Summer People (18 page)

“Well,” said Ray, “Jenson’s ex said they went to Northwestern, and Arden’s widow said they met at Albion. Grimstock, I don’t know. I’ll have to check.”

“Have we helped?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah, I just have to do the leg work to see if any of the pieces fit.”

Nancy Arden met Ray at the back door and ushered him in. As they walked through the kitchen, she introduced him to her son, Robert Jr., and daughter, Amy, who were busy cooking hamburgers. Ray noted that the son was tall, thin and appeared to be in his early twenties. The daughter was the younger and, like her brother, also an ectomorph. There was a striking resemblance between the two children, their hair color, their eyes, their facial features, and neither looked very much like their mother. Ray assumed they looked more like their father, although he didn’t have a clear idea what the father looked like when he was alive, only the image of the body pulled from the lake.

Nancy led him through the cottage to the front porch that faced the lake. They made small talk for a few minutes as people invariably do when there are serious matters to discuss, but a reluctance to approach them.

Finally, Ray broached the subject for his visit. “I wanted to see you before you left. I think I told you I would call with the autopsy results, but I thought it better if I delivered them in person. You’re still interested in knowing?”

“Yes, please, go ahead.”

“Well, as expected, he had a lot of water in his lungs, but it doesn’t seem that was the cause of death. The pathologist said the immediate cause of death was a massive heart attack. Did your husband have a history of heart trouble?”

“No, not that I know of. There were a lot of things he kept from me, but I think he would have told me about any major health problems. I know he was concerned about his cholesterol, and he kept trying to give up smoking. But I don’t think he had ever had any symptoms. He just had the same health concerns other men his age have.”

“Well,” said Ray “this makes me wonder whether he had the heart attack and the canoe capsized, or if the canoe capsized and he had the heart attack trying to swim to shore. There was another interesting finding.”

“Well, he had a high level of blood alcohol, point one eight.

In fact, in Michigan that’s almost twice the legal limit.” “As I told you before, Sheriff, we had both had a lot to drink.” “I guess I was wondering whether that might have contributed

“I don’t know how to answer you. Robert liked to drink. I wouldn’t say he was an alcoholic, but he did drink. But then most of those in his circle of friends drank a lot. Even when he was drinking quite heavily, he was always articulate and seemed to be in control. I guess you would say that he could hold his liquor. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t cautious, sometimes too cautious I thought.”

“How’s that?” asked Ray.

“When he was drinking he made a point of not driving. There were lots of times when we left cars at restaurants and parties and took a cab home. It was real inconvenient. The next day he would take my car to the office, and I was expected to retrieve his.”

Ray paused a moment and looked thoughtful. “Given what you have just told me about his not wanting to drive when he had been drinking, I don’t understand why he would be out in a canoe at night in heavy winds.”

“He wouldn’t have thought about them in the same way. Getting charged with driving drunk would have a damaging effect on his career and be an embarrassment to the administration. Not the same thing.”

Ray couldn’t quite follow her logic, but he didn’t pursue the point. “How are your children dealing with their father’s death?”

“They are finding it confusing.”

“Confusing?” asked Ray. His expression showed that he didn’t comprehend her meaning.

“Yes, confusing. They haven’t ever been really close to their father. He was never around. Recently, their relationship with him became extremely tenuous. Last year my daughter was in Georgetown with some friends one Friday evening and spotted her father’s car in a parking lot; it was hard to miss, he had vanity plates with his initials. It was a new BMW, and she took her friends over to look at it. Robert was in the car with a woman. She would never tell me exactly what they were doing, but it doesn’t take much imagination. It was just awful for Amy. I guess she caused a big scene in the parking lot, and her friends had to drag her away. You can’t imagine how destructive that was. She’s been in counseling ever since, and I think only recently she finally started to get through it. Robert Jr. has hardly said a word to his father since he heard about it. That is why we came up here alone. The kids didn’t want to be any place where they have to be close to him. And now they’re confused because he’s dead, and they don’t feel sorry. I guess Robert’s last act as a father is to make them feel guilty.”

Ray sat quietly. He wanted to respond but didn’t know quite what to say.

“Sheriff, therewas something else I wanted to tell you. I think you asked if anything was bothering Robert. It didn’t strike me as important at the time, but perhaps it was. The second or third day we were here there was a report in the paper about the man who was killed when his car left the road.”

“Yes, his name was Roger Grimstock,” Ray offered.

“Robert read the story and seemed bothered by it. I asked him if he knew the man, and he said he had years ago when they were teenagers. I asked if they had been friends. He said no, he didn’t really like him; he just knew him. But I do remember that the story seemed to upset him. He mentioned later that he hoped the fellow had been killed instantly because it would be awful to die alone. I guess it doesn’t mean anything. I just thought it was interesting.”

“It is, thank you for telling me,” said Ray.

“Sheriff, there’s one more thing.”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to thank you for having the deputy take me to the airport. I guessed you recognized I shouldn’t have been driving. I’m glad you did.” She looked out at the lake. “This all must be very hard for the kids; it’s confusing for me, too. I don’t know how to act at the funeral. I don’t want to be false.” She paused and looked at Ray. “You have helped a lot Sheriff. You’ve listened when I needed someone to listen. Thank you for that.”

“I’m glad we could help. If there’s anything else we can do for you and your children, please call.”

She walked him back through the cottage to the door. Robert and Amy were sitting at the kitchen table eating quietly as they passed.

The sign on the front of the Third Wave had three neon waves, royal blue with crests of white that blazed in slow succession to suggest the dance of whitecaps rolling to shore. Over the waves, hot pink neon letters in a stylized script proclaimed The Third Wave, each word flashing on as the wave below it illuminated until all three words were lit. The name would glow for several seconds after the last wave faded and then dim until the whole process began again moments later.

André and Mr. Charles, the proprietors of the Third Wave, were new to the area. They had purchased the only beauty shop in the village, Betty’s Beauty Nook, in late fall and had spent most of the winter renovating both the interior and exterior. The building housing the business, dating back to the twenties, had originally been a filling station. Betty’s husband converted it to a beauty shop in the late fifties when they moved north from Detroit. The building had stood empty for a number of years after Betty’s death.

When the Third Wave first opened in early April, the local women were pleased to have a beauty shop in the village again, but didn’t know quite what to make of André and Mr. Charles. They dressed identically in skin-tight black pants and loose white canvas pullovers that opened in a “V” to mid-chest. They sported rich tans and hair in matching styles—carefully shaped, and tinted. Their sandal-covered feet showed the extensive nature of their tans.

The new interior of The Third Wave left no traces of Betty’s. The reception area had beenexpanded, and André and Mr. Charles now worked their miracles in the area that had once held a grease pit and service bay. The large aluminum coffee urn had been replaced by a silver tea service, and the coffee now had a hint of cinnamon, chocolate, or almonds. The foam cups had been supplanted by Belleek cups and saucers. A neat pile of delicate linen napkins was renewed throughout the day. The floor, once covered in maroon vinyl, was now a lustrous pink marble. The walls were papered in subtle pastels and the windows cloaked in elegant lace.

While the women of the village found the “boys”—that’s the way they were referred to locally—“a bit much,” the women from Birmingham, Grosse Pointe, West Bloomfield, and Winnetka were comforted to find a bit of home when they came north for the summer.

As Lisa sat waiting to get her hair cut she tried to interest herself in the current issues of House Beautiful, House and Garden, People, Town and Country, and Redbook. She finally settled on looking at the pictures in Architectural Digest. She glanced up briefly as another woman came in and settled into a chair across from her in the waiting area. She glanced up a second time as the woman sorted through the pile of magazines. Lisa thought the woman looked vaguely familiar. She couldn’t immediately place her. The woman looked back, and Lisa could tell she was also struggling.

“I was thinking, too, that you looked familiar. Is that a married name?”

“Yes, Weston was my maiden name.”

The woman looked thoughtful, “Lisa Weston, that sounds more familiar. Now I know who you are. You were a pledge my senior year. I’m Marilyn Case; I was Marilyn Holden then.”

“I remember you, you were Missy Morrison’s big sister, weren’t you?” asked Lisa.

“Yes, I haven’t thought of her in years. Ann Arbor seems like another life now, doesn’t it? We grow up.”

“Or at least we get older,” said Lisa with a wry smile.

“I remember about you; you were a bit of a wit. You never seemed to take any of the hocus-pocus of the sorority seriously. You were one of the more interesting pledges. I take it you’re married and have a summer place in the area.”

“The name is left over from a starter marriage. I should have changed it back. But you’re right on the second count. My family has a place here. And you?”

“My husband and I just bought a condo on the peninsula. I’ve loved it here, been coming up here since I was a child. My parents had a place on the big lake.”

“Are you up for the whole summer?” asked Lisa.

“Yes, I came up as soon as the kids were out of school. Had to go back for a few days for a funeral; came back up last night.”

“No one close, I hope.”

“Yes and no. It was my older brother, but we were hardly close.”

Lisa made the connection between Marilyn’s maiden name and Randy Holden. She was chagrined and didn’t know what to say next.

Marilyn continued, “I’m sure you heard about it. It was big news up here. He was shot.”

“Just as you said that it occurred to me that your brother might have been the victim. It must have been a horrible thing for…”

“It was unpleasant, but not surprising. My one reservation about buying the condo in this area was that I might have to run into him. I don’t think we had talked in five or six years, not since my father died.”

“Why weren’t you surprised?”

“Randy was a low life, a cheat, a scoundrel, a rake.” She enunciated each derisive term with great care and vehemence. She continued, her tone lightening. “And he was handsome, polished, and extremely charming. He used everyone, always had. I imagine this time he conned the wrong person and got himself killed. From the time we were kids he was always in some kind of trouble. My parents were two of the most ethical and proper people you could find. Randy caused them endless grief. And they did everything they could, made sure he got a good education, helped get him jobs, covered bad checks, and helped him get out of trouble numerous times. I think they finally gave up on him. Thank God they didn’t live long enough to see this.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“It wasn’t like he stole hubcaps. He was always a confidence man, always taking people in and then using them. By the time he was in high school there were already major problems. I was much younger, and my parents tried to keep me in the dark about what was going on. I just knew that every time there was a major crisis at home, Randy was in some new difficulty.”

“But you don’t know exactly…”

“Not the early problems, I was kept ignorant of those. Later, when he was working as a lawyer, well that was all in the papers. My mother once told me that a psychiatrist friend said that Randy had a sociopathic personality—she didn’t really understood what the psychiatrist was telling her. From that point on she felt better about Randy because she didn’t think he was responsible for his misdeeds; his problems were caused by some illness. That’s when I was a junior or senior in college, a psych major. I didn’t have the heart to tell her those big words just meant Randy was a sleaze-bag with a criminal mind.”

“And the funeral?”

“I didn’t want to go. But one of my father’s oldest friends, a man who was his law partner for over forty years, called and reminded me that my parents would want me to do the proper thing, regardless of what my brother did to me. This man handled my parents’ estate, knew my brother screwed me out of the family cottage, among other things, but he wanted to make sure I did the ‘proper’ thing. I met the new wife, a real young woman, and worked with her to plan the funeral. She was really nice; I liked her a lot. That was one of the amazing things about Randy. He was always able to attract interesting women. Once they figured him out, they got out, but it didn’t take him long to come up with another one.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” said Lisa sarcastically.

“That’s a good name for him, a charmer. Anyway, that’s finished, and I can get on with the summer. It’s good we’ve finally got a decent beauty shop, isn’t it? Betty didn’t understand hair.”