Final Settlement (17 page)

_____

“Darby Farr, meet my sister Trixie.” Tina was beaming as she ushered Darby into her warm living room. Country and western tunes played from another area, the smell of something cinnamon-flavored wafted on the air, and three redheaded women smiled nearly identical smiles.

“Hi, Trixie,” Darby said. She recognized Terri Dodge and gave her a quick hello.

The pint-sized version of Tina grinned. “Thank goodness for someone with another color hair! This wedding party was getting pretty ho-hum, if you ask me.”

Darby smiled at Trixie. “I love seeing all of you with your gorgeous curls. Did one of your parents have red hair as well?”

Terri nodded. “Believe it or not, it was our Dad. Mom’s a brunette, and so is our brother, Travis. But Dad was a carrot-top, and so pleased to have three redheaded little girls.”

Tina grabbed a framed photo of the siblings sitting sideways, arranged by age. Tina, Terri, a dark-haired boy, and finally little Trixie all smiled obediently at the camera. “That’s Travis,” she said. “Afraid he’s not going to make it to the wedding. He’s stuck in an airport, just like Miles.” She raised her eyebrows. “Speaking of Miles, what’s up with this new guy? Donny said it looked like he spent the night?”

“Oooh,” Trixie teased. “I don’t even know you, and already I’m getting some juicy gossip.”

“He stayed at my house, but it was purely platonic,” Darby said. “He didn’t have a choice, given the storm.”

“What idiot goes out in a storm like that to begin with?” Tina huffed. She shook her head. “Oh, who cares. How about a Mimosa while we wait for Connie?”

Darby watched her friend bustle to the kitchen to retrieve the drinks. Tina had a valid point: it was definitely odd that Kenji Miyazaki had ventured out in a blizzard to visit a stranger on an island. Was his appearance in Maine as coincidental as he’d claimed?

He’d been trying to reach me for months
, she reminded herself, hoping to ignore her nagging doubts.
I not only learned about my grandfather, but Kenji deciphered Lorraine’s list of initials.
Surely those things were positive.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the hairdresser. “I’ll get it,” Trixie yelled, bouncing out of the room. Darby heard her greet the woman and moments later they had entered the room.

“Hello everyone, I’m Connie.” The newcomer gave a little wave and smiled. “Look at all this beautiful red hair!”

“Except for Darby,” Tina said, flouncing into the room with a tray full of orange drinks. “Care for a Mimosa, Connie?”

“Sure.” The petite blonde took a glass from the tray and thanked Tina. She looked at Darby’s glossy black mane and grinned. “You’ve got beautiful hair, but I can make you a redhead too, if you’d like.”

The others laughed, and a moment later Terri was raising her glass in a toast.

“To our friend and sister Tina!”

The women smiled and sipped their drinks. Darby let the delicate flavor of the juice linger on her tongue. It was light, sweet, and flavorful.

“Ummm …” she said. “Natalie’s Orchard.”

Tina turned an astonished face to her friend. “Don’t tell me you tasted this juice and knew where it came from!”

Darby looked away, embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. “I recognize the taste.” She took another sip. “Remember, I spent some time in Florida a few months ago. That’s where Natalie’s Orchard is located.”

Tina shook her head. Under her breath she said, “That’s your little super power, girl. It’s like Lorraine and her amazing memory.”

“Lorraine who?” Trixie had finished her Mimosa and placed the glass back on the tray.

“Delvecchio. I don’t know if you’ll remember her. She used to work for Dr. Hotchkiss.”

“Such a shame about what happened,” Terri said. “Such a waste.”

“What happened?”

“She fell off the Breakwater,” Terri continued. “When was that? Wednesday? I’m losing track of time.”

“Speaking of time, we’d better get you ladies started.” Connie, holding a stack of clean towels and a purple laundry basket filled with equipment, gave a bright smile. “I’ve got what I need, so let’s rock and roll. Your wedding is at one o’ clock, right?”

A blur of blow-drying followed, punctuated by laughter, more Mimosas, and nibbles of a delicious cinnamon bread provided by Terri. Later, while they waited for their nails to dry, Tina turned to Darby and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“So tell me about this mysterious visitor. I’m dying to know what you did.”

Darby laughed. “Nothing! His name is Ken—short for Kenji. He translated that journal that I found in the attic, and gave me good news about what it said.”

“Yeah?”

“Basically my grandfather hated what was happening with the biological weapons and tried to prevent it.” She smiled. “I’m so relieved. I’ll tell you the whole story another time, but here’s something else: this morning Ken got his hands on Lorraine’s notebook. Turns out she was keeping track of payments from people, and those letters were in a kind of code or cipher. Ken cracked the code and now we know the initials of her blackmailing victims.”

“No kidding. What are they?”

Darby thought a moment and recited the letters.

Tina snapped her fingers and then winced as she remembered the polish. “Crap, I think I just messed up my ring finger.” She called out to Connie and then continued. “You said the initials AB, right? Why, that’s gotta be Alcott Bridges! That explains why he seemed relieved to hear Lorraine was dead.”

Darby nodded. “I think you’re right, Tina. Lorraine must have had some kind of incriminating information on him.”

“Dirt, isn’t that what they call it? She had some dirt on him as well as other people in the notebook.” Tina giggled, showing her ring finger to Connie. “I shouldn’t be laughing—it must be the Mimosas.”

The hairdresser made a tsk-tsk sound over Tina’s smudged polish. She wiped it with a cloth and whipped a bottle out of a pocket to touch it up. The acrid smell of nail polish filled the air.

“Maybe it had to do with that scandal over who painted one of his famous portraits,” mused Darby. “Whatever it is, I’ll go and see him tomorrow. Who knows, maybe Alcott will want to come clean.”

“Oh—I get it,” Tina giggled, as Connie placed her right hand back under a small nail dryer. “Come clean from the dirt.” She thought a moment. “What about the computer drive? Anything good on that?”

Darby widened her eyes.
The thumb drive from Lorraine’s desk
. “Believe it or not, I forgot all about it!”

“Oh, I believe it. You were too busy hanging out with Talking Ken.” She started giggling again.

Darby rolled her eyes. “Tina, you never quit.” She looked at her friend, hopelessly laughing at her own joke, and then could not help but chuckle as well.

_____

Donny Pease spotted Tina as she entered the back of the church and thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.

She wore a long, white, satin gown that hugged her body, and over it a long-sleeved lace jacket with flowing lacy sleeves. Around her neck was a pink ribbon holding a delicate gold heart, which glinted in the church’s twinkling lights. The effect was magical, as if she were a Valentine confection come to life.

Donny grinned and saw Tina smiling back at him. He knew in an instant that they would be fine, that their marriage would be everything they both had hoped. He watched her glide up the aisle, escorted by her Uncle Titus, and surrounded by their friends and family in the cozy space. Now she had reached him. Her uncle hugged and kissed her, and then handed her toward Donny’s outstretched hand.

They kissed gently and turned to their bridal party. Tina’s sisters were pretty in their pink velvet dresses, and the men—Lester Ross, an old fishing buddy named Cal Holbrook, and Terri’s husband Tripp Dodge—were handsome in their tuxedos, but it was Darby Farr, her black hair shining against the pink velvet, who looked spectacular. Not as lovely as Tina, Donny told himself, because no one could look better than a bride on her wedding day, but pretty darn close.

The minister, an elderly man whose booming voice filled the sacred space, began the service. Donny squeezed Tina’s hand and gave a happy little sigh.

_____

Darby had taken her first sip of celebratory champagne when she felt a tap on her bare shoulder.

“Give us a kiss?”

She whirled around. A tall man in an elegantly fitted tuxedo stood before her, his rugged face wearing a shy smile.

“Miles! You made it!” She sprang to her feet.

He pulled her close and she inhaled the faint bayberry scent of his skin. “Darby Farr, you look totally amazing. How is it that each time I see you, you’re more beautiful than I remember?”

She blushed and looked into his warm eyes. “Where in the world have you been, and how did you get here? Sit down and tell me everything.”

“It’s a rather boring story. I’ll tell you quickly, but only if you promise to dance with me.”

“Miles Porter, you drive a hard bargain.” She pretended to consider his request. “Deal.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down, his long legs nearly touching the pink velvet of her dress. They were in the elegantly appointed ballroom of the Hurricane Harbor Inn, snug and safe against the tall snowdrifts outside.

“Okay, a brief telling of my travels. I spent Thursday night in O’Hare, huddled on some plastic seats with a whole horde of stranded people, many of whom tended to snore, and quite loudly, too. First thing the next morning, I rented one of the few remaining cars left in Chicago and began driving. I was at it all day yesterday, only stopping when I couldn’t see the road anymore. I passed a fairly miserable night in a drafty little motel in New Hampshire. And now here I am.”

“You drove through the blizzard?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I lost my bloody cell phone at the airport, or believe me, I would have rang you up a few times. I hope you didn’t worry too much?”

Darby bit her lip. The truth was, she’d been distracted by Kenji Miyazaki—although she had tried to phone.

“You’re a big boy,” she said lightly. “I figured anyone who could report from the world’s worst war zones could handle a few flakes of snow.” She raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “Besides, there’s been some excitement around here.”

Miles leaned in closer. “Aha! Lorraine Delvecchio? Do tell.”

Darby related the new questions surrounding the woman’s death, the suspicious person Alison Dyer had spotted on the Breakwater, and the strange notations in the little spiral notebook. She then told him about Kenji’s arrival on the island and his cracking of the Caesar cipher.

“Whoa, who’s this fellow?” Miles’s brow was furrowed. “I don’t think I like the idea of a strange man appearing out of nowhere.”

Darby felt her cheeks flush. “He didn’t exactly come out of nowhere,” she said. “He works with a client of mine, Hideki Kobayashi. Kenji was here in Maine for a snowboarding competition, but he’s been calling my office in San Diego for months. The curator of the art museum in Westerly gave him my number …”

Miles held up a hand, traffic policeman style. “As much as I want to hear about all this, I think I’d like to dance with you even more.” He cocked his head in the direction of the music, where the band was starting to play a familiar tune. “Shall we have a toast first?”

He grinned and reached across the table for a glass of champagne and held it aloft.

“To wonderful surprises,” Darby said.

“Indeed.” He touched her glass with his and took a long swallow. “And to my beautiful Valentine on St. Valentine’s Day.” They drank again. “Now, Miss Farr, I’d like the pleasure of a dance.”

“Oh?” Darby’s face wore a mischievous look. “I have a better idea.”

She leaned over him in the pink velvet dress, yanking his bow tie in a playful manner, until she had pulled a surprised but delighted Miles out of the hall to a small cloakroom. There, Darby closed and barricaded the doors.

“This isn’t like you,” he observed in a whisper.

“I know.” She leaned in to kiss him, and then, all thoughts of the red lacquered box, the spiral notebook, and Kenji Miyazaki’s boyish grin temporarily forgotten, she let go of all caution and gave Miles Porter a wonderful reason to come in from the storm.

NINE

A
T LEAST THE CHOCOLATE
mousse cake is good
, thought Bitsy Carmichael, spooning another bite of the decadent dessert into her pink lipsticked mouth. The rest of the dinner had been forgettable—a stuffed chicken breast, cold asparagus spears, and twice-baked potatoes that were so dry they might have been baked three or four times. She sighed and pushed the plate away, glancing to see if anyone was watching. Like the Queen, she hated mere commoners to see her eating.

Charles was speaking with a tall man, but she saw him glance in her direction and then conclude his conversation. He loped toward the table, a worried look on his lined face.

“What’s the matter, Bitsy? Aren’t you having fun?”

“I’d have more fun if you stuck around,” she said, just a touch irritated. She twisted the band of her jewel-encrusted watch. “Who’s that you were talking to?”