Deep Waters (22 page)

When she hadn't been dreaming about blood during the night, Charity had lain awake fretting over what to tell Hank this afternoon. She had never been involved in a police investigation. She had no idea how much information she and Elias would be expected to provide concerning their activities before the murder. With luck, not much. After all, they hadn't even been the ones to discover the body. Rick Swinton and a small group of Voyagers had done that.

Nevertheless, she had seen enough crime shows on television to guess that Tybern would want to know something about what had been happening in and around the campground prior to Gwendolyn's death. And there was no getting around the fact that she and Elias had been engaged in a highly questionable activity shortly before the murder. Namely, a spot of B
and E. How did one put a respectable gloss on that kind of thing, she wondered.

“Does the article say when Gwendolyn was killed?” Ted asked.

Yappy read through the remainder of the lengthy piece. “The chief is waiting for the official results of the autopsy, but the reporter says that it appears she was shot between eleven-thirty, which is when she was last seen alive, and midnight. Swinton and a few of the Voyagers found her body a few minutes after twelve.”

“That's when the screaming started,” Bea said.

“I'll bet the county medical examiner won't be able to nail down the time of death any closer than that,” Ted said, with the ghoulish authority of a devoted aficionado of the mystery genre. “Who was the last one to see her alive?”

“I think it was that Rick Swinton character.” Yappy ran his forefinger along the column and paused midway. “Yeah. Rick Swinton and a couple of Voyagers. They all saw Gwendolyn go into her motor home at eleven-thirty. She told them she needed privacy in order to focus her mind channel for the aliens. Apparently she was supposed to act as their radar control for the landing.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Bea said, “I'll put my money on one of those Voyagers as the murderer. A lot of those poor, misguided souls lost their entire life savings to Gwendolyn Pitt.”

“At least a few of them must have been furious last night when the ships didn't show,” Radiance said.

“Yeah.” Yappy put down the paper and picked up his latte cup. “And just about any one of 'em could have killed her.”

Ted scowled. “If it was a Voyager, he or she would have had to work fast. They were all down there on
the beach until the stroke of midnight. The kids hanging around the fence saw the first ones return.”

“Don't forget, there are two beach access paths,” Yappy reminded him. “The old one's been blocked off for years because it's unsafe, but it's still there.”

“That's right.” Ted brightened. “And there was a lot of fog last night. One of those Voyagers could have climbed up the old beach path, gone straight to Gwendolyn's motor home, shot her, and then rejoined the crowd on the beach. No one would have noticed because of the fog. The killer could have returned to the campground with the main group shortly after midnight.”

“This is beginning to sound complicated,” Bea muttered. “When you think about it, any one of those Voyagers could have done it that way. Couldn't tell them apart in the fog what with those blue and white hooded robes they all wear.”

“I sure don't envy Chief Tybern,” Ted said sagely. “Hell of a job sorting out this mess.”

“Especially given his lack of experience,” Radiance murmured dryly. “We haven't had a murder in Whispering Waters Cove in over ten years. And the last one was easy to solve, remember?”

Ted nodded. “Right. That was the time Tom Frazier's wife finally got fed up with old Tom beatin' up on her. She conked him on the head with a tire iron. Jury called it self-defense.”

“Which it most certainly was,” Bea added. “That Tom was a real sonofabitch.”

The door of the café slammed open. The crash riveted everyone's attention. Charity and the others turned to see Arlene Fenton, breathless, disheveled, and obviously on the thin edge of rising panic. She flew into the café and then came to a quivering halt. Her wide-eyed gaze went straight to Charity.

“Ms. Truitt, thank God,” she breathed in a shaky voice. “I went to your house, but you weren't there. And you weren't at your shop. I finally realized you must be in here.”

“Arlene.” Charity put down her latte and got to her feet. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“You have to save him. You have to save Newlin.”

“Newlin? Calm down, Arlene.” Charity started toward her. “Tell me what happened.”

“Chief Tybern arrested Newlin a few minutes ago.”

There was a collective gasp of shock from the small group gathered in the café.

“Oh, my God,” Charity whispered. “Not Newlin.”

Arlene rushed toward Charity with a stricken expression. “Ms. Truitt, what are we going to do? Everyone in town knows how much Newlin hated Gwendolyn Pitt. He was always saying that someone should do something about her.”

Charity put her arms around her and looked at the other shopkeepers.

No one said a word. Arlene was right. Everyone in town knew that Newlin had been enraged by Gwendolyn Pitt's scam.

“He didn't do it,” Arlene wailed. “I know he didn't. Newlin's no murderer. But he's got no one to help him.”

“I'll go down to the station and talk to Chief Tybern,” Charity said quietly.

Not that she had any notion of what to say to the chief, Charity thought, as she walked up the steps of the small Whispering Waters Cove Police Station twenty minutes later. Newlin was her employee and her friend. She felt she had to help.

Mentally, she started to tick off an action item list. The first thing to do, obviously, was see about getting
Newlin out on bail. She had no idea how that process worked, but Hank Tybern could explain it to her. The second thing on the agenda was to get a lawyer for Newlin. A good one. The only lawyer in town was Phyllis Dartmoor. She handled estates and wills, not criminal cases. That meant contacting someone in Seattle.

Charity was concentrating so hard on the logistics of freeing Newlin that she didn't see him standing in the shadowed doorway of the police station until she nearly blundered straight into him.

“Charity.” Newlin stared at her in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to rescue you.” Charity glanced around the empty interior of the small station. “Arlene said you were under arrest.”

“Nah.” Newlin grimaced. “At least, not yet. The Chief just asked me to come in for questioning. I guess Arlene leaped to a few conclusions.”

“She was very worried about you, Newlin.”

Newlin looked considerably cheered by that news. “Yeah?”

A sturdy, bald-headed man ambled out of the small office behind the station's unattended front desk. “Mornin', Charity. Bit early to be rushin' around like this, isn't it?”

Charity turned and smiled politely. She had met Hank Tybern several times during the past few months. He was middle-aged with the weather-beaten features of a man who had spent his early years on commercial fishing boats.

Tybern was the old-fashioned sort, solid family man, steady and calm in his ways. A bit of a plodder, perhaps, but thorough. Charity suspected that the slow, easygoing facade masked a savvy intelligence. Hank
had lived in Whispering Waters Cove most of his life, and he enjoyed the respect of the townsfolk.

“Good morning, Hank. I heard you had arrested Newlin, but it looks like the rumors were wrong.”

The lines around Hank's eyes creased slightly as he eyed Newlin. “Just wanted to talk to him. Going to have to talk to a lot of people today. Thought I'd start with young Newlin, here.”

Newlin's mouth tightened. “Chief Tybern says it would sure help if I could find someone who saw me in my truck between eleven-thirty and a few minutes before midnight.”

“My God.” Charity glanced uneasily at Hank. “You need an alibi?”

Hank settled his bulk against the front desk. “No call to get excited, Charity. Just be helpful if we could find someone who noticed him in that truck during the half hour before twelve.”

Charity thought quickly. “Elias Winters and I went to talk to him right around midnight.” She broke off abruptly and gazed helplessly at Hank.

“And?” Hank prompted gently.

“I wasn't in the truck,” Newlin muttered. “I told you, a couple of minutes before midnight I got out of the truck and went to join the crowd waiting at the top of the beach path. I wanted to find Arlene. And I did. She was on her way to confront Gwendolyn Pitt. I went with her. By the time we got to the motor home, Rick Swinton and a couple of the other Voyagers had already found Pitt's body.”

“Unfortunately, that still leaves plenty of time unaccounted for,” Hank said softly. “Like the half hour before midnight, during which time someone went into Gwendolyn's trailer and shot her.”

“Wait a minute.” Charity spun back to Newlin.
“You said you waited inside the truck until a couple of minutes before midnight?”

Newlin shrugged. “Figured there was no point freezin' my butt off hanging over the campground fence until the show was over. I knew Arlene wouldn't be coming back from the beach until she was convinced the spaceships weren't going to arrive.”

“The people in the other pick-up,” Charity said swiftly.

Hank looked at her. “What people?”

“I don't know who they were, but they were parked just behind Newlin. A young couple. Teenagers, maybe. Or a little older. College age. I didn't see them, but I heard them. They had the radio on, and the door on one side of the truck was open. Maybe one of them noticed exactly when Newlin left to find Arlene.”

Hank's frown was thoughtful. “Don't suppose you happened to get a license number?”

“Of course not. I wasn't thinking about alibis at that time.” Charity tried to remember every detail. “The kids were, uh, doing what you'd expect a young couple of that age to be doing in the front of a pick-up.”

“Making out?” Newlin asked with honest innocence.

Charity cleared her throat. “Well, yes.”

“Color of the truck?” Hank asked.

“It was midnight, remember? And foggy.” Charity wracked her brain to summon an image of the truck. “It was dark. The truck, I mean. Newlin's pick-up is a light color, and I spotted it easily. I didn't even notice the other pick-up until I heard voices and the radio. The cab light inside was off. Maybe Elias will be able to give you more information.”

Hank nodded. “I'll ask him when I see him this afternoon.”

“Wait a second,” Charity said. “I heard the girl call the guy Kevin. Does that help?”

“Kevin. Dark pick-up. College age.” Hank nodded, straightened, and reached for the phone book. “That'd likely be Kevin Gadson. He's home from college for the summer, and he's seeing the Turner girl. His Dad's got a dark green pick-up.”

One of the advantages of small towns, Charity thought, as she watched Hank dial the number he found in the book. The local chief of police knew everyone. And he knew their vehicles.

Ten minutes later, after a short conversation with Kevin Gadson, Hank put down the phone and grinned cheerfully at Newlin. “You're in the clear, son. Kevin says he and his girlfriend had the radio on. He recalls seeing you in the pick-up several times during the half hour before midnight. You didn't leave until right after the start of the twelve o'clock news broadcast, which begins at five minutes before the hour. There wouldn't have been time for you to run clear across the campground and shoot Gwen Pitt.”

Newlin grinned with relief. “Hey. That's great.” He turned to Charity. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Charity exhaled deeply. “I'm glad that's settled. Let's go, Newlin.”

“You bet.” Newlin started toward the door.

Hank folded his arms across his broad chest. “Going to be a busy day. Got a whole hell of a lot of people to interview.” He caught Charity's eye. “I'll see you and Winters later. Say, four-thirty?”

“We'll be here,” Charity promised. “But I don't think there's much more we'll be able to tell you. Come on, Newlin. We've got a shop to open.”

When they arrived at Crazy Otis Landing a few minutes later, Arlene came flying out of Bea's café. She threw herself into Newlin's arms.

Radiance, Bea, Yappy, and Ted trailed out to watch the reunion.

“Newlin, I was so scared.” Arlene raised tearful eyes to search his face. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Newlin stroked her hair with an awkward, soothing touch. “Thanks to Charity. She remembered a couple of kids in a truck parked behind my pickup. One of 'em was able to give me an alibi.”

Arlene turned to Charity. “I don't know how to thank you, Ms. Truitt. I've been a fool about the Voyagers and those spaceships and everything. It's bad enough knowing all my money is gone, but if Newlin had been arrested for murder on top of that, I don't know what I would have done.”

“Don't be too hard on yourself.” Charity patted her on the shoulder. “Everyone's got a right to dream.”

“Well, from now on, I'm keeping my dreams right here on earth.” Arlene squared her shoulders. “And the first thing I've got to do is get a job. I don't have anything left in my bank account.”

Newlin's jaw tightened. “I didn't murder Gwendolyn Pitt, but I sure ain't gonna weep over her grave. She stole a lot of money from a lot of people.”

“Why don't you come inside and have a latte, Newlin,” Bea said in a motherly tone. “Then you can go to work.”

“Thanks.” With one arm around Arlene's shoulders, Newlin went into the Whispering Waters Café.

Radiance looked at Charity. “Good thing you remembered seeing those people in the truck. Newlin's an outsider here in town. And everyone knows how much he detested Gwendolyn Pitt. It would have been real easy for people to assume that he killed her.”