Dead in Vineyard Sand (19 page)

“I wonder who gave it to him.”

She dipped her wooden spoon into the skillet and lifted it first to her own lips, then to mine. “What do you think?”

“Delish. Do you want wine or beer to go with it?”

“Red wine.”

“Call the kids and tell them that we're ready to eat.”

I went out and did that, and they swung down from the tree house on the rope hung for that purpose, then went right to the outdoor shower, where, in its own alcove, we had an outdoor washbasin too, for hands too dirty to bring into the house.

I poured the house red for the big people and water for the kids and we had a fine meal to end the day. Afterward I washed the dishes and stacked them in the drier, since it's a Jackson rule that whoever doesn't cook does the dishes. I got back to the living room in time to see the end of a hand of five-card stud, won by Joshua, with Zee coming in second. She watched him sweep in the chips. His pile of chips showed that he was doing very well.

“It's about time for bed,” said Zee.

“Aw! Just one more hand.”

“All right, one more hand. Ante up, everybody. Deal, Diana.”

“Ma?”

“What?”

“It's summer, so can we read in bed instead of having to go to sleep right away?”

“Yes, you can. You can read all night if you want to.”

The children exchanged pleased looks. “Really?”

“Really,” Zee said as she dealt. “You're on vacation. Your bet, Diana.”

Diana, showing a six of clubs, reluctantly bet. Joshua,
on a roll, raised. Zee saw the bet and Diana wisely folded.

When the last card was dealt. Zee's king-jack was still high but she passed. Joshua bet the limit and his eyes widened when his mother saw his bet and raised.

Was it a bluff?

Joshua peeked at his hole card, frowned, and raised ten more. Zee raised him back. He looked at her and called.

Her two kings beat his two queens and she pulled in the big pot.

“It's called sandbagging,” I said to Joshua. “You pretend you don't dare bet, then after everybody else feels confident and bets high, you raise so you can win a big pot.”

“Is that fair?” asked irked Joshua.

“There's no rule against it.”

“It doesn't seem fair to me.”

“You can do it too,” I said. “Just make sure you have a good hand when you do.”

“Ma, how did you know you had a better hand?”

“I'm your mother. Mothers always know.”

“It was mean, Ma.”

“It wasn't mean, it was poker,” said Zee.

“Bedtime,” I said.

“Pa?”

“What, Joshua?”

“Will you teach us how to play Texas Hold'em?”

“Sure, but not right now.”

It was a beautiful night, so when the cards and chips were stored away and the kids were in bed, Zee and I sat on our balcony and looked up at the stars.

“You don't think I was mean, do you?” asked Zee.

“Maybe a little bit, but it was a cheap lesson. You took his chips but it didn't cost him any real money. My poker schooling was more expensive.”

“I think I'll make a pie tomorrow.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “That should heal his wounds and make you feel better.”

It seemed like a good time to tell her about Olive's good news, but as I opened my mouth the phone began to ring. It kept on ringing until I got downstairs and answered it.

“Mr. Jackson?”

It was a voice I didn't know. “Yes.”

“Is this the same Mr. Jackson who talked to the Shelkrotts yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Gregory Highsmith. You asked questions about me and my sister. Why don't you come back tomorrow so we can talk. I can tell you whatever you'd like to know. Can you be here about ten o'clock?”

“Yes.”

“I look forward to seeing you.”

The phone clicked in my ear. I hadn't contributed much to the conversation.

I arrived at the Highsmith house exactly at ten, sans children this time since Zee was off work for a second day. The Volvo was parked in front of the garage, but the Chevy station wagon I'd seen before was gone.

Before I could reach the house, the front door opened and three people came out. The eldest was a man about my age who looked rather harried. The other two were much younger and were astonishingly beautiful in both face and form—angelic, almost, like models for Botticelli. I recognized Belinda and Gregory from their pictures and I guessed that the man was their uncle, Tom Brundy.

Belinda Highsmith was slender and ethereal and could have been taken for a woman in her midtwenties as easily as the girl of thirteen I knew her to be. Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were, at once, wild, innocent, and knowing, curious and bored. I thought of Aeysha and the empire of imagination, and felt drawn and distrustful toward her, as toward some beautiful, feral animal I'd never seen before.

Her brother, only sixteen years old, was a stalwart six-footer, with a high forehead topped with Grecian curls. He had broad shoulders and the walk of a dancer. His facial bones were fine and his skin was clear as a girl's. Like his sister, he was lightly tanned. His feet were small and his hands were large and strong. I had the impression that, if he stripped, his body would mirror
Michelangelo's
David
. His eyes, like Belinda's, were pale blue and seemed to shine from within.

They smiled at me in unison and their perfect white teeth gleamed in the morning sun.

But I was looking into those bright blue eyes and seeing secretive teenage creatures peering back at me.

“You're J. W. Jackson,” said the man. “I'm Tom Brundy. I understand that you were up here day before yesterday asking some questions. Maybe I can be of help.”

Before I could reply, the boy stepped forward and, unlike his uncle, put out his hand. I took it and felt controlled strength.

“I'm Gregory,” he said in a friendly baritone. “This is my sister, Belinda. You asked the Shelkrotts about us.” He held his smile as he added, “Are you from the police, Mr. Jackson?”

I thought he knew the answer to his question before he asked it.

“Retired,” I said, matching his smile with my own.

“Oh,” he said. “Wilma and Nathan had the impression that you were an officer of the law, working on the case of the assaults on my parents.”

I held my smile. “They were wrong about my being a police officer but right about my working on your parents' case.”

“You have no authority to be asking questions,” interrupted Brundy. “This family is grieving! Leave us alone! It's illegal for you to impersonate a police officer.”

“I just told you that I'm not a police officer,” I said to him. “As for authority, mine is that I was there when your brother-in-law's body was found and I'd like to find out how he ended up in that sand trap. As family members you may know who might have hated him and his wife enough to have killed him and attempted to kill her.”

“The children and I have discussed that for hours. We can't help you.” There was despair in his face and voice.

I looked at the children and saw that Belinda had hooked her arm in Gregory's.

“We don't know anything that might help you,” she said in a misty voice. “Uncle Tom is right. We've talked about it and talked about it and none of us know anything.” She looked up at her brother. “It's a mystery.”

“Yes, it's a mystery,” he said. “We just can't imagine who could do such a thing.”

“You can tell me one thing,” I said. “What happened between your parents and the Willets?” I poked a thumb at the Willets' cupola. “For years they were friends and you and Heather played together. Then, suddenly, the friendship ended. What happened?”

The young people looked at each other, but the uncle was angry. “What difference does it make? That happened years ago!”

“It makes a difference because it might give the Willets a motive for murder.”

“That's absurd!”

“And it didn't happen that long ago,” I said. “A couple of years, maybe less. Isn't that right, Gregory?”

Gregory held his sister's eyes for a moment longer, then turned to me and nodded. “That's right, Mr. Jackson, and I can tell you why, if . . .”

“You don't have to tell him anything!” cried Brundy.

“I don't mind,” said Gregory. “I'm sure the Willets are innocent, but I could be wrong. I don't know why murders happen, but maybe it doesn't take much. Maybe all it takes is a sudden impulse. Is that right, Mr. Jackson? You were a policeman once. Is a sudden impulse all it takes?”

“Sometimes. Tell me why your parents and the Willets ended their friendship.”

“It was because of Heather,” said Belinda, raising her chin the slightest bit and holding tighter to her brother's arm. “She changed. She began to chase Gregory. She was quite open about it. It got so he couldn't be alone with her. She was shameless. When my parents found out about it, they told the Willets they didn't want Heather coming here anymore. That was when our families ended their friendship.”

“Is that what happened?” I asked Gregory. “Did you see it the same way?”

He nodded. “She was a very sensual girl. It got to the point that I was actually afraid of her.” He frowned a frown like some I'd seen on film. “You might not believe that someone my size could be frightened by someone her size, but I was. She could fall into an absolute rage when she saw me just talking to some other girl. I was afraid to turn my back to her. It was terrible and it kept getting worse. I didn't know what to do.”

Belinda nodded, and looked up at her brother's face. “We were both afraid of her,” said her half-whispering voice. “We didn't know what to tell our parents.”

“Then, who told them about her? How did they find out?”

“The Shelkrotts. They found out and they told Mom and Dad.” The children exchanged looks and nods.

“How did they find out?”

“One day they saw, they heard. Heather was too loud and too close to the house. Usually she waited till she and my brother were alone, till no one was around, but that day she couldn't stop herself, and they found out.”

“And that was the end of it? Heather never came here again? You never went to her house again?”

“Never.” Gregory and Belinda shook their heads in unison.

“Now you know about the dirty linen,” said Tom Brundy. “That was why the friendship ended with the
Willets. They probably didn't believe what they were told about their daughter, and blamed Henry and Abigail for telling lies about her.”

“But it wasn't the end of the relationship between you and Heather,” I said to the teenagers. “She met you again on the beach that night and went off with you and Biff Collins.”

Belinda's eyes widened slightly. “We didn't invite her to the party, but we don't own the beach. She wouldn't stay away when we went with Biff.”

“What happened when the four of you were alone?”

“Nothing,” said Gregory.

“Tell them the truth,” said Belinda, looking up at him before she brought her eyes back to me. “She wanted sex and he wouldn't do it. She stripped off her bathing suit and she tried to put her arms around Gregory, but he pushed her away. She ran down the beach toward the rocks and we never saw her again.”

“Where was Biff Collins?”

Belinda seemed to cling harder to Gregory. “Biff is a member of the swimming team at Tuttle School. He'd gone swimming while the rest of us were still walking down the beach. He was way out in the water somewhere. Every now and then he'd shout and tell us to come in, but we never did.”

“So he never saw Heather play seductress?”

“I don't think so.” Her voice sounded as ethereal as a misty wind. “When he finally swam back, we realized that Heather had been gone a long time and we began to call for her and try to find her. But we never could, so we went back to the others and somebody had a cell phone and called 911 and then we all looked some more until the police came.” She stopped speaking, then added breathlessly, “We were afraid she might have committed suicide.”

“Aren't you satisfied?” asked Tom Brundy, putting his angry face nearer to mine. “Do you want all the graphic details? The girl was sick, and my niece and nephew have just lost their father!”

I wished I had the Willetts' understanding of their daughter and their version of the friendship between them and the Highsmiths, but I wasn't likely to get that. I wondered if any parents really knew their children. I wondered if I knew mine.

“Is there anything else we can tell you, Mr. Jackson?” Gregory seemed eager. “My sister and I want to help in any way we can.”

I looked around and said, “Where are the Shelkrotts? I'd like to talk with them again, but I see that their car is gone.”

The three of them exchanged looks. “We don't know,” said Tom Brundy. “Yesterday, when I was at the store for groceries, they suddenly left. They didn't say where they were going or why.”

“Gregory and I were here with them,” said Belinda, “and they just announced that they were leaving. And they did. They didn't even take all of their things. They seemed to be in a hurry, and they said that they wouldn't be coming back.”

Possibilities raced through my mind. I said, “Don't you think that's odd?”

Gregory nodded. “Very odd. We wondered if . . . Well, we wondered if they might be trying to escape.”

“Escape from what?”

He looked down at Belinda then back up at me. “From the police. We've wondered if maybe they're the ones who killed our father and they're trying to get away, or if maybe they'd just been freaked by everything that's happened.”

“Have you called the police?”