Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 09/01/12 (16 page)

The soup was outstanding, served up in huge crockery bowls along with hot crusty
bread, and, as always, Darby’s playlist was a great listen. In addition to their
musical opinions, I learned Noland and Ted had played football together in high
school. “I did all the work and he got all the glory,” Noland said, a line so
glib it was clear this was a regular routine. “I was a lineman,” he went on,
“opened up holes you could drive a truck through. All Ted had to do was sashay
up the field and into the end zone—and the crowd would go wild. While he was
doing his little victory dance I’d be limping to the sidelines to have some body
part iced.”

“Hey, but I’m the one who gave you your start with this collecting thing,” Ted
grinned. “Remember? I went over to CDs and gave you all my LPs. ’Course, you
didn’t tell me they were going to be worth this kind of money someday.”

“Foresight,” Noland said, tapping his temple. “I may be brawny, but I’ve got my
full share of brains.”

They argued over the best renditions of the songs Darby spun—who did the best
cover of Neil Young’s “Helpless.” Whose styling of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”
was superior. Why do guys always have to argue? They may as well have stood on a
table, thumped their chests, and bellowed.

Beth never came back into the room, but I had a hunch she was somewhere close by.
I felt as if we were being watched and thought I caught movement in the doorway
a couple of times.

About four o’clock Ted decided he’d best get back on the job and I figured this
was an opening for me to take my leave, but Darby, who was in fine spirits by
then, asked me to stay awhile longer. He disappeared into the inner sanctum of
his record room and came out ten minutes later cradling a stack of albums.

“Noland, I really am sorry about the way I’ve been acting, man. You can buy those
albums at the price I quoted Session.” He nodded toward the table. “And I know
you’ve always lusted after this one, so take it as my peace offering.” He handed
over an LP and I was perplexed by Noland’s jubilant reaction. It was Grand Funk
Railroad’s 1973
We’re an American Band.
It’s a nice album, stamped on
gold vinyl, but only worth twenty to thirty dollars and Noland was carrying on
like he’d hit the lottery. Darby saw my frown. “He’s a colored-vinyl freak and
this one’s got the four stickers included. He’s been looking for one that’s
complete for years.”

That explained it. This had nothing to do with monetary value, it was Noland’s
personal Moby Dick.

Darby placed the rest of the albums into a crate and set it at my feet.
“Restitution,” he said. “I think these will make it up to you.”

I reached for the crate, asking about content and price, but he stayed my hand.
“It’s a surprise collection, a gift—an apology. Look at them later.”

I left the guys as they were starting in on a new playlist and went to the
kitchen to say goodbye to Nadine. I found her at the back door talking in low
tones with John Daws. She looked flustered when she saw me. Daws gave me a level
look, nodded once, and walked away.

“There are always questions,” Nadine said, nodding vaguely toward the
construction area. “Darby’s not one to get involved in the particulars if it’s
got nothing to do with his records, and his
bride,”
she made the word
sound frivolous, “can’t decide what to wear in the morning so it falls to
me.”

“And you’ve already got plenty to do,” I said sympathetically. “I wanted to say
goodbye to Beth, but I can’t find her.”

“She’s off somewhere with her brother,” Nadine said.

“Is her brother living here now?”

“Gawd, no!” Nadine said. “He’s just here for two weeks. One down, one to go.
Honest to Pete, there’s something wrong with that kid. He gives me the
willies.”

“Making adults squirm is a popular teen pastime, Nadine. As I recall, Darby went
through a Goth phase that creeped you out a bit.”

“Oh, Session, do
not
remind me of that,” she said, but a grin spread
across her face, pleating up wrinkles she otherwise managed to hide.

“He grew out of it,” I said. “Kyle will probably end up as a respectable dentist
or some such thing.”

This time Nadine did
harrumph
out loud.

I didn’t look in the surprise crate until I was in the car. There were eighteen
albums, all superior to the ones Darby had lured me out here with in the first
place, and he’d
given
these to me. The offering of atonement was way
overdone and I supposed I should have felt guilty about taking them, but I
didn’t.

I drove home through a now clear North Carolina evening, with the Indigo Girls’
“Closer to Fine” blaring through the car’s speakers. It’s one of my favorite
road-trip songs and as I sang along I was feeling pretty freakin’ fine myself. I
should have known I was tempting fate.

 
I was bragging to Dave the next morning in the shop’s workroom. “It
looked bleak there for a while, but in the end I scored big.” I pointed to the
albums on the table.

Dave works for me—sort of. He’s not much on chain-of-command. We’ve known each
other too long and he’s older and continues to treat me like a kid sister. He
pretty much defines his job however he pleases, which is fine by me; I couldn’t
make it without him—in the business or in my life. He’s my best bud.

He whistled long and low as he thumbed through the albums. “If Darby just handed
these over, he must have been feeling a whole lotta guilt.”

I told him how the afternoon had unraveled and Dave shook his head. “Boys and
their toys. Must have been a pretty bad wrangle. I don’t know Noland that well,
but Darby’s not one to welsh on a deal.”

My cell phone chimed and at first I thought I had a bad connection, then realized
the caller was sobbing. “Session, you’ve gotta come. It’s all messed up. I don’t
know what to do. Darby wants you here.”

“Beth? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I cringed, wondering if I was about to get
sucked into playing marriage counselor—a role for which I am woefully ill
equipped.

“He’d dead!” Beth wailed. “Noland’s dead and they think Darby killed him.”

Beth bawled on, growing more hysterical. I couldn’t get a grasp on the details,
but the broad strokes were bad enough. I tried to calm her and told her I’d be
out as soon as I could make arrangements.

My unfortunate response to stress is to get the inappropriate giggles and I felt
the first one gurgling up as I switched off my cell. Dave knows this is a sign
of sure trouble and I saw a frown stitch itself across his forehead.

The landline in the shop rang and I instinctively picked it up, trying to get
control of myself. The caller identified himself as Sheriff’s Deputy Jared
Fowler. In a deep, serious voice, he asked some perfunctory questions to
establish my identity before dropping the hammer. “Sheriff Neal Pierce has
dispatched me to Raleigh to question you about events you witnessed yesterday.
We ask that you stay where you are and not discuss this with anyone until I’ve
had a chance to talk with you. I’m on the road now, I’ll be there in less than
an hour.”

I told him I understood, placed the receiver back into the cradle, and
immediately began to discuss every last detail with Dave.

 
I asked Bliss, one of the shop’s uber-dedicated part-timers, to take
over and waited in the workroom where I could pace. I had so many questions. But
when the deputy arrived he insisted on going first. Had I been at Darby’s house
yesterday? Did I witness an altercation between him and Noland? Who else was
present? Could I supply a list of the albums Darby had sold to Noland and
estimate their worth? I answered as succinctly as possible and read off the list
of albums I’d jotted down on the pad beside my phone when Darby called two
nights ago to make the offer.

“As far as value,” I said, “anybody off the street could probably get fifteen
hundred dollars total. I’d get more because I know a lot of collectors and what
they’re looking for.”

Deputy Fowler was young and strikingly handsome. He maintained his professional
scowl and scribbled in a little notebook. I’d insisted that Dave stay with me as
my counsel. I never claimed he was a lawyer, could I help it if the deputy
jumped to conclusions? And anyway, for all I knew, Dave really did hold a law
degree. I’m surprised on a regular basis by things that pop up from his
past.

I pride myself on staying calm in emergencies—except for the giggling thing—but I
heard a definite edge creeping into my voice as I asked my own questions. Deputy
Fowler gave me a reassuring smile—he had a nice smile. “Look,” he said, dropping
the professional-cop bearing, “it looks bad for Darby right now, but frankly, I
don’t think the actual evidence will amount to much in the end. It’s true that
Noland was found dead in Darby’s atrium, and it’s true that Darby was passed
out—snockered to the gills—in the same room. And yeah, maybe Darby’s
fingerprints are on the pottery bowl somebody used to whack Noland in the head,
but I suspect those things can all be explained away. I mean, I know Darby; he’s
not that kind of guy. ’Course, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell the
sheriff I’ve expressed that opinion. He already thinks I’m soft on this
one.”

“You’re friends with Darby, Deputy Fowler?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to think so,” he said. “I’ve known him since he moved to the
mountain. I go up to his house and listen to tunes with him once in a while.
He’s got me started with a little record collection of my own. I’m not in his
league—or yours—but I’ve got a few good ones. And hey,” he leaned toward me and
lowered his voice, “just call me plain old Jared—but don’t tell the sheriff I
said that either, okay?”

“No, ’course not.” I struggled to stifle a giggle lest he misinterpret it.

“Has Darby been charged?” I asked.

“’Fraid so, but they’re calling it manslaughter—heat of passion and all. He’ll
make bail. And as you know, money’s not an issue for Darby. Try not to worry.
”

Dave moved up behind me and we watched as Deputy Fowler made his way across the
shop to the door, turning the heads of a couple of female customers.

“Depity-Dawg’s got himself a little witness crush. Call me Jared,” Dave mimicked,
lowering his voice.

“That’s ridiculous. Stop making jokes, ” I snapped. “Dave, a man is dead.”

“Yeah, tell it to the deputy,” Dave drawled. “Pretty inappropriate occasion for
him to be hitting on you.”

“He wasn’t. You’re just being—well,
you.
You should be happy. You heard
him, he knows Darby’s innocent. I can’t believe any of this. Noland’s dead? And
Darby—I’m going out there right now. Can you cover the shop for me?”

“Nope,” Dave said. “If Bliss can’t stay I’ll call Tracker and have him come in.
I’m going with you. Think of me as Deputy Dave—but you can call me just plain
ol’
Dave.”

 
Beth sat at the kitchen table alternating between choking out
disjointed sentences and popping another tissue from the half-empty box on the
table. So far I’d learned that Darby was in custody and would be arraigned the
following morning. “Unless somebody comes to their senses by then,” Nadine
huffed. Until then, no visitors and no phone privileges.

Dave had gone down to town to nose around, an activity he’s incredibly good at.
Dave knows people everywhere and because he lets a lot of quiet into his
conversations people tend to babble on to fill the spaces, ofttimes telling him
things they didn’t intend to tell.

My approach is a little less polished. “What in God’s name happened?” I asked
Beth and Nadine.

“I don’t know!” Beth wailed, the tears spilling over again. “But whatever it was,
I know Darby didn’t do it. He’d never hurt anybody.”

“It’s okay, Beth,” I said, trying to sound soothing. I’m not the world’s most
patient person, I admit that, and ordinarily I’d have to resist the impulse to
shake her into sensibility, but she looked so pitifully young and confused I
felt for her. She was, in fact, young. Darby had met her when she was a college
sophomore volunteering with one of his pet environmental causes. Smitten, he’d
put on the full court press and three months later they were married.

Nadine offered me coffee, bless her, and when she came to pour, Beth latched onto
her hand. “Nadine, can’t you just come and sit with us—please.”

Nadine looked taken aback by the gesture, but she sat and patted Beth’s hand
awkwardly.

“You’re the one who found him, Nadine?” I asked.

She nodded. “Early this morning, before daylight. Couldn’t sleep and came down to
start breakfast. Thought Darby and Beth might like to eat in the atrium so I
went in to start a fire in the fireplace and there Noland was, sprawled out on
the floor. I knew right off he was for good and all dead even before I saw the
blood on the back of his head. Then I saw Darby slumped in a chair and it was
all I could do to get my heart beating a rhythm again. I thought he was dead
too, but then he groaned. He smelled like a distillery and the bottle of scotch
one of his business people gave him for Christmas was sitting on the table
nearly empty. I knew he’d brought it out for Noland but I just couldn’t believe
he’d been drinking. You know he had a problem. He swore off years ago.”

“He wasn’t!” Beth insisted. “He wouldn’t. I told the sheriff, Darby knows
better.”

“What did Darby have to say? Have you talked to him?” I asked.

“Just when I found him,” Nadine sighed, “ but he wasn’t making good sense. He was
talking wild and swore he couldn’t remember anything since yesterday morning. I
called nine-one-one and the sheriff and the ambulance came. Look, Session, I
know good and well Darby would never hurt another living thing, but I can’t
explain any of it. Right now I’m just praying hard as I can somebody will get to
the truth.”

“Where were you two when it happened?” I asked.

“We don’t
know
when it happened, but it had to have been after seven
o’clock last night,” Nadine said. If she was offended by my questions she didn’t
show it. She frowned as if working through the timeline in her own mind. “Those
two were still listening to music and I took them in some supper then went down
to town to a movie. I wish to God I’d stayed home. I got home about midnight and
music was still coming from the atrium so I went on to bed.”