Hiss and Tell (14 page)

“It wouldn’t hurt.” Sunny watched Cillie, her fiance, and the Neals go in, then turned to pass the roadblock. A quick turn at the first intersection, and yes, there was Will in his police cruiser. She got in on the passenger side, and he set off through the neighborhood. “You look a little wobbly tonight,” he observed. “Were you trying to dig up clues over brandies by the fireplace?”

“More like trying to get the suspects to let their hair down over beer pong,” Sunny admitted. “Not much to report there. But I got Beau Bellingham alone earlier. We talked about his relationship with Eliza and that fight they had.”

Sunny stopped, realizing that Will wasn’t listening. He’d slowed the car and was peering off into the distance. This was a quiet residential block in a part of town that didn’t run to streetlights. Whatever he was staring at stood in an even deeper patch of shadow from a huge pine tree. “That’s Nesbit’s car,” Will said.

Now Sunny looked harder, barely able to make out the fact that a car was parked in the shadows. She knew that the sheriff often drove an unmarked county car, but how would Will recognize it all the way over there?

“It’s the whip antenna,” Will explained as if he’d overheard her thought. “I just caught the silhouette, but that’s something we all keep an eye out for. It means the boss is around.”

He drove up behind the mystery car, his headlights revealing that someone was behind the driver’s wheel. The driver didn’t turn around, though.

Will stopped the car and got out. He looked in the window and recoiled, trying to stop Sunny as she got out to join him.

But he was too late. She got an eyeful of Frank Nesbit’s trademark mustache and pale face, now twisted in a rictus of pain and surprise, his glazed, staring eyes—and of the bloody wound across his throat. All the beer Sunny had drunk made a sudden attempt to leap out of her stomach, and she stumbled back, fighting for control.

Will would kill me if I threw up on his crime scene,
some part of her brain commented.

Will stepped back and took out his flashlight, playing it over the interior of the car. Sunny wished he hadn’t. All it seemed to show was drying blood all over.

“I think he knew whoever did this.” Will turned to Sunny, took in her pale face, and went to her, but she waved him off.

“I’m okay.” She gulped heavily. “I think.” Then she asked, “What makes you say that?”

“He let him get close enough to slit his throat,” Will’s face was grim. “I know that Nesbit always carried a gun in a shoulder rig. He said it was one of the perks of the job. But when I looked now, his jacket was zipped closed. If he’d had any suspicions at all, he’d have wanted free access to his weapon. That jacket would have been open. Instead . . .”

Will shook his head. “It looks as though he made the mistake of bringing a gun to a knife fight.”

The quiet neighborhood
was neither quiet nor dark for long. Large floodlights threw a harsh glare over Frank Nesbit’s car, and a steady rumble came from the gasoline-powered generators providing juice for the lights. Radios chattered from shoulder-mounted units on state troopers as well as from several state police vehicles; along with the red flashers, it was like a scene from a movie. Troopers moved around setting up a perimeter, and Sunny spotted Ben Semple’s shocked face beyond the crime-scene tape.

“Ben Semple already called in the news to headquarters in Levett,” Will told Lieutenant Ellis Wainwright. “They’re rousting Captain Ingersoll”—who Sunny recalled was the sheriff’s second in command—“out of bed to get over here.”

Wainwright nodded. “In the meantime, I’m hoping you
can give me some answers. What the hell was Nesbit doing here?”

“I have no idea,” Will replied. “He didn’t share his schedule with me. As far as I know, he had no reason to be around here at this time of night.” He hesitated for a moment. “I’d say this was a good spot for a quiet meeting, though.”

“Mmmph.” Wainwright made an indeterminate noise and glanced at Sunny. “As you were doing with Ms. Coolidge.”

“She came out to share anything she’d heard in the compound,” Will said stiffly.

“Anything that didn’t fit in her blog, I suppose,” the state police investigator cut in. “Lee Trehearne is still unhappy with the way you publicized the wedding presents.”

“Did you read the post? Do
you
think I endangered the security of the gifts or the house, Lieutenant?” By now, Sunny’s nausea had transformed into anger. “I tried to point out what a good job Trehearne’s doing, but the fact is, he just doesn’t want me around. Does the same go for you?”

“I guess that depends on what you can tell me about the movements of any of the people in the compound,” Wainwright replied. “You were spotted with Priscilla Kingsbury, Carson de Kruk, and several of their friends at the guesthouses before you set off on your little walk to meet Constable Price here. What were you all doing prior to that?”

“We were having a little . . . entertainment.” Sunny silently cursed her beer-thickened wits. How much would she have to tell?

Wainwright gave her a cool but penetrating cop’s gaze. “Yeah. I could smell the ‘entertainment’ on you. At a guess
I’d say it was some kind of drinking game. Who was participating?”

Sunny could feel her face growing warm. And Will was no help, studiously keeping his eyes averted. He was leaving her on her own—or, rather, silently telling her not to cover things up.

“Beau Bellingham left after the first round. He said he wanted to get some sleep.” Sunny didn’t need a scorecard to realize that her statement would put another check mark under “Opportunity” for Beau. As for motive . . . “What could he possibly have against Sheriff Nesbit?”

“Just tell me who was present and who wasn’t.” Wainwright’s voice was cold.

“Carson and Priscilla were playing, and so were Tommy and Yardley Neal. Peter Van Twissel was on my team, but he, um, wound up a little under the weather—”

“Or in the bag,” Wainwright muttered.

“So he went to lie down,” Sunny finished a little defiantly. “Then Caleb Kingsbury came to join us for a while.”

“Sure,” the state police investigator said. “The fun-loving Kingsbury.”

That got a flicker of interest from Will’s poker face.

Now he probably wishes we’d had more time to talk before this whole circus hit,
Sunny thought.

She took a deep breath. “Lieutenant, I’m sure you know that Augustus de Kruk and his wife are arriving tomorrow. Carson, Priscilla, and the others were just hoping for a last blowout before things got more, well, formal. This was their only chance to let off a little steam.”

Wainwright looked at her shrewdly. “And maybe a
chance for someone to let something slip, thanks to the beer.”

Sunny gave a small nod of concession. “But no one said anything. Maybe you should talk with Caleb. He was with the older generation of the family.”

“And I’m sure they’ll all stick together,” Wainwright growled. “At least as far as they’ll tell us.”

“Don’t knock yourself, Lieutenant,” Sunny joked, but she couldn’t hold on to her flippant attitude. More somberly she added, “Do you really think these two things are connected?”

“Two people get murdered, a few blocks from one another, and a couple of days apart . . .” Wainwright’s rumpled face added a few wrinkles. “The proximity is suggestive, and I don’t mean that in a dirty way.”

“But what connects a girl up here from New York City to a sheriff who barely leaves Elmet County?” Sunny demanded.

“The Kingsburys, for one,” Lieutenant Wainwright said. “Lord knows that Frank was about as plugged in as anyone in the county.” He turned to Will. “Given your relationship with Frank, you should get ready for people looking into you.”

That jarred Will a little. “Hey, I was only running against him for sheriff. It wasn’t a blood feud.”

“He stuck you out here in the boondocks while he was busy campaigning,” Wainwright pointed out.

“So people will think I killed him because he wouldn’t let me speak to the local rotary clubs?” Will shook his head as if a mosquito were buzzing around his ears. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re the one who found him, after picking up a witness for yourself.” Wainwright scowled again. “I’m not saying anything, Price, I’m just throwing out a few facts. You should think about how they might be interpreted.” He paused for a moment as Captain Ingersoll arrived in a patrol cruiser with sirens blaring. “Is this Ingersoll politically connected?” he asked Will.

“I don’t think so,” Will said. “He’s a pro, worked with my dad before Nesbit took over as sheriff. Kind of a hard-ass, from what I remember. These days, he seemed to be the brain Nesbit would pick when he had to think about policing.”

“Okay.” Wainwright turned a poker face on Will. “And how do you think Ingersoll would feel about you being his boss?”

“Um.” Will closed his mouth with a snap. “Not very positive, I expect.”

Wainwright gave him a wintry smile. “Welcome to politics, bunkie.”

Captain Ingersoll was a big, florid man who very evidently had been fast asleep about forty minutes ago. Sunny wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he actually still had on his pajama top under the zipped-up green sheriff’s department Windbreaker he wore.

I wonder what his first official action will be?
she thought.

She didn’t have to wonder long. Ingersoll strode right up to Will. “Constable Price, you’re hereby relieved of your liaison duties here.” The captain had a hoarse, breathless sort of voice that made Sunny want to start coughing in sympathy. “After you’ve rendered any assistance Lieutenant
Wainwright requires, you’ll return to your normal duties at the beginning of the next shift.”

*

One pair of
eyes unblinkingly took in the activities in the almost unbearably bright circle of lights. Shadow crouched beside a bush in a big flowerpot—a very big one, it had to be twice as tall as he could stretch his body, a long jump to get to cover. He’d wedged himself into a tight space beside the giant flowerpot, and had slept for a while, but had been awakened by go-fast things making horrible screaming noises as they rushed along, then screeching to a stop. And the too-bright lights with their too-loud noises had made further sleep impossible.

It took him a while to realize that Sunny was also down there in the circle of light. Shadow’s first thought when he spotted her was to run straight to her. But there were other two-legs around her, and when he saw the way she held herself and moved, Shadow knew she wasn’t happy. Maybe this wasn’t the time. Because the absolute worst thing that could happen would be if he came up to her, and Sunny pushed him away.

So he hunkered down and simply watched.

I know Sunny is around here,
he thought.
I can always find her again.

*

After getting the
official brush-off from Captain Ingersoll, Will made arrangements to submit a statement in the morning. “Do you want me to do this at the station in
Levett, or should I go to the Troop
A
barracks in Alfred?” he asked Wainwright.

“Go to the barracks. You, too, Ms. Coolidge.” The state police investigator glanced over at Captain Ingersoll. “No reflection on you, Captain, but I’d like this to stay in-house.”

“Understood,” Ingersoll replied. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me in the loop. And, of course, feel free to request any assistance we can offer.” His reddish face deepened in color. “For the time being, you can consider
me
the local liaison.”

Sunny had a sudden ridiculous vision of the oversized captain directing traffic outside the Kingsbury’s compound and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing inappropriately.
Hold it together,
she told herself firmly.

Wainwright was diplomatic, saying, “Thanks, Captain, I appreciate that.” He turned to supervise his troops with Ingersoll on his heels.

“The troopers along the perimeter will have more than nosy neighbors to deal with now,” Will noted as the first news crews arrived along with the state police crime-scene team.

Will didn’t seem all that upset about being removed from his post; when Sunny asked about it, he replied, “Why would I complain about
not
being a fifth wheel?”

Then he frowned. “Although there’s a ripe smell of politics in this already. Wainwright had a point. If Ingersoll thought I had a chance of ending up as his boss, would he have handled that scene the way he did?”

“Well, he was very formal,” Sunny said.

“Yeah, in a superior officer talking to a subordinate sort
of way.” Will’s frown deepened. “Ingersoll isn’t a politician like Nesbit, but with all the years he’s spent in Levett, he’s got to know at least some of the powers that be. I guess he must have told them what happened, and they’re already coming up with something.”

“What could they come up with on the spur of the moment?” Sunny was ready to argue some more, but her cell phone gave off the pinging sound that meant she’d gotten a text. “Excuse me,” she said, opening up the device.

The message was brief:

MUST SEE YOU BOTH. URGENT. CHK CROWD.

It came from Randall.

Silently, Sunny showed the screen to Will. Together, they began to scan the faces around the perimeter.

“There he is.” Will nodded toward the middle of the street, near where his car was parked. Randall stood right next to the yellow police tape. He gave a little wave, keeping his hand in front of his chest so it wouldn’t be noticed by others.

“Do you think we should talk to him?” Sunny asked. “Or do you think he’s only trying for the inside scoop?”

“You know him better than I do,” Will responded noncommittally.

“Okay, then, I think we should see what he has to say.” Sunny quickly texted back:
FOLLOW US.

She showed the message to Will, who nodded. They caught up with Lieutenant Wainwright, and Will said, “If you have no further use for us presently, I’ll take Sunny back to the compound and head home.”

Wainwright nodded, barely looking at them. Will led Sunny back to his cruiser, then he had the job of turning the car around in a pretty tight space. Troopers were already shooing onlookers away and holding up the crime scene tape as Will nosed his way out. Once the mob scene was behind them, Will proceeded at a sedate pace, barely faster than a brisk walk, for a few blocks before pulling over.

Sunny peered into the darkness behind them, the only illumination coming from the red glow of their brake lights. After a moment or two, a walking figure came toward them—Randall MacDermott.

Will flicked a button to unlock the cruiser’s rear doors, and Randall slipped into the caged backseat.

“Sorry for the accommodations,” Will said.

“It’s not the first time I’ve wound up back here,” Randall replied. “Not so much in recent years, though.”

“You said you needed to see us,” Sunny prompted. “What about?”

“First, I need to make sure I’ve got the facts straight,” Randall said. “The dead person back there—it’s Frank Nesbit, the sheriff, isn’t it?”

“What makes you think so?” Will replied cagily.

“Because I recognized his car. I spoke to him earlier this evening.” Randall’s voice sounded a little tight, as if he were having a hard time getting the words out. “I told him about the Taxman.”

“You what?!” Sunny burst out.

“I told you that I was looking for a professional who’d take me seriously,” Randall defended himself.

“And you just happened to pick the guy I’m running against.” Will shook his head. “How did he take it?”

“The sheriff was a lot more interested than you were.” Randall shifted on the seat. “He asked a whole bunch of questions.”

“Were they cop-type questions, or politician questions?” Will asked.

“Or were they blackmailer-type questions?” Sunny spoke up, catching looks from both Will and Randall. “Look, we were just standing over Nesbit’s body wondering about any possible connection between him and Eliza Stoughton. What if he was the one who was blackmailing her?”

“And then she came back from the dead to kill him?” Will asked in disbelief.

“Obviously not, but maybe Eliza mentioned it to someone else, who went after Nesbit. You always said that Nesbit was more of a politician than a cop, Will. In either job, he was handling a lot of secrets.”

“Not to knock your theory, Sunny,” Randall interjected, “but the Taxman has put the bite on people all over the country. Do you think your sheriff had access to information on that scale?”

“When you put it that way . . .” Sunny sighed.

“I think the answer you’re looking for is ‘no,’” Will finished for her.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” she told him. It had been a decent theory while it lasted.

But Will wasn’t finished yet. “And I hate to knock
your
theory, Randall, but Nesbit’s death doesn’t necessarily connect to your mythical Taxman at all.”

“Sure,” Randall replied. “After I talked to him, he died of natural causes. Looked like a lot of blood for a heart attack,” he deadpanned.