Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [2]
But as the years went by and his position in Paradise became more secure, he began to yearn for something more suited to his personality and his desire for privacy.
It was Captain Healy, the state homicide commander and a resident of Paradise, who had called Jesse’s attention to the small house situated on an inlet, not far from Paradise Cove. It was two stories, barely more than a cottage, positioned on a bluff overlooking the bay. Its weathered appearance and remoteness made it feel both mysterious and enticing.
It was owned by an elderly physician and his wife who decided they had finally lived through enough New England winters. They were moving to Florida to be near their children and grandchildren and away from the cold.
But they couldn’t bear to sell it. Their life had been in Paradise; their children had been born there.
The possibility existed that they might miss it too much and decide to return. As an interim step, they opted to rent it.
Healy knew the couple and made the introductions. He thought they would find security entrusting their home to the Paradise police chief.
It was well within Jesse’s price range, partially furnished, and isolated enough to be attractive to him. Despite the inconvenience of having to lug his groceries across the narrow footbridge that spanned the bay, he fell in love with the place at first sight.
What little furniture he owned would be handled by Dexter’s Movers. He had boxed and packed his few belongings and his clothing. Dexter’s would move it all.
Jesse had taken one final tour of the condo. Not sentimental by nature, he still had feelings for it, and as he prepared to leave it for the last time, he felt a momentary pang of uncertainty.
Then he’d thought better of it and turned the key in at the management office. He bid the condo good-bye.
His thoughts returned to the missing vehicles.
Only idiots and dead men believe in coincidence, he remembered having read somewhere. It wasn’t likely that the disappearance of two Hondas on the same day in the same town could be unrelated.
His first thought was that the cars had been stolen. He knew that gang-related automobile thefts often took place in New England, but they had never before occurred in Paradise.
The summer season was about to begin, and the last thing Jesse wanted to see in his office was the faces of tourists whose vehicles had disappeared.
And although he cared little for him, Jesse was certain the same would hold true for Carter Hansen, the current head of the Paradise Board of Selectmen.
As he left his office, Jesse could hear the sound of warning bells tolling ominously in his brain.
2
Carter Hansen waited for Jesse to enter the meeting hall before bringing the annual State of the Summer in Paradise conference to order.
As was his custom, Jesse took a seat in the back row, alongside Molly and Suitcase.
Today’s conference had attracted a good-sized audience, comprised mostly of town luminaries and interested citizens.
Most of the regular Paradise police officers were there. Peter Perkins. Arthur Angstrom. Richard Bauer. There were a few of the new summer hires as well.
The five members of the board of selectmen were seated on the dais, including the newly reelected Hastings Hathaway, once the head selectman.
Hasty had owned the First City Bank of Paradise. Facing possible failure, however, he had aligned himself with a Boston-based mobster and had begun using the bank to launder money, a career that abruptly ended when his crimes were discovered by Jesse Stone, whom Hasty himself had hired.
He was apprehended, tried, and sentenced to five years in prison, a sentence that was later reduced to two years. With time off for good behavior, Hasty wound up serving only sixteen months.
Upon his release, having been legally barred from returning to the world of banking, Hasty opened an upscale used car dealership.
His infectious ebullience and easy charm contributed to his success, and when he sought reelection to the board, running on a “redemption” platform, he won handily.
Carter