Suspicion of Madness (26 page)

Gail remembered that Doug Lindeman and Lois Greenwald had been discussing business at his office, located half a mile west of Movie Max. Lindeman said they had left at eight-fifteen. Lois would have driven past the video store on her way to the marina. She might have noticed Sandra coming out. Martin Greenwald had seen Lois at the resort around nine-thirty. An hour and fifteen minutes. It didn't take that long to get back to the island.

Out the window Gail saw the Whale Harbor Inn, then a bridge over a channel, then Holiday Isle, a sprawling complex with hotel, marina, restaurants, and outdoor bars. The parking lot was almost empty. Wrong time of year, bad weather, and a storm coming this way. Two weeks ago in that parking lot Billy Fadden had slapped Sandra McCoy. The friend of Sandra's— Penny something—who had witnessed this had just talked to the police. Gail wondered if she could be found. Friends confided in each other. The girl might have something to say about Sandra and Doug Lindeman.

The road took them past the Windley Key state geological site. Someone had driven this way with Sandra's body, then had turned off the road—Gail saw the opening in the brush—and had dragged or carried her to the quarry. Could Lois have done that? It would take more strength than most women possessed, not only to twist a rope hard enough to break bones, but to drag a body through dense foliage on a moonless night.

Another bridge put them onto Plantation Key. Joan tapped Anthony's shoulder and told him where to turn left.

The Bay Harbor Resort owned several acres of rocky ground dusted with short, brittle grass. The hotel was a plain, two-story, flat-roofed building on the bay side of the highway. Sailboats and powerboats were tied at the docks. They drove along a sandy road that led to the eastern edge of the property, where a slight rise in the land was marked with several shade trees and some headstones.

The Lindeman graveyard was about twenty feet square with a black iron fence around it, painted and rusted and repainted. More than a century ago a pioneer family named Lindeman had chiseled out rock to a depth of eight feet and filled it with sand. There was a brass historical marker announcing this, as well as the fact that the resort had promised to take care of the graves "in perpetuity." There were thirteen of them. A few were enclosed in low walls of coral rock or concrete. The oldest headstone was a wide piece of cracked granite with the names Hiram and Felicity, who had died in the 1890s. Six graves were dated 1935, victims of the hurricane. There were three very small graves with angels or lambs carved into the headstones. One grave was marked with four concrete paving stones laid in a row, no name at all.

The gate squeaked when Joan went through it. Billy followed with the armload of flowers. He gave one of the packages to Joan and laid the rest on a mildewed concrete bench. She turned back the cellophane and took out a long-stemmed rose. The color was too red, too lurid against the gray and unhappy backdrop of headstones, heavy clouds, and threatening rain.

Anthony motioned for Billy to come with him and Gail. They walked to a tree a dozen yards away. There was a bench, but too damp to sit on. As Joan Sinclair put the roses on the graves, crossing herself, saying her prayers, Anthony told Billy what the police had said.

Avoiding eye contact, Billy stared out at the bay as if following the lone sailboat motoring toward the harbor, sails tightly furled.

"I told you in the beginning, Billy, there is one thing I demand: Don't lie to me. When I ask you a question, I want the truth. Did you see Sandra at the video store?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me what you were doing there. I don't want to hear it in the state attorney's opening argument at your trial."

Looking at him coldly, Billy said, "You think I killed her."

There was only a slight hesitation before Anthony said, "No. Talk to me, Billy."

"I went to rent a movie."

"What did you get?"

"There was nothing worth watching."

"I am not surprised. You have a thousand pirated videos in your room, and Joan has more than that. I ask you again. What were you doing there?"

Billy clenched his teeth. "I bought some weed, okay?"

"From whom? Don't tell me 'some guy.'"

"His name's Chip. If anybody finds out they'll fire him. That's why I didn't tell you before."

"Ah. At last the truth, or closer to it. I'm going to accept that for now. What time did you get there?"

"I got there as Sandra was leaving. We said hi, then she came back in."

"After she had already rented her video?"

"Yes. After."

"Go on."

"We talked for a while, then she left. It was about... I don't know, ten after eight, eight-fifteen. I hung out with Chip—"

"Back up. Did you and Sandra smoke a joint together?"

"Yes."

"Where? In the store?"

"We went out the back door."

"Were there any customers?"

Billy shook his head. "Nobody was there, just Chip. He's the night manager."

"All right. What happened then?"

"Sandra left, I hung with Chip for a while, and I left at eight-thirty. I drove to the marina, got in my boat, and went home."

"Did you talk to anyone at the marina? Any other boaters?"

"No. I just got in my boat and left. I don't know when I got to Joan's. Nine o'clock, I guess. That's what time she expected me."

"Joan told me you got there at nine-twenty."

Billy thought about it. "Oh, yeah, I had a six-pack in my apartment, and I went and got it. I walked over to Joan's. She opened her window upstairs and said to wait on the porch because she was still getting dressed. If she says it was nine-twenty, I'll go with that. I didn't look at my watch. I had a beer and waited for her to open the door. The rest is just like I told you."

"Is it the truth this time?"

"You fuckin' figure it out." Abruptly Billy walked toward the water.

Anthony drove his fist into the other palm. He laughed. "I love clients like this."

"What about that friend of his, Chip? If the police find out he's selling drugs, couldn't they lean on him? He could say that Billy left earlier. He could lie."

Anthony's eyes shifted to Gail, and he smiled as though she were particularly naive. "Chip could be lying now to protect Billy. Or to protect his own ass so Billy won't turn him in. We can't be sure what time Billy left Movie Max, can we?"

That question left Gail with the sickening feeling that the truth had once again skittered away from them. She noticed Anthony's attention shifting to something behind her, and at the same moment a car door slammed.

A portly, white-haired man had parked his Lincoln next to Anthony's black Seville, and he was coming across the ragged grass. Thomas Holtz. Lifting a hand to acknowledge their presence, he headed for the graveyard, stopped, and changed directions for the tree under which they stood. He propped his red-and-white golf umbrella against the bench.

Holtz said, "I thought I'd find you here. The florist called me to make sure I'd okay what Joan spent. I always okay it." Through his heavy glasses he gazed at the woman still placing flowers on the graves. If she had noticed him, she gave no indication. Holtz said, "Sometimes I park out by the road and watch her, or I buy a drink over there at the bar and sit by a window. I'm feeling brave today."

Holtz turned back to them with a big smile. "So. How'd it go with Billy? You said to leave Joan be till you got Billy taken care of. Are we in the clear?"

"We're working on it," Anthony said. "If you want to talk to Joan, be my guest."

"I'm going to ask her to marry me. What do you think of that?"

Gail and Anthony exchanged a glance.

Gail said, "I don't know if she would. She doesn't want to leave the island."

"That's true," Holtz said. "That's why she turned me down before. She had an emotional attachment to Lindeman Key, and I was trying to break it, you see? Not this time. I'm going to do it on her terms. We're going to fix that house up, add a deck, a pool, anything she wants."

Tom Holtz looked from one of them to the other as if they had voiced some objection. "She can't live alone anymore. She's got to be sensible. I've already talked to Doug about it. I said, 'Doug, you can forget that guardianship, buddy, it's all over. I'll be taking care of her from now on.'"

Then Holtz fell silent, turning his gaze once more toward the graveyard. "I love Joanie Lindeman. I've loved her for forty-five years." Swinging his furled umbrella by its wooden handle, Tom Holtz went to speak to her.

"Ay, Dios mío,
" Anthony said.

The gate squeaked, and Joan froze, giving a little glance over her shoulder. When her old lover came nearer, she bent to pluck another rose from its cellophane package. She remained sitting on her heels in the sand, head bowed, while Tom Holtz talked. She stood up and carried her roses to the next grave. He followed.

They were too far away to be overheard.

Tom Holtz opened his umbrella and held it over her as she continued to put red roses on the graves. The rain was no more than a slight drizzle, and none at all came through the leaves.

"Look at them. You can see how much he loves her," Gail said.

"Is everyone crazy here?"

"Maybe it will work." Gail leaned against Anthony's side and felt his solid warmth. He put his arm around her. She murmured into his ear, "You know what we could do?"

"Tell me."

"Let's go to the courthouse in Tavernier and apply for a marriage license. It's four-twenty. We might make it. Billy and Joan won't mind. We don't have time to get married in the Keys, but at least we'll have the license. It's something."

"I think you're serious."

"It's the sanest idea I've had lately."

Anthony turned to look at her. "Yes, you are serious." He laughed softly. "What would you tell Karen?"

"I'd tell her... Anthony and I are getting married. Next week, next month, whenever it's convenient. I love him very much. Please be happy for us."

His hand was warm on her cheek, and a smile slowly lit his eyes. "Tomorrow on our way to Miami. We'll do it then. No backing out."

"You either," she said.

He made an X over his heart.
"Te lo juro."
He kissed her to seal the promise.

Leaves rustled, and a drop of water came through, then another. Anthony opened his umbrella. It was not raining hard, but thunder rumbled to the east. A gust of wind sent shivers through the tree, dislodging more raindrops. The wind swept the empty cones of cellophane toward the far side of the fence, where they flattened against the bars. Joan Sinclair ran to pick them up. Tom Holtz shouted at her to leave them, but she grabbed one and then another. He gamely tried to keep up, and the big red-and-white umbrella bobbed and swayed over her head. When she had gathered them all, Tom opened the gate and they hurried toward the cars.

"Where's Billy?" Gail asked. She looked toward the bay. He was sitting under a palm tree with his back to them. "Go get him."

Anthony cupped his hand and shouted, "Billy!" There was no response. "He doesn't hear me. I should let him stay there. He can swim home."

"Go get him, Anthony, before he gets struck by lightning." Gail ran toward the car. She waved to Tom Holtz, who was just closing his door, starting the engine. Anthony sprinted across the field with his umbrella.

Gail got in and swept her hair out of her eyes. The clouds had not let go yet, but a few drops spilled out, spattering the windshield as if someone had thrown them.

In the backseat Joan Sinclair was repairing her lipstick, looking slightly cross-eyed into the mirror of a scuffed, gold-colored compact. Her sunglasses were pushed up into her bangs.

Gail asked, "Did you have a nice talk with Tom?"

Joan blotted her lips on a tissue. She looked into the mirror again and cleared a smudge from the corner of her mouth with her little finger. "He asked me out to dinner tonight at The Buttonwood Inn."

"Really?"

"Really." Brown eyes fixed on Gail for a moment before she tossed her compact back in her purse and put her sunglasses on. The lenses were clear enough on the bottom for Joan to see out. It seemed more an affectation than warranted, given the heavy overcast. Joan took out her cigarettes and lighter. "I need a smoke. Shoot me."

Gail barely noticed. "What did you say to Tom? Are you going out with him?"

The interior lights came on as Joan cracked the door open. "I said I'd think about it." Joan's cheeks went hollow as she inhaled. "I'm fond of Tom, but my God, what would I do with a man in my life? I've had so many." She made a deep chuckle. "And enjoyed every one." She blew smoke toward the crack in the door.

"Joan, do you mind if I ask you something? Why did you change your mind about marrying Tom two years ago?"

She paused with her cigarette at her lips. "Arnel talked me out of it."

"Arnel?"

"He said it would be a mistake."

"Why did he say that?"

"He said Tom would be like all the others, wanting me because I'm famous. He said Tom is a drunk, and I would be sorry. Arnel's uncle was a drunk. His parents were dead, so he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle, and his uncle beat him. It was terrible for him."