1 Margarita Nights (5 page)

“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Clay.

“True. He thinks the CIA can control his thoughts through the telephone. Plus he thinks his telephone is bugged.” I tried to laugh. “All things considered, if I were him, I wouldn’t answer it either.”

Depression reached out and grabbed me. All our bright promise had fallen into madness, death and failure. I opened the door. “I have to go.”

Clay leaned over and called, “But keep in touch,” as the door slammed shut.

Cypress Island is a barrier island situated halfway between Tampa and Naples. There’s a metal lift-bridge over the inland waters at the north end of Cypress Island and another lift-bridge at the south end connecting the island to the mainland. In-between the two bridges there are about eight miles of paradise and Florida’s best-kept secret. Most visitors to the west coast of Florida stop at Sarasota or hurry on down the interstate to Fort Myers without ever knowing our island exists—a bonus for those of us who don’t want it to become another Dade County.

I drove through the town of Jacaranda, past houses sheltering under live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, past old Floridastyle houses with wide verandas running across the front and metal roofs shining in the sun. There’s a whole parcel of white clapboard churches, and everywhere you look scarlet bougainvillea and orange trumpet vine climb on fences and sheds. The tourists love it.

When I was a kid it was still mostly a fishing village, but in the last ten years it has become gentrified, sending prices skyrocketing and pushing all the fishermen off the island.

At Banyan, I turned left onto Beach Road and headed for Indian Mound Beach, which is two miles past the south bridge and the most exclusive part of Cypress Island. The road twisted and turned around trees and bends in the shoreline. Overhead, the trees met, forming a living canopy. At middle beach, where the land narrows and the inland waters and the Gulf of Mexico nearly meet, the beach was full of colorful umbrellas, pink and blue and yellow, their borders dancing in the breeze while their owners walked along the edge of the water, heads down concentrating on finding shark teeth. This beach is famous for its teeth, ancient reminders of sharks long dead, and it draws people from all over the country.

Most of the owners on this part of the island are either from up north or they’re the most successful doctors, lawyers and Indian Chiefs in the whole county. The houses, set in lush tropical jungles overlooking the Gulf of Mexico on the west side or bordering the inland waterway down the east side, are all worth millions of dollars. It has always been my belief that nothing bad or chaotic could possibly happen out here. It just wouldn’t be allowed.

I pulled into the drive of number three Spyglass Court. Fill had been brought in to raise the house up on its own little knoll, where it rose above the palms like a fortress. Built of concrete and glass with a flat roof, the house’s circular stainless steel balconies jutted out on either side of the second floor and glinted in the bright morning sun.

I looked around carefully before getting out of my Green Puke. Even though the lots were large and thick plantings separated this house from the Travis house next door, I still felt uneasy. Everyone knows that being an evil witch gives you superpowers. Bernice Travis just might have some sixth sense when it came to me, might fly over the dense lady palms to cast a spell on me and turn me into a toad. I power-walked to the front door and rang the bell, still scanning the greenery for the evil one.

A voice with a Spanish lilt answered my ring and asked me to wait one minute and she would see if Mrs. Crown was at home. From the silver Jaguar sitting in the drive it seemed pretty likely. The question was would she be at home to me.

The front of the house was all glass, even the door, opening the house to the most casual of visitors. Inside everything you could see was all chrome and glass with hard edges with no place to curl up. It was a house that had always made me uncomfortable. Past the great room another glass wall at the back of the house showed the borderless pool. With water spilling over the far edge, it looked like an extension of the gulf beyond the house. Standing there, it seemed as if you could swim from the great room to the pale blue line where the water met the sky.

I watched Betsy Crown float down the curved steel stairs towards me wearing a short white tennis skirt and a white polo shirt, looking totally elegant and composed. Like her house, she was sleek and cool with nothing to hide. She glided across the pale granite floor with a tight little smile, a woman determined to be pleasant no matter what, and opened the door with a flourish. “Sherri, how nice.”

She was old enough to be my mother but I had to look real hard for the proof. Only two little vertical worry lines showed between her eyebrows and judging, from the taut skin stretched across her face, she’d paid a visit or two to Dr. Travis.

“I came to see you about Andy,” I told her.

“Let’s go out by the pool.” She led the way without speaking.

The caged pool was set in a two-storey, sixty-foot-long screened room facing the beach. At the deep end of the pool, a pair of stone dolphins arched into a dive through a spray of water.

Betsy Crown sank down into a black wrought-iron chair, crossing her slender brown legs at the ankle and gestured to a matching chair across the glass table from her. The satin air coming across the gulf from Texas was warm for that time of year and scented by the pungent smell of the gardenias spilling out of a crystal vase on the table.

I perched tentatively on the edge of the cushioned chair and said, “I’m trying to find Andy. I’m not sure he knows about Jimmy and I don’t want him to see it on the news or hear it from someone else.”

“He isn’t here.” She looked out to the gulf, where a sailboat skimmed across the water. It was worth watching. You’d swear the boat could sail right up to the edge of the tiled pool and join us. Betsy Crown seemed mesmerized by it.

“Have you told Andy about the
Suncoaster
?” I prompted, wanting her to relieve my fears.

“No.” She watched the sailboat. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Has he called?”

She gave a little shake of her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. “No.”

“Then he probably doesn’t know.”

There was no response from Mrs. Crown for several moments. We just sat there like two idiots watching that stupid boat while I tried to think of a nice way to get what I needed out of her. At last she turned to me and said, “Jimmy was here looking for Andrew.” That was jolt. “When?” “Sunday afternoon.”

“Did he say why he was looking for Andy?”

“No.” She looked at me now, a hesitant smile teasing the corners of her lips. “Jimmy was in a very good mood. He danced me around the foyer. He was always so much fun.” She smiled a real smile now. “You know Jimmy.”

I did indeed know Jimmy. “Is Andy still on Hess Street?” Was there a polite way to ask if he was under lock and key in some hospital? I blamed Evan for this new concern with propriety.

She began to neatly press the pleats into her tennis skirt with the flat of her hand. “I don’t know where he is exactly. He cashed the check I sent last month. I sent it to him at that address.” She looked up at me, eyes bright and eager, wanting to help. “I could call the bank and see if he cashed the one for this month.”

“I don’t know if it would help in finding him. Does he have a car?”

“I’m not sure. I understand you and Jimmy hid his car the last time he went off his medication.”

Now that had been a real fun time . . . Andy flying around the island, accusing people of all sorts of things: out of control and scary. “He really wasn’t safe to be driving. The paranoia was too strong,” I don’t know why I was trying to justify our actions to Mrs. Crown. She knew the situation better than I did.

“I appreciate what you did. Did you give the car back to him?”

“I don’t know what Jimmy did.” We’d basically stolen the car and Jimmy had taken it out to the golf course where he worked and parked it. We’d barely spoken when I’d driven him back over to the island to pick up his truck. “Jimmy and I haven’t been on chatting terms lately.”

“Jimmy always looked out for Andy.” She went back to ironing her pleats. “They met in the eighth grade when we moved here.” Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Did you know that?”

I nodded. “That’s why I’m worried about how Andy hears. Perhaps it would be better if you called and told him.”

“No!” Emphatic and final. She straightened in her chair, feet and knees together, hands cupped on her lap. “You can’t know how hard it is to watch your only son live with this disease, never mind the embarrassment and humiliation we’ve suffered, having him rant and talk crazy in front of our friends, seeing him carted off by the police, seeing him on the street like . . . like some vagrant.” She spat out the last word and clapped her palm over her mouth to staunch the flow. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Her hand settled back on her lap. “It isn’t nice.”

“I’m sorry.”

“None of this needs to happen if he’d just stay on the Clozapine.”

“Andy hates feeling sedated all the time.” Plus, knowing Andy, he just flat out forgot to take them. I loved the guy but even on his best day he wasn’t organized enough to have any kind of routine. Even brushing his teeth was probably hit and miss.

“Nevertheless, Vernon and I have decided that we will have no further contact with Andrew until he gets himself straightened out and stays on the drugs. We can’t help him and it just distresses us to see him that way.”

She brushed a non-existent stray strand of hair back from her face. “Of course we will continue to support him financially.” Her voice was refined silk, her composure flawless as she made this pronouncement. On the ladder of social climbing, she was right near the top, all that one of Jacaranda’s leading matrons and the wife of a successful stockbroker should be, but at that moment she made my mother, Ruth Ann, look like a queen. Whatever she might be, Ruth Ann would never abandon me.

I picked up my bag. “If Andy calls, please have him get in touch with me.”

“He won’t.” The words and the voice left no room to argue. She rose gracefully from the chair and led the way back through the modern art gallery house.

Betsy had known Jimmy most of his life but hadn’t expressed any feelings about his death. I guess she didn’t feel anything and from the way she was dressed, her day would go pretty much as usual. Hadn’t I reacted the same way? But then, I didn’t think Jimmy was dead, whereas she had no reason to doubt it. Also, Betsy Crown’s eyes were a dead giveaway. With that much stuff in her it would be hard to feel anything but numb.

I live in the mile and a half of Cypress Island that is north of the upper bridge, the least desirable part of the island. It’s mostly small businesses, boat storage, marinas and the like. The Jacaranda Airfield, water purification plant and sewage plant are all up at the north end too. Makes you think, doesn’t it, when the sewage plant and water storage facilities are within a John Daly drive of each other?

To compensate for this, the north end also has the world’s greatest fishing pier, and fishermen line both sides of it at all times of the day and night. Sticking out into the gulf like a great big concrete finger, the pier is lit at night to keep boats from piling into it. It makes a great place to take a walk when I’m too hyper to sleep after work. There’s always someone there to pass the time with.

The municipal golf club is also up there, conveniently close to the sewage plant, and the outflow from the sewage plant is used to water the golf course. They call it gray water, as though changing the color alters what it is, and the golf course is covered with signs warning golfers not to kiss their balls. After you’re done laughing at that mental image, the fear of what bacteria might be out there, just lying around and waiting to infect you, can scare the hell out of you. I just keep repeating to myself, “I trust my elected officials. Of course it’s safe. I trust my elected officials.” Whoever heard of elected officials who didn’t have the people’s best interests in mind?