The Castaways (29 page)

He cleared his throat. “I asked you both here for a reason.”

Pause. Jeffrey and Addison leaned forward over the Mafia Table. The waitress again looked afraid to approach, but she had the extra mayonnaise for the Chief’s burger and she wanted to get Jeffrey’s drink order. Stella draft. Okay. She fled.

The Chief said, “The ME ran a toxicology report on the bodies. They had both been drinking. And Tess was high on something.” The Chief paused. “The opiate most commonly found in heroin.”

“Heroin?” Jeffrey said.

“Did either of you know about Greg or Tess mixed up with heroin? Or any other kind of street drug?”

“No,” Addison said. “Well, Greg smoked weed. We all knew that. And he did cocaine back in his Velociraptor days.”

The Chief looked at Addison and remembered his Ferragamo loafers iced with mud; a three-hundred-dollar pair of shoes had gone into the hotel trash without a second thought. The bill for the abandoned canoe had come in at a whopping forty-two hundred dollars, and Addison had paid it. (The Chief had always felt crummy about that, but Addison had the money and he’d convinced the Chief that it had been his idea to orphan the canoe. That was the robber in him; he’d saved the Chief two thousand dollars but stolen his dignity.) The Chief also remembered Addison toking up with Deep Purple and Scrawny Sideburns and how envious he’d felt. The lost-in-the-woods story with Addison was the Chief’s best story, but right this second the Chief didn’t find it amusing at all. Five phone calls to Tess on the day she died. Addison was hiding something.

“I just thought you both should know,” the Chief said. “The accident can’t be taken at face value. Something else was going on.”

“Well…” Jeffrey said.

Pause. The waitress dropped off his Stella.

“Anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“No,” they all said at once.

She scooted away.

“Well, what?” the Chief said. Something was coming. The Chief had heard hundreds of people bear witness, leak secrets, confess. The human need to spill the beans, to
tell,
could not be underestimated. Even Jeffrey, the judge, had this urge. He was about to share privileged information. But what the Chief had learned over the years was that his thirst to find out led him to be burdened with information he would have been better off not knowing.

“When I spoke to April Peck at the funeral,” Jeffrey said, “she told me she’d been with Greg the night before he died.”

Suddenly the Chief felt full. He pushed his plate away. He exhaled, burped beer and horseradish, felt nauseous. April Peck.

Yes,
he thought.

Beautiful women were dangerous. But beautiful girls were even more dangerous, because they weren’t seasoned; they didn’t know that beauty was a weapon and so they flung it around carelessly. April Peck had been after Greg; she had been hunting him on the night of October 23. Of this, the Chief was convinced. He believed that April had gone into Greg’s classroom on purpose, wearing a wet T-shirt without a bra; he believed that she had only been pretending to be upset; she needed an excuse for physical contact. The Chief believed that she had forced herself on Greg. The part the Chief had a harder time with was Greg’s response to that. Had he resisted from the get-go? Or had he succumbed to what would have been as irresistible as a bowl full of juicy berries with whipped cream on top? Had he accidentally grazed a nipple? Had his skin heated up when April put her mouth on his neck? Had he responded, for even just a second?
Of course he had.

In his seventeen years as police chief, Ed Kapenash had pressed the boundaries of his authority only once. That was on October 27, when he met clandestinely with school superintendent Dr. Richard Flanders at the station. The Chief and Flanders had gone over the details of both Greg’s account of what happened and April’s account. They came up with the following conclusion: April probably did initiate; Greg probably did, in some way, respond. (What man wouldn’t respond to April Peck? Both men agreed it would take someone very strong—the pope, for example.) The important thing was that Greg had not capitulated, he had not crossed the line; he had not slept with the girl. Flanders said he would continue with the inquiry—he had to, for protocol’s sake—but he assured the Chief that unless any new information was revealed, Greg would keep his job. Flanders shook the Chief’s hand, looked him in the eye; they were men, they understood each other and they believed they understood Greg. The Chief was able to go home to Andrea and say he’d taken care of the problem.

But Greg had the temperament of a spoiled child. His whole life he had gotten whatever he wanted. He had gotten a taste of April Peck; it was not surprising to learn that he’d wanted more.

Greg was a robber.

There were two incidents that the Chief had chosen to overlook. The first was this: On the night of February 2, a domestic disturbance call had come into the station. It was a mother-daughter situation; the mother had stolen the daughter’s car keys in order to keep her at home. The daughter was threatening to stab the mother; she had pulled a kitchen knife. The mother called the police. A squad car was sent to 999 Polpis Road, where they found Donna and April Peck in a messy catfight—hair-pulling, face-scratching, a strap ripped on an expensive camisole top (April’s). There was a knife on the counter—a five-inch serrated sandwich knife—but no one had been cut or stabbed. There was screaming and name-calling, even after Walker and Dickson, the officers, separated the two women. Walker was a ten-year veteran, a deer hunter and early-morning fisherman; he lived alone and had neither the time nor the patience for hysterical women, even though April was, in his words, “one of the hottest chicks I have ever laid eyes on.” Dickson, on the other hand, was the Chief’s secret weapon. Dickson was too smart to be a policeman; the Chief had him marked for a detective in the near future. Dickson had an incredible memory. So he recalled for the Chief, later, word for word, what the women had said.

She put me under house arrest! I’m eighteen years old!

She’s going to see HIM!

Him who, ma’am?

The teacher!

I am not!

Don’t lie to me, April. I’ve checked your phone.

You don’t know what you’re talking about. The cancer has gone to your brain.

How dare you, young lady!

Dickson had it all written down in his report. They had concluded that as April was eighteen, she was free to leave the premises. The car in question was registered in April’s name. It was hers, she could use it.

Do you have a safe place to go?
Dickson asked her.

Yes,
she said.

And the mother had said,
She’s going to meet the teacher
.

Dickson had tried to hold the Chief’s gaze after reporting this last bit, but the Chief would have none of it. Hearsay. Who knew which teacher she was talking about, or if it even was a teacher? It could have been Casey, the phys ed teacher, who had his own issues with April Peck. The Chief didn’t want to speculate and he didn’t want Dickson speculating.

But deep down, he knew. Of course he knew. And he thought,
Jesus, Greg!
And he thought about calling Greg up or surprising him at the Begonia and saying,
What the fuck are you doing?
But the Chief backed away from that particular ledge because it
was
hearsay and the anguish of the first accusation had just healed and who was the Chief to pull the scab off?

On the night of April 18, it was Dickson again, out cruising the tough Nantucket streets alone. It was the first night of spring break; many islanders were away on vacation. It was two-thirty in the morning, and Dickson came across two vehicles parked at the end of Hummock Pond Road, facing Cisco Beach. He pulled up, because there was no good reason for two cars to be parked at the beach in the middle of the night. Dickson was hoping for a drug deal, something he could really bust (it had been a dull winter). He touched his gun, though he’d been told in training that he had no prayer of ever using it. As Dickson was remembering this, there was movement. A figure moving from one car to the other. The car on the left, a silver 4Runner, plates Q22 DR9, backed up, turned around, and tore out of there in what Dickson would call a classic getaway. He climbed out of his car and poked his flashlight into the dark window of the other car.

And there she was. April Peck.

She looked at him. He indicated that she should roll down the window. She did, but only a crack.

He said, “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Miss Peck?”

And she said, “Looking at the ocean. Is that a crime?”

The plates had been Greg’s. Dickson took this information to the Chief in the morning. The Chief said, “Well, the girl is right, there was no crime in her sitting there. Were you thinking of issuing a parking violation?”

Dickson said, “I just thought you should know.”

Dickson walked out, and the Chief was left breathless. He picked up the phone, then dropped it. Greg and Tess had taken the kids to the Children’s Museum in Boston. They had wanted to do Disney for spring break, but because of the roof replacement, there wasn’t enough money. They would go next year, they said.

The Chief vowed that when Greg got back, he would talk to him. He would say,
If you don’t stop this, I will tell Tess. I will tell Flanders. You will lose your wife, your kids, and your job.
He would say,
Stop this now. It isn’t worth it.

But the Chief had not spoken up, and it was a source of private shame. By the time Greg and Tess had gotten back from Boston, the incident seemed diminished, the urgency had passed. The Chief chose to believe that Dickson was bored and trying to drum up scandal.

“April Peck,” the Chief said. The name itself conjured a vision of all that a good man was meant to avoid but could not.

Jeffrey nodded.

Addison said, “It’s clear what happened.” His neck was growing red from the collar up. He looked like he was going to boil. But his mopiness had disappeared, which made the Chief glad. “If there was heroin in Tess’s blood, then Greg drugged her. He drugged her and dumped her off the boat.”

“No,” the Chief said.

“No,” Jeffrey said.

“No?” Addison said. He jumped up and bumped the table. “How can you possibly believe otherwise? Isn’t it obvious? Greg was trying to get rid of her so he could be with April!”

“Hey, now,” the Chief said. “Respect.”

Addison sat back down and put his head in his hands.

Five phone calls to Tess on the fateful morning. Had something been going on between Tess and Addison? Impossible. But Addison was a robber. Then there was Greg and April Peck. The Chief had lifted a rock and found bugs. Why was he surprised?

Addison said, “He killed her.”

“He died, too.”

“It went awry.”

Was this possible? The Chief was losing his grip. April Peck, the tox report, Andrea crumbling at home. And he had eaten too much.

Jeffrey stood up. “I have to get back home.” The man was Jesus Christ.

Addison said, “You think I’m right, don’t you, Jeffrey? I mean, you’re the one who just said he was still seeing April.”

Jeffrey grimaced. “I can’t say what happened on that boat, Add, and neither can you. The important thing here is the kids. Those kids
have
to believe it was an accident.”

“But we don’t have to believe that, do we?” Addison asked.

The Chief said, “I’ve got the bill.”

Addison said, “No one’s with me?”

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” the Chief said. And he was.

“Me, too,” Jeffrey said. “Truth be told, I just don’t have the focus for a murder mystery here.”

Addison stared at them both balefully. He said, “I’m leaving, too.”

They all shook hands. Did the Chief need to remind them not to talk about this?

“So, for the kids’ sake…”

Addison held up his palms.

Jeffrey said, “Not a word. Obviously.”

Addison and Jeffrey weaved their way between the tables and out of the restaurant. Faith trailed them and kissed them both before they left. The waitress reappeared and cleared their glasses and the Chief’s plate. She said, “Can I interest you in dessert?”

The Chief said, “Yes.” And he ordered the mud pie.

T
he only time she felt like a human being was when she was up in the farm office with Jeffrey. It felt secret, illicit, affair-like, even though they never got close enough to each other to touch. But there was warmth, a connection, energy. They were on a mission: to remember everything they could about Tess DiRosa MacAvoy.

They had made it all the way to modern times. Tess and Greg were married, they were teaching, taking modest vacations, fixing up their house. They were getting ready for the next step.

“It’s time,” Andrea said, “to talk about the pregnancies.”

Jeffrey paused. He looked squeamish. He didn’t want to go there. He was a typical man; he couldn’t do trimesters or blood, separated placenta or gushing miscarriage. It was feminine territory, like tampons and waxing. He wanted to skip it. He wanted, perhaps, to say,
It was a tough road, but eventually Chloe and Finn were born.

Well, too bad! He had taken Andrea places during these conversations that she hadn’t wanted to go. There were hours, for example, when they had to talk about Greg. So, yes, they were going to do the pregnancies; they couldn’t talk about Tess without talking about her pregnancies.

Tess got pregnant for the first time in January of 2000; she and Greg conceived, most likely, in the high-gloss luxury of Room 1910 in Caesars Palace, Las Vegas. They had only just started trying to get pregnant, and voila—pink stick. Tess jumped for joy; she had been put on earth to be a mother, she felt. She embraced her pregnancy. She talked about her sore breasts, her incessant nausea, her cravings (grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup), her complete and total exhaustion (she fell asleep with her head on her desk while her class was at music). In week eight, she announced to everyone, including the school custodian, that she was pregnant. There was no reason not to shout it from the mountaintops—pregnant! due September 30!—because Tess’s life had been easy and blessed. She was secure and smug. She had been put on earth to be a mother.