Death in a Beach Chair (15 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

“You should lie back down,” Susan said, trying to guide Kathleen toward the bed. “Please, Kath. You can’t help Jerry unless you take care of yourself.”

Kathleen sat on the bed. “I don’t seem to be capable of helping Jerry period.”

“I’m going to call Frances Adams. Maybe she can help us.”

“Who?”

“Frances Adams. The American embassy representative on the island.”

“Oh, yes. I met her. That might be a good idea,” Kathleen said quietly.

“Are you all right? Are you feeling nauseous? Faint?”

“I’m just terribly tired. You know, I think I will lie down for a while. Maybe take a nap.”

“I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

“You should. I’m okay, Susan. Just unhappy and tired. You go do what you have to do. Maybe you can help Jerry. I sure don’t seem to be able to.”

“I’ll call Ms. Adams.”

“And I’ll take a nap.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ll be fine. One thing about these louvered windows—someone will hear if I call out.”

“I guess so. You know one thing that bothers me about this place?”

“What?”

“The lack of phones. I hate the fact that Lila or someone in the office overhears all our conversations.”

“We should have brought international cell phones. You can rent them. Jerry actually suggested it, but I didn’t want him checking in with work and vetoed the idea. What an idiot I was.”

“You had no idea all this was going to happen.”

“You can say that again.” Kathleen closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to wake you up for dinner?”

“When are you going to eat?”

“Around seven?”

“I’ll meet you in the restaurant. Save me a seat.”

“Sure. See you then.”

“Uh-huh.”

Susan smiled. Kathleen was already drifting off to sleep, so she quietly shut the door and started toward the office, stopping to stick her head in the gift shop. James was lounging against the wall, smiling seductively at the attractive young woman who was sitting behind the cash register pretending to work. Susan thanked him for his help in organizing and moving Kathleen, then explained that her friend was resting. “She promised me she would yell out if she needed something. Since you’re close by, I wonder if you would just keep an ear out—just in case.”

“Of course. Lila expects us to do all we can to help the guests. I’m here until six tonight. If she calls, I’ll run.”

“Thank you so much,” Susan said, thinking that she was going to have a lot to remember when it came time to pass out tips.

Lila was in her office with the door closed. A woman Susan didn’t recognize was manning the desk. “I need to make a phone call,” Susan said.

“Of course, Mrs. Henshaw. Do you need a phone book?”

“I want to speak to Frances Adams. She works for the United States embassy office.”

“I can get that number for you. We have it right here in this little book.” She flipped through the pages of a small, worn notebook and found the number immediately. “I can dial for you. Phones on this island are not what you’re used to in the United States.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” Susan didn’t say any more as the door to Lila’s office opened and she came out, followed by the two officers who had been so horrible to Kathleen. In an example of dreadful timing, their appearance coincided with the call going through.

“Ms. Adams,” the young woman announced in a tone no one could ignore and handed Susan the receiver.

“Thank you.” There was nothing she could do but take the call. “Hello, Ms. Adams. This is Susan Henshaw. . . . Of course, Frances. I—” She paused and looked at her audience. “I’d like to speak to you about something. . . . Wherever it would be convenient. . . . Let me write down the address.” The woman who had dialed the embassy for Susan pushed a pencil and paper toward her. “Thank you.” Susan wrote quickly. “I’ll be there in less than half an hour. Bye.” She handed the receiver back. “I must go get my purse and talk to Jed. Could you call me a cab and tell them this is where I need to go? Thanks.”

Susan turned and walked away without even acknowledging the police officers’ presence. Back at her cottage she found Jed napping after his large lunch. Susan woke him enough to tell him what she was doing and then wrote a note in case he woke up later and couldn’t remember a thing she had said. Finally she grabbed her purse and took off.

Susan’s cab once again splattered coral chips into the sky as it took off toward town. As they approached the more populated area of the island, her driver made a sharp turn and entered what looked to be jungle. The trees narrowly parted for the dirt road, and the buildings disappeared.

Susan leaned forward so the driver could hear what she said over the noise of his engine. “This isn’t the right way!” she yelled. “I’m going to see Frances Adams. She works at the United States embassy offices.”

“Yes. Ms. Adams. That’s where I take you,” he yelled back, swerving to avoid a scrawny black chicken busily pecking at something in the middle of their path.

“This isn’t the way to the embassy, is it? We don’t seem to be going downtown,” Susan called back when she could sit up again.

“Not embassy. Not downtown. Ms. Adams. You wait. You’ll see.”

For the first time the possibility of kidnapping occurred to Susan. Who had told this driver where to take her? She was alone in a foreign country. No one knew where she was. She could vanish, and no one would ever be the wiser. Jed would look for her. Kathleen would look for her. She wouldn’t have succeeded in helping Jerry, and he might rot in a foreign prison. She was busily creating a plot for a B movie, when, pulling the steering wheel sharply to the right, the taxi driver flew between two large stone columns and entered paradise.

It was, quite simply, the most beautiful place Susan had ever seen. Deep green lawns were bracketed by wide beds where tropical flowers rioted. The white pebble drive led up to a pale peach stucco house fronted by a wide mahogany veranda. White stone steps led down to the ground, and Susan could imagine Cole Porter, wearing a white tuxedo jacket, martini in hand, descending to greet his guests.

Instead Frances Adams, in well-worn jeans, a white linen camp shirt, and pink plastic flip-flops on her feet, appeared at the top of the stairs, waved, and called out a greeting.

The cabdriver slowly approached the house, got out, and opened the door for his passenger. Susan fumbled around in her purse.

“I pick you up. You pay me then.”

“That’s fine, but how will I call you?”

“Ms. Adams knows how,” he explained, and climbed back in his cab and drove off.

“I like that driver,” Frances Adams said. “He doesn’t make a mess of the drive the way many of the other drivers do.”

“This is incredible,” Susan said, looking around. From the vantage point of the house, the garden seemed almost to embrace them. “And absolutely gorgeous.”

“It had what gardeners call good bones when I arrived; the main beds were laid out and most of the walls built. The house was in disrepair, but still very beautiful. I’ve lived here for sixteen years and put most of my free time and much of my money into this place. Gardening is a passion.

“But we’re not here to talk about me. Come inside. We’ll have some tea and talk.”

Susan followed her hostess up the broad stairs, through open French doors, and into a spacious hall that ran straight to the rear of the house. The doors at the far end of the hallway were also open, and Susan spied a small swimming pool in the middle of another even more beautiful garden.

“The living room is that way.” Frances Adams pointed to the right. Susan saw an elegant room with formal furniture and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “But I usually only use it for official functions. Let me show you my bolt-hole, my library.”

They turned to the left, crossing the highly polished hallway and through more French doors into a large room, lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Two large, worn deep couches covered in claret linen faced the wide windows on the fourth side of the room. Behind one couch, a scarred table supported a computer, printer, and a mess of papers and books. Frances Adams nodded at the computer. “My downfall. I am addicted to books—all books, but my particular passion is old gardening books. It was bad enough when letters and catalogues from stores and dealers around the world arrived by mail. But the Internet, alas, has made it all too easy for me to indulge.

“Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

“Not really,” Susan admitted.

“Then how about a drink? I have some rum that is made in the hills on an unnamed island. It’s not completely legal to make and is never exported. We drink it in very small glasses. It’s quite a treat and something few tourists get to sample.”

“How could I pass that up?” Susan said, wandering around the room and examining the books, as her hostess walked over to a small table set between the windows and poured two tiny drinks from a cut-crystal decanter.

“Here is yours,” she said, offering one to Susan.

Susan tore herself away from the bookshelves and sat down on the closest couch. She picked up her glass of dark hazel liquid and took a sip, suddenly nervous.

“Wow! That’s amazing,” she exclaimed, blinking.

“It is, isn’t it? Now, what did you come here to see me about?”

“I’m—this is going to sound silly,” Susan started.

“It’s about the murder, I assume? And your friend, Mr. Gordon?”

“Yes. You see, Kathleen, Kathleen Gordon, his wife—you’ve met her.”

“Many times. A lovely young woman. Go on.”

“She was assaulted today.”

“Good heavens. Where?”

“At Compass Bay. She was sitting on the beach when someone came up from behind and hit her on the head with something. It knocked her out. She was unconscious for a while before I found her.”

“You found her?”

“Yes. You see, I was looking for her, and I saw something lying next to one of the kayaks—they’re kept on the beach during the day—and it turned out to be Kathleen.”

“Who had been unconscious for a while, but no one else found her before you.”

“Exactly, and when we called the police, they refused to do anything. Assault is a crime. And Kathleen and I think that it’s possible that the person who killed Allison hit her, so if only the police would look—” She stopped talking. The expression on Frances Adams’s face puzzled her: Frances Adams looked skeptical. And she looked very, very sad.

“Your friends are lucky to have someone like you who cares so deeply about them.”

“I don’t just care about them. I know them. Jerry is not a killer.”

“You have much more experience with this type of thing than I do. And I can’t say I’m sorry about that. But my understanding is that you have found murderers among your friends and neighbors.”

“Yes. I—” Susan glanced back at the computer. “The
Hancock Herald
is on-line. You looked me up!”

“Yes. You have quite a bit of experience. So perhaps you will understand my next question. Do you believe we are all capable of murder?”

“Perhaps . . . under the right circumstances . . . mothers protecting their children . . . You think Jerry killed Allison!”

“I have, in fact, absolutely no opinion about that. Well, that’s not true. I believe he’s a very nice man and I hope he didn’t kill her. But, no, I can’t be sure he’s innocent. And the police are convinced he’s guilty. Your story about Kathleen’s assault must sound suspicious to them.”

“But—”

“Think about it. Compass Bay is a small resort. I understand the cottages are two-thirds full right now. So say there are close to thirty guests there. And full staff is twenty-seven . . .”

No wonder everything flowed so smoothly, Susan thought, distracted by the statistics.

“. . . so you’re telling me that almost sixty people were close by Mrs. Gordon lying on the beach and they did not spy her body. You, on the other hand, just happened to be there and find her.”

“You think I’m lying to you!”

“No, I don’t. But I think Mrs. Gordon loves her husband very much, and she is trying to direct the attention of the police away from him and came up with this fake assault to do so.”

“I can’t believe—” Susan started.

“I am perfectly aware of the fact that you don’t believe that. But, I’m afraid that’s what the police believe and the facts certainly can be read that way. Mrs. Henshaw . . . Susan . . . you had better work very hard and very quickly to find the real murderer. Because right now, everything points toward Jerry Gordon as the guilty party.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Susan was still upset when she arrived at Compass Bay. She didn’t bother to smile at Lila, working behind the front desk. She didn’t stop at the gift shop to see if Kathleen had called out. She didn’t even stop to see Kathleen. She stormed into her own cottage. Jed would make her feel better in this crisis as he had done in every crisis during the thirty years of their marriage.

If only he would wake up.

Miserable and impatient, Susan shook her husband awake. It wasn’t an easy task. He muttered and pulled away from her without opening his eyes.

“Jed! Wake up! You’ve been sleeping all afternoon. I need you.”

“Sus—” His right eye opened.

“Jed. We have a real problem. No one believes Kathleen was assaulted.”

“Kathleen . . . assaulted. Is she okay?” Both eyes were now open, but Susan stopped shaking him. When she found Kathleen on the ground, she had screamed. Everyone had come running. Everyone except for Jed.

“Have you been sleeping all afternoon?” Susan asked.

“I . . . all afternoon? What time is it?”

“It’s almost six o’clock. You were going to take a nap right after lunch.”

“I guess I did.” He sat up and shook his head. “I haven’t felt like this since I got drunk my freshman year of college.” He looked at his wife. “Did you say six o’clock?”

Susan glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. “Six-oh-three.”

“And Kathleen. You said she was hurt.”

“She was. Jed, you haven’t heard anything all afternoon?”

“I’ve been completely unconscious. Almost like I was drugged or something.”

“I’d bet anything that that’s just what happened to you. You were drugged. At lunchtime. By someone who didn’t want you to find Kathleen.”

Jed looked at his wife. “I don’t get it. I’m still a little woozy. Tell me what’s going on. From the beginning.”

“I went to see Jerry.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Sort of. He kept telling me that Kathleen and June were very much alike. It’s not true, of course. I’ve thought about that so many times since I saw him. Kathleen is almost nothing like June.”

“Of course she isn’t. Go on.”

Susan smiled, glad her husband agreed with her. “Anyway, while I was in town, I went into a bar. I know, it’s not like me, but I was thirsty and that’s not the point. The point is that the bartender had seen Allison and Jerry there together the afternoon before she was killed. They weren’t exactly getting along.”

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t tell this to all his customers.”

“True. Anyway, I came right back here to find Kathleen. I didn’t tell her what Jerry said about June, but I did want to see if she knew Jerry and Allison had been together. But I couldn’t find her anywhere. I was looking down on the beach when I saw her arm sticking out from beneath a kayak. She was unconscious. I screamed. Everyone in the place came. Well, everyone except you. I must have been upset. I should have realized you weren’t there. Did you know that the bride is a doctor?” she asked, changing the subject.

“No, go on. What had happened to Kathleen?”

“Someone hit her over the head. She thinks she was unconscious for quite a while.” Susan looked at her husband, waiting for his response.

“And no one else saw her in all that time?” he asked.

“That’s the problem,” Susan said. “No one did. I didn’t think of that. And neither did Kath. We called the police because we thought that the murderer must have been the one who hit her. Well, I still think that’s possible.”

“But the police don’t agree?”

“Of course not. Apparently everyone thinks Kathleen was just pretending to be hurt—despite the large lump on the back of her head—and no one is going to investigate anything. I went to see Frances Adams.”

“Again? The woman must be getting tired of us!”

“Maybe. But, although I didn’t like what she was saying, she did manage to get me to see what everyone else is thinking.

“Anyway, that’s the story of my day. It’s been horrible. Every time I think I’ve found something that might help Jerry, it has turned out to be just the opposite.”

“Where’s Kathleen now?”

“In her cottage. She’s sleeping, too. You know, I should check on her.”

“Good idea. You do that and I’ll use the bathroom and join you two. It sounds as though we could all use a drink before dinner.”

Susan hurried next door to the Gordons’ cottage, realizing, guiltily, that she should have checked on her friend’s condition before waking up Jed. Not bothering to knock, she opened the door and peeked in.

She need not have worried about disturbing Kathleen. A quick look around the room was all it took to be sure that her friend wasn’t there.

This time, she didn’t scream, although the room was in a shocking state. The bedding was on the floor, dresser drawers emptied onto the bare mattress, and looking through the open door into the bathroom, Susan could see makeup, shampoo, and the like spilled onto the countertop and tile floor.

“Good God!” Jed appeared in the doorway behind her.

“Kathleen’s missing,” Susan said.

“You’re sure she’s not just hiding under all this mess?”

“No. She may be hurt. Doesn’t it look to you as though there was a struggle?”

“It looks to me as though someone was searching for something.” He walked in and picked up a paperback from the floor and replaced it on the nightstand. “You know, this could all have happened after Kathleen left the cottage. She could be sitting on the beach reading a mystery novel or drinking some rum punch.”

“Or unconscious under a kayak,” Susan said. “Okay. Let’s look around. If we find her, fine. But we can’t search the beaches in both directions. If she doesn’t turn up right away, I say we call the police. Or Lila. Or maybe we should call Lila first and then call the police.”

Jed looked at his watch. “I’ll look around all the cottages west of here. You take the gift shop, bar, restaurant, pool area, and beach. Keep an eye on the time.” He looked at his watch. “We meet back here in fifteen minutes. There’s a murderer loose. Don’t take any chances.”

“You, too!” Susan turned and got to work.

They met back at the Gordons’ cottage as planned, Susan arriving a few minutes late.

“Where have you been?” He sounded worried.

“Saying hello in what I hope was a perky manner to half the guests in the resort. It’s predinner drinks time, you know. I didn’t want them to think something else odd had happened. You didn’t find her?”

“No, but James was down by the water putting away the kayaks. He says he’s been walking between the cottage and the beach for the past hour or so and hasn’t seen anything unusual.”

“Did you tell him about this mess and all?”

“Just asked him if he’d seen Kathleen. He said no and—”

“That he’d been walking back and forth, etc.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“So we call the police,” Susan said.

“And we tell Lila,” Jed added, following his wife toward the office.

Actually, Lila called the police. Susan couldn’t tell whether or not Lila believed her, but it was obvious that a possible intruder at Compass Bay wasn’t something she could ignore. Once again the police arrived almost immediately. Once again there were two men. This time, however, Susan was pleased to note that they listened with great seriousness to Susan and Jed and assured them that they would immediately organize an all-island search. While Susan gave one Kathleen’s description, the other got on the phone with headquarters.

“I think they’re doing all they can,” Lila said when the three of them were together again. “Perhaps it’s time for dinner . . .”

“Definitely,” Jed agreed.

“But, Jed, we forgot to tell them that you were dr—”

“Let’s go, hon. Our reservation was for seven. We don’t want to be late.” He grabbed her arm with more force than necessary, and Susan got the idea at once.

“Yes, you’re right! Thanks for your help,” she added to Lila as her husband guided her away.

“Why did you do that? The police should know if you were drugged!”

“They should and they will in good time. But, Susan, if I was drugged, it happened here.”

“You think one of the staff did it? Which one?” Susan peered around at the numerous servers on the crowded patio restaurant.

“I’ve been thinking about that. Assuming that my food was tampered with, it may have been someone in the kitchen or the waiter or maybe the bartender. I had a beer with my meal. Draft, not bottled. Or . . .”

“Or?”

“Or it could have been someone who stopped at my table to chat. Let’s sit down and I’ll try to think who I spoke to during lunch.”

“You have reservations for three, I believe, Mr. Henshaw,” the hostess said, approaching them with a slip of paper in her hand.

“Yes, Mrs. Gordon won’t be joining us this evening,” he answered. “I wondered if you could find a table with some privacy for Mrs. Henshaw and me. It’s been a long day, and my wife has a slight headache.”

Now, Susan had never had a “slight headache” in her life. She either felt fine or as though a brick had knocked her over the head, but she tried to look appropriately wan and droopy as the hostess led them to a small table on the patio around the pool.

“I’ll tell a waiter to serve you here,” she said before walking away and leaving them alone.

“This is pretty good. If we speak softly, no one should overhear.”

Susan scooted her chair slightly to the right so she could look up at the restaurant without turning further. “So who stopped at your table?”

“Lord, Susan, you know I’m not good at names.”

“Then just describe them to me.”

“Well, all the bridge players were there. They were playing at a table right next to mine, and whoever was dummy usually took the opportunity to order another drink and stop over and chat. That foursome really packs away the alcohol.”

“Well, three of them do anyway,” Susan said. Their waiter came for their drink order and to announce the dinner specials. “So tell me who else appeared at your table,” she asked when they were alone again.

“Well . . .” The sun was sinking into the sea in the west, and Jed’s face reflected the vivid hues of the sky. He frowned.

“What about the honeymooners? They didn’t stop to talk to you, did they?”

“As far as I know, they followed their usual pattern and didn’t leave their cottage until well after the rest of us had eaten both breakfast and lunch.”

“So they’re out.”

“Yes.”

“What about Joann and Martin?”

“Yes. How she nags him. Now if someone had to die, why couldn’t it have been her? My guess is that Martin would be a very happy widower, although he would never put it like that.”

“So they stopped at your table?”

“Yes, but not to see me. Ro was dummy and sitting with me, and Joann wanted to talk to her about a kayaking trip. She sat down and chatted for a while, managed to let everyone within hearing know that she was tired of kayaking with her husband—apparently he can’t keep up with her—and then they both headed over to the pool. Joann needed to work on her tan.”

“How about Peggy and Frank?”

“I don’t think I know who they are.”

“Good-looking couple. He has bright red hair. Around our age. They’re from Connecticut. They’re very athletic. Always swimming laps in the pool or taking off on long kayaking trips. They’re here on their second honeymoon and like to tell everyone about it.”

“Oh, I know them. They stopped by and talked for a while. In fact, she gave me a message for you. She wanted to be sure you knew about some sort of scuba-diving class that James is holding tomorrow afternoon.”

“Really . . . I’ve always wanted to try that. Remember when we were in Bermuda with the kids and Chad learned? He’s always said that was one of the best trips we ever took.”

“I think that may have had more to do with the bikini-clad instructor than the submerged flora and fauna.”

“Oh, well, I’ll probably be busy tomorrow anyway.”

“This trip sure isn’t turning out to be the relaxing vacation we planned,” Jed said.

“No, but it may be getting better. Lila is on her way here. With two police officers—oh, no.”

“What?”

“Those officers were here this morning. They think Kathleen only pretended to be assaulted. I wonder what they’re going to say this time. Now that she might have been abducted and her cottage searched.”

It turned out that the officers were in a rut. This time, however, it was Susan they didn’t believe. And this time they threatened her with arrest if she—or any of her companions—continued to waste the island police department’s valuable time.