Chapter Two – The Outer Four
Deputy Matthew Parker and Lucy Johnson had talked to the others while Lilly and Chris had been talking to Harry and Eddie, and they now turned around as the two detectives approached.
"Anything useful yet?" asked Deputy Parker.
Lilly and Chris both shook their heads.
The other people were standing behind Parker and Lucy, and Lilly now found the time to look at them more closely.
Gabriel Jarvis was of medium height and had a handsome face. His hair had probably been brown and was now going gray. He was about sixty. His wife Jordan still had raven hair with only a few gray strands, which was rather striking. Her face was well-proportioned, and she hardly had any wrinkles. Without a doubt, Jordan Jarvis was still a very attractive woman. In comparison to her husband, she seemed to be the stronger character. Dylan McLaren, who was standing beside Gabriel, was a little overweight and had a round, friendly face. His cheeks were flushed and his small eyes were sparkling. His hair had once been blonde and was now of that indifferent color between blonde and gray. His sister Sunday was petite and very slender. She also had a friendly face with sparkling eyes, and her hair was still blonde. She seemed to be a little younger that the others; Lilly estimated that she was in her late forties. The Jarvis's son, Alex, stood beside Lucy. He had inherited his mother's natural strength and grace and his father's good looks. Lilly had to take just one look at him to know that he was probably the crush of every girl in his high school. Seventeen or eighteen years old, Lilly estimated.
All these people were now looking at her and Chris as if they were waiting for them to make a speech.
For a moment, nobody spoke, but then Lucy Johnson broke the silence.
"Detectives, I suppose you would like to talk to them as well." She said and gestured at the others.
Lucy was a redhead of about thirty; she wore glasses and was dressed casually. Deputy Parker was the only one who wore full uniform.
"Yes, Lucy, thank you," Lilly said. She glanced back over her shoulder to see where Sheriff Webster was, but he was still - or again - on the phone. So she turned back to the little group and smiled.
"Well, the regular Did you see or hear anything question doesn't apply in this case," she said. "And we can't say how long this guy's been buried here until the pathologist has examined him. But I'd say he's been in there for at least a decade. This leads me to my first question: How long have you lived here?"
"All my life," said Jordan Jarvis. "All of us."
Lilly raised and eyebrow, and Jordan seemed to take it as a signal to elaborate.
"This is not exactly Deansville, Detectives," she said. "This is a very small community that has existed for almost a hundred years now. Our grandfathers founded it, and since then our families have always lived here. We grew up together, and none of us thought about moving away." Her husband squirmed, and jordan cast him an impatient glance. "Well, at least none of those present," she amended.
Lilly heard Chris move behind her.
"Do you recall anything that struck you?" she asked. "Did anyone try to intrude your community, or was there a time when one or more strangers came here frequently? I know this is a difficult question because we don't know yet how far we have to go back in time, but maybe there is something you can think of off the top of your head."
Jordan shook her head energetically, and the others did the same.
"No one hardly ever comes here," Sunday chimed in. "We're out in the middle of nowhere. Well, of course it's nice here," she added when she saw the faces of the others.
"At least no one used to," Dylan said with a sigh. "But now there is of course the construction company, and when they start constructing, then our peace and quiet will be past."
"I regret that," said Lilly. "But apart from the latest developments, there has never been anything out of the ordinary here?"
"I can't remember anything," said Jordan, and all the others nodded.
"It's hard to believe, Detectives, but there are actually some places in the U.S. where nothing ever happens," said Gabriel. "And our community is one of those places."
"Well, as you can see, something did happen here," said Chris wryly.
"Yes, of course," said Gabriel hastily. "I just meant that none of us noticed anything."
"If you say so, then I must believe you," said Lilly. "The smaller a community, the easier for the inhabitants to notice anything extraordinary. But since this doesn't seem to be the case..."
She trailed off and turned around when Sheriff Webster returned. "Sorry I took so long," he said brightly. "They're sending the district attorney's assistant, Michael McCarthy. Did I miss out on anything?"
"Just a little history lecture," Chris replied.
"Oh, I see." Graham grinned. "I suppose our Jordan couldn't bear to remain silent all the time."
"Bite your tongue!" Jordan threatened, but she was smiling.
"You like to talk a lot, Jordan?" Lilly asked.
"Only when I have something to say," Jordan replied. "The rest is expressed otherwise."
"My wife is an artist," Gabriel cut in. "And a damn good one, too. Her pictures have real subjects, none of this modern crap. She sold a number of pictures to collectors and galleries. Last year there was a vernissage of her works in the Hampton Gallery down in Philly. Did you happen to go there?"
"I'm afraid no," said Lilly. "But I'm sure I'll get the chance to see a few of her works."
"She also makes sculptures," Gabriel said proudly.
"And what do you do for a living, Mr. Jarvis?" Lilly asked.
"I take it that you don't know my name," Gabriel said. "Well, nevermind. Maybe I'm not to your taste. I'm a writer."
"I don't read much," said Lilly. "At least no novels. I don't have the time."
"He writes wonderful novels," Sunday said and smiled at Gabriel. "If you ever have the time, you should go and get some of them. Dazzled is my personal favorite."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Jordan Jarvis cleared her throat. "How about a cup of coffee over in our house?" she asked. "I suppose this will be taking a while. You are of course welcome as well, Detectives," she said to Lilly and Chris.
Lilly and Chris exchanged a glance. "Sure, why not," Chris said eventually. "Thank you, Mrs. Jarvis, that's very kind of you."
"You just go, Chris," said Lilly. "I'll stay here. Someone has to wait for the attorney, and the body shouldn't be left unguarded, either."
"I can do that," Deputy Parker offered. "I'm on duty, anyway. Not to mention that I've seen the Jarvis house more often than you have. It's really worth taking a look."
"Thank you, Deputy." Lilly smiled.
"I'll bring you a mug, Matt," said Gabriel.
"Thanks, Gabe."
"I don't want a coffee," said Alex Jarvis. "I'm staying with Matt."
The others turned around and went towards the first house on the street, except for Harry Dean and Eddie Chambers, who returned to their cars.
"Welcome to Jarvis residence," said Jordan when Lilly and Chris went past her through the door.
Lilly looked around. Jordan had led them into a tastefully furnished living room. All colors matched; everything seemed to belong together. It was really not hard to tell that an artist lived here.
"Are they yours?" Lilly pointed her head at two large, framed oil paintings hanging on the wall behind the couch. The left one showed a steep, stormy coast. Waves were crushing on the cliffs; the sky was dark and covered in black, storm-lashed clouds. A full moon shone and illuminated the top of the cliff. Lilly blinked and stepped closer. She was not mistaken: On top of the cliff stood a person, too small to tell whether it was a man or a woman. The figure just stood there, facing the water.
"I call it The Tempest-Tossed," Jordan remarked.
Lilly winced. She had not noticed the woman standing behind her.
"Is this a man or a woman there?" she asked.
Jordan gave an enigmatic smile and shrugged. "Whatever you want to see," she said.
"What is he doing up there? Contemplating suicide?"
"Strange, isn't it, that everyone's first thought is suicide when they see the picture," said Jordan. "No one supposes he or she is just thinking about things. Or doing a weather experiment. Or howling at the moon. Sleepwalking. There are numerous possibilities why someone should climb a cliff on a stormy night, but the rest of the world only thinks of the negative."
Lilly remained silent. Her gaze wandered back to the picture, and she suddenly understood why people could spend hours in a gallery looking at just one picture. There was something about this particular one that fascinated her. But she could not tell what it was.
"Earth calling Lilly," said Chris into her ear, and Lilly jumped. She had been standing in front of the picture for five minutes, she realized. Jordan was just returning from the kitchen and announced that the coffee would be ready in a few minutes.
Lilly made an effort to look away from the picture and looked at the other one. It seemed strangely familiar, but only after a moment did Lilly realize why: It showed the same coast, the same cliff, but this time on a sunny summer day. The sky was azure, the few clouds were of a flawless white, and green grass was growing on top of the cliff. Moss covered the precipice. The sea was quiet. Lilly looked at the spot where the person in the other picture stood. There was no person in this one, but a bush grew on that spot, blooming yellow. Broom, probably, Lilly thought. Other than The Tempest-Tossed, this painting exuded a pleasant sense of calm. Lilly almost thought she could smell the sea and the broom. She was just about to turn away when she noticed something that caught her eye: The precipice was deeply fissured, depicted by Jordan in dark brush lines that went through the whole cliff. And Lilly had just noticed that some of them formed four letters: G - J - J - D. It was completely inconspicuous, even more so because they read diagonally from top to bottom, hidden between other lines that did not belong to them.
Lilly looked back to the other painting and tried to find the same pattern. It was there, only that this time the letters were in another order, reading J - D - G - J.
Some of her amazement must have shown on her face, because Jordan stepped up to her.
"Detected something interesting?" she asked with a wink.
Lilly turned to look at her. "Do you hide secret messages in all your paintings?"
Jordan smiled. "Sometimes," she said. "But again, only if I have something to say."
"What does it mean?" asked Lilly.
"You can find out yourself," said Jordan. "It's not hard."
Lilly looked back at the pictures. At first she had thought it was a kind of signature, but Jordan had signed the paintings in the lower right-hand corner - illegibly, as it was appropriate for an artist.
G - J. As in Gabriel Jarvis. Lilly grinned. "When did you paint those?" she asked.
Jordan smiled. "I think she's got it," she quoted. "These are my first oil paintings ever. I was twenty years old when I painted them."
"And unmarried, I suppose. So I'll take a wild guess and suppose that your maiden name starts with a D."
"Jordan Ruth Jarvis, née Donahue." Jordan dropped a mock curtsy to Lilly. "Congratulations, you solved the riddle." She glanced at her husband, and an affectionate smile softened her perfect features. "I've had an immortal crush on Gabriel since I was ten. Little wonder that I wanted to tell the artistic world, don't you think, Detective Rush?"
"You had something to say," said Lilly. "Right?"
"Right." Jordan took Lilly's arm and gently dragged her away from the pictures. "Come on, the coffee is ready. And I think your partner's starting to miss you."
"That's the way rumors spread," Chris commented. He glanced curiously at Lilly. "You look a bit confused."
"I'm OK," Lilly replied while she was sitting down beside her partner. "I've just been thinking."
"Anything you'd like to share?"
"Later." Lilly accepted the mug of coffee from Jordan, thanked her, added milk and sipped the hot drink. It was strong, but not too strong, and hot, but not too hot to drink. In other words: perfect, just like everything in Jordan Jarvis's household.
She looked around in the living room and noticed that Lucy Johnson was no longer there.
"Where's Lucy?" she asked.
"She went upstairs to say hi to my mom," said Gabriel. "She's living with us, you know. She's eighty-four years old, but still very vital. I'm sure you would like her."
"Your mother," Lilly repeated. "And she's lived here all her life, too, hasn't she?"
"Of course," said Gabriel. "We all have."
"We might have to talk to her, anyway," Lilly said. "Later, when we know a little bit more. Is she..." She trailed off, but Gabriel understood.
"She's mentally completely healthy," he assured. "And she's got an amazing memory. Her name's Diane, but Jordan sometimes calls her the Dialephant," he added with a laugh. "You know what they say about elephants."
"Elephants can remember," Chris and Lilly said in unison and looked at each other. Gabriel Jarvis had just given them a useful piece of information.
"Did I get that right that you all are the scions of those four families who founded this little community?" Lilly asked Dylan McLaren, who happened to sit beside her.
"Yup, Detective Rush," said Dylan. "Apart from Lucy and Matt, that is; they're from Deansville. And they belong to that very small group of people who sometimes come out here. Most of Deansville's inhabitants look down on us. They think we're just a bunch of weirdoes. They call us The Outer Four."
"But don't you go to work in Deansville?" asked Chris.
Dylan sighed. "I'm working in the bank, that's true," he said, "and Sunday's got a job at the post office and in the little shop that's adjacent. But we don't have much contact to our colleagues, or at least I don't. Sunny's made a few friends, but she's just that kind of person, you know. Always ready for small talk or exchanging cooking recipes or something like that. She was actually born in the wrong country, I think. She should live in one of those English villages with names such as Little Hangleton or Bexley-upon-Avon or Market Basing. You know what I mean."
Lilly and Chris nodded yes.
"Well," Dylan continued, "there we are. All still here - the Jarvis's, the Donahues, the McLarens, and the Websters." He hesitated. "Almost all, that is," he said.
Lilly remembered that Jordan had also said something like that.
"So who isn't?" she asked.
Dylan glanced over his shoulder as if to check that no one was listening. "That's a story on its own," he said. "And I think you'd better ask Gabe about it. Or Jordan."
"Is it some sort of secret?" Lilly wanted to know.
Dylan smiled nervously. "No, of course not," he said. "It's just... it's about Gabe's brother, and I thought you should hear his story from a member of the family. If you want to hear it at all," he added. "That's only a bit of family history and has nothing to do with the dead guy out there."
"Are you sure?" Chris looked at Dylan until the other man looked away.
"It's alright, Chris," said Lilly. And to Dylan she said, "Could you at least tell us in which year this was?"
"It's been ages," said Dylan. "The incident I'm talking about occurred in 1967."
"Wow, that's even before I was born," said Lilly.
"Yeah, I was almost a child back then," said Dylan. "I was just about twenty. But let's not talk about that." Dylan raised his coffee mug. "Here's to our Jordan!"
Gabriel, Sunday and Sheriff Webster also raised their mugs. "To our Jordan," they repeated.
Jordan made a face. "Come on, you're being childish," she said, although it was obvious that she was pleased.
Gabriel went to her and kissed her cheek. He said something to her, and Jordan turned around and went into the kitchen with Gabriel at her heels.
Lilly leaned back in the comfortable armchair and emptied her coffee mug. Then she turned to Chris.
"I think I heard a car," she said. "The attorney's arrived."
She and Chris stood and turned to the door, and Sheriff Webster followed. When they emerged from the house, a blue Mercedes rolled down the street and came to a halt in front of them. A young man with frizzy blonde hair and a small moustache, wearing a crumpled business suit, got out of the car.
"Hi Sheriff," he called. "I'm sorry I'm later, but I made a wrong turn. Four times. Pretty hard to find your little colony here."
"Nevermind," Sheriff Webster replied brightly. "When you're here, you're here."
"You've got a point there, Sheriff!" The young attorney laughed jovially and then turned to Lilly and Chris.
"Hel-lo, handsome!" he said with a wink at Lilly.
"For you it's Detective Rush," said Lilly coolly.
The attorney looked taken aback, then he laughed again. "Oh, I'm sorry, Detective. I'm still not used to women working with the police."
"Then it's time you adapted," Chris remarked, and his voice was even colder than Lilly's. "Detective Lassing. And your name is..."
"I'm Mike," the attorney announced. "Just Mike. I'm the personal assistant of His Excellency, District Attorney Mitchell Vaughn. But he was too busy to drive all the way down from Philly, so he sent me, as usual. And now tell me, where's the body? I wanna know all the gory details!"
Lilly rolled her eyes. "I fear you've been misinformed," she said. "This is no crime passionel where there are any gory details. Or at least not anymore." She turned on her heel and led Mike to the hole in the ground. "There you are," she said. "May I present - John or Jane Doe."