Suspicion of Madness (30 page)

"Why not? L.A., Chicago, New York. They've got a film program at the University of Miami."

His father smiled. "With your grades?"

"They'd accept me if I transferred in from Keys Community."

"Which you just flunked out of. Who's paying for this?"

"Martin probably."

"Sure, to get you out of the way. He'd send you anywhere you wanted to go and let you fall on your ass. You aren't cut out for college, Billy. You need to learn a useful trade."

Billy didn't know what to say to that. He was tired. He didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted his father to leave.

"I'm going to buy a marina pretty soon. That's right. I'm getting a settlement from a lawsuit. Some jackass up in Miami ran into me, and I hired a good lawyer. If you can get your act together, you can work for me. Would you like that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

Billy laughed. "You're going to buy a marina?"

"In Marathon. And a boat—a big one. I'm going to do charters. You can be my first mate."

"No lie?"

"Damn straight, son. Are you interested?"

Billy crushed out his cigarette in the little ashtray bolted to the dashboard. "I guess so." It would be a cold day in July, he thought, before Kyle Fadden had the cash to buy a marina, much less a charter boat. "Sure, let me know. Sorry, Dad, but I need to get back."

"Do yourself a favor," his father said. "Don't tell Teri I was here. She'd freak out. If it was up to her, I'd never see you. All right?"

"She's not what you think," Billy said.

"I know what she is." The ember on his cigarette glowed orange in the darkness. "We were still married when she started cheating on me with Martin Greenwald. He had money and I didn't, end of story. She walked out on me and took you with her, and look where you're at. On pills, flunking out of school, trying to commit suicide. Jesus. Why'd you do such a stupid-ass thing? Why? And if you say 'I don't know,' I'll pop you one. Come here." His father put an arm around his neck and hugged him. Pain shot through Billy's neck and he ground his teeth together. "You dumb kid. You dumb little shit. Don't you know better?"

Billy pulled away. "Don't say that about my mother."

"It's the truth."

"Well, don't fucking say it!" Then for just a second his father's face turned to stone, and Billy flinched—which was stupid, because nothing would've happened. He was too big to get hit.

His father laughed. "Okay. The boy loves his mother."

Billy's hands were shaking. He picked at the bandage and lifted it up. The laceration in his palm looked like it was held together by dried black worms. He ripped the bandage off and flung it to the floor of the cart. He wanted to get drunk and pass out and wake up in about a week or maybe never. "I have to go."

His father was looking at him. He seemed to have gotten a lot older lately. His hair had turned gray, and there were shadows under his eyes. "I love you, Billy. I don't want to ride you so hard, but... damn. I see you in trouble, and I can't stand idly by like some people do. You know? You need to get off this island. You need to be a man." He gently patted Billy's shoulder. Then he kissed him, and beard scratched his cheek. It was like a stranger doing it, but it was good, too, because it was his father. Billy felt like he might start crying.

"I just want you to be happy, son. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Do you? Don't tell me you do if you don't."

"I
know,
Dad."

Finally his father got out of the cart. "Good night, son."

"See you," Billy said. He turned the cart toward the hotel.

Doug Lindeman had been standing on the front porch of Lois Greenwald's cottage for almost ten minutes, cursing her for being late and wishing to hell he had thought to bring a raincoat, when he finally heard the sound of footsteps on the path. She came into view, pushing her umbrella through the rain-heavy branches of an oleander hedge.

"It's me! I'm sorry you had to wait." Lois pounded up the steps in her deck shoes. The hems of her slacks were wet. She shook off her umbrella and leaned it against the wall. "We've been working like maniacs getting everything done before the storm."

"It's fucking cold out here," Doug said.

"I should have told you to go in. The door's not locked."

Doug picked up the plastic bag he had dropped on one of the porch chairs.

"I'm such a
mess!"
Lois fluffed her hair. The weather had turned it to a streaky blond mop. She noticed the bag, which had come from the Wal-Mart in Key Largo. "What is that?"

"The stuff for Aunt Joan." He set the bag on the floor, which was bare wood but for a scattering of brown area rugs.

The cottage was like an extension of Lois's office in the main building. File cabinets, a computer, a desk. Her beige sofa had a lamp at either end, as inviting as a lobby at the Holiday Inn. The coffee table was taken up with stacks of papers, a calculator, travel magazines, a coffee mug with a Buttonwood palm tree. Her dark blue sweatshirt had a Buttonwood logo over the left breast. He wondered if she had a logo on her panties.

Lois walked to the other end of the room, where she had made a kitchen out of a tiny refrigerator, a hot plate, and the bar sink. Open metal shelves held some cans, a few boxes of tea, some crackers. A hall led toward her bedroom. He was relieved to see that the door was closed. He imagined a single bed, a bare light-bulb, and her clothes in gray file cabinets.

"May I fix you a drink? Some wine?"

"No, thanks, I need to get right back. I have a meeting to go to." Doug didn't want her to think he was here to socialize. Things were getting dicey with Lois Greenwald. He had kidded around with her, a few jokes, some mild sexual innuendo, but it had gone too far.
I'm so sorry, Lois, I sincerely value your friendship... and God knows I value the Buttonwood account, but honey, I wouldn't touch you through a biohazard suit.
He had to find a way to tell her without pissing her off. He just couldn't do it now.

Lois folded her hands at her waist and smiled at him. "You've never been to my house before. I feel like I ought to offer you something. Have you eaten?" Her lipstick was neon pink. She must have put on a fresh coat of it before coming to meet him.

Doug held up a hand. "I'm taking a client to dinner."

Her smile was still bright. "A man?"

"What? Yes. A male client. Two of them. From the bank." He laughed. "Okay, so if you could give the stuff in the bag to Aunt Joan when she comes over— Don't tell her it's from me, she'd spit on it. Say you keep nightgowns for guests who forgot theirs."

"All right," Lois said.

"Great. And if you could find a way to keep Arnel Goode from going over there tomorrow too. He could cause a problem if he saw me."

"How will you get in?" Lois asked.

"Does it matter? I'll get in."

Doug had been enraged when his law partner had informed him that he planned to take Aunt Joan out to dinner tonight. Once those two got back together, Doug's chances of getting the property were zero. Then he realized he didn't need the property. He only needed a few hours on the property. Tom Holtz would be doing him a favor. Lois could do him another favor—keep Joan at the hotel for the weekend.

What Doug had told Lois was that he needed to get into the house to take photographs for the guardianship before Tom could make any changes. Doug had been afraid that Lois wouldn't believe him, but she had. She was in love with him. He could tell her anything.

She took off her deck shoes and placed them side by side on the floor, then curled up on one end of the sofa. She patted the cushion. "Sit down, Douglas. You've come all this way, relax for a few minutes."

He could not remember that she had agreed to do what he asked. "Lo? Are you going to help me out with this?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? You said you would when I called you."

"Sit down, Doug."

Shit,
he thought. "Lois, I need you to do this for me."

"Don't you love to sit and listen to the rain? Open the windows."

Doug turned and looked out. Rain dripped silently off the eaves. There was no view of the ocean from here, nothing but a heavy wall of vegetation that seemed to press against the cottage from all sides. As if he were suffocating, he grabbed the window crank and turned it. Damp air floated in.

He said, "I have a meeting—"

"Call and say you'll be late." The only color in Lois's face was the pink gash of her narrow lips. "Douglas. I said sit down with me. Please?"

"Just for a few minutes." He sat facing her with his back against the arm of the sofa. His knee on the cushion served as a barrier.

Lois said, "What if Joan wants to go home?"

"Tell her the storm is coming."

"If she wants to go, I can't stop her."

"Actually, Lois, you can. Talk Tom into persuading her. Don't lend her a cart. Make her a pitcher of martinis. Lock the gate. And get rid of Arnel tomorrow too. Okay?" Doug smiled. "I need your help, cupcake."

Lois leaned over to stroke his hand. Her fingers were dry and cool. She said, "I like it when you say you need me."

"When is Tom coming over? Did he say?"

"About seven-thirty. I'm skipping dinner. I have nothing to do all evening." Lois unfolded a leg. With mounting distaste Doug watched her bare foot as it slid across the sofa. Her toes were long and white. Calluses rimmed her heel. She nudged his thigh. "Douglas, what is going on with Tom?"

"Going on?"

"Martin thinks he wants to marry Joan. Does he?"

"He's not going to marry her."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Because she's nuts, my dear. Ten minutes in her company, he'll notice, believe me."

"What's going to happen with the guardianship? Are you forgetting about my dock?"

"The guardianship is still on. Don't worry about it." Doug looked at his watch. It was time to go.

Lois moved toward him. "You said I could have the dock."

"You'll have the dock."

"Tom is going to tell Martin not to give it to me."

"You can have the fucking dock!" Doug got up. "You will have the dock, Lois. All right? I promise. If that's what you want, it's yours."

"How, if Joan is living there?"

"You will have the dock because one way or the other, Aunt Joan will end up in state care. She will slip her gears, and someone—possibly even good old Tom—will call the police. They will take her away in a straitjacket to a mental ward."

Her eyes were fixed on him. "Are you still planning to move to the island?"

"I didn't say I was going to move here, just fix the house."

"You said you were going to live in the house. You said we'd be neighbors."

Doug was sweating. He rested his hands on her shoulders. Strands of frizzy blond hair hung over her high, tanned forehead. She raised her brows, waiting for him to speak, and lines furrowed her skin. "Yes, Lo. I'll live there. We'll be neighbors."

Her face relaxed. "Let me tell Martin. He'll be so excited."

"No, don't do that. Wait. Let me get some plans in place first. All right?"

"Yes. Whatever you want." Lois slid her hands up his chest, then down, snagging one of his nipples with her fingernail.

He jerked away. "Hey, what are you—"

"I love you." Her arms went around his hips, and she pressed her face into his stomach. Her voice was muffled. "Oh, God, Douglas, love me. Love me."

He wanted to scream. It came out as a little laugh, and he took her arms and pushed her away. "Come on, Lois. I have to go. I have a meeting."

"You're afraid, aren't you? You're afraid to love again."

"I guess that's true. I'm not ready yet." Her hands were like snakes, crawling over him.

"I know you want me." She stood up and followed him as he backed away. "Why would you come here, to my house, to see me
alone,
if you didn't want me?"

"I need to go, Lois."

"Please, Douglas, stay with me tonight. Stay."

"I've got a meeting in half an hour, and if I'm not there—"

"Listen to me!"
Her face was red, and her lips trembled. "We're supposed to be together. You said so."

"I didn't—"

"You said it, and don't think you can change your mind and push me away! I won't let you. You think I won't do anything about it, but you're wrong. I could write to all your clients and tell them what a cheat and a liar you are. I could file a complaint with The Florida Bar. I would do all this for your
own good,
Douglas, but I'd rather not. Do you think I
want
to hurt you?"

He stared at her, rage choking off his ability to speak. He wanted to put his hands around her neck, feel his fingers digging in, pound her head against the floor.
Bitch. You crazy fucking bitch. I'm going to smash your face.

Her thin pink lips turned up in a smile. "I'll help you with Joan, but you have to stop hiding your true feelings. I know you love me. Say it."