Final Settlement (27 page)

Already the daylight was disappearing and the harbor looked cold and gray. The pair walked the short distance up the hill and around the corner to the Near & Farr office, but by the time they reached the door, they were both chilled.

“Let’s take a warm tubby tonight,” Miles suggested with a lewd grin.

Darby shushed him. “Quiet! Tina’s already convinced all we do is fool around.”

“Well …” he opened the door. “Unless we’re finding dead bodies or making prison visits, that’s pretty accurate, right?”

Darby felt the warmth rise in her cheeks. “Tina! We came as fast as we could. What have you got?”

She pulled a piece of paper from a giant red pocketbook and placed it on a conference table. “Take a look. Chief Dupont was working out the initials. Somehow ‘TD’ and ‘AB’ are related. And he’s got ‘Grace’ written next to Alcott.” Tina paused. “Grace was Alcott Bridges’s wife.”

Darby and Miles exchanged glances. “She received care from the same hospice association that’s getting the proceeds from the house,” Darby mused.

“Uh-huh. And I called a friend of mine who volunteers for them, and she gave me somebody else’s name. I called her and she told me that there’d been rumors years ago that Grace’s death was hastened along a bit.”

“Meaning?” Miles asked.

“Meaning Alcott may have poisoned her,” said Tina triumphantly.

“A mercy killing,” murmured Darby. “Let me guess: Was her primary care physician Dr. Hotchkiss?”

“You got it. I’m thinking that our quiet little Lorraine figured it out and made grieving Alcott pay so she’d keep quiet.”

Darby recalled the old man’s reaction when he’d heard of Lorraine Delvecchio’s death. “No wonder the poor guy was relieved to hear she’d died.”

“Right. I wonder if the whole reason he was going to list in the first place was to pay off Lorraine. He must have been living in such fear and guilt.” Tina stomped a foot, making her red curls bob furiously.

“This is good work, Tina,” Miles said. “Did Bitsy give you this paper?”

“Yes. She found it in the trash after the Chief’s daughter was cleaning up. He never got a chance to tell us what he’d figured out.”

Darby put a finger on the initials “TD” and the small “ab?” next to it. “You’re thinking that the ‘ab’ refers to Alcott, right?”

Tina nodded her head, causing her red curls to jiggle. “Yep.”

“Strange that they aren’t capitalized like the rest,” commented Miles, unwrapping his lunch and taking a bite. “Tina? Care for some sustenance?”

“No, thanks. I had some soup with Bitsy.” She scrutinized the letters. “Well, what can they be if they aren’t initials?”

“I don’t know. Bitsy didn’t have any ideas, did she?”

“No.” Tina sighed and went to her computer to shut it down. “That poor woman. She’s hurting, and then she’s got this puppy making puddles all over the house. The Chief’s kids have been great, but it can’t be easy for any of them. I wonder what Bitsy will do when all this is over?”

“She probably doesn’t know herself yet,” offered Darby. She glanced at Miles. “Let’s take a ride over there and visit. Do you think that’s a good idea, Tina?”

Tina shook her head. “She’s gone over to Manatuck to get her hair done, so she’s all set for a while. I’m going to meet Donny when I finish this and we’ll go up to see her.” She paused. “Did you ever take a look at that thumb drive?”

Darby nodded. “A man and a woman, embracing, but only the woman’s face is visible.”

“Who is it?”

“I couldn’t tell. You’ll have to take a look.”

“Okay.” She frowned. “That’s enough about all this. You two need to do something fun. Go out for dinner or something.”

Darby thought about Miles’s plan for a romantic bath.
That can always happen afterward
…

Miles took the last bite of his submarine sandwich, chewed it, and grinned. “Dinner? What a brilliant plan.” He balled up his napkin and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. “I’m absolutely starving.”

Darby and Tina couldn’t help but laugh.

_____

Bitsy settled into one of the ferry’s hard plastic seats and sighed. It had been nice to do some normal things in Manatuck—buy a few toys for the dog, flip through a magazine at the beauty salon—and not feel the crushing sadness of Charles’s death, if only for a few moments. She fingered her hair, happy with the way the trim felt. The hairdresser had been tactful, allowing Bitsy to say as much or as little as she felt comfortable. She sighed again. It had been good to take a break from the island.

She closed her eyes. There was a dull throbbing behind her eyelids and she willed it to stop. Maybe if she got some coffee.

She rose and walked to the small snack bar. A heavyset woman waited for a coffee as well, a coarse wool hat on her head. She accepted her Styrofoam cup and turned toward Bitsy, her eyes ringed with dark circles.

“Hey Carlene,” said the man who’d handed her the coffee. “Too bad about Denny.”

Bitsy squinted at the woman’s weather-beaten visage. Was this Carlene Ross?

A scowl filled the other woman’s face. “What are you looking at?”

Bitsy paused.
What do I say now? Your brother was the one who killed Charles?
She felt anger well up inside her.
Because of your brother, my husband is dead
…

The woman’s rough face puckered and she looked about to cry. Was she feeling the same anguish, having lost a sibling in the shootout?

Bitsy felt her anger cooling. “Sorry for your loss.”

Carlene looked away and then back at Bitsy. It was obvious she had no idea who Bitsy was, but she gave a curt dunk of her head and pushed past her.

Bitsy reached out a hand for her own cup of coffee. The ferry employee met her eyes and gave a barely noticeable nod. His hand seemed to linger over hers, as if he were blessing the bestowing of the hot liquid.

She cradled the cup and returned to her plastic seat.

_____

Two hours later, Donny and Tina sat in Bitsy’s living room, watching a dog trainer discuss puppy behavior on Charles Dupont’s enormous television.

“She makes it sound so simple,” complained Bitsy, taking a forkful of macaroni and cheese. Rosie whimpered from her corduroy dog bed, in the middle of a canine bad dream.

“Well, it is simple. You’re the one in charge, Bitsy. You’re the alpha wolf.” Tina sipped her wine and grinned. “Don’t you feel like a wolf?”

“Not yet.” She pushed away her dish. “I’m not sure what I feel like. I’m just hoping I can get through this service tomorrow without looking like an idiot.” She sighed. “I want Charles’s kids to be proud of me.”

“Don’t you worry, Bitsy,” Donny said. “You’ll do just fine.”

“Who’s in charge of the service, Bitsy?” Tina asked.

“The Manatuck Police Department. They have been so helpful. I never knew how much work Charles did with them.” She asked in a soft voice, “Will you guys be there?”

“Of course, Bitsy. We’ll both be there.” Tina gave a pointed look in Donny’s direction. “Would you like to come over with us? We can pick you up in the morning.”

“No, I’m going with Alana and Derek.” She gave a shy smile. “But thanks.”

“Okay, well Donny and I are going to head off, let you get some sleep.” Tina watched as Donny collected the dishes and took them into the kitchen.

“Thank you for the dinner, Tina. It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest, okay?” Tina gave the widow a quick hug while the dog trainer talked on about puppy socialization. “Oh! Almost forgot to tell you. Your hair looks fabulous.”

Bitsy fingered her bristly hairstyle and nodded absently. “I think Charlie would have liked it,” she said.

_____

Miles and Darby lay opposite each other in the farmhouse’s clawfoot tub, thinking their own thoughts and enjoying the steamy water. “Tell me again what Hideki Kobayashi said about the formula,” said Miles thoughtfully, breaking the silence. The elderly Japanese man had sent Darby an e-mail just before they’d begun running the water.

“He thinks that Kenji may have ‘appropriated’ the formula for its positive applications.”

“Appropriated, rather than stolen, eh? Did he say what those positive applications might be?”

“No, but he reminded me that many dangerous chemicals are now used in ways that turn out to be good. Take the
botulinum
toxin A, for example. It’s one of the neurotoxins produced by
Clostridium botulinum
, commonly known as botulism, and yet now it’s injected into people’s foreheads to prevent wrinkles.”

“Not mine, thank you very much! Still, there’s a lot of money to be made with some of these accidental applications. Could that be why Kenji took the formula?”

“I’d rather believe it’s because of good old-fashioned greed than because Kenji wants to cause mass extinction.” She sank deeper until the water came up to her chin. “I wish Ed Landis would call and say he caught the guy.”

“He will.” Suddenly he splashed her playfully. “In the meantime, what’s next?”

“We towel off, we have a drink before the fire …”

“Oooh, I like where this is going, but that’s not what I meant.” His face grew more serious. “What’s next with our relationship? Seems I’m always jetting in to visit you wherever you are. Then you pick my brain and ravage my body for a few days, and it’s cheerio.”

“Hey, the ravaging really just started,” she said.

“True. I would have liked the ravaging to have begun months ago, but I do stand corrected.” He rubbed her shin with his hand absentmindedly. “Tell me where we stand, Darby.”

She thought a moment before answering, because it was an important question and she did not want to blurt something out.

“I know where I stand, Miles.” She swallowed and looked into his rugged face. “I love you.”

He gave a slow grin. “Funny you should say that, because I love you, too. In fact, I’d kiss you right now Darby Farr, but you’re way at the other end of the tub.” He lifted up her foot, carefully smoothed away the bubbles, and planted a kiss on her big toe. “There. That will have to do for now.”

She smiled as he placed her foot back in the warm water. “Maybe I should make the next trip to see you. Fair is fair, right?”

“Fairness! Now that’s a novel concept.” His eyes twinkled like the bubbles dancing on the top of the water. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Things will happen in their own good time. Besides, I know you, and I know you don’t like to be rushed in these matters.”

She bit her lip. He was right—she’d been skittish about commitment, so afraid to accept Miles’s love that she’d very nearly lost him. “What do you say we get our robes and move to the fire?”

He sat up slowly, giving her a long, level look that was full of desire. “Sure. Put on your robe, but I promise you won’t be wearing it for long.”

He eased himself to a standing position and climbed out of the bathtub, water streaming from his muscular thighs and broad back. Darby felt a pleasant stirring. She stayed in the tub for a moment more, enjoying the view.

THIRTEEN

T
HE NEXT MORNING DAWNED
clear and cold. Darby and Miles joined the contingent of islanders boarding ferries bound for Manatuck and the funeral of fallen Police Chief Charles Dupont. The passengers were silent, huddled in their winter coats and hats, with only the shrieking of the gulls overhead to break the unnatural quiet. Miles clutched Darby’s gloved hand, squeezing gently as she fought to stay composed.

In the Manatuck ferry terminal’s parking lot, garishly yellow school busses waited with engines idling, ready to bring mourners to St. Catherine’s for the service. Darby and Miles climbed onto a bus, catching the eye of the Café’s new owner as they crowded onto a seat. He acknowledged them sadly and looked away.

Inside the church’s hushed sanctuary, row upon row of uniformed police officers stood at attention, ready to pay their respects to a fellow officer, whether they had known Charles Dupont or not. The resonant strains of a bagpipe played as the pews filled and then overflowed with those waiting to say a final goodbye to Hurricane Harbor’s Chief of Police.

Bitsy, flanked by Charles’s grown children, sat in the front row. She seemed very small in a basic black dress with long sleeves, her blonde hair more subdued than usual, a grim expression on her face. Every few minutes she dabbed a white tissue at her eyes, and cried openly at the tributes from Charles’s colleagues, especially the poignant words of Deputy Tom Allen.

“The Chief was a like a father to me,” the gangly man said, looking down at the Dupont children and Bitsy. “No words can tell you how very much I will miss him.”

When the echoes of the twenty-one gun salute died away, refreshments were served in the church’s parish hall. Darby and Miles mingled with the other mourners, paying their respects to Alana and Derek, and giving Bitsy big hugs.

“She looks numb,” Darby whispered to Miles.

“I suppose she is,” he said. “But the healing has begun. I think she will be okay.” He looked into her almond-shaped eyes. “What about you? I know this death has hit you especially hard.”