Final Settlement (29 page)

She was a blackmailer of at least five people. Three of them—Alcott Bridges, Leonard Marcus, and Bartholomew Anderson—had been eliminated as suspects. Darby thought about the two other victims. What connections could she make with Lorraine and the initials? Was there anyone who might have had an inkling about the woman’s acquaintances?

Two of her employers—Dr. Hotchkiss and Chief Dupont—were now deceased, but presumably whoever she worked for at the Manatuck Police Department was still there. She popped up from her seat. “I’ve changed my mind,” she explained to the dockhand. “I’m getting off.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Couple of minutes later and you would have been swimming.”

Darby hustled off the ferry and made her way through the snowy parking lot. Ahead of her loomed Manatuck Community Hospital where her Aunt Jane Farr had been a patient. Darby thrust her hands deep in her pockets and kept walking. The police station was only a few blocks away.

The imposing brick building was modern, with large glass windows and a sophisticated video surveillance system at the revolving front door. In a nod to the past, there was a large granite block with an engraved dedication thanking Manatuck’s veterans of past wars. Darby glanced at it and hurried in.

The building was open, but largely deserted, in deference to the memory of Charles Dupont. A peek at a directory indicated the offices for several departments, including homicide. Darby noted Detective Robichaud’s name.
Perhaps this is where I should start,
she thought.

The tall man looked up as she knocked on his open door.

“Darby? Come on in.” He pushed a pile of papers to the floor. “Beautiful service for Chief Dupont, wasn’t it?”

“I think his family was very touched.”

“Good.” He sighed. “It’s tough on all of us. He’ll be missed on the island and in Manatuck, too.” He shook his head. “I figured that my place was here, let some of the younger officers take the afternoon off. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to just barge in like this, but I wanted to talk about Lorraine Delvecchio’s death, and I wasn’t sure who’s handling the investigation.”

“Darby,” he said gently. “There is no investigation. That poor woman slipped to her death.”

“I think you know that Chief Dupont did not believe it was accidental.”

“Yeah, Charles and I discussed it a few times. She had this superior memory condition that he felt might have made her some enemies.”

“That’s right. In fact, at least five people had motives to kill her.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“A ledger in her home showed that Lorraine was blackmailing five people. We’ve identified three of them: Alcott Bridges, Leonard Marcus, and Bartholomew Anderson.”

“No way. I can see Marcus, but Bridges and Attorney Anderson?”

Darby nodded. “Bridges couldn’t have killed her. He was too frail, and I don’t think Anderson has the physical stamina, either. The other two …” she hesitated.

“Yes? Who are they?”

“I’m not sure. One’s initials are ‘TD’, and the other is ‘CR’ .”

“Initials? Their full names weren’t mentioned?”

“That’s right.” She paused, hoping her explanation did not sound silly. “She referred to all of her blackmailing victims by initials.”

“I see.” He thought a few moments. “This is the first time I’ve heard about a ledger. I assume it’s with Chief Dupont’s things?”

“No,” Darby said. “I have it.”

He frowned. “To think that she was blackmailing people, right under our noses …”

“Do you think this means she might have been murdered?”

“I have to say, no, it doesn’t change my opinion of how she died. Did some people have motives to kill her? Apparently so. No one who gets blackmailed is happy about it, I’ll tell you that. Did they kill her? No, because this was not a homicide. She lost her footing,
hit her head, and drowned, with hypothermia as a contributing factor. No one pushed her, Darby. She slipped and died, end of story. Her death was ruled accidental. Charles Dupont didn’t want to accept it, but it’s the truth.”

She remained silent.

“Listen,” his voice was gentle. “I think Chief Dupont felt a little guilty …”

“Guilty? Why?”

“Because of how he terminated Lorraine.”

“You mean he fired her?”

“Basically, yes. He lined her up with this job, but I know the Chief was worried that she knew the real reason.”

“But he was satisfied with her work, at least that’s what he always said.”

Detective Robichaud gave a tiny smile. “There was another reason, Darby. She made a pass at him.”

“Lorraine?”

“Yeah. When he lost all that weight, she came on to him, and it freaked him out. He told her she needed to transfer.”

Darby shook her head. Had guilt over Lorraine’s change of jobs been at the root of Chief Dupont’s insistence that Lorraine had been murdered? She swallowed. Why hadn’t he mentioned the real reason she’d transferred?

“I don’t know what to say. Chief Dupont was convinced her death was no accident.”

Dave Robichaud tapped a finger on a file. “I know. Sometimes we all pursue wild goose chases.” He stood up. “Tell you what, I’m going to follow up on this blackmailing angle anyway. I’ll want to see that ledger, too. Any idea who ‘TD’ and ‘CR’ might be?”

“No.” She rose to her feet, her head spinning with the new information. “Thanks for listening, Detective Robichaud. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

“Please don’t feel like that,” he said, walking her to the door. “Charles was your friend. I hope he knew how lucky he was.”

_____

“You need to get some exercise,” Tina said, when Darby called her from the Hurricane Harbor dock and relayed her conversation with the detective. “You’re starting to sound overwhelmed, and I’m worried about you. When was the last time you went for a run, or even a walk for that matter?”

Tina had a point. Back in Mission Beach, Darby was a devoted runner, logging several miles a day. But in the frozen landscape that was Hurricane Harbor in February, she had barely moved a muscle.

“I danced at your wedding.” She didn’t mention her other forms of exercise with Miles.

Tina snorted. “Whoop-de-do. Give that girl a medal.” She paused. “Seriously—there’s about two hours left of daylight. How ’bout you borrow my snowshoes and go for a little hike? Good way to get rid of stress, and God knows we’ve all had enough of that.”

Darby considered. The sun was still warm on her cheeks, even though the air was freezing. Perhaps some time outdoors would clear the thoughts rattling through her brain. The Chief, Lorraine Delvecchio, Miles’s departure … it was all too much at once.

“Good idea. Where do I find them?”

“They’re just inside the front door,” Tina said. “Key’s under the mat. You can go right up that hill behind the house, if you want. Donny hikes up there all the time. Says it keeps him limber.”

“Juniper Ridge?”

“Nah, the easy one in front of it … Raven Hill.”

Darby pictured the broad mound behind Tina’s split-level ranch. “My parents and I used to picnic up there. Should I take Rosie, give Bitsy a little break?”

“Nope. I’ve got her with me here at Donny’s house, and she’s out like a light. Played fetch with a tennis ball for about an hour at lunchtime.” Tina sighed. “Hey, Terri’s coming over for dinner later on, Bitsy too, hopefully. Donny’s going to be at The Eye for a dart tournament, so it’s just us girls. Want to come? You can thaw out from your snowshoe with a glass of wine.”

“Sure. I’ll bring some.”

“Great. Have a good walk and I’ll see you around six.”

Darby drove to Tina’s little ranch. The house was modest, but Tina had taken good care of it, and it would make the young family purchasing the property at the end of the month a nice home. She found the key, unlocked the door, and grabbed the snowshoes. Right away she saw that her long red coat was too bulky to move comfortably in. She took it off and found a lighter jacket in a powder blue shade in her friend’s neat closet.

Darby zipped the jacket and pulled her wool hat over her ears. She locked the door, hid the key, and stepped into the snowshoes. After adjusting them to fit her feet, she began trudging across the lawn to the back yard.

The sun was still bright off the white expanse of snow and Darby wished she’d remembered her sunglasses. She walked with an easy gait, the snowshoes plunking softly in the snow, her arms swinging loosely at her sides. There was only a faint trail to follow, but Darby wasn’t concerned. It was impossible to get lost on Raven Hill.

The climb was gentle. When Darby reached the top fifteen minutes later, she stopped and considered Juniper Ridge. A craggy series of peaks with sheer granite faces, the Ridge was an extremely challenging climb in the summer. Now, however, those same smooth surfaces were coated with several feet of snow, changing the landscape so drastically that Darby decided to give it a try.

She began the ascent. Right away it was evident that this climb would get her heart pumping. She smiled, feeling the burn in her thighs. Shoeing up the rugged face of Juniper Ridge—or however far she made it—would be an accomplishment.

The snow was the perfect consistency under her feet—firm, but yielding, cold enough that it did not clump on her snowshoes nor so powdery that it flew into her face. She let out a long sigh of pleasure as she took a big step and hoisted herself up a snow-covered rock. It felt good to be exercising in the cold, so different from her early morning runs in Mission Beach, California, where it was almost always a sunny seventy degrees or so.

The sun was dropping lower in the sky and Darby stopped and glanced at her watch. Nearly four p.m. Darkness was coming later to Maine—finally—as winter’s grip on the northeastern state lessened.
I’ve got about an hour before it starts getting dark
, she reasoned, wondering if she should turn back toward Tina’s house now.

She allowed herself a few minutes of stillness to admire the view. The ocean was just visible, a thin ribbon of blue stretching over the tops of the scrub pines. Up ahead there was a considerable climb to a spot where the view would be spectacular.
I’ll go up, take a look, and then hustle down. It will be totally worth it.

The ascent up the knobby face took ten minutes, but Darby had been correct about the vista. The ocean, a cold, dark blue dotted with whitecaps, surrounded the rocky island’s perimeter of spruces. It was breathtaking, and Darby said a silent prayer for the majesty that surrounded her.

She took a deep breath and smelled the pine-scented air. This was what she missed most about living in San Diego, this easy access to unpopulated nature. In California there were plenty of trails, but they were always dotted with people. She missed Maine’s wildness, the many miles of untamed spaces that were the norm, not the exception. She longed for rolling hills without fancy ranch homes scarring the land, or cell phone towers, or billboards.
I miss Maine,
she realized.
I miss home.

Darby gave a quick shiver. Her body was cooling down, and the light blue jacket felt thin and insubstantial against the lowering temperatures. It was time to get moving before she got a serious chill. She took one more look at the ocean, and then turned to glance down at her path up the hill.

A shape was moving toward her. A man.

He was moving quickly, running at a fast clip, closing the gap of maybe one hundred yards with rapid speed. He wore a bulky dark jacket, dark pants, and something black on his face.

Darby’s breath caught in her throat.
A ski mask.

She let out a cry of alarm and then turned immediately up the hill. Without a moment’s hesitation she began stepping as quickly as she could up the face, thinking nothing except that she had to escape. Her breath came out in jagged little puffs, and her lungs burned with exertion, but still she pushed herself higher, higher, faster and faster, in an effort to flee the masked man.
Who is he? Why is he after me?
Her brain asked the questions, and her body gave only one answer: run.

FOURTEEN

B
ITSY HUNG UP THE
phone and felt the first smile in days tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d just received a dinner invitation from Tina Ames, and it was exactly what she felt like doing—relaxing with a few women over wine and a casserole. Tears welled up in her eyes. Tina, her high school boyfriend’s new wife, had become a friend. Who would have thought it possible?

She walked across the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. There was a new container of smoked mussels, a few olives, and a good wedge of Brie. She’d put it all on a platter, add some crackers, and voila! An appetizer for Tina’s party, along with a big bottle of wine, of course.

She closed the refrigerator door. The house was silent, and she recognized with a pang that she missed Rosie. The rambunctious puppy was not only a welcome distraction, but she was good company. Bitsy sighed. It was pretty pathetic when you started thinking of a young yellow retriever as your companion, she thought.