“Everyone needs a hobby.” Jack was not smiling though.

  “I feel bad because I always sort of wondered in the very back of my mind if Jane was leaving me those letters.”

  “Jane? Jane Smith? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Paranoia? But then I don’t know why Imelda would leave these letters either. And something about Jane’s has always been sort of secretive.” Ellery shrugged.

  “All right,” Jack said briskly. “Leave this to me. I’ll bring Imelda in and hear what she has to say.”

  That sounded like a dismissal to Ellery.

  He moved away from Jack’s desk, saying, “Okay. Thank you.” He headed for the door.

  Jack said, “Wait a sec. Have a seat. I was just about to phone you when you showed up. I have information that might be helpful to you.”

  “Really?” Ellery took one of the chairs in front of Jack’s desk.

  “It turns out September St. Simmons’s was a stage name.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “September’s real name was Sybil Simon. It turns out Sybil did time in federal prison for extortion and blackmail.”

  Ellery absorbed that, and said quickly, “There’s no way she was blackmailing Dylan. Dylan’s life is an open…stage. He’d never put up with someone trying to blackmail him. He’d never pay a dime in blackmail money.”

  Jack smiled faintly. “I agree. I don’t think she was blackmailing Dylan.”

  “You agree?”

  Jack nodded, “Yes. Dylan was paying her rent, but that had nothing to do with extortion and everything to do with sleeping with her.”

  “Who was she blackmailing?”

  “There’s no evidence she was blackmailing anyone. She was financially strapped. The only checks she deposited were from Unemployment and the rent money from Dylan. Without Dylan’s help, she couldn’t have afforded to continue to live on the island.”

  “Hmm.” Ellery considered this new lead. Once a blackmailer, always a blackmailer? If so, September AKA Sybil didn’t appear to be very good at it. “It turns out I have information that could be useful to your case. According to Jane, September knew Lara from back in the day. Jane was a little vague on the details, but it seems September claimed that at one time she had performed with Lara.”

  “What did Lara say to that?”

  Ellery scratched his nose. “To be perfectly honest, I sort of forgot Jane told me that until just this minute.”

  Jack blinked. “You forgot?”

  “It’s not like a do this for a living. The last couple of days have been kind of a lot.”

  “Right. Is there anything else potentially helpful to my case you might have forgot?”

  “If I remember I’ll let you know.”

  Jack stared at him without blinking.

  “I’m kidding,” Ellery said. “Obvi.”

  Jack shook his head.

  A thought occurred to Ellery. “Were there any fingerprints at the scene.”

  Jack regarded him, then said dryly, “Tons of latent fingerprints. I assume you mean usable prints?”

  “Right.”

  “Not so far. The crime lab is still processing, seeing if they can come up with something that could be run through AFIS.”

  PICO PD did not have its own crime lab. When it came to forensics, they were dependent on the mainland.

  “Okay.”

  Jack sighed. “If we come up with anything, I’ll let you know.” His gaze dropped automatically to the newspaper on his desk.

  Ellery said, “Just one more thing.”

  Jack looked up. He raised his brows. “Yep?”

  “Will I see you later?”

  Jack’s mouth twitched into a half-smile; his eyes softened. “Of course.”

  Ellery leaned over the desk, brushed Jack’s mouth with his own, and went out, carefully closing the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dylan and Janet were still in their bathrobes, having breakfast when Ellery arrived at Janet’s cottage shortly after leaving the police station.

  It was barely eleven o’clock. Ellery accepted coffee, declined a slice of Quiche Lorraine, and sank into a pillowy chair cushion in the cozy living room.

  Ellery’s relationship with Janet had been rocky to start with, but over the past months they had grown more cordial. He sort of liked her acerbic wit—when it wasn’t directed at him—and she was a very good Scrabble player, so high praise indeed. He’d never been able to quite figure out Janet’s relationship with Dylan. They were clearly good friends. At one time, he’d suspected they were more than friends, but Dylan always denied it, and Janet had most recently been dating Tom Tulley, owner and proprietor of the Salty Dog.

  That said, they were cozy as two peas in a pod that morning, sitting beside each other on Janet’s cabbage rose floral chintz sofa. Dylan still looked tired and pale, but he was not nearly as haggard as he’d been the previous day.

  Very possibly Sue Lewis’s fierce defense of him in her editorial for the Scuttlebutt Weekly had provided some comfort. The paper was lying open on the coffee table.

  Sue and Dylan went way back, but Ellery couldn’t help thinking Sue was taking the opportunity to vent some of her private frustrations with Jack in a public forum. It was very much her modus operandi.

  Ellery took a swallow of tea and winced.

  Dylan also winced. “How’s your jaw, kiddo?”

  “It only hurts when I laugh.”

  Janet snorted. “You’re lucky you don’t have a black eye. Who would have dreamed Jack Carson would turn out to be an abusive boyfriend?”

  “Hey,” Ellery said in warning.

  Janet gave an evil laugh.

  Dylan began to mutter dire things about police brutality.

  “Okay.” Ellery put his coffee cup down. “I want to help, but I’m not going to listen to you two shred Jack.”

  “I’m afraid, after my incarceration, I can’t be as forgiving,” Dylan said huffily.

  Ellery didn’t bother to point out Dylan’s incarceration had only lasted about forty-five minutes and Jack had even forborne adding the charge of resisting arrest. Dylan had been through a painful and humiliating experience. He had a right to be upset.

  “No, I know. And I don’t agree with Jack arresting you, but the Washington County DA had a say in that. It wasn’t all Jack’s choice. Lansing is the lead detective.”

  That didn’t seem to carry much sway with Dylan or Janet, so Ellery moved on to other topics. “Dylan, did you know September was a convicted felon?”

  Janet did a doubletake. Dylan, a forkful of quiche headed to his mouth, froze. “She what?” He put down his fork.

  “She went to prison for extortion and blackmail.”

  “Good God in Heaven.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Janet remarked to no one in particular.

  Dylan’s expression was bleak. “I had no idea. Maybe that explains why she didn’t have much to say about her past, why she didn’t seem to have any friends or family.”

  “Well, that’s something I wanted to ask you. Aside from you, was she close to anyone in Pirate’s Cove?”

  “No.

  “No one at all?”

  “She tried,” Dylan said. “I think she wanted to fit in.”

  “I don’t,” Janet said.

  Dylan looked pained. “She could be insecure sometimes.”

  Janet raised her brows, but said nothing.

  “What about within the theater group? Was she close to anyone in the Scallywags?”

  “Not really.”

  Janet said, “September waltzed in believing that she was going to be the most beautiful, talented, and popular actress on the island. She had a rude awakening when she ran into Libby Tulley.”

  Dylan looked even more uncomfortable. He said suddenly, “Jane Smith. They were friendly.” He grimaced. “Although September looked down on Jane.”

  “Naturally,” Janet said.

  “But I think Jane was the closest to a real friend.”

  Ellery nodded, stared at the newspaper on the coffee table. “Is it possible she could have been seeing someone else?”

  “No, no,” Dylan said at once.

  Janet was clearly biting her tongue.

  Dylan added bitterly, “She wouldn’t jeopardize her meal ticket.”

  Ouch. Ellery had no idea what to say to that. He suspected Dylan was right.

  Dylan glared at Ellery. “I suppose Jack imagines September’s criminal past gives me an even greater motive for murder.”

  “I don’t think so. He said to me, you might find this helpful. He knows I’m going to do everything I can to help clear your name.”

  “Bless you, Ellery.” Dylan reached across the table and gripped Ellery’s hand. “I know that too.”

  “I have another question, but this is unrelated to your situation.”

  “Anything I can do to help,” Dylan assured him.

  “Does the Sing the Plank festival have insurance?”

  Dylan looked confused. “Insurance? Of course.”

  Janet said, “Do you mean, are the performers insured?”

  “I mean, if a performer is killed on stage because of a faulty trap door or a falling light fixture, what happens?” He already knew the answer, but he needed to verify.

  “The family or record label or management company would almost certainly sue the festival. And if it can be proven festival organizers breached their duty to take reasonable safety measures, the injured party would collect a large chunk of change.”

  “How large a chunk of change?” Ellery asked.

  Dylan frowned. “If we’re talking about Lara Fairplay, and I assume we are, somewhere north of a million dollars.”

  Jocasta phoned as Ellery was scrunching behind the wheel of his Volkswagen.

  “Hi! I don’t know if this is helpful or not, but I just saw the newspaper.”

  Not incredibly helpful, but okay.

  “Oh?” Ellery prompted.

  “We’d heard about Mr. Carter’s girlfriend, but we didn’t actually watch the news or anything. Lara won’t have the TV on or newspapers lying around. She doesn’t like that energy.”

  “No news is good news, I guess.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, I do like to look at the newspaper sometimes, and I was reading your Scuttlebutt Weekly this morning.”

  “Right, right.” Ellery tried to control his impatience.

  Jocasta exclaimed, “I know her! I knew her.”

  “Who?”

  “Sibyl. Well, I guess she was calling herself September. She was one of Lara’s backup singers a long, long time ago.”

  “You knew September when she was Sibyl Simon?”

  “Yes. This was at least fifteen years ago. I was still a kid, but I remember. She wasn’t with us for that long. She went to prison for trying to extort money from a married record producer she’d slept with.”

  It took two tries to get Jack.

  On the second try, Jack picked up, sounding slightly harassed. “Hey, can I call you back? I’m in the mid—”

  “Yes. Just really fast. Fifteen years ago, Sibyl Simon was a backup singer for Lara Fairplay. I think she slept with Neilson Elon during that time and I think she was trying to extort money from him. I think it was Neilson she was expecting that night. Not Dylan. I think Neilson killed her.”

  Jack said crisply, “Okay. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Wait! Jack. There’s more. I think Neilson really is the one trying to kill Lara. I think he’s been trying to arrange a fatal accident during one of her performances, so his music company can sue the festival.”

  “Okay, Ellery. Let—”

  “Lara’s last performance is at one, Jack. I think Neilson is over there right now sabotaging that stage.”

  Ellery ran out of breath and words about the same time.

  There was a moment of silence, then Jack said, “I’m on my way. I’ll radio ahead and get some officers into that building. You don’t need to go over there.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re going over there, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ellery—”

  “Jack, I know theaters. I know stages. I can be of help.”

  Jack made a sound of frustration. “I’ll be there in seven minutes. Don’t go in that building without me.”

  “I’ll wait. I promise.”

  “See you in six-point-five minutes.” Jack hung up.

  * * * * *

  Ellery hadn’t tried driving over to the festival before, so it took longer than he’d expected to find the area a distance from the food and entertainment, designated for parking.

  He climbed out of the VW and started across the grassy field to the Loon Landing Boathouse Theater.

  There was a decent crowd milling around the souvenir booths and small stages. Four different bands competed for airspace and listeners.

  To his relief, he spotted Officer Martin and two other uniformed members of PICO PD jogging toward the landing.

  Whoooo…. Whooooo…. WHOOOOO!

  As Ellery passed the amateur stage, a familiar and alarming wail caught his attention.

  It was not the sound of approaching police cars however.

  Nor an ambulance.

  Nor the scream of Pirate Cove’s Fire Department trucks come to save the day.

  Nope. These unearthly cries were accompanied by earnest twang of a banjo and plaintive plink of a ukulele?

  He turned to see Nora and Kingston standing on the stage, singing for all they worth.

  Blow, ye winds in the morning,

  and blow, ye winds, high-o!

  Clear away your running gear,

  and blow, ye winds, high-o!

  The crowd obligingly joined in on the chorus. Nora and Kingston beamed at each other.

  Ellery glanced back at the landing and saw Neilson coming out through the tall doors of the boathouse. He was talking with Olive Earl, one of the Sing the Plank committee members. Olive was nodding and smiling.

  It all seemed pretty benign, and Ellery felt a twinge of unease.

  It was going to be awkward if it turned out Neilson had simply been going over the stage map with the lighting tech.

  But as he watched, Neilson looked away from Olive, and caught sight of the approaching officers.

  Officer Martin recognized Neilson, spoke to his uniformed companions, and then pointed at their target. It wasn’t subtle.

  Nor was it subtle when the three officers started running toward the boathouse.

  Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the natural reaction to three people shouting and running toward you at full speed, that made Neilson turn and bolt, but bolt he did.

  He raced for the golf cart parked at the side of the boathouse and threw himself into the driver’s seat. He started the golf cart which began to bump and bounce its way across the grass.

  Neilson beeped the horn frantically as he dragged the wheel left and started toward the meadow. The trio of officers ran a little way after him, then slowed to a walk, then came to a stop.

  The buzz of the golf cart faded as the cart grew smaller in the distance.

  Ellery turned as Jack jogged up. “I don’t know where he thinks he’s going.”

  Jack’s grin was sardonic. “Not far. That’s for sure.”

  In silence they watched the golf cart slow as Neilson tried to jerk and yank his way through the tall grass and mud of the soggy marshland. The engine’s whine grew higher, higher, as the cart went slower, slower…and eventually fell onto its side.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You were partly right,” Jack said. “Elon deliberately removed some of the grounding from the sound system. All Lara would have had to do was grab the mic while she was holding her guitar, and it would have been all she wrote.”

  It was long after midnight on Sunday night. Ellery and Jack were sitting in front of the fireplace in the front parlor at Captain’s Seat, having a late-night drink. The cheerful fire, the first of the autumn season, cast playful light over the old portraits and faded furniture.

  “Partly right?” Ellery echoed, holding his brandy snifter away from Watson’s curious inspection.

  “He was trying to kill her. No question in my mind. Elon’s fingerprints were on the cable that supposedly snapped when that PAR can light fell on Friday night. There’s only one explanation for his prints being up there. He tampered with the cable.”

  “You checked the rigging for fingerprints?” Ellery was impressed. It hadn’t occurred to him fingerprints could be recovered.

  “I know,” Jack said. “It’s like I think I’m a cop or something.”

  Ellery spluttered a laugh, then asked, “Did he confess?”

  “Nope. He’s exercising his right to keep his mouth shut. Which is wise.”

  “Is out on bail?”

  “No. The soon-to-be former Mrs. Elon has no interest in bailing him out. She seems to be in no doubt as to his intentions.”

  “Poor Lara.”

  Jack nodded, but said, “She didn’t seem too broken up about it. The kid sister was crying her eyes out.”

  Ellery threw him a curious look. “You said I was only partly right. What part did I get wrong?”

  “Elon didn’t kill September.”

  Ellery sat up straight, dislodging Watson who had just settled against him. “He had to have.”

  “He didn’t do it. He has an alibi for the time in question.”

  “Jack, Dylan didn’t—”

  “Stop,” Jack ordered, and Ellery stopped. But the relief that had buoyed him through the afternoon and evening had evaporated.

  “Dylan didn’t kill September,” Jack said.

  “Oh thank God.” Ellery let his head fall back on the sofa. “Thank God.” He studied Jack’s profile in the firelight. “Does Dylan know?”

  “Dylan knows the charges have been dropped.”

  Ellery couldn’t quite read Jack’s tone. “So… Are things okay between you two?”

  “No. Dylan says it will be long time, if ever, before he can forgive me.” Jack shrugged.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. It’s nothing to do with you.”