A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (9 page)

She would have recognized him anywhere. He had a strong,
square jaw, and eyes that were very blue against his tanned skin.
His face was rugged-looking, but friendly, although perhaps a little
more lined than Darby remembered. He's still a heck of a handsome
guy.

He strode across the room to hug her and she caught a whiff of
suntan lotion.

"Darby Farr! I can't believe it's you." He flashed his grin again
and gave her an appraising glance. "You look fantastic. Still the
same beautiful girl you always were. Man, your dad would be so
proud of you. What was it he used to call you when we were racing? Wasn't it Little Bird?"

"Little Loon. He always said my mother was as graceful as a
swan, but that I darted through the water like a loon." She cleared
her throat. It felt raw again. "You look pretty good yourself."

Mark laughed. "Why, thanks. Have you seen my sister yet?"

"No. Will she be here?"

"Not a chance. Lucy likes these things about as much as a
hangover." He glanced around the room. "I, on the other hand,
find these exercises in democracy highly entertaining. So did your aunt." He paused. "I'll miss her, Darby. Lots of us on this island
will miss Jane Farr. I want you to know how sorry I am that she's
gone.

"Thanks" She forced herself to focus on the steady stream of
people filing in, hoping Mark didn't see the way she was fighting
to stay in control of her emotions. "How did you know she died?"

"Oh, you know life on an island. There are no secrets." He
pointed in the direction of the door. "Look, there's Peyton and
Emilio."

A tall woman with upswept brown hair and a handsome, curlyhaired man entered and surveyed the room. The woman's eyes settled on Mark and she gave a nod and a small smile. She indicated
where her partner should sit and then glided up to Darby and
Mark.

"Mark, darling, it's all so exciting." She gave him an air kiss and
turned to Darby with an eyebrow raised. "And you are ... ?"

"Peyton, this is Darby Farr, Jane's hotshot niece." Mark paused
a moment. "Jane passed away yesterday and Darby is taking over
for her."

Peyton seemed to make an effort to appear as if she cared. "I'm
sorry to hear that. Well, welcome Darby." She directed her glance
back at Mark. "Lot of people, aren't there? Considering it's just a
city council thing? Of course, there's hardly anything to do on this
island. Quaint and charming, but rather boring when you compare it to the city. The resort should bring a little life to the place
now won't it? We'll have some shows, and a martini bar, and a
first-rate restaurant, not like that blah little Hurricane Harbor Inn.
So pedestrian. As if all anyone wanted to eat was broiled haddock
night and day."

Darby listened, taking in the woman's expensive clothes and
careful makeup job. Peyton Mayerson was close to forty, she
guessed, and was already taking advantage of plastic surgery to
keep time at bay. Darby caught the scent of her fragrance, and
smiled in surprise.

"You're wearing Fleurettes," she noted. "It's lovely."

Peyton Mayerson raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's correct. How in the world did you recognize it?"

"I love vintage perfume. My aunt used to wear Molinard's Ver-
veine" She paused, remembering the scent of Jane Farr as she'd
brushed by her niece so many times, off to list an island property
or meet with a buyer. "If I'm not mistaken, Molinard introduced
the two perfumes the same year, 1948."

Peyton pursed her lips. "Fleurettes was reintroduced in 1948,"
she corrected. "The fragrance first debuted in 1908." She gave
Darby a patronizing smile. "In case you're wondering, I'm wearing
the original."

"We'd expect nothing less," grinned Mark. He waved in the direction of Emilio Landi. "Why didn't you bring your fiance over?"

Peyton Mayerson tittered. "Hold your horses, Trimble ... we're
not engaged yet." She tilted her head in his direction. "Mark's talking about Emilio Landi, my Roman boyfriend. Gorgeous, isn't he?"
She blew a kiss in his direction. "I have no doubt we'll get married one of these days, right at Pemberton Point perhaps. Emilio's
an absolute doll. No head for business, but he's very good at other
things." She laughed again. "Hey, how about a drink tonight? See if
we can shake up this sleepy old town?"

"Good idea," said Mark, as the sound of a gavel rang through
the room. "I'll have my people talk to your people."

Peyton laughed again and strutted back toward Emilio, her
heels clicking on the polished wooden floor.

"So," whispered Mark as he leaned toward Darby. "That's Peyton Mayerson. Do you think my ancestors are rolling over in their
graves when they contemplate her at the helm of their precious
Fairview?"

"Pemberton Point will never be the same."

"Let's hope not."

His words had an unexpectedly bitter ring. Darby looked up,
but he had turned away and she could not read his expression.

The gavel sounded and the room grew quiet. The man wielding it called for order, and then ran his committee through several
agenda items in quick succession. "Now we come to Pemberton
Point Weddings, Inc., looking for a change of zoning for the property known as Fairview, over there on the Point, and along with
that a liquor license." He cleared his throat. "I think we've gone
over this request enough and I feel comfortable voting to grant
what the buyer, Ms. Mayerson, needs."

"All those in favor-"

The door to the committee room burst open and Darby, along
with the rest of the crowd, spun toward the commotion. A powerfully built man filled the door frame. He wore a white T-shirt that
showed off his bulging biceps, jeans, and black combat boots. His
face was clean-shaven, with a jagged scar over one cheek, and he
sported a short, military-style buzz cut. He surveyed the room as
if looking for possible threats, his cold eyes taking in each person.
Darby recognized those eyes-they belonged to the man who'd
assaulted her at the ferry terminal. Soames Pemberton. Her anger turned to fear as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and began
pulling out an object...

There was a horrified gasp from the audience, and then a low
chuckle from the intruder. "What are you scared of? Think I got
a weapon, or something?" He pulled a piece of paper from his
pocket and brandished it before the room. "I thought you'd like to
see this little item I found in my great-granddaddy's things."

Soames Pemberton moved deliberately toward the planning
board members and held the paper up as if taunting them. Slowly
he unfolded it and pretended to read it for the first time. "Why
look at this. It's a deed from Thaddeus Pemberton to his son, Josiah, written about a hundred years ago."

He paused for effect and scanned the room. "My great-grandfather was a Methodist, deeply devoted to the Lord. He believed
in the devil and all the ways he could lead us astray." A slow smile
crept across his face. Darby felt her palms grow clammy.

"That's why he decided, all those years ago, that any Pemberton lands had to be free of alcohol, dancing, and wild women. Old
Thaddeus put that right here, in writing." He waved the paper and
said softly, "There isn't going to be any fancy resort on Pemberton
property."

The room erupted in conversation, punctuated with a shriek
that Darby suspected came from Peyton Mayerson. The man with
the gavel banged it repeatedly, to no avail.

The gavel banged again and Soames Pemberton chuckled, raising the hair on the back of Darby's neck. "I've got copies for all
of you," he said, making his way toward a table in the back of the
room. He picked up a stack of paper, approached the planning
board, and began passing sheets out.

Darby's throat felt dry and she avoided making eye contact
with Soames. She heard the rustle of paper and saw Mark accept a
copy. After a cursory glance, he handed it to Darby.

Quickly she scanned the photocopied document. It had the
look of an original deed, plus the archaic language, but this version contained a much shorter description of the property than
the documents she'd painstakingly reviewed.

Darby stood and felt the eyes of the room upon her. "This deed
refers to an abutting piece of property up on the road," she said.
"Not the parcel in question."

The members of the planning board breathed a sigh of relief
and turned toward Soames Pemberton for his response.

"The little lady is right," he said, his eyes staring straight at Darby
with icy hatred. "This is all that's left of the property once owned
totally by the Pemberton family. Great-granddaddy's widow sold it
all-every last little piece-except for this worthless ten acres of cow
pasture." He gave a sly look around the room. "You see, she couldn't
sell this piece, because it had already been deeded to my grandfather
before she got her hands on the estate. But old Thaddeus Pemberton
made it clear in this deed: No drinking, dancing, or whoring, on this
or any other piece of Pemberton property."

Everyone in the room was silent, listening to the deep, flat, voice
of Soames Pemberton. Finally the silence was broken by one of the
planning board members.

"Somebody put this in plain English," she said.

The man with the gavel looked imploringly toward Darby. She
rose from her chair, feeling her legs shaking beneath her.

"If this piece of Pemberton property was conveyed first, and
there was a covenant on this, as well as all the rest of the land, it would seem that these restrictions do apply to all former holdings
of Thaddeus Pemberton." She paused, trying to swallow. "Even
Fairview."

The room exploded in arguing and the planning board chairman
turned to the rest of the members. Darby heard him mutter, "This
board can't approve anything without a legal opinion." The other
members nodded. "I'll entertain a motion to postpone this decision
until our next meeting, twenty days from now." Darby heard someone make the suggested motion, and then the chairman asked for a
vote. A moment later he banged the gavel and the din dropped to a
dull murmur, with the only audible sound Peyton Mayerson's voice
screaming obscenities at her lawyer. Darby turned to Mark Trimble.

"I'm sorry, Mark. This restriction-it's totally from left field."

Mark nodded. "You remember my parents and their blow-out
cocktail parties. No one ever mentioned an anti-drinking law to
them, that's for sure." He fixed his eyes on Darby and said carefully, "This means the deal is off."

Darby's heart sank. "I'm afraid you're right. That amendment
to the contract-the one written on the index card-stipulated
that Peyton needed this approval to proceed. She didn't get it, so
the contract is null and void." She thought a moment, her natural
optimism giving her an idea. "I wouldn't say it is dead in the water,
though. We can certainly grant her an extension, give her some
time to figure out, with her lawyer, how to approach this..."

"No" Mark's tone was sharp. He looked around the room and
lowered his voice. "Let's get out of here, go somewhere we can
talk." Around him, the noise of the crowd had barely abated, and
Darby thought she could hear an angry Peyton Mayerson above
the din.

Mark rose from the folding chair and offered an arm to Darby.
"There's more to this than what's happened today," he confided. "I
know just the place where we can talk privately."

Darby stood and scanned the room for Soames Pemberton.

"He's gone," Mark said, steering her toward the exit with a firm
hand. "Chances are, you won't be seeing Soames for a while."

Darby recalled the look of pure menace in the man's face and
suppressed a shiver. Let's hope not, she thought.

It was a short walk from the town office to the harbor and the dock
where Mark's boat, Lucy T, was moored. She was a large, beautiful
sloop, and the pride Mark felt in her fine lines and handsome rigging was evident.

"Isn't she sweet? Almost as nice as the real thing, my adorable
sister." He pointed at a smaller boat tied up beside the Lucy T.
"That cute little Seafarer belongs to the minister. I've been giving
her private lessons and she's turning out to be a heck of a sailor."

Darby glanced at the twenty-four-foot vessel and then back at
Mark. "Is that how you've been spending your time, teaching and
taking care of Fairview?"

Mark jumped aboard and glanced quickly at his cell phone,
before jamming it into a pocket. "Pretty much. I still teach at
the yacht club, too." He flashed the grin she remembered so well.
"Guess I'm still trying to figure out what to do with my life. Having a significant trust fund makes it that much harder to find motivation, not that I'm whining about it or anything."

Mark grinned again and wiped off the canvas seat of a director's chair with his hand. "Come aboard, Darby. We'll sit out here in the fresh air." He darted quickly below deck, emerging with a
folder of papers which he placed on a small side table. "You do any
sailing in California?"