Final Settlement (22 page)

Darby looked at Miles, whose face was grim.

“Is Darby in any danger?” he asked.

“We can’t be sure. At this point, we’re still hoping Miyazaki’s motives turn out to be good.” He paused. “Did he sense you were suspicious of him in any way?”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t suspect him of anything. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and we parted on good terms. I probably wouldn’t have noticed the missing pages, if Miles hadn’t pointed them out.”

Landis slipped the journal into a plastic bag. “I doubt that you’ll hear from him again. I hate to say this, but he got what he wanted.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Okay, then.” Ed Landis reached across the seat and shook their hands. “I’m headed back to Boston, and then on to Washington. We’ll take good care of this journal, Darby. I’ll be in touch.”

Clutching the bag, Ed Landis trotted across the snowy expanse and into the waiting helicopter.

_____

Anderson & Anderson, Attorneys at Law, was located by the Breakwater in an old Victorian home built by a Manatuck quarry owner in the late 1800s. The businessman had amassed a fortune shipping granite from Hurricane Harbor and other towns along the coast to America’s wealthiest cities. Now, as Darby crossed a wide granite step leading into the law firm’s entrance, she reflected that the speckled mineral—most likely quarried right here in Manatuck—still graced the likes of the Washington Monument and many of the buildings in the nation’s capital. Little wonder that the office’s foyer contained stained, leaded glass, parquet floors, and a wide, curving stairway with burnished maple stairs.

It had been a silent ferry ride for her and Miles, each of them thinking about the journal and Ed Landis’s comments about Kenji Miyazaki.
He got what he wanted.
Darby shivered at the recollection of those words. To think she had allowed him to spend the night in her home, never mind console her with a kiss …

Beside her, Miles Porter gently squeezed her hand. “You’re far, far, away, love.” His eyes held concern and she looked into them gratefully.

“Not anymore,” she whispered, gripping his hand in return.

The sound of a throat clearing caused them both to look up.

“Darby?” A smiling man with thinning gray hair and a short, rotund body crossed the polished floor toward them, his hand extended. “Attorney Bartholomew Anderson. Pleasure to meet you.”

Darby introduced Miles and together they followed him to an ornate office with big bay windows affording a view of the Breakwater parking lot. She felt her eyes drawn to the view, wondering whether the attorney spent any time gazing out.

Bartholomew Anderson followed her gaze. “Wish I saw more of the water, and less of the asphalt, but we can’t have everything, right?” He gave a hearty chuckle and glanced at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you folks tied up on a Sunday, and I do have a plane to catch, so I’ll be brief.” He waved a hand in the direction of the snow piled outside and grinned at them. “Can’t say I’m not pleased to be leaving for Miami. It’s in the eighties down there and sunny.”

“How long are you staying?” Miles’s voice was polite.

“Only two nights. Wish it was longer. My wife’s sister has a timeshare right on the beach. We’ve been before and just loved it.” He seemed to be remembering the sand and surf, but pulled himself back to the business at hand. “Now then, let’s talk about poor Alcott.”

He shuffled some papers. “Here’s what I will need you and Tina to complete before the estate releases the listing. I know Alcott had spoken to you before his untimely death, so you probably have much of this information already. Standard stuff, nothing complicated, although I should tell you that there is an agent from another brokerage firm we’re considering.”

“I see.” Darby lifted her eyes. “Who would that be?”

“Rocky Coast Real Estate—Miss Applebaum.”

This was the agent Tina had mentioned with such disdain. Darby gave Bartholomew Anderson a firm nod. “I’m sure when you see our sold figures, you’ll know that Near & Farr is the right company to list Mr. Bridges’s home. It will be you making the decision, is that right?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be checking e-mails while I’m in Miami, and my paralegal Maureen will be in touch as well.” He made a face. “Can’t get away nowadays. Not like you used to.” He rose and came around his massive desk toward them, ready to go home to his packed suitcases.

“Mr. Anderson, I have one or two quick questions about Alcott Bridges. Did he ever confide in you about making payments to keep something quiet?”

“Hush money?” The portly lawyer shook his head. “I don’t recall a thing. Why would anyone wish to blackmail Alcott? He lived a pretty quiet life, you know. Most artists do.”

Darby could think of one or two artists whose lives were far from quiet, but she kept her thoughts to herself. “What about the scandal surrounding his painting of Judge Collins?”

Bartholomew Anderson waved a hand dismissively. “That whole thing was ridiculous. Of course Alcott painted that work! Art historians from around the country spoke in support of him when that foolish claim came up.” He made a harrumphing sound. “Now, if you’re finished with your questions …”

“Almost.” She gave a sweet smile. “Can you tell me what happens to Alcott Bridges’s assets? His paintings? The house?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s any of your business, but proceeds will be given to the hospice association here in Manatuck. They took such excellent care of his wife, Grace. The paintings will go to the Westerly Art Museum.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are we finished, Miss Farr?”

“Yes, thank you.” She and Miles walked toward the door, ready to leave his office, when Darby had another thought. She turned toward the lawyer. “Mr. Anderson, I see that your windows look out over the Breakwater parking lot. Did you notice the daily visits of Lorraine Delvecchio?”

His eyes flicked to the window and back. “She’s the poor girl who fell to her death?” He shook his head regretfully. “Of course I’ve seen her picture in the newspaper, but no, I never knew her nor noticed her comings and goings.” He gave a thin smile. “We may seem like a sleepy firm on the coast of Maine, but believe it or not, we’re quite busy.”

“I’m sure you are,” Darby said. She felt Miles’s hand on her waist giving her a gentle tug.

“Have a first-rate visit to Miami,” he said. “And thank you for your time.”

Darby let herself be steered out the door and down the granite steps.

“Tina is going to have your head,” Miles chuckled.

“I know,” Darby moaned. “That guy’s never going to give us the listing after my barrage of questions. It’s going to go to Tina’s arch enemy, Babette Applebaum.”

“May I make a suggestion? Call the fellow’s wife, find out where their little timeshare is, and have a bottle of champagne waiting. Tell her it’s a surprise for her wonderful husband.”

Darby flashed Miles a wide grin. “Bribe him, you mean?”

“It’s hardly a bribe! More of a thank-you gift.”

“Whatever it is, it’s a great idea. What is it you Brits say? Brilliant?”

He reached over and ruffled her glossy black hair. “Spot on,” he said.

_____

Miles stoked the fire in the farmhouse’s cozy living room while Darby worked at her computer getting a sales analysis ready for Bartholomew Anderson. The day before she’d had an Internet connection installed so that she wouldn’t need to make endless trips to the library. She clicked send and sat back with a sigh.

“That’s done, although I have a strong suspicion it isn’t going to do any good. I’m not looking forward to telling Tina the bad news.”

Miles was on his haunches adjusting the logs with a poker. “You sent the champagne, right?”

“Sure did. An expensive bottle, too. I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.” She cocked her head to the side with a question. “Miles, who was it that Anderson said was the beneficiary of Alcott’s estate?”

“The art museum, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, they’re getting the paintings, including that new one of the Breakwater. But remember he mentioned a nonprofit that had helped Alcott Bridges’ wife. Was it the District Nurses Association?”

Miles snapped his fingers. “Hospice. He said the local hospice association was getting the proceeds from the sale.”

“Good work.” Darby bit her lip and did a quick search on the computer. “Here they are: Manatuck Home Care & Hospice.” She scanned the website. “Sounds like a wonderful organization.”

“I’ve told you about my friend Diana Whitby, haven’t I?” Miles pushed a shock of dark hair out of his eyes. “Good friend of my mum’s who lives in San Francisco? Kind of a surrogate auntie for me. I stayed with her until I found my own flat.”

“Yes, I recall that, although I guess I didn’t know her name.”

“Well, Diana’s older sister died a few weeks ago after a long illness. Cancer, I think. It was devastating for Diana as they were extremely close, but she said the hospice care her sister received made the whole thing much easier. She was able to die peacefully and without pain in her own home, surrounded by family.”

Darby looked up from the computer. Her Aunt Jane had died in the hospital in Manatuck, connected to a variety of machines, but then she had been unconscious. Would it have made anything better if she had been at home?

She glanced at the website once more, reading through the list of community people connected with the hospice. Attorney Anderson was listed as a trustee, she noticed. So was Babette Applebaum.

Darby groaned.

“What is it, love?”

“Babette serves on the Board of Trustees for this Manatuck Home Care & Hospice along with Bart Anderson.” She looked heavenward. “Champagne or no champagne, we’re doomed.” She sighed and scanned the other names. “This one rings a bell: Charles Dodge, III. That’s Terri’s husband, right?”

“Right. He goes by Tripp, remember?”

Miles rose from the fire and sat down on the couch next to Darby. He gently pulled the laptop from her arms and leaned in to kiss her. She felt the rough wool of his Irish knit sweater brush against her cheek.

“Now, if you had hyperthymesia like Lorraine Delvecchio, you wouldn’t have to ask me so many questions.” He nuzzled her ear as he spoke. “Then there would be more time for us to do other things.”

Darby kissed Miles but then pulled away. “You’ve hit on the big question, Miles. What did Lorraine remember that somebody wanted forgotten? Who was she blackmailing?”

She thought back to the list of initials in the notebook. “One of the blackmailing victims was ‘BA,’ right? We now know two people with those initials: Babette Applebaum and Bartholomew Anderson. Is that just a coincidence, or could one of them have been paying money to Lorraine?”

“Anderson said he didn’t know her, remember?”

“Yes, but he could have been lying. Or maybe he was telling the truth and it’s Babette who was being blackmailed.”

“Have you ever met this Babette?”

“She’s new in town. Used to summer on the island, and now she works with a luxury firm out of southern Maine. I’ve never spoken with her—but I think it’s high time I did.”

_____

Bitsy Carmichael watched her husband strap on his service revolver under a loose-fitting leather jacket. “You’re wearing your gun? Is this something dangerous, Chuckie?”

Charles Dupont shook his head. “Routine, honey. Just a good idea for me to have it, that’s all.” He didn’t tell her that the Mana-tuck guys had told him to be prepared for anything.

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t you just tell them you’re busy?”
I’m whining like a little kid,
she thought, but she didn’t care. There was bad energy around this outing, she could feel it.

“Nope.” He bent over, kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Why can’t Dozer go?” She was one of the few people who knew Tom Allen’s nickname.

“Because
Deputy
Allen,” his voice was sounding stern now, “isn’t who they want.” He stood up. “I’ll be back for dinner. I pulled some beef stew out of the freezer.”

“How long has it been in there?”

“Since you left for Vegas.” He saw her shocked face and laughed. “No, I just made it two weeks ago. Pretty good, too.” He backed away, grinning, and started for the door. “See you soon. Take good care of Rosie.”

At the sound of her name, the furry Labrador-mix puppy they had found at the shelter raised a hopeful head.

“Wait.” Bitsy rose from the chair where she had flopped and hurried to him. Wrapping her arms around his barrel chest, she hugged him tightly. “I love you, Charles. I always have.”

He hugged her back, catching a whiff of her musky perfume. “What’s all this? I’ll be back before you know it.” He smiled, opened the door, and headed into the darkening sky.

_____

The number for Babette Applebaum rang twice before a brisk voice said hello. Darby introduced herself, and then asked if she would have time to meet the next day.

“What about?” The woman on the other end sounded harried. “I’m perfectly happy working with Todd Stockton and Rocky Coast Real Estate, you know.”