Death in a Beach Chair (17 page)

THIRTY-ONE

Jed was nowhere to be found, and Susan decided that the shower she had used as an excuse to get away by herself was an excellent idea after all. She had learned a lot this morning, but nothing intrigued her as much as Lila’s reaction to the kayaking accident. The woman had been what Susan’s children would have called “off the wall.” Why would a simple accident upset Lila more than a murder or Jerry’s arrest or Kathleen’s assault? Susan was pouring cream rinse into her palm when the answer struck her. It hadn’t been an accident. Someone had tried to kill her. Lila wasn’t seeing what happened as an individual accident, but as the latest event in a line of horrible events. Events that could damage the reputation of Compass Bay.

Her kayak must have been sabotaged! But by whom? Susan scrubbed the salt from her skin and thought. The person who did it must have known that Susan was going to end up with that kayak. And who would have known that? James . . . No, in fact, James had been up at the kiosk when Ro, Randy, and Veronica picked out their boats. It had to be one of those three people. Or all three? Susan played around with that thought before discarding it. Regarding them as a foursome was fine, but they were four individuals. And she needed to consider each individually. And she shouldn’t, she realized, exclude Burt. Burt may not have gone on the trip, but he certainly was around when the other three were selecting their vessels. He could have made a hole in the remaining kayak while the others were busy putting on their vests and dousing themselves, yet again, with another layer of sunscreen.

But how could she find out? Those who were willing to answer her questions when she asked about Kathleen wouldn’t necessarily answer questions about their friends. On the other hand, anyone overlooking the beach could have seen what was happening. Susan tried to remember if she had noticed anyone nearby.

It was hopeless, she finally decided, flipping off the shower and grabbing a thick towel to wrap around her hair. She was tying her robe’s sash when she heard someone at the door. “Jed? Is that you?”

“No, Mrs. Henshaw. It’s me. Lourdes.”

Susan hurried across the room and opened the door. “Hi.”

“Miss Lila send me here. She think maybe you need massage after your ordeal this morning.”

“How nice, but I told her that I was fine.”

But Lourdes was already inside the cottage. “If you not mind, Mrs. Henshaw, I would like to talk to you. If you do not mind.”

“Of course not. Is something wrong?”

“Yes. Something is very, very wrong. We are all very, very upset.”

“What is it?”

“We worry about James. We all worry about James.”

“Why? He’s just fine. You should have seen the way he paddled his kayak back to land—”

“James is very strong. But that will not keep Lila from firing him.”

“Why would she do that? He seems to be the person who keeps this place running smoothly.”

“Yes. That’s right. James is very, very important at Compass Bay. But Lila is very, very angry at him. Things like today not supposed to happen. Guests are not supposed to be in accidents.”

Susan didn’t know how to respond to that. Apparently it was okay if guests were murdered, assaulted, or kidnapped, but a hole in a kayak was unacceptable. Susan knew she had never been in any danger. The water was warm; she wasn’t terribly far from shore; help was nearby. What was Lila so upset about?

“James is a wonderful man. Many, many people who work here owe much to him. And he has large family that he supports. It is very important that he stay at Compass Bay.”

“Is Lila going to fire him?” Susan asked, appalled.

“Ms. Lila is very, very mad,” Lourdes said again.

“What does he want me to do?”

“Oh, no! You not understand. I ask you for help. Many of us on staff, we ask you for help. James not ask. James not know I am here.”

“You and . . . the other members of the staff—what do you think I can do to help?”

“If you could, please, go talk to Lila. Tell her that James saved your life. That he did nothing wrong today. That you feel terrible if he be blamed for your unfortunate accident.”

“Look, all of that is true. Well, he probably didn’t save my life. I wasn’t in any real danger,” Susan said. “But why do you think anything I can say will help?”

“Lila care most about opinions of guests. That is what Lila care about.”

Susan sighed. She might as well try to help James. She certainly wasn’t helping anyone else. “I’ll go talk to her immediately.”

“But not tell her that I come see you,” Lourdes urged.

“Of course not.” Susan was fairly sure Lila’s image of her was so low that nothing could damage it—although she was also fairly sure Lila wouldn’t appreciate her butting into Compass Bay’s business.

“You go now. Before something stupid happen to James.”

“Yes. But will you do me a favor? Would you find out if anyone has seen my husband recently?”

“Yes. You do James favor. I do you favor.” Smiling broadly, Lourdes left the cottage.

“Well, no time like the present,” Susan informed her reflection in the wall mirror.

Lila was at the front desk flipping through some reservation forms. She looked up with a smile, which disappeared when she recognized Susan, only to be replaced immediately.

“Mrs. Henshaw. What can I do for you? I hope you’ve recovered from your ordeal. Perhaps you’ve reconsidered my offer and would like a massage?”

“I’m absolutely fine,” Susan said. “I wanted to tell you how wonderful James was when I discovered my kayak sinking. He didn’t waste a minute getting to me and bringing me back to land. He wanted me to get up in his kayak, but I thought it would be better if he just towed me behind. He was wonderful,” she repeated.

“Ah, well, many of our guests grow quite fond of James during their stay.”

“He must be quite a valuable employee,” Susan said.

“All our employees are valuable to us,” Lila said. Obviously she was losing interest in their conversation; she picked up the papers she had been sorting through when Susan entered the room. “Oh, Mrs. Henshaw, I almost forgot. There’s a message here for you. The call must have come in while you were out this morning.”

It was from Jed. “Still with Jerry. Everything okay. He says we don’t have to worry about Kathleen anymore. Repeat. Anymore.”

Susan frowned. “Thanks.”

“Everything okay?” Lila asked.

Susan suspected that the other woman had read the note before passing it on, so she merely nodded. She turned and then remembered the reason she was here. “You will give James my thanks for everything he did today, won’t you?”

“Of course. But you can tell him yourself, you know. Or leave him a note at the employees’ lounge.”

“Where is the employees’ lounge?”

“Right across the street. The little stucco building beside the parking lot.”

“Maybe I’ll do that,” Susan said, folding the piece of paper and sticking it in her pocket.

“Watch the traffic. There aren’t a lot of cars on the island, but there are even fewer safe, competent drivers.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Susan turned and left the office, walking across the large patio, under the bougainvillea-covered arch that formed the entry to Compass Bay. Taxis had picked her up and dropped her off here, but she hadn’t paid any real attention to the unpainted stucco building sitting in the middle of a dirt field on the other side of the street. Cautiously looking both ways down the deserted street, she headed toward the run-down building. A few of Compass Bay’s brightly colored chairs, broken-down and in disarray, sat around the building. French doors were open and Susan could see even more utilitarian furniture inside. She walked in.

The building was deserted. Rusting metal chairs stood about equally disreputable metal tables displaying the remains of a meal. A large mouse—Susan refused to think
rat
—scurried across the filthy floor. The place was a mess except for the large bulletin board hung on an unpainted wall. Messages, printed in heavy black marker on thick white paper, had been hung neatly. Curious, Susan wandered over close enough to read them.

The first was a listing of each cottage and its occupants. Under the names (first and last of each member of the party) was the check-in and checkout date, the guest’s hometown and state, and services that had been reserved. Susan noticed that the honeymooners were scheduled for sequential massages every other afternoon, as well as room service breakfast to be delivered daily—and promptly—at eleven
A.M.
Beside this order someone had written
“KNOCK FIRST!!!!!!”

Moving even closer and squinting, she realized that each guest’s name had been annotated, and, some, judging from the variety of handwriting, by more than one person.

Next to the Henshaws’ cottage number and their names was written “neat & nice” then a couple of stars, and finally “detective wannabe.” Slightly insulted, Susan continued her perusal.

The Gordons were depicted by three amateurish sketches of skulls and crossbones and a lot of exclamation points. Susan frowned.

Joann and Martin weren’t well loved by the staff, she noted. “Pickie!” someone with minimal spelling skills had written. “Kayak 1–3 MWF” read another. “Slobs!” said yet another note.

Susan was intrigued by the note next to Veronica and Randy’s cottage: “Large pitcher of rum punch—no ice—room service at four
P.M.
each day—do not be late!” “Nothing else matters, man!” someone else had added. “One drink for my lady and one more for the road,” an apparent Sinatra fan had scrawled. It had been edited by another, turning it into “5 drinks for that lady and none for the road.” The final editing said, “That’s no lady, that’s his wife—STAY AWAY!”

Equally interesting was the complete lack of comment next to Ro and Burt’s cottage. Names. Dates. Nothing else.

But Rose Anderson also had nothing written by her name. Was that because there was nothing to say about the shy, timid woman, or had someone erased any notations—as Susan suspected had been done next to the Parkers’ names?

“Mrs. Henshaw. I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

Susan turned and discovered James leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest.

“Yes,” she answered. “I wanted to thank you for all you did today. And I have some questions.”

THIRTY-TWO

Jed was sitting in the bar, a large, untouched gin and tonic on the table before him. “If you’re not careful, the staff will be leaving notes in the staff lounge about your drinking habits,” his wife said, sitting down beside him.

“What?”

“It’s not important. Jed, I know where Kathleen is!”

“So do I. At home in Hancock. How do you know?”

“How do you know?” she asked at the same time.

“You first,” Jed urged.

“James told me. Apparently he’s related to the owner of the taxi company and knows the driver who took her to the airport.”

“Not surprising. That young man seems to know everyone on the island—and be related to at least half of them.”

“How do you know about Kathleen?”

“Frances Adams told me. Kathleen called her—”

“From Connecticut?”

“Yes, let me explain. Do you want a drink of your own?” he asked, as Susan picked up his glass and sipped.

“Yes, but that’s not important! Go on! Tell me everything!”

“There’s not a whole lot to tell. Kathleen called the embassy office this afternoon while I was with Jerry. She spoke to Frances Adams, who came down immediately and told us about the call.”

“Why did she take off?”

“Kathleen said she left Compass Bay and flew home to see if she could discover anything that would help Jerry.”

“And what did she find out?”

“Nothing. She told Frances Adams that the trip was a waste of time. And, of course, now she has another problem.”

“What?”

“The island police are not at all happy about her leaving. They’re threatening to arrest her if she returns to the island.”

“Can they do that?”

“Apparently so. At least, they can hold her, which is really the same thing. Frances suggested that she remain in Connecticut until this is all resolved.”

“Boy, is she an optimist! I can’t imagine how that will happen.”

Jed instantly looked concerned. “So you didn’t come up with anything today?”

“I’ve asked what seems like a hundred questions, and visited parts of the resort I didn’t even know existed, but I can’t tell you that I’ve learned anything that will help Jerry.” She frowned and picked up his drink again, raising one eyebrow at him.

“Go ahead and finish it,” Jed offered.

“I wonder what Kathleen thought she would learn about Allison in Hancock,” Susan mused.

“She wasn’t investigating Allison,” Jed said, waving to a passing waiter. “She was interested in June’s death. We’ll have a pitcher of rum punch and two glasses,” he ordered.

“And a large glass of water, a notebook and a pencil, and . . . and whatever you have available to eat,” Susan added. “I’m starving.

“You know, that might be important,” she continued. “Kathleen must think there’s something suspicious about June’s death. Does she think it was murder?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t remember there being any suggestion of that at the time.”

“No, I don’t, either. And I’m sure we’d remember,” Susan added.

Jed leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Sue, if that auto accident wasn’t an accident, doesn’t that suggest that Jerry is a murderer?”

Susan considered that. “I wonder if that’s what Kathleen is thinking.”

“I have no idea. I sure wish I’d had an opportunity to talk to her.”

“Can’t we call?”

“No. She said she was heading into the city to check on some things and she would call as soon as she had something to tell us.”

“But—”

“Frances Adams said the less communication the better, Sue. She is concerned that the police department might decide that the embassy office is interfering with the investigation and take it out on Jerry.”

“Is that all Kathleen said?”

“She had seen Jerry’s parents. At least, she mentioned talking to his mother. They’re worried, but the kids are fine. Kathleen wanted Jerry to know that, of course.”

“Did she explain why she trashed their cottage before leaving?”

“Not a word about that. Oh, here are our drinks.”

“Cook just pulled these from the oven. Be careful, they hot,” their waitress said, putting a big tray of fried plantain and soft-shell crabs and two dipping sauces on the table between them. The young woman stooped closer to Susan’s head and continued. “We thank you for good words about James,” she whispered so quickly and quietly that Susan was sure she alone heard.

“What was all that about?” Jed asked.

“Probably another of James’s relatives . . . or girlfriends. They were worried that he might get in trouble after my kayak sank today.”

“Your kayak sank?”

“Yes. There was a hole in it.”

“How in God’s name did that happen?”

“Shhh! Jed, not so loud! I don’t know how it happened. It just did. James towed me in.”

“James put a hole in your kayak?”

“No! He saved me. Well, not exactly saved me,” she explained. “I had on a life vest and we weren’t that far out. I could probably have gotten back by myself.”

“We? Good heavens! You were with the bridge players, right?”

“Three of them. How did you know?”

“They stopped by when I sat down and asked how you were doing. I told them I hadn’t seen you all day long, and they said something about you having a story to tell me over dinner. I was hoping they meant that you had figured out who killed Allison.”

“And instead I’d had a kayaking accident. Sorry.”

“Are you sure it was an accident? It’s strange that the hole was in your kayak and not someone else’s.”

“I know. I thought about that. Look, where’s the pencil and paper that the waitress brought?” she asked, looking around.

“Right here under the napkins.” Jed pushed a pad with
COMPASS BAY
printed across the top of each sheet of paper and a pencil across the table to his wife.

“I’m going to list the possible suspects—the people who might have killed Allison, and drugged you, and assaulted Kathleen, and maybe even damaged my kayak. Then we can write down motives and . . . and . . .”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Jed asked gently. “Motive. The only person who is connected to Allison, Kathleen, you, and to me is Jerry and he’s been locked up since the day after Allison died.”

“Peggy and Frank are from Connecticut.”

“Did they know Allison?”

“Not before coming here. At least, that’s what they claim.” Susan looked up from the untouched pad of paper and looked around. “You know what’s weird?”

“Everything?”

“Yes, but look around. How did one person get away with all these things? Murder. Assaulting Kathleen. Ripping up her cottage.”

“She might have done that herself, Sue.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. But someone put a hole in my kayak. How does one person do all that in this small place without being seen?”

“Now that’s a good question,” Jed agreed, staring out at the row of cottages lining the beach.

“And the other odd thing is how chummy Allison was with everyone before we arrived.”

“Well, a single woman alone. Maybe she was just lonely.”

“Maybe, but there’s something odd about that. I know I’m missing something. It’s as though Allison thought that everyone’s opinion of her mattered a great deal.” The honeymooners walked by, smiled at Jed and Susan, and continued on.

“Good-looking couple, and funny how they look so similar from behind,” Jed said.

“Jed, they’re not important. Concentrate! We were talking about how Allison wanted everyone to like her.”

“You know, that’s sort of sad. I mean, it might have mattered if she had lived, but . . .”

Susan started so violently that she knocked her drink over into the appetizers.

“Susan, are you okay? What are you looking at? Was it something I said?”

“It’s something you said, and something I said, and something I saw . . . and I think I know who killed Allison.”

“That’s wonderful!” Jed said, sounding relieved.

“No,” she answered. “It’s not! It’s really, really awful.”

“Susan . . .”

“And the problem is that we need evidence. No one is going to believe us without evidence. Unless we have evidence, Jerry won’t be released.” She stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Downtown. To a bar. To get a drink.”

Jed looked down at the mess on the table. “We could just order something else here.”

“No. I do know one thing: I’m never going to find out what I need to know by asking questions here at Compass Bay.”