A Fountain Filled With Blood

This man was flirting with her. Good God. When was the last time anyone had flirted with her? She instantly thought of the race on the Fourth of July, Russ saying, “I’ve let you drive me crazy,” his voice suddenly husky, like a boy’s voice changing between one word and the next. The thought of it, here in Peggy Landry’s library, made a shiver run up her spine. That wasn’t flirting. That was something much more dangerous. She blinked ferociously and took the glass from Hugh, gulping a mouthful.

“The Fourth of July race,” she said. “That’s what I was thinking of. When I said it didn’t make sense.”

Hugh sat down next to her. “How so?”

“There was an antidevelopment protest. There have been PCBs found in the groundwater in town, and some folks are blaming the construction work. There’s a movement, I guess you’d call it, to get the DEP to take another look at the site. Bill Ingraham stood up and told the whole town that if they called in the state, he’d abandon the project. Said it wasn’t worth the trouble.” She turned toward Hugh, drawing one leg up onto the cushion. “Why would he say that if BWI needed this development to go through so badly?”

“Bluffing maybe? Perhaps he didn’t know as much about the financial state of the company as he should have. Or maybe he was getting sick and tired of it all and was looking to retire anyway.”

She sipped her drink, thinking of the possibilities. Her thoughts were all loose and slippery, hard to grasp and connect. But that was okay. Tomorrow, when she was stone-cold sober, she would be able to see a pattern. She was confident of it. Bill Ingraham. The resort. The debt. Malcolm Wintour.

“And how does Malcolm fit into all this?” She wasn’t sure she had actually said the words out loud until Hugh answered her.

“Malcolm? I don’t think he’s going to have any influence on whether BWI goes under or not.”

“No,I mean…” She wasn’t quite sure what she meant at this point. “He and Bill Ingraham were an item, weren’t they? Is there any way that Malcolm could have benefited from Ingraham’s death?”

“You mean other than the fulfillment of every dumped person’s fantasy that the dumper will drop dead? I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he inherited a stake in the company. Or maybe he was the beneficiary of another life-insurance policy.”

Hugh grinned. “Are you suggesting that Malcolm bumped his ex-boyfriend off? Like some film noir tart?”

Clare swallowed another mouthful of kir royale. “You seem to know him some. Would you say he’s incapable of it?”

Hugh crossed his arms and looked up to the ceiling. “No…not incapable of it. I can imagine him being a vindictive little weasel. Although it’s hard to picture him doing anything that might muss his Brioni pants.” He looked back at her. “Problem is, I can’t imagine him doing anything without there being a direct benefit to Malcolm. And I very much doubt Bill Ingraham’s death benefited him in any way.”

“If he inherited—”

“Look, I didn’t know Ingraham personally, but I’ve certainly heard tell of him over the years. And from what I understand, Bill liked—do you know those tycoon sorts who have a new surgically enhanced blonde on their arms every year? The man keeps getting older, but the girls stay the same age, until he’s ninety-seven years old and marrying Pamela Anderson?”

Clare nodded.

“Well, Bill was like that. Only difference was in the gender.”

“I see. So Malcolm was less like his true love and more like the flavor of the month.”

“Flavor of the year, I would think. They must have been together for a while, because the initial contracts were signed on this spa deal over twelve months ago.”

“So what about Malcolm? Someone described him to me as a gold digger. Was Ingraham just the latest in a string of sugar daddies?”

“That, I don’t know. First I ever heard of him was in connection to Ingraham, after I’d gotten to know Peggy. That’s just been in the past year.” He leaned toward her, very serious now. “I do want to emphasize that none of my knowledge about Bill or Malcolm was obtained inside a gay bar, that I have never been inside a gay bar, and have no intentions so to do.”

“Are you dropping me a little hint here? You’re straight?” She grinned. “You know what they say about men who protest too much.”

“I’m quite comfortable with my own sexuality, thank you. It’s just that I realized I usually don’t spend most of my conversation driveling on about shirt-lifters with a woman I’m trying to chat up.”

“I just love those British expressions.”

“All American women do. That’s why I volunteered for the New York office. I’m really hopeless with women at home. Only in the New World do I stand a chance.”

She laughed loudly.

“Reverend Clare! There you are! I’ve been looking for you. I have some people I want you to meet.” Peggy Landry stalked through the library, making her way to the window seat. “Hello, Hugh.”

“Reverend?” Hugh looked at her goggle-eyed.