Megan's Legacy

Megan's Legacy by Deidre Dalton is Book #8 in the Collective Obsessions Saga.

 

Megan Larkin falls for dashing Boston attorney Luke Castaneda, a newcomer to Larkin City. Locals try to warn Luke about Megan's family, their history of madness and tragedy, but he is determined to make her his wife. Other elements are at work to ensure the union never takes place, bringing another veil of evil over the Larkin's and their self-named city in the guise of a serial killer. Megan is forced to discover the truth and to set herself free from a legacy of family secrets and obsessions.

From Chapter Fourteen

August 2007

Larkin City, Maine

 

JACK SANSOVINO DROVE ALONG Main Street, finding many of the sights familiar yet somehow different. Even a moderate-sized harbor town like Larkin City had to change, he reasoned, especially after nine years. He noticed the absence of the mining company, replaced by an attorney’s office. An embossed sign above the entryway advertised the services of one “Lucas Castaneda, Esquire. Specializing in family law and bankruptcy.” A few doors down, Jack spied Bruno’s Café. The eatery was a Larkin City landmark, and was obviously still doing a brisk business.

Careful to drive the speed limit so he didn’t attract undue attention, Jack moved along the length of Main Street in his used Dodge Avenger. It was his intention to appear like any other tourist flocking to the harbor town in summer, to blend in with the crowds so to speak. He had allowed his gray hair to grow a bit longer, which now brushed the tops of his ears. A scant silver beard grizzled his chin and formed a thin stencil above his upper lip.

He went by the Larkin Animal Clinic on Waterford Street, and then took the highway on the outskirts of town that led to the estate. Along the way, he saw billboards advertising the Banshee Point Hotel, golf course and winery. “That’s new,” he thought with bitterness. “The Larkin’s never run out of sources for money.”

He passed by the entry gate to the estate, noticing the gate was closed. Because of the high stone fence surrounding the property, it was nearly impossible to gain access unless one knew the gate code. When Jack lived in the A-frame cottage with Jamie, he knew the code to be 101829, which was an abbreviation of John Larkin’s birth month of October, in the year 1829. He doubted the numbers were the same, especially since the last time he drove out of the gates he was on the run after beating Jamie to a pulp.

The most far-flung way to get on the property was to walk a few miles out of the way to get to the beach, and then enter by taking the path that went past the lighthouse and keeper’s cottage. Perhaps there were better methods of access via the Banshee Point Hotel, which was something he would have to discover on his own.

Jack drove back into Larkin City, stopping at a gas station to fill the teal-colored Avenger with gas and to buy a print copy of the Larkin Gazette. Then he went on to Bar Harbor, where he got a room at the Belle Isle Motel on route three.

He knew it had been a long time since he resided in Larkin City, but didn’t want to take any chances that someone might recognize him - least of all his dumb-bitch sister Désirée or her fruit-basket husband Jamie Page.

* * *

BECAUSE MOST OF THE summer had been quiet, Lyle Gould avoided pursuing his suspect list. He was reluctant to delve much deeper into the lives of the men left on the list. He thought about it on occasion, but quickly put it in the back of his mind.

Until he received a visit from the Mayor of Larkin City.

David Azoulay walked into police headquarters on a Thursday afternoon, taking the short walk from his office at the courthouse unattended. He drew stares from officers and clerks alike as he approached the reception counter, where Lyle’s assistant Curtis Day stood open-mouthed.

Despite his diminutive physical stature, Azoulay managed to convey a commanding presence nonetheless. Not known for angry outbursts or abusing executive privileges, he was well-respected throughout the community and by most employees who worked for the city government.

“Is Detective Gould available?” the mayor asked Curtis crisply.

“Yes,” Curtis replied. “Let me…”

Azoulay held up his hand. “Don’t bother to announce me. I know where Lyle’s office is located.”

Lyle nearly choked on his bologna sandwich when he looked up to see Mayor Azoulay standing in the open doorway of his office.

Lyle stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mayor Azoulay, what a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to you,” the mayor said firmly. “Alone.”

“Of course. Come in, sit down.”

Azoulay stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. He sat in a chair in front of Lyle’s desk. He began speaking at once, his voice courteous but with a hint of displeasure. “It’s been ten months since my daughter Rachel was murdered, detective. I haven’t heard a word about the status of your investigation for quite a long while now. If you don’t mind, I’d like a progress report.”

Lyle resumed his seat. The mayor always got to the heart of the matter without appearing rude or overbearing. The man wanted answers. Lyle could not fault him for that.

He looked down at the remnants of his sandwich, appetite gone. “To be honest, I’ve got nothing new to report. As you know, the killer didn’t leave behind even a speck of DNA, or anything else. I have no witnesses…”

“Surely you have someone in mind for the crime,” Azoulay interrupted him, his tone almost desperate. “I’m not asking as the mayor, but as a still-grieving father.”

Lyle decided to be honest with him. He told Azoulay about his conversation with Mark Balsam nearly a year ago, in which Balsam theorized the killer was somehow connected to the Larkin family, and his assembly of a suspect list. “Before summer began, I crossed Brose Larkin off the list because I was able to account for his time during the murders…”

“Brose Larkin?” Azoulay was aghast. “Are you serious?”

Lyle nodded. “I wanted to eliminate the men one by one, and it took some time and research. I’m starting to think Balsam’s theory is bunk, frankly, because the two men remaining on the list couldn’t possibly be a rapist or a cold-blooded killer.”

“Who are they?”

Lyle hesitated briefly, and then spoke. “Nick Brooks and Luke Castaneda.”

The mayor looked troubled. “You’re right, it’s not plausible. But why haven’t you crossed them off as suspects?”

“I can’t bring myself to dig into their lives like I would with a common criminal,” Lyle admitted. “I know it’s my job, but Brooks and Castaneda? It’s just too far-fetched. Nick is one of the most upstanding members of our community, trustworthy and liked by all. And Luke, there’s just no way. He worked in the DA’s office in Boston for years, and now has a reputable practice in Larkin City. He works to uphold the law, not break it.”

“I agree,” Azoulay replied. “However, I also trust Mark Balsam’s judgment. He developed an uncanny instinct during his years on the force, and his opinion should not be taken lightly. I think his theory warrants your complete attention. At this point, you’ve got nothing to lose. I suggest you examine Nick and Luke just like you did the other suspects on the list. Perhaps you can employ a more prudent inquiry method, but eliminating them as suspects once and for all will allow you to move forward.”

Lyle stared at the mayor. “What if their collective activities clear both of them?”

Azoulay shrugged. “Then you’re back to square one, aren’t you? At least it will liberate you to find a new direction for the investigation. Where to, I’m not sure.”

“You’re correct on all counts,” Lyle conceded. “I promise to get on it and finish the process.”

“You’ll let me know what you find?”

“My first phone call will be to you.”

                The mayor appeared satisfied. “Thank you, Lyle.”

 

Copyright

MEGAN'S LEGACY ©2013-16 Deidre Dalton. All rights reserved.

"Megan's Legacy" may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the author. "Megan's Legacy" is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.