A Shot to Die For (21 page)

I hesitated. “Let’s put it this way. There seems to be a web of ‘coincidences’ that connect the Flynn family and the Sutton family to a string of murders that began with Anne’s in 1974. And I’m not sure I believe in coincidence. What is it they say?”

“I believe Albert Einstein once said, ‘God does not play dice with the universe.’”

I gazed at Fouad. The depth of his knowledge always surprises me.

“Ellie, do you really honestly think this Luke is involved in two—no—possibly three murders?”

“I don’t want to believe it. But he did leave Lake Geneva right after his sister died, and he stayed away for a long time.”

“That doesn’t mean he committed murder.”

“I realize that. That’s why I want to see him. I need to talk to him. Even if he didn’t do anything, it’s clear something is very wrong with that family. I need to know what.”

Fouad frowned. “If this man killed his sister, then killed the man who reminded him of it, he’s lied about it for thirty years. What makes you think he’ll tell you the truth now?”

I folded my arms. “Fouad, whose side are you on?”

Smiling enigmatically, he pulled the cord on the lawn mower. The machine roared to life. “Yours,” he shouted. “Once you decide what it is.”

Chapter Thirty-two

I should have known it would be all over Lake Geneva the next day. I didn’t have any reason to be there, but I invented an excuse and drove up. I stopped into the Lodge first, ostensibly to make sure we hadn’t missed any important scenes. I dropped in to the spa, then the pool area, then the kitchen. Some of the Lodge’s employees were longtime residents, and wherever I went, the Sutton family was the topic of conversation.

Most of it wasn’t flattering. As people realized that the Sutton girl’s murder had surfaced again and that her brother Luke could be involved, all the simmering resentment of the working class toward the rich worked up to a full boil. Everyone had a pet theory, or variation of one, but most hypothesized that Luke had probably tried to molest his sister, and when she resisted, possibly with some kind of knife or other sharp object, killed her. And then fled rather than own up to it. As far as Herbert Flynn was concerned, most thought he witnessed the event, saw Luke stash his sister’s clothes and his bloody shirt in the ice house, and threatened to expose him. But the Suttons somehow managed to turn the tables on Herbert and forced him to flee. And then, for whatever reason, when Herbert came back after his daughter was killed and actually contacted the Suttons, well….

People seemed to be reluctant to make the final leap, but it wasn’t clear whether that was because they didn’t believe the Suttons were capable of multiple murders, or because no one wanted to be the first to accuse them. Given what apparently went on behind closed doors at Monticello, however, some people were starting to wonder if Daria Flynn’s death somehow figured into the mess, too. After all, Luke and Daria
had
been seen together at the Lodge.

This was the biggest news to hit this closed community in decades, and I listened carefully. The Suttons and the Flynns were in seclusion, which meant the restaurant was closed. Not that I had much to say to either Kim or her mother. Irene had decided not to hold a funeral service for Herbert. I wasn’t surprised. After letting out that he was dead all these years, she might have found it awkward to bury him again.

After leaving the Lodge, I drove aimlessly down Main Street, listening to Cathy Richardson, the best thing to happen to the Chicago music since blues, sing about the “Road to Bliss.” I thought about trying to see Luke, but my reception at Monticello had been so icy I wasn’t prepared to risk it again. The odds of Luke answering the door himself were slim anyway, and I assumed the family would refuse to let me see him. As far as I knew, Luke hadn’t been formally arrested, but I gathered he was virtually a prisoner in his parents’ home.

Cathy belted out a song about how “sometimes it’s not the notes you sing, but the spaces you leave in between.” I turned off Main and swung past City Hall, the tan and white building that also houses the police department.

There were a lot of spaces between Luke Sutton’s past and his present. There had to be a way to fill them. A block past the police station, I had an idea.

***

“What makes you think he wants to see you?”

Jimmy Saclarides took off his reading glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. I was sitting across from him in his second-floor office at police headquarters.

“I’m not sure he does, but I want to see him, and you’re about the only person who could arrange it.”

I didn’t have any illusions Jimmy would help me out. Given that I’d been the one to spread rumors about Luke and Daria Flynn, given that I’d basically accused him of being in the Suttons’ back pocket, and given that I’d been the one to call about Herbert Flynn’s body, I’d caused him plenty of problems. And yet, I remembered the flicker of pleasure we’d shared at the gala. Under different circumstances, we might have been friends. And if anyone had any influence over Luke, it had to be Jimmy. It was worth a try.

He slipped the glasses into his shirt pocket. “Luke has a lot on his mind right now.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“What would you say if I asked why you feel such a need to see him?”

“I—I’d tell you it was personal.”

He gazed steadily at me.

“Is he under arrest?”

He shook his head. “But under the circumstances, he’s consented to stay here—in Lake Geneva—until the investigation is complete.”

“The DNA tests.”

He didn’t answer but shuffled some papers, then thumped them on his desk. He was sliding into the role of bureaucrat.

“Please, Jimmy. I need to see him. Just for a few minutes. I—I want him to know he has a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” I could tell he was weighing it. He knew me as an adversary; he had no reason to help me. Unless Luke had said something to him about me. Made it known he liked me, or at least didn’t consider me an enemy. But even if he had, I wasn’t sure if Jimmy was wearing his cop hat or his best friend hat. I steeled myself for his answer.

Surprisingly, his expression softened. “Well, I guess Luke could use a friend right about now.”

***

An hour later I found myself on a twenty-two-foot Boston whaler motoring across Lake Geneva. The media was staking out the Sutton house from Lake Shore Road, and Jimmy decided it would be less disruptive to arrive by water. He had “borrowed” the whaler from the Lake Geneva Marine Police, who, technically, were independent of the city cops, but I guess if you’re the chief of police, you can commandeer whatever vehicle you need.

Small whitecaps puckered the surface, and the lake was choppy, but the boat cut through the water like a blade. As we approached the estate, I realized I hadn’t seen this view of Monticello before. From a distance, the dome glowed in the sun, and the grounds looked deceptively beatific. We coasted up to a Y-shaped dock that edged both Willetta Emerson’s and the Suttons’ backyards. A dinghy tied to a post bobbled in our wake.

“This used to be people’s front yard, once upon a time.” Jimmy maneuvered the whaler broadside. Tiny waves lapped the side of the boat.

“Excuse me?”

“The mail used to be delivered by boat. Still is during the summer. Supplies and provisions, too.”

He jumped out and threw a tie over a post. I stepped gingerly onto the dock. Some of the wooden planks squeaked when I put weight on them, and the whole thing needed a coat of paint. Given what had occurred here, though, I could see why the Suttons weren’t inclined to maintain it.

“It’ll be better if you wait here,” Jimmy said when we reached the end of the dock.

I nodded and stayed where I was. When five minutes had passed, I started to pace along the evergreens that provided the barrier between the Suttons’ and Willetta’s property. I wondered if I was making a mistake. Not that I thought it was dangerous to see Luke, but it might be foolish. For years when I was married to Barry, I looked the other way when I saw a side of him I didn’t like. It was only when that side of him dominated the others, and life became an impossible nightmare, that I realized how deeply in denial I’d been. Was I doing the same thing now?

I was heading back toward the dock when the door to the veranda slid open and someone came out. Average height, wearing jeans, his shirttail hanging over them. It was Luke, and he was alone. My heart started to pound. He stopped on the deck, shielded his eyes to take a bearing, and came toward me. He walked with a heavy, slow tread, and his shoulders were more hunched than I remembered.

I waited until he reached the trees. “Hello, Luke.”

“Hello, Ellie.”

I took a closer look. His eyes were red, his skin blotchy, and his beard needed trimming. More worrisome, though, was his expression. Where I’d once seen anger, another time a boyish smile, now I saw defeat. He looked sideways at me, as if he expected me to come down on him.

“I’m so sorry.” It came out impulsively.

He nodded.

“How can I help?”

“You can’t. The wheels of justice and all that.”

“There must be something I could do.”

“You did. You came to see me.” He mustered a smile.

My stomach flipped. I smiled back. For an instant we were back up in the plane.

The instant passed. “People—well, there’s a lot of speculation about—well, you and Annie and Herbert Flynn. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all?”

“The lawyers have ordered me not to say a word to anyone.”

So much pain was etched on his face it was all I could do not to open my arms to him. Instead I shoved my hands in my pockets. We started walking toward the road.

“What—when do you think it will be resolved?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’re doing DNA tests on all the clothes, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“Everybody knows, Luke.”

He nodded curtly. “Sure. Can’t keep a secret in this town.”

I didn’t argue. “Did Jimmy say how long it would take?”

He shook his head.

“A friend of mine, a former police officer, says it can take as long as six weeks. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can’t just—I mean, I wouldn’t be able to sit by and let some result of a test determine whether I’d spend the rest of my life—”

“I’m not you.”

I turned away, but he grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just—would it make a difference if I said I didn’t do it?”

“If I believed you.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he dropped his hands. “Walk with me.”

We started toward the road again but angled away from the media stakeout.

“It’s not just your sister. People are starting to mention Daria Flynn.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Then who did?”

He stopped walking. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Seeing me? Please. Don’t say that.”

He turned around. “I wanted to. I’ve been thinking about you ever since—but you ask so many questions.” He blinked.

“Okay.” I raised a finger to my lips. “No more questions.”

We started walking again.

“Well, just one more.”

He stiffened.

“Did your sister have dark hair?”

He turned to me with a bewildered expression. “Why?”

“Your mother called me Anne when I was here before.”

“You were here?” His gaze turned calculating.

I flipped up my hands in a gesture of frustration. “They didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. I explained about my encounter with Chip and his mother.

He frowned and, after a pause, said, “Yes.”

“Yes, she had dark hair, or yes, no one told you?”

“Both.”

Another silence.

“Ellie, why did you come here?”

I heard a universe of emotion in the way he spoke my name. “I had to.”

He just looked at me. We were behind the road about a hundred yards from the house. Thick shrubbery separated the road from the Suttons’ lawn.

“It’s just that, well, now that they found your—the baseball shirt—I’m having a hard time with that part of it.”

He kept his mouth shut.

“This is the first anyone’s heard of bloodstains. I thought she drowned. But now, with the shirt and the bloodstains, it seems as if there might have been a weapon of some kind. You know, a knife. Or another sharp object. Or God forbid, a gun. I was just thinking, if that weapon could somehow be found or accounted for, it might—”

Luke stopped. I stopped, too. He looked at me with an odd expression.

“What?”

Then he slowly shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

He shook his head again, almost as if to clear his head. “Stop, Ellie. Just stop. It’s out of my hands. And yours.”

A ripple of frustration pulsed through me. How could he crumple like that? Give up so easily? But then, there were probably battalions of lawyers back at the house. He had to do what they said.

“Okay,” I said after a pause. “But I—I want to ask you one more question.”

A smile played around his mouth. “You don’t think you’ve used up your quota?”

“This is personal. The plane ride,” I said softly. “Was it—was it as—magical as I thought?”

“What do you think?”

“I—I thought so. But now, I’m not sure.”

His smile vanished. “Well, then, I guess that makes you just like everyone else.”

“No.” Suddenly, I wanted to stamp my feet. Energize him. Make him jettison this pessimism, the passive acceptance of defeat. Even if it meant directing his anger at me. “You don’t understand. In a way, I feel—responsible.”

Surprise flooded his face. “For what?”

“I told people about you and Daria. I called in the report of Herbert’s body.”

But if it was anger I was trying to kindle, I failed. “You did what you had to. In the final analysis, it won’t make any difference.” His gaze swept over me. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t like you at first. I thought I had good reason. But now….” He swallowed. “It would probably be best if you went away.”

“I can’t.” I looked at the ground. “It felt so easy. Right. I’ve never felt that way before. As if—”

“It was supposed to be?”

I looked up. “Yes.”

“I know.”

His arm brushed mine, and his breath grazed my cheek. He framed my cheeks with his hands, pulled me close, and kissed me. His lips were soft. He leaned closer and wrapped his arms around me. I moved toward him and slipped my arms around him. My fingers brushed the back of his hair. When we broke apart, we were both breathless.

“Why you?” he whispered. “Why now?”

I didn’t have an answer.