Winter in June (26 page)

Blake stared at Jayne while drumming his fingers on the blotter. I expected him to lower the ax then and announce what repercussions we'd brought on ourselves. Instead, he stopped his drumming and let his smile cross the rest of his face. “I certainly am not about to discount a reasonable theory, if there's evidence to back it up.”

Was he saying what I think he was saying? Was it possible Blake was willing to accept that he was wrong and hear us out?

“Whose idea was it for you and Miss Winter to tap dance?”

Talk about your awkward segues. Jayne looked toward me, ob
viously confused as to what to make of Blake's sudden change of subject. “Mine, I guess,” she said.

“So Miss DeVane didn't put you up to it?”

What did this have to do with anything? “No,” said Jayne.

I decided I'd been silent long enough. “Gilda was pretty hands-off as far as the show went. She asked us each to decide what we wanted to do onstage. Since we already had a singer and a comedienne, Jayne suggested that we dance.”

“But why tap dance?”

I shrugged. “Why not? Jayne's a pretty good tapper. I was loads better at it than any other kind of dancing we might've taken on. And we figured the boys would get a kick out of it.”

“Hmmm…” He scribbled something on a piece of paper sitting on his desk. “I understand there was another incident with the Japanese during your show on Guadalcanal. Was the show the same as the one you performed the night Miss DeVane was killed?”

Where was he going with this? “No. I didn't perform the night of the shooting, remember? Jayne danced by herself.”

“And presumably the sound of one person tapping is very different from two.” Since it wasn't a question, I didn't respond. “I understand you have some code-writing experience, Miss Winter.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. “Did your girlfriend tell you that?”

“Who told me isn't important. Is it true?”

I shrugged. “It was just a silly little code I made to write a letter.”

“To circumvent the censor?”

“Sort of.” The pieces were falling into place, and I didn't like the picture they made. “Sir, what is this all about?”

“I think you know exactly what it's about, Miss Winter. You and Miss Hamilton designed a tap routine that would transmit a code to enemy soldiers.”

“We what?!” Jayne and I gasped in unison.

“There's no denying it. A number of us in attendance the night Miss DeVane was shot noted that Miss Hamilton was tapping out a message in Morse code. We thought it harmless at first, but with
Miss DeVane's death, the change in your routine for that particular performance, and the knowledge that you've used this system to successfully bring Japanese to your performance site twice, plus the rather odd politics you've shared with us at dinner, I think we have sufficient reason to question what you're up to.”

“We're not up to anything. The dance we did—that Jayne did—it's a dance every tap dancer does. If it spells out a code, that's the first I'm hearing of it. And besides, if we were working with the Japanese, wouldn't it be stupid for us to lure them to the performance site, making it possible for you to capture them?” He didn't answer me. He didn't look at me.

“Are you going to arrest us as spies?” asked Jayne.

He smiled that magnificent sharklike grin of his and detached his index fingers from his chin. “Not yet. As I said, this is just a theory, much like the one you and Miss Winter have been cooking up. Of course, ours has a little more merit, don't you think? And more witnesses and evidence to substantiate it. If you continue to pursue your outlandish ideas, perhaps I'll choose to do the same.”

“Are you blackmailing us?” I asked.

“No, I'm merely encouraging you to trust the armed forces. We're here to protect you from your worst enemy, even if it happens to be yourself.”

It was raining when we left his tent, though we were both so angry by that point that I half-expected the water to turn to steam the minute it made contact with our bodies.

“Can't we tell somebody?” asked Jayne.

“Who? He's top dog here. Whatever he says goes.”

“Maybe we could write Harriet and ask her to get us out of here.”

“No, not yet.” I wasn't ready to throw in the towel. Irene may have been willing to quit when things got too difficult, but I wasn't going to. “Who could've squealed?”

“Anyone who was afraid of getting caught,” said Jayne. “Who knows?”

As we passed the rec hall, a voice called out our names. It was Spanky.

“Just the girls I wanted to see.”

I wasn't so sure I wanted to see him. After all, he'd held a knife to my throat the night before. I probably should've turned tail, but the possibility of an apology was too tempting to ignore.

We followed him inside, where Sheep, Red, and a host of other men were responding to the rapidly changing weather by playing Ping-Pong and poker. Spanky led us to a group of chairs clustered around a radio. Mac gave us a weak wag from a pillow on the floor that he'd claimed for his convalescence.

“What's the crop?” I asked.

Spanky's eyes were threaded with red. Even though the lighting was dim in the rec hut, he squinted against it like it was hurting him. “I wanted to apologize for last night. The fellows told me how I acted. I know words won't make up for it, but I really am sorry.”

While it was nice to hear, it didn't do a very good job erasing what he'd done. “So you don't remember what happened?”

“Thanks to the plonk, not much of it.” He tapped his noodle with a finger. “Though I've got a powerful headache as a souvenir.”

“I guess that's a fitting punishment.”

“It's not the only one. I got called in to see Blake.”

So we weren't alone in that. Not that it helped lessen the sting. “Join the crowd.”

“Who's the leaky lip?”

I lifted my hands. “Don't look at us. He just threatened to pin Gilda's death on Jayne and me if we don't keep our yaps shut.”

“Consider yourself lucky that that's all he did. Our crew ships out for New Georgia in a few days.”

“Really?” asked Jayne.

“Do you think I'd kid about that?” Excitement twinkled in Spanky's eyes. And something else.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Don't be. It was my dumb idea to go to the POW camp to begin with. Aw, hell I knew this cook's tour was going to end eventually. And I'm glad it is—a guy can only take so many days lying around the beach. But Blake's decided to delay giving us the exam to in
crease our rates, and Violet's not going to be happy when she finds out I'm not getting a new pay grade.”

“I didn't realize you two were so serious,” said Jayne.

“Are you kidding?” He let out a low whistle, which brought Mac to his feet. “I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me.”

I decided I didn't want to touch that with a ten-foot pole. “What about Mac?” I asked.

“He's not the marrying kind.”

“No, I mean, is he heading out with you?”

“Not in the shape's he's in.” Mac settled back on his pillow, unaware that his fate was being decided.

“Would the guards have talked?” I asked.

“No way.”

“Then it was one of your friends.”

He stabbed the air in front of him. “Or one of yours.”

Or it wasn't either one of them. Who's to say that whoever was watching us hadn't been the one to let the cat out of the bag?

“Anyway,” he said. “I wanted to apologize and warn you about Blake, though obviously I'm too late. You might want to give Candy and Kay the heads up. There's nothing worse than being dragged in there without knowing why.”

“Roger, wilco,” I said.

 

The next morning, Kay, Violet, Jayne, and I headed out before breakfast for our day of shows. It was good to be away from camp again, although performing without Gilda made her absence that much more profound. We did the best we could, but I was acutely aware during each show that we'd never get applause as loud or laughter as overwhelming as we had when Gilda was there. The men didn't have it in their hearts to reward us when one of our ranks was missing. Violet wasn't helping things. She turned each show into a mini-memorial, opening with a heartfelt speech describing Gilda's last performance and the joy she brought to the stage every time she stepped on it. I think she hoped that by doing
so we could address the elephant in the room and move on, but rather than helping the performance, it seemed to hinder it. It was impossible to lift the solemn mood from the crowd once it had descended upon them.

That didn't stop Violet from complaining about it. As her jokes fell as flat as the hair atop newly inducted marines' heads, her body stiffened, her voice became a bark, and her jokes grew increasingly antagonistic. She wanted the men to react, damn it, and if she had to, she would arouse their ire by invoking stereotypes about the various divisions of the armed forces. The men weren't game for it, though, and instead of stating their objections at being called wimps because they lived out their days in tanks or lazy because the army air forces insignia rode their shoulder, they watched her, stone-faced or, even more humiliating, offered her a titter out of pity.

It got worse as the day went on, so much so that I feared the men would start pelting rotten tomatoes at Violet if we didn't intervene.

“She's ossified,” Jayne whispered to me offstage. It was our last show of the night, and the only thing the rest of us had eaten all day was fruit and cheese.

“How can she be drunk?”

“I don't know, but she is. She almost knocked me over with her breath.”

We finished the show without any major catastrophe. As soon as it was done, I took Violet aside. “Where'd you get the hooch?”

She hiccuped before answering me, which no doubt made it clear, even in her inebriated state, that lying was pointless. She pulled a flask out from under her skirt and offered it to me. I declined, though it killed me to do so. Drinking sounded like a delicious alternative to having this conversation. “I have my sources.”

“Well, your sources better dry up before tomorrow.” I realized how harsh I sounded and tried to soften my tone. “I heard about Spanky.”

She shook her head ever so slightly. “I knew he wouldn't be here forever, but I didn't expect him to get orders so soon.” She took a swig from the flask and returned it to her skirt.

“I know this is hard, but for now we just have to push through this. Sober.”

She hiccuped again, and I caught wind of the smell Jayne had described. I prayed there wasn't an open flame nearby. “When is it going to get better?” she asked.

I put my arm around her and tried not to inhale. “He'll be fine. This isn't his first battle.”

She brushed away a tear. “No, I mean the audience. When are they going to forget her?”

It was hard to read her tone through the layer of drunk. “Her death's pretty fresh in everyone's mind. I doubt anyone's going to forget her anytime soon.”

“She would just love this,” she said. “Even dead, she's the center of attention.”

“I doubt she would revel in that.”

A half-laugh, half-sob escaped from her. “I wonder if word has hit the States yet. I'm sure there will be all sorts of tributes, worse than what they did for Carole Lombard.” She spit the words out, sending a spray of alcohol along with them.

You never know how death's going to hit you. I'd seen it again and again, where grief turned to rage not at the person who'd caused the death but at the person who'd died. I'd felt it myself the night I learned about Jack. Death seemed so selfish and inconsiderate and inconvenient. It was natural to want to strike out at the person who hurt you the most by not being there. Didn't they realize what a mess their absence made of things?

“I thought this would be easier,” she said.

“Give it time,” I said again. “It will be.”

She began to cry for real, so I held her until her tears passed.

 

We were supposed to board a plane to go back to camp at 2100 hours, but we were informed by the man who'd been our escort that day that no one was going anywhere until morning.

“Sorry, ladies,” he told us, “there's way too much fog in the slot. Looks like you're RON.”

“R-O-what?” asked Violet.

“Remaining over night. Nobody's getting out of here until oh-eight-hundred at the earliest.” I scanned the sky for this fog he was talking about, but it was too dark to see it. How was it that men were willing to fly through a hail of bombs, but a little bad weather could thwart them?

“Where are we supposed to sleep?” asked Violet.

“Oh, don't worry; we've got guest quarters for the four of you. Real nice ones too. And dinner. If you follow me, I'll take you to them right now.” He walked toward a Jeep waiting in the shadows. We started to follow him when he held up his hand and directed Jayne and me to stay where we were.

“What's the matter?” I asked. “Isn't there room for all of us?”

“Not in this Jeep, ma'am. I'll be back for you two in a jiffy.”

Kay flashed us a look of apology as Violet and she were whisked into the night. I was tired. And hungry. The idea of waiting God knows how long for him to return wasn't improving my mood.

“That was rude,” said Jayne.

“No kidding. He could've fit all four of us easy.”

In the distance, a motor purred its greeting. Headlights momentarily blinded us as another Jeep approached.

“Looking for a ride, ladies?” asked the driver.

“Billy!” squealed Jayne. He wasn't alone. Peaches was sitting in the passenger seat, grinning my way.

“What's this all about?” I asked.

“We're kidnapping you,” said Peaches. “We've got grub, booze, and a great spot with an ocean view. Hop in.”

Fifteen minutes later we were on a scratchy green blanket, eating a meal fit for a four-star general. The boys did their best to make us martinis out of what booze they had, and we downed them in tin navy-issue cups that somehow made them taste all the better.

As we ate, the moon rose above the water and the sky became a sheet of black velvet studded with diamonds. The booze rapidly landed a one-two punch, and I found myself wanting to see the water up close. I left our picnic and stumbled across the sand to
where the waves had pounded the beach until it looked like a cake fresh out of the oven.

“It was all a ruse,” said Peaches.

I hadn't heard him follow me to the shore. “What was?”

“The fog.” He pretended to twirl an invisible mustache. “Nefarious, yes?”

“You're the one who grounded us?”

He tilted his head toward where Jayne and Billy sat entwined on the blanket. “I did it as a favor.”

“You seem to do a lot of those for him.”

“What can I say? I'm a sucker for a guy in love. Besides, we're heading out in a week.”

I was surprised. I had just assumed that Peaches and Billy were both landlocked permanently. “Do you know where you're going?”

“Probably New Georgia, if the fun's not all over by then. My men are getting rock happy.”

“That seems to be going around. Does Jayne know?”

“I imagine he's telling her. I told him to, anyway.” We watched the water in silence, letting the sound of the waves do our talking for us. “I hope you're not mad.”

“Why would I be?”

“You're stranded here overnight. That can't be convenient.”

“Believe me: being anywhere but Tulagi is fine by me.” I caught him up to speed on what had happened since Gilda's death and how Rear Admiral Blake had tightened the screws.

“So what are you planning on doing?”

“I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll wait until I get home and then start making noise.”

“Of course, if you do that, it will be even easier for Blake to claim you're lying. Time and distance aren't very helpful in circumstances like these.”

Boy, did he have that right. “I don't want to get us in a bigger jam than we're already in,” I said. “It would be just like me to get us locked up for a murder we didn't commit.”

“He's bluffing,” said Peaches. “If that theory of his were any more
ridiculous, it would wear clown shoes and a big red nose. Nobody could believe you two are spies. And they certainly wouldn't buy that you were contacting the enemy while tap dancing.”

“Obviously you haven't met Rear Admiral Blake. Trust me when I say he has a way of convincing people of the impossible. After all, he managed to make a whole island full of people believe a teenaged Japanese sniper cut down Gilda.” There was a chill in the air. I looped my arm around Peaches, hoping for warmth. “I keep thinking this all has something to do with Irene.”

“Who?”

“This Wac captain who was killed at the port of San Francisco right before we came here. Her unit's in Tulagi, and it just seems like too much of a coincidence that both Gilda and she would be murdered.” Peaches smelled good. It wasn't just soap and detergent but a faint aroma of cologne. The men in the islands weren't known for their shower-fresh scent. He had taken some time getting himself ready for tonight.

“So what's the link between the two of them?”

“I don't know. Supplies are missing from Tulagi, and I know Irene was looking into it. Whatever she learned, Gilda might've learned too.” Maybe Gilda had the courage to do what Irene had avoided. Rather than letting Late Nate get away with what he was doing, perhaps she'd intended to turn him in for it.

“But would Gilda have cared? There's a big difference between a Wac's sense of obligation and a movie star on tour. What else do they have in common?”