Death in the Secret Garden (5 page)

‘The publicity will not be good for the inn. I have not built my reputation as an establishment known for matinee performances by older men with dubious younger women.'

Bea sighed. ‘Let's see what we can do.'

Ashley Towers claimed to be an emergency pharmacist to her family and friends. In reality, she was the most requested woman working for the Middleburg Escort Service. While her formal education had ended after an incomplete first year at Middleburg Community College, she claimed to be operating as an emergency pharmacist under a temporary certification.

She explained to everyone that she was on constant call for a chain of twenty-four-hour drug stores. It was her assignment to temporarily replace sick and absent pharmacists. In reality, her extensive call-outs were due to an erotic education gained during extra-curricular activities experienced that single year in college. She had been considered an outstanding date for a quick and satisfying evening.

After two failed marriages to real losers, Ashley had answered a newspaper ad for attractive hostesses. It was her assumption that by working for the Middleburg Escort Service she would be taken to dinner by out-of-town salesmen. She might or might not have a romantic interlude. She quickly learned that there was very little eating done in the escort business, but a great many romantic interludes in a variety of motel rooms.

Congressman Bill Tallman had been a regular. He always went first class. They drank good champagne and usually stayed in the Clara Barton suite of the Millrace Inn. She enjoyed their sessions and his tips were generous. His only requirement, besides her complete enthusiasm, was discretion.

She didn't think it was very discreet of him to die on her. And it didn't take the brain of a real emergency pharmacist to diagnose that the man on the bed was quite definitely dead.

The inn had a large man from the grounds crew blocking the outside of the door so she couldn't leave. They wouldn't let her telephone Baby Dumpling for advice. She shivered and waited for the owner to return.

Mike Maresca and Bea entered the Clara Barton suite and firmly closed the door. ‘What happened?' Bea snapped at the red-haired girl sitting uncomfortably on a Victorian chair.

‘We were doing it when he just clutched his chest. Then he said, “Oh, God,” and died.'

Bea looked at the corpse. Her first thought was that an interim election would be held. She might have hated herself for her uncharitable spirit if the dead man hadn't been such a bastard. She nodded grimly at Maresca before turning her attention toward the girl. ‘Do I know you?' she asked the red-haired girl.

‘I know who you are, Mrs. Wentworth. I grew up and live in Murphysville.'

‘I want you back across the river,' Bea said. ‘Do not talk to anyone about this. Do you understand? If you speak with a soul, I guarantee you will be in deep trouble.'

‘I understand. I won't say a word. I just want to get out of here.'

‘Then leave. Quickly!' Bea said.

‘I haven't been paid.'

‘Paid!' Bea snorted. ‘He didn't finish.'

For a moment Ashley seemed poised to object, but then thought better of it. ‘OK, I'm going,' she answered as she gathered her purse and hurried from the room.

‘We dress him and move the body to the sofa in the sitting room,' Bea said. ‘Then you call 911 and tell them that he might be having a coronary. We will say that Bill felt ill while driving his car and pulled in here to rest. You gave him a room and when you checked back you found him like this.'

Maresca nodded. ‘Do you think we can pull this off?'

‘I hope so, Mike. I'm doing this for Margaret, not for this roué. She's a great governor and doesn't deserve this.'

Lyon was very uneasy. This was not an unusual condition when he rode with Rocco in the police cruiser. His friend seemed to prefer Formula One speeds combined with a nonchalant attitude toward the mechanics of driving. He casually draped one elbow out the side window, while two fingers of his other hand lightly caressed the steering wheel. The speedometer began to inch up as they passed the town green with its historic homes. Rocco pressed for more speed when they turned down Route 40, which contained the shopping mall and the ubiquitous strip of fast food emporiums that were endemic to every American town. Once clear of congestion the speedometer inched toward eighty as they sped toward Eddy's Motors with dome light flashing and siren wailing.

The radio sputtered. Rocco flipped the mouthpiece off its stanchion and donned small headphones to hear properly. ‘Car One. Herbert,' he announced laconically. He listened for a moment and then, ‘Patch him through … Yes, Lars,' he said to the medical examiner. ‘What do you have for me?… Thanks. Over and out.'

‘What was that about?' Lyon yelled over the sound of the siren's screech as he pressed both feet against the floor in a vain attempt to restrain forward momentum.

‘Our joyful ME says the deceased did have recent sex,' Rocco shouted. ‘She was shot in the periumbilical area with an entrance wound of 1.5 by 1.5 centimeters. There was massive hemorrhaging, with large blood clots found in the abdominal cavity. There were extensive perforations of the small intestine. The bullet was lodged near the lower abdominal aorta. The projectile was a single round from a small-caliber weapon. The bullet has been preserved for a ballistics test when we have something to compare it to. She was also two months pregnant.'

‘We had best get to Eddy's fast,' Lyon said.

Although Rocco had been born and raised in Murphysville and Lyon in nearby Middleburg, they had not met until they served together in a war zone. Lyon was an infantry battalion's intelligence officer, while Rocco was a ranger and leader of the recon platoon that acted as the unit's eyes and ears. They had established a working relationship then that still continued. Rocco, as the man of action, took to the field to obtain the raw data for Lyon's evaluation. Rocco's intelligent harvesting of information combined with Lyon's unique perceptions created a team whose total exceeded the sum of its parts.

Their army cooperation had naturally evolved into civilian crime investigation. A full working relationship and friendship had blossomed after Lyon and Bea moved to the house on the green with their young daughter. An irrevocable bond had been forged after the hit-and-run accident. Rocco had spent dozens of sleepless nights until his state-wide check of body shops had revealed the guilty driver.

Lyon and Bea had walked away from the house on the green on the day of the accident and had never returned. The bond with Rocco and the memory of their daughter had kept them in Murphysville. It was shortly thereafter that they had immersed themselves in the restoration of Nutmeg Hill.

At Eddy's Motors the double shotgun blast had discouraged the owner's latest hot prospect. The sight of the sprawled car salesman propped against the Chevy utility made the prospective customer's gas-eating, oil-chugging truck, with its wooden stake bed, look almost attractive. He passed the speeding police car as he churned away from the lot.

Lister Anderson's wrath was not satisfied by Eddy's mortal wound. He proceeded to destroy as many pickups and used cars as his remaining time allowed. His method was certain and efficient. He swung the .12 gauge by its barrel to smash the front windshield of each vehicle, and then proceeded to blow out the tires with the weapon. Lister had managed to dispatch most of the inventory when Rocco's cruiser screeched to a stop by the trailer office. The large police chief catapulted from the car and held up both hands palms forward in a gesture of command.

‘Drop the weapon, Lister,' Rocco ordered.

‘Mostly out of shells, Chief.' Anderson let the shotgun fall to the ground. ‘About got them all, anyway.'

‘That you did, Lister,' Rocco said as he handcuffed his prisoner's hands behind his back. ‘That you surely did.'

Lyon ran over to the sprawled body of Eddy Rashish. The salesman had somehow managed to temporarily survive the double blast and struggled to sit up. It was obvious from the massive trauma that his time was limited.

Lyon propped the dying man's head on his lap. ‘The ambulance will be here soon, Eddy.'

Eyes blinked open. ‘Don't let him get away. Don't let him go.'

‘Rocco's got him cuffed in the back of the cruiser,' Lyon answered.

‘I mean my live fish. If you have to, tell him sixty a week for two and a half years. Just close the deal.'

Eddy Rashish died uttering incomprehensible things about deal percentages and forging odometer readings.

Bea Wentworth cut the skin off two large chicken breasts and seasoned them in preparation for grilling. Lyon worked at the chopping block reducing vegetables into salad-size portions.

‘I thought about it today,' Bea said. She knew it was not necessary to identify the event further. Lyon would know her meaning even if they hadn't talked about it in months.

Lyon stopped with his cleaver poised in mid-air. ‘So did I. It came back to me while I was riding in Rocco's cruiser.'

‘I was at the Millrace Inn about to have lunch with Helena Rabnor when it hit me. We had other excitement at the inn, which I'll tell you about next.'

‘We've been married too long. That accounts for this mental similarity.'

‘Do you believe it's that?'

‘Not completely,' Lyon said. ‘I think it's the same time of year combined with today's weather and light …' He mistakenly brought the cleaver down on a large tomato with a blow that splattered it across the room. ‘Any thoughts on it?' he asked as he wiped juice and pulp from the cabinets.

‘I have concern over my biological clock.'

‘It's been ten years,' Lyon said. He returned to the chopping block to scrape carrots. ‘I applied to Big Buddy today.'

She turned toward him in amazement. For her husband to volunteer to be a mentor to a young child was an astonishing step of recovery, considering the massive pain they both felt. ‘Can you handle it?'

‘I think so. It's a first step. They have a few kids on the waiting list in the Murphysville area. They'll assign me to a child as soon as they check me out. They're pretty careful about backgrounds nowadays. I've asked Rocco to vouch for me. If I'm properly vetted they match me with a single parent's young boy.'

‘Not a girl?'

‘It doesn't seem to work that way. Basically, they want an adult male to do things with the kid. We're supposed to go places and do masculine activities. It comes down to mentor stuff while we act as a male role model.' The phone rang and Lyon snicked it off its kitchen-wall stanchion. ‘Wentworth here.'

‘I told them the truth about you,' Rocco said without preamble. ‘I'm talking about the query I received from the Big Buddy organization. I vouched that you are a fine upstanding citizen at least fifty percent of the time. I did have to point out that in the fall, when the Canadian geese make their flyover, you are apt to leap from your parapet in an attempt to join them in flight.'

‘Thanks, old buddy.'

‘I have two male holding cells in my little lockup,' Rocco said. ‘We have Spook in one and Lister Anderson in the other. Lister has been born again and is trying to bring Spook to Jesus. Spook is trying to recruit Lister for the First Cav's motor pool.'

After dinner they made espresso coffee in the machine that Rocco and his wife had given them last Christmas. As they sat on the patio and watched the sun brim the horizon, Bea told Lyon about the discovery of the congressman's body at the inn. She described how the governor's husband had been found dead in the inn's Clara Barton suite with his red-haired friend.

‘I suppose that, strictly speaking, what Mike Maresca and I did was illegal,' Bea concluded. ‘But damn it all, Lyon. Margaret doesn't need to be hurt any further by that guy.'

‘Of course not,' Lyon said. ‘But I hope that's the end of it.' He wondered how the governor could have remained ignorant of her husband's peccadillos all these years. For at least the last half decade it had been well known on both sides of the aisle that Bill Tallman considered it perpetually open season on all women.

‘You'd really like to consider having another child, wouldn't you?' Bea asked.

‘For the first time in years, I'm able to consider the possibility of considering,' Lyon replied. ‘It's up to you, of course.' He looked across the patio table to see tears in his usually pragmatic wife's eyes. He was instantly remorseful. He never wanted to hurt her.

‘God only knows I want a child,' she said. ‘But I don't know that I am strong enough to go through another loss like that.'

‘As I said, we are only considering the possibility of considering it.'

Bea nodded and wondered if this was to be a day marked by two postponed problems.

At ten in the morning, Sarge Renfroe was usually his own best customer. The rules set by Rocco Herbert forbade his personal consumption of hard liquor before the sun was over the yardarm. Sarge understood, as legions of senior enlisted men before him had, that officers' rules were meant to be discreetly disregarded. ‘Sun's over the yardarm somewhere in the world,' he mumbled aloud as he brought the first shot of the day toward his eager mouth.

The second drink of bar whiskey was loaded and ready to fire when a large hand clamped down on Sarge's wrist. The heavy shot glass clanked to the floor and rolled under the footrail. ‘Come on, Captain,' he pleaded with Rocco. ‘I'm really hung this morning.'

‘Winston Churchill once said that often the most important accomplishments are done by men who don't feel well in the morning.'

‘I don't suppose you have any coffee?' Lyon asked.

Sarge shuddered while he pulled two steaming mugs of inky coffee from the machine at the rear of the bar. He slid them across the scarred bar and plunked a sugar bowl and small cream container by each mug. He sulked on a stool hidden behind the sports page.