Death in a Beach Chair (3 page)

FOUR

“He probably went for a walk.” That statement was repeated a few times as the Henshaws and Kathleen asked members of the Compass Bay staff if they had seen Jerry. But where? He could have gone for a walk on the beach that stretched out beyond the stone jetty that bounded the resort to the west. He could have strolled down the road in either direction, ending up at the tiny grocery store in the nearby community in one direction or into an enormous stand of palm trees in the other. They couldn’t find anyone who had seen him, so they had no way of knowing. Kathleen wanted to organize a search, but Jed and Susan talked her out of it.

“It isn’t like Kath to overreact like this,” Jed said to Susan as they headed back to their room for more sunscreen. “What’s going on?”

“She’s worried about Jerry. She says he’s been looking at photos of June and the kids.”

“Oh, but that might be because—” A loud knock on the door prevented Jed from finishing. He opened the door to discover that the wanderer had returned.

“Jerry was walking on the beach!” Kathleen announced, appearing at her husband’s side.

“I didn’t mean to make anyone worry—especially this anyone. I thought I would be back before the kayakers returned,” Jerry said, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulling her closer.

“How is the beach?” Jed asked, grabbing a paperback from the pile by the bed.

“Gorgeous. We should all head up there after lunch, but right now I’m going for a quick dip in the pool and then taking a nap. I’m exhausted.”

“Must be this fresh air,” Susan said, following her husband’s example and choosing some reading material before following him out of the cottage. “I’m planning on reading for a while, swimming for a while, and then, perhaps, I’ll feel as though I deserve to nap,” she explained.

“James reserved the four lounges right outside our cabin for us,” Kathleen said, heading in that direction.

“That’s awfully sunny. Why don’t we sit down by the pool? Those umbrellas will keep us from getting baked,” Jerry suggested.

“I think there are only three lounges available down there,” Susan said, counting.

“I’ll take a chair and you three can lie down,” Jerry offered, starting off to the pool. “Last one in the water buys the rum punch!” he called back over his shoulder.

Jed hurried after his friend, but Susan waited a moment. Kathleen didn’t seem in a hurry to join them. “Kath? Are you coming?” she prompted when her friend didn’t move.

“I . . .” Kathleen looked up toward the bright blue cabin she and Jerry shared. “I think I’ll call home first. I just want to make sure Jerry’s mom knows where I keep the—the boxed fruit juice.”

“Are you all right?” Susan asked.

“Yes. Definitely. I just want to make sure everything at home is okay. You know how it is.”

Susan smiled. She did know. It was sensational to be away from your children for a while, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t missed. “We’ll see you down by the pool then.”

The freshwater swimming pool had been built on a large deck overlooking the ocean. Lined with bright blue tiles, the pool had a mosaic of a coconut palm tree decorating its bottom. Jed was busy arranging the beach towels to his satisfaction. Jerry was already in the water, lying on a bright orange float with his eyes closed. Susan chose a coral-colored lounge near her husband and looked around for a side table to place between them. An attractive, young black man, who apparently could read minds, appeared with two side tables and put one on either side of the Henshaws. “Did you have a good kayak trip?” he asked politely.

“Yes, excellent.” Susan smiled up at him and placed her book, sunglasses, and two tubes of sunscreen on the closest table. “Don’t you think we should be tipping all these helpful people?” she asked her husband, when they were alone again.

“Why don’t we tip them all on the day we leave? Otherwise we’ll be passing out money every time we turn around.”

Susan leaned back in her seat, adjusted her sunglasses, picked up the latest Katherine Hall Page mystery, sighed twice, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

When she woke up a bit later, she was vaguely aware of being in a strange place. The skin across her shoulders was hot from the sun, but the air was soft and balmy. She picked out familiar voices from the hum around her. Jed and Jerry might be on vacation, but they seemed to be discussing a colleague from the office. She opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again. Everyone had his or her own way to relax. If they wanted to chat about the problems they had left behind, fine. She had her own ideas. A notice on the dresser in their cottage had explained how to make reservations for a massage. Her arms, stiff from the few hours she’d spent paddling around in the kayak, could use some special attention. She stood up, plopped her straw hat on her head, adjusted her pareo around her waist, and, deciding that she didn’t need shoes, headed back to their cottage.

It was close to noon and even those guests who ranked sleeping late high on their list of vacation priorities were up and about. Each chair or lounge seemed to be filled or about to be filled, with colorful beach towels, open paperbacks, and half-finished drinks waiting for their occupant’s return. Susan walked slowly. Everything was painted in brilliant colors. But the blue paint couldn’t compare with the hue of the sky. The azure sea sparkled in the sunlight. The palm trees rustled slightly in the sea breeze. An enterprising photographer could have pointed his camera in any direction and labeled the resulting photograph paradise. Susan realized she was completely content. She glanced back over her shoulder. Jed and Jerry were still talking. Kathleen had moved her chair under an umbrella and was apparently absorbed in her book.

The maid had cleaned up their cottage, and Susan quickly found the notice of spa services available. Massages—Swedish and deep muscle—could be had day and evening. Reservations were required and could be made in the gift shop.

The gift shop was small, but carried just about all the necessities, from sunscreen to après-sun crème to Solarcaine, as well as lots of luxury items. A tall, elegant black woman was stationed by the old-fashioned cash register.

“May I help you?”

“I understand this is the place I make reservations for a massage?”

“Yes.” She pulled a large leather-bound book from underneath the counter. “Do you prefer a male or a female?”

“A woman, if that’s possible. Is there someone available this afternoon?”

“Let me see . . . yes, Lourdes could take you at three. Her specialty is Swedish massage, but if you prefer something different . . .”

“No, that would be lovely. Where does she give them?”

“Right in your room. She has portable massage tables. If that’s okay with you, I could make the appointment.”

“Three o’clock is perfect!”

“Then you can expect Lourdes at three—or perhaps just after the hour. Sometimes one of her clients keeps her talking and she runs just a bit late. I always say Lourdes knows more about what goes on here at Compass Bay than anyone on staff.”

Susan smiled. “Then I know whom to ask if I have any questions.”

The woman laughed. “I said she knows, not she talks. Many famous people come to Compass Bay—musicians, politicians, actors, and such. No one keeps his job if he talks about them to the press or other guests.” The cordial expression on her face vanished, making Susan feel as though she had been caught doing something wrong.

“I can understand that,” she quickly assured the other woman. “I wouldn’t want anyone talking about what I’m doing. Not that I’m doing anything wrong,” she added quickly. “Or even interesting, for that matter . . .” She realized she was babbling, and the gigantic orange sun hat hanging above the cash register provided a change of topic. “How much is that hat?” she asked quickly.

Five minutes later she left the store, one hat in hand, another on her head. Having no intention of looking like a hat salesman for a minute longer than necessary, she hurried back to her cottage. Noticing that the door to the cottage Jerry and Kathleen shared was open, she glanced inside. A tall woman wearing immaculately pressed white slacks was leaning over the bed. Susan smiled. The room she shared with Jed had been made up hours ago, but in a resort where the guests stayed for multiple days, housekeeping probably had to be very flexible. She had noticed a couple of maids replacing damp beach towels hung over deck railings with clean, dry ones late last night. This was just what every woman needed, she realized, twenty-four/seven maid service. Her own cottage was sparkling and neat, and she tossed the horrible orange hat on the batik bedspread. She would figure out what to do with it later. Perhaps she could donate it to one of the charity sales that organizations in Hancock were so fond of holding. If, that is, she even managed to get it back to Hancock. It certainly wouldn’t fit under her airplane seat or in the overhead compartment. She could, she supposed, always wear it.

Back at the pool, Jed and Kathleen were now swimming slow crawls up and down the length of the pool. Jerry was lying on the lounge his wife had occupied, facing the sea. From this angle, Susan couldn’t tell if he was napping or just watching the water. But it was obvious that no one needed her. Small boys, so thin that their cutoff jeans were in danger of slipping from their hips, were out on the gazebo dropping nets in the water and pulling them up, full of shimmering silver fish. Curious, Susan turned around and headed in that direction.

Two middle-aged couples were sitting on chairs placed along the deck leading to the gazebo. They shared two small tables. One was covered with half-filled glasses; on the other, one of the women was playing a lackadaisical game of solitaire. “I thought we were going to play bridge,” she was saying as Susan passed by.

“After lunch,” one of the men said.

“After my nap,” the other man added.

The two women exchanged glances. “Perhaps,” the one who had just ended her lonely card game said to the other. “Perhaps we should go see what there is to buy in the gift shop.”

“I thought you bought the place out yesterday,” growled one of the men, reaching out for his glass.

“Yeah, well . . .”

Susan hurried on, unwilling to allow other couples’ squabbles to mar her vacation. For a resort that advertised itself as one of the most romantic spots in the world, there sure seemed to be a lot of bickering going on.

The boys who were fishing turned out to be island natives, not related to the resort’s guests. They were thrilled to have an audience and explained that their relatives—older brothers, Susan gathered—would be using what was caught for bait to catch “the big fishes off the boats.” Their fishing was energetic, messy, and highly productive. In minutes, they had filled three plastic buckets with fish. They then took a moment to show Susan and another woman who appeared in the gazebo shortly after her the long, thin fish that swirled through the water beneath the dock, causing the smaller baitfish to flee out to sea. “Barracuda!” one of the boys yelled. “You see, you swim with barracuda!” Laughing loudly, the boys ran back toward the shore, the water in their buckets splashing out and wetting the legs of the card-playing women as they passed by.

Susan stared down into the water and realized that, in fact, she may have been swimming with those ugly things. She worked to remember the little she knew about these fish. Certainly they cleared the area of smaller fish, but would they go after people swimming in the same water? She’d try to remember to ask James when she saw him again. She leaned her arms on the railing and stared down into the water.

“Don’t worry. They’re not sharks. They don’t attack people.”

Susan had been joined by the tall blond she had seen out here early this morning. Now the woman was wearing white linen slacks and a bikini top that barely covered her ample tanned breasts. She was carrying a long batik scarf.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Susan admitted. “I’d hate to stop going in the water on our second day here.”

“Don’t. I find the water in the Caribbean to be like satin—warm, smooth, delicious to swim in.”

“Yes. I guess. I’ve only been in for a few minutes,” Susan admitted, remembering her tumble off the kayak only a few hours ago.

“Well, don’t let those fish keep you out. I like going in late, after dark.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Susan asked. “I mean, what about ocean currents, and black sea urchins, and jellyfish?”

“They’re all there, but the risk just adds to the pleasure sometimes, don’t you think?”

“I—no, not really,” Susan said.

“Well, people are different, aren’t they? I love it.” She turned and looked back toward the beach. “I must be leaving now. I’m meeting someone.”

“I—I’ll see you around, I guess,” Susan said to her.

“Yes, you will. Of course you will.” The words floated over her shoulder, and her exit left Susan squinting into the sun. She felt as though she was watching someone play a part. And the actor’s face was definitely familiar. Where had she seen this woman before?

FIVE

It began as the worst massage ever. Lourdes had strong hands and knew what she was doing, and although Susan’s shoulder felt better almost immediately, she found it difficult to relax while someone else was talking. And Lourdes had a lot to talk about—starting with her previous client.

Lourdes was waiting for Susan on the deck of the Henshaws’ cottage—early, she explained, because her last client had failed to show up for her appointment. It was happening more and more, she continued while setting up her massage table. Susan had retreated to the bathroom to undress. When she reappeared in the bedroom wrapped in one of the heavy terry cloth, one-size-fits-all robes the resort provided, Lourdes was still complaining about being stood up.

“I don’t make the appointments. I am told where to go to, what time to show up, and I do what I’m told. Always I do what I’m told. I was brought up poor, but I was taught to be reliable. Some of these rich people who come here could use a little training in reliability.” She stopped smoothing out the towel she had laid on the table, looked at Susan, and apparently realized who she was complaining to. “Most of our guests are wonderful people, you understand. I don’t complain about them.”

Susan smiled. “I understand.”

“And since you are on time, you benefit from the guests who are not so responsible. You lie down on table now, please.”

Susan did as requested, squirming about until she was comfortable and placing her head on the pillow Lourdes offered. She had barely closed her eyes when Lourdes started talking again. “Of course, there be guests who other guests not like. It not just me. Everyone here is complaining about them. They noisy and they bother the other guests. They demanding. They get up early. They stay up late. They hog the best seats.”

“What are the best seats?” Susan asked.

“Many of our guests prefer to sit on the patio between the pool and the bar. It is small. Only a half a dozen lounges and few tables will fit there comfortably. This group has claimed them since last Sunday—the day they arrive. They sit there and play cards in morning. They sit and play cards in afternoon. At night, when the dark come, they sit in bar at big corner table that everyone like and they play more cards. Cards. Cards. Cards. They do not even bet on who win. Can you believe that?”

“I guess,” Susan muttered.

“Cards not problem. No one care if they play. But they take best places. They make many guests unhappy. And unhappy guests need care, need to be made happy. Everyone must work twice as hard. Guests must be happy. Unlike staff. No one cares about unhappy staff.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s true.” Susan yawned. “The sun always makes me so sleepy.”

Lourdes didn’t take the hint. “We work and we work. And when we do a good job, we have a job. But if anything go wrong. No . . . if nothing go wrong and someone—some guest—complain, then we don’t work. There are not many places to work on island, not on this island.”

Susan decided that a change of subject was in order. “Have you always lived here?”

“Yes. Always. I leave island to study, then I come back to work.”

“Where did you go to school?” Susan asked, realizing she had to say something now that she had started the conversation going in this direction.

“On St. Thomas. They have very good massage school there.”

“Oh.” Susan had been thinking high school, maybe college. “How long were you there?”

“Two weeks. Our training was thorough, quite thorough.” As if to prove her point, Lourdes increased her energetic kneading of Susan’s left thigh.

“My legs may be a bit sunburned,” Susan said.

“Yes. You must be careful in our sun. The gift shop sells many brands of sunscreen if you forgot to bring.”

“I brought and I bought,” Susan muttered. Lourdes had moved on to her calves, and she was beginning to enjoy the entire experience. And drift off to sleep . . .

“That woman is a troublemaker. I watch her and I see what she do!”

Susan returned from the edge of sleep with a jerk. “You mean taking the best seats?” she asked, completely confused.

“The best seats? No, I think not. She like to be seen and she like not to be seen. She move from seat to seat. But always the men watch her.”

Susan realized Lourdes was no longer complaining about the cardplayers. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she admitted. It was obvious that the more she talked, the more Lourdes would respond, but perhaps it was better to give up any idea of sleeping. And listen to the gossip. Susan loved gossip.

“Ms. Allison. That is how she signs up for my services. She tell people call her Ally. Not staff, other guests,” Lourdes explained. “She was supposed to be my massage before you.”

“You’re talking about the woman who had the appointment before this. The one who didn’t show up.”

“Yes. She here on vacation. So she do little. She move from seat to seat. She swim. Eat. Drink. But she too busy to show up for massage that she sign up for.”

“Ouch!” Lourdes had expressed her frustration with this unknown woman by digging her thumbs into the arch of Susan’s left foot.

“You tell me if I hurt and I stop,” Lourdes muttered, moving to the other foot.

“I . . . that feels fine now.” It really felt more than fine. “Tell me about the other guests here,” Susan asked, guessing that she was going to hear the answer to her question whether or not she asked it.

But to her surprise, when asked, Lourdes refused to answer. “We are told not to talk about our clients,” she stated flatly.

“Oh, yes, of course. I—I just—oh, that feels good.” After a moment of silence, Susan drifted off to sleep as Lourdes worked on her left leg.

She woke up and realized that she was alone. The door was closed, but all the windows of the cottage had been thrown open. Heavy plantation shutters provided privacy but allowed warm breezes to drift through the room. She could hear voices—other guests walking by or lounging right outside the room. There were giggles and she realized that the two maids were working on the cottage next door. She rolled over onto her side, being careful not to fall off the narrow table, and pulled the fluffy towels around her. Sliding to the floor, she noticed a note and a pale orchid blossom lying on the middle of the bed. Her feet covered with massage oil, she slipped across the room and picked it up. It was from Lourdes, thanking Susan for her patronage and assuring her that the fee for her services would be added to her bill. Susan realized that she would have to tip Lourdes the next time she saw her. Or perhaps, she thought, she could get another massage tomorrow and tip for both services at the same time. The chatter had been irritating, but her shoulders and neck had never felt better. Smiling, she headed off to the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, clad only in a full-length sundress, she set out to search for her husband and friends. And found Jed and Kathleen still in their swimsuits, still sitting beside the pool. Their glasses of Perrier had been replaced by goblets of ruby liquid. Jed was chasing a chunk of fresh pineapple around his glass. He looked up as his wife appeared.

“You look wonderful. How was the massage?”

“Noisy, but good. How do I go about getting one of those?”

“Just go up to the bar and ask for the house special. It’s rum and amaretto and . . . I’m not sure what . . . something pink. Anyway, it’s delicious. Why don’t I order one for you? I was just thinking about taking a shower before I change for dinner. I’ll stop at the bar on the way and have someone bring you a drink.” He drank the last of his drink and got up.

Susan sat down as he left, turning to Kathleen with what she thought was an innocuous question. “Where’s Jerry?”

“Who knows? Last time I saw him, he was heading for the beach. I assume the pool was too tame for him and he was going for a swim in the ocean. Maybe he’ll run into one of those jellyfish that sting swimmers.”

“Kathleen!”

Kathleen flipped her long blond hair off her shoulders and sat up straight. “Well, wouldn’t you think that he would tell me what he was going to do? He didn’t have to invite me to go along. But he didn’t say anything. He just got up and walked off as though I wasn’t even around. I feel as though I might as well have stayed at home with the kids!”

“Oh, Kathleen, don’t say that! He may have thought you didn’t want to be bothered.”

“Susan, you and Jed have been married for over thirty years. Has Jed ever treated you like Jerry’s treating me?”

Susan thought for a moment before answering. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing or give the wrong impression. “Jed has not always acted as though my presence was the most important thing in his life. After all, I haven’t always acted as though he’s the most important thing in my life and that doesn’t mean that he isn’t. It just means that . . . well, after a while you sort of get used to the person you’re married to, that’s all.”

“Susan, I don’t expect Jerry to spend all his free time drooling over me, but common courtesy—”

“But you said yourself that he has a lot on his mind.”

“Which he won’t share with me! Which may have something to do with his first wife. Which—which is the real reason I’m so upset about all this, of course.” She picked up her glass and drained it. “I should have asked Jed to order another one of these for me. They really are good.”

“I think he read your mind,” Susan said as a waiter appeared and set a tray with two drinks, a small plate of spicy nuts, and fresh napkins between them.

“I’ll bring the crab cakes out as soon as they’re done. Your husband ordered them.”

“See, Jed is still taking care of you,” Kathleen said.

“Right now he is, but I can’t count the times I’ve asked him to get me something and he assures me he will and then forgets the minute he leaves the room. Heavens, he’s always forgetting to tell me people have called. The man can’t take a phone message to save his life.”

“But he doesn’t think about his first wife all the time,” Kathleen said sadly.

Susan wasn’t sure how to respond. “I think about June and the kids sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t consider you my best friend. And you know how I love Alex and Emily.”

“I know you’re right, but something’s changed. I don’t know what it is, but Jerry’s feelings for me have changed. Sometimes I get the feeling that he regrets marrying me!”

Susan picked an almond from the nut cup and examined it carefully before popping it in her mouth. Kathleen was a savvy woman with a lot of self-confidence and her feet on the ground. She was not the type to imagine problems where none existed. Susan suddenly found herself wondering if what her friend was saying might be true. Men did lose interest in the women they married. What if that was what was happening in the Gordons’ marriage? What if Jerry did regret marrying Kathleen? How would Susan know? Who really knew what went on in someone else’s marriage? She chewed and carefully considered what Kathleen was saying. Jerry claimed to be concerned about a problem at work, but Jed said things at the agency were just a little more hectic than normal. Jerry was distracted and looking at photos of his past life. Kathleen claimed he acted as though he no longer loved her. For the first time, Susan considered the possibility that this was true. By the time Jed returned, she was seriously depressed.

Dinner didn’t improve her mood. Their table was placed at the south end of the patio, and they had watched a glorious sunset while eating. As soon as the sun sank into the inky sea, the staff had scurried around lighting small votives on the tables and large pillar candles set in heavy hurricane lamps upon the shell-studded cement wall that prevented guests and the resort itself from falling into the sea. It was quite romantic.

“Storms tomorrow,” their waitress said, placing their orders before them.

“Can you tell that from just looking at the sky?” Susan asked, as a sautéed grouper fillet surrounded by tiny vegetables was placed before her.

“No, I can tell that just by listening to the radio.”

Everyone but Jerry laughed.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Jerry didn’t even bother to look up.

As the evening wore on, Susan was ready to believe the worst about Jerry. He had arrived late, apologizing perfunctorily without explaining the reason for his rudeness. Refusing to join the others in their preferences for island drinks, he had ordered a double Scotch, gulped it down, and then ordered another. Susan and Jed and Kathleen chatted throughout the meal, but by the time they had finished their main course, Susan, at least, was tired of making an effort.

Everyone refused dessert, although Jerry ordered a large brandy to take back to their cottage. The couples parted quickly, barely bothering to say good night. Jed had flung himself down on their bed, claiming exhaustion and a surfeit of rum. He was asleep before Susan had washed her face and brushed her teeth.

But whether the result of her long nap earlier in the day or because she was worried about Kathleen and Jerry, Susan realized she wasn’t ready to sleep. Quietly, so as not to bother Jed, she let herself out of the cottage.

There were diners still on the patio and in the dining rooms. The bar was full of carousing vacationers. Susan turned and walked away from the commotion, toward the pier leading over the water to the gazebo. She would sit for a while. Perhaps the cool breezes would make her sleepy.