move on to Ryan. “I’m sorry about your stepmother. It must be tough. I didn’t want to pipe up the other day at the house. It was Lieutenant Lever’s show, and I was trying to stay out of the way.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish. That’s my position on the situation. She won’t be missed.”
Rosco raised his eyebrows. “That’s kind of cold.”
“Hey, that’s how it is.”
“I wouldn’t talk that way around Al Lever if I were you, he’s apt to put you at the top of his suspects column.”
“Don’t make me laugh. As much as I disliked Ryan, I wouldn’t kill her. My old man adored her. Just look at him. He’s a wreck. I wouldn’t put anyone through what he’s experiencing right now—and that goes double for my own dad. He married the snake, he must have seen something no one else did.”
“What about Heather and Fiona; how did they feel about Ryan?”
Chip let out a long laugh. “If you think I’m going to rat out my sisters, you’re crazy. The fact is, I don’t care who killed Ryan. It’s over. ‘Who did it,’ is the cops’ problem. And if they try to cart one of my sisters off on a murder charge there’s going to be more Boston lawyers at Wenstarin Farms than horses. O. J.’s Dream Team will look like public defenders.”
Rosco decided to push the edge of the envelope. “I guess you know that some people around Newcastle believe that your relationship to Ryan might have been a little closer than it should have been.”
Chip roared with laughter at Rosco’s statement. After he’d regained his composure he said, “I haven’t heard it phrased that politely before.”
“Well?”
“I wouldn’t do that to my old man, either. Not in a million years. Besides, I just told you how much I detested her.” He finished his last oyster and ordered a dozen more. “How about you, Rosco? Another round?”
“Why not?”
“Sure, Ryan came on to me; she came on to everyone. Why the hell do you think I despised her so much? Fiona and Heather were well aware of her activities, too. Her behavior made them sick. We tried to warn the old man a few months ago, but he wouldn’t believe a word of it. It got dicey for a while there, so we let our accusations drop. The issue became a don’t-go-there kind of thing.”
“Lever’s got this inheritance-money-is-the-root-of-all-evil theory. In cases like this, that’s often the first motive homicide detectives jump to. Do you know whether your father was planning to leave everything to Ryan—rather than to you kids?”
Chip swigged his beer, then stared into the half-full glass. “Well, bully for Lever. The fat man got something right,” was all he said.
CHAPTER
23
Daylight was waning over the still-soggy grounds of the Dew Drop Inn when Belle’s cell phone rang with its distinctive “Brinnnnggg Brinnnnggg.” The sound she’d chosen was similar to an old-fashioned rotary phone; and combined with the dusky air and the coal black hulk of the abandoned building, the effect was eerie and unsettling—as if a message from the departed were about to be delivered.
“Hello?”
“Where are you, dear girl?” crackled through into the autumn twilight. Sara simply couldn’t get used to the notion that one could receive and transmit calls wire-free and from any location. When Belle lent her elderly friend her cell, Sara stood rooted to one spot while she talked—as if she were speaking into a wall-mounted hand-crank model with a party-line system eager to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Rosco and I are at the dog park—”
“Oh, of course you are. It’s Saturday afternoon. Where else would Newcastle’s dog fanciers be other than the grounds of the old inn? I do wish one of those consortia that keeps snapping up the place would finally renovate it to its former glory. It’s a shame to allow that marvelous structure to decay. Of course, if anyone ever does return it to its heyday I would guess they would invite all of you dog fanciers to depart—”
At this point, a prodigious amount of barking overpowered Sara’s speech. Al Lever’s canine buddy, Skippy; Abe Jones’s “lab mix,” Buster; Martha’s Peke, Princess; Stanley Hatch’s elderly collie, Ace; and Bartholomew’s beloved bulldog, Winston—accompanied by Kit and Gabby—had picked up an unfamiliar scent and were voicing their concern—or their ardent enthusiasm at discovering a new and tantalizing smell.
“Sorry, Sara,” Belle said as the pack roared away, “I didn’t hear you.” She walked a distance from the two-legged throng, as well. Talking to a disembodied voice