A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (7 page)

"That's one sale I can never forget," Darby said, keeping her
voice deceptively light. She thought about what the house had
meant to her and made a vow. I'll never forgive Jane for letting itgo,
she thought. Tina glanced her way but said nothing. Instead, she
honked at a battered red jeep as it passed.

"What's Donny doing out so late?" she wondered.

"Who's Donny?"

"One of the Pease boys. He's the caretaker for Fairview, plus he
fixes things at the Hurricane Harbor Inn." Her voiced sounded a
little pinched and she cleared her throat. "You must be exhausted. I'm taking you right to Jane's so you can get a good night's sleep.
We'll tackle all this Fairview stuff in the morning."

Darby nodded. As Tina steered the truck around a curving
road past the old Ice Pond, the ringing of her cell phone startled
them both. She answered it and listened for a minute, her posture
stiffening. "Shit," she muttered. And then, "Thanks."

Tina said nothing as she slowed the truck before a tall Victorian
that Darby recognized. It was Jane Farr's home, the house from
which Darby had fled ten years earlier. Tina turned into the driveway, parked and turned to Darby, her full red lips pursed.

"I'm going to give you this truck," she announced. "Your aunt
can't use it now and anyway, I figure you're sort of used to driving
her vehicles?"

"Very funny." Darby smiled in the darkness. "How will you get
home?"

"Donny. I'll give him a call and he'll pick me up." She sighed
and placed the truck's keys on the dashboard.

"Tina, is there something you're not telling me? Something to
do with that phone call?"

Tina turned to face Darby and nodded. Outside a lone cricket
chirped mournfully. "That was Laura Gefferelli, calling from the
hospital. I'm sorry, Darby. Your aunt is dead."

FOR A WOMAN WHO'D made a small fortune selling houses, Jane
Farr's own property was downright modest. A neat little Queen
Anne Victorian with a turret and a trim, picket-fenced yard, it gave
every impression of propriety and poise. Darby remembered the
polished wood floors, crisp white moldings around the doors, and
furniture covered in lots of flowery chintz. She recalled an impression of warmth: fires crackling in the fireplaces; the walls painted
in soothing tones-an environment that lulled a visitor into thinking they were in a safe haven, when in fact the cozy home was a
lioness' den.

Darby Farr was in for a surprise.

While Tina flicked on lamps and overhead lights in each of the
rooms, Darby saw that, although the "bones" of the house hadn't
been altered, gone were the furnishings that had given it a welcoming atmosphere. The oversized sofas, chairs, and occasional tables
were missing, and the walls, once dotted with tastefully done oil
paintings of the craggy Maine coast, were bare.

"This is a bit of a shock," said Tina, as she pointed to the gleaming exercise machines that now lined the walls of the living room
and front hall. A treadmill took up most of the dining room. A
rowing machine blocked one of the fireplaces. Even the kitchen
was not immune: in place of the old farm table Darby remembered was a large computer monitor and printer. Jane's comfortable home had morphed into a YMCA with office space.

Tina looked at Darby and shrugged. "She got into exercise in a
big, big, way," she explained. "Might have been some sort of latelife thing, I don't know. It started with one of those tummy crunching machines, the kind they sell on television? Then it kind of
went off from there." She waved a hand in the general direction of
the exercise machines. "Anyway, your aunt was in very, very, good
physical shape. I've seen her doing that machine over there-"
she pointed to a bench press, "with so many of those big weights
on it, I thought for sure it would collapse and crush her to death.
And you should have seen her on that treadmill! She walked so fast
the thing couldn't hardly keep up with her. No sooner would she
finish with that, she'd take a couple swigs of water and start rowin',
or jumpin' rope" Tina paused and shook her head. "Hard to believe she wasn't strong enough."

"What do you mean?"

"It just seems strange that a woman as physically active as your
aunt couldn't survive that operation, you know? I mean, she was
in here all the time, and when she wasn't in here, she was down at
that office, making deals left and right. Does that sound like the
feeble old lady you saw lying in that bed?" She shook her head, and
then pointed out a window to the backyard, shrouded in darkness.
"Can you see the little guest cottage? Stay there, and I think you'll be pretty cozy. You can come in here to cook or use her computer.
Or jog a few miles."

Darby followed Tina's clicking heels out the back kitchen door,
past the giant computer monitor and across a little expanse of
lawn. The moonlight was even brighter, and by its glow Darby
spotted a neat little garden, then caught a whiff of what smelled
like lavender. She barely remembered the cottage. It had always
been full of yard equipment-rakes, shovels, the lawn mower, and
mulch, and had seemed more like a shed than a living structure.
Tina stooped to adjust a little mat outside the door. She straightened up, yanked open the door, and turned on a light. Darby
stepped inside.

The cottage was bigger and brighter than it appeared. Wide
plank floors painted light blue and whitewashed walls gave it a
light, summery feel. A full-sized iron bed, with a yellow and blue
patterned quilt, anchored the room, with a little white writing desk
nearby. A comfortable armchair on a braided rug took up another
corner. Tucked back through a small door was a tiny bathroom
and kitchenette.

"It's adorable," she said.

Tina smiled. "Lucky she didn't get the chance to turn this into
a gymnasium. Got enough room? It's not exactly what you'd call
spacious."

Darby's bungalow in Mission Beach was larger-but not by
much. "Small spaces suit me. I spent a lot of time on boats when I
was a kid." An image of her mother laughing as she tried to hoist
sails while her father smiled from his vantage point at the tiller
filled her with a sudden sadness, but Tina interrupted the memory.

"I'll get your bag. You must be tuckered out."

Darby nodded. "I am. Tomorrow-"

"Don't think about it now. Get a good night's sleep."

Darby watched as Tina disappeared into the darkness to retrieve her suitcase from Thelma. Sleep was fogging her brain like
mist over the harbor, and yet one fact kept pounding relentlessly.
Jane Farr was dead. Tomorrow, plans would be underway for her
service-whatever form it would take-and before the week's end,
she would be laid to rest. Whatever remained unsaid between the
aunt and niece would stay unsaid. Their relationship, best described as stormy, was over.

I could go back to California tomorrow, Darby thought. There's
nothing binding me here. She was now her aunt's personal representative, but any duties associated with her aunt's estate could be
handled long distance. And the Fairview closing... I could find another broker to take care of it. Jane's dead. I can do what I want.

And yet, as Darby drifted off to sleep a half hour later, she
knew she would remain on Hurricane Harbor until Jane's memorial service. Her aunt had summoned her to Maine, almost from
the grave, as if challenging her to one final power struggle, and
Darby Farr wasn't about to back down.

Donny Pease woke just after dawn on Monday morning. He headed
down the steep back stairs to his kitchen in time to see a young
fawn step tentatively through his vegetable garden and back into the
woods. He smiled at this glimpse of nature. The little fella was probably nibbling on the buttercup lettuce shoots that were just starting
to poke out of the ground. Donny shrugged. He didn't mind shar ing, especially with a creature as magical as a spotted young whitetail, and he never had been that fond of lettuce to begin with.

As was his regular routine, he ate a bowl of oatmeal and drank
a cup of strong coffee, relishing the jump start he always got from
the bitter beans. He was more tired than usual, having picked Tina
up at midnight from Jane Farr's house. He pictured Tina's face, her
eyes puffy from crying. She'd loved that old battle axe Jane Farr,
although Donny couldn't for the life of him see why.

Once his dishes were washed and put back in the cupboard,
he took special care shaving his lined face and combing what little
hair remained on his head. Today he would meet the new owner
of Fairview-his new boss if all went well-and he wanted his first
impression to be especially good.

Donny didn't need to be at Fairview until eleven o'clock, but
there was no sense waiting until the last minute to get ready. He
was always prompt, and he prided himself on his preparedness.
Being ready for any situation imaginable was a trait that made him
an exemplary property manager and a reliable boat captain as well.
You just never knew what would happen with a house or a boat,
and it made darn good sense to be ready for just about any calamity: an ice storm, a burst pipe, an oil leak, you name it.

Donny paused and thought about the last time he'd checked
on the old Trimble property. Must have been a week, yes, a week
ago. Donny didn't imagine anything much had happened to the
place since that time, but what if something had? In his years as a
caretaker, he'd seen just about everything from squirrels running
rampant in a house (then chewing every piece of window sill in an
effort to get out) to pot-smoking teenagers partying their brains out in a yacht parked right in the owner's yard. What if something
had happened at Fairview since his last visit?

Talk about a good impression! What kind of caretaker would
this new owner think he was if a nest of rodents were living the
high life in the master bedroom? Donny Pease fought his mounting panic as visions of Fairview fiascoes danced in his brain. There's
plenty of time, he thought. Plenty of time to take my key and go over
there and fix what needs to be done. He took a deep breath to steady
himself, and remembered what Tina always told him. One thing at
a time. Tina! He'd nearly forgotten. Today was the day he picked
her up mid-morning for their weekly visit with Donny's aging father. Donny thought a moment. The island was small and he was
getting an early start. I can go check on Fairview and still scoot out
in time to meet Tina.

When he felt calmer, he put on a light jacket, grabbed the keys
to his truck, and headed out the door.

The ride to Fairview took only a few minutes and Donny was
pleased to see that the day would be beautiful. His tires crunched
on the long winding driveway, and he anticipated the rush of pride
he always felt when he saw the house appear around the bend.
This time, though, he felt a sense of puzzlement instead of joy. A
sleek black car was parked directly in front of the house's main
entrance.

Donny Pease parked and walked past the gleaming automobile.
It was a BMW, and he knew enough about cars to know it was
mighty damn expensive. No doubt it belonged to the new owner,
as nobody he knew on the island would buy such a thing. He
struggled to remember the new owner's name and came up with it
at last. Peyton. The woman was named after a damned movie.

Donny took the key out of his khaki pants pocket and let himself in. "Hello?" he called, relieved to see nothing furry running
across the glossy wood floors. With a thoroughness bordering on
reverence, Donny walked through the many rooms of the grand
old house, inhaling the lemony smell of the polish he'd used on the
banisters, checking to see all was in order as he had so many times
before. Fairview was as silent and still as a mill pond at dusk.

Once satisfied that the house was shipshape, Donny headed
onto the vast back deck to inspect the rest of the property. He
paused for a moment to listen to the waves breaking against the
jagged cliffs, a sound he never tired of hearing. It seemed odd that
the BMW's owner was not inside the house, but the weather was
fine and the grounds lovely. No doubt she was strolling through
the orchard or admiring the dramatic view.