Death in a Beach Chair (6 page)

TEN

“Now, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Rowan Parker. Most people call me Ro and you should, too.”

“I’m Susan Henshaw, but you seem to know that already.” Despite Ro’s previous statements, she was no frailer than Susan, and moved quickly over the cobblestone walkway toward her cottage.

“I make it my business to learn the names of all guests the very day they arrive. My husband says I’m nosy, but I’m just interested in the people around me. And, over the years, you wouldn’t believe the fascinating people I’ve met here.”

“So you’ve been here before,” Susan said, following Ro up the steps to her place. The cottages at this end of the resort were comprised of two floors. Ro headed for the stairs on the far side.

“There’s an intercom upstairs we can use to call for food. Damn inconvenient—we have to climb up and down a dozen times a day—but what can you do?” she said, starting up the stairs. “And, yes, to answer your question, this is our fourteenth year here. My husband likes continuity. I’m always suggesting we try something new, but he says when you like something you stick to it. He has a point, of course. Best not to be disappointed when you’re on vacation.

“Sit down and I’ll order us something to drink,” she continued as they reached the second floor. “It’s foolish to risk dehydration in the tropics.”

“Thanks,” Susan murmured, looking around. “This is fantastic,” she said honestly.

“Yes, the large cottages are quite roomy, and, of course, the view from the balcony is incomparable.” Ro nodded toward the open plantation shutters, which revealed a second-story porch facing the sea. “Go on out and have a seat. I’ve gotta use the little girl’s room, and I’ll be right with you.”

Susan wandered onto the porch and sank down in one of the pair of batik-covered wicker lounges. A substantial glass-topped trunk of woven straw was the only other furniture. A couple of back issues of
The New Yorker
and
Bon Appétit
had been flung down beside a worn paperback thriller. On the other lounge a pigskin binocular case lay open, containing what Susan suspected were very high-powered spyglasses. She was still staring at them when Ro returned.

“Bird-watching,” Ro stated flatly, seeing Susan’s interest. “My husband says it relaxes him. Can’t imagine why watching a bunch of flittery little birds would relax anybody, but you never really know with people, do you? Even if you’re married to them, you never really do know.”

Susan agreed that this was true and then tried to change the topic. “You seemed . . . at least, I thought you knew something about Allison’s murder.”

Ro moved the binoculars and sat down across from Susan. “I know quite a bit about Allison. And some of it just might have to do with someone killing her.”

“Oh, you should tell me. I . . .” Susan hesitated. She didn’t want to sound foolish, but decided she had no real alternative but to go on. “I have helped the police solve a few murders in the past.”

“That’s what I understand. That’s one of the reasons I came to you when I heard about the murder.”

“How did you know about—about what I’ve done?” Susan asked.

“Why, Allison herself told me about it just the other day when we were sitting around the pool.”

“Allison told you?”

“Yes, she said that you had come up with the identity of a murderer when the police had been quite unable to do so, and done it more than once. I must say, that from what she was saying, Hancock, Connecticut, must be a terribly dangerous place to live—so many murders! Is it very near New York City, dear?”

“Not really.” Susan didn’t waste any time defending her hometown. She knew exactly how close her upper-class affluent suburb was to New York City; it was nearly in another world. The
New York Times
didn’t report on the things that happened within Hancock’s confines unless a famous or infamous person was involved. And Susan didn’t know any celebrities—either dead or alive. If Allison had known what had been going on in Hancock, Connecticut, in the years since her sister had died, she had made an effort to do so.

“Well, Allison made living there sound very exciting.”

“But Allison—” Susan didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t know this woman at all. She should be more careful about what she said. “What did she say about Hancock?”

“Oh, that’s not important right now, is it, dear? What’s important now is keeping your friend out of jail. I must admit that while we have done extensive sightseeing on the island, we’ve never visited the jail, but this is a poor island. They don’t educate their children beyond age ten. I cannot imagine that their expenditures on prison facilities are anything like adequate.”

“Jerry would never kill anyone,” Susan insisted.

“I’m sure you’re right, dear. That’s why I felt it so important that we talk immediately. You see, I think we should get our stories straight.”

“Our stories straight? I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you don’t. How could you? Let me begin at the beginning. You see, I have insomnia.”

“So . . .”

“So I don’t want to bother my husband. Burton gets so cranky when he doesn’t get his eight hours a night. At home, I just go downstairs to our den and turn on the TV. Some of those shows advertise very interesting products, I find.”

“But you can’t do that here,” Susan guessed.

“That’s absolutely true.” Ro beamed as though Susan had made a deduction that would have made Sherlock Holmes proud. “I can’t do that here, so while we’re on vacation, I get up and sit out here. I have a battery-powered light so I can read my books or magazines—I always bring along all the reading material that I get at home and have no time to read—and I look around, as well.”

Susan glanced down at the water. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming. “You were here the night Allison was killed,” she guessed.

“Yes. I was.”

“Did you see her?” Susan asked, leaning forward.

“I saw a few people . . .” Ro didn’t finish her sentence.

“I went out on the pier for a while,” Susan said. “Did you see me?”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Ro said approvingly. “Yes, in fact, I did.”

“Who else?” Susan decided to ignore the possibility that this woman thought she was the murderer.

“Well, the place was pretty busy that night. Let me think. James and one of the kitchen workers were walking on the beach when I came out. A girlfriend, not one of his many relatives who work here, I think, from the way they were holding hands. They’re not supposed to use the facilities for their own purposes, of course, but at night, Lila isn’t around to keep her staff up to snuff.

“After a minute I saw your friend Jerry. He was walking with someone back and forth in front of his cottage. Then, when James and his girlfriend came up from the beach, Jerry and his companion hurried out to the gazebo. They were there for quite a while. Then one of them—I couldn’t see which one—came back alone. The other stayed out there.”

“In the gazebo.”

“I assume so. To be honest, I was feeling a bit peckish and went back inside to see if I could find something to eat. We keep a stash of fruit and pastries downstairs for when the kitchen is closed. You must help yourself if you’re hungry in the middle of the night.”

“How long were you inside?” Susan asked, ignoring the suggestion. Just what she didn’t need—more food.

“Certainly not more than five minutes. Very little could have happened in that time.”

Susan didn’t agree with that; she could even imagine an improbable situation where everyone in every cottage exchanged places in those five minutes. But she didn’t share her thought. “So when you came back,” she prompted.

“That’s when I saw you leave your cottage and walk out on the pier.”

“And did you see me return, as well?”

“Yes. I could see you, you understand, but I couldn’t hear you or any conversation you might have had with anyone out there.”

“I didn’t talk with anyone,” Susan said honestly. “I wasn’t even sure who, if anyone, was out there at the same time I was.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Susan assured her. “I thought—well, I assumed, I really didn’t think about it—that I was alone, but I did notice some noises. To be honest, I thought I might be interrupting a couple who was out there . . . ah, making out.”

“Oh, yes, that little gazebo is a favorite spot for romantic trysts.” Ro glanced over at the binoculars lying beside her, and Susan wondered if birdlife was the only thing Ro’s husband spied on. “I gather you were too polite to look over and see who was there?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“And naturally you had no idea Allison would be found there less than eight hours later.”

“Exactly.” Susan frowned. “I can’t remember the last time I saw her alive, to be honest. Not that I knew who she was.”

“My goodness. She said she had changed a lot, but I didn’t really believe her. You know how it is. You dye your hair a shade lighter and think everyone you know will notice, but, in fact, the only person who knows—or cares—is you.”

“She had done a whole lot more than dye her hair,” Susan said. “She had lost about forty pounds. Her hair was a completely different color, and long and straight rather than short and curly. She dressed differently. She had contact lenses. She might have even had cosmetic surgery. She looked familiar, but I never realized who she was.”

“Was she much more attractive than when you knew her?” Ro asked.

“There was no comparison. She used to be . . . well, not hideous or anything, but rather plain—homely if you want the truth. And yesterday . . . well, she was smashing!”

“She had a very interesting theory, and from what you say, she was living proof of it.”

“What theory?”

“She said you lived the first forty years of your life in the body your genetic makeup decreed, but once you turned forty, your appearance depended on how hard you worked at it.”

Susan was silent for a moment. “I never thought about it like that, but it’s probably true. The funny thing is, I never would have thought that Allison cared about her appearance. She always looked so dowdy and dull.”

“Those are two words I certainly wouldn’t have applied to the Allison I knew.” Ro leaned closer and lowered her voice as though about to convey a dirty secret. “I’m positive she saw the plastic surgeon more than once.”

“Do you know if she was here alone?” Susan asked, wondering if Allison had a man in her life these days.

“Yes. She told me she was alone the evening we met. I was a little concerned. A gorgeous single woman can cause a lot of mayhem in a place like this. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Well, naturally not everyone comes here with a husband or what everyone these days calls a significant other. But this isn’t the type of resort that appeals to swinging singles looking for a vacation pickup. There are lots of those places available. But every once in a while someone comes here looking for a holiday fling. The second year we were here—or was it the third?—no, I’m pretty sure it was the second—there was a woman who damn near caused a divorce when she set her cap for a married man.”

“That really doesn’t sound like Allison,” Susan said.

“Perhaps not, but there aren’t many men who didn’t look up when she walked by in one of those tiny bikinis she wore.”

“No, I guess not.” Susan thought for a moment. “Not counting last night, when did you last see Allison?”

Ro frowned. “You should remember that I didn’t identify Allison as one of the people I saw last night. In fact, if anyone asks, I wouldn’t be able to tell them if your friend’s companion last night was male or female.”

“That’s interesting,” Susan said, noting that this could be the most important thing she had heard so far. “But what I’m wondering is when you last saw her here—just walking around or whatever.”

“That’s easy. We had lunch together yesterday. And she was sitting at the bar having a rum punch last night when Burt and I went in before dinner.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes, but I must tell you that I got the impression that she was waiting for someone.”

“What did she do that gave you that impression?”

“She was looking over her shoulder at everyone who came in. She seemed rather nervous.”

“Do you know who she was meeting?” Susan asked.

“No, we left before anyone joined her, I’m afraid. But I think we can rule out your friend. After all, they had just spent the afternoon together,” Ro added before Susan could ask another question.

ELEVEN

There were questions Susan wanted to ask immediately, but she had to wait until the drinks Ro had ordered were served. An obsequious young man, apparently familiar with the Parkers’ requirements, placed a tray on the trunk and poured deep amber liquid into ice-filled glasses, dropped in lemon slices, and passed one to each woman. Susan, realizing she was thirsty, took a large gulp immediately. And gasped: There may have been a touch of the tea she was expecting, but most of the glass was filled with sweetened dark rum. “Oh, wow!” she muttered.

“Don’t worry, dear. They always use artificial sweetener,” Ro assured her.

“And what else?” Susan asked, realizing that her eyes were watering.

“Mount Gay rum and spring water,” the waiter answered, picking up the empty tray and preparing to depart. “Anything else?”

“We’re fine now,” Ro said, raising her own glass and sipping. “Excellent, as usual. Thank you,” she dismissed him. “Now where were we?” she asked Susan when they were alone again.

“You had just told me that Allison and Jerry spent yesterday afternoon together.”

“Oh, he didn’t admit that to you?”

“It wasn’t a question of admitting anything to anyone,” Susan answered, annoyed. “I never asked him what he was doing yesterday. I haven’t even spoken to Jerry about Allison . . . or about her murder.”

“The police did take him off rather abruptly, didn’t they?”

“I’m sure they’ll discover that they’ve made a mistake and he’ll be back here soon,” Susan stated flatly.

Ro didn’t seem convinced. “Perhaps you’re right. But I certainly would feel much better if I could tell the police that someone else was out on the beach last night, someone else who had a reason to kill Allison.”

Susan stood up so quickly that she spilled her drink. “Jerry Gordon had absolutely no reason to kill Allison. She was his sister-in-law. They were family. The police have made a terrible mistake.”

“She was his sister-in-law? She didn’t tell me that!”

Susan realized that she was giving away as much information as she was getting. “What exactly did she tell you about herself?”

“Well, let me think. She mentioned her career, that she was an illustrator who did mainly freelance work. But when I asked about it—and it sounded very interesting—she said she was on vacation and didn’t want to think about work.”

“Did you think that was odd?”

“Not at all. She wouldn’t be the first person to try to forget problems back at the office while on vacation. Why, there was a famous senator here a few years ago and he absolutely refused to talk politics.”

Susan didn’t think that was exactly the same thing, but she didn’t mention it. “So what did Allison talk about?”

“Oh, the places she had visited on other vacations, things she had done, books she had read. She didn’t speak a whole lot about what you could call her personal life. Which must be why I didn’t know she was anyone’s sister-in-law.”

“But she must have mentioned some people. After all, she told you that I had investigated murders, right? She wouldn’t have talked about me and no one else.”

Ro took another sip of her drink before answering. “But you were different than other people. Your name came up because we were talking about murder.”

“Not exactly a topic you expect to come up on vacation, is it?” Susan heard the coldness in her own voice. She was beginning to suspect that Ro was lying.

“Not unless you’re a big reader of mystery novels. In fact, it was the books we were reading that drew Allison and me together. She was just finishing up a book by Carolyn Hart, and I was just starting the latest by Kate Grilley. We agreed to switch when we were done. The gift shop’s collection of mysteries leaves a lot to be desired.”

“So you started talking about real murders after discussing favorite authors?” Susan asked, thinking it an unlikely segue.

“Yes. You see, some of the authors I like best write series mysteries and their characters are always stumbling on dead bodies—sometimes two or three times a year! I mentioned the fact that you had to suspend your disbelief to read them, and that’s when she mentioned knowing a real person who had had this very experience!”

“Oh. Did she mention me by name?”

“Well, not when we were first talking, but then you and your party checked in and she said something about you being the woman she had described earlier in the week.”

Susan realized this might be more than a little important. “Did she seem surprised to see me? Surprised that I was here?”

“Oh, dear, I know what you’re getting at. If your presence wasn’t a surprise, it would seem that she and Mr. Gordon had communicated sometime before their arrival, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. There might be other explanations.”

Ro beamed. “That’s why you’re such an excellent detective. I must admit I can’t think of a single other explanation for why Allison wouldn’t have been surprised to see you.”

“Perhaps Allison was in the office and just happened to see our name on some sort of list of future bookings,” Susan improvised.

“Yes! That would explain it, wouldn’t it? We should remember that in case anyone asks, don’t you think?”

“I suppose, but frankly, I can’t imagine why anyone would ask us anything.”

“Not only is the man arrested your friend, but you knew the deceased—and this is a very small resort. Word gets around.” Ro drained her glass so quickly that Susan would have worried about her sobriety if she didn’t have other things on her mind.

“You’re not the only person who knows about Allison’s connections to us, are you?”

Ro smiled. “I’m not here alone, you know. And I may have mentioned the things Allison told me to my husband or one or two of my friends. And, of course, Allison may have spoken about these things to other guests or staff.”

There was nothing Susan could do about that now. “You said you saw Jerry with Allison during the day yesterday. What were they doing?”

“I can’t tell you that. I saw them come back to the resort together. A taxi pulled up outside the restaurant and they got out. Most of the taxis drive right into Compass Bay’s courtyard. Theirs didn’t. I suspect they were trying to hide.”

Susan didn’t like anything she was hearing. “Isn’t it possible that the driver didn’t realize that he could drive into the courtyard?”

“Oh, my dear, you don’t know this island. A job driving a taxi is coveted. Absolutely coveted. The men here have very few employment opportunities that could be said to be macho. Taxi driver is one of them.”

“And the others?” Susan asked, momentarily distracted.

“Oh, crewing on some of the ships that take tourists out for deep-sea fishing, bartending . . . I can’t think of any more at the moment. But I can assure you that tearing around the island roads in those old Cadillacs that are used for taxis are jobs passed down from father to son. All the drivers know where to pick up their clients.”

“What time did you see them?” Susan asked.

“Around four. Right before my friends and I met for predinner drinks and a game, I guess.”

“You said you had lunch with her yesterday.”

“Yes, that’s right, I did.”

“And did she tell you that she was going to spend the afternoon with Jerry?”

“No, no.” Ro appeared to think for a moment. “I don’t believe either of us discussed plans for the day. That’s one of the nicest parts of being on vacation. You can just do things without planning. Free as a bird! At least that’s what I think.”

Susan didn’t bother to agree or disagree. “And did you happen to notice when they left?”

“No.”

“What about later in the evening?”

“I only wish I had! I saw Mr. Gordon eating dinner with your party, but I didn’t see them together again until last night on the beach.”

“And you said they were walking together on the pier at that time.”

“Yes. I did. I thought it was a little odd.”

“Why?”

“It seemed to me that Mr. Gordon was spending rather a lot of his vacation with a woman other than his wife. You know, I’m not the only person who noticed. That young couple—I can never remember their names—the ones on their honeymoon—were talking about it when I passed them by at dinner last night. The bride seemed to be concerned that her groom might treat her like that sometime in the future.”

Susan had noticed this particular couple cavorting in the pool, bronzed and bikini clad, as well as lying in the late afternoon sun, hands clasped. The bride wore a skimpy white lace bikini that had attracted Jed’s attention, as well. “I didn’t see them at dinner last night,” she said.

“Everyone who has been here for a while noticed. They arrived five days ago and have ordered from room service for most meals since check-in. My husband insists that they don’t want to get dressed for any reason other than to lie in the sun, not that they wear very much for that particular activity.”

Susan agreed. “But they aren’t the only ones wearing scanty swimwear. In fact, the first time I saw Allison she was wearing an amazingly tiny bikini.” That might have been exactly why she hadn’t recognized Allison, Susan realized. During summer visits, Allison had spent time at the Hancock Field Club and, as far as Susan remembered, had been seen only in a navy blue maillot—with a skirt.

“Yes, Allison was very proud of her figure, wasn’t she?”

“It certainly looked that way,” Susan said. She was interested in other things right now. “Was it odd that Allison spent so much time with Jerry? I mean, she was here alone. Did she . . . well, sort of team up with anyone else while she was here?”

“Let me think.” For the first time since Ro had introduced herself, Susan got the impression that her hostess was worried about how she answered the question.

“You said that you and she spent a lot of time together talking,” Susan prompted.

“I don’t believe I said a lot of time. We just chatted a few times. I like to get to know the other guests here. I told you that.”

“Yes, of course. It’s natural to talk to the person in the chair next to yours while you’re lying about the pool or whatever,” Susan assured her. Ro was getting nervous. Susan didn’t want their conversation to end just as she was about to learn something. “And I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you’re trying to help Jerry.”

“Well, he seems like a very nice man. And Allison seemed to think highly of him.”

There was a moment of silence as Ro seemed to realize that she had said more than she meant to—and Susan tried to figure out how to keep the revelations flowing. “Allison mentioned him and didn’t tell you that she had been his sister-in-law?” She finally settled on asking the question that most interested her.

“Allison never mentioned having a sister who was divorced.”

“Did she mention having had a sister who died?”

Ro was obviously shocked. “Her sister was dead? I never thought—no, no, she never mentioned that. My memory may not be what it once was, but I would have remembered that! So Mr. Gordon is a widower.”

“Was. He’s been married to Kathleen for almost ten years.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Susan repeated the word.

“I thought I heard someone.”

“Who—”

A short, balding man, incredibly knobby knees shown off by his bright green plaid shorts worn beneath a purple polo shirt, had joined them.

“Ro, dear, we’ve all been wondering where you were. Did you forget our game?”

Ro, as if on cue, looked at her watch and gasped. “I had no idea it was this late!” she cried, standing up. “Everyone will think I’ve been terribly rude.” She turned to Susan. “You will understand if I dash off. My friends are waiting for me. The game cannot start without me.”

Susan stood up, too. “Of course I understand. My husband is probably wondering where I’ve vanished to, as well. I . . .” She didn’t know what else to say. “Thank you for—for showing me all this and talking to me and—and the drink,” she added quickly, moving into the Parkers’ bedroom and heading toward the stairs. “I guess we’ll see each other around.” Susan, feeling awkward, waved at the couple and started down the stairs.

She hurried across the first floor and back out onto the beach. She had gotten the distinct impression that Burt Parker was unhappy to discover his wife talking to her. Her impression was confirmed when these words floated down from the balcony:

“Meddling in the lives of others has gotten you in trouble before, Ro. I would have thought you had more sense than to get involved in a murder.”