Summer People (16 page)

“Bet that makes you real popular before an election.”

“Doesn’t matter, none of them are local; they’re all summer people; they don’t get to vote. They have to pay taxes, but they don’t get to vote. Who says taxation without representation doesn’t have some benefits?”

“So tell me about the other,” asked Marc.

“I’m so tired I can’t keep on the subject. A call came in about 4:00 a.m. from a worried wife—thought her husband was out on Loon Lake in a canoe. It was blowing pretty good, and she was worried. I went over and talked with her. Guess they had had an argument, and she had gone to bed. Later she woke up and found the house empty. When she went looking for him, she noticed the canoe was gone. I got over there about five. Her story made sense, his car and wallet were there, only the canoe was gone. I called the Coast Guard and they sent a chopper at first light. Found the canoe right away—full of water, caught in some weeds near the dam. The body took a little longer, but they spotted it from the air. It was in about four feet of water near that little island on the south end of the lake. We brought the department’s boat over and recovered the body.”

“So why was he out in a canoe. It was blowing like hell last night?”

“Damned if I know. I’m going to try to get a few hours of sleep, then question her some more and see if we can get a sense of what happened.”

“Do you want some coffee?” asked Marc.

“Too tired. I need to get some sleep. Hope we can find a time to go fishing together.”

When Ray arrived at the Arden cottage, Sue Lawrence was waiting for him. Nancy Arden met them at the door and offered them chairs at the kitchen table.

She offered them coffee or a drink; Ray had coffee, Sue, Diet Coke. Arden was holding a drink when they arrived; Ray watched her refresh it, ice cubes and gin in a brandy inhaler. Her speech was slurred, and her movements unsteady.

“I’m sorry that I have to ask you more questions, but I want to make sure I have all the information so this matter can be brought to a close as quickly as possible. Would you go back to the beginning and tell me everything that you remember?” asked Ray.

“Well, as I told you this morning, we had a bit of a tiff, and I went to bed. Robert was waiting for a call.”

“Business?”

“Yes, his assistant was working on some project and was to let him know how things were going. He’s been on the phone or hovering over his BlackBerry since we got here. I wonder why he wanted to come. We might as well have stayed in Washington.”

“So you went to bed?” continued Ray.

“Yes, I went to bed and woke up about two. The windows were open, and the wind had come up. I was cold. I got up to close the windows. Robert hadn’t come to bed so I went to look for him. All the lights were on, but he wasn’t in the house. The car was here, so I thought he must be walking, but that seemed strange. He doesn’t take late night walks. I made some tea and waited for a while. When he didn’t show up, I got dressed and went to look for him. That’s when I noticed the canoe was gone. It was really blowing. I got scared and called…”

“You said you had a “tiff,” you were arguing?”

“Yes.”

“And were you both drinking?”

“Yes.”

“About how many drinks did your husband have?”

“He was drinking Scotch. I wasn’t counting. I don’t know, six or seven, perhaps more.”

“Over what period of time.”

Arden didn’t answer immediately. “Can’t say for sure, two, three hours.”

Ray asked, “Was your husband intoxicated?”

“I think we were both pretty far gone.”

“Why did you think to check on the canoe?”

“He just bought it, hand built, spent a fortune on it. It was one of the things that we were arguing about. I thought if he really wanted to make me angry, he might go canoeing with a storm blowing.

“And you’re sure no one was with him?”

“Yes. We’re here alone. People don’t just drop in after midnight.”

“How long have you been here?”

“We flew in on Saturday; we haven’t been here for several years. He was always too busy to take a week or two off. Suddenly, late last week, he had this urgent need to come up here. I called and had the place opened; we have a local handy man that looks after the place. Robert had to pull some strings to get us seats to T.C. on a summer weekend.”

“Do you know why he had such a need to come here?” Ray asked.

“I think he was tired and tense and just wanted to get away. But he never settled down when he got here,” she replied. “He seemed even more tense.”

“Tense about what?”

“He was always tense. He was tense about everything—tense about the Democrats, tense about the press, tense the V.P. would make another major…”

“Could you tell me about your husband’s job?”

“Not much to tell, and kind of hard to explain. He worked for the White House as a special assistant for media relations. His job was feeding the media the administration’s view of the world.” She paused. “That isn’t quite correct. His job was to create or interpret events in a way that made the administration look good. He also did damage control when something happened that was perceived to put the administration in a bad light.”

There was a long pause. She opened a new pack of cigarettes, slowly, trying to steady her hands. She removed one, lit it, and inhaled deeply. She lifted her head, blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling and raised the cigarette to her lips again.

Ray, feeling embarrassed by the long silence, asked, “Were you married long?”

“Twenty-five years. We met at Albion. Robert was this handsome fellow from a wealthy, politically connected family. As I look back, I was an incredibly naive, provincial kid—my father was a Methodist minister in Saginaw. I remember the first time he took me home; his family lived in Virginia, just outside Washington. They had two Monets in the dining room, a Picasso in the living room, maids in uniforms—I didn’t know people really lived like that. I was impressed by it all and too naive to see anything but the glitter. We got married after graduation, and he went on to GW law school. His family bought us this lovely row house in Georgetown, and he had a large trust fund. It was a real Cinderella story. I was going to teach school, but soon after we married I got pregnant. I had our second child before he finished law school.

“After he got his law degree, he got a job in the administration. At first I thought he was wonderfully idealistic, but I noticed he changed over the years. He had a kind of political paranoia. He would tell me about things he was involved with that were clearly unethical and perhaps illegal.

“When I confronted him on them, he would justify his actions by saying that they had to be done to prevent the liberals from getting control of the White House and that the Democrats did the same thing.

“About that time I also became aware of his first affair, or I think it was his first affair. I was so stupid; I blamed myself.” She took a long sip on her drink and finished it. She continued telling her story as she made herself another drink, and refilled Ray’s cup.

“The fairy tale ended. That was the end of my innocence and beginning of my education. I should have divorced him then, but I wasn’t strong enough; I had two babies. And finally after all of these years, now that the kids are out, I was strong enough. I was going to tell him this week I was leaving. Even in the end he cheated me.” She paused, her tone changed. “The kids are flying in this evening. I don’t know how to act. I’m sorry you had to listen to all of this; I just had to talk.”

“I understand.” Ray waited to see if she was finished. When it was clear she was, he began. “There are a few more questions I would like to ask if you feel you’re up to it.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m sorry I rambled so.”

“This is a hard question to ask, but I must,” said Ray. “Do you have any reason to suspect that your husband might have been depressed or suicidal?”

“Not at all. He was a workaholic; he felt needed. Suicide doesn’t fit. He was often upset, but I don’t think depressed. He seemed to thrive on tension and chaos. I don’t think he was introspective enough to ever consider suicide.”

“What I’m struggling with, Mrs. Arden, is why was your husband in thecanoe last night, especially considering the weather?

“I can’t explain it, Sheriff. It doesn’t make sense to me. As I said, maybe he was doing it for spite. During our argument I teased him about spending so much on a canoe when he hadn’t even used one since he was a kid. Maybe he was trying to show me something or worry me.”

Ray nodded, not satisfied with her answer. Then he offered, “If you’re going to be alone until your children get here, I could have Deputy Lawrence stay with you if that would help.”

“No, I’ve got a rental car, I’m going to town to pick them up. In fact, I need to leave for the airport fairly soon.”

“Why don’t I have Deputy Lawrence drive you to the airport to pick them up? Would that help?”

“Yes, I guess I really shouldn’t be driving.”

“The medical examiner should be done sometime today. Do you want to know the results of the autopsy?” Ray asked.

“Yes, please. When can we…?” she started to cry.

“The body?” She nodded to Ray’s question. “It should be released after the autopsy, late this afternoon. If you need anything, please call, and we’ll try to help.” Ray took the last two swallows of now tepid coffee and excused himself. Sue followed him out.

Sue gave Ray a long look. “That was painful.”

“Yeah,” said Ray. “Real painful.”

It was early evening by the time Ray reached the Bussey House. He had called earlier and arranged the meeting.

He drove up the long, paved drive to the house. The garage door was open; a Jaguar XJS and a Range Rover sat side by side, both with Illinois plates.

He was greeted at the front door by the same young woman who had met him on his first visit. She escorted him into the living room and offered him a seat. After she left, he got up and walked to the windows facing the lake. The doorwalls were open, a warm breeze was coming off the lake. Ray noted the second movement of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto was playing softly in the background. The sun had already dropped into the water, only the top quarter remained above the surface. And, as he watched, that quarter slowly disappeared. The area continued to glow, brightly at first and then gradually diminishing; the margins of the horizon had already turned to gray.

Ray felt her presence and turned. Mrs. Bussey was standing behind him.

“You seemed so lost in thought I didn’t want to disturb you,” she offered quietly. She seemed softer and less brittle then on their first encounter. With a gesture toward the center of the room, she directed Ray to a sofa. He settled at one end. She sat on its twin, a glass-topped coffee table separated them.

“I was enjoying watching the sun disappear. I don’t take time often enough to do things like that. You have a wonderful view.”

“It is grand, isn’t it,” she responded in a relaxed tone. Ray noted a tranquility about her.

“I doubt, however, that you are here to talk about sunsets and the view,” her voice took on a business-like tone. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Well, as you no doubt suspected, it’s about your former husband. When the investigators from the Michigan Fire Marshall’s office went through the remains of the boat, they found several sticks of dynamite. The dynamite appeared to have been hidden in the engine compartment. As the boat sank, that area filled first with water, protecting the dynamite from the heat and fire. If it had exploded, other people would probably have died. I realize that you and Mr. Bussey have been divorced for several years, but do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill him?”

“I am sure there were many people who wouldn’t have minded seeing him dead. Arthur was devious and unencumbered by ethics, business or otherwise. He used to say that business was war, and if you wanted to succeed you had to be willing to do anything to gain your end. He never allowed friendship or sentimentality to get in his way. Not only did he do in many of his friends, but he liked to brag about it.” She paused. “But to answer your question, I don’t know if anyone was angry enough to actually kill him. But I can tell you about the dynamite.”

“Go on,” Ray responded.

“Well, I am a little surprised he was still doing that. He used to do that when we had the other boat, the smaller one. He would get dynamite from one of his construction sites. When we were out cruising—and I think only when we had some of his guests on board whom he wanted to impress—he would go out in the inflatable and throw weighted sticks in the water and collect any fish that floated up.” She raised her eyebrows, and with her voice tinged with sarcasm she continued, “He was a real sportsman, that one.” She paused again and her tone changed. “Were you surprised to find me here?”

“I’m not following,” responded Ray.

“Today was Arthur’s funeral. I guess it was bad form not to go back for it. I should have appeared in ex-wife weeds. But then, his people aren’t my people. For me, it’s finally over.”

“What’s that?”

“All the turmoil caused by the divorce; the marriage was over, but he was still around. It was like an open wound that continued to ooze. Now it is over; that part of my life is closed. I can get on with things.” She gave Ray a rather tenuous smile and continued, “I saw on the news tonight we had a drowning.”

“Yes. We seem to have two or three each summer. This was the first.”

“I was only half listening, but I heard the name Robert Arden, is that right?”

“Yes. We recovered his body this morning. Apparently he was canoeing during the night and capsized. Did you know him?”

“I had met him, years ago. He was a high school friend of Arthur’s and a summer friend up here. He got married about the same time we did. We used to do things together years ago. I bet we haven’t seen them in twenty years. Was he up here with a wife?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if it was the same wife?” The tone of her voice suggested an internal speculation that she verbalized without thinking.