Heart of Stone (17 page)

Simon laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“The dominant male is the only one with the right to mount the females. From time to time, a younger bull will challenge the alpha. Sometimes the younger one is ready to supplant the elder, but often it's only a testing of the waters. The younger male gains knowledge and experience that he will use later on to defeat the leader.”

“So Kennedy is the old elephant?” asked Simon in a mocking tone. “And Khrushchev is the young pretender to the throne?”

“Kennedy isn't the old bull. America is. Mark my words, if Khrushchev gets away with this, he'll be emboldened. He'll make a bigger play before too long.”

“Let's talk about something else,” said Miriam. “Ellie's bored.”

“Yes,” I said, having had enough of Miriam's digs and perhaps a little too much to drink. “Why don't we talk about Karl instead?”

The room went quiet, and Miriam left the hall. I immediately regretted having said it. But then Isaac piped up.

“Ellie saw Gayle today.” Everyone seemed to know the name without further qualification. “She came to the lake with Karl.”

“Don't you mean
Charles
?” asked Simon with a sneer.

Isaac ignored him. “So the first time Gayle condescends to visit Prospector Lake, Karl dies.”

“Maybe she pushed him,” said Simon, and he laughed.

“That's not funny,” said Ruth. “Why can't you keep those ugly thoughts to yourself, Simon?”

Silence again ruled. Then Audrey announced that Karl had once kissed her. The general consensus was horror.

“He kissed me,” she repeated. “I was young at the time. Fourteen or fifteen.”

David stood up to register his disapproval. “Karl kissed you? He's ten years older than you!”

Was
ten years older, I thought.

After much outrage, and Audrey's reveling in the attention, especially from Isaac, who exhibited all the characteristics of being thoroughly scandalized, the group quieted again. Audrey dropped another match into the gasoline.

“He wrote me letters after he'd gone to California,” she said, almost giggling.

David fumed. He said that he was responsible for Audrey whenever she visited Prospector Lake, and he didn't appreciate Karl taking advantage of her.

“I'm twenty-one years old,” she said in Karl's defense.

“Now,” answered David in a strained, high-pitched voice. “You were fourteen at the time. I can't believe Karl would do such a thing. It's . . .” He searched for the right word. “It's criminal.”

“You'll get no argument from me,” said Simon, acting as if he'd been vindicated by Karl's bad behavior.

Isaac seemed truly troubled by the revelation, but he said nothing. He turned away from Audrey, who, for the first time, realized that perhaps she might have considered keeping her mouth shut.

The party broke up quickly. I felt as though I'd pulled the fire alarm. My suggestion to talk about Karl had sent Miriam running for the hills. I'd succeeded in turning David Levine against his cousin, and nasty Simon emerged as my new ally.

“Good idea to shine the light on that rat,” he told me as the others were leaving. “Maybe I underestimated you.”

“I'm sure you did,” I said. “But can I ask you something?” He nodded. “What happened between you two? Why do you hate him so? And don't tell me that he betrayed his religion.”

Simon frowned, our alliance seemingly at an end, and said he didn't need to answer to me.

“You don't know anything about me or Karl, for that matter,” he said and walked away.

“What did you say to him?” asked Isaac, who'd materialized behind me.

“I'd like to go home now.”

Isaac begged me to stay, but I'd had enough of the poisonous air for one night. He seemed genuinely worried that I was upset. Where had that concern been when he was flirting with Audrey earlier in the evening? But I kept my thoughts to myself; I don't like to whine to men about their attentions. If I'm not what they want, I certainly don't want to be there. I assured him that everything was fine between us. I just wanted a night alone in my own bed to clear my head. We made a date for the following evening.

I drove back to Cedar Haven without incident and went to my cabin. For the first time since I'd arrived, I pulled the bottle of White Label from the bag under my bed and set upon it. I had no ice, but there was water. I washed away the foul taste of Simon and Audrey and Karl Merkleson from my mouth.

I lay awake for hours, draining one whiskey after another, asking myself what I was getting into, until the tumbler dropped from my hand to the floor as I nodded off.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 22, 1961

I earmarked Tuesday as a day to spend with Aunt Lena and Max, whom I'd been neglecting for the past few days. After my late night with the bottle, I was a little late to the post, but I managed to emerge by nine thirty. As it was another gray day, the old folks wanted to stay close to home. I took my car into the village to pick up some supplies and was driving back to Cedar Haven when I passed a sign announcing the Sans Souci Cabins a hundred yards ahead. I recalled my conversation with Isaac from the day before. Gayle Morton was staying at the Sans Souci when I met her, but Isaac had insisted she'd been at Tom's Lakeside Motel. I flipped on the indicator and turned into the parking lot.

I had no business at the Sans Souci Cabins, but I couldn't resist. My visit was motivated entirely by curiosity. I wasn't sure if Gayle Morton was still in residence, but I hadn't come to meet her. I wanted to talk to the manager.

The Sans Souci bordered the lake on the western side of Lake Road, just a quarter mile north of the village. The accommodations consisted of ten identical one-room cabins, built of cinder block and painted brown to resemble logs. A wooden sign alongside the road advertised vacancy and beach access. I parked my car in front of the registration office.

Inside at the desk, I found a young man in a white short-sleeved shirt, whose collar was too large for his neck. His clip-on tie was crooked and stained with something shiny. I didn't want to know.

“May I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I'm looking for some information,” I said. “It's about Mr. Morton.”

“The man who died on the rocks?”

“Yes. Can you tell me when he checked in?”

He grabbed the register and began flipping through the pages. Then he stopped and looked up at me. “Aren't you the lady who was here with the chief of police yesterday?” I nodded. “Who are you, anyway, and why are you asking about Mr. Morton?”

I was prepared for that question. “I work for Stephenson's Insurance in Albany. Mr. Morton had a life insurance policy with us. My boss sent me to gather some information about the accident so that we can clear the payment for his widow.”

He nodded, uncertain, but without a good argument to refuse. He turned a few more pages then settled on one. “He checked in Wednesday night. Late.”

Wednesday? That meant he'd been on the lake for two full days before he died. Gayle Morton had said they'd arrived Friday.

“Did he have a car?” I asked.

The clerk consulted the register again. “Nope. I don't see any mention of a vehicle here. We always make a note of the cars in the register.”

“How would one get here without a car?” I asked. “Is there a bus station?”

“No bus station. But there's taxis in Ticonderoga that might drive up here. It would be a pretty nice fare.”

I jotted down a note. Wait, why was I jotting down notes? Those two men had fallen accidentally to their deaths. I was just nosing around because I hated unresolved questions. And the question of which motel Gayle Morton had been staying in the past few days was tickling my brain.

“Do you know a place called Tom's Lakeside Motel?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “It's about a mile south of here. In the village next to Edmond's Market.”

“Has Mrs. Morton checked out yet?”

“Last night about six.”

“Did she leave in a taxi?” I asked.

The clerk shook his head. “No. She left in a dark sedan. I think it was a Ford.”

“I thought you said the Mortons arrived without a car.”

“That's right. Mr. Morton arrived Wednesday without a car, but his wife didn't check in until Friday evening.” Again he consulted the register. “About five o'clock Friday. And here's the detail of her car. Ford Galaxie Starlight, blue. Plate number ALB-3529.”

Curious that the Mortons had arrived separately on Prospector Lake. Not quite odd, but curious just the same. What was even stranger was the fact that Karl had landed up in a taxi or on foot. Perhaps he'd hitchhiked. Still, I wondered why the Mortons had arrived two days apart. Married couples did strange things, I reasoned.

I thanked the young clerk and turned to leave. He called after me and joined me at the screen door of the registration office. He asked if Mrs. Morton stood to collect a big insurance payout.

I flashed him my best born-yesterday smile and said I didn't know. “I'm just Mr. Stephenson's girl Friday.”

I reversed out of the Sans Souci parking lot and headed back into the village. A steady rain was falling from a darkening sky, and, as a consequence, Lake Road was deserted. The vacationers were either snug in their cabins, waiting out the rain amid their screaming children, or enjoying a hot lunch at Lenny's Diner in the middle of the village. I drove past Lenny's and through the windows could see a full house chewing on hamburgers and french fries as their kids stuffed their sunburned faces with grilled cheese sandwiches washed down with Squirt.

Tom's Lakeside Motel was a traditional, one-story inn, set back about thirty feet from Lake Road on the west side of the street. There were seventeen units, laid out in a U configuration. Out front, a large wooden sign depicting a beaming angler reeling in an airborne trout invited travelers to stop and sample the local sport fishing. The motel also offered televisions and kitchenettes in every room. My windshield wipers skated back and forth across the glass as I idled in the middle of Lake Road, studying the place. A dark-blue Ford Galaxie sat parked in front of unit six. The license plate read ALB-3529. I flicked on my turn signal and pulled into the parking lot.