Chapter 10 #2
Well, there was no way I was explaining it to her. Blazing Saddles had been one of my father’s favorite movies. He watched it all the time, a holdover from his childhood when he watched it with his father. We bonded over it.
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved my hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” Colette readily agreed. “What matters is that Larry is filling his basement with things meant to sustain him through the end of the world.”
“Like beans.”
Exasperation pinched Colette’s eyes at the corners. “What is it with you and the beans?”
I shrugged. “I am of the mind that if all I had to sustain me for the rest of time after some sort of nuclear apocalypse or zombie invasion was beans, then perhaps it’s not worth living.”
The look on Colette’s face was priceless. “How is that important after what I told you?”
I opted for honesty. “How is any of it important? Larry hoarding beans doesn’t suggest he’s going to end the world. It only says that he’s afraid someone else will try.
“Prepping is a mindset,” I continued. “I’ve seen a few television shows about it. He’s not hurting anybody. If he wants to fill his basement with beans, who am I to stop him? Get back to me when he starts trying to get uranium shipped to the island.”
Colette’s mouth fell open. “That’s it?”
I’d learned the hard way that trying to appease everyone on the island was a losing proposition. If Colette was angry, so be it. She was going to find something to be angry about regardless. “That’s it,” I confirmed.
She huffed out of the office, yelling something at Marjory that I couldn’t make out before disappearing into the elevator. Marjory appeared at my open door ten seconds later.
“That went well,” she said with a smile.
“She’s one of those people who will never be happy. I can’t make her life any better, because she wants me to ruin somebody else’s happiness to do so. Larry isn’t doing anything but hoarding beans.”
“Larry is a bit of a nut,” Marjory hedged.
“That doesn’t matter. If he wants to hoard beans, he can hoard beans. The man lives on an island where zombies roam the cemetery every night.”
“Yes, well … .” Marjory pursed her lips.
“I want to talk about Declan,” I announced before she could walk away. She was a fount of community gossip and I knew she had dirt on Declan. “What can you tell me about him?”
“He was a recluse of sorts,” Marjory replied. She looked as if she’d been expecting the question and she settled into one of my office chairs. That indicated we weren’t expecting anyone after Colette, which made me inexplicably happy.
“I’ve read the case files on the bodies that were found,” I offered. “It sounds as if you definitely had a serial killer on the island.”
“Definitely.” Marjory bobbed her head.
“I can’t find any evidence tying Declan to the killings,” I prodded.
“He had dated the Mahoney girl when she was just out of high school.”
“But that was two years before,” I pointed out. “Why would he still be holding a grudge?”
“He was obsessive.”
“But there’s no evidence in here proving that Declan killed these people. And there are disappearances that were never proven to be murders.”
“So?” Marjory blinked.
“This is a really flimsy folder.”
“He did it.”
“How can you be sure?”
“When he disappeared, it all stopped. There were no more murders, no more missing people. The island went back to being paradise.”
I considered it for a moment. “That does point to his guilt,” I acknowledged.
Marjory smiled.
“It also could be that someone else was doing it and framed Declan,” I said. “Maybe the killer took out Declan as cover. Maybe he’s dead too.”
“You don’t seem convinced of that,” Marjory pointed out.
“I’m not,” I admitted. “For one very specific reason.”
She waited for me to finish, feigning interest. She obviously didn’t care about my ideas but had decided to be polite.
“Serial killers have a compulsion,” I explained. “They might be able to stop themselves from killing if the police are getting close, but in general they have no control over themselves.”
“So if somebody framed Declan, eventually they would have started killing again,” Marjory surmised.
“Pretty much.”
“That proves it was Declan. Maybe he didn’t die. Perhaps he fled to another plane because he knew the police were closing in on him.”
“Were they?”
“I have no idea. Galen wasn’t sheriff then. That was twenty years ago.”
“Where did Declan live? What happened to his belongings?”
“I’m sure it’s all still there.”
I was positive I’d misheard her. Or at least misunderstood. “What’s all still there?”
“Declan owned one of the houses on the water. He left a trust. His belongings remain in the house.”
“That can’t be right. Galen told me property on the water is at a premium. Wouldn’t someone have claimed the house by now if it’s on the water?”
“We can only claim it — or could only claim it under the old rules — if it was rundown,” Marjory replied. “As I said, Declan had a house manager. The house is being maintained. He has to be missing for thirty years before the house can be seized through eminent domain.”
“Where is the house?”
“I can give you the address. It’s locked up tight, though, and the caretaker won’t let you in. Trust me, we’ve all tried.”
“Who’s the caretaker?”
“Edward Mosley. He’s what’s called a house manager. He has several clients on the island.”
“Are you one of them?”
Marjory emphatically shook her head. “I find him creepy.”
“You don’t think he’ll let me into the house?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
I stood.
Confusion had Marjory knitting her eyebrows. “Where are you going?”
“To break into his house,” I replied.
“What if you’re caught?”
“I guess it’s good I’m engaged to the sheriff.”
“And if you find something evil in that house?”
I shrugged. “It won’t be the first time.”
Marjory rose. “You’re not going alone.” She seemed both resigned and excited. “Galen would never forgive me, especially if you go missing.”
“Why would I go missing?”
“Declan disappeared from that house, and if he is the individual on the other plane there might be a door there. We both know that you can’t seem to avoid plane doors.”
She wasn’t wrong. “Fine. But I’m in charge.”
Marjory laughed. “If you say so.”