Death in a Beach Chair (13 page)

TWENTY-THREE

Susan was sitting on the edge of the unmade bed playing with the unused key when Kathleen walked in the door.

“What does that open?” Kathleen asked.

“Who knows,” Susan answered, tossing it on the nightstand. “Do you have it?” she asked immediately.

“Have what?”

“Allison’s diary.”

“Of course not. It’s in the beach bag. I left it here for you. Didn’t Jed tell you?”

“It’s not here now,” Susan explained.

“Are you sure?” Kathleen asked.

“Yes, positive.”

“Someone must have come in here and taken it.” Kathleen walked around the room, pulling open drawers and peering into them. “It doesn’t look as though anything else is missing. Why would someone take that diary and nothing else? And how could anyone have known that we had it?”

“Kathleen, that doesn’t matter now. What did it say? You did read it last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but . . .” She paused.

“But what?”

“It didn’t say anything. At least, it didn’t say anything significant. It was a diary about food and clothing and exercise and dieting.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, apparently Allison’s New Year’s resolution was to lose ten pounds.”

“So she’s just like every other woman we know,” Susan muttered.

“Well, yes—and no. Allison apparently did it.”

“No, not like every other woman we know,” Susan agreed. “But is that really all there was? No comments about other things in her life? How she ended up vacationing here? Stuff like that? Anything at all about Jerry, or Hancock, or June?”

“Nothing. Really.” Kathleen walked over to the window and peeked through the louvers. “Now what do we do?”

Susan frowned. “There are two things I need to do today. First, I want to see Jerry. Do you think he’d like that?”

“According to Jed, his biggest problem is boredom.” Kathleen looked back at Susan. “I’m sure Jerry’d love to see you, but you can’t get any information from him. It’s like Jed said, he’s never alone. I—well, I wonder if you wouldn’t be better off here talking to people and trying to find out if anyone saw anything the night Allison was killed.”

“You know, everyone seems to want to talk to me about the time they spent with Allison, but, except for Ro, no one has told me anything significant about that night. Maybe I do need to stay here, but I’d hate it if Jerry thought I was ignoring him.”

“Oh, Susan, you know Jerry would never think that! And he’s so confident that he’ll be released.”

“Then I’d better get to work here and see what I can dig up. The next time you see him, you’ll give him my best.”

“Of course!” Kathleen glanced at her watch. “I told Jerry I’d order more meals for him. Guess I’d better get going. I’m going to bring him a late breakfast. I’ll find you as soon as I get back. Okay?”

“Sure. I’ll be around.” Susan spoke her last words to Kathleen’s back as her friend hurried off. Susan sighed and sat down on the bed, feeling completely alone.

She wasn’t going to look further for Allison’s diary. If Kathleen hadn’t destroyed it altogether, she would have hidden it in a place where it wouldn’t easily be found. Whatever Allison had written must have been incriminating. So incriminating that Kathleen didn’t dare share it with Susan.

Susan was shocked and confused. She needed time to think and she needed to keep investigating. She couldn’t imagine that it was possible to do both at the same time. Unless . . .

It was the best thought she’d had in days: time for a massage. It would relax her, and for once, a talkative masseuse would be a plus instead of an annoyance. She hurried off to the gift shop, determined to snag the first free appointment of the day.

“A cancellation. It’s serendipity, Mrs. Henshaw. We just had a cancellation. Lourdes will be able to take you immediately.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll go on back to my cottage and get ready.”

“Excellent. Lourdes just left to get some supplies. I’ll send her over as soon as she returns.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Susan assured her as she left the little gift shop.

She didn’t have long to wait. Lourdes was at her door, folding massage table at her side, in minutes. Susan greeted her and let her in.

“Where you want me to set this up?”

“Same place as last time,” Susan said, pointing. There was very little extra floor space in the cottage. “Can you think of any other place?”

“On deck outside is possible. I keep you covered with towel while I work. The big cottages—their decks are more private. I set up my table out there and guests can have massages in fresh air.”

“Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it? But I think in here would be just fine.”

Lourdes flipped open the table and laid a couple of soft, thick towels on it, setting her lotions and oils up on the nearby dresser while Susan climbed on and settled into place. “Your vacation not going well,” Lourdes said, running her hands over Susan’s naked shoulders. “Your muscles tighter than before.”

“Yes, well, it’s been difficult.”

“Murder always difficult. Makes problems for many people. Not just for murdered people.”

Susan sure wasn’t going to disagree with that. “I’m worried about my friends,” she admitted.

“You should worry. Police on this island—pah, they no good. They lock up your friend. You worry. You worry plenty.”

Susan’s stomach turned over. But she had to concentrate. “The last time I had a massage, Allison—the woman who died—had failed to keep her appointment with you. But you did give her massages, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, every day since she arrive except for that day. She take care of her body, that woman. How she look, how she feel—it matter plenty to her.”

“She was in great shape, wasn’t she?” Susan said.

“Yes. She work at it. She say she work at her whole life. That may be true. Nothing come easy to some people.”

“That is true,” Susan agreed. “Did she tell you much about her life?”

“Yes. Some people like silence while I work. But not that woman. She was a talker.”

“What did she say?”

“You think I tell you something to help free your friend.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I hope you will,” Susan admitted. “I don’t know the other guests, or the staff, or the island police.”

“But you know Ms. Allison McAllister, yes?”

“I knew her long ago,” Susan admitted. “But it had been years since I saw her, so many years that I didn’t even recognize her.”

“She worked on herself, that one. She tell me she spent much of her life doing what other people tell her to do. Then she change and spend life taking care of herself.”

“I wonder what happened that caused her to change.”

“A death. A great love.”

“What?” Susan jerked her head up.

Lourdes applied firm pressure to Susan’s shoulders. “You not relaxing. We should not talk about this if it upset you. Massage do you no good if you not relaxed.”

“The more I know about Allison, the more relaxed I will be,” Susan assured her.

“Maybe that not true. Maybe you know more, you learn more, your friend look more and more guilty.”

“I won’t believe that. I’ve known Jerry for decades. I know he would not kill anyone.”

“We women are sometimes very foolish when it comes to the men in our lives.”

“Jerry is a friend. Not the man in my life,” Susan said.

“I not talking about Jerry. I not talking about you. I talk about Ms. Allison McAllister. She foolish. She fall in love with this man Jerry who is now under arrest.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes. She tell me that. And she tell me more.”

“What? What did she tell you?”

“She tell me this man in love with her, too.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then why that man spend so much time with her?”

“What time? How much time? How do you know he spent any time at all with her? We arrived the day before she was killed.”

“You and Mr. Henshaw arrived the day before she was killed. But Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. They arrive before you.”

“That’s true. But still . . . they got here in the middle of the day. And they went into town for dinner that first night.”

“They go into town for dinner because Mr. Jerry Gordon did not want to see Ms. Allison McAllister. At least, that what she say.”

“To who? Whom? Whom did she say that to?” Susan finally managed to ask a question in what she hoped was a grammatical manner.

“She say that to him.”

Lourdes was working on Susan’s left ankle, and for a moment, Susan couldn’t believe what she had heard. “To him? Allison said that to him? When?”

“When she saw him in office. I was there. I help out in office sometimes in evening when my massage appointments finished and Lila want to take a break or need to check on work in kitchen.”

“They came in together?” Susan asked.

“No, no. Your friend, Mr. Jerry Gordon, come in first. He ask me to get a cab for him and his wife. They want to see the town is what he says.”

“So you called him a cab.”

“I call the company that this place recommends, and they say that they can send a car in half an hour. Mr. Jerry Gordon say that just fine and he will go tell his wife. But then, before he can leave, Ms. Allison McAllister come in.”

“Was she looking for him or did she just happen to come in at the same time?” Susan asked.

For the first time, Lourdes hesitated before answering. “I think she come in looking for him. She not seemed to be surprised that he there, and she start talking to him right away.”

“What did she say?”

“She say he not be able to run away from her again.”

“Again? You’re sure she said again?”

“I sure. Then he say that he come to island to be with his wife and he going to be with wife no matter what. And she say ha.”

“Ha! Like a sarcastic ha? Like she didn’t believe him?”

“She say ha. I do not know what she mean, but she look angry and he look angry. And then he say that she should not be here. That she have things to do someplace else.”

“What? He said what?”

“He say that Ms. Allison McAllister should not be here. That Ms. Allison McAllister has things to do somewhere else.”

“And did she say anything to that?” Susan asked, hoping the answer was not another
ha
.

“She say that what he think and that he wrong. That she does have things to do and they have to be done here. And he say that she lied to him, that he was a fool, that he hoped she died. And he left. He angry,” Lourdes added in case Susan had missed the point.

Susan grabbed the towel to gain as much privacy as possible under the circumstances and rolled over onto her back. “Have you told the police any of this?”

“The police on this island are idiots. All idiots. I tell them nothing,” Lourdes answered proudly.

“Thank goodness for that,” Susan said.

“But James, he nearby in employees’ lounge. He hear, too. I do not know what he tell anyone.”

Susan rolled back over onto her stomach. She wasn’t relaxed. Her shoulders still ached. But she knew whom she had to see next.

TWENTY-FOUR

Unfortunately James wasn’t available. “Out teaching a guest to use a scuba tank,” the young man said. He had taken James’s place arranging towels on the chairs and lounges around the pool. “He be back soon, I hope. I’m running out of towels.”

Susan just smiled and continued on toward the resort’s office. If she couldn’t see James right away, she’d have to make do with Jerry.

Lila looked up from her paperwork and put a professional smile on her face when Susan walked in the open doorway of the resort’s small office. “Mrs. Henshaw. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I want to see Jerry Gordon. Could you call me a taxi and then tell the driver where I’m going? I’m afraid I don’t know exactly where Jerry’s being held.”

“I would be happy to, but if he doesn’t know you’re coming, you may not be allowed to see him. It’s not open house down at the embassy, you know.”

Susan, who never knew exactly how to react to people who were polite by profession, realized that she didn’t like this woman very much. “I’ll take my chances,” she answered, smiling back.

“Then I’ll order you a taxi. Do you want the driver to wait for you, or would you rather call another cab when you want to return? Waiting costs next to nothing, I might add. There are few planes arriving at this time of the day, and the driver would most likely be idle if you weren’t using his services.”

“Then I’d like him to wait,” Susan decided. “I’ll just go get my purse and I’ll be back here in a moment.”

“That will be fine.”

Susan didn’t see either Jed or Kathleen on the way to her cottage. She took a few minutes to write Jed a message in his book telling him where she was going and what time she was leaving. Kathleen, she decided, would most likely figure it out on her own. The taxi was waiting for her when she arrived back at the office. She climbed in the back of the 1964 Chevrolet Biscayne and gasped as the driver zoomed off, causing a blizzard of coral pebbles to fly into the air behind them.

Since Susan and Jed had arrived at Compass Bay in the dark, this was the first time she was seeing any part of the island other than the resort itself or its neighboring beaches. She was stunned by its beauty and its poverty. The taxi driver sped down the narrow roads, inadequately paved and in danger of crumbling into the sandy soil or being reclaimed by indigenous tropical plants. Children, accompanied by scrawny dogs, hung out in bare yards around broken-down houses. Big black birds scavenged in open garbage cans. Just when Susan began to wonder where the town was located, they arrived in it.

The town was charming. Comprised of a few streets of brightly colored storefronts and open-air restaurants, it was only slightly more crowded than the country they had been passing through. At the end of the main street, a few buildings had been built from gray stone on an outcropping of rock over the ocean. The cab stopped in front of the largest of these buildings, and the driver turned around and smiled at Susan.

“I wait, yes?”

“Yes, you wait. I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he urged, helping her from the car. “Take your time.” He leaned against the hood of his car, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

Susan turned and walked up the stone steps to wooden French doors standing open to catch the breezes coming off the water. No one seemed to be around, and she continued on into the building, her sandals slapping on the tile floor. Susan walked down the long center hallway lined with offices. She peered in open doorways, seeing desks littered with papers, but the employees were evidently somewhere else.

Continuing on through the hallway, she came to another pair of French doors, which opened onto a large porch where a party was in progress. About thirty people were sitting around, talking, laughing, and consuming Danish pastry along with mugs of coffee and dainty glass cups filled with pink punch. Susan stopped, unwilling to break into the group. Jerry was being held somewhere in the building. She’d just go back outside and see if she could figure out where.

“May I help you?” A tall woman with long flowing gray hair and darkly tanned skin detached herself from the group and came up to Susan.

“I’m looking for Jerry Gordon. I understand he’s here somewhere.” Susan glanced at the happy gathering before continuing. “I’m Susan Henshaw. I’m a friend of Jerry—”

“I know exactly who you are, Mrs. Henshaw. And I’m sure Mr. Gordon will be very happy to see you. He’s being held on the ground floor. Well, it’s actually a basement. I’d be happy to take you there.”

“But your party—” Susan began.

“Is drawing to a close. One of our colleagues is getting married and moving back to the mainland. We’re celebrating his good fortune and mourning his coming sadness.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Everyone is happy to see him married, but we will miss him and he will miss the island. This is a remarkable place to live, Mrs. Henshaw—not for everyone, no doubt—but those of us who fit in here have found something special, and most of us feel a keen sense of loss when forced to give it up.” She smiled and then pointed down the hallway. “I’m neglecting my manners. I’m Frances Adams. I’m the highest-ranked United States government employee on the island.”

“Then you’re the woman who managed to have Jerry imprisoned here rather than in the local jail,” Susan said.

“Yes. Don’t give me too much credit. The police department here is unwilling to antagonize the wealthier people on the island, some of whom are the owners of the few places we have like Compass Bay. They were happy to have our help. If anything goes wrong during Mr. Gordon’s incarceration, they will not be to blame.”

Susan walked behind Frances Adams and considered her elegance and style. Susan had always admired women who didn’t deny their age by dyeing their hair and then wearing it in a puffy, short, middle-aged style, but flaunted their streaks of gray and managed to turn them into something individual and even sexy. She doubted if she would have the nerve to adopt the style herself, but she admired those who did. “Well, I’m glad you helped Jerry. I understand the jail here is pretty awful.”

“Worse than awful.” Frances Adams turned a corner and started down a wide stone stairway, worn by many decades of use. “How is your investigation coming? Have you found any other viable suspects . . . if you don’t mind my asking,” she added when Susan didn’t answer immediately.

“I don’t mind you asking, but I was just wondering how you know I’m looking into Allison’s murder.”

“Mr. Gordon told me. He says you have solved murders in the States. I believe he is counting on you to get him out of this situation.”

Susan began to chew off her lipstick. “I’m doing the best I can, but . . . The problem is that I know Jerry and I know Kathleen, his wife now, and I knew his first wife, June. June was Allison’s sister and I thought I knew Allison. I mean the Allison I knew then isn’t the Allison that I met here.”

“Are you saying you believe someone borrowed her identity? That she isn’t who she claimed to be?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s just that she’s so different from when I used to know her. There’s probably nothing odd about it at all. People do change.”

“Do you think so? In my experience very few people do change. Not really. Oh, they may look different and many of them claim to be different, but underneath it all they remain the same. It takes an unusual person to actually become someone other than who they started out to be. But you may know much more interesting people than I come across on this little island.”

Susan doubted it. She tried to explain. “I know what you mean—sort of—but the Allison I knew years ago wouldn’t have inspired enough feeling for someone to have killed her. She was . . . almost negligible. I know that doesn’t sound very nice, but . . .”

“It doesn’t, but it does make sense. Certainly a person who is murdered must be a person who inspired strong passions—in the killer if no one else.”

Susan had never considered this before. They had arrived at the bottom of the stairway. Four uniformed men were sitting around a makeshift table, playing cards. Another man, cradling a large gun in his arms, leaned on the wall next to a metal door. “Is Jerry in there?” Susan asked, nodding toward the door.

“Yes. It’s not as bad inside as it looks. Decades ago that space was used to store valuables traveling through the island—rum, spices, precious metals, and the like. It’s secure, but airy.

“Why don’t I ask if Mr. Gordon can see you now?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Susan answered.

Frances Adams smiled at the armed guard and approached slowly. They spoke for a few minutes. Frances pointed to Susan, the guard looked at her, and Susan looked back. The guard pointed at the cardplayers, who looked around and smiled. Susan smiled back at them and then at the guard. By the time they had all greeted each other, everyone was smiling except for the guard with the gun.

Frances Adams left the guard and walked back to Susan, who thought the smile on Frances’s face now looked a bit forced. “You can see him, but the guard at the door is not happy with all Mr. Gordon’s visitors. He said that usually prisoners can only be seen by their lawyer and their family. I told him you were almost family, but it didn’t help. May I suggest you keep this visit as short as possible?”

“I will,” Susan assured her as the guard turned and, with much clanking of old-fashioned skeleton keys, unlocked the door and stood aside for her to enter.

“I’m needed upstairs,” Frances Adams said. “When you leave, just follow that corridor.” She pointed toward a long stone hallway. “It will lead you back to the front of the building. Please call me if you have any questions . . . or problems,” she added, looking over toward the armed guard.

“I will,” Susan said, and quickly entered the doorway. The guard followed close on her heels.

Much to Susan’s surprise, the room was spacious and light. Stone walls had been stuccoed and painted a soft turquoise. The wall opposite the door boasted three large windows with magnificent views of the sea and some small islands in the distance. The bars on the windows didn’t interfere with the beauty of the scene. Although sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, a small table, and two chairs, the room was still attractive and almost cheerful. Jerry was sitting on one of the chairs, which had been drawn up in front of the window on the right, but he rose to greet her with a huge smile on his face.

“Susan, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

Susan reached out to hug him and was stunned when the guard grabbed her hands. “Ow!”

“We’re not allowed to touch,” Jerry said sadly. “She doesn’t know the rules,” he explained to the guard. “She won’t do it again.”

“No, I won’t,” Susan assured him, trying to control her nervousness and her temper. Her wrist was stinging as a result of the man’s rough handling.

“You only have a few minutes,” he growled, and leaned back against the door, replicating his former position outside the room.

“Sit down. I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to see you,” Jerry said.

“I’ve wanted to see you, too. I—”

“Susan, I’ve been thinking. About my life and my past, and I think that Kathleen and June are very much alike.”

“Really . . . I—”

“Yes. In fact, I’m sure of it. The more I think about it the surer I am.”

“Well—”

“Of course, you could say the only thing they had in common is that they were both married to me, and that’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“But I believe their situation made them alike in many, many ways.”

Susan realized she wasn’t going to be allowed to speak a full sentence unless she interrupted. “Kathleen isn’t—”

“She’s much more like June than it may appear at first glance,” Jerry said firmly and loudly. “You must realize that she and June are in the same situation, and the end result could be the same.”

“You mean Kathleen might die in an accident?” Susan was completely perplexed.

“No talk about death. Visit is at an end,” the guard said, putting his gun between Jerry and Susan to emphasize his point.

“But—” Susan cried out.

“This is fine,” Jerry said quickly. “You think about what I said, Susan. Think and you’ll realize I could be right.”