Клэр Донелли - Last Licks

Without missing a beat, Mike followed him. He hadn’t gone two steps before Helena caught up with him, taking his arm.

Shrugging, Will offered his elbow to Sunny. “Might as well make this unanimous.”

By the time they got outside, Luke was gone. The only sign of him was the fading sound of a car engine.

“Maybe it’s just as well.” Helena Martinson peered into the distance, but the car was long gone now. “What could we say to him after suffering through a performance like that?” She shook her head. “Telling him his friendship was just a figment of his imagination.”

“Even if it was true,” Sunny said. “Walking around in that crowd, we heard enough stories to Gardner’s discredit. By the time Alfred started mouthing off, Luke had to be developing some doubts about his friend’s sincerity.”

“Alfred was close enough to the truth with me,” Mike admitted. “I was the townie kid getting into Piney Brook. It was pretty amazing. I’d never seen a house like this.” His face got grim. “But it’s not as though I was sponging off Gardner. We were making music, we had some good times together. I found out stuff I didn’t like about him, but the guy is dead now. I guess it’s true what they say, the good times are buried with people.”

“‘The evil that men do lives after them / The good is oft interred with their bones,’” Mrs. Martinson quoted. “Shakespeare.”

Sunny nodded. “ Julius Caesar .”

“Much as I hate to admit it, Alfred told the truth about me, too.” Helena’s lips twitched. “Gardner was interested in me, and showed it in the most disgusting way.”

“What was it with that guy!” Mike burst out.

“He was good-looking, had a little charm, and a lot of money.” Helena did not make them sound like assets, but Will shrugged.

“With a start like that, I guess he figured he’d take every chance he could—the law of averages says he’d score often enough.”

“It seems to have worked with Alfred’s fiancée,” Sunny had to admit.

“Maybe she was lucky,” Helena said. “Looks like Alfred turned out to be a nasty drunk.”

That shocked a laugh out of them all.

“Nasty or not, he had us pegged. We’ve got maybe two days left before the deadline, and our investigation has got nothing.” Will turned to Sunny. “We have to map out what we want to do tomorrow.”

Sunny noticed a whispered conversation between Helena and Mike. “Sunny,” Mrs. Martinson said in her most guileless voice, “would you mind dropping me and your father off at my place for a while? You and Will are welcome, too,” she hurried on. “We could all have some coffee cake.”

“Thanks,” Sunny replied, biting back a grin, “but maybe it’s just as well if Dad visits with you alone for a while.”

“Yeah,” Mike put in. “You’ll have the house to yourself, except for the mange-ball.”

“Right,” Sunny teased back. “And you and Mrs. M. will have some privacy—except for Toby.”

That took some of the wind out of his sails.

In the end, Sunny drove the Buick back to Mrs. Martinson’s, with Will right behind them. She locked up the car and gave the keys back to Helena, who thanked her for chauffeuring. “No problem,” replied Sunny. “I’ll see you later, Dad.”

“Later,” Mike agreed, loosening his tie. “It’s already been a heck of a night. I don’t know what we can do to top it.”

Somehow, Sunny thought, I don’t think it will have much to do with coffee cake.

Will had the passenger door of the pickup open for her and exchanged “good nights” with Helena and Mike. He’d already ditched his suit jacket and tie.

“I should have brought a change of clothes,” Will said, then asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re making some interesting assumptions, just because my dad is staying awhile at Helena’s.”

“I just meant—well, how do you feel after spending time in the Scatterwell sauna?”

“Damp,” Sunny had to admit, picking at her own clothes. “Maybe we can sit outside on the deck and cool off a bit.” She took off her jacket and rolled up the sleeves on her blouse.

When they arrived at her house, she and Will went around the garage to the deck in the backyard. Sunny used the charcoal lighter by the grill to start the citronella candle on the small table back there, offering them a bit of light and some protection from the nighttime bugs.

“So,” Will said, settling into one of the webbed chairs, “as a cop, I’d say we’ve hit a dead end. If we look at the death of Gardner Scatterwell as a one-off murder, we have Alfred—someone with a very strong motive to do him harm, and no alibi—but no proof he was on the premises when Gardner died. We also have two individuals who happened to be working late in the facility, but one—Luke—has no discernible motive, and the other—Elsa—can only be placed near-ish the murder scene. Plus, if we go by the testimony of our eyewitness, Scatterwell accepted something to drink, and I can’t see him taking anything from a person he was tormenting.”

“But we have another possible theory,” Sunny pointed out.

“Yes, thanks to looking at some records we’re not legally supposed to be able to see, we can also theorize that Scatterwell’s death could possibly be one of a series of medical murders. A significant cluster of deaths seem to coincide with nights when Camille was on duty. However, while she had opportunity, we don’t have a strong motive—unless you think it’s worthwhile to match obituaries with dates of death and see if she had some sort of beef with the various deceased persons. And other than stroke, we still have no idea of means.”

“Not to mention the possibility that Gardner and the other folks did actually die of natural causes,” Sunny reminded him.

“Point noted, but we’ll put that aside for the moment.” Will looked at her expectantly.

“What?” Sunny burst out.

“I, as the cop, have laid out all the logical groundwork. This is the part where you, the amateur, come up with the unexpected plan, and I say, ‘It’s crazy, but it just might work.’”

Sunny gave him an incredulous look. “Has your TV been stuck on the channel with all the lame seventies mystery shows?”

“Hey, I’ve seen you pull this off a couple of times.”

She sat and thought for a moment. “Maybe we could . . .” Her voice died away and she shook her head. “That’s so crazy it wouldn’ t work. Sorry, Will, not this time. I’ve got nothing.”

“Then I think you should use this conversation as the basis for writing up a report in the most persuasive language you can come up with,” Will said. “Maybe if you tease him with enough nagging questions, Nesbit might decide this situation warrants a closer look with a bit more legal oomph behind it.”

“Can I quote you on that?” Sunny asked.

Will made a face but then grew serious. “I think maybe we ought to meet tomorrow and work on a draft to run past Ollie.”

“He won’t like having to eat crow in front of Dr. Reese and the sheriff,” Sunny told him.

“Well, we can cite the usual constraints of time and the inability to compel the collection of certain evidence,” Will said. “Then Ollie can argue with Nesbit, lose, and it won’t be our fault.”

“Somehow,” Sunny told him, “I don’t think Ollie will see it that way.”

That idea was so depressing, they sat in silence for a minute. Then Will took Sunny’s hands. “We still have some time before your father gets back—” He broke off, suddenly pointing upward. “A shooting star!”

Sunny followed his finger, spotting a streak across the sky. “Oh, yeah, the summer meteor showers. It used to be easier to spot them before things got so built up.”