Don't Believe a Word (20 page)

‘I have not seen it. That’s right,’ said Michael Darby, nodding.

‘Did you report it stolen?’

Michael Darby screwed his face up angrily. ‘You know I didn’t. Why are you asking me these questions? Everybody knows me here. Anybody here can tell you, when I say I haven’t seen it, that means I haven’t seen it. I didn’t report it stolen because I didn’t know it was stolen. I had no reason to look for it. But that would be just like Flynn. To steal something like that. Just to bust my chops.’

‘Did you ever ask him if he took it?’

Darby seemed to be gathering his customary bluster. ‘I told you. I didn’t know about it. If I had, I woulda asked him. I woulda hit him in the head if I thought he took it.’

‘Could anyone else have taken it?’

‘Like who?’ the old man demanded.

‘I don’t know. Was your house ever broken into? Anyone staying with you who might have taken it? You have an aide who comes in twice a week.’

Michael Darby looked at the detective warily. Then, he smiled, though his eyes remained cold. ‘That cow wouldn’t know which end the bullet comes out of.’

‘So you’re certain it was your grandson who took it?’

‘Who else could it be? How else would it get to Cleveland?’ he cried defiantly.

‘Let me remind you, Mr Darby, that you are responsible for that firearm. You never returned it to the Robbin’s Ferry police, so you were in possession of it illegally. Now, that weapon has been used in the commission of a felony.’

Michael’s belligerence seemed to dwindle away. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘I’m an old man. I’m forgetful, all right. It was an oversight.’

‘Nonetheless, you could be charged—’

‘You can’t do that,’ Darby yelped.

‘We certainly can,’ said the detective.

The old man contorted his face into an aggrieved expression. ‘Look here. My wife and I are trying to make do on a cop’s pension. Someday you’ll find out what that’s like. If I’m not there at the house, somebody has to come in full-time and help her out. She can’t manage on her own.’

‘I’m sure it’s difficult,’ said Detective Fabian.

‘It’s way more than difficult,’ Michael Darby insisted. ‘I can’t afford to be separated from her.’

‘All right, Mr Darby. You’re free to go today. But we may call on you again for further information. Thank you for coming down to the station.’

The old man shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.

The video feed abruptly stopped.

Eden sat back in her chair and stared at the blank screen. ‘That’s just the way he was when I met him. What a horrible old man.’

‘There’s something not right in his story about the gun,’ said Burt. ‘He strikes me as the kind of guy who would take his gun out every day and admire it. I find it hard to believe that he didn’t know his gun was gone. Did you notice how uneasy he seemed? I don’t think he was saying all that he knew.’

‘I had the same impression,’ said Eden, surprised that the detective seemed to be soliciting her opinion.

‘So did Fabian. But, for the moment, that’s where it stands.’

‘Do you think that Flynn had the gun?’

‘He must have. For whatever reason, his grandfather decided not to report him for stealing it.’

‘That seems like the kind of thing he would enjoy. Reporting his grandson for that,’ Eden observed.

Detective Burt shook his head. ‘There’s no love lost between those two. But why he didn’t report him … I don’t know … yet.’

‘So whoever it was that shot Flynn must have taken the gun from him,’ said Eden.

The detective shrugged. ‘He might have given the gun to someone. Or someone stole it from him. Someone he knew.’

Eden immediately thought about the people who visited Flynn in his house recently. Lizzy. Aaliya. Herself.

‘He never reported it missing either. Did he ever mention a burglary to you? A break-in?’ the detective asked.

Eden shook her head slowly. ‘No … But then again, we’re not exactly close.’

‘Did your mother ever mention him having a gun?’

‘She wouldn’t have said that to me. But I can’t picture her welcoming a gun in the house. That just wasn’t her style.’

‘A lot of questions,’ Burt admitted.

‘So he was shot with his own grandfather’s gun,’ Eden said.

‘Yup.’

Eden shook her head. ‘You’re right. None of this seems like a coincidence.’

‘No. I just need to figure out how these crimes are connected. By the way, in light of this information, and the results of the gunshot residue test, we no longer consider you a suspect, and if you wish to return home we won’t stop you.’

‘Okay,’ said Eden. ‘Thanks for letting me know that I am free to go.’

‘Thank you,’ said Detective Burt. ‘Thanks for bringing me this information about Mr Darby. When there’s a sexual affair involved, you automatically have new suspects.’

Eden immediately thought of DeShaun Jacquez, who was a victim in all this, and had been kind of her. She hoped his alibi would hold up. ‘I hope it will help.’

‘The more information the better,’ he said.

‘I just wish …’ said Eden.

The detective looked at her with raised eyebrows.

‘I wish you would reopen that investigation. Into my mother’s death. There are so many questions. I no longer think that Flynn was responsible, but I still don’t believe it was a suicide.’

Detective Burt smiled at her. ‘I promise you, I will go over everything again, with what we now know in mind. And I will let you know.’

‘Thank you,’ said Eden. ‘That’s all I ask.’

‘Your mother has quite a champion in you,’ he said admiringly.

Eden marveled at the irony of this, given her long estrangement from Tara. ‘Maybe so,’ she said. She got up from the chair and slung her pocketbook over her shoulder. ‘I’d better get going.’

‘Will you leave right away?’ he asked.

‘I’ll spend the night here. Leave in the morning.’

‘Try not to get in any trouble between the time you leave here and the time you get to the airport,’ said Detective Burt.

‘I think I can manage that,’ said Eden.

B
efore she even opened the door, Eden c
ould smell something delicious being prepared in the bistro. She was starving when she left the police station, and on her way home she was trying to decide what to do about dinner when she received a call from Marguerite.

‘I heard about Flynn being shot. How is he doing?’

‘Holding his own, apparently,’ said Eden.

‘Any progress since we talked?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Quite a bit has happened.’

‘Have you eaten? Come over here and tell me about it.’

‘Are you at the restaurant?’ Eden asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be over right away.’

As she drove to Jaune, Eden realized that she had several reasons for wanting to go there, not the least of which was the wonderful food. She was glad that Marguerite had called. She was still plagued by a nagging question which arose from her last conversation with her. She waited at the front of the restaurant for Marguerite to appear, but this time she was greeted by a pale young girl with long, dark hair and a perfectly oval face. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘Actually, I’m looking for Marguerite. She’s expecting me.’

‘She’s in the kitchen tonight. My dad is home with the flu.’

‘You’re Marguerite’s daughter?’

‘Amalie, her oldest,’ she said, nodding. ‘I can tell her you’re here.’

Eden frowned. ‘I don’t want to disturb her.’

‘It’s okay. We’re slow tonight. Come with me.’

Eden followed the girl in her long, swaying skirt and boots, to the swinging door with its porthole-like window at the back of the room. Amalie opened the door and yelled in. ‘Mom, someone here to see you.’ She turned back to Eden.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Eden.’

‘Her name is Eden,’ Amalie called out.

Marguerite appeared at the door, wearing a long, lavishly stained apron over jeans and a tank top. ‘Eden!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘It’s good to be here,’ said Eden truthfully.

‘Come in. Come through,’ said Marguerite. ‘Thanks, chérie,’ she said, smiling at her daughter, who headed back to the front of the restaurant.

‘I didn’t realize you were cooking tonight,’ said Eden.

‘It’s all right. I need a break. Come outside with me. I’ll have a smoke. Here. Take this.’ She threw together a plate of delicious-looking food and handed it to Eden. Then she picked up two glasses of wine. ‘Bring it with you.’

Eden took the plate, while Marguerite juggled the wine and shrugged herself into a parka which was too large for her and had seen better days. She headed back through a storage area, passing a door on her left, and going to a door at the end of the room. Eden had the terrible thought that they were headed out to where the garbage was stored. She should have known better. Even casual and al fresco, it was, after all, a French meal.

Marguerite set one of the glasses down on a small, café-style table, and gestured to Eden to join her. Eden followed her hostess and found herself on a long, narrow screen porch along the back of the building, which looked out on a dark parking lot. Marguerite closed the door to the storage room behind her and rummaged in the pocket of the parka, pulling out a box of matches and a cigarette. Eden sat down on the small, wrought-iron chair and placed her plate on the table. Marguerite took her cigarette to the opposite end of the porch and lit it, taking a sip of wine from her glass. She exhaled with a sigh of relief or contentment or both.

Then she looked at Eden. ‘Go ahead. Eat. Use your fingers.’

Eden needed no further encouragement. She picked up a spear of asparagus and dipped it in a creamy, garlicky sauce that tasted heavenly. ‘Mmmm …’ she said.

‘My smoke doesn’t bother you?’ asked Marguerite.

‘No,’ said Eden, and, strangely, it was true. ‘This is delicious.’

‘Thanks. So, what’s going on?’

Eden hurriedly chewed and swallowed the bread and garlicky sauce in her mouth. ‘I just came from the police station. The detective wanted to talk to me about the shooting.’

Marguerite nodded. ‘Surely they don’t think it was you that shot him?’

Eden smiled and shook her head. ‘Nope. For my sins. It wasn’t me.’

‘Do they know who did it?’

‘No. They know he was shot with his grandfather’s gun. Service revolver. Apparently, Flynn had taken it from him long ago.’

Marguerite looked surprised. ‘You’re kidding. So that means that whoever shot him … it was someone close to Flynn. Someone who could have taken his gun …? Do they have any suspects?’

Eden shook her head. ‘Well, I don’t know about that. But I told them what I found out. That Flynn was having an affair with Lizzy.’

‘Lizzy,’ Marguerite cried. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Oh, you can believe it. I saw the pictures.’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘But Lizzy? She’s married. She and her husband were so in love.’

‘Not any more. She and Flynn are now crazy about one another.’

‘Good God. I just … I can’t … She’s such a good girl. I would never expect this from her. Flynn, yes. Certainly. But Lizzy?’

‘She tried to convince me that this just started a few days ago. But I have my doubts,’ said Eden. ‘She spent a lot of time with the family.’

‘Yes, she did. God, I always knew he was a cheater.’

‘Well, you were right,’ said Eden.

Marguerite frowned and inhaled another drag on her cigarette, gazing out into the darkness. ‘What a mess. Do you think it was a lover’s quarrel? Do you think Lizzy shot him?’

‘No, I don’t. She’s completely distraught.’

‘Oh no. Tell me it’s not DeShaun …’ Marguerite said sadly.

‘I don’t know who shot Flynn,’ Eden said. ‘DeShaun seems to have an alibi. The police are working on it.’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘Wow. I didn’t know about any of this.’

‘But you saw them together, right? While my mother was alive?’

‘Who? Lizzy and Flynn?’

Eden nodded.

Marguerite took another drag on her cigarette, frowning. ‘I saw them in the same room from time to time … Why?’

‘Lizzy swears that they never acted on their feelings while my mother was alive. But now I am wondering if my mother suspected there was something between them.’

Marguerite shook her head slowly. ‘I know what you’re asking. But no. I never saw anything going on between them. No. I didn’t.’

Eden felt vaguely disappointed. ‘Well, you probably weren’t expecting to see anything so you didn’t.’

‘Your mother only had the nicest things to say about that girl. Always.’

Eden thought about that. It seemed unlikely that her mother would be singing the praises of her rival for Flynn’s affections. Unless she really didn’t know.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s true that they didn’t consummate it when my mother was alive. But Flynn isn’t known for his self-restraint. Or his moral fiber.’

‘Well, you know how I feel about him. I told you the last time we talked …’ Marguerite crushed her cigarette with the toe of her boot. ‘In fact, I never told you this, but I was so suspicious of him that I called the insurance company and the police and suggested they ought to look into whether he might have … helped your mother and Jeremy on their way.’

‘That was you?’ Eden exclaimed. ‘You were the source of the tip?’

Marguerite glanced at Eden, and nodded sheepishly. ‘Believe me, I have never done anything like that before. I did it anonymously. It wasn’t as though I knew anything concrete. But I just had such bad feelings about that guy. I hope you’re not angry I did that …’

‘No …’ said Eden, although, in truth, the anonymous tip now smacked of innuendo, and not actual facts.

‘When I heard about all that insurance money. The thought of him getting that when your poor mother …’

‘I understand,’ said Eden. ‘I suspected him too.’

Marguerite peered at her. ‘You say that like you don’t anymore.’

Eden thought of Flynn’s outraged eyes when she accused him. ‘No, I don’t. Not anymore.’ She sipped her wine. It gave her a warm glow despite the chilly seat on the porch. ‘But I did want to ask you about something. You told me that story about seeing Flynn in a car with a woman. You said she seemed to be crying, and he was consoling her. Do you think that was Lizzy?’

Marguerite frowned. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

Eden was surprised. ‘No? Why not?’

‘Because …’ Marguerite was searching her memory. ‘No. I don’t know why. I’m just sure it wasn’t Lizzy.’

Eden was dissatisfied with that response. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘It’s a gut feeling. I’d have to think about it.’

‘Is it possible that he had somebody else before Lizzy?’ said Eden.

‘Are you kidding?’ Marguerite exclaimed. ‘Of course it’s possible. I don’t think Flynn has any scruples. Let me think.’ Her brow was furrowed as she tried to remember the sequence of events. ‘Wait. I remember this now, Eden,’ she said, jabbing the air with a fresh cigarette. ‘I was coming from your mother’s house that day. I was on my way to my house when I saw him in the car with the weeping woman. I have no idea who she was. But when I walked in my house, Lizzy was there. She was halfway through the interview with my husband, Gerard, and the children. In fact, she had my middle one on her lap. She was already there at my house. Had been there for some time. They got tired of waiting and started without me.’

Eden stared at her. ‘So it couldn’t have been Lizzy,’ she said, half in disbelief.

‘Flynn is worthless. But no. It wasn’t Lizzy.’

‘Maybe he threw this other woman over for Lizzy, and she shot him.’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘That guy should learn to keep it in his pants.’

‘Maybe this will teach him,’ said Eden. ‘If he pulls through.’