Suspicion of Malice (55 page)

She stood beside a chair in which sprawled her son, Sean. As she talked to one of her friends, she
put a hand on Sean's shoulder and played with the collar of his shirt. Sean looked away, bored.

Gail continued to watch them as Diane said, "Re
member I told you that I feel Maggie's presence in the
cottage? It's more so ever since I brought the portrait
there. Do you know what I found out? Maggie didn't run away. They sent her away because she had a
breakdown. Aunt Claire told me. I want to know
things, but no one will tell me."

Looking around again, Gail saw Sean's father at the
bar, pouring another drink. He made his way through
the people in the salon, passing his wife and son
without so much as a glance at them.

"It's like they're hiding something. Why is Maggie
such a taboo subject?"

Gail was aware that she had not been paying atten
tion to Diane, but the questions had not been in
tended to elicit an answer. As Diane continued to complain about being left in the dark, Gail glanced
back at Dub Cresswell, whose laughter reached
across the salon. He had just told a joke.

The truth hit Gail with a chill that made her shiver. There was no connection between father and son. It was all between Sean and his mother. If he had given
Roger's wallet to anyone, it would have been to her.

At the first break in the conversation, Gail touched Diane's hand. "I should go find Anthony. Would you excuse me?"

"Sure." Diane smiled at her. "And good luck
with everything."

Standing up, Gail felt her stomach shift. She
breathed deeply, then steadied herself on one chair, the next, making her way across the salon. The door
opened, and two women blew in on a gust of wind.
Gail looked out the windows. The sky was a mass
of clouds. Jack Pascoe still sat in his chair, staring out at the storm.

Gail felt Anthony's arm go around her. "Are you
all right?"

"A little queasy. They say to keep your eye on the
horizon, but I can't see it."

"You should sit down."

"No. I'm okay. It's better when I stand up."

The boat was not rocking terribly, but she felt as though her insides were being poured from one bowl
into another and back again.

Gail heard Liz Cresswell say, "Claire? If you don't
mind, I'm going to check with Porter and find out what we're doing." She waved a hand. "Everyone
have a drink."

Liz went out the door toward the pilothouse, and
Gail saw Diane get up from the sofa and follow.

The room was too warm. The bulkhead creaked,
and from deep below, the engines made a constant
muffled noise.

Claire rang a spoon on a glass. "Everyone? I'm so
sorry about the weather, but Porter says he's trying
to get past the worst of it. When we stop, we won't stay long. Our pastor, Bill Hardwick, will conduct a short service." Claire nodded toward the man seated
in an armchair by the salon door. "I'm grateful to
you all for coming. It means so very much to Porter
and me. What I thought I'd do, if you don't mind,
is to ask if anyone has something to say about Roger,
maybe a funny story, or some way in which you remember him. If so, please share it with us."

Gail tried to breathe slowly through her nose.

Claire cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I can begin
by saying how much Roger would have liked to be
with us. Ever since he was a little boy, he loved the ocean.
..."

Gail felt the sweat on her neck. She whispered to Anthony, "I'll be back." He mouthed the words
Are
you sick?
and she nodded.

She quietly went out the door. Hardly daring to breathe, she hurried down the stairs, then steadied herself on the bulkheads as she ran along the companionway. She went through the nearest door, ran
into the bathroom, and leaned on the edge of the
sink. Nothing came up. She had not eaten more than a slice of toast and some juice six hours ago, and her stomach heaved uselessly. She leaned on both hands
and spat bile into the sink, then took a paper cup from the holder and ran a little water into it.

She was gradually aware of muffled voices. Women's voices. Gail drank the water and listened. For a
moment she was confused about where the women
were, then looked at the bulkhead of the bathroom,
where the wallpaper was a pattern of tropical fish.
The voices were coming from the next stateroom. She
recognized Diane's voice, but the other woman spoke
too softly to be heard.

The walls were thin, and Gail could hear Diane
crying.

Never told me . . . all my life was a lie!

There was only a murmur in reply, but Gail knew
who it must be. Diane's mother. As if confirming
this, Liz Cresswell's voice became clearer.
Maggie's
baby was born dead
. . .
a coincidence .
. .

Diane answering.
That's a lie . . . want to know the truth. I'm not your daughter!

The reply was only a laugh.

Diane spoke again. . . .
to ask Uncle Porter.
Gail
pressed her cheek to the wall.

You will do nothing of the sort.

I will .
. .
my uncle or my grandfather?

"Oh, my God,” Gail breathed.

Come back here!

There was only silence for several long seconds.
Liz's voice again, only a low murmur. Then noth
ing. Nothing.

Gail heard the click of a door opening. A few moments later, it closed. There were footsteps, fading
away.

She pushed away from the wall and caught sight of her own face in the mirror, pale and wide-eyed. She put her purse strap back over her shoulder and
crossed the stateroom. She opened the door and
looked into the corridor. It was empty. She walked
toward the stairs and was about to go up when she heard a metallic clatter from the galley, as if a pan
had been dropped.

The engines were below this deck, and their muffled roar made it impossible for Gail to be sure what
she had heard. Vibrations came through the floor.
She walked around the corner into the galley and
saw a small metal trash can on its side. She peered
into the corridor leading to the deck at the stern and saw light coming through the door. It was suddenly
cut off when the exit door closed.

There had only been a split-second's glimpse, but
the incongruity had been enough to imprint it on Gail's vision. A blond woman lying on the deck.
Then Gail remembered the denim skirt. Diane.

She ran for the door and pushed it open.

Diane was sliding away, and in another instant
Gail saw the cause. Frozen with disbelief, she
watched Liz Cresswell pull Diane by the wrists
across the rain-soaked deck. Diane's head lolled back,
and her hair flowed out behind her. A waist-high
wall surrounded the deck on three sides. Liz dropped
Diane to unlatch a small door at the stern. It swung
outward, and water frothed and sprayed. The rear of the boat rose over a wave, then dropped. Liz lurched against the side, then regained her balance. The green
dress was halfway up her thighs, and the wind
swirled her dark hair around her head. She bent to pick up Diane's wrists.

In an instant Gail knew what would happen.

"Stop! Leave her alone!"

Liz Cresswell spun around and saw Gail. Brown eyes widened to become points of darkness in her
face.

"Help!" Gail's screams tore at her throat, but she barely heard them above the growl of the engines.

She turned to run, but it was too late. A hand
clenched in her hair and snapped her head back. Gail
held onto the door frame. "Somebody help!"

"Shut up!" Liz crooked an elbow around Gail's
throat and lifted. Gail's feet were off the deck, thrash
ing. She dug into the arm around her neck.

The boat pitched at an angle. Diane rolled toward
the open gate, and the door swung free.

Twisting madly, Gail freed herself and fell to the floor, crawling under the table. Liz's fingers scraped her arm. Gail came out the other side, picked up one of the white chairs, and flung it off the back of the boat. Then another one. Someone had to see. "Please! Help!" She threw the third chair at Liz, who turned
and deflected the chair off her shoulder.

Like a limp doll, Diane lay across the opening. The stern lifted, then sank, and Diane rolled closer. Her
head and arms slipped through.

"Somebody help!"

Liz charged at Gail, and they fell to the floor, hit
ting each other. Gail yelled, "Bitch! I know what you
did, and I know why you did it!" On all fours, Liz grabbed Gail's arm and pulled her toward the open
gate.

Gail became aware of other shouts not her own. Voices came from above them.

The boat dipped, and Diane vanished.

"No!"

A split second later a man hurtled past holding
onto a life preserver. Gail saw a fishing hat fly off
his head.

Liz stared. Comprehension flooded her face, and
she howled in despair, a cry like a mortally wounded animal. They had found her. She would not escape. She pressed herself into the far corner of tire deck,
half sitting on the gunwale. Her eyes were wild.

Gasping for air, Gail staggered to her knees.

Footsteps came closer, and men rushed onto the deck. Liz pressed herself away from them. The engines quieted to a low growl, and the boat slowed,
moving ahead on its own momentum.

"Mom!" The yell came from above. Gail leaned
out. She could see Sean above her. "Mom!" His voice
was shrill, terrified.

Liz Cresswell looked up at him. Her mouth
moved.
I
love you.
She closed her eyes and pitched
backward.

"Mom!" Sean howled and beat his fists on the
boat, and someone held him back.

A voice shouted to lower the dinghy, get the din
ghy over.

Anthony pushed past two other men to reach Gail.
He dropped beside her and pulled her close. "Gail!
Ay, Dios mio.
Oh, Jesus, are you all right?"

"Where is Diane? What happened to her?"

"Jack Pascoe has her."

"Is she alive?"

Anthony was brushing Gail's hair off her face, touching her arms, running his hands across her ribs.
"Your knee is bleeding. Can you bend your leg?"

"Yes. Anthony, is Diane alive? Please let her be
alive."

"I don't know, sweetheart." He helped her stand.
"Come on. I'll take you upstairs."

"Where's my purse? I lost it."

"We'll find it later. Here, lean on my arm." He
shouted for people to move out of the way. The corridor was jammed, and Gail felt eyes staring at her. A chorus of voices asked what had happened. Was she all right? Did someone jump off the boat? Who was
in the water?

Gail buried her face in Anthony's neck. "I need to
lie down. Please." Her back had begun to ache, a
deep, twisting pain.

"Come to the salon. I'll help you up the stairs."

"No. Let me lie down."

Dub Cresswell's face appeared in view, red and
shiny with tears. He wanted to know why Diane had fallen into the water. Why had Lizzie jumped? Gail
opened her mouth. Nothing came out but a moan.
She closed her eyes.

Anthony murmured something in Spanish, then
said he needed to take Gail to one of the cabins. He asked someone to open a door, then he scooped Gail
up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. Gail heard voices diminish. A door opened.

"Thank you," Anthony said. The door closed. He
put Gail on the bed, and she lay on her side, curl
ing up.

"Anthony—"

"Gail! What's wrong?" He lifted her face. "Look
at me. What is it?"

The pain was low in her belly, taking her breath.

"What is it?"

"The baby
...
I'm losing the baby."

"Jesucristo.
No. No, this won't happen."