Prelude to Murder: Fairchance, Maine, Has Another Killer

Copyright © 2009 by Camille Mariani

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4401-5239-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-5240-5 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 7/06/2009

Contents

PART ONE

THE SHORTCUT

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

PART TWO

TO CATCH A KILLER

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Also by Camille Mariani

Lucille’s Lie

Miss Merrill, I don’t get upset. I don’t get frightened. I don’t get bored. And I don’t get taken. A man in my position can afford to remedy all of these conditions…I’ve found only one condition that I can’t reverse. That’s death.

Aletha’s Will

My mother was no quitter…She’d have walked on hot coals and back over them again to prove a point. A strong person like that doesn’t take the easy way out, ever. This is no case of suicide, Mr. Tunney. It’s murder. Someone killed my mother.

Pandora’s Hope

I know Mavis came here to be with you. She didn’t go anywhere on her own. She wanted to be with a man, and you were it. So what did you do with her? Have you spent all her money yet?

Links To Death–Murder In Maine

Harold walked out the door to hide his anger. She was the most exasperating woman he ever saw, never wanted to do anything he said. Over her dead body? That what she said? Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

More at

www.camillescorner.com

Dedicated to my mother, Emily (Howard) Fogg (1913-2004), who lived a conservative life, with extravagant goodwill, and genuine happiness.

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear…not absence of fear.

—Mark Twain

PART ONE

THE SHORTCUT

PROLOGUE

The doorbell at this time of day? Ed plugged in the coffee pot and looked at his watch. Just six-thirty. He went back to the bedroom for a robe, and tied the sash as he walked to the front door.

Well, well, he said. Come in. Why such an early call? I have to be at the gym by eight o’clock.

This won’t take long. Having breakfast?

Just about to. Join me. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Come to the bar. I like to see the early morning sun over the lake. Great color this fall.

Ed felt a swell of satisfaction starting the day like this. Sometimes the pleasure of showing off his home was greater than other times, like now. House, lake and campus view, antiques, top-of-the-line everything. It all flaunted his wealth. Not even the IRS knew how he came by this prosperity. Sure, he was proud of all he owned. His often-censured reputation as campus playboy pleased him, too. As he saw it, backbiters were jealous. Their criticisms meant nothing. He’d live his way, the devil take the lot of them.

In time, he would give up college coaching, travel abroad, have an even more lavish house on the Florida Gulf coast. Like this one, the winter home would display an enviable collection of the masters.

He favored classical music, and found it interesting to observe visitors’ quick reassessment of him when they heard it in his home, like maybe they misjudged him, and he had class after all. Arrogance was always forgiven when there was good breeding. Of course, there was that matter of…well…sexual appetite.

And that was okay with Ed. If people knew that the label Stud, often associated with his name, didn’t come close to what he really was they’d have him behind bars for a long, long time. It wouldn’t happen because he was smart, careful not to forge close friendships, never to drink too much, and not to stay with one woman long. You didn’t reveal secrets that way.

He turned on the stereo. Beethoven’s Violin Concerto In D began to play softly. Beautiful background music, but not to this visitor.

You like classical music? he asked. What a joke.

I can take it or leave it.

I would have thought you’d be a real fan of the great composers, connoisseur of beauty and fine art that you are.

His laugh faded to a sneer. He turned around to check the coffee.

Ed heard the words, Goodbye, Stud.

But he didn’t hear the gunshot that severed him from wealth and title forever.

CHAPTER ONE

Daisy sat alone at a picnic table by the lake, trying to separate reality from fanciful dream, certain that Karl’s name would never be hers. Still, she tested the sound of hers with his, Daisy Lynn Graham, with the smug satisfaction that it flowed well. More than anything in the world, she wanted to win his attention, but that apparently never would happen. In two years of working in his office, she learned more about his arguments for the urgent need to protect the environment than about the man himself.

Shaking off this introspection, she looked around for the first time in ten minutes, determined to set aside misgivings. The campus glowed with color everywhere, autumn in full dress shades of gold, red, orange.

Amazing, Daisy thought, how the approaching death of summertime awakened excitement, as if it were a start instead of an end. Maybe sweet leafy scents inspired the passing contentment, or perhaps it was anticipation of another wintry challenge, even while dreading it. She loved this time of year, and wished she’d brought her camera.

Floating clouds of flies buzzed about. Crows set up a gossip line that brought a repetitive Uh huh to end each exchange. Two squirrels skittered here and there, twitched their tails, dug furiously, sat up straight to study Daisy. The spurt of activity on this warm Indian summer day affirmed that living creatures were happy to postpone winter deep freeze. And so was she.

As a child, if she could have imagined this beauty, it would have been among dreams of fairyland and Prince Charming. Was she dreaming less now? A two-room apartment in Boston’s cheapest rent district imprisoned her then, each day becoming more and more hopeless for sixteen years. Fresh air seldom reached her lungs. Open windows at night let in startling street sounds as well as soot that smelled like dirty socks, and turned white clothes dingy gray.

She remembered how hope of rescue rose when a social worker spoke of taking her away from it all, but then a judge declared that no child should be removed from its natural parents. After she heard that judgment, Daisy found even less happiness. She was ten years old. Acutely aware that she failed to measure up to the social level of her classmates, she became an outcast by choice when she saw her home for what it was, not fit for friends to enter.

Those who advocated that a child should stay in a dysfunctional home, despite an alcoholic father and a callous mother, didn’t know what they were talking about. Life was hell. And only by the help of an astute school nurse, who spoke to a sympathetic principal, had she finally escaped to business school, where she ultimately discovered that life could be fun among new friends.

Now here she was, working for a terrific man on this beautiful Fairchance College campus, earning a good salary, living well. And near tears. She must shake off this feeling of hopelessness, and stop moping like a lovesick teenager.

Think how lucky you are. Remember where you came from, and never forget that life can be so much worse.

Fine thoughts, but hard to do.

She left the picnic table, glanced toward a group of students milling about the Administration Building, walked along a pathway to the partly enclosed pavilion where a public phone had been installed last year. A young couple came running out when they saw her, dashing by with an embarrassed Hi. She smiled. Enjoy, she thought.

Once inside the booth she found the phone directory, intact, no graffiti. So nice to be around students who practiced preservation instead of destruction. She dialed Beth’s office number, and gazed through the glass at the lake. The campus was never prettier than in the fall. This year the colors, like gaudy paints on stage actors, were too vivid to seem real in the spotlight of bright sunshine. On a peninsular across the lake, a white birch grove stood in stark contrast to the backdrop of dark evergreens and blazing woods under clear blue sky. Vesper Lake reflected this color palate in one continuous line from tree tops to lake bottom. Maine could claim no copyright on fall color, but right now it radiated like heaven itself to Daisy. She sighed.

Bugle office. May I help you?

The voice startled her. Oh. Yes. May I speak with Beth Armstrong…I mean Knight…please?

She kept forgetting to use Beth’s married name, and it had been ten months since the wedding.

One moment, please.

Silence, then Beth announced herself.

Beth. It’s Daisy. I’m so glad I caught you. Will you be going out for lunch today?

Hadn’t planned to, but I could easily enough. Natalie, Steve, and I are just sitting here going over next week’s news menu. Why? Did you want to meet me somewhere?

Yeah. Could we meet at the Mid-Town Diner in fifteen minutes?

Sure thing. See you there.

Of all her fiends, Beth was the one she respected most. Daisy needed a discussion today. Good heavens, she needed more than a talk. She needed advice, which was something Beth once said she seldom gave. Maybe she could break her own rule this one time, in light of the situation.

At the wedding last December, Daisy met each of Beth’s four handsome brothers, two of whom were not married. She would like to have known them better then. But that was before she took control of two things in her life: diet and exercise. Now slimmer and physically stronger, she longed for just one man’s interest, but he didn’t notice. That was the problem she needed to discuss with Beth.

She stepped out of the phone booth and started toward the door when, as if from nowhere, Coach Ed Ingel appeared in front of her. His body reflected hours of physical fitness activity, while his lecherous expression mirrored less admirable pursuits. Since this was a man Daisy knew mainly by reputation and what her friend Helen experienced, she wanted to avoid him. She looked around, hoping to find another exit short of turning and running the other way.

Daisy. Daisy Winslow, I do believe. Have I told you lately that you’re beautiful?

Then he sang the lyric, Have I told you lately that I love you? with hand gestures to her and then to his heart.

She felt the familiar fist of anxiety pound on her rib cage. Ed was a fearsome man, powerful in build, dangerous around women. Helen learned the hard way what he was, though she seemed reluctant to admit it, nor would she listen to her friends who told her she should simply forget him.

If she said anything to him, her distress would be obvious. Instead, she tried to walk past him without a word. Like a shot, he was in front of her, blocking her each way she tried to turn.

She managed to say, Let me pass, please.

Daisy. What’s the matter? Don’t you like being called beautiful? I’ll bet that boss of yours never says it, does he? Does he ever bring in flowers for your desk or take you out to lunch? No? Come now. Tell me the truth. Does he?

Please. I have an engagement, and I need to go.

He reached out and grabbed her arm.

No, you can’t go until you answer my question. Does Karl Graham ever say he thinks you’re beautiful since you trimmed down and became this gorgeous model?

Listen, Mr. Ingel. You have someone who loves you. Helen is my friend. Pay more attention to her. I don’t want your compliments.

Helen? Ah, I see the problem. It may be a problem for you, but it’s not for me, gal. Just because she and I have had a fling or two doesn’t hurt me. Come on, now. Loosen up. You and I could have a good time. You’re just my type.

Gathering all her courage, Daisy said, Well, you’re not my type. Please leave me alone. If you don’t, I’ll scream and the students there will come running.

Her voice faded to a whisper, You wouldn’t want them to think you’d harm a woman.

His dark eyes narrowed and he snorted in a manner that said it really didn’t matter to him. However, he relaxed his grip and stepped back. With a flourish of his arm, as if spreading a cape over a mud puddle, he said, By all means, Lady Daisy, pass with my blessing.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Swine. But she held back, as she always did when she was overcome by unreasonable terror. Some day she hoped she would overcome the grip of fear at the slightest confrontation, especially with a man. She ran past Ed now, toward the Administration Building, past the half dozen students looking at her in surprise, out to the parking lot where she got into her Ford Escort.

Still trembling, she screamed, Thank you so much, dear old dad. You made sure I’d be cowardly, if nothing else.

CHAPTER TWO

The Bugle staffers were gathered at Natalie’s desk in their regular Wednesday morning conference, both to evaluate the just-published newspaper and to discuss story assignments for the following week’s issue. Hard news was slow, and though everyone was happy not to have a spate of crime in Fairchance, deciding what to print on the front page meant focusing on the occasional auto accident, the opening of a new store, a celebrity speaker at Fairchance College.

Since Steve’s recovery from his nightmarish involvement in his one-time fiancé’s murder a year ago, he had become a mainstay at The Bugle office. Now he worked full-time as sports editor and general assignment reporter. His new position gave Beth more time to develop feature stories and do what she enjoyed most, write about environmental issues. Steve’s extra responsibilities also gave Natalie greater flexibility in juggling her duties as editor with the demands of Drew, her physician husband, and her two young daughters.

Neither Natalie nor Steve would ask, but their raised eyebrows and obvious affectation of indifference left little doubt that they were curious about Beth’s phone call.

Daisy, Beth said in answer to the unspoken question. Wants me to meet her at the diner in fifteen minutes. We’re finished here anyway, aren’t we?

We are, Natalie said. Apparently our publisher can’t find an hour for this Wednesday morning conference, so we’ll just go with what we’ve laid out next week. Maybe he’ll pop in sometime today so I can at least discuss page one with him.

Beth nodded and Steve mumbled under his breath that it was no great loss if the head honcho didn’t show up. Marvin Cornell trusted Natalie to make editorial decisions. If he had nothing better to do, he would come to the weekly meeting, but he focused on the commercial printing business, the lucrative end of Cornell enterprises, unlike the newspaper.

As long as you’re seeing Daisy, Beth, will you ask her about the upcoming environmental conference in Montreal? I received a very brief notice that Dr. Graham will be a featured speaker. We need more than that. Maybe she can put together more details for next week’s issue, or maybe you can set up an interview about it?

Yeah, sure. I’ll do that.

She still going with that Bangor hairdresser? Steve asked.

Not sure, Beth said. She doesn’t speak of him. I don’t think they had more than one date, to tell the truth. Their apartments are on the same floor, but he’s not… What could she say? Not interested in women? He’s not her type.

I wouldn’t think so. A male hairdresser…well. Steve was careful not to say more. Beth shot him a disapproving look when he held up an extended pinky.

I didn’t say a word, he said, spreading all his fingers in an innocent gesture.

How’s Esther, by-the-way? Natalie asked. Haven’t heard you say anything about her lately. Been at least a month since you’ve spoken her name.

Yeah, well, she’s fine, I guess. We haven’t been going out lately. She’s always working at the hospital or studying. Going after her four-year degree, you know. So I don’t know where we stand. Doesn’t matter.

Beth had noticed that he dressed far better the past few weeks than when he was thick with Esther. Today she noted in particular his new jeans and open-collar shirt.

Someone else on the hook, Steve? she asked.

No. Under his breath he added, Not exactly.

Both women heard, and they exchanged glances, but said nothing. It was good to have Steve back and alert again after the ordeal he went through last year. Since the arrest of Melody’s murderer, he stayed sober, was interested in life again, had his hair trimmed to just below the ears, looked rested and healthy, full of fun. And he worked hard. In fact, Natalie was the first to admit he worked faster and more accurately than he did before Melody’s death, an admission she made reluctantly, given her former criticism of his slovenly ways.

Well, I’ve got to get out of here, Beth said.

She straightened folders on her desk, took her purse from the bottom drawer.

I shouldn’t need a coat now, it warmed up so much. Be back about two o’clock or so. Right after lunch I have that interview with the new vet, Nathan Grossman, at Long Road Animal Rescue. Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise Larry and take home a kitten tonight.

He’d be thrilled, I’ll bet, Steve said with a laugh.

Natalie said, Did I tell you that we have two dogs now? One for each of the girls. It’s a mad house. Dogs chasing kids and kids chasing dogs.

She rolled her eyes as if it were too much, but she fooled no one. Her family held priority over anything else, including her editor’s chair. If dogs kept her girls happy, she’d put up with the inconveniences.

As she left the building, Beth thought about Natalie and her daughters, and admitted to herself that she felt a bit envious. Her own hope of starting a family remained just that, a hope. It had been ten months, and still she wasn’t pregnant. Larry thought they should see a doctor about it, but Beth insisted on waiting a while longer. Give it time. However, she felt more anxious as time went on. Odd that she hadn’t become pregnant. Her mother had no difficulty conceiving. Maybe something was wrong with her. But then again, maybe it was Larry’s problem, not hers. Either way, she had no desire to start counting calendar days, taking temperature, and racing to jump into bed like some couples did. Seemed to her it was a natural process and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. Natural and loving, not a drop-everything, mechanical grunt and grind procedure.

She breathed in the warm fall air. Evenly spaced maple trees, at the height of their fall beauty, graced Main Street, not unlike many central Maine communities, except that the Fairchance downtown bustled with activity as a result of upkeep and citizen resistance to fringe malls.

How peaceful Fairchance had been for the past several months. After the dreadful indoctrination Beth had just after one month on her job at The Bugle with three murders in a row, everything settled down and she enjoyed the routine. It all seemed like a bad dream now. But