Suspicion of Madness (33 page)

Anthony asked what they knew about Teddy Lindeman's activities as a drug smuggler.

Martin ate the last of his potato. "He wasn't a smuggler, per se. He let them use his house on Plantation Key as a transit point. Fast boats would take delivery from a ship ten or twenty miles out, bring the kilos of cocaine to the dock at Teddy's house, and dealers from Miami would pick it up. It was a surprise to me. He didn't seem the type—if there is such a thing. I knew him because he used to visit Joan fairly regularly."

"They were close."

"They were. It was Teddy, in fact, who suggested to Doug's father, Harry Lindeman, that Joan have a life estate in the property. Teddy wanted to make sure Joan had a place to live, and I suspect he wanted to continue enjoying the property himself. All that ended with his arrest."

Martin's heavy brows lifted as he focused on something across the room. Gail turned to see Lois Greenwald coming in their direction.

"Lois," said her brother, "are you sure you can't join us? There's more than enough."

"Thank you, but I've eaten." She came closer, acknowledging Gail's and Anthony's presence with a brief nod but making no indication that she saw her sister-in-law. Lois's sharp-boned face seemed to float above the gloom of her navy-blue sweatshirt. "Martin, I had a thought. Joan Sinclair shouldn't spend the weekend alone in this awful weather. I'd like to offer her the Co- quina room upstairs. Do you mind?"

"It's fine with me, but I'd be surprised if she accepted."

"I'm sure she would if
you
asked her. I put some night clothes and toiletries in the room."

"Thoughtful of you," Martin said.

Lois took a key card from her pants pocket. "If you'll just give this to her?"

Teri swung her hair over her shoulder. "Lois arranges everything
before
she asks Martin."

Without looking at her, Lois replied, "When you manage this resort, you can find a better way to do things."

How brazen, Gail thought, looking back at Teri.

Martin's jaw was tight. He said to his sister, "Thank you, Lois. We'll take care of Joan."

Lois smiled. "Ms. Connor, Mr. Quintana, it's been such a pleasure having you here at The Buttonwood Inn. Next time we'll arrange better weather."

In the face of such bald hypocrisy, Gail could think of nothing to say. Anthony allowed a slight nod and one of his noncommittal smiles.

"By the way," Martin said, "have you seen Arnel? He isn't answering his phone."

Lois came back a few steps. "I asked him to bring in your palm seedlings."

"At this hour?"

"Yes, Martin. If we get high winds and rain by morning, they could all be ruined. I know how hard you've worked on them."

"It's late. Tell him to finish in the morning."

Teri broke in. "You should have told us where he was! He was supposed to take the staff to the marina. You knew that, didn't you? I had to send Billy. The seas are terrible tonight! Did you hope he would drown?"

"Don't be hysterical. Of course not." Lois looked back at her brother. "As I was saying, Arnel is busy. I assume that's why he isn't answering his phone."

At this blunt dismissal, Teri's face flamed with anger. She twisted her napkin in her lap.

Martin noticed. "That's fine, Lois. You may go."

"Good night." Lois turned her back and left the room.

When she had gone out of sight, Martin wearily sighed. "Teri, never mind Lois. She's had a long day. As have we all."

It may have been the accumulated tension of worrying about her son, or her position with her husband, or simply too much champagne, that caused Teri suddenly to burst into tears. She put her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart." Martin turned in his chair and tried unsuccessfully to pull her hands down. "Teri, don't be this way. Stop crying. Lois didn't mean anything."

"Stop telling me that!" Teri slammed her hands on the table. "She hates me, are you blind? She hates Billy, too, and she poisons you against us. She wants him to die! I will go out of my mind if I have to continue putting up with this!"

Martin stared at her.

"You have to choose! Her or me. Choose! Now!"

"Teri, for God's sake."

Her face twisted. Tears dripped from her chin. "Please... let's go away. Away from her. She's waiting for you to have another heart attack so she can take everything. Can't you see that? Please, Martin. I have to take Billy away. I can't stay here. I love you, but I can't—I can't stand it anymore." She lurched from her chair, overturning her glass. "Shit!" She began to mop it up, then threw her napkin onto the table.

She smiled at Gail and Anthony, and her voice came out as a whisper. "I'm so sorry. Please finish your dinner. I have to go."

"Teri, come here." Martin held out a hand. "Don't leave like this."

She ran toward the hall.

"Teresa!" he thundered.

She turned. Husband and wife looked at each other across the dining room. Gail wanted to slide under the table out of sight, and Anthony had averted his eyes.

"Go fix your face and come back to dinner." Martin expected to be obeyed.

" Vete al carajo.
Go to hell. You and your precious sister! That bitch!"

Teri vanished, and the clatter of her high heels faded.

Martin Greenwald stared into the space his wife had just vacated, and after a few moments remembered he was not alone. "I'm sorry for that. I don't... I don't know what caused... why Teri—" He carefully folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate. "Would you excuse me?"

Anthony stood up. "Martin. You will forgive me, I hope, when I tell you that if you value anything in your life, it should be Teresa Flores."

"I do. She knows that. I've told her."

"Have the nerve to tell her about your heart. She won't leave you."

"My heart?" He seemed confused, distracted, years older. "I'll be right back. No. I might not, but stay. I have to see about my wife. Excuse me."

He pushed back his chair and went out.

After a moment, Anthony sat back down. He and Gail looked at each other.

Gail let out a breath. "Oh, my God. What should we do?"

"Finish our dinner."

"Anthony, how can you say that?"

"Because I'm still hungry."

"Do you think they'll be all right? I mean, considering."

He lifted the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and held it as though he couldn't decide what to do with it.

"Don't give me any more," Gail said. "I am so out of the mood."

Anthony was still frowning. Finally he said, "Yes, I think they will be all right."

"How?"

"They're in love. It's a momentary disagreement."

"Really."

"We've had them, if you remember."

"I remember very well." Gail pushed her glass toward him.

"His wife or his sister. What a choice. Lois has gone too far this time." Anthony smiled and filled Gail's glass, then his own. "We won't see Martin and Teri again tonight."

19

They had been arguing for so long that Tom suspected he had fallen into a loop, the same lines over and over and over. Joan had been drinking even before he got there, and he thought that might be the problem. She couldn't focus on what he was saying.

"Remember two years ago, when I asked you to marry me, and you said yes? What happened, honey? Were you afraid it wouldn't work? I'm not like those guys you married before. This is me talking. Tom Holtz. You've known me all your life."

"I don't
want
to get married." Her voice was petulant and sloppy. "I like being my own woman. I do what I damn well please."

"Okay, if you don't want to get married, we won't, but you can't live by yourself anymore. I want to take care of you," Tom said.

Joan lifted her glass, frowning when she saw it was empty. How she could see anything in this cave was beyond him. He liked candles, but this was too much. He had tried to turn on a lamp, but there was no power to the house, or she had unscrewed the fuses.

She concentrated on putting her martini glass on the coffee table. With a sudden cry she dropped her face into her hands. "Oh, Tom. What am I to do? Tell me."

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Let's quit yakking and go have dinner. You'll feel better. Everyone's waiting for us."

She had come to the door in high heels and a gold dress with shoulder pads. A little out of date, but she looked very pretty. He'd made the mistake of coming in for a drink and talking about marriage.

Tom stood and shook a cramp out of his leg. "Come on, Joanie."

Joan raised her head and stared at him from under the bangs of her Marilyn Monroe wig. "Why do I have to
leave?
You keep saying you want to take me away."

"We're just going to dinner at The Buttonwood Inn, that's all. We're not leaving Lindeman Key. I'm not going to take you away, I promise. I made a mistake before, wanting you to come live with me, but not this time. No, this is your home, and we'll get it all cleaned up and repaired. How about a nice new kitchen. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Why do people keep barging in and telling me what to
do?
Billy's father was just here. He came right in and told me my roof was leaking. Arnel can fix my roof. I don't
want
people running all over my house."

Tom had to walk to let off some steam. He was getting frustrated. "Are you afraid somebody's going to break in and rob you? Is that what you're afraid of? What've you got that's worth taking? Bags of hundred-dollar bills? Diamond tiaras? Mink coats?"

Her eyes followed him as he paced around her living room.

"Look at this junk." From a shelf he grabbed the first thing at hand, a pair of blue birds sitting on a porcelain branch. One of the birds' wings was cracked off and reglued. He turned it over and squinted through his glasses. "Taiwan. My God, Joanie. This must be worth a couple thousand bucks."

"Why are you asking me about my money?"

"I'm not
asking
about your money. I don't
care
about your money. I want to help you. Don't you understand that?"

"That's what they all say. 'I love you, baby. Where's your goddamn checkbook?'" Joan reached for her cigarettes and snorted a laugh. "'I'm in trouble with my bookie, Joan, you gotta help me out.' Sure. 'Let's buy that new Caddy convertible, we can afford it.' 'Just one more time, then I'll quit, I swear.'"

"Can't you shut up for a minute and listen?" Tom wanted to shake her. "If you push me away, who've you got? Douglas? He wants you out of here so he can sell the property to Lois Greenwald, or whatever the hell he's doing. Joan Lindeman, I want you to stop this foolishness and come with me. Now. We're going to dinner. If you can't do that simple thing, I'm in a mood to say to hell with it, you deserve what you get."

Her cheeks went hollow as she sucked in smoke. She exhaled on a smile. "Are you threatening me?"

"Holy God, Joanie, look at yourself. Look with your own eyes. Come here." He dragged her out of the chair by an elbow. Over the bar with its collection of dusty liquor bottles, a cracked, gold-framed mirror tilted from the wall. He positioned her in front of it. A dozen or more candles of various sizes and colors wept puddles of wax into mismatched china saucers. "Take a good look. Who is this woman? Who? You're not a Hollywood movie star, you're Joan Lindeman."

She gazed triumphantly into her own dark eyes. "I know damned well who I am! I'm Joan Sinclair!"

It was too much. In an explosion of anger Tom reached out and grabbed a fistful of wig. "Can't you stop acting for once in your life? You're a sixty-two-year-old woman with gray hair!"

Denuded to her stocking cap, Joan became all eyes and mouth for a second before her face crumpled. Howling, she bent over and hid herself behind her arms. "No! No!"

Tom looked down at the wig in his hands, ashamed of his anger. "Oh, Jesus, baby, I'm sorry."

She grabbed the wig and pulled it back on. Blond curls hung sideways. "You son of a bitch, get out of my house. I never want to see you again!"

"Oh, Joanie."

"Get out!"

Tom said, "I'll make sure you're taken care of. Do you hear me? You'll go to a place where you can get some help. I'm still your friend."

Joan slid to the floor with her hands over her face. "I feel nothing for you. You've killed every last shred of love or pity, and all that's left is hatred. I hate you! I hate you!" Her voice caught in a sob, and she looked up at him. Her cheeks were splotched with mascara. "Oh, Tom... don't leave me!"

Carlotta Sands,
The Edge of Midnight.

It was hopeless.

"Good night, Joanie." Bracing his back, he picked up her smoldering cigarette from the floor and walked over to stub it out in the ashtray.

She sobbed and slumped against the bar. Bottles and glasses rattled. "Tom."