Final Settlement (37 page)

“I’ll take you to Manatuck,” Deputy Allen offered. “I’m heading that way myself. Get ready and we’ll go.”

Darby found the little locker room where she and Tina had changed earlier and quickly put on her clothes. She grabbed Tina’s clothing, Terri’s fur, and Tina’s pocketbook and headed back to the lobby. On the way, she passed the sauna room where she and Tina had been held captive.

The door was wide open, the room considerably cooler now that the heater was off. Darby looked up to where the grate hung from the ceiling. She thought she could feel the whoosh of cold air from the roof.

Bitsy approached the sauna and pointed toward the ceiling. “Is that how you got out?” Bitsy asked, her voice doubtful.

“Yes,” said Darby. She remembered the dizzying sensation of standing naked on top of the icy roof. “Lucky for me I’m not afraid of heights.”

_____

Tina’s curly red hair was a bright contrast to the white hospital bed’s sheets. Donny sat beside her, holding her hand, a tender look on his face. He looked up as Darby opened the door and smiled.

Moments earlier, Darby had conferred with Tina’s doctor.

“I don’t think I’m betraying any confidentiality by telling you she’s responding well to intravenous fluids and is resting comfortably,” he’d said. “I don’t expect her to have any lasting effects.” He tapped on his clipboard with a gold pen as if to emphasize his words. “She’s an extremely lucky and resilient woman.”

Now Darby edged toward the bed and Donny. “She looks so much better,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Did you talk to Dr. Vishnu?”

“Yes. She’s going to be fine.”

Donny’s face softened with relief. “That’s what he told me, too. One night here and then she can come home tomorrow morning.” He frowned. “I hope she’ll still want to go on vacation after all this.”

Tina stirred, her eyes fluttering and finally opening. “Don’t you dare cancel that trip to Mexico, Donny Pease,” she croaked. “I’m looking forward to Beach Lady now more than ever.”

“Okay, then, don’t you worry. We’ll have ourselves a real relaxing time.” He grinned at Darby. “Same old Tina,” he said under his breath.

“Yeah, and I’m not deaf, either.” She swallowed. “Got anything to drink out there? Whiskey, bourbon?”

“Coming right up.” Darby eased a plastic cup of water to Tina’s lips and watched as she took several sips. “Is that better?”

“Much.” She cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the latest on psycho Connie? Have they caught her yet?”

Darby shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard.” The story was all over the news: the attempted murder at the Evergreen Day Spa, the serious condition of one of the spa’s employees, and the hunt for its owner, who happened to be the wife of the Manatuck District Attorney.

Darby placed a reassuring hand on her friend’s bony shoulder. “It won’t be long, you’ll see. The authorities will catch Connie.”

“What about Liza?”

“She’s out of danger.”

Tina motioned to the plastic cup of water. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, as Darby again raised it to her lips.

_____

Tom Allen was happy to let other police departments take over the investigation of the attack on Darby Farr. He knew his own limits, knew also that the events of the past few days had traumatized him way beyond anything he’d dealt with thus far. The loss of Charles Dupont—his Chief, his idol—left him with an empty feeling of dread, as if he were trapped in a long, black tunnel without any way out.

Sure, the funeral had been magnificent. The uniforms, the music, the squad cars with their flashing lights—but none of it had really helped to soothe his grief. None of it would.

He’d sought out Pete Paulsen, who’d been at the stakeout, guarding the rear exit. Paulsen had told him Robichaud had ordered him to stay outside. “When I heard him yell ‘Officer down!’ that was the worst thing ever,” Paulsen confessed. “I’ll never forget those words.”

And now Robichaud was dead, too. He’d tried to kill Darby Farr on that ridge, but why? Then he’d committed suicide. So he wouldn’t have to face the music? And how did the hairdresser at the Westerly spa fit in? Deputy Allen shook his head, trying to make some sense out of the whole thing. Somehow it all tied back to Lorraine Delvecchio and her death on the Breakwater.

The gangly man sighed and rose from the leather chair where he’d been sitting. A dog barked in the yard next door, but it was a half-hearted kind of yelp for attention, nothing more. He went to the window and watched his neighbor’s kid pick up a stick. He threw it over a mound of snow and the dog raced to retrieve it.

It was mid-afternoon, he figured, somewhere around three o’ clock. School was out, and the sun still shone in the winter sky. He couldn’t face going back to work today. Instead, he headed to the kitchen for a snack.

_____

The ring of her cell phone brought Darby down from a step stool where she’d been spackling a bedroom wall. Her shoulder was better, the pain now a dull ache, but her bruised face still bore an angry purple cast in one spot. Tina would be released from the hospital in the morning, and Bitsy had suggested they hold a small welcome home party—a brunch—for her at Donny’s house. Darby had agreed. Not only would it be nice for Tina, but it gave the grieving widow something positive to do.

She glanced at the display on her phone, noting it was a local call. Her breath caught. Perhaps Connie Fisher had been found.

She answered and heard the clipped voice of Deputy Tom Allen.

“Darby? I have some pretty bad news.”

She reached out for an armchair, held on for dear life.
Not Tina. No
…

“There was an accident, in Boston,” he gulped. “I only just found out about it. The helicopter, carrying the FBI agent from the island? It crashed on landing.” He paused. “I know you knew the guy. I’m sorry.”

Darby’s head spun. She heard the spackle and putty knife fall to the floor.
Ed Landis
. What in the world had happened?

_____

Miles’s voice was direct. “A preliminary investigation is already underway but it shows no indication of what caused the accident,” he said. She’d called him, crying, as soon as she’d been able to think. Minutes later he had found the grisly story.

“The air safety investigators took the wreckage to a secure area for more detailed examination,” he continued. “They’ll have a preliminary report in five to seven days.”

“The pilot?”

“An experienced and lifelong aviator.” He sighed. “I e-mailed one of my buddies at the National Transportation Safety Board and he’s already responded. He’s guessing mechanical failure. Even though these machines are inspected all the time, things happen.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Darby. I know this is a shock.”

“It’s just so random, Miles. I can understand crime—it’s the work of some pretty sick minds—but an accident like this? Out of the blue?”

“Yes, love, an accident.” He was quiet, knowing she was thinking of another accident, so many years ago …

“What about the formula? The missing piece?”

“Burned in the explosion. With Kenji’s death, this puts an end to the specter of a waterborne bubonic plague. That’s one blessing, at least.”

“My God.” Darby bent over and put her head in her hands, still cradling the cell phone with one hand. It felt like her lifeline to Miles and his soothing voice. “I can’t get Ed’s face out of my mind. His family—and the pilot’s—they must be devastated.”

“I expect so. Losing the ones you love is hell.”

Darby swallowed. The pain of her parents’ death at sea came back in a rush, the sensation deep, piercing, like a knife stabbing her very soul. She sat in the same kitchen where she had laughed with them so many times and felt the tears slide down her face. Her soft sobs were for Ed Landis, John and Jada Farr, Charles Dupont, and for the stark, cruel, unfairness of life.

And while she cried, Miles was there, at the other end of the line. Listening, comforting, and letting it all pour out.

_____

Bitsy balanced an egg and sausage casserole on her hip as she opened the door of Donny’s farmhouse. “Good morning,” she called, drawing it out into a sing-songy cry. She inhaled deeply. The air smelled of delicious brunch offerings—cinnamon, apple, and something else—lobster.

Darby Farr, wearing an apron emblazoned with the logo of the Hurricane Harbor Inn, came around the corner, a wooden spoon in hand. “Hey, Bitsy. Thanks for coming early to help. Bring that right on in here.”

Bitsy slid out of her boots and followed Darby to the kitchen. She noted the granite counters and gleaming new appliances. “Wow. This is a bachelor’s kitchen?”

“I know,” Darby said, peeking under the tin foil at Bitsy’s casserole. “Donny renovated last month as a surprise for Tina. He knows she loves to cook.” She pointed at the egg and sausage dish. “That looks delicious.”

“Thanks. Whatever you’ve got baking smells wonderful. Some sort of coffee cake?”

“Cinnamon apple cake,” she said, checking the oven. “I’ve made lobster crepes as well. I don’t know if you’ve ever met Alison Dyer, but she’s coming and bringing a fresh fruit salad. Terri Dodge and her husband are on their way with a big green salad and some blueberry muffins.” She thought a moment. “Donny’s on tap to make Bloody Marys.”

“This should be a wonderful welcome home party for Tina.” Bitsy’s face quickly clouded. “I still can’t believe what you and she went through. To think that crazy Connie almost killed you both.” She shuddered. “I brought that photograph if you want to see it.”

“Yes,” Darby said, keeping her thoughts focused on the brunch and not on Ed Landis’s death. “This is the perfect time.”

Bitsy found the black and white photograph on which Charles had scribbled “CR.”

Darby looked into the faces of Lorraine Delvecchio and Connie Fisher, whose name had then been Connie Robichaud. “So this is when it all started,” she said softly. “Connie stole money from the Battered Women’s group. Lorraine found out about the theft and stored it away in that superior memory. Connie married Scott Fisher, and when his star began rising, Lorraine began the blackmail.”

“All the others paid up and shut up, right?” Bitsy asked. “But not Connie. She got her brother to push Lorraine off the Breakwater.”

Darby put the photo down. “Yes, but that wasn’t enough. She convinced him to kill Chief Dupont, too.” She looked into Bitsy’s eyes, now clouding with sadness.

“You think it was Robichaud who shot Charlie, not the drug dealer.” The words came out slowly, painfully. She swallowed.

Darby nodded. “I’m afraid so, Bitsy.” She paused, looked into the widow’s troubled eyes. “Connie and her brother realized the Chief was determined to figure out the whole thing.”

Darby watched while the distraught widow took it in. She continued softly, “Robichaud tried to kill me on the ridge for the same reason. When he botched that, he killed himself. I wonder if we’ll discover Connie had a hand in that, too?”

“No!” Bitsy’s face was now horrified. “She wouldn’t kill her own brother?”

“I don’t know. Could she have slipped into the room, placed the gun in her brother’s hand, and pulled the trigger?”

“That would mean she was a cold-blooded murderer,” Bitsy breathed.

“Unfortunately we can’t use the past tense yet, Bitsy.” Darby’s face was grim. “Nobody’s caught her yet.”

The doorbell rang and Alison Dyer entered with a brightly colored fruit salad and a basket of fragrant muffins. Darby introduced Bitsy and the two women began chatting. A moment later, the oven’s timer sounded and Darby removed her cake, filling the whole house with the scent of cinnamon and apples.

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Bitsy offered, moving toward the door.

“Thought these might cheer Tina up,” Deputy Allen said, entering and holding out a bouquet of flowers and a bunch of balloons. “Something bright and cheerful, plus the latest report: Connie Fisher has been captured.”

“That’s the best news anyone could bring,” Darby said, wiping her hands on her apron as she came out of the kitchen. “Where was she?”

“Down in Massachusetts, trying to get on a plane for who knows where.” He smirked. “You know, I almost feel badly for her husband. He seems to have had no clue about any of this.”

“That’s love for you,” Bitsy said, taking the flowers. “I’ll find a vase for these and maybe you can tie the balloons on some of the chairs?”

Deputy Allen nodded. “Sure.”

Darby put on some music and set out her apple cinnamon cake. She’d no sooner backed away from the table than the door opened and Donny stood smiling with Tina on his arm.

“Hooray!” Bitsy yelled, clapping her hands.

Tina looked around the warm home. “Well, I can tell you one thing: it sure smells delicious. And after eating Manatuck Hospital’s food, I’m starved!”

The others laughed and helped the couple in. Donny set to work mixing Bloody Marys, and before long the little house was full of well-wishers. The atmosphere was light, although there was an undercurrent of disbelief around the actions of Connie Fisher, a woman they had all known and trusted, and for Darby, shock and sadness over the news of the helicopter crash. She’d tell Tina and Donny, but not today.