Free A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) by Vicki Doudera Page A

version contained a much shorter description of the property than
the documents she'd painstakingly reviewed.
    Darby stood and felt the eyes of the room upon her. "This deed
refers to an abutting piece of property up on the road," she said.
"Not the parcel in question."
    The members of the planning board breathed a sigh of relief
and turned toward Soames Pemberton for his response.
    "The little lady is right," he said, his eyes staring straight at Darby
with icy hatred. "This is all that's left of the property once owned
totally by the Pemberton family. Great-granddaddy's widow sold it
all-every last little piece-except for this worthless ten acres of cow
pasture." He gave a sly look around the room. "You see, she couldn't
sell this piece, because it had already been deeded to my grandfather
before she got her hands on the estate. But old Thaddeus Pemberton
made it clear in this deed: No drinking, dancing, or whoring, on this
or any other piece of Pemberton property."
    Everyone in the room was silent, listening to the deep, flat, voice
of Soames Pemberton. Finally the silence was broken by one of the
planning board members.
    "Somebody put this in plain English," she said.
    The man with the gavel looked imploringly toward Darby. She
rose from her chair, feeling her legs shaking beneath her.
    "If this piece of Pemberton property was conveyed first, and
there was a covenant on this, as well as all the rest of the land, it would seem that these restrictions do apply to all former holdings
of Thaddeus Pemberton." She paused, trying to swallow. "Even
Fairview."

    The room exploded in arguing and the planning board chairman
turned to the rest of the members. Darby heard him mutter, "This
board can't approve anything without a legal opinion." The other
members nodded. "I'll entertain a motion to postpone this decision
until our next meeting, twenty days from now." Darby heard someone make the suggested motion, and then the chairman asked for a
vote. A moment later he banged the gavel and the din dropped to a
dull murmur, with the only audible sound Peyton Mayerson's voice
screaming obscenities at her lawyer. Darby turned to Mark Trimble.
    "I'm sorry, Mark. This restriction-it's totally from left field."
    Mark nodded. "You remember my parents and their blow-out
cocktail parties. No one ever mentioned an anti-drinking law to
them, that's for sure." He fixed his eyes on Darby and said carefully, "This means the deal is off."
    Darby's heart sank. "I'm afraid you're right. That amendment
to the contract-the one written on the index card-stipulated
that Peyton needed this approval to proceed. She didn't get it, so
the contract is null and void." She thought a moment, her natural
optimism giving her an idea. "I wouldn't say it is dead in the water,
though. We can certainly grant her an extension, give her some
time to figure out, with her lawyer, how to approach this..."
    "No" Mark's tone was sharp. He looked around the room and
lowered his voice. "Let's get out of here, go somewhere we can
talk." Around him, the noise of the crowd had barely abated, and
Darby thought she could hear an angry Peyton Mayerson above
the din.

    Mark rose from the folding chair and offered an arm to Darby.
"There's more to this than what's happened today," he confided. "I
know just the place where we can talk privately."
    Darby stood and scanned the room for Soames Pemberton.
    "He's gone," Mark said, steering her toward the exit with a firm
hand. "Chances are, you won't be seeing Soames for a while."
    Darby recalled the look of pure menace in the man's face and
suppressed a shiver. Let's hope not, she thought.

    It was a short walk from the town office to the harbor and the dock
where Mark's boat, Lucy T, was moored. She was a large, beautiful
sloop, and the pride Mark felt in her fine lines and handsome rigging was evident.
    "Isn't she sweet? Almost as nice as the real thing, my adorable
sister." He pointed at a