The Cove
Page 108
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Jesus,” Corey Harper said.
“James is wrong about this,” Sally said. “My aunt has lived here for more than twenty years. She couldn’t be part of a murder conspiracy of this magnitude. She couldn’t.”
“I hope I am wrong, Sally,” he said as he took her hand. It was cold. He poured her some coffee and put the fragile china cup between her hands to warm them. “But there’s lots of questions here. I can’t think of another way to go on this.”
“I can’t either,” David said.
“Well, I can,” said Thomas Shredder, rising to stand in front of the fireplace. He struck a pose, looking like Hercule Poirot ready to deliver his solution. All he needed was a mustache to twirl.
“I hope this is good, Thomas,” Quinlan said. “We’ve paid our admission. Now on with the show.”
“Pinning these murders on several of the townspeople just doesn’t make sense. As to tying it to all David’s missing persons, let’s just forget about that.”
“But, Thomas,” Corey began, but he raised a hand to silence her.
“It’s a theory, nothing more. What we’ve got is solid fact. Let’s get specific. I looked into Reverend Hal and Sherry Vorhees. They’ve lived here for twenty-seven years, true, but before that, they were in Tempe, Arizona. They had two little adopted boys. The two little boys ended up dead within a year after they came to the Vorheeses. One fell out of a tree and broke his neck. The other one got himself burned to death when he turned on the gas stove. Both were accidents, at least that’s what was reported and accepted. Everyone felt real bad about it, said the Vorheeses were the nicest people, and he was a reverend, and why would God take both their children?
“But there were questions. It seems a couple of other children had accidents during the time the Vorheeses lived there. Then the Vorheeses left and came here. There weren’t any more children. Who the hell knows?”
He waited for applause and he got it.
“That’s something,” David Mountebank said. “Good going, Thomas. You got any more?”
“There’s also some history on Gus Eisner, the old guy who fixes everything on wheels in this town. Turns out his wife, Velma, isn’t his first wife. His first wife was murdered. He was accused of the crime, but the DA never had enough evidence to bring him to trial. One month later Gus marries Velma and they move here. From Detroit. Hell, we’ve got to check on every single soul in this town. Corey’s checking on the Keatons.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We’ve got to check on all of them,” Quinlan said, at which the other man stared at him, utterly surprised, a flicker of pleasure in those dark eyes of his. “I hope it’s one or the other. But it still doesn’t feel right.”
“Look, Quinlan,” Thomas Shredder said. “Since the doctor was murdered, we looked all through his background.”
“Well, Thomas,” Corey Harper said, interrupting him, “actually David ran all the checks on him.”
“Yes,” David said, sitting forward. “He came here in the late forties with his wife. She died in the mid-sixties of breast cancer. They had two boys, both dead now, one in Vietnam, the other in a motorcycle accident in Europe. There was a rich uncle who died. That’s all I could find out, Quinlan.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? If the money didn’t come from Doc Spiver, then it had to come from someplace else.”
An ancient throat cleared in the doorway, grabbing their attention.
“Well, now, you’re back, Sally, and you, Mr. Quinlan. I hear from Amabel that the FBI has nearly everything cleared up back in that capital of ours, that foul den of iniquity.” She paused a moment, shaking her head. “Goodness, I’d sure like to visit there.”
Thelma Nettro had opened the door and was standing there, leaning on her cane, beaming at all of them, the pumpkin peach lipstick smeared, some of it on her false front teeth.
“Hello, Thelma,” Quinlan said and rose to go to her. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking like a French model. How’s tricks?”
27
“YOU’VE GOT A smart mouth on you, boy,” Thelma said in high good humor. She patted Quinlan’s cheek. “Help me to my chair and I’ll tell you all about my tricks.”
Once Quinlan had her settled, she said, “Now, what’s this I hear on CNN—that Sally’s father killed a man he’d paid some plastic surgeon to make look like him? He locked you up, Sally? Then he skipped out?”
“James is wrong about this,” Sally said. “My aunt has lived here for more than twenty years. She couldn’t be part of a murder conspiracy of this magnitude. She couldn’t.”
“I hope I am wrong, Sally,” he said as he took her hand. It was cold. He poured her some coffee and put the fragile china cup between her hands to warm them. “But there’s lots of questions here. I can’t think of another way to go on this.”
“I can’t either,” David said.
“Well, I can,” said Thomas Shredder, rising to stand in front of the fireplace. He struck a pose, looking like Hercule Poirot ready to deliver his solution. All he needed was a mustache to twirl.
“I hope this is good, Thomas,” Quinlan said. “We’ve paid our admission. Now on with the show.”
“Pinning these murders on several of the townspeople just doesn’t make sense. As to tying it to all David’s missing persons, let’s just forget about that.”
“But, Thomas,” Corey began, but he raised a hand to silence her.
“It’s a theory, nothing more. What we’ve got is solid fact. Let’s get specific. I looked into Reverend Hal and Sherry Vorhees. They’ve lived here for twenty-seven years, true, but before that, they were in Tempe, Arizona. They had two little adopted boys. The two little boys ended up dead within a year after they came to the Vorheeses. One fell out of a tree and broke his neck. The other one got himself burned to death when he turned on the gas stove. Both were accidents, at least that’s what was reported and accepted. Everyone felt real bad about it, said the Vorheeses were the nicest people, and he was a reverend, and why would God take both their children?
“But there were questions. It seems a couple of other children had accidents during the time the Vorheeses lived there. Then the Vorheeses left and came here. There weren’t any more children. Who the hell knows?”
He waited for applause and he got it.
“That’s something,” David Mountebank said. “Good going, Thomas. You got any more?”
“There’s also some history on Gus Eisner, the old guy who fixes everything on wheels in this town. Turns out his wife, Velma, isn’t his first wife. His first wife was murdered. He was accused of the crime, but the DA never had enough evidence to bring him to trial. One month later Gus marries Velma and they move here. From Detroit. Hell, we’ve got to check on every single soul in this town. Corey’s checking on the Keatons.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We’ve got to check on all of them,” Quinlan said, at which the other man stared at him, utterly surprised, a flicker of pleasure in those dark eyes of his. “I hope it’s one or the other. But it still doesn’t feel right.”
“Look, Quinlan,” Thomas Shredder said. “Since the doctor was murdered, we looked all through his background.”
“Well, Thomas,” Corey Harper said, interrupting him, “actually David ran all the checks on him.”
“Yes,” David said, sitting forward. “He came here in the late forties with his wife. She died in the mid-sixties of breast cancer. They had two boys, both dead now, one in Vietnam, the other in a motorcycle accident in Europe. There was a rich uncle who died. That’s all I could find out, Quinlan.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? If the money didn’t come from Doc Spiver, then it had to come from someplace else.”
An ancient throat cleared in the doorway, grabbing their attention.
“Well, now, you’re back, Sally, and you, Mr. Quinlan. I hear from Amabel that the FBI has nearly everything cleared up back in that capital of ours, that foul den of iniquity.” She paused a moment, shaking her head. “Goodness, I’d sure like to visit there.”
Thelma Nettro had opened the door and was standing there, leaning on her cane, beaming at all of them, the pumpkin peach lipstick smeared, some of it on her false front teeth.
“Hello, Thelma,” Quinlan said and rose to go to her. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking like a French model. How’s tricks?”
27
“YOU’VE GOT A smart mouth on you, boy,” Thelma said in high good humor. She patted Quinlan’s cheek. “Help me to my chair and I’ll tell you all about my tricks.”
Once Quinlan had her settled, she said, “Now, what’s this I hear on CNN—that Sally’s father killed a man he’d paid some plastic surgeon to make look like him? He locked you up, Sally? Then he skipped out?”
