Death in a Beach Chair (4 page)

SIX

They got the news at breakfast. The storm had arrived overnight, and the resort staff had rolled down heavy clear plastic tarps to protect the diners from the wind and rain. The view through the plastic was blurred, and the sound of the pounding rain could not be ignored. The resulting ambiance was gloomy. As Susan looked around at the almost empty room, she realized that many vacationers had decided this was the perfect occasion for room service. The Henshaws were having coffee as they waited for Jerry and Kathleen to arrive.

Susan had wondered if this was the perfect opportunity to question Jed about Jerry’s strange conduct and then discarded the idea. They were on vacation; there must be something else to talk about than their friends’ marriage.

“Too bad it’s raining,” Jed said, looking out at the sea. “I was thinking we might take a walk up the beach. Jerry found some sensational sea urchin shells yesterday.”

“Where? There were some shell fragments under the pier, but I didn’t see any intact shells.”

“Back that way.” Jed pointed west past all the cottages and the pier. “You can either wait until low tide and walk around the seawall or you climb over it. Apparently there are miles of pristine beach in that direction. James told me about it while you and Kathleen were kayaking.”

“And Jerry walked up there while we were out?”

“I don’t know when he was there, but he told me about it while we were all sitting around the pool yesterday afternoon. That’s when I thought we might go this morning. I know how you love to collect shells.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to collect them in the rain,” Susan said, as their waitress appeared with a platter of fresh fruit. “How long do you think the storm will last?” she asked her.

“Oh, our weather comes and goes. This will not ruin your vacation. It will have blown out to sea by the afternoon. You’ll see. Oh, here is your friend. I’ll bring her coffee.”

“Bring two coffees,” Jed suggested as Kathleen ducked under the tarp. “Her husband will be close behind.”

Susan wished she could be so sure about that. “Where’s Jerry?” she asked as Kathleen sat down in the chair between them.

“There’s some sort of commotion at the end of the pier. He went out to see what was going on.” She smiled at Susan. “I think he’s beginning to relax. He’s almost his old self this morning.”

“Oh, Kath, that’s great news! Now the weather doesn’t matter so much. Jed was just telling me about the beaches up beyond the last cottage. Jerry told him there were sensational shells up there. We don’t have to let the rain stop us. We can walk up in the rain. Heaven knows, it’s warm enough and we’re not going to melt.”

“All four of us?”

“Sure, why not? We need to get as much exercise as possible. We’re certainly eating enough. Those macadamia nut pancakes on the menu look interesting.”

“I was thinking about the coconut muffins with mango butter,” Kathleen said, picking up the large sheet of paper on which the morning’s offerings were printed. “Or maybe the tarragon omelet with English bangers.”

“I wonder where our waitress has gone,” Jed spoke up. “We ordered coffee for you and Jer, and she said it would be out in just a moment.”

Susan looked around. “She seems to have disappeared.”

Jed, who was in a position to look out toward the sea, frowned. “Is that our waitress running toward the dock?”

Susan turned and looked over her shoulder. “Wow! It looks like the entire staff is heading in that direction. What do you think is going on?”

“We were just passing by on our way here, and your friend was walking back from there.” One of the women from the card-playing group leaned over from a nearby table to explain. “He said that some young boys—they must fish out there no matter what the weather—had found a body.”

“Someone drowned?” Kathleen said, starting to stand up.

“No, now I don’t know about that, but I couldn’t be sure in all this blowing. The sand does make an incredible racket, doesn’t it?”

“But where did you see my husband?” Kathleen asked.

“He was coming in this direction. I can’t imagine where he’s gotten to. It was only a few minutes ago. Oh, look, here he is.”

Jerry Gordon was walking toward them. Raindrops had stained his shirt, and a towel hung around his neck. “I went back to the room to change,” he said, not bothering to greet anyone.

“Jerry . . . this woman says that you told her that a body has been found.”

Jerry looked at the woman his wife had pointed out before answering. “Yes. That’s what I was told. They found her in the gazebo.”

“So that’s where everyone is going,” Jed said.

“Actually, it looks as though everyone is coming back here now,” Susan said, watching.

“It’s Lila’s fault. She’s ordering the staff back to work,” the woman they’d been chatting with announced. “She runs a tight ship, I can tell you.”

“Who’s Lila?” Jed asked.

“She manages this place,” Jerry answered. “She introduced herself to us the day we arrived, didn’t she?” he continued to his wife.

“If she did, I don’t remember it,” Kathleen said. “But it does look as though the staff is returning. Thank goodness. Maybe someone will bring us more coffee.”

“And some news about the body,” Susan added quietly. “I hate to think of someone drowning right where we were kayaking yesterday.”

“I told my husband the day we arrived that this place was unsafe. No lifeguards. You’d have to look for quite a while to find a beach without a lifeguard in New Jersey. That’s where I live.”

“Oh, where? We have friends who have a summer house in Avalon,” Susan, ever gregarious, said.

“Avalon is lovely. We have a place in Loveladies, but—”

One of her companions, a heavyset man with what looked like a painful sunburn on his bald head, interrupted her. “We can order now, Ro. Our waitress has returned.”

“We’ll talk later, dear. Such a dreadful thing. A death right at the beginning of your nice vacation.”

Susan turned back to her own party. Jerry and Kathleen were studying their menus intently, but Jed was still looking toward the now thinning crowd on the beach, his coffee cooling before him. “I think I’ll go see what’s happening,” he said. “Order the pancakes with bacon for me, Sue.”

“Don’t you want to try the coconut pancakes with burnt sugar syrup?”

“No, just the regular kind with regular syrup,” her husband answered, getting up and pushing his chair away from the rain that was blowing through a slit in the heavy plastic. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her. Then he pulled the tarp aside and disappeared into the rain.

Susan looked over at Kathleen. “I wonder what that was about.”

“I wonder where our waitress is. I could really use some coffee.” Almost before the words were out of Kathleen’s mouth, their waitress was at their side, coffee in hand.

“Can you take our orders now?” Susan asked.

“I . . .” She rummaged in her apron pocket. “Oh, I forgot my pad. I’ll be right back.” And before anyone could protest, she was gone.

“Well, at least she left the coffeepot,” Kathleen said, picking it up and filling all their cups.

“You can’t expect the service to be normal when a murdered woman was just discovered close by,” Jerry said, pouring cream into his coffee.

“Who said anything about murder?” Susan asked.

Jerry seemed startled by this question. “I thought everyone knew. She’s dead. There was a fishing line pulled tight around her neck. It couldn’t have been an accident.”

“But—”

Kathleen interrupted before Susan could ask another question. “I don’t understand why you say that. She could have drowned accidentally. She might have become entangled in the fishing line after her death.”

“But she wasn’t found in the water. She was found sprawled on one of the deck chairs. She was wet, but it was from the rain. She was murdered.” And suddenly, without any warning, tears were running down Jerry’s cheeks. “I—I think I’d better go back to our cottage,” he muttered, getting up.

Kathleen didn’t waste a second before following him.

Their waitress reappeared, notebook in hand, to discover Susan sitting alone at the table. “Why don’t you just put the coffees on our bill and we’ll get back to breakfast in a bit,” Susan suggested, standing up. “I think I should find out what’s going on.”

“They’ve taken her away,” their waitress said. Then she moved closer and lowered her voice. “She was a guest, you see. They don’t want to upset other guests. They don’t want everyone to think they might get murdered in their sleep. Not good for business.” She stood up and spoke more loudly. “Of course, maybe you weren’t going to join your husband.”

“Actually, I was.”

“Your husband may’ve gotten the last look before they covered her up. You can’t see her anymore. I told you. They’ve taken her away.”

But Susan had gotten up and was heading for the pier, despite the rain, despite the woman’s protests. Jed was among the least impulsive of men. If he had felt the need to check out the dead woman, there was a reason for his behavior. And she was going to find out what it was.

SEVEN

Susan found Jed sitting on the pier in almost exactly the spot she had stood the night before. He looked miserable and she slid down beside him on the bench and took one of his hands in hers.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, staring out into the rain. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Susan squeezed his hand in what she hoped was a comforting manner. “No one expects a murder to happen while they’re on vacation, but we should try to not let it bother us too much, Jed. After all, it’s not as though we know the woman who died.”

“That’s just it, Sue. We do.”

“We do what?” she asked slowly, hoping she didn’t know the answer.

“We do know her. That is we did. I was just sitting here trying to remember the last time we saw her—before yesterday, that is. I mean, I saw her. We both must have seen her. But we didn’t recognize her then, and now . . .”

“Jed, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Allison. I didn’t recognize her yesterday. She’s changed a lot—and for the better, too—but something seemed familiar, and just now, even though she looked awful—pale and grayish with that horrible thing around her neck, and her tongue—”

Susan interrupted quickly. “I get the idea, Jed.”

“What I’m saying is I knew who she was. This time.”

Susan was becoming more confused as every second passed. “You said her name was Allison?” she asked, mentally reviewing the women with that name in her circle.

“Allison. You know, June’s sister.”

Now Susan had two unknown women to deal with. “June and Allison,” she repeated slowly. “Jed, the only June I’ve ever known was Jerry’s wife.”

“Exactly! June Gordon! Jerry’s first wife! You must remember her sister, Allison. She came to visit for holidays. Heavens, she must have had Thanksgiving dinner at our house half a dozen times.”

“Or course I remember. She was the only person I’ve ever known who was allergic to cranberries. Although I did wonder—June’s sister is here? Was here? Was murdered here?” She asked the questions breathlessly, suddenly realizing the import of what Jed had told her.

“Exactly.”

“But . . .”

“Listen, Sue, I didn’t recognize her at once, either, but we have to talk some things over right now. While we’re alone.”

“But . . .”

“We have to decide what—how much—to tell the police and whoever else ends up in charge here!”

“Jed, I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m trying to tell you. June’s sister was here. She was killed here. Jerry could end up on the list of suspects. He—”

“Why would Jerry be suspected of killing anyone?” Susan paused and examined the expression on her husband’s face. “Jed, you know something about this that I don’t know, don’t you? Something about Jerry and Allison?”

“I think someone’s coming,” Jed said, not answering her question. “Why don’t we talk about this later—when we’re alone.”

Susan, completely mystified, could only agree. She got up and followed her husband back down the dock, toward the shore. The rain had almost let up, and on the horizon, a thin line of sunlight promised better weather to come. “Did Jerry recognize her—”

“Sue, not now!”

“Okay, but let’s go back to our cottage and you can explain exactly what’s going on.”

“No. We’ll go back to the restaurant and continue eating our breakfast. And we won’t say anything to anyone that might indicate that we knew Allison.”

“But . . .”

“Let’s not say anything in public that might be misunderstood, okay?”

“I guess.”

The restaurant had filled up, and Susan realized immediately that they would be conspicuous if they didn’t talk about the murder. Everyone, staff and guests alike, was discussing nothing else.

“The rain has stopped. Why don’t we see if they’ll serve us out on the patio,” Jed suggested.

“The seats are awfully wet. But I guess that doesn’t matter. I have my swimsuit on underneath this dress.” She glanced around. “I don’t see Kath or Jerry.”

“They’re probably in their cottage.”

“Then we—”

“We are going to go sit down and eat breakfast—in public. Maybe once Kathleen and Jerry see where we’re sitting they’ll come join us,” Jed said, taking her elbow and guiding her over to a table beside the pool.

“Why here?” Susan asked. Then suddenly, and without benefit of a second cup of coffee, she realized what was going on. “We’re sitting here because Kath and Jerry can see us by looking out the window of their cottage, right?”

“Yes, and we’re as far as possible from the police as we can get,” Jed added.

Susan looked over her shoulder and spied the group of uniformed men sitting around a large table next to the bar.

“They’re policemen? They’re certainly not acting like policemen. They all seem to be drinking rum punch. Don’t you think that’s a little unprofessional so early in the morning?”

“I think we don’t know anything about the police force on this island. They could be highly qualified and professional or just the opposite. I don’t know which possibility is the worst.” Jed stood up abruptly. “I’m going to go see if I can find someone to serve us.” He walked off, leaving Susan to worry about what all this meant. She and Jed had been married for years, and as far as she knew, he had never known more about the private lives of their friends and neighbors than she did. But in this case, at least, she had apparently been wrong. She turned around in her seat and studied the other guests. Who was missing? Who had she failed to recognize as the sister of Jerry’s first wife yesterday?

Jed returned, accompanied by a waitress she hadn’t seen previously.

“This is Trina. She’s helping out in the kitchen today. I told her we’d understand if she took a little more time than her experienced colleagues.”

The young woman giggled until her hair, wrapped in dozens of braids bound with little silver beads, flew out in all directions. “My cousin . . . he work here always, but today with the death, they expect big crowd and he call me to help out.”

“Big crowd? You mean people will come here from other parts of the island? Other resorts?”

“Maybe. My cousin say Lila might hire me if I do well in emergency. I don’t want to work other places. I want to work here.”

“Oh, what—”

“I’m starving. Tell Trina what you want for breakfast, Sue,” Jed interrupted, sitting down across from her.

Susan was beginning to wonder if she knew her husband at all. “I’ll have the pecan pancakes with coconut syrup and bacon . . . and coffee . . . and some fresh fruit, please,” she answered, glaring at him.

“I’ll have the same,” he agreed. “And you’ll remember to tell our friends that we’re out here if you see them?”

“Of course. I see them. I tell them. And I bring your breakfast back here faster than you can believe.”

“We can only hope,” Jed said when they were alone together again.

Susan was still examining the guests. “Except for Kath and Jer, I don’t know who else is missing—That gorgeous blond. The one who was carrying that beautiful scarf! I thought she looked familiar. She is—she was—that was Allison?”

“Yes.”

Susan tried to accept what she was hearing. It had been at least ten years since she had last seen Allison McAllister. She remembered that day well. She sat back in her seat, stared out at the clouds making way for the returning blue sky and the sparkling sun, and remembered.

June Gordon and her two children had been killed when the car she was driving had spun out of control and careened off a raised bypass on the highway right outside of Hancock. She had been an excellent driver, and no one had ever known what caused the accident, although Susan often wondered if June had taken her eyes off the road to check on one of her children—something every mother did but usually without fatal results.

Jed had been on a business trip, and Susan had accompanied a stunned Jerry to the trauma center morgue to identify the bodies of his wife and children. She had had nightmares about that event for years afterwards. Seeing June had been bad, but the children . . . Susan shook her head and sat up straighter. It was Allison’s death she should be concerned with now, not something that happened over a decade ago.

She had last seen Allison about six months after June’s death. Jerry had readily accepted Susan’s offer to help. He had asked her to clean out his children’s rooms, and she had done that, sending boxes of clothes to the local women’s shelter and their toys and books to the state Head Start collection agency to be distributed where needed. She had also gone through June’s closets, removing clothing and personal items and donating them to charity after checking with family members and friends to see what, if anything, they wanted.

June’s parents were both dead and she had only one sister: Allison was an artist who made a living by freelancing. Most of her work, Susan remembered, was done for various advertising agencies. Allison didn’t want many of her sister’s possessions. She lived in a loft on the Lower East Side. Susan remembered her describing it as high rather than wide. Allison had spent a few days helping sort through her sister’s possessions and then, claiming the call of work, returned to the city, leaving behind a small shoe box filled with June’s possessions. Less than a year later Jerry put the house on the market and Allison arrived to claim that box. Susan, hearing from Jerry of the proposed visit, had made a point of being at his home while Allison was in town.

Jerry had thought Susan was being unselfish, but actually the opposite was true. She wanted to speak with Allison about the bracelets. June and Susan both had small children they adored—and desperately wanted to escape for a few hours once or twice a week, so they had started going to craft fairs held in local church halls and featuring items like stenciled pot holders and Christmas tree ornaments molded from bread dough. Then they had moved up to juried craft fairs featuring artists who worked in gold and diamonds. At one of these fairs, June found and fell in love with a pair of rose gold and diamond cuffs. Susan had dutifully reported this love affair to Jerry, who tracked down the artisan and gave the cuffs to June the Christmas before her death. They had been the one thing Allison wanted from her sister’s estate. They had not been found. Not that Susan hadn’t looked. After searching through June’s personal possessions, she rummaged through kitchen cupboards and drawers, thinking June might have removed the bracelets while cooking. When she found nothing there, she had searched around the washer and dryer in the laundry room, on the shelves near June’s gardening equipment in the garage, and, finally, in the tote bag where her tennis togs lay. Nothing. Susan finally concluded that June had been wearing them when she died and that they had been stolen between the time her body was cut from the car and she arrived at the morgue.

But she had always suspected that Allison didn’t believe her theory. She had even gotten the impression that Allison didn’t trust her. And that was what she wanted to discuss with her on that last day in Hancock. But Allison had swept through town, picking up her box of reminders of her sister’s life, and left, only waving to Susan as she got into the taxi to take her to the train and back to New York City.

And now she was dead. Susan shook her head. It all seemed unbelievable.

“It seems unbelievable, doesn’t it?” her husband said, echoing her thoughts.

“Yes . . . but . . . oh, here’s our breakfast.” She smiled, but wondered if she still had an appetite.

Jed hadn’t lost his, picking up his fork and digging in as soon as Trina put his plate on the table.

“You like island food,” she commented approvingly.

“Yes, too much.” Jed patted his almost flat stomach.

“Your friends like it, too,” Trina commented.

“Our friends? You mean Kathleen and Jerry?” Susan asked.

“Yes, your friends in cottage by gift shop. They sitting with police now. They order island specialties, also.”

Susan decided she didn’t have to worry about gaining weight today. She had definitely lost her appetite.