A genetic researcher at the college is killed at Hamilton Fletcher's lake house on Tolby Lake. Jones, with the assistance of a quirky old newspaper reporter follows a trail to Boston's organized crime family and stolen high tech software. Jones is enamored by his lead suspect, Dr. Maggie McCay.

The Lake House Murder

1

Professor Davis had bullied too many people not to take the death threats seriously. Irene said he was threatened several times and the strange people arriving at his lake house scared her. Ever since Gus brought her to the lake for the summer, she had snooped on the professor more than she watched daytime TV. Gus was tired of listening to her claims about a bunch of students, people in ritzy cars, and the exotic dancer over there. Even Hamilton Fletcher, himself, frequented the house just that afternoon. He wondered about the dancer.

Irene finally removed the whistling tea kettle from the gas burner as Gus gazed across the sandy road. The afternoon light reflected off the cars parked in the pine grove surrounding the varnished A-framed lake house. " Irene!"

" Have your coffee, Gus."

" Huh?" The coffee steamed upward from the brown tin cup on the end table. " Oh, thanks, Irene."

" Don't tell me I'm the one bein' nosy, Gus Nickerson."

" You are nosy. But somethin's going on. That long black car is Hamilton Fletcher's car."

" No, Fletcher had the Caddie. The car out there is a Lincoln."

" The dancer drove the sports car." Gus grimaced when he tasted the bitter coffee. " What did you do, pour Fletcher paint in this cup?"

" Make it yourself next time&ldots; Waste of propane. "

Gus fully cranked open the cottage window, leaned forward and cupped his ear. " I can't hear nothin'."

" Get that puss of yours back in here. You might as well just run out in the road and wave them out of the house, Gus."

" Somethin's confusing me."

" Wouldn't take much."

" Hardy, har, har ... Why did Hamilton Fletcher, the most powerful man in town, come up to the lake and visit a college professor? And furthermore, why did he yell at the professor and-"

" Too much hanky panky," said Irene. She produced the same buzz saw laugh he had heard for forty-two years.

" Irene, you're always comin' up with them perverted daytime talk show thoughts. You really see Davis smack Fletcher?"

" Yup."

" Fiddle fat. He'd be fired on the spot. The Fletchers own Hamilton College!"

" Fletcher had his handkerchief over his mouth, all bloody, when he got in the Caddie. You would have seen the whole thing, Gus, if you hadn't made a career of hanging out in the john."

" Hardy, har, har. I didn't see Fletcher but I saw that blonde in the skimpy outfit go inside about an hour ago. She had one nice-"

" You would notice that."

Gus rolled his eyes. " Any-who."

" She wasn't sellin' Girl Scout cookies."

" Nope."

" And the professor beat on her, too," said Irene. " I wuz talkin' to her by the mailbox. The professor has death threats."

" Ah ... You and your death threats." Gus checked the house through the pines. " Woman like her is used ta being beaten on."

" What a macho thing to say!"

" Macho-smatcho. There ya go with that talk show stuff again." Gus shook his head, but spotted a sandy haired man in a white shirt and red tie. He and a grubby, balding, fat guy in a purple jersey and gray pants talked to the professor. " Here we go."

" Whaddya see Gus?"

Gus was still miffed about being called macho. " You ain't turnin' inta one of them woman's libbers, are ya, Irene?"

She pressured her elbow against his shoulder. " At sixty-eight? Come on, Gus. What the hell is going on over there?"

" I can't see nothin' if you knock me on my arse!"

Irene dug her nails into his arm. " They're gonna kill him or the woman!"

" Stop it." Gus pushed her hand away, but hid behind the curtains when the two men dragged the dancer through the open sliders. They carried her kicking across the yard, jammed her into the Lincoln and the engine started. The pudgy guy leaped into her silver sports car. From the sliders the professor watched both cars spin in the sand. He moved outside as the cars disappeared up the lake road.

" Get the plate numbers, Gus!"

" For what?"

Irene raced across the living room and pulled her tiny, red vinyl notebook from the kitchen drawer. Gripping her red pen, she traipsed back to the window and quickly scribbled something in the notebook. " Hot damn, I gut em!"

" Gut what? What in the name of kingdom come are ya gonna do with them plate numbers?"

" Stubborn, Gus." She carefully placed the notebook back in the kitchen drawer.

Gus shook his head and turned as the lake house's screen door slammed. The professor marched across the main room into one of the side bedrooms, but quickly returned with a black cordless phone at his ear. He talked as he paced near the gray, stone fireplace, but his hand soon swung up wildly. Irene leaned over Gus's shoulder. " Irene, my bad shoulder."

" I tell ya somethin' is brewin' over there. Somebody's gonna get him and you know it."

" The only thing I know is your overactive imagination."

" Too many women been comin' and goin' and they're all probably hookers. Even that college lady from Illinois."

" How do you know who she is and where she's from?" asked Gus, his eyes still trained on the angry professor.

" Gut her plate numbers. I gut all their plates."

" If they were hookers I would have gone over there myself." Irene stung his leg with her boot. " Ouch!"

" Let that be a lesson to ya, Gus. Hookers would croak that bum ticker of yours."

" Hardy, har, har."

Irene stayed at the window. " The Professor wuz yellin' at the woman professor, too."

Inside the lake house the professor threw something toward the rear sliders. Gus could not hear his voice through the screen door as he tried to move Irene off his shoulder. " How do you know he yelled at her? You can't hear a damned thing either."

" And Little Rusty, the student. He smacked her around and she still hangs all over him."

" What's the big attraction over there anyway?"

" Ignorant, Gus."

In the lake house, the professor made one final comment and stuck the phone in his back pocket. He strutted across the room, picked up a drink and exited the rear sliders overlooking the bright blue lake. "Well the party's over and I don't see no hookers. I have to use the john."

Gus abandoned his position and Irene nestled herself in his spot as he stretched his long arms in front of the chair. " He's made too many enemies. Sooner or later somebody will bag him. And bag him good."

2

Jones looked his watch. Nigel's party guests were now squeezed into the new drawing room and the accumulated conversation was loud enough to drive him outside along the pool's aqua glow. Even with his Maine camping trip only hours away Jones stayed at the party, but wondered if he was merely waiting for Maggie McCay to arrive. He was all the more attracted to her when she rejected his suggestion to see a movie downtown.

He was about to check the time when Nigel's grandfather clock slowly resonated ten times inside the drawing room. Nigel's eyes opened wide behind his thick glasses as he spotted two students, bathing suits dripping on his new rug, near the atrium doors.

Jones grinned turned as Carl Rogers shuffled his well-toned frame along the pool tiles. Carl had done a great job since Woosey Williams' early retirement. Jones was about to talk to Carl when Nigel stormed through the atrium doors." What's the matter, Nigel? "

" I warned them not to track in pool water on my new Berber! They went right through the house!"

" You need to lock the doors."

" I've been assured the rug won't bleach, but&ldots;"

In his orange bath suit Carl hobbled forward and Jones patted him on the back. " Is Florida Western's Superstar on the disabled list?"

" I was running as a matter of fact near your house on the common and twisted my ankle in a pothole."

Jones raised his finger. " I've stumbled on that pothole myself. You all right, wobble?"

" Wobble? Should I add that to my nicknames?"

" You want to have that ankle looked at?" asked Jones. " I know some sports medicine guys in Prince William."

" Nah, a little water therapy and I'll be fine. You two going in?"

" Maybe Matthias will take a dip," said Nigel, still looking into the drawing room.

" No, no. I'm probably going to head home. We're leaving for Maine early."

" Maggie didn't attend the party," said Nigel, still glancing at his drawing room rug. " That's odd."

The blue eyed Carl removed his sweaty jersey, revealing his bronzed, well developed chest. " You look like an advertisement for one of those exercise programs on late night TV."

" Got to keep in shape," he said. He turned and dove into the iridescent pool, splashing water onto the blue glazed tiles.

" He's in great physical condition," said Nigel. " He's knows what he's doing."

Carl swam over to two women on the other side. " With the women or helping me coach?"

Nigel again looked toward the drawing room and raised his index finger. " Speaking of women, Matthias, your Professor McCay is here."

Jones' face tightened. " She's not my Professor McCay."

" That gentleman that owns the lumber yard was by this afternoon with some finishing trim."

" You mean Arnie Dewars." said Jones. " I can just imagine what rumor he's spreading now."

" He said you&ldots; well, you and Ms. McCay-"

" Nigel, I learned along time ago not to put credence in anything Arnie says. Besides, McCay's a pain. You've heard her at the faculty meetings. Little Miss Sassy. Not that she just has an opinion, but it's like she has a chip on her shoulder. Spoiled little rich kid with that monster black Expedition and she lives in the Marlboro Inn."

" They do rent rooms at the Marlboro, Matthias." Nigel raised his brow. " I believe I detect an inordinate interest. Perhaps, Mr. Dewars was right."

" Don't be ridiculous. She said no when I asked her out and that's that," said Jones. Carl's powerful arms churned like a steamboat paddle wheel as he swam laps in the pool. " Look at him. There's a kid who worked his way up and got to Florida Western on a football scholarship."

" He won't last long here," said Nigel. " He'll have his own team somewhere."

" True," said Jones. McCay, tall and slender in a tight fitting blue dress, appeared in one of the open atrium doorways. Her long dark hair, usually combed neatly, was wispy down her neck. She clutched her drink as Hank Wenzel from the Math Department approached. Jones listened carefully to her precisely enunciated words. Her green eyes were incredibly expressive as she fidgeted with the glass.

" You're staring," said Nigel.

" Did you hire her?"

" Yes, I was involved."

" I heard the Fletchers made a private call on her behalf."

" That is confidential."

" Ah, I knew it." Her eyes darted as she lectured Wenzel. " Poor Hank. Too much pontificating. I wouldn't take her guff. Who does she think she is?"

" Why don't you ask her? Here she comes."

Jones looked to his right. McCay's lost expression was transformed into a wide smile and she extended her hand to Nigel. Her eyes brightened. " Dr. Kent, a lovely party. I'm sorry I was a little tardy this evening. I was just remarking to Professor Wenzel that we should have more of these gatherings during the academic year."

" I think you're right," said Nigel.

Jones rolled his eyes, but her potent perfume caused his nose to itch and he sneezed.

" Bless you," she said with a snicker.

" You of course know Matthias Jones, Maggie." Jones glared at Nigel as he drifted away, leaving him alone with McCay.

" Our beloved coach. Mr. Jones ..."

Her smug attitude irritated him. " You can call me Matthias."

" I see." She looked him over as if he were not properly dressed.

" Something wrong, Miss McCay?"

" Ms. McCay"

" Ms. and Coach," said Jones, smiling.

Her face was rigid. " Right."

" Just a joke."

" So, you have gained great notoriety in the small pond called Hamilton College, Mr. Jones."

" What do you mean by that?"

" Don't be so defensive."ÿ" Me? You talk like you're above everyone else."

" I could say the same of you, Mr. Jones." Her eyes revealed an inner anger. " And you are quite pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

" Yeah, I guess I am," said Jones.

" Just remember this is only a small college in the corner of New Hampshire."

" I understand that," he said through gritted teeth. " This college has been good to me."

" Isn't that wonderful? I wish you more years of bliss." In a graceful move, she turned on the tiles, and Jones watched her silky blue dress as she sashayed back inside the house.

" Hey, Coach," said Carl, still in the pool. The water had matted down his dark wavy hair. He folded his arms on the pool's tile berm. " New love interest?"

" No." He crossed the tiles, eager to defend himself as he hovered over Carl. " And you should talk. I haven't seen you all night."

Carl produced a wide grin. " Well ... I met a woman from administration."

" I saw you leave with Mary Thompson."

" Well, we took off earlier and-"

" You're a big party boy, Carl, but I guess when you're twenty something, you're entitled."

" Hey, can I ask you something, Coach?"

" If it's a question about women, forget it."

" No, what Professor McCay said about coaching. Doesn't it bother you to be stuck at this level? There are other horizons out there."

" I like it here. I like my job and the town. I know you want to take the fast track&ldots; And you have big ears, Carl."

Nigel's housekeeper leaned out the far atrium door. " Matthias, George Strickland is on the line for you."

" Oh, good. Thank you, Mrs. Johnson."

" Your trip?" asked Carl.

" I can't wait to get away. It's been a long year. George and I have to meet Tom McGill in Maine tomorrow morning."

" If I don't see you. Have a good trip."

" Thanks, where you headed this summer?" asked Jones.

" I'm going home to Seattle for a few weeks. I may drive."

" In that run down MG?"

Carl smiled. " I know. I know. I've had that car since college. I'm looking at a SUV like Ms. McCay or maybe a van."

Jones sneered and thought of McCay's belligerent attitude. " Forget Ms. McCay."

" She's an attractive woman."

" Have a safe trip, Carl." Jones reached down and shook his wet hand. " And behave yourself."

" Do I have to?"

" Good night, Carl." Jones scurried inside the doors and headed into the kitchen. Mrs. Johnson pointed to the red phone on the kitchen counter. Jones smiled and picked up the receiver. " Let me guess, you're backing out of the vacation, George."

" We're not going," he said as Nigel walked into the kitchen with the caterer.

" Oh, I knew it."

" There's been a murder."

" A murder?" asked Jones as Mrs. Johnson turned. " Who?"

" A biology professor at the college, Brad Davis."

" Nigel will flip."

" Murder? Did I hear murder?" asked Nigel, stepping away from the caterer.

" Professor Davis, Biology," said Jones.

Nigel closed his eyes. " Oh, dear Lord, how many times have I told Hamilton Fletcher about that man? Hamilton will want to contain this. I know he will."

Strickland yelled something to his deputy. " We have a student, Amy Pollard, in custody."

Jones leaned toward Nigel. " He has a student in custody."

" Who is the student?"

" An Amy Pollard."

Nigel opened his mouth and staggered to the kitchen chair. " The media outlets will be all over the town. I'm feeling ill."

" Do you want a drink, Nigel?" asked Mrs. Johnson.

" Whiskey, straight up."

Nigel looked up at Jones. " Where did it happen?"

" In the cottage colony at Tolby Lake," said Strickland.

" Tolby Lake, Nigel."

" Look, Matthias. Call McGill and tell him what happened. We'll have to postpone the Maine thing."

" He's at the cabin. There is no phone. I'll have to check with his old boss, that guy he left running the paper. Can I come out there?"

" Give me a couple of hours. People across the street saw Pollard enter the house, but they've seen a whole raft of people coming and going over the past week. Look, Clayton is here doing the forensics with his people and we're still sweeping the lake house."

" I'll head over to the paper now and see if I can contact Tom. See you later."

Jones hung up the phone and Nigel sprang from the chair. " A disaster. A unmitigated disaster."

What do you mean?"

Mrs. Johnson handed him a full whisky snifter. " This is a burgeoning problem. Brad Davis has a notorious reputation."

Oh?"

Nigel sipped the liquor. " He's a womanizer. He's had charges filed ... warnings. We gave him a chance. I thought it was all behind him. And now this."

Copyright c 2000
by Robert P. Fitton