Suspicion of Madness (47 page)

"You told the police that Arnel Goode killed Sandra. Is that correct?"

"I feel very bad about Sandra."

"Do you? Why?"

"I caught her stealing, and I told Arnel about it. I have many, many pieces of very expensive jewelry. I couldn't stand thinking that Arnel could commit
murder,
but I've come around to the conclusion that he did."

"I understand."

"The problem with Arnel, and I am going to sound like
such
a bitch here, but... he wouldn't leave me alone. He was always hanging around. I need my rest. I have to study my lines. Is Tom Holtz coming by? He said he would take me out to dinner."

"May I ask a question about Joan Lindeman? Her body was found last week in the Lindeman family cemetery on Plantation Key. Does that surprise you?"

"No. Where else would she be?"

"Do you know how she got there?"

"In a van."

"I see. Did Arnel put her there?"

"I don't know. Should I buy some flowers? Sometimes my dressing room is so full of flowers I hardly have a place to sit down! May I have one of your cigarettes?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have any. I should be going."

A few moments later the nurses came in, two large men with gentle hands. They had seen Sharon Vogelhut signal them through the window. They untied the restraints that held Arnel Goode to the chair.

"She's writing an article about me."

"Hey, that's great, Miss Sinclair. I want to read it."

"I'll autograph it for you." Arnel Goode whispered, "This one is so sweet." As they took him out, he looked over his shoulder. "Do come back, won't you? Lunch at Spago. It's on me."

"Good-bye, Joan."

Gliding along the corridor in her chair, Sharon Vogelhut smiled.
Joan.

If she had closed her eyes she wouldn't have known a man was speaking. Arnel Goode had seamlessly re-created himself. His delusion was total.

Billy Fadden, in their most recent session, had told her something that Joan Sinclair had said to him years ago, when she was still herself:
People are going to try their damnedest to tear you down, kiddo, and you gotta tell them, This is who I am, and if you don't like it, tough.

Sharon had made a note of that. It had encouraged her.

Acknowledgments

Islamorada, in the Florida Keys, is a village of five islands situated along U.S. 1, the "overseas highway" from Miami to Key West. I've lived in South Florida most of my life but I was never properly introduced to Islamorada until Brooks and Susan Bateman showed me around. For a look at island living, I am indebted to Jeff and Katie Davis and to Joe and Nancy Hoyt. Many thanks to David Turner for the boat ride and to Grady Patrick for the fishing stories.

Jorge Amaya must take the credit for Anthony Quintana's Spanish, and once again attorney Milton Hirsch gave legal advice. Abigail L. Laurence, psychopharmacologist, wrote the prescriptions for Billy.

Laura Parker made Lindeman Key look real in the frontispiece map. I must admit that The Buttonwood Inn exists only in imagination, but there are many other lovely places to visit in the Florida Keys. Come and see for yourself.