Shattered Shell (24 page)

"You looking for Dougie?" she asked, voice rasping a bit.

"That we are," Felix said.

"You friends of his?"

"No, we're not," I said.

"Oh." She came closer. "You guys cops?" There was a hopeful tone in her voice.

"No," I said. "Should we be the cops?"

"Hah." She lowered the light and said, "I was just hoping, that's all. Dougie is a kind you always expect will be found in the back seat of a police cruiser, and I was kinda hoping this would be his night. Well, if you're not cops, who are you, then?"

I gave her my name and Felix's, and passed over my business card. 'We work for a magazine. We want to talk to him about a story we're doing. Are you his neighbor?"

"Sort of, though I don't like it," she said. "The name is McPurdy, and this is my land and my house here. Dougie is just a tenant, and I'm just waiting to tell him that it's time he be moving on. I don't like his kind."

Felix spoke up. "Is he in trouble, is that why?"

"Not that I know of," Meg said, patting the head of her dog.

"But I don't like his attitude, and I don't like the kind of fellas he's been hanging around. That's why I sent Krypton down here when I saw your lights. I thought it was Dougie coming home, or some' of his friends. Work for a magazine, eh? What kind of story?"

I looked over at Felix and looked back at Meg. "It's kind or confidential, but we're working on a magazine article involving a member of his family. We just want to talk to him, try to get some background information. Do you know when he might be back?"

"Dunno. He's been keeping odd hours, leaving in the middle of the day, coming back real late at night or early in the morning."

"Does he have a job?" Felix asked.

"So he says, and he tells me he works down at the docks in Boston, but I don't know of any job that he can keep such crazy hours. But he pays his rent every month --- mostly on time and with a money order --- so he does have some money coming in. I just don't see how he gets it, that's all."

I put my hands back in my coat jacket. "Is there a chance he'll be back tonight?"

"He could be," Meg said. "If he does come in, best thing for you to do is to come back real late tonight or real early tomorrow morning. That is, if it's important enough to bother him. Or you could just keep on trying to phone him, though I've seen times when I've called him and I know he's there, and he's just ignored the calls."

Felix nodded at me and I said, "I appreciate your time, and I'm sorry we made you come out here in the cold."

She waved a hand. "Not a problem, but do me one thing, will you?"

"Sure," Felix said.

"You chat to Dougie, you tell him I need to talk to him. I want him out of here."

"It's a deal," Felix said.

As she turned to walk back up to her house, I said, "Meg? Where did you get the name Krypton?"

She whispered something to the dog and the animal turned and stared at Felix and me, muscles trembling, lips pulled back, growling.

"That's why," she said. "I figure any superman type me or the dog runs into, Krypton will take care of him, real quick."

"Nice name," Felix said, and I couldn't disagree.

Back in my four-wheeler I had the heater on full and we stayed in the driveway for a few minutes, waiting for Doug Miles to show up, just talking. Funny thing about sitting like that --- the minutes seem to drag on as you wait for the heater to kick in, ready for the interior fill up with warm air, certain that you'll never be comfortable again. And in the space of a few minutes, you're nice and toasty and you forget you were ever cold, and you move on to other subjects.

Like Doug Miles.

"Well," I said. "What do you think?"

"Two things," Felix said. "First, I don't know if my feet will ever get warm again. Second, I don't know. Doug seems like an interesting character, and I'll leave it at that. I'm not going to get I riled about anything until I talk to him. But if you'd like, I can poke around, see what I can find out. He's sure making his landlord nervous."

"You want to wait for a while longer, see if he shows up?" '

'Yeah, but only for a bit," Felix said. "I need to get some food before I faint."

Long minutes drifted on by and I switched on the radio and I listened to some classical music and then I said, "To hell with it.  Maybe he's out partying or something, but I need to find a bathroom, and fast."

"You could always go behind the house," Felix offered.

"Sure," I said, backing up on the bumpy driveway. "Meeting Krypton with my pants around my knees sounds like a wonderful idea."

On the drive back we didn't say much of anything, just listening to the music and feeling our body parts thaw out. It was starting to snow and the news breaks within the music warned of a major storm heading up the coast. As we made our way up to Route I-A, looking at all the empty houses and cottages, and with me wondering which motel might go up in flames over the next few weeks, Felix said something that poked me, just a bit.

"What was that?" I asked, as we headed up past Weymouth's Point.

"Hunh?" Felix turned to me. "I said something like I bet you Diane will want to hear from us soon, one way or another, so she can get back to her life."

"I thought so," I said.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, just as we went by the intersection of High Street, where a few nights ago, a motel had burned to the ground. And Diane Woods had not been there, not for a while.

"Not yet," I said, slowing down behind a grumbling town plow, its amber lights flashing, working to widen the roadway. "Not yet."

When I got to Felix's house at North Tyler, I took him up on his offer to use his bath facilities, and I admired a new piece of artwork framed and hanging right next to the porcelain goddess: a sheet of U.S. currency, twenty-dollar bills, uncut and untrimmed. I wondered if it was his mad money.

Afterward he was in the kitchen, coat off and wearing jeans and a black sweater, working on the stove, whipping something up, and he looked at me and said, "Okay, give."

"What's that?"

He undid a wine bottle, poured me a glass of white wine, and passed it across the counter. "I said, what gives? About halfway through the trip you shut right up and didn't say another word.  Something's on your mind."

I sat on a stool and held the glass in both hands. Unlike my usually unused kitchen, Felix's place always contains an earthy scent of old spices and dishes, and the polished wooden cabinets contain dishes and cooking utensils that look like they belong on a home cooking show. He's an accomplished chef and sometimes that's enough to temporarily forget what he does for a living.

I said, "It's something you said, about Diane and getting back to work."

Felix was by the stove, switching on a burner. "All right. I said something about her getting back to work. Was that it?"

"Yep." I traced a finger around the rim of the wineglass. "I'm just hoping that you and I haven't been wasting our time looking in the wrong direction."

He looked a bit put back. "What do you mean? We've done everything right to the T. Started with the victim, talked to the landlord, neighbors, place where she works, and now we're wrapping it up with family members. How else could we have done it?"

The wine looked nice and cold. I looked up. "But we never talked to Diane."

He stood still by the stove, stirring spoon in his hand, looking steady at my face.

"I'll be damned," Felix said. "You're right."

Later we were at the dinner table, eating pasta with a light tomato sauce and a type of garlic bread made with goat's cheese that seemed to melt and ooze around in one's mouth. Felix said, "Talk to me some more. What do you think is up?"

"Nothing I can prove, but something we should look at," I said. "It's also going to be something that might be dangerous to do."

"Dangerous for you, or dangerous for the both of us?"

"Just for me," I said, twirling some of the pasta on a fork.

"Diane is a very private woman, and she won't be thrilled if questions start being asked about her."

"So tell me again, why would we be asking questions?"

I ate and swallowed and said, "Without getting into any of the details, let's just say Diane and Kara share a special friendship. Let's also say that what has happened to Kara has upset Dian tremendously, has almost ruined her life, and is also in the process of ruining her job as the sole police detective for Tyler."

"All right, those are all givens," Felix said. "What's next?"

"What's been going on around the same time Kara was raped and assaulted?"

He held his fork quite still. "The arsons."

"Right. Someone is merrily burning down Tyler Beach, and at the same time, the detective handling the case has her private life shattered. Her work has suffered, she can't concentrate, and some days she doesn't care who's burning down what."

"So an arsonist is also a rapist?" Felix asked. "That's a hell of a stretch."

"Right," I said. "But something ... I don't know. Something just seems odd there. I think it's worth a look. Tell you what, I'll take care of that, and in a day or two we chat with Doug Miles, and then it's a wrap, unless we come up with something new. Agreed?"

"Oh, I agree, but be careful. I'm going to leave that side of the house entirely up to you. Based on my background, I don't think the local police detective would be very happy with me looking into her personal life."

"Nice way of getting yourself out of that one," I said.

Felix nodded. "Thanks."

When I got up the next morning something was rattling the glass in my bedroom windows, and I sat up and saw only white. After putting on a bathrobe I stepped across the cold floor and observed that the local weather people were having a hell of a year: There was nothing to see except for flying flakes of snow. I showered and shaved and, after getting dressed, went downstairs. The snow was so thick and furious I could barely make out my private cove and the heaving gray waters of the Atlantic. At least six or eight inches were already piled up on my rear deck, and I knew I would have to go out soon to shovel that mess away. I shivered, looking at that marsh and unforgiving water, and imagined what it must have been like, years ago, coming across this ocean in a ship of wood and sails of' canvas. No weather tight cabins with central heating or hot water or TV. Just the unforgiving wind and cold.

I was deciding if it was worth going outside when the phone rang.

"Lewis? It's Paula. Surviving another lovely day of New Hampshire's finest weather?"

"I'm trying," I said. "Where are you? Still at home?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked. "This sucker is becoming a blizzard, and a blizzard is news, and so I'm at work. Listen, I've got some other news for you, and it isn't good."

"Go ahead."

She sighed. "I've spent hours looking into everything about those motels, and I didn't find a single connection. Not a one. I started by looking at each set of minutes, to find out what motels were up for discussion. The first step was easy, because each owner was represented by a lawyer, and that's mentioned right up front. But nobody was sharing the same law firm. Then I went to the town hall and got copies of their construction applications, and still not a thing. They all used different bankers, different architects, different contractors. The only connection I could find is the basic thing, that they were up for a planning board review for some type of work, either renovation or conversion to condos. But they didn't share banks, lawyers, architects, or even landscapers. Zero."

"Any other leads out there that you see?"

Another sigh. "Not a one. Look, do you realize how many hours I spent chasing down this information? And do you think Rollie is going to be happy if he ever finds out the time I wasted doing research for a story that's never going to come together?"

A stronger gust of wind rattled the sliding glass doors to the roar deck. "You didn't waste time, Paula. You were tracking down loads and you were able to eliminate some possible motives, some possible areas of inquiry. I don't call that wasted."

"How nice of you to say that," she said, with exaggerated politeness. "Glad I made your job easier with all my hours of work."

I walked over to the sliding glass doors, trailing the phone in my hand. "Last I remembered, you and I were having dinner III your place, just before the Crescent House burned down, and you said you were going to break this story. I don't remember you saying that you were going to give it to the local columnist for
Shoreline
."

A bit of a pause. "You're right. Sorry. I've got stories backed up and I'm stuck at a drafty newspaper office in the middle of a blizzard, and I really wanted that arson story wrapped up. Some thing about a corrupt contractor burning down buildings or the like. Would put a nice shine to this lousy winter, and it fell through. Not your fault."