Death in a Beach Chair (11 page)

NINETEEN

When people hailing from the same state meet in a foreign country, they usually spend some time discussing the locations of homes and the possibility of having acquaintances in common. Susan and Kathleen and Peggy and Frank Romeo initially followed this convention.

Peggy and Frank Romeo were from northwestern Connecticut, over sixty miles from Hancock. But the foursome did manage to discover three friends in common, as well as a fondness for the cheese soufflés served at the same country inn. Formalities over, they got down to business.

“We were really sorry to hear about your husband,” Frank said to Kathleen, brushing his red hair off his forehead. A tall, thin, and rather tired-looking man, he had done most of the talking. His wife, short, dark, and heavyset, had spent their time together quietly sipping her rum punch and smiling.

“Thank you,” Kathleen replied politely.

“We’re sure the police will discover that they’ve made a mistake soon and they’ll let him go,” Susan added.

“Some people here are saying that you have some experience investigating murder,” Frank said.

“Yes, I do,” Susan answered.

“So, of course, you are trying to help your friends,” he suggested.

“Yes.” Susan paused. “Kathleen and I thought that’s why you wanted to talk to us. Not that we don’t appreciate your sympathy . . .”

“And the cocktails,” Kathleen added, raising her gin and tonic to her lips.

“We did think you needed to relax,” Frank began.

“And we wanted to offer our support,” Peggy said. “Here you are, far from home, among strangers. This must be so distressing.”

Susan nodded. “It is. We need all the help we can get if we’re going to help Jerry.”

“That’s what we were thinking. It’s why we sent that note to your table at lunch,” Frank explained. “You see, we know something you don’t know.”

Susan almost giggled at the childish expression. “Something about Allison,” she guessed.

“And something about your husband,” Peggy added to Kathleen. “We think we know why he was arrested.”

“He was arrested because the police have made a terrible mistake,” Kathleen said.

“Oh, we don’t think he was guilty of murder,” Frank explained quickly. “We think he was guilty of love.”

“My husband believes—and I must say I have come to agree with him—that your husband was in love with Allison McAllister,” Peggy explained, reaching across the table and placing her hand on Kathleen’s forearm.

Kathleen shook off the caress and sat up straighter. “And exactly how did you get that impression?” she asked coldly.

“I can assure you that we didn’t make it up,” Peggy insisted.

“And we in no way want to distress you,” Frank added.

“You see, Allison herself told us,” Peggy answered.

“How did that happen? Were you sitting together and she saw Jerry and just said, ‘I’m in love with that man and he’s in love with me’?” Kathleen sounded furious.

“I’m afraid you need to explain more. We have to understand exactly how this all came up,” Susan pointed out.

“My husband was not in love with another woman,” Kathleen insisted, ignoring Susan.

Peggy reached out for Kathleen again and then, apparently thinking the better of it, put her hand around her glass. “I understand exactly how you are feeling. You see, about a year ago, my best friend came to me and told me that Frank was in love with someone else. I was shocked. I had had no idea. But before we go on, you should look at Frank and me. We’re here on our second honeymoon. Our marriage is stronger than ever. This could be the enlightening moment when you see your marriage for what it has become. And only by confronting reality can you change it. You and your husband will be just fine. I promise.”

“My husband is not in love with someone else,” Kathleen repeated.

“But—”

“Perhaps we should tell these women just why we’re saying this,” Frank said to his wife.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Susan agreed.

“I’d like another drink.” Kathleen drained her glass.

Frank Romeo was apparently one of those men who could demand instant attention from waiters and waitresses. One wave of his hand, a quick order, and less than five minutes later, everyone at the table was enjoying a fresh drink and Peggy began their story.

“I suppose I must begin by explaining honestly that I did not like Allison McAllister.”

“But I did—” Frank started.

“Of course you did. She flirted outrageously with you,” Peggy said, glaring at her husband. “Now if you will allow me to continue . . .”

“Please.” He narrowed his eyes and glared back. Susan wondered if this was going to be one of the shortest second honeymoons on record.

“Allison approached us the first morning we were here. We had spent the night in a motel near the airport in Miami, took the first plane out in the morning, and were here in time for brunch.”

“That way we get an extra day at the resort without paying for an extra night,” Frank explained. “We always do that on vacation.”

“I’m sure these women aren’t interested in your cheap ways.” Peggy picked up her glass and then put it back down without drinking. For one moment, Susan had thought she was going to pour it over her husband’s head.

“So Allison approached you,” Kathleen prompted.

“We were placed at a table right next to her. And, of course, we said hello right away.”

“Frank has a hard time ignoring attractive women. Even when he’s on his second honeymoon.”

“We don’t have all day,” Kathleen announced, downing her drink in a few gulps and acting as though she was about to get up.

“And we’re going to tell you about meeting Allison,” Peggy said. “I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s difficult to forgive and forget. As you will learn,” she added to Kathleen.

“You sat next to Allison while you enjoyed the first brunch of your second honeymoon,” Susan prompted.

“Yes. And, of course, we introduced ourselves, as people do in a place like this. And Allison was very helpful. We couldn’t get into our cottage immediately, and she suggested we use her cottage to change in so we could use the pool and start to get some sun.”

“How nice of her,” Susan said. “Which cottage was she in?”

“Number nine. It’s the first two-story cottage you come to walking down the beach. I think she may have been the only single person here staying in a cottage that large. I must admit I was disappointed when I discovered that we had reserved one of the smaller cottages nearer the restaurant.”

“We’re all staying in one-story cottages,” Kathleen said. “So you went to number nine and changed into your swimsuits.”

“Yes, and we—the three of us—went out to sit in the gazebo. We were actually sitting together so close to the spot where she died that it makes me shiver. Perhaps even in the same deck chair. Even now when I think about it . . .” Peggy actually shivered.

“My wife is very emotional,” Frank said.

She glared at him before continuing. “Frank was tired and he took a rather long and noisy nap, but Allison and I got along so well. We chatted about ourselves—you know the way you do—and I told her about our second honeymoon. And she told me that she was here to meet a man, a man she has been in love with for years. At first she didn’t mention your husband by name. But then she started saying Jerry. She did seem to feel slightly uncomfortable admitting that this Jerry—well, your Jerry,” she added, glancing at Kathleen. “That he was married. I mean, I’d told her about the woman who wrecked—almost wrecked—our marriage, so it was quite natural that she wouldn’t feel comfortable admitting to being the other woman, although in a very different situation, of course.”

“Why do you think the situations were so different?” Susan asked.

“Well, Frank’s affair was just a physical thing.” Peggy looked over at her husband, and Susan thought the expression on her face just dared him to disagree with her. “Allison, on the other hand, had been in love with your husband for years and years. I believe she actually said decades.”

“So she claims she was in love with him when he was married to her sister,” Kathleen said.

“Yes. I suppose that’s why they kept their affair a secret.”

“And did she explain why they didn’t get together after she died?” Kathleen asked.

Apparently Peggy didn’t hear the sarcasm in Kathleen’s voice. “She did mention that. She said he was so broken up over her sister’s death that he didn’t know what he was doing for years afterward.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing?”

“She said he had a breakdown. Poor man. Anyway, he married you and had children and then, years later, Allison ran into him.”

“Where?”

Peggy looked at Susan as though she had asked something odd. “In the town he lives in, of course.”

“Oh.” Susan looked over at Kathleen. She knew they were both wondering what had brought Allison back to Hancock after all these years.

“Yes, she said she ran into him on the street while she was shopping. I told her that their meeting like that sounded like it was meant to be, and she agreed with me.”

“And then what happened?” Susan asked.

“Their affair started up again almost immediately.”

“She kept coming to Hancock?” Kathleen asked coldly.

“No, she said they met at her place in New York City. He took her out to dinner, to see the latest plays, and to art exhibits, as well. She said the last few years have been the best of her life.”

“Years?” Susan asked. Kathleen merely glared at her empty glass without speaking.

“Yes, years,” Peggy affirmed.

“And you’re saying that Jerry and Allison went to restaurants, theaters, museums, and art galleries without running into any of our friends?” Kathleen asked.

“Oh, but don’t you see? That wasn’t a problem for them—unlike my husband and his trashy paramour who couldn’t explain to my best friend why they were together in the lobby of the Plaza in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week.”

“Why wasn’t it a problem?” Susan asked.

“Because she was his ex-sister-in-law. They had a relationship that everyone knew about. They didn’t have to worry about being seen together.”

“And you don’t think that a mutual friend might have told Kathleen if she ran into Jerry and Allison together in the city?” Susan asked.

“Actually, a friend of mine did see them together a little over a month ago. They were having lunch together in the bar of the Four Seasons,” Kathleen said slowly.

“But that doesn’t mean anything really,” Susan insisted. “Jerry works near the Four Seasons. He has to eat lunch. That meeting could have meant nothing.”

“And why, if Allison and Jerry really were seeing each other all over the city back in the States, did they meet here?” Kathleen asked.

“Because Jerry wanted to tell you about their relationship without your children around. He wanted to ask you for a divorce so he could marry Allison.”

TWENTY

Kathleen carefully put down her glass and pushed her chair back. She stood up, snatched her straw bag off the floor, slung it over her shoulder, and stamped out of the bar without saying a word. Susan followed immediately.

Kathleen headed straight for her cottage, climbed the stairs to her deck, yanked open her door, and stormed right in.

“You didn’t lock your door,” Susan said, trailing her friend into the cool, dark interior.

“Jerry’s in jail, a strange woman just informed me that my marriage is a big lie, and you think I should be worried about locking the cottage door in case someone wants to steal a few suitcases full of overpriced resort clothing?” Kathleen’s final words were muffled.

“Kathleen! You’re crying!” Susan was shocked. “You don’t believe the garbage that woman was saying, do you?”

“Part of me doesn’t. And part of me knows that every woman whose husband has betrayed her has refused to believe the truth when she first heard it.”

“Kathleen, it’s not the truth. Jerry wasn’t in love with Allison. I’m sure of it.”

Kathleen grabbed some tissues from the box by the bed, blew her nose, and dried her eyes. “Okay. Susan, think about this as though you don’t know the people involved. If we had been told that story about someone we had never met, you and I would be sitting here discussing those poor, foolish women that Jerry had cheated on.”

“Not Jerry! I know Jerry, and the man Peggy described—a man who had an affair, then was so shaken by the loss of his wife that he married—”

“That he married me. The first woman to come along,” Kathleen said bitterly.

“The first woman to come along?” Susan squeaked. “Are you nuts? Jerry was the most eligible widower in Hancock for years. I introduced him to at least a dozen women, and I’ll bet half our friends did the same thing. You were not the first woman to come along. You were the first woman he fell in love with! Period! Jerry was miserable after June and the kids died, but he didn’t go insane and he had recovered any emotional stability he had lost long before he met you! And he was not in love with Allison.”

“Susan, you can’t be sure of that.”

“I—well, probably not, but she was always kind of an odd person,” Susan insisted, realizing her argument was losing steam. “I mean, her own sister had trouble with her coming to stay.”

“What if the reason June had such a difficult time being her sister’s hostess was because she suspected there was something going on between Jerry and Allison? Now, don’t have some sort of knee-jerk reaction and tell me I’m wrong. Think about it! It could be true, couldn’t it?”

Susan considered that possibility for a moment. “I suppose it could be true, but it probably isn’t. And I can’t believe Jerry would cheat on two wives with the same woman. Why didn’t he just marry Allison after June died?”

“I don’t know. But I know you don’t know, either.”

“Look, what if what Peggy told you was the truth? What if they were in love? Do you think Jerry could have killed her?”

“No. I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that.”

“And you still want to find the killer and get Jerry released?”

“Of course I do! But what if Peggy is telling everyone the story Allison told her? What if everyone believes Jerry came here to tell me about Allison?”

“You know that is the oddest part of her whole story! Why would Jerry come on vacation with the three of us to meet Allison and tell you that he wants a divorce?”

“Maybe he did want to protect the kids. If he told me at home, I might become hysterical. They would see me hysterical. It wouldn’t be good for them. If he told me here, I would be over the first shock before seeing Alex and Emily again. And you and Jed are here to help me through this.” Kathleen shook her head. “That does not sound like something Jerry would do. It doesn’t sound like something anyone would do.”

“What have I been telling you?”

“Okay. You’re right. It makes no sense. But—”

“But it’s the story Allison told Peggy and Frank. And she must have told them for a reason.”

“I suppose,” Kathleen said.

“So let’s say she made it all up,” Susan continued.

“She didn’t make up meeting Jerry in the city, Susan. They were together at the Four Seasons, remember.”

“Jerry meets lots of people at the Four Seasons. You know it meant nothing.”

“I don’t agree with that. He met her there. And less than a month later, they run into each other at a resort in the Caribbean. It could be a coincidence, but I doubt it.”

“Are you going to ask Jerry about it the next time you see him?”

“No. There’s always someone listening. We don’t talk about Allison at all. I’d feel much better if we could. I have so many questions.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I just heard someone on the deck.”

“Kathleen, Susan . . . it’s Peggy. I have something for you.” She knocked on the doorjamb.

Kathleen glanced over at Susan, who shrugged. “Come on in. The door’s open.”

Peggy walked into the room. A gigantic brilliant pink straw tote bag dangled from one hand. “I didn’t know what to do with this. I was going to turn it in to the office, but then I thought of your husband. He’s really the closest thing Allison had to a relative on the island. Perhaps he should have this.”

“What is it?” Kathleen asked.

Susan was quicker. “Is that Allison’s bag?” She reached out for it.

Peggy pulled the tote out of Susan’s reach. “Yes. She left it on our deck the afternoon before she died. I saw it and brought it in when the rain began and then forgot all about it.” Peggy paused. “When I realized she was dead, I just kept it. Frank said I should turn it in to the office, but I told him that the office didn’t have any more right to it than I do. Anyway, here it is. If you want it.”

“We do!” Susan said.

“I was thinking it should go to Kathleen,” Peggy pointed out.

Kathleen accepted the bag. “Thank you. It was very nice of you. And—and thank you for talking to us.”

“Oh, my dear, we should start a support group—women who’ve been wronged by the men they love.”

“I don’t think—”

“I know. You’ve had a shock and right now you don’t believe what I’ve told you. All I can say is that I have a nice broad shoulder to cry on when you come to accept the truth. Now I’d better get going. Frank is in the bar trying to drink all the rum. I plan on helping him.”

“Thank you,” Kathleen said again, closing the door behind her.

Susan didn’t even bother to wait until the door was closed to grab the bag from her friend’s hand and dump it in the middle of the bed. She scrounged around in the mess of paperbacks, sunscreens, scarves, combs, and small makeup bags, finding what she was looking for in just a moment. “The key!” She held her treasure up in the air. “The key to Allison’s cottage. Now all we have to do is wait until dark.”

“But it won’t be dark for hours. What will we do until then?”

The question was answered for them the moment they stepped off the deck in front of Kathleen’s cottage. The bridge-playing brigade enveloped them.

“Oh, Mrs. Henshaw.” Ro Parker led her three companions to Susan and Kathleen. “I’ve been wondering where you were. We’ve been talking and we have a theory.”

“And we have reservations for dinner, as well,” the man by her side added. “We hoped your husband would be able to join us, Mrs. Henshaw.”

“I—we—” Susan glanced over at Kathleen. “We aren’t actually sure what we’re doing for dinner,” she said slowly. “Do you think we should wait for Jed?”

“If you don’t think he would mind us going on without him, I think we should accept these people’s kind offer,” Kathleen said.

“Well, that’s just fine. Let’s go to the bar and order some rum punch and get to know each other better.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t remember your name,” Susan confessed to the man by her side.

“You can’t remember it. Probably never knew it. My name’s Randy Burns.”

“Burns—but I thought you were married to Ro.”

“Nope. You’re thinking of Burt. I’m married to Veronica—that foxy redhead in the green dress who’s standing next to the man who is married to Ro.”

“Do I hear someone talking about me?” The gray-haired man walking on the other side of Veronica peered around her and grinned at Susan. “Ah, Mrs. Henshaw. Good to see you again. Although, of course, the circumstances could be better.”

“Call me Susan, please, and it’s nice to see you again. And particularly nice of you all to think of us when you were making reservations for dinner.”

“Hell, we’ve been thinking of you all day long. The girls are keeping themselves amused trying to figure out this murder thing. Cardplayers are good at puzzles, you know. We think we have an edge on the rest of the guests here.”

Susan smiled. Lila’s prediction that guests would get involved in trying to figure out who murdered Allison had been right on the mark. “I’m sure Kathleen and I will be interested in what you’ve all come up with,” she said.

“Then let’s find a place to sit, get us some drinks and something to munch on, and have a nice chat.”

“I’ll have a white wine spritzer,” Susan said.

“You’re not in Connecticut, for heaven’s sake. Have a rum punch,” Randy said. “This place makes the best rum punch in the Caribbean.”

“And he should know. He’s tried them all in his time,” Burt said, sitting down between Susan and Kathleen.

“It is good,” Susan admitted. “But—”

“But what? You find a place that has good rum punch, you drink rum punch,” Randy said. “Bring a glass for everyone at the table,” he called out to the bartender.

Apparently the order was specific enough. Six large glasses of rum punch appeared so quickly that Susan could only assume they had been poured and waiting.

“How about an assortment of those things on sticks?” Randy yelled out to the departing waiter.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband, Susan. Since he retired he’s decided that manners don’t matter,” Veronica explained, leaning around Kathleen to make herself heard.

“Spent thirty-three years doing what other people wanted me to do,” Randy explained. “Now I do what I want to do. Know I’m not gonna live forever, so I’m spending the time I’ve got left living for myself.”

“Perhaps you’re being just a little insensitive,” Burt suggested. “Considering that there’s been a death and all.”

“Sorry.” Randy took the cherry out of his drink with a shaking hand and managed to find his mouth. “Love these little buggers, even if they are full of sugar.”

Susan, thinking that Randy apparently had more than enough alcohol already, was glad when the selection of “things on sticks” arrived as promptly as their drinks. “How long have you four known each other?” she asked, picking up a skewer loaded with fruit and chicken.

“Over thirty years. We met when Ro and Veronica shared a room in the maternity ward at Sibley Hospital in Washington, D.C. Ro’d just had Ronald, our oldest boy. Veronica was there with her second: Molly. We talked about those two kids getting married one day.”

“And did they?” Susan asked.

“Fat chance. Little Molly—well, she’s not so little now—she’s been married three times, all of them losers. And Ronald, the apple of his mother’s eye, is gay. He’s been in a relationship with the same man for almost ten years. Nice guy, real nice guy. He’s an endocrinologist. Strange how things work out, isn’t it?”

Susan could only agree.