Murder and Mayhem (38 page)

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I grabbed hold of a cloth,
ran it under the cold water and rubbed the front of his shirt. Cody screwed his
eyes shut, and held his breath.

“You get more and more like your uncle every day,” I
muttered.

In this outfit, there was no way
I was going to get down on my knees and wipe the milk up off the floor. I was
already feeling the onset of vertigo from being so high. I grabbed the mug of
warm Milo and handed him the cloth. “Here, you’ll have to clean up that mess
up,” I said indicating the puddle of spilt milk at his feet.

As I hobbled out the door doing my best not fall and
break an ankle or two, I sensed Cody’s eyes following me.

“Aunty Bee?”

I turned and gave him an encouraging smile. After all,
I reasoned, it was not his fault he was born with male genes. “Yes, Cody?”

“You look… kinda…. nice.”

“Why, thank you, Cody. Don’t forget to turn off the
lights when you’ve finished.” That boy has got more of his uncle’s genes in him
that I credit him with. Come to think of it, that’s kinda strange seeing as
they’re not blood relatives!!  Go figure. It must be one of those nurture,
nature things. I’ll suggest my sister enroll him at the local Jesuit school–in
the hope of a better outcome.

 As I stumbled down the hall, I noticed Ross leaning
against the guestroom doorframe with a strange look in his eyes, his truck-tire
midriff sagging over the waistband of his pajama pants like a sack of potatoes,
his bare chest a roadmap of some strange religion inscribed in blue-black
hieroglyphics, a lascivious grin on his face.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

I took care of my sister and headed across the hall.
When I closed the guestroom door, I was again confronted with the image of O N
J–by proxy. I peered at my alter ego. Blue eyes: still looking good with smile-lines
at the corners some might call crows-feet, but not on this tootsie. I ignored
the plumping around the orbits – glasses and make-up would take care of that.
High cheekbones, a little fleshy; aquiline nose–some would call my best
feature. I lifted my chin: jaw-line – still holding firm – kinda. A few gray
hairs I’d missed with the dye job. Mmm. If I fluffed up my hair and put on some
lippy maybe, just maybe…! I shook my head –nah, you’ve got to be dreaming,
girlfriend!

I looked at Ross’s image reflected in the mirror
behind me, stretched out on the bed. He had a smile on his lips as his eyes
roamed over my body.

“Okay. You’ve had your fun. Now, can I get out of this
hideous get-up?”

“Only if you want to. Don’t take it off on my
account.”

Before he had second thoughts, I tugged the pink top
over my head, dropped it to the floor and removed the orange bra. I kicked off
the shoes and wiggled out of the Lycra pants. When I was down to my Bridget
Jones underwear, I scooped everything up, dropped them back into the bag and
tossed in the bottom of the closet. I grabbed my purple elephant pajamas with
pink bows on their ears, out of the drawer. But before I had a chance to put
them on, Ross reached out and took them.

“Don’t put these on,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

I looked at him–and smiled. He may be an aging
Harley-hoon with a body by Pillsbury, but he still knows how to get my engine
humming.

“Do you think you could put the
purple stilettos back on, Bethany?”

Well now. Perhaps I
could
give old Olivia a run for her money, after all.

“I was kind of hoping you’d say
that–big boy.”

*****

She emerged from the fog, like a ghostly apparition,
and looked around. Her clothes are in tatters, her eyes, sunken; her hair and
skin gray–her hands at her throat.

“Danny! Danny!” she calls out, clearly distressed.

The mist swirled around her like a giant snake,
swallowing her whole. She held out her hands, imploring. Blood dripped through
her fingers and ran from the wound in her neck.

“Sara! Sara! Don’t leave me,” he sobbed.

Danny! Danny?

Danny woke with a start to find Nicola leaning over
him. Even though he could hear the loud crack of thunder in the distance a wash
of pale moonlight fell across the bedclothes.

“What’s the matter?”

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

“I must have been dreaming.”

“You seemed upset. What were you dreaming about?”

Danny wrapped his arms around Nicola and pulled her in
close. Even though he whispered, “I don’t remember. Go back to sleep,” he
remembered every detail–he always did.

The dead never leave. You carry them around inside
you–forever.

* * *

They parked on the grassy verge not far from the
lighthouse that looked across the Sound to Long Island, removed their shoes and
left them on the floor of the SUV, rolled up the legs of their jeans, and
walked along the beach holding hands with the cool water from the ocean tugging
at their feet as waves crested against the hard-packed sand.

They climbed over rocks, and waded through shallow
pools, the salty air clinging to their bodies. The sea spray soaked their
clothes and left a sticky salt residue clinging to their skin. In the distance
they could see the only other people on this secluded stretch of coastline–a
small child, a dark haired woman, and a dog.

As they drew closer, they saw the woman throw a ball
in a haphazard fashion across the sand and the dog, a full-grown Labrador,
filled with boundless energy, took off after it its large paws sending up
sprays of grit. When the dog reached the tussock of grass where the ball had
landed, its nose picked up a scent as it sniffed the air. The dog looked
towards the road, its keen eyes picking up something. Suddenly the animal
pricked up its ears, grabbed the ball in its mouth and headed back to the woman
who had called out its name.

As the Labrador raced across the hard-packed sand, it
noticed Danny and Nicola walking along the water’s edge. It changed direction
and ran down to meet them. The dog propped in the wet sand, dropped the ball at
Danny’s feet, and barked.

“Looks like you’ve found yourself a playmate,” Nicola
said.

Danny crouched down and ruffled the dog’s ears. “So,
you want to play, eh, girl?” He picked up the ball and threw it further down
the beach than the woman could ever hope to achieve and watched the large dog
bounding after it in a flurry of energy, its long hair drawn back, sleek
against its side.

“Thank you for that,” the woman said as she rose to
her feet and brushed sand from the seat of her blue-jean cut-offs. She brushed
an annoying wisp of hair from her face and nudged her sunglasses to the top of
her head. Her bronze-colored eyes, scrutinized them cautiously.

“You’re very welcome.” Danny sensed the woman’s
guardedness with strangers. He removed his sunglasses, clipped them to the neck
of his T-shirt, and smiled, hoping to allay her fears. “Beautiful day isn’t
it?”

“Oh, just perfect, much too nice to be cooped up
indoors. The cold weather will put pay to that soon enough.”

Nicola picked up an educated New England accent. Yale,
she assumed, or Brown. Rhode Island was not far away. “A large dog and small
child confined within four walls. I don’t envy you your New England winters,”
she said as she watched the boy shoo away a curious seagull that encroached on
his territory.

The dog bounded down the beach, dropped the ball at Danny’s
feet, and barked.

“Now, Cindy, don’t go bothering the nice man. Bring
the ball here,” the woman said as she walked towards them, the glare of the sun
in her eyes.

Danny noticed she used her hand to shade her eyes,
instead of her sunglasses.

Danny picked up the ball. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.
Come here girl.” He pretended to throw it but kept the ball hidden in the palm
of his hand. Cindy started down the beach–propped, looked around, obviously
confused.

Danny held the ball out, teasing the animal. “Here,
Cindy, come and get it.” As the dog got nearer Danny reached back and threw it
much further than before. Cindy watched the tennis ball sail through the air,
and took off down the beach in great lopping strides, scattering noisy gulls.

“You’re not from around here?” the young mother asked.

“No, California. San Francisco. Our winters are cold
and wet but nothing like you have here,” Nicola said.

“Oh, I can only dream of California winters. Being
cooped up for days with a large dog and a four year old while blizzards rage
outside is no fun. Cabin fever doesn’t go anywhere near to describing the half
of it.”

“I can only imagine,” Danny said sympathetically. He
smiled and corrected himself. “No, actually, I probably couldn’t.”

The laughter of the small boy drew their attention as
they watched him build a sandcastle using a bright yellow plastic bucket and
spade.

“Do you live around here?” Danny asked.

The young woman nodded. “Just up the road. Less than
ten minutes’ walk.”

Danny looked in the direction she indicated, and
smiled. “Beautiful part of the world you’ve got here. Is it always this quiet?”

“Usually it is at this time of year with school
vacation over. Summers you can hardly move for people. Of course in the winter
the place is deserted. Winters here can be pretty nasty.”

Nicola noticed there were only a couple of houses on
the street, sparsely placed. “It must get lonely?”

The woman gave a half smile and shook her head. “I
wanted to get away from the city and raise my boy somewhere quiet and safe.”
The woman stopped for a minute and seemed to reflect before adding, “I lost my
husband on United Airlines Flight 93 in Shanksville, Pennsylvania,
September-Eleven.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath−but chose to
ignore it. I was on a roll here and had no intentions of stopping. The story
would speak for itself.

Nicola was clearly shaken. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t
mean to pry.”

The woman placed her hand on Nicola’s arm. It was warm
and felt strangely reassuring. “No. That’s all right. You weren’t to know. I’ve
come to terms with it now,” she said. “Gary and I used to live in Lower
Manhattan, not far from the Twin Towers. When the area was evacuated, I moved
back to Connecticut to stay with my parents. My father teaches law at Yale and
my mother runs the university bookshop. When I found out I was pregnant I was
over the moon. It must have happened the night before Gary left.” She looked
lovingly at the tow-haired boy digging holes in the sand, and smiled. “I am so
grateful to have Thomas. He’s made my life bearable. He’s the image of his
father.”

Danny glanced up and down the beach. There was no one
else in sight. And he could only make out two houses on the otherwise empty
street. One was about three hundred yards to the north; the other, half a mile
south. The only other building he could see was a small kiosk advertising
soda-pop, ice creams, and take-out coffee about a hundred yards north of where
they were standing–but it was closed. “What made you decide to move here?” he
asked. “It seems so desolate.”

“Gary and I often spent weekends and vacations around
here so when the cottage came on the market I decided to buy it. It’s the
perfect place to raise a child.”

“It must have been very hard for you,” Nicola said.

The young mother gave a sad smile. “It was at the time
but I’m fine now. I might grumble about being shut up during the cold weather,
but I actually enjoy every one of those precious moments. I’ll miss Thomas when
he starts school but at least I’ll have Cindy to keep me company.”

Something cold and wet nudged Danny’s ankle. He looked
down and noticed the tennis ball laying at his feet, and the golden-haired dog,
saliva dripping from its open mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes, a
goofy expression on its face.

“You don’t have to do this,” the woman said.

 Danny dismissed her objection with a casual wave.

“Allow me this one last throw. If I make it a good
one, our canine friend will hopefully be all tuckered out by the time she gets
back and give you some peace.”

He reached back as far as he could and threw the ball
with such force it became little more than a speck on the horizon as it sailed
through the air with Cindy bounding after it, her keen eyes knowing exactly
where it landed.

“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time. Well, I
must get back to my son. It’s been nice meeting you both.” She brushed her hand
down the side of her cut-offs, to remove the sandy grit, and held it out to
Danny. “Gina, Gina Leyton and that’s my son, Thomas. Cindy you’re already
acquainted with.”