Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky (26 page)

My efforts weren’t lost on her. “Don’t bother struggling with those ropes. I made sailor’s knots. You’ll never get out.” She checked her watch again and said, “Tide’s perfect. Let’s do it.” With that, she yanked the rope, causing me to fall back. Frigid sea water seeped into my clothes. Flat on my back, I looked up at the stars, my eyes filling with tears. The night had never looked more lovely. I thought about my dad and Chester, Betty Ann and Kevin.

With my last reserve of strength, I cried out, “Please, Martha! Please.”

She gave the rope a savage tug. Currents of pain shot up my legs as I was being dragged through the shallows. Waves lapped my chin. One splashed full in my face. “Help me! Somebody help me!”

Martha stopped, breathing heavily. She looked up and down the shore. “This is a good spot. “She lifted her foot and placed it on my chest. I thrashed in the water, fighting the ropes that bit into my wrists. “It’s nothing personal, McNichols,” she said. “You chose the wrong cause when you came after me. You ought to know I stop at nothing.”

The pressure of her foot increased, forcing me deeper into the water. An incoming wave washed over my face. I gulped sea water, coughing and gagging and gasping for air. Still the unrelenting waves continued. Water ran into my nose and ears.

Just as the surf washed over my head, the pressure suddenly lifted from my chest. I managed to scramble to a sitting position before an incoming wave hit me full force. I rolled over and over, yet somehow managed to get to my knees.

I looked around, panting, the salt water stinging my eyes. Martha was flying down the beach as fast as she’d run back in high school as captain of the girls’ field hockey team. If that wasn’t cause enough for rejoicing, another amazing spectacle was unfolding up in the dunes. A giant pig, his body gleaming in the moonlight, slid down the sands. The pig was followed by leaping, tumbling and rolling bodies.

Some took off after Martha. One ran straight toward me.

For the second time that night I came to on the sands. This time it wasn’t Martha Farley hovering over me, but Cal Devine. He straddled my body, pressing strong, warm fingers into my neck. When I tried to speak he said, “Quiet. I’m checking your pulse.” I didn’t protest. It was heaven lying on dry sand. “Let’s get you to the hospital,” Cal said, crouching to pick me up. When he got to his feet, he staggered. “You’re heavier than you look, kid.”

“Someone else mentioned that tonight,” I said, glancing around. “Where is everybody?”

“If you mean the students, they’re chasing Martha Farley.”

He carried me across the sand. On the way we passed the pig lying on its side. “Cal?” My voice was weak.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get someone to pick it up,” he said. “And don’t talk. You’ve got a head wound.” In the clearing, the cruiser was parked behind the red van. “How’d they steal it?” I asked as he lowered me into the front seat.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we reach the hospital.”

I leaned my head gingerly against the seat. “Don’t be hard on them. If they hadn’t shown up here, I’d be rolling out with the tide right now.”
En route to the Azores,
I thought, remembering the helpless feeling of being bound in the water. I shivered, and seconds later my body shook uncontrollably.

Immediately, Cal stopped the car and leaped out. He appeared at my side with a blanket. “Hypothermia. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Cal, you’re a married man,” I said, closing my eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said, unbuttoning my blouse, “I’d never take advantage of a woman covered in sand.”

Fortunately, Doc Moss was on duty when Cal carried me into the emergency room. Immediately, a gurney arrived to whisk me off to X-ray. After that, I found myself back in the emergency unit lying on a table inside a curtained enclosure. Someone shook my shoulder. I looked up into the face of Marcie Devine.

“Sorry Rose, you can’t sleep yet. I have to shave your head.”

“My whole head?”

She smiled. “Just in the back.”

Doc Moss entered, pushing aside the curtains. “We checked your x-rays, Rose. Your skull’s intact, but you need a couple of stitches. Because it’s a head wound, I’m admitting you overnight to keep an eye on you.”

Marcie vanished and reappeared, rolling a cart. On it was a tray containing an assortment of sharp, gleaming instruments that caused me to look away. She sat me up and dabbed the back of my head with cold antiseptic. “How many stitches?” I asked, my voice sounding like an eight years old’s.

Doc Moss patted my knee. “Four or five. Be thankful for that thick Irish skull.”

As Marcie silently clipped my hair, I wondered if she’d seen Cal carry me into the emergency room. When she finished shaving the area, Doc Moss took her place. “This might sting a bit,” he said, brandishing a hypodermic needle.

“Owww!” I squeaked, drumming my fists on my knees. Marcie slipped a hand into mine. I squeezed it until the injections ceased and the Novocain started taking effect. At some point while Doc Moss sewed me up, she left the cubicle. By then I barely felt the needle, outside of some tugging.

“Good girl,” he said when the last bandage was in place. “Someone will take you to your floor. In the meantime, a police officer outside wants to talk to you.”

When he opened the curtain, Cal entered. “You’ve got five minutes,” Doc Moss said. “This young lady’s had a rough night.”

Cal nodded and yanked the curtains shut. “I like your headdress,” he said, pulling up a chair.

I touched my head. It felt like a padded gourd. “What’s going on?”

“I just talked to the chief. The kids caught up with Martha. They tackled her, even brought her in. First thing she did was call Spence. The chief wants a statement from you tomorrow morning.”

“I hope you told him how Martha tried to drown me. If you hadn’t come along, she would have succeeded. Not only that, she’s responsible for the deaths of Rusty and Dr. Klinger.”

His eyebrows shot up. “She admitted that?”

“Not in so many words, but she didn’t deny it, either. She drugged the liquor that sedated them, the bottle in Dr. Klinger’s office, and Rusty’s as well. Then she whacked them with the same wooden mallet she used to whack me. Can you locate it?”

“Easy, girl. How’d she happen to club you?”

“I was looking in her car.”

“You realize that Spencer will hire the best criminal lawyer in Boston. They’ll probably claim that Martha mistook you for an intruder… which you were.”

“I was peeking in her car. That’s no reason to club and drown me.”

He held a finger to his lips. “Let’s talk about it later, okay? Doc Moss wants you to stay quiet.”

“What about the mallet? Can they do DNA testing?”

“I seriously doubt Martha would keep a weapon lying around. My guess is she went sailing and tossed it overboard. If she committed the crimes, that is. It’d be tough to prove.”

“Dr. Klinger was a threat,” I said, “not only to Martha’s marriage but to Cormorant Cove, her potential development.”

“Dr. Klinger was more a threat to Bunny Alfano, who was running for the same office,” he said.

“But Cal, I have proof it was Martha.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doris Zack confirmed it. The night Dr. Klinger was killed, she’d had a drink with Spencer. Then his mug was returned to his office. Spencer hadn’t returned the mug, and Dr. Klinger hadn’t returned it, so who did? Martha, obviously. She was there, and she reacted automatically, putting it back in his office to protect her husband.”

“Mug? What are you talking about?”

“I’ll go into the details later, but while we’re on the subject, what about the rock thrown in my car window? Her prints will be on that.”

Cal got to his feet. “Doc Moss said five minutes. You need to rest.”

I grabbed his sleeve. “You turned the note over to the lab, didn’t you?”

“I meant to tell you about that.”

“About what?”

“That note wasn’t from Martha.”

“Who was it from?”

“Marcie.”

“Marcie!”

“Not so loud. I suspected Marcie all along. For one thing, the spelling. The word ‘value’ had no E. That’s just the way Marcie writes, in a rush, abbreviating words.”

“Marcie admitted it?”

He nodded. “I confronted her.”

“So that’s why she was nice to me tonight.”

“We had a long talk, something we haven’t done in years. Neither of us wants to end the marriage or hurt the kids. We’re getting back together.”

“That’s very unprofessional, Cal Devine, withholding evidence.”

He winced. “I know, honey, but it was a domestic issue. No sense wasting the state’s money on unnecessary testing.”

“Before you go, tell me how the high school kids managed to outsmart you tonight.”

He groaned. “Someone called the station to say there’s a body lying alongside Brightside. Since the dispatcher knew I was in the area, he called me. I left Stella’s for a quick check, long enough to determine there was no body. When I got back, sure enough, a pig was gone. They used a blowtorch on the chains.”

“You don’t have to worry about Stella’s wrath now that you’re transferring to a new department.”

“It’s not official yet. It might never happen.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He shrugged. “For one thing, chasing the kids at the beach tonight, I got a little winded. Can you imagine what shape I’d be in if I took a desk job?”

I took his hand. “I’m glad you were on duty tonight, Cal. You saved my life. Will you do me a favor before you go?”

“Ask, honey.”

“Will you call Betty Ann and ask her to let Chester out? I don’t know what time they’re releasing me.”

“She’ll be happy to do it. Did you know that Tiny’s kid Jonah is a hero?”

“Jonah?”

“When we couldn’t locate Buster Moles, we got a search warrant to go inside and try to find the dog’s records. We found them, all right, along with a few other things, such as the high school principal’s car. The serial number had been filed off. It was ready to be shipped off to the islands. Behind that tall fence Buster was running a busy chop shop.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the mayor’s SUV was stolen, too,”I said. “As for Jonah, does this mean the dog won’t be put down?”

He nodded. “He’s at the shelter, and guess who wants to adopt him?”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Jonah.”

“Betty Ann doesn’t need a pit bull at this point in her life.”

“Apparently the dog’s a big teddy bear off duty. Jonah’s naming him Sparky.”

“It’ll make a great story for the paper,” I said, yawning.

“And I know just the person to write it,” he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

After Cal left I rested, listening to the hospital’s night sounds: the hurried footsteps, muted voices and the intercom’s incessant messages. In another cubicle, a child cried. In response, someone sang a song, a lullaby about the moon, the stars, and a silver comet come to Earth. I pulled the flannel blanket to my chin and before long drifted off to sleep.

“Rose, you finally got rid of that nest.”

I turned in my chair to face Stewart. “What nest are you talking about?”

“The one you’ve been wearing these past weeks.”

“If you’re referring to my hairpiece, I no longer need it. My hair’s grown back.”

“I know why you got rid of it,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“Ever since the Women’s Professional League named you Woman of the Year, your head’s been swollen.”

Yvonne spoke up. “Don’t tease Rose. This newspaper shares her honor as well.”

“Thanks, Yvonne,” I said, although I wondered how honored she’d feel had Martha Farley pulled her ads. Incredibly enough, her real estate agency is still conducting business, although Martha keeps a low profile while out on bail. Judging by the way her lawyers keep continuing the court date, we’ll all be in nursing homes by the time the case goes to trial.

In any event, it’s out of my hands. Although Martha wasn’t implicated in the murders, she’s no longer involved in Settlers Dunes. Neither is Bunny, who immediately distanced himself from “Mad Martha,” as the tabloids called her.

In a heaven-sent development, the Klingers stepped up to the plate. After my story, “An Unimagined Death,” appeared in Bay State Living, the TV show New England Ventures got into the act. The Martha scandal helped. They did a feature on Granite Cove, touching on the plight of Settlers Dunes.

That’s when the Klingers got involved. Soon the site will be home to the Vivian Klinger Marine Preserve. The plans call for an environmental educational center complete with museum, research lab, classrooms and scholarships for budding marine scientists.

For me, being named Woman of the Year was frosting on the cake. Okay, maybe I got the sympathy vote. I’m not complaining. Recently, I bought a small recorder to practice my acceptance speech while driving. President Bush didn’t devote as much time to his inaugural address, B.A. says. Just so I don’t miss anything, Brandi’s promised to tape it. She’s majoring in film studies at the community college. By all accounts, she’s something of a tech whiz.

Occasionally, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Life is funny. Sometimes it seems intent on breaking you; other times it hands you a break. When the latter happens, go with it, and let it work its magic. Or as my dad is fond of saying, “When your ship comes in, don’t be in the bathroom with your pants down.”

Dear Auntie Pearl:

I play bridge once a month with a group of retired women from my neighborhood. We take turns hosting while each member brings dessert. Last week, when Loretta hosted at her house, I brought prune squares. The next day, realizing I’d left the platter behind, I asked my husband to pick it up on the way back from his walk.

He returned two hours later, saying he’d helped Loretta install a grab bar on her tub. (Loretta’s husband died last year.) Not long after that, he greased and tightened the coils on her overhead garage door.

I didn’t think much about it until my husband began going over there more and more. He put a washer in a bathroom faucet, put batteries in her cable remote, carried a large jade tree to the patio, etc. When I put my foot down and forbade him to go to Loretta’s house, he stormed out. The next day he vanished—along with Loretta.