18

NEITHER THE DEPUTY NOR CHARLIE SPOKE A WORD as he was driven to the jail, where they entered through a back door and he was escorted to a small room with a single table and two chairs. Home sweet home, he thought, with a slight reversal of roles. One window had a view of what appeared to be a common room with some people coming and going, a couple of men at desks talking on telephones, a door that he assumed was to Chief Engleman’s office, and little else. Most of the people making busy were in uniform.

“Wait here,” the deputy told him, and he sat down and prepared to wait. He unwrapped the cellophane from the deck of cards, shuffled, and started to play solitaire. Now and then he stared at the wall that was more seriously in need of paint than the outer office and the chief’s office. Now and then someone appeared at the window to look in on him. He ignored them.

After a time someone brought in a cup of coffee and Charlie thanked him politely, played a nine of hearts, shook his head, and gathered the cards to shuffle again.

Proof, Charlie was thinking. That was the pisser. If A, then B, then C and so on, but the alphabet could be stretched to its limits and without proof, it was still just a bunch of letters. He laid out a new row of cards. Okay, he thought, from A to D or even L, just skip around a little bit… Or try A to A plus… He dealt out three cards, had no play, and gathered them all together again.

Eventually the door opened and a thin-faced man entered with another deputy. “DeLaura,” the sheriff said and took the chair opposite Charlie. He didn’t offer to shake hands and neither did Charlie. The deputy stood with his arms crossed. Both men looked tired.

DeLaura was about five nine, with a wiry build, a bony face, a receding hairline and in need of a shave.

“Where the hell were you all day?” he demanded.

“Riding around.”

“Give it to me. Last night, where you were from seven until you called Engleman out to the motel?”

“You mean he hasn’t told you? I thought for sure he would,” Charlie said and began to gather up the cards again. He shuffled them and laid out a new row.

“Look, Meiklejohn, I’m in no mood for fun and games. Cut the crap.”

“Sure. Seven. I’m trying to think of specific places and times. Millie Olaf’s bed-and-breakfast for a starting point. Sooner or later at Joey’s Hamburger and Steak House on the highway. I don’t recommend it. Too greasy. The Bainbridge place to confer with Mr. Paley. Then on to the motel. Sorry I didn’t keep a time log, but that’s how it goes. I seldom do and there can be serious regrets later, but I keep forgetting. I do know that it was ten forty when we got here. I checked. You do, you know, when you stumble across a homicide victim.”

“Why did you go to the motel?” DeLaura snapped, “And just tell it straight.”

“She asked me to.”

DeLaura seemed intent on outstaring him, and Charlie played his three cards, put down a jack, and waited.

Abruptly DeLaura jerked up from his chair, told his deputy to beat it, and stood at Charlie’s side for a moment as if he wanted to smash his face down to the table. “I could keep you on ice as a material witness,” he said. “I might even do it.” He walked to the door, back to his chair, and sat down again. “You played Engleman for a patsy last night. That fool didn’t even search you. Then you took off today for parts unknown.” He leaned back and said, “Let me tell you a story, Meiklejohn. The Bainbridge woman hinted more than once that she either knew who had the checks, or how to get her hands on them, but she didn’t know how to go about getting away with keeping them and needed your help. She got them and offered big money, maybe even to split the money with you and you jumped at the chance. You left the steak house and went to the motel, bashed in her head, and took the checks, then went on to the Bainbridge place. No one had to search you there, and you needed an alibi and saw to it that Paley and the watchman provided one. Then you roped in Engleman and walked out of there with five million dollars worth of cashier’s checks, and today you stashed them somewhere.”

#

Charlie whistled softly. “Wow! You did that all by yourself? I’m impressed.” He played a queen, laid out three more cards, and played a three. Without glancing at DeLaura, he commented, “I suppose you had forensics take the note pad by the telephone. We used to do that all the time, and as often as not they could recover the last number jotted down. Idle curiosity, of course, wanting to know who the victim might have called.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “Damn, I thought I had it this time. Hard to beat solitaire with a single deck.” He began to gather up the cards again. “I suppose that room is still sealed,” he said. “Oh, another thought came to mind. You probably already thought of it, though. Making sure pathology checks to see if any DNA from Eve Parish magically appeared in Pamela Bainbridge’s head wound. I assume it was the same length of rebar that did her in, don’t you? Almost impossible to clean something like rebar, don’t you think? I imagine the killer still has it tucked away somewhere. With so many deputies and media around, it would be risky heaving a bar like that into the lake. And our murderer might need it again, best to keep it handy.”

“If DNA tests out, we nail Bainbridge for two homicides,” DeLaura said.

“You’re already giving up on me? That was quick. He didn’t kill either one of them, of course, and you haven’t found the rebar yet, but what the hell.” He looked at DeLaura sympathetically. “So much to think about, isn’t it? That’s how it always goes. Too many things to keep track of.” He made a neat stack of the cards, put them back in the box and slipped it into his pocket. “Are we done here? You want my home address or phone number or anything? A reference or two? Or you might charge me with something and I’d call my lawyer and risk having a pretty damn mad attorney show up with his holiday weekend messed up.”

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Be seeing you,” Charlie said, rising. He walked through the common room, waved to a couple of deputies, and continued out to the street. He paused there to listen to his voice mail message from Debra Rasmussen. It was a brief, brisk message: “Mr. Meiklejohn, since the sheriff assures me that he’ll announce the conclusion of his investigations with an arrest very soon, there is no further need for you to continue your inquiries on behalf of Stillwater College.”

He whistled softly, then started a leisurely walk to the gingerbread house. He needed the exercise he told himself, and he still had some thinking to do.

#

When Constance pulled up at the Hammond house and got out of her car, she spotted a young man in a dark Ford also parked on the street. He left his car hurriedly as she turned toward the stairs to Jenna’s apartment.

“Is Ms. Parish going to make a statement?” he asked, rushing to get in front of her, snapping pictures with his cell. “What’s your name? Are you with the college?”

She didn’t speak or change her steady pace as she drew nearer to him, and at the last possible moment he moved aside.

“What do you think about what the curse?”

“Will there be a spokesperson for Ms. Parish?”

When she continued to ignore him and started up the stairs, he turned and went back to the street to snap pictures of the license plate on her car. Soon enough they’d know who she was, she thought, and knocked on the apartment door.

“It’s Constance,” she said and the door opened. She stepped inside and Jenna closed the door fast. She had been afraid that Jenna would be in tears again, but she wasn’t. She looked furious and defiant.

“It’s too damn much!” Jenna said, speaking fast. Her face was flushed. “Too goddamn much! He came here. Earl Marshall came here. I didn’t let him in, but he held the door long enough to say he wanted to extend his condolences, he was sorry for my loss, and would I please let him in to talk for just a minute or two. He said he wanted to explain something. I told him no, to leave me alone, and I pulled the door open a little and then slammed it hard. I hope I broke his toes. He kept knocking and talking through the closed door. I yelled at him to go away or I’d call the police.”

“Good for you,” Constance said. “That was just right.”

“Then, later,” Jenna said, as if Constance had not spoken, “Eve’s cell phone rang and it was him! He had the nerve to call on her phone! I didn’t answer and he left a message. How could he do a thing like that?”

“Is the message still there?” Constance asked.

“Yes. He doesn’t have a clue about anything. Didn’t he stop to think for just a second that doing that was inappropriate, even inhuman?”

“It appears that he seldom stops to think much about anything,” Constance said. “Let’s listen to the message.”

“Wait,” Jenna said. “There’s more. His sister called me on my cell phone. How did she get my number?”

Debra Rasmussen, Constance thought with regret. “I image she asked Dr. Rasmussen, and she didn’t see any reason not to tell her. Something like that. Did you speak with her?”

“No. There’s a message in my voice mail.” She had not moved from the kitchen yet, but now she walked ahead of Constance to the study where she turned. “You have to tell me what’s going on here. When I tried to go out this morning, there were a couple of reporters waiting, yelling questions at me, taking my picture. Did I think the curse was responsible for my sister’s death? Wasn’t I afraid here alone? How well do I know the Bainbridge group? More. I don’t even know what they were asking, what they were talking about. I ran back upstairs and closed the door. I feel as if I’ve blundered into someone else’s nightmare.”

“Jenna, let’s gather up all the tapes, Eve’s journal, her notebooks, that marked-up book, all of it and go to our room to talk. I’ll tell you what I know, and we’ll listen to the messages. At least you can get some fresh air without being set upon by reporters once we get there. And you certainly could use a glass of wine or something.”

Ten minutes later they went down the stairs, ignored the reporter, and got into Constance’s car. When she pulled away from the curb, the reporter followed.

In the mini-suite, Constance went straight to the table and poured two glasses of wine. “Fortify ourselves in order to listen to the messages,” she said, handing a glass to Jenna. “Let’s sit on the balcony.”

A breeze was rippling the water of the lake, and an occasional stronger wind gust created small waves. An ever-changing water dance, Constance thought, sipping wine as Jenna got out her the cell phone and turned on the voice mail. Earl Marshall’s voice was low, beautifully modulated with just the right balance of pleading and reasonableness.

“Ms. Parish, please just listen to me for a minute. When I agreed to be interviewed by your sister, it was because I found her very charming, young and eager to do a good job, and completely lacking a certain kind of fake sophistication that many young people assume is cool. She urged me to be candid, to speak openly, and we agreed that when she wrote her paper, she would submit it to me for any editing I felt appropriate. She expressed gratitude that I would be willing to read her final paper and edit it. I’m afraid that I took her at her word and I quite possibly was indiscreet at times. Now, with such tragically changed circumstances, I think it would be prudent to recover those taped interviews. With no control over who might hear them, who might use them for purposes I never intended, it would only be fair and just if you allow me to take the tapes, and most likely destroy them. I would be more than happy to pay you a reasonable sum for them. Say five hundred dollars, and if you think that is insufficient, I’d be quite willing to discuss other terms with you. Please, if we can meet and talk about this, let me make my case in person, I’m certain that you would understand my position and be sympathetic to it.”

Jenna sat stony-faced as the message played. When it ended, she lifted her glass and took a long drink of wine.

“He had part of it right,” she said. “Who knows who might listen to those tapes, or what use of them someone might make? I think he’s soulless. Offer a few hundred, collect them, be done with it.”

“I think he won’t give up, at least not yet,” Constance said. “Let’s hear what his sister had to say.”

Jenna put Eve’s cell back in her purse and brought out her own and started the voice mail.

“Ms. Parish, my name is Dorothy Dumond. I want to express my condolence for your loss. I am so sorry. I don’t know if your sister mentioned me, but I was one of the few people she had met here and I thought we might have a cup of tea or a drink and share my memory of her. It might comfort you to talk to someone who had spent a little time with her those last few days. She came to my house to buy a desk, and I found her charming and invited her to share a coffee. At that time she interviewed me. It was a most agreeable hour or so that we spent. Please call me at your convenience.” She gave her cell phone number and the call ended.

“Eve said that woman practically threw her out of the house, thinking she was a tabloid writer,” Jenna said. “She also said Dumond didn’t like her even after she knew better. Hypocritical bitch. What does she want with me? To plead Earl’s case for the tapes? I bet that’s it. She called about an hour after he did.”

“Probably that’s it,” Constance said, rising from her chair. “Sit still. I’m going to get some nibbles before we start on history, curses, and such.” She went inside and stopped at the table to make a note of Dorothy Dumond’s cell phone number, then went on to the refrigerator.

Taking a plate with cheese and crackers, nuts and apple slices, she returned to the balcony. “That’s better,” she said resuming her seat. Jenna helped herself to a cracker and cheese.

“This all started nearly thirty years ago,” Constance began. She kept it brief, sketching in the history of the Bainbridge family, the deaths of three young women, and the disappearance of one.

“So fast forward,” she said. “Now Andrea is nineteen, and she has received a full scholarship to Stillwater College… ”

When she finished telling about the death of Andrea Briacchi, Jenna gasped. “He killed her, too?”

“Her death was officially listed an accident,” Constance said. “I think we could use a refill.” She rose to get the wine.

“But he did,” Jenna said when Constance returned. “I don’t care about the so-called alibi. He did it and got away with it. And he killed my sister.”

“Anyway, the deaths of those young women account for the rumor of a curse. How Dorothy Dumond learned about those deaths is a mystery. It could be that she’s just a busybody with a lot of time on her hands. The drive-by shooting in New York might have made the news here and might have drawn her attention to the family. It’s possible that she made it her business to look up the others, or they might have been included in an article that she read. However that happened, she knew, and she told Andrea and a few others locally.”

For a time they were both silent. The wind had picked up and now there were more wavelets than ripples on the lake. The sun was very low with a thin cloud cover tingeing the light pale yellow. Rain would be moving in, Constance thought. Possibly a thunderstorm. She hoped it would hold off until after the concert scheduled for that night, hoped there would be no pyrotechnics to add to the fear and dread in the small town, throughout the campus, among the gathered parents already close to panic concerning their children.

“What about the fortune they’re talking about?” Jenna asked, breaking the silence. “And they said there was another killing, one of the Bainbridge family members. Constance, what is going on here now? Not a curse, not history, but right now.”

Constance told her about the will and the missing cashier’s checks. “That’s what brought us here in the first place,” she said. “I don’t know why someone killed Pamela Bainbridge, but you’re right, it has nothing to do with a curse. And what we do suspect is that it all ties into the death of Andrea Briacchi Marshall.”

“I’m going mad,” Jenna said after a moment. “None of that has anything to do with my sister. Eve had nothing to do with Andrea Briacchi Marshall, or with the Bainbridge group. Why did you tell me to bring that book Eve marked up? What does that mean?”

“I think it’s very important,” Constance said after a short pause. “I’d like to hold on to it for now.”

#

When Charlie drew near the gingerbread house, he saw a young woman with a microphone talking to a middle-aged couple standing by a pile of luggage at the side of an SUV. A photographer was taking pictures of the group.

The woman with the microphone turned toward him when he started up the walkway to the front door. “Sir, what do you think about the curse? Do you think there’s really a curse here?”

“Harrumph!” he harrumphed in his best manner. “Curses, witches, and hobgoblins, unicorns in the woods, mysterious lights emanating from the lake at midnight. Poppycock! Silly damn nonsense!” He unlocked the door and went inside.

Constance met him at the door of their mini-suite. He gave her a quick kiss, and withdrew the deck of cards from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. She looked from the cards to him and he nodded.

“Well, wash your hands and join us on the balcony,” she said. “I’ve been filling in Jenna on what’s been happening here.”

A few minutes later, carrying a drink that was not wine, he went to the balcony.

When Jenna turned questioning eyes to him, he said, “I’ve been having a chat with the sheriff. He is not a friendly fellow.”

Quickly Constance told him about the calls Earl Marshall and Dorothy Dumond had made. “So we came here where we’re unreachable,” she finished. “However, Alice has resigned possibly and I told the Bainbridge family that I would provide dinner of one kind or another, and it’s getting late. Lawrence suggested pizzas.”

“Junk food!” Charlie said with enthusiasm. To Jenna he added, “She won’t let me have junk food at home and I crave it. Day and night, month in month out, I crave junk food. It’s my comfort food. Now’s my chance. Let’s go shopping.”

Jenna stood and picked up her purse. “If you can drop me off at the apartment, I’d appreciate it,” she said in a low voice.

“No way,” Charlie said. “You’re with us. I wouldn’t think of leaving you alone with ravenous reporters about, to say nothing of Marshall and Dumond. My girl, it’s time you met the Bainbridge family. You can eat junk food with the rest of us.”

“No,” Jenna said. “I’d rather not. I want to go back to the apartment.”

Constance put her hand on Jenna’s arm and said, “I think it’s best for you to stay with us for now. There’s a murderer around who is both ruthless and cunning. Jenna, I believe you could be in danger. Whoever killed Eve had a reason and might think that whatever she knew, she told you. Or whatever she had, you might now have.”

Jenna paled, looked from Constance to Charlie, who had dropped his jovial manner and nodded.

“Also,” Constance said, “I’d like to lock up that book and those tapes in our suitcase. No one can enter this house without a key, and Millie Olaf and her husband run a tight ship. Your things will be safe here.”