Final Settlement (24 page)

“Did the Chief seem satisfied with what Marcus said?”

“I think so. He was pleased. Well, not really pleased, but content. Like whatever he heard made sense.” She drew in a breath. “Charles was trying to help.” She turned her face away, her voice shaking. “He always wanted to help. That’s why he agreed to go with the Manatuck police. But why today, of all days?”

Darby shook her head and hugged Bitsy hard. She had no answers for the sobbing woman, and no way to make the truth any less painful.

_____

The fabric of any small town is tightly woven, and when that town is an island, the threads are even more closely constructed. Chief Dupont’s death in the line of duty shook every resident, from the postmistress who read about it in an e-mail, to the busboy waiting on a whispering couple at the Café. Stopping at the island’s one convenience store to get gas for the car, Darby and Miles saw in the shocked faces of the storekeepers that the news of their police chief’s passing was a bitter blow.

Miles thumped a carton of ice cream on the counter and pulled out his wallet. “It’s good for what ails you,” he said gently, in answer to Darby’s raised eyebrows. He paid for his items, and then grabbed the carton and his change. “You ate next to nothing today. A little ice cream is not going to kill you.”

Darby winced at his words but Miles didn’t notice. Instead, he looked at her thoughtfully as they climbed into the Jeep.

“What about this Marcus fellow, the one the Chief was questioning?” Miles started the Jeep. “Seems like he could be our ‘ML’ from the list.”

“I suppose.” Darby gazed vacantly at the parking lot as Miles backed up. She felt his look of concern. “What?”

“You’re utterly exhausted. I’m sorry I even brought up the whole thing. Tell you what, we’re going back to the house, curling up on the couch with some Moose Tracks and an old movie. Everything else can wait until the morning.”

“Moose Tracks?”

“Chocolate ice cream with marshmallow, fudge, peanut butter, and who knows what else. I hear it’s absolutely smashing.”

“Okay.” She sighed and leaned against Miles’s shoulder. Did she even care what the Chief had discovered at the jail? The man was dead. He had been her friend as well as a last link to her parents. She felt a deep grief, so profound that she could not imagine it ever disappearing.

_____

Bitsy’s stepson Derek gave her something to help her sleep. He was a doctor in New Hampshire, and explained that he’d call in a prescription the next day, but for now she should take a mild sedative so that she’d be able to rest.

He had been so kind, he and his wife, as well as Charles’s daughter, Alana and her partner, Rosemary. Bitsy had been dreading their arrival, expecting them to somehow blame her for their father’s death, but neither one had said an unkind word. Instead, they had treated her with compassion. And she, in turn, was trying to comfort them.

“He was a wonderful father,” she blurted out at one point, quickly glancing to see how the kids would react.

“He was,” agreed Alana. She glanced at her toddler son, careening around on the living room rug. “And a good grandfather.” She smiled sadly at Bitsy. “I have some cute photos of Dad with Jonas. I’ll send them to you.”

Bitsy nodded numbly. Apparently Charles had phoned both his son and his daughter after Donny’s wedding to tell them about her return. According to Alana, he’d also told them that he was taking their stepmother back, that he’d forgiven Bitsy, and wanted her company.

Bitsy hadn’t dared ask what they had responded. She was brave, but not that brave.

Now she watched little Jonas crawl determinedly toward Rosie, a look of stern concentration on his round, ruddy face. Rosie greeted the baby with a furiously wagging tail and a huge lick of his drool-splattered chin. Alana looked on, amused.

Bitsy rose unsteadily to her feet, wondering if the sleeping pill was already taking effect. “I’m going upstairs,” she announced. “The candlelight vigil …”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alana said softly. “Derek and I will be here.” Islanders would soon gather in front of the house to show sorrow over their Chief’s death, but Bitsy didn’t think she could bear it.

“Do you have everything that you need?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” assured Alana. She scooped up little Jonas and came to her, the baby clinging to an outthrust hip. “Goodnight,” she said softly, leaning close to kiss Bitsy’s cheek.

“’Night,” Bitsy managed, the tears rolling slowly down her face.

_____

Darby awoke on Monday morning before Miles and crawled quietly out of bed. She tossed on a robe and slid into her slippers, heading down to get a fire going and the coffee on.

Then she remembered.

Chief Dupont is dead.

Darby staggered on the last few stairs, grabbing the worn banister for support. All the strength drained from her legs and they buckled below her.

She lurched to the loveseat. It was too painful, too horrible, a gaping, fresh, and yet somehow familiar wound, as if a lance were ripping apart her very soul once again.

She buried her head in her hands. Her hair made a black curtain, closing her off from the rest of the room. Darby felt more alone than she had in a long time. Alone and afraid.

A moment later, she was amazed to hear something as ridiculous as the ring of her cell phone. Despite herself, she lifted her chin and glanced at the display.

Tina Ames.

“We’re an hour from Westerly,” the redhead said, ignoring the usual convention of saying good morning or hello. “Donny’s done an amazing job of driving through the night, and I’m so grateful. I can’t wait to be back on Hurricane Harbor.” She paused. “How is she?”

Darby swallowed. “Bitsy can’t believe it—no one can.”

Tina’s voice was grim. “Tell me about it. Try hearing the news when you’re a gazillion miles away.” Donny said something in the background, but Darby couldn’t make it out. “You okay?”

Darby held her breath, unable to answer.

“Darby? You still there?”

“Tina—I want to sell this house.”

“What? Why?”

“It was a mistake to think I could come back here.”

“Darby, listen. You’re in shock. We all are.”

“I can’t go through this again. I just can’t.”

“Look, you were close to Chief Dupont. His death’s gonna hit you hard. Don’t make any decisions right now.” She paused. “Where’s Miles?”

“Upstairs.”

“Go be with him. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m—I’m fine. I just realize that I don’t belong on Hurricane Harbor. I never did.”

“Darby …” This time it was Miles who spoke, Miles who was beside her, scooping her into his powerful arms, and muttering to Tina that he’d take it from there.

_____

Cradling their coffee cups and bundled in their coats, Darby and Miles trudged through the snow and across the plowed road to the cove. They stood in silence on the smooth sand, the steam from their cups circling upward, the sounds of the morning muted as if in mourning.

“He asked me if I wanted to hear some stories about my parents,” Darby said, her voice breaking. “Now I’ll never get the chance.” She pulled her eyes from the placid water and searched Miles’s rugged face. “Listen to how selfish I sound. How can you even stand it?”

“It’s not selfishness speaking. It’s grief, darling.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s damn difficult, this journey we’re on. We love and we lose. And we think we’ll never love again because it hurts so badly.”

She moistened her lips. “I find myself thinking that if I avoid all this—” she swept her gloved hand around the cove—“then I can forget how sad it makes me feel.”

“Hence your busy life in California.”

She nodded. “The thing is, I was just starting to remember the good things about Hurricane Harbor. The times I spent here in this cove, hunting for beach glass.”

“Did you find any?”

“Yes.” She smiled sadly. “Is that it, Miles? Have I been living my life avoiding the pain, and in the process, shutting off all the happy memories, too?”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to do that, Darby, and you probably won’t be the last.” He gave her a gentle hug and their coffee cups clacked together. “I’d like to find some of that beach glass myself, you know? When it’s not quite so bloody cold.”

Together they turned from the water. The low farmhouse with its twin maples rose before them, surrounded by snow, smoke curling from the chimney.

“Shall we go home?” Miles asked.

Darby nodded and moved forward.

_____

A fresh cup of coffee in hand, Darby sat down to try calling the Manatuck County Correctional Facility.

The phone rang only once before a phone tree inviting her to press one for English met her ears. She pressed one and continued listening and pressing buttons until she finally reached a real person.

“Manatuck Correctional.” The voice was flat and tired.

“Hello. I’m wondering if you have an inmate named Marcus? His last name would start with an ‘L’ .”

“What is this, a treasure hunt?” he said. “We don’t have anyone with a first name of Marcus. Sorry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Lady, I’ve worked here for two years and I know all our guys. We’ve only got a couple hundred. Sorry.”

She hung up and turned on her computer. Maybe Bitsy had been mistaken, and the name had not been Marcus at all.

A footfall made her look up. Miles, his arms full of wood, was heading toward the fireplace.

“What are you up to?”

“Trying to find this Marcus Somebody. I’m doing a search right now.”

“Perhaps Marcus is the surname,” Miles suggested, releasing the logs on the hearth.

“Hmmm … good idea.” After a few moments, she leaned back, a triumphant grin on her face. “Miles, you’re brilliant! Here’s a story on Leonard Marcus. He’s serving time for drunk driving but has been indicted by the federal government for money laundering and a long list of other offenses, all tied to a fraudulent insurance scheme.”

“I like the idea of being brilliant,” Miles joked. “Wonder what the connection with Lorraine is?”

“That I don’t know,” Darby admitted. “Feel like a trip to the jail with me later on to find out?”

He leaned in to kiss her. “Sure, if you will be the jail bait.”

She put down her coffee mug. “I thought you British men were supposed to be so proper and correct.”

He eased toward her on the couch. “A common misconception, I’m afraid.”

She pushed the computer to the floor and pulled him closer. Kissing Miles felt good, as if it could make the pain of Charles Dupont’s death disappear, at least for a while. Seconds later they both yanked off what little clothing they were wearing. As the fire crackled and hissed before them, Darby and Miles temporarily forgot their grief and engaged in some early morning exercise of the romantic kind.

_____

The phone rang as both of them were toweling off from a shower.

“We’re here,” Tina announced, her voice sounding resigned, yet strong. “Just about to head over to see Bitsy.”

Darby glanced at Miles’s naked body. “We’re not quite ready.”

“Don’t hurry over on my account. I’ve got Donny. He’ll hold my hand.” She paused. “You doing okay?”

“Much better.”

“Good. Hey, what ended up happening with Alcott Bridges’s house? When do we list it?”

Darby bit her lip. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Tina that she’d likely alienated Bart Anderson with her pointed questions. “Haven’t heard yet, but Tina, I’m afraid I—”

“Hang on, Donny is yelling something.” Darby heard muffled voices. In an instant, she was back. “Darby, my cell is ringing. It might be Bart Anderson as we speak. Gotta go!”

Click.

Darby winced, wondering how annoyed Tina would be. She sighed and was about to brush her teeth when the phone rang again.

“Popular girl, aren’t you?” Miles teased. He’d put on some clothes but still looked good to Darby.
Get a grip,
she told herself.
You’re like a love-struck teenager
…

She checked the caller and groaned.
Tina.

The redheaded agent wasted no time.

“Okay, I’m annoyed about Alcott Bridges’s house!”

Darby steeled herself. The expensive champagne had obviously not done the trick.

“Tina, I know I screwed up. I—”

“You bet! I leave you in charge for two days and look what happens.”

“Well, I—”

“I
never
take a commission of less than six percent, never, and you told this guy five and a half! For goodness sake, Darby, how are we supposed to make any money?”

“You mean we’re getting the listing?”

“Of course we’re getting the listing. Who else? Babette Applebaum? Give me a break.” Tina snorted in disgust. “You’d better have given me a fabulous wedding present. I haven’t opened them up yet, but it had better be good.”