. “It might make detectives suspect David in Rita's death, but it has nothing to do with my marriage or my relationship with David.”

“
I'll
say it might make detectives suspect David. Do you know
when
Dominique found out about the little tryst David was having with the chambermaid?”

Liz said nothing, just kept staring at her father-in-law.

“
On the day of her death
,” he told her, enunciating each word exactly. “That's why she left in such a state. That's why she ran out of here claiming she needed to get on the water to think. Isn't that right, Mrs. Hoffman?”

The housekeeper nodded emotionlessly. “Yes, sir. She was quite distraught.”

“But what right did she have to be distraught, Hoffman?” the old man asked, moving away from Liz to confront the other woman. “Wasn't Dominique being a bit hypocritical in reacting so histrionically to the discovery of David's affair?”

Mrs. Hoffman's face remained unmoved. She said nothing.

Huntington looked back at Liz. “You see, Elizabeth, David was merely retaliating against his wife. My late daughter-in-law had an army of lovers, and she did very little to hide them.”

Liz looked away. She remembered the portrait of Dominique, the arrogance in her face, the flaunting of her beauty.

“But the final straw for David,” the old man said, lowering his voice and approaching Liz once more, “was the affair she was carrying on right before her death. Do you know who with?”

Liz held his gaze. “No,” she said in a small voice. “And I don't want to know.”

“
Roger
,” Huntington spit, as if he had tasted something bitter and wanted it off his tongue. “David's own brother! It was
Roger
who drove my son to madness. After Dominique's death, David had a complete emotional breakdown. That's why we sent him on that cruise.” He paused. “That was why my wife and I were not pleased at David's sudden remarriage. We felt he wasn't quite ready . . . not yet stable enough for another commitment.”

Liz was reeling.

Roger—and Dominique! He had never told her . . . Was that why he had pursued Liz? Because he had a vendetta against his hated older brother, and seduced his wives out of spite?

And David—so unstable—so unstable that he might well have killed Rita . . .

Liz thought she might faint. Her knees buckled a bit. Nicki, standing next to her, held her up.

Mr. Huntington was slipping back into his coat. “That is why I want you to stay far away from Roger. A friendship with him could make everything much, much worse. Speak to no one. Say nothing.” He turned to Mrs. Hoffman. “You'll see to that, won't you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Without a further word, the old man hurried out of the parlor. Mrs. Hoffman escorted him to the front door.

When they were alone, Liz turned to Nicki. “Cover for me with Hoffman,” she whispered. “Say I've gone upstairs to lie down. That I'm very upset and I don't want to be disturbed.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to see Roger.”

“Sweetie, not a good idea. You heard what the old man said—”

“I'm not listening to that old blowhard,” Liz said, her lips tight with anger. “Roger's been the only one who'd been kind and honest to me since I got here, and I need to hear what he has to say.”

“But Liz, it's raining pretty hard out there now—”

“I can handle a little rain. Give me your rental car keys.”

“You don't have a license. What if you get pulled over?”

“I'll take that chance.”

Reluctantly Nicki gave her the keys.

“I'll be back shortly,” Liz said, hurrying out toward the kitchen and the back door.

“Be careful,” Nicki whispered after her. “Suddenly I have a very bad feeling.”

“You're not alone in that,” Liz replied.