Nick turned to a deputy hovering nearby. "Get the tech team."
"Runnin' them ragged lately," the deputy muttered as he headed for the patrol car.
"And keep everyone else away from the area," Nick added. He pulled on a clear, latex glove and lifted the blanket. After gazing at the neck wound for a moment, he withdrew a wallet from Jeff's pants pocket. He flipped it open and read from the driver's license. "Jefferson R. Lindstrom. 2020 Madison Street, Cincinnati, Ohio."
Mary looked at him sternly. "Certainly you don't need Natalie to stay here and watch whatever you do with a body. She needs to go inside."
"She does indeed." Nick reached down and took Natalie's arm. "Let's go in and you tell me what happened."
Mary insisted on following, casting suspicious looks at Nick. He told Gary to go about his business, but Gary wasn't breaking any records. He worked slowly and quietly as he eavesdropped on Natalie's account of the morning up until she'd opened the door of Jeff Lindstrom's car.
As soon as she finished, someone began pounding on the front door and shouting, "What the hell is going on? Are those home invaders back?"
"Oh, Lord, it's Harvey," Mary groaned. "He was fine when he went out to fish, but it sounds like he got into the liquor before he came over."
"Would you mind taking him home, ma'am?" Nick asked politely. "We have all the confusion around here we need."
"Yes, I'll take him home," Mary said with suppressed fury. "If we hadn't been married since we were nineteen, I'd divorce him, the old fool."
She marched off and, after a brief but loud altercation on the front porch, Natalie heard her leading away a protesting Harvey. "Poor guy," she said. "He used to be brilliant and so charming."
"Last week he spent the night in jail," Nick told her. "I thought Hysell was going to cry when I arrested him, but I can't have him sitting out in his boat yelling to a crowd of tourists that he hid a bomb on shore."
Natalie smiled faintly. "I appreciate the effort, but you don't have to keep prattling about Harvey. It's not going to take my mind off Jeff."
"I know, but you're so pale I thought I'd give you a minute to recuperate." Nick sat down and to her surprise took her cold hand in his. "Where's your father?"
"At the hospital. He's always spent more time there than at home."
"Even when you were a little girl?"
"Yes." She looked at him. "He couldn't help it. He's needed."
"I wasn't criticizing. When I think of how little time I've spent with Paige lately… well, never mind. Are you all right?"
"I honestly don't know. I keep finding bodies. It's almost funny. I feel like a bloodhound." Abruptly she started laughing. The laughter lasted for thirty seconds until suddenly it turned to ragged sobs. "I just don't understand, Nick. I thought Jeff might have killed Tam, but now he's been murdered. I guess this blows Ted's theory. Lindstrom didn't have anything to do with Eugene Farley."
"Yes, he did," Nick said slowly. "His mother is Constance Farley's sister. Eugene was Jeff's cousin."
Natalie looked at him in disbelief. "His cousin? How do you know?"
"I spoke with Mrs. Farley. She was really upset when she found out he was here. She said he was, and I quote, 'an awful boy' and 'crazy.' "
"Crazy how?"
"She didn't elaborate, but she was adamant that I not cooperate with him. She was especially freaked out over the possibility that I might discuss her or Eugene with him." He smiled. "She wanted me to run him out of town."
"Tar and feathers?"
"I didn't suggest it, but if I had, she would have jumped at the idea."
Natalie wiped at the tears streaking her face. "What do you suppose he was really doing here?"
"I don't know. I considered the possibility that Mrs. Farley might have dispatched him to do her killing for her, but that seems too extreme. Then there's the possibility that he really was interested in doing a true-crime novel and in his investigation he found out more than I did. Maybe he thought he knew who the killer was."
"And?"
"And he made the mistake of confronting that person. He could have had plans to triumphantly drag the killer into the headquarters of the stupefied police. Or he could have had plans to blackmail the killer. Lindstrom was cocky as hell, Natalie. He was the type who thought he could outsmart, outmaneuver anyone." Nick looked into her eyes. "But maybe he met his match."
The door swung open and Mrs. Fisher looked at Nick belligerently. "What is it now?"
"I need to speak with Dee."
"I need to speak with Dee, too, but she's not here." The woman clutched her flannel robe around her. She'd combed out her pin curls and her white hair formed a thin, frizzy halo around her wizened face. "I haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon. No one to fix my dinner! No one to fix my breakfast! I could have died in the night and laid in my bed till I rotted'."
Her face reddened and Nick feared she was working herself into another coughing fit. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Her gaze narrowed. "Always tryin' to get into this house, aren't you?"
Oh, God, not this again, Nick thought. "Mrs. Fisher, do you have any idea where Dee might be?"
"If I knew, I'd sure as hell tell you so you could drag her back by the hair to take care of me like she's's'posed to. Free room and board I give her! And for what?" Her pale eyes pinned Nick. "Why're you here lookin' for her? She's done somethin'. Don't try to fool me. What is it?"
"I don't know that she's done anything. I just want to talk to her."
"About what?"
"I can't discuss it with you."
"Well, to hell with you then!" Mrs. Fisher slammed the door.
Nick stood on the porch for a moment, thinking. Dee Fisher had been acting strangely for over a week. According to her mother she was often gone at night and had received a number of secret phone calls. Wade at the Lakeview Motel had seen her coming out of Lindstrom's room the night after Tamara Hunt's funeral. She was upset. Lindstrom was never seen again. And now he was dead.
And what about Alison Cosgrove? She'd been attacked around ten last night. Mrs. Fisher said she hadn't seen her daughter since yesterday afternoon. That left nearly twenty four hours unaccounted for. Twenty-four hours missing from the life of a woman who had loved Eugene Farley and never gotten over his death.
As much as he hated to do it, Nick knew he had to talk with Ted Hysell about the possibility that his girlfriend was a killer.
The paramedics had taken Jeff Lindstrom away over an hour ago. A couple of reporters prowled the street, but everyone had sequestered themselves in their houses, refusing comment. Just twenty minutes ago Natalie had spotted a particularly pushy female reporter for the local newspaper standing on the patio peering in the sliding glass doors at her. Natalie had drawn the vertical blinds with a crash and an expletive loud enough to be heard through the glass.
Now, numb from the shock of finding the body, she sat on the floor with her guitar and strummed absently, Blaine by her side. She hit ragged chords. Her voice quavered. She broke a string.
The phone rang. Kenny's disembodied voice floated from the answering machine. "Natalie, I know you're there, so pick up. I want to talk to you. Let's work this out. Natalie?" A pause. "Well, I love you, hon."
Nothing about having read of more murders in Port Ariel and being worried about her. Nothing about thinking of her sadness after Tamara's funeral. "Let's work this out." He was bored, temporarily at sea without her. And, "I love you, hon." Two weeks ago her heart would have beat faster at hearing those words. Now they sounded hollow. No feeling ebbed behind them. Had it ever? Or had she been nothing more to Kenny than the woman of the moment, someone convenient and eager to please?