Deep Waters (36 page)

The glass door with the words
Phyllis Dartmoor, Attorney at Law
painted on it opened just as Charity was about to walk past. Phyllis looked out at her with exhausted, desperate eyes.

“Charity, I've got to talk to you.”

She did not need this, Charity thought. She definitely
did not need an extended conversation with Phyllis. But she could think of no civil way to avoid it. Reluctantly she came to a halt.

“I suppose you've heard about Rick Swinton,” Charity began cautiously.

“Yes. And so has everyone else in town.” Phyllis glanced up and down the street as if afraid of being seen with Charity. Apparently satisfied that no one was watching, she motioned quickly. “Come in. Please. This is terribly important.”

Charity sighed and walked slowly into the office. “I can't tell you very much. All I know is that he was shot. Tybern thinks that the same kind of gun was used, but other than that, I don't know anything.”

“Yes, you do.” Phyllis sat down behind an elegant, exquisitely polished nineteenth-century heirloom desk and folded her hands on top of it. “You know that I have a reasonably good motive for murder.”

Charity was stunned. Very slowly she sank down into one of the brown cordovan leather chairs. “Are you talking about those photos that Swinton tried to use to blackmail you?”

“Yes.” The sturdy shoulder pads of her ivory-colored linen suit jacket could not conceal the tension in Phyllis's neck and back. “A lot of people would be willing to kill someone who threatened blackmail. I won't deny that I was very relieved when I first heard that Swinton was dead.”

“I don't blame you.”

“But then I remembered that you had seen the photos. You're aware that Swinton tried to blackmail me. You know I had a reason to kill him. Charity, I need to know if you intend to tell Tybern about those pictures.”

“No, I certainly do not intend to tell him about them. Phyllis, I swear, I never once thought you had
murdered Swinton. And even if I had, I wouldn't go out of my way to tell Tybern about the pictures.”

A glimmer of relief appeared in Phyllis's eyes. “Thank you.”

“Rick was a nasty little weasel. Hank says that Swinton was the one who arranged to have a couple of young toughs vandalize my house a month ago. Just because I wasn't turned on by his obnoxious seduction routine. Can you believe it?”

Phyllis sighed. “Yes.”

“Rick said I'd regret it, but I didn't think he'd go that far.”

“I told you, he claimed that he always got even, one way or another. Nobody got away with screwing him over, he said.”

“Looks like someone did this time.”

“Yes.” Phyllis rubbed her forehead as if she was trying to get rid of a headache. “Damn it, I don't know what I ever saw in him. No, that's not true. I know what drew me to him. It was raw sex, pure and simple.”

Charity winced. “Pretty basic stuff. Did he like to cook?”

“No.” Phyllis frowned. “What makes you ask?”

“Never mind. Look, don't be too hard on yourself, Phyllis. You weren't the only woman who found him attractive.”

“I know.” Phyllis's mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile. “I think he took both of us to the same little love nest, too.”

“Both of you?”

“There were at least two of us. Maybe more, for all I know. It's a wonder we weren't tripping over each other coming and going from the old Rossiter place. I used to find tissues in the bathroom that someone else had used to blot her lipstick. Once I discovered
a pair of ripped pantyhose under the bed. Really disgusting when you think about it. But at the time I was only interested in the hot sex. I ignored the hot sheets.”

“Swinton may have taken some of the Voyagers there.” Charity recalled what Arlene had said about Rick Swinton's sexual habits. “I was told he entertained himself by seducing some of the younger women in the group.”

“That wouldn't surprise me. He was really a creep, wasn't he?”

Charity looked at her. “Do you think he might have been blackmailing someone else besides you? One of the Voyagers, perhaps?”

“Who knows what that vicious little worm would have done?” Phyllis hesitated. “Wait a second. Are you implying that one of his other victims might have killed him?”

“I don't know.” Charity got to her feet. “It's Hank Tybern's job to look into things like that, isn't it?” So long as Tybern did not try to implicate Elias, she was willing to stay out of his way. “Look, I've got to run. Don't worry, I won't say anything about the pictures. I assume you've destroyed them?”

“Are you kidding? I burned them all right after you left my house.”

“Good.” Charity went to the door and raised one hand in a half-mocking salute. “I'll see you at the next town meeting, councilor.”

“Wait. Please. One more thing.”

Charity turned to look at her over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“What makes you so certain that I didn't kill Swinton?”

Charity smiled ruefully. “You're not going to believe
this, but you and I have some things in common.”

Phyllis raised one brow. “You're into bondage fantasies? Tsk, tsk.”

“Uh, no. I'd probably go straight off the deep end if someone tied me up and tickled me. I tend to be a tad claustrophobic in, uh, certain interpersonal situations.”

“Don't knock it until you've tried it.”

Charity took a breath. “What I meant was, if someone tried to blackmail me, I'd have done exactly what you did.”

“Call his bluff?”

“Right. And if that hadn't worked, I'd have gone to the cops.”

Phyllis straightened her crisply padded shoulders. “Yes. I wasn't looking forward to it, but if I'd received more threats, I'd have contacted Tybern or hired a private detective to deal with the situation.”

“Exactly.” Charity shrugged. “Rick Swinton would not have been worth the risk of a murder conviction to either of us. But even if one of us had decided to take such a drastic step, we would not have been dumb enough to leave the body on our own doorstep.”

Phyllis frowned. “I doubt that the killer intended for Swinton to be found. I heard that he was washed ashore by the tide. That means someone tried to ditch him in the cove. Probably threw the body off the bluff thinking it would be carried out into the Sound.”

“Everyone who has lived around here for more than a few months knows that things that get dumped off the bluff tend to wash up in the cove.”

Phyllis's well-defined brows came together in a sharp, considering expression. “You're right.”

Charity pursued her new line of thought. “Which
means that the murderer either didn't care if Swinton was found or else he actually wanted the body to show up.”

“Not likely. Why would anyone want it to be found? There's too much potential evidence on a dead body. More likely the killer was not a local person. Didn't know about the peculiarities of our tides.”

“Someone who just assumed that Swinton's body would be carried out to deep water and disappear forever?”

“Yes.” Phyllis toyed with a plump fountain pen. “I suppose that points back to one of the Voyagers, doesn't it? They were the outsiders in town. They wouldn't know about tides and such, and they had motive. Maybe the same Voyager who murdered Gwendolyn Pitt killed Swinton, too. For similar reasons. After all, both Pitt and Swinton conspired to fleece the members of the cult.”

“True. But Tybern says all of the Voyagers have good alibis. Which means he's looking for someone local,” Charity added.

“Someone who would have known about the cove tide and who didn't care if the body was found?”

“Or someone who was so distraught that he was not thinking clearly when he pulled the trigger.”

With that, Charity went out the door and closed it behind her.

Food and Sex.

He liked the idea of rebuilding on such strong, solid basics, Elias decided. Food and sex were about as fundamental as things got between a man and a woman. And both were very, very good when he and Charity shared them.

It was just after nine. He was doing his shopping early in the day before he opened Charms & Virtues
because he wanted to get first crack at the vegetables. He had discovered that if he waited until later in the afternoon, the best were frequently gone.

He stood, pondering, in front of the produce counter. The broccoli was a rich dark green with a hint of purple. Just right. He examined several bunches, searching for perfection.

Tonight's meal was a critical event. It would establish that his relationship with Charity was still intact. He wanted to make her understand that what they had together was solid and real and substantial. A lot more solid, real, and substantial than what she'd had with Brett Loftus. Or anyone else, for that matter.

He had planned an earthy, rustic menu. Twisty fusilli pasta tossed with an olive and caper mixture. Fresh broccoli. Some of the dense, chewy, Euro-style bread he had brought back from Seattle. It could be dipped in olive oil and sprinkled with salt. He had already chosen the wine, a deep, rich cabernet.

After dinner, they would have solid, real, substantial sex. The kind of earthy sex that would make Charity want to stay for the entire night. The kind that would make her see that moving in with him was a logical thing to do.

Back to basics.

He put the broccoli into a plastic bag and headed toward the checkout counter. He would stop by the house, leave the vegetables in the refrigerator, collect Otis, and then drive to the pier.

He saw Charity as he walked toward the Jeep a few minutes later. She was exiting the drugstore with a paper bag in one hand. The expression on her face sent a stab of unease through him. She looked troubled. He wondered how well she had slept last night.

Elias changed course so that his path would intersect with hers. She was concentrating so hard on her
private musings that he almost had to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. She finally noticed him when she came within a hairsbreadth of colliding with him.

“Good morning,” he said.

She halted abruptly, blinked, frowned, and focused. “Oh. Good morning.”

“Think the fog will burn off by noon?” he asked pleasantly.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Just trying to make conversation. Figured the weather was a safe topic.”

She blushed furiously. He knew she was recalling her own comments on the weather during the walk along the bluff last night. Two could play the casual game, Elias thought.

“What have you got in the sack?” she asked gruffly.

“Dinner. Or at least the part of it that I didn't pick up in Seattle yesterday. By the way, thanks for getting Tybern off my back last night. Nice of you to leap to my defense. I was impressed.”

She scowled. “Hank had no business implying that you were somehow involved in the murders.”

“He just made a couple of professional observations. In his shoes, I'd have made the same ones.”

“He could have made similar observations about me, but he didn't.”

“You're not as new in town as I am. Besides, you don't look like a murderer.”

“Neither do you. Furthermore, you don't have a motive, either.”

“Thanks. Some people might not agree with you, though. Me being such an enigmatic, mysterious type and all. Who can say what dark motives I might have?”

She gazed at him with wide, considering eyes for
what seemed like forever. “I know you didn't kill Gwen Pitt because I was with you that night. And even though I wasn't with you every minute on the day Tybern thinks Swinton died, I know that you didn't kill him, either.”

He was warmed by the grave certainty in her voice. “You don't think I'm capable of murder?”

“I didn't say that. I think you would be capable of killing under certain circumstances. But these aren't the circumstances. And if you did kill someone, I don't think you'd use a gun.”

“No?”

“No.” Her gaze did not waver. “For you, something so primitive and violent would be a very personal act. You'd use your bare hands.”

Elias stared at her. He could not think of anything to say for the space of several heartbeats. She was right, but it did not seem like the sort of observation a man should casually confirm while standing in the middle of a sidewalk.

“Nice to know I have your unqualified support,” he finally said.

“Don't you dare get sarcastic. I am not in a great mood today.”

“Sorry.” A door opened halfway down the block. Elias watched as Phyllis Dartmoor left her office, turned, and walked away in the opposite direction. “You know, speaking of motives, there goes someone who has a damned good one.”

Charity glanced down the block at the departing Phyllis. “She's worried that Tybern might think so, too. Fifteen minutes ago she called me into her office and asked if I intended to tell Hank about those dreadful photos.”

“And you said no, naturally.”

“Of course I said no. She very wisely burned the
pictures, so the evidence is gone, anyway. But I seriously doubt that she killed him. And she certainly had no motive to murder Gwen Pitt.”

“No motive that we know of,” Elias corrected absently. He glanced past Charity and saw Hank Tybern's car pull into a parking space in the middle of the block.

“I refuse to believe that Phyllis Dartmoor is a murderer,” Charity insisted. “She's just not the type.”

“How many murderers have you met?”

“That is not a relevant question. You know, Phyllis said something that got me thinking. She said a couple of things, in fact.”

“What things?” Elias watched Hank climb out of the patrol car.

Tybern had a grim expression on his broad face. When he reached the sidewalk he turned to the right and walked stolidly past Phyllis's office.