Murder Makes Waves (4 page)

“Bears? I’ve never seen a bear down here, not even when we were children. Have you, Mouse?”

“There used to be some raccoons that came up and got in the garbage at Wilhite Apartments in Panama City. That’s where we usually spent our vacations,” I explained to Haley.

“Raccoons are not bears. Besides, that was during World War II. German submarines used to come right up in the Gulf. You could see them firing on ships at night. Or being fired on. Daddy told us it was fireworks.”

I quit peeling a shrimp and looked up, startled. “It wasn’t fireworks?”

“It was ships firing at each other. It was the
war
, Patricia Anne. For heaven’s sake! Daddy just didn’t want us to know it.” Sister took a long swig from her bottle of beer. “There were more mosquitoes then, too.”

Haley probably didn’t understand this synaptic leap, but I did. I remembered lying on a blanket on the warm sand with Daddy and Mama and Sister, watching the “fireworks” in the Gulf and swatting at mosquitoes that dive-bombed us like kamikazes. Daddy and Mama would puff on cigarettes and blow smoke over us to make the mosquitoes go away. Secondhand smoke and ships firing at each other created one of my best memories. Damn. Sometimes we just learn too much.

Sister nodded her head toward the dark Gulf. “That’s one reason the fishing is so good here. All those sunken boats.”

I looked at the peaceful water rippling with white edges against the beach. Beyond that, a few lights from buoys and fishing boats dotted a black expanse that blended into the horizon and seemed to continue forever. I shivered.

“Rabbit run over your grave?” Sister asked.

I nodded.

“Some key lime pie, ladies?” The waitress, obviously a college student working a summer job, asked. A groan from all of us was our answer. “I’ll bring you some coffee then.” We watched her walk away in the short flowered sarong that was the uniform at the Redneck.

“She looks like Dorothy Lamour,” Sister said.

“Who?” Haley asked.

Mary Alice and I looked at each other. “Like I told you, I’m going to be sixty-four next week,” she said.

I nodded. “Then that makes me fifty-nine.”

“What are you talking about?” Haley asked. “And who’s Dorothy Lamour?” Sister and I laughed.

We drank our coffee slowly and contentedly. I had talked to Fred before I left the condo. He was going to have dinner with Alan and Lisa and the boys, and seemed excited about his meeting the next day. He missed me. And I missed him. A very nice miss.

The early dinner crowd was thinning out and the bar crowd was getting larger and noisier.

“Let’s mosey on home, girls,” Sister said. We were pushing our chairs back when we heard our names called.

“Hey, y’all. Fairchild told me you were in Destin.”

The Millicent Weatherby who was walking toward us holding a drink was not the Millicent we had known for years, first as Tod Abernathy’s wife and then Fairchild’s. Though obviously Millicent, she looked spectacular. Her hair, which had been a salt-and-pepper gray, was now a soft, sun-streaked blonde pulled back casually and held by a large barrette. A 160-pound matronly body had become a tanned 110 encased in a size six jumpsuit, off-white and silky. Heavy gold earrings shaped like turtles brushed against tan, unlined cheeks.

“Lord, Millicent! You look wonderful!” Sister exclaimed.

“Thanks.” Millicent smiled. At least her smile was the same, sweet and a little timid. “I’m helping on the big development on the bay. You know that scrub pine I never thought would amount to a hill of beans and tried to talk Tod out of buying? Hah!”

“We heard about it. What are you doing?” Mary Alice asked.

Millicent’s smile became a grin. “You’re looking at an officer of the Blue Bay Ranch Corporation, honey. A lot of it’s PR, like making talks to groups about the advantages of community living. Even made a video. Anyway, I decided the plump old resident manager look wouldn’t get it.”

“The resident manager look was fine,” I said.

“Sweet Patricia Anne.” Millicent gave me a light hug. Her earrings banged against my shoulder. “How are you, Haley?” she asked.

“Fine, Mrs. Weatherby. And I can see that you’re fine.”

Millicent swirled around, giving us the view from all directions. “I don’t look like a sixty-year-old broad from De Funiak Springs, do I?”

“No, you don’t,” we assured her.

“I don’t even have angel wings anymore.” She bent her elbow to show us there was no loose skin swaying in the breeze under her upper arms.

“I’m impressed,” Sister said. “Where’s Fairchild? Is he overwhelmed at having a new glamorous wife?”

“He’s home watching the Braves. I’m meeting someone for a drink, and then the Blue Bay folks are having a birthday party for one of the sales staff.”

I noticed Millicent hadn’t answered the question Sister had asked about Fairchild’s reaction to her new image. I tried to imagine how Fred would react if I showed up completely renovated. He’d have a fit probably.

“Come over and see the development while you’re here,” Millicent said. “Jason Marley’s doing it. Do you know him, Mary Alice?” Sister shook her head no. “Well, he’s just the best. It’s new and yet old-fashioned at the same time. You’ll love it.”

We promised her that we would. She gave a little wave goodbye and disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

“Can you believe that?” Sister asked.

“Jealousy over you probably drove her to it, not sudden wealth,” Haley said.

“It seems so out of character,” I said. “Millicent has al
ways struck me as being very comfortable with her life and her looks. Down-to-earth. You know what I mean?”

“The broad from De Funiak Springs and no bones about it,” Mary Alice said.

“Right.”

We paid our checks and went down the steps to the beach. The Redneck Riviera is only a short distance from the condo so we had walked. We pulled off our shoes and waded in the edge of the water. There was a slight breeze, and we could hear music from the radios of lovers hidden in the dunes.

“I hope they’re practicing safe sex,” I murmured as we heard the romantic “Unchained Melody.”

“I hope they’re not practicing,” my sweet daughter said. “Sex in the sand can be painful.”

I trusted she was talking about an experience with her late husband Tom. They had come down here frequently.

Other than that exchange, we were lost in our own thoughts. Even Mary Alice was quiet. We walked along, our feet in the warm water, and felt totally relaxed and safe. When we got to the condo we rinsed the sand from our feet at the stile that allows easy access over the seawall. At the top of the stile is an uncovered deck with benches on each side where residents gather to enjoy the sunset or just visit. As we started up the steps, we realized Fairchild Weatherby was sitting there alone.

“Evening, ladies,” he said. “You been to the Redneck?”

“Had great boiled shrimp,” Haley said.

“I’m full as a tick,” Sister added. “What are you doing, Fairchild?”

“Just enjoying the evening.”

“It’s a lovely one,” I agreed.

Sister sat down on the bench across from Fairchild and
leaned forward. “Fairchild, let me ask you something. Do your earlobes ever get numb when you get tired?”

He seemed slightly startled by the question. He reached up and rubbed both his earlobes. “No, I can’t say that they do.”

“Mine do. Do you think I should see a doctor about it?”

“I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“What we need,” Haley said, “is to call it a day. I’m exhausted.”

We left Fairchild sitting on the stile and trudged to the elevator. I realized I was exhausted, too. I also realized that none of us had mentioned seeing Millicent at the Redneck.

“Are your earlobes really numb?” I asked Sister.

“Of course not. But I remember they were one time. Both of them.”

When we got to the apartment, there was a message on the answering machine for Haley to call Philip. She took the phone into the bedroom and shut the door. Sister went to get a shower, and I wandered out to the balcony. Fairchild had been joined by a man who was so bald the stile lights seemed to bounce from his head.

I was glad he had someone to talk to. Later on, after everything had happened, I was glad I had the memory of him sitting peacefully that warm night, his white hair gleaming like a halo.

H
aley and I were sharing the bedroom with twin beds. It’s still known as the “children’s room” or the “elevator room.” It has been years since it truly was the “children’s room,” packed with sleeping bags and giggling kids. But it’s still the “elevator room,” the one closest to the noise of the opening and closing elevator doors out in the hall. Since there are only four apartments on each floor, that’s usually not a problem.

“Everything okay?” I asked Haley as she came to bed. She had talked to Philip for at least a half hour.

“Nothing’s changed.” She held out a bottle of body lotion. “You want some? It’s freesia.”

I took the bottle and poured some into my hand. “Ummm. This smells great.” I handed the lotion back to her and wished I could think of something to say that would comfort her. She looked both fragile and woebegone in an oversized
blue T-shirt emblazoned with the Olympic torch and the words “Atlanta, 1996.”

“Would it help,” I asked, “if I said he’s an asshole?”

“Sure it would.” Haley reached over, kissed me, and then crawled into her bed. “Aunt Sister can think of a lot better names, though.”

“Aunt Sister’s had a lot more practice using them.”

Haley laughed and opened the latest John Grisham; I settled down with an Elmore Leonard, an old one I had never read and had found, like a present, in a used paperback store.

The elevator opened down the hall.

“Think that’s Fay-uh-chile?” Haley asked.

“Probably. Millicent’s sure done a turnaround, hasn’t she?”

“I don’t see how she’s managing this place and doing the real estate thing, too.”

I yawned. “The condo association board is responsible for the big decisions. And most of the units are owned by permanent residents. Millicent’s been manager so long, things run like clockwork.” I yawned again. “And I think she’d miss knowing all that’s going on here. Besides, Fairchild’s here in case of an emergency.”

“I’d like to see that new development on the bay that she’s involved in.”

I yawned again and rubbed my eyes. Elmore’s words were getting fuzzy. “We’ll see it. You can bet on that if your Aunt Sister’s new boyfriend is interested in it.” I put the book on the nightstand and turned out my light. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite, sweetheart.”

“You too, Mama. ’Night.”

The sheets were cool and crisp; the air conditioner made
a slight humming noise. My sweet Fred over there in Atlanta. Sleep tight, darling.

Fred and I are at the World Trade Center.

“Get in the elevator,” he says.

“Are you crazy?” says a woman’s voice behind me. “It’s not my fault!”

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

But it’s not Fred. It’s a man I’ve never seen before. His face is contorted with anger. “Where’s Fred?” I ask him, grabbing his arm.

“You stupid bitch! Get in the goddamned elevator!”

The elevator closes and I wake with a start, my heart pounding. In a moment I remember where I am, and by the light filtering around our blinds, I can see that Haley is sleeping soundly. I get up, tiptoe out, and go into the kitchen for a glass of milk.

Damn! What a vivid dream!

Which is how I happened to be in the living room early the next morning when the pounding on the door started. I hadn’t wanted to disturb Haley, but the dream had left me wide awake. I took a glass of milk and one of Sister’s magazines listing 250 ways to satisfy a man in bed, and lay down on the sofa. The twentieth way was to massage his feet with oil. While I was thinking about what a mess this would make on the sheets, and how much Shout you would have to use before you washed them, let alone how he would break his neck if he so much as walked into the bathroom, I went back to sleep. Consequently, I was the one that the pounding woke up.

In lieu of a sheet, which I had been too lazy to get from
the linen closet during the night, I had spread my robe over me.

“Wait a minute,” I grumbled inaudibly to the person beating on the door. I pulled my robe on. “Wait a minute.”

I shuffled barefooted down the entrance hall and was almost hit in the head with Fairchild’s upraised fist when I opened the door. “God!” I said, jumping back.

“Sorry!” He lowered his hand and his arms hung loosely by his side. “Is Millicent here, Patricia Anne?”

“What?” I asked, still half asleep. “What time is it?”

“About six.” Fairchild shuffled from one foot to the other. “Have you seen Millicent?”

“This morning? Of course not.”

“She didn’t come home last night.”

“Where could she be?”

“I don’t have any idea. I was hoping she might be here.”

“Why would she be here?”

“I was just hoping she was.”

I realized we were getting nowhere fast and I was feeling a desperate urge to brush my teeth and comb my hair. “Come in, Fairchild,” I said. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

“What’s the matter?” Mary Alice asked behind me. A glance told me she had not only combed her hair and brushed her teeth, but was also wearing a flimsy pink peignoir.

Fairchild rubbed his hands across his eyes, overcome by worry over Millicent or the sight of Mary Alice’s pink peignoir. Maybe a little of both. “Millicent didn’t come home last night,” he repeated.

“Oh, you poor darling.” Mary Alice brushed me aside and took Fairchild by the arm, guiding him in. “You just come right in and tell us all about it. Fix us some coffee, Mouse.”

“You fix it,” I said cheerfully, heading for the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” Haley murmured as I fumbled in my suitcase a few minutes later for some shorts and a top.

“Nothing,” I said. “Go back to sleep. It’s just Fairchild visiting.”

“What time is it?”

“Early.” I slipped on my clothes and went back into the living room where Mary Alice and Fairchild were ensconced on the couch.

“Coffee,” Sister mouthed over Fairchild’s shoulder which she was patting.

I stuck my tongue out at her, but I headed for the kitchen. I was in need of a caffeine fix, too.

“What time was it when we saw Millicent last night, Mouse?” Sister called.

“About eight thirty? Nine?” I got the coffee from the refrigerator where Mary Alice keeps it and filled the top of the Mr. Coffee. “I had already talked to Fred, but he called early because he figured we’d be going out to supper a little later since we’d just gotten here.” I leaned across the counter that separates the kitchen from the dining and living area. The Gulf, I realized, looked blue this morning. Unusual. “Look, y’all. The water’s blue this morning. Reckon that means anything like ‘red sky at morning’?”

They both looked out at the Gulf, but neither said anything.

“I guess not,” I said.

“We had come straight from the Redneck when we saw you, Fairchild,” Mary Alice explained.

Fairchild shook his head. “She’s never done anything like this before. I think I ought to call the sheriff, don’t you?”

“She said she was having a drink with someone,” I said.
“Maybe they got to partying and she decided it wasn’t a good idea to drive home.”

“Millicent isn’t much of a partier. You know that.”

“She looked in a party mood last night.” I could have bitten my tongue the minute I said it. Sister glared at me. “I mean she looked pretty. And happy.”

“Younger.” Fairchild put his head in his hands.

“Now, just a minute.” Sister got up in a swirl of pink, opened the end-table drawer and got out a pencil and notepad. “I’m sure she’s all right, Fairchild. Why don’t we make a list, and Patricia Anne and I will help you make some calls. Millicent could even have gone up to De Funiak Springs to check on her family.”

“Not without telling me.”

“Well, we’ll make a list anyway. Fetch us some coffee, Mouse, when it’s ready.”

Fetch? I was to
fetch
Mrs. Mary Alice Tate Sullivan Nachman Crane some coffee?

“And would you like cream and sugar?” I asked sweetly.

Fairchild looked up at me. “Cream, please, Patricia Anne.” The worried expression on his face made me feel guilty; I got the tray out for the coffee.

“Let’s start with friends,” Mary Alice said. “Is there some friend she might have decided to spend the night with?”

“Her best friend is Emily Peacock. You know Emily. Lives over in Emerald Towers. I got her answering machine.”

Mary Alice nodded. “Anybody else?”

“I called Eddie and Laura Stamps next door. They haven’t heard from her, but Laura’s calling around.”

I carried the coffee into the living room and put it on the table in front of them. Sister handed Fairchild a cup and poured some cream in it. “Say when.”

“When.”

“Mouse,” Sister said, “I think there are some sweetrolls in the freezer.”

“I couldn’t swallow a bite,” Fairchild said.

I took my coffee and sat down in a chair across from them. “Who was she meeting at the Redneck last night?” I asked.

“Probably some of the folks from Blue Bay Ranch. She told me, but I was watching the Braves game.”

“She told us about Blue Bay Ranch,” Mary Alice said.

“Running out of names if you ask me.” Fairchild studied his coffee. “Anyway, that’s where Jason Marley and the rest of the crew like to hang out. At the Redneck.”

“Jason Marley sounds like his face should show up on a door knocker,” I said. Sister and Fairchild both looked at me blankly. “You know, like in Scrooge. Jacob Marley, the partner. Scrooge thinks he’s seeing him because he’s eaten a greasy supper, but he’s really there to tell him he’ll be visited by the three spirits.” They continued to look at me. “Write his name down, Sister.” I bent to my coffee.

“I expect Laura’s already called him,” Fairchild said.

“What about relatives in De Funiak Springs?” Mary Alice asked.

“There’s a brother and a sister. The sister has a bad heart condition, though, and the brother is considerably older. I’d hate to alarm them unnecessarily.”

“You could just call them to chat, couldn’t you?”

“I could do that.” Fairchild put his cup on the tray and rubbed his hands across his eyes again. “I think what I should do, though, is call the sheriff.”

“Then that’s what you ought to do. Here,” Mary Alice reached behind her, got the phone, and handed it to Fairchild.

“I’ll call from my apartment.” Fairchild stood up. “I might
drive over to the development and look around first. I just had a thought that maybe she went back to work and dropped off to sleep over there.”

“Very possible,” Mary Alice said. I agreed but didn’t believe it for a minute. The way Millicent had looked the night before had sent me a clear message: there was another man in the woodpile.

“You sure you don’t want us to call anybody? Jacob Marley?” Sister added as we followed Fairchild to the door.

“Not yet. But thank you for your help.” Another rub of the eyes. “When I woke up and realized she hadn’t been home, I panicked.”

Mary Alice patted his arm. “Everything’s going to be all right. You let us know, now.”

“I will. I’m sorry I bothered you so early.”

“Don’t worry about it. You call us.” Sister gave the departing Fairchild a little wave and closed the door. “Another man in the woodpile,” she announced. “Our no-longer-so-prim resident manager had herself a rendezvous last night, and they went to sleep. It happens to the best of us.”

I decided not to pursue that remark. I took my coffee out to the balcony and watched a single great blue heron wading in a small tidal pool. Several joggers had already made it to the beach, and the horizon was dotted with fishing boats. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and later it would be hot. But right at that moment, it was about as perfect as it gets.

Mary Alice followed me in a few minutes with sweetrolls and more coffee. “I’ll bet you it’s that Jacob Marley,” she said, handing me the sweetrolls and a napkin.

“Jason,” I corrected.

“Poor Fairchild.” Sister sat down in her swirl of pink. “Did you notice, Mouse, how his eyes looked like tragic
pools of brimming tears? How his hands lay in his lap, lonely as an empty bird’s nest?”

I looked around at Sister. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Practicing my similes and metaphors for the writers’ conference. Pretty good, huh?”

“In all my years of teaching English, I promise you I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

“Thanks. That’s what my creative writing instructor at the university said, too.” Sister bit into a sweetroll and wiggled it around on her tongue while she blew over it. “Hot! Hot!”

“You want some ice?”

“It’s okay.” Sister took another bite and wiggled it around, too, exclaiming, “Hot!”

“Why don’t you wait until they cool?”

“They’re not as good cool.”

I suppose that made sense.

“I’m thinking about sending the story I’m working on now to some literary journals,” she said. “I brought it to have it critiqued at the conference.”