A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 3

  Connecticut? Darby's confusion had turned to anger over her friend's abrupt departure. Why didn't she tell me? She didn't even say goodbye ...

  After a month, she was over her anger, and phoned Mrs. Trimble for Lucy's address at her new school.

  "It's best if you don't contact her at all," Lucy's mother answered crisply. "Her adjustment will be hard enough without hearing from her island friends."

  Island friends. She'd said it like Darby carried a disease her precious Lucy could catch. Darby, dejected, told herself she'd lost her friend forever.

  Unlike her brothers, Lucy didn't stay behind the ivy walls. Whatever the reason for her foray into the world of boarding school, it was a short tenure. By the following summer, Lucy Trimble was back on the island and enrolled in the senior class at Hurricane Harbor High. And yet she had changed ...

  Darby's initial delight at the return of her friend turned quickly to despair. Lucy Trimble had transformed into someone Darby barely recognized. Frequently drunk or stoned, even in class, her friend exhibited all the classic symptoms of chemical addiction, but no one-not even her parents-seemed to care or comment on her bizarre behavior. That was the summer she became an addict, Darby realized with a pang.

  I could have done something to help her. I could have told someone...

  The flight attendant interrupted her thoughts with the offer of a refill. Darby accepted more coffee and went back to looking at the documents spread before her.

  It was clear from the contract that Peyton Mayerson was buying Fairview to operate a wedding retreat, something the company name indicated as well. Pemberton Point Weddings was an apt choice. Even though the estate was named Fairview and locals referred to it as "the Trimble place," the beautiful promontory which jutted out from the property into the crashing surf was known as Pemberton Point. No doubt the promontory would be the spot where lucky brides and grooms would pose for their wedding photos, perhaps even take their vows.

  A glossy four-color photograph caught Darby's eye. It was an advertisement for Fairview, and penciled in the margin were the two publications in which it had run: the New York Times and Boston Magazine. Pretty pricey advertisements, Darby knew, but demographically perfect for a buyer of this ilk. Darby regarded the photograph with a critical eye. She saw a magnificent structure, with eight bedrooms, a giant wraparound porch filled with wicker rocking chairs, and several jutting eaves. Fair-view's symmetry and design were truly unparalleled.

  Darby recalled what she knew of the property's history. Built in the style of the sprawling, shingle-style mansions of the turn of the century, the house was the residence of a notoriously cantankerous steel baron from Pittsburgh, the great-grandfather of Lucy and Mark's mother. According to local legend, the gentleman was asked by a Pittsburgh newspaper reporter to describe the view from his dwelling's huge porch. Looking out upon the crashing surf and massive boulders, a sight that anyone would find divine, the man waved a dismissive hand and pronounced the view "fair." Or so the story claimed.

  Darby remembered the home's high ceilings, ornate ballroom, and sweeping main staircase. Fairview was a gem, and Jane Farr had marketed it as such. No one who sees Fairview forgets her, read the advertisement on her lap. Darby had to admit that her aunt's sappy copy was probably dead on.

  She glanced over the property description detailed in the listing packet. A multitude of outbuildings dotted the property's twenty acres, and all of them were conveyed with the sale. A guesthouse, gardening cottage, garage, and caretaker's house, along with a fanciful gazebo, were listed as part of the property inventory. Darby found a release from the buyer concerning the condition of the entire property. It seemed all of the buildings had been scrutinized by Pemberton Point Weddings' team of building inspectors and deemed satisfactory.

  Darby gathered up the papers. She was still drowsy, but now that she'd done her homework, sleep was an appealing option. As she tried to slip the papers into the envelope, she met with resistance. Something was stuck at the bottom.

  Reaching in, her fingers touched a piece of paper. It was an index card, three by five inches, without lines. In handwriting Darby recognized as belonging to her aunt was scrawled a single line: Subject to planning board approval for zoning change and liquor license by 6/21. The sentence was initialed by "PM," "MT;" and "LT."

  Darby frowned. The index card appeared to be an amendment to the contract, although it was a highly unusual and sloppy one. What could her aunt have been thinking, using such vague language? An index card? And yet Darby knew of multimillion dollar deals that had been scribbled on paper napkins ...

  She looked back at the purchase and sale agreement, but saw no reference to a planning board meeting. Apparently this little scrap of paper represented an unmet condition to the contract. A planning board meeting on the twenty-first of June. That's tomorrow, she realized with a shock.

  The transaction was not quite a "done deal" as Tina had said. The zoning change was no doubt to modify the current residential status of Pemberton Point to commercial, since Pemberton Point Weddings was to be more than just a home business. Certainly a liquor license was a key component in Peyton Mayerson's plans to host elaborate and expensive weddings. Darby knew that, although a few towns in Maine were still "dry"-meaning alcoholic beverages could not be sold within the city limits-Hurricane Harbor was not one of them. Generations of cocktail parties, dances, and wild nights at the town's bar had seen to that.

  Nevertheless, the successful sale of Fairview was now contingent upon the common sense of a group of volunteers, serving on a town committee that met once a month to decide issues of licensure and zoning. These islanders would listen to the proposal to modify the zoning code, as well as for a permit to serve and sell alcohol, and then they would vote. It was a process as old as democracy itself, and one, Darby realized with a sinking heart, over which she had no control.

  She leaned back in the airplane seat and closed her eyes. Worry was settling like a wet blanket on her shoulders, weighing her down with a damp feeling of doom. She exhaled slowly and tried to relax, but one question kept pounding at her brain. What in the world am I doing?

  Two

  TINA AMES WAS TALL and thin, with a long, straight nose and large dark sunglasses, which she sported inside the terminal although it was nearly ten P.M. She carried a large turquoise pocketbook over one shoulder and a can of Diet Coke in her hand. Her hair was a mass of red curls in a shade that nearly matched her long fingernails.

  "Knew it was you," she said, extending her free hand and shaking Darby's vigorously.

  "How? Because I'm the only Asian woman in the airport?"

  Tina gave her a sharp look. "Nah, I've seen your picture. You look pretty much the same as the one Jane's got in her office. Still got the long hair, the pretty almond eyes..." She contemplated Darby for a moment and then cocked her head to the side, like an egret on the lookout for a school of minnows. "You look a little older. Wiser, maybe. Where's your other bag?"

  She lifted her duffel. "I've got everything with me. I'm only here for a few days."

  Tina Ames pursed her lips and said nothing. She turned and began to walk toward the exit doors, her heels clicking on the hard floor of the terminal.

  Darby watched her walk away. After a few seconds, Tina stopped and turned around.

  "Let's get a move on. You're on the clock, you know."

  "When is my flight back?"

  "You really want to discuss this now?"

  "I do. You've dragged me all the way across the country. I'm not going a step farther until I know when my flight back is booked."

  Tina shook her head slowly and looked off to the side. "Well, that depends."

  "On what?"

  "On whether you plan to stay for your aunt's funeral."

  "She's not-"

  "Not yet. But the doctor says it could be any time." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and Darby could see that beneath the sunglasses they were red from crying.

  The two wom
en stood for a moment. Darby absorbed the news of her aunt's condition and tried to think about her options. She was a master negotiator, and part of her talent was knowing when to back down-at least for the moment. "Look, I'm sorry that my aunt's health is failing. I'm sorry that she didn't have anyone else to call. But I do have a life and career back in California, and I hope you understand that I want to be on that plane back to the West Coast as soon as possible." She approached the distraught woman, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry if we got off to a bad start. Let's go"

  Tina sniffled and led Darby out of the airport to the parking garage, where a large GMC truck gleamed in the overhead lights. "Meet Thelma," she said, with a flourish and a brave attempt at lightening the mood. "She's loaded with every option from heated seats to a GPS system, and she's your aunt's pride and joy."

  Darby regarded the massive vehicle. Her aunt had a penchant for driving enormous trucks with female names. "Jane's taste in transportation hasn't changed much in ten years," she noted. "I left Maine in Reba, and the truck before her was Scarlet."

  Tina forced a chuckle. She unlocked the doors and the two women climbed in. She dabbed at her eyes again and gave a sad little hiccup.

  "Are you okay to drive?" Darby asked.

  She nodded and started the truck.

  The two women were quiet for a while and Darby suspected that Tina was making every effort to compose herself. Finally she took a deep breath. "I'll say this to you just once, Darby, since you've spent seven hours flying clear across the country. Your aunt can be a giant pain in the ass."

  She glanced at Darby's surprised face and nodded.

  "I mean, have you ever met someone more unbelievably opinionated, stubborn as the day is long, and vain as Jane Farr?" She shook her head. "I've seen her call a broker a lazy son-of-a-bitch to his face, in front of his own clients! Man, I thought that guy was gonna sue her skinny ass." She paused. "But I'm not telling you anything new, am I?"

  "Nothing I haven't thought myself a hundred times."

  "I know."

  Tina pointed out the window at the grass bordering the highway. In the sweep of Thelma's headlights, Darby could just make out the shoulders of Route 1-95, dotted with tall, spiky flowers in shades of blue, purple, and pink.

  "Loads of lupines this year"

  Darby nodded. "I forgot how pretty they are."

  In June, the blooms of the wildflower were everywhere, elegant splashes of color that stretched on for miles. Darby remembered picking lupines as she walked home from school, the way the stems were so sturdy it was easier to yank the whole plant out of the ground then tear them. She saw her mother's gentle smile as she trimmed the stalks, and the careful way she arranged them in a vase on the kitchen table, as if they were a work of art. She swallowed at the memory and her throat felt rubbed raw.

  "What I'm trying to say is, I understand how you and your aunt could have your ... differences, and I appreciate that you came anyway." She gunned the truck and passed the first vehicle they'd seen since the airport. "The thing with your aunt, is that despite her shortcomings, she is a hell of a woman. Her strengths outweigh her weaknesses by far, and you can't say that about everybody. I guess I hope you'll remember that side of her, too."

  Darby looked out the window. The last person she wanted to talk about was Jane Farr, dead or alive, but she didn't want to upset Tina again. "Tell me about this deal," she said. "Especially tomorrow's meeting."

  "You don't mean the planning board?" Tina snorted. "That's a formality."

  "It's a condition of the property sale, is what it is."

  Tina sniffed. "Well, in my opinion, it's no big deal. Peyton's got to get approval to do her resort the way she wants. The land is zoned residential single family, and she wants to put little cottages up, plus use it in a more commercial way. And she needs to serve booze, naturally. Who ever heard of a wedding without champagne?"

  "Jane did her homework before she got sick, though. She spoke to all of the committee members and they all support the project. No one anticipates anything but the board's good wishes and the permit."

  Darby smiled grimly. She'd heard that kind of talk before. "So you've met the buyer?"

  Tina nodded. "Peyton Mayerson's in her late thirties, from Boston, working with a small group of investors to create this wedding destination resort. You know, people from New York and Boston book the whole damn place, have their wedding, take their sails on the bay, yuck it up at their posh lobster bakes-it's really catching on in Maine. Seems everybody and his brother want to get married on the rocky coast and have what they think's a real authentic experience. The ministers can't even keep up with it." She snorted. "Most people I know get a bun in the oven, then go to the JP. None of this croquet on the lawn and tents set up on the grass" She swerved to avoid a dead animal in the road. "You know the Trimbles, right?"

  "Mark helped my father run the sailing program at the yacht club. He's older than me, but we know one another. Lucy and I were friends for several years. I never really got to know Mr. and Mrs. Trimble."

  Tina waved a manicured hand. "No matter. They're long gone, and so's the big brother-Wes, I think he was called? Anyway, it's just Mark and Lucy and they've been very easy clients. Jane would tell them to do something-bam!-they got it done. Fix this, paint that, whatever, they'd get somebody to take care of it. Neither one seems to have too much attachment to the old place, and it's been years since they lived there. Mark, especially, seemed relieved that the place is selling so soon. Who wants to keep taking care of a big empty house?" she sniffed. "If you ask me, I don't think Fairview was a very happy home."

  Tina's cell rang and Darby watched her keep one hand on the truck's steering wheel while she fished around in the turquoise pocketbook for her phone. "We're on our way," she said. "We'll be there before eleven." When she snapped her phone shut, Darby saw that her pointy face was puckered with worry.

  "That was the minister of the church your aunt goes to, you know, the one on the corner?"

  Darby nodded. Jane had moved to Hurricane Harbor and become immersed in the little village church with a fervor Darby always suspected had more to do with listings than religion. Tina cleared her throat.

  "She wants us to stop at the hospital in Manatuck. She thinks your aunt won't make it through the night." She looked at Darby with concern. "You think you can handle it?"

  Darby shrugged. "What about you?"

  "I don't know. I guess we'll find out."

  Darby dozed for ten minutes or so, her mind darting into worrisome corners like a wild animal trapped in an abandoned cabin. She saw Mark and Lucy Trimble, Jane Farr, and the house she'd grown up in. Her parents were there too, smiling and reaching out their hands to hug her ...

  She woke with a start. Tina was parking the car at a large brick building that Darby recognized as Manatuck Community Hospital.

  "We're going across in half an hour, so we don't have much time."

  Darby stretched and followed Tina Ames across the parking lot and into the hospital. The lobby was well lit, with a large screen television and plenty of chairs, some of which, even at this late hour, were filled with waiting patients and family members.

  A slim, petite woman with short frosted hair was waiting by the front desk. She gave Tina a smile of recognition.

  "That's her," said Tina. "The minister of the church."

  "Actually I'm the associate minister," the woman corrected, coming toward them. She proffered her hand. "I'm Laura Gefferelli. Your aunt has told me about you. I'm sorry you have to come back to Hurricane Harbor under such difficult conditions."

  Darby shook the woman's hand. "Thanks."

  Laura glanced at Tina and continued. "They've moved Jane over to a hospice room. They've got her on drip morphine so she's in no pain."

  The three walked down a corridor and into another wing of the hospital. Laura waved to several of the nurses; she was obviously a frequent visitor to the hospice wing. Minutes later
she was opening the door of a quiet, dimly lit room with carpeting, an upholstered couch, and several paintings. In the middle of the room was a hospital bed upon which a frail woman lay sleeping.

  Darby moved nearer and gazed down at the face that had once been so terrifying.

  Age had softened her aunt's features, the way water wears down the jagged rocks in a stream. Her hair, formerly jet black and se verely styled, was now dove gray and cut in a soft bob. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be breathing easily.

  Darby reached out and touched her aunt's shoulder. She felt the hard knob of bone beneath the thin sheets. Somewhere in that mind are all the times we spent in opposition, all the battles we waged and the insults we flung.

  "Tell me what happened."

  Laura Gefferelli nodded. "Jane was having transient ischemic attacks-they call them TIAs, or mini-strokes-and realized something was wrong. Dr. Carver, the neurosurgeon at Manatuck, did a CT scan and found the tumor. He recommended surgery, pretty much immediately. Jane got a second opinion down in Portland, and that physician concurred. This was last week, right Tina?"

  Tina nodded.

  "Yesterday, I stopped in to check on Jane," Laura continued. "She was prostrate on the floor with an excruciating headache. I brought her here and had them page Dr. Carver. An hour later, she was in the operating room. Dr. Carver believes the surgery relieved most of the pressure, but Jane hasn't regained consciousness. We're just hoping that she's strong enough to recover." She paused. "Personally, I believe she is heading toward a very peaceful death. She's in no pain. She's just slipping slowly away."

  Tina made a small strangled sound. Tears ran down her face, streaking her mascara so that she looked like a sad clown.

  "You have been such a good friend to her," Laura Gefferelli said softly, touching Tina on the arm. "Your friendship meant so much to Jane. She told me before the operation that she could always count on you, no matter what. You were like family."

  Darby felt a coldness wash over her. Is that what Jane Farr had said? That you could count on family? She felt a rolling sensation in her gut. Where was her support when I needed my family the most?