Nantucket Nights (23 page)

“I guess,” Carter said. “I mean, yeah, vandals. Shit, yeah. You’d better get out here, Raoul. You’re going to want to see this for yourself.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can, which might not be for an hour or two. I have family obligations.” Raoul thought of Theo. Theo, Theo, Theo. Theo hacking away at Ting. “I have to go, Carter,” Raoul said. He punched off the phone and threw it at the side of the bathtub with all his strength so that it busted into several pieces. Damn that kid! Raoul pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt and walked down the hall to Theo’s bedroom. As much as Raoul wanted to rip Theo apart limb by limb, he stopped, took a deep breath.
It’s only a house. One hell of a house, but still only a house.

Raoul knocked. “Theo?”

There was no answer. He could be dead, Raoul thought. Or he could have slipped out in the night. Raoul knocked louder. “Open the door, Theo.” His voice was controlled fury. He couldn’t imagine any of his children defying this voice. Raoul listened. Just as he was about to try the knob, he heard a rustling, and a few seconds later, the door opened.

Theo’s was the face of heartbreak. His eyes were swollen, he had gray streaks on his face from tears. His hair was a mess, he wore an old bathing suit and a wrinkled NANTUCKET BASEBALL T-shirt. Theo’s shoulders started to shake.

Raoul took his son in his arms. His child, who had chosen Raoul to confide in, and what had Raoul done with that confidence? He’d ignored it. Raoul could have stopped this whole thing from happening. If he’d said the right thing, if he’d dealt with it head-on. But no—every morning, off to build the cathedral. No wonder Theo had hacked away at it. That house had stolen away his father, when his father had been his only hope.

“You vandalized the Tings’ house?” Raoul said. “You vandalized my project?”

Theo clung tighter to Raoul. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Yeah,” Raoul said. “Me, too, Theo. I’m sorry, too.”

…

For his family’s sake, Raoul gave the morning his best shot, although the situation at the Tings’ nagged at him like a crying baby. He was going to have to tend to it sooner rather than later. Raoul insisted that Theo shower, and then he checked on the other kids. Jennifer was still asleep, Cassidy B. and Luke were playing Connect Four in Luke’s room. Raoul stuck his head in. God, he’d had that game when he was a kid.

“Come down to the kitchen,” he said. “I’m making waffles.”

He stood outside the door to his own bedroom, listening. Then he walked in. Kayla was making the bed. Raoul watched her smooth the sheets, tuck them under the mattress. She plumped the pillows, set them in place, and then turned, saw him, and sat on the bed.

“How are you doing, sweetie?” he said. “Do you feel any better?”

Her eyes were droopy, and she had marks embedded on her face from the pillow. She didn’t answer.

“Can you tell me what happened at the police station?” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” Raoul said. He hated to admit it, but he was grateful. He wanted to get breakfast on the table and then leave for work as soon as he could. He didn’t have the heart to mention the vandalism to Kayla. “I’ll be downstairs making waffles,” he said. “Is there bacon?”

She stared at him blankly. “Yes,” she said. “There’s bacon.”

He leaned over to kiss her and again noticed the smell of marijuana. “Good.” Before he left their bedroom, he said, “Did you smoke last night?”

“No,” she said quickly, in a way that let him know she was lying. She fell back on the bed. “Yes. I did. With Jacob. We smoked a joint on the way to Great Point.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, you might want to shower. I smell it on you.”

Raoul went downstairs and set about making breakfast. Flour, milk, a couple of eggs in a bowl. Dust off the waffle iron, plug it in, and let it get nice and hot. Cass and Luke took out the dishes and silverware, and the butter, syrup, and orange juice from the fridge. They set the table as quietly as professional waiters. Raoul felt funny, bothered, and he realized he was angry that Kayla and Jacob had smoked a joint. Why the hell had Kayla done that? And why had Jacob offered it to her? He knew Raoul hated the stuff. Of course under the circumstances, he supposed a little adolescent behavior wasn’t unreasonable. Still, it bugged him.

“Are you excited about starting school on Tuesday?” Raoul asked Luke.

“No.”

“How about you, Cass? Are you excited about school?” He had to stop and remember what grades they were going into. Kayla chastised him every time he got it wrong. “Junior high? That’s going to be a big change.”

“Change is excruciating,” Cassidy B. said.

Raoul laughed. He mixed up the batter, turned a few strips of bacon. “Well, I guess you’re right. Change can be excruciating. And junior high in particular can be excruciating. But not for you. You’re a survivor. We’re all survivors, aren’t we?” Raoul heard the water shut off upstairs—Theo out of the shower. If Kayla were smart, she would shower next, before the kids smelled the smoke on her. Or in case she had to go back down to the police station. Raoul poured batter onto the hot waffle iron and lowered the lid. The iron hissed and batter leaked out the sides. Raoul turned down the heat on the bacon and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Breakfast in five minutes for anyone who wants it!” he said.

A noise came from his bedroom. His cell phone again. Kayla appeared holding the phone, which she must have put back together. She descended the stairs slowly, like a beautiful ghost, an unfamiliar expression on her face, and she handed the phone to Raoul.

“I don’t want to talk to anybody right now,” he said.

She shrugged and slipped the ringing phone into the pocket of her robe.

“Dad,” Luke called from the kitchen. “The waffles.”

“Coming,” Raoul said. He pulled out the first-batch of waffles, burning two fingers, and drained the bacon on paper towels. The phone kept ringing. Raoul turned to see Cassidy B. hugging Kayla as if her mother had returned from some faraway country after a long absence.

“Give me the phone,” Raoul said. “And here, these waffles are done. Luke, here you go.” Raoul took the phone from Kayla and walked into the living room, where he could have some quiet.

“Yeah.”

“Raoul? It’s Micky.”

Micky Glenn, his foreman. “Micky. Listen, I know what happened. I’ll be out there as soon as I can. I have a situation here with my family.”

“You’ve seen the paper?”

“What paper?”

“The
Cape Cod Times.
About the missing woman? Kayla’s name is in it, and yours. And Ting’s. It sounds pretty incriminating, Raoul.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

“No, we have delivery. I’ll read it myself.”

“Okay, whatever. You’ll be here soon?”

“Soon as I can.”

Raoul flew out the front door. It was hot already, and the air smelled of grass and dirt and the nearby ocean. Raoul walked barefoot through the front yard to the end of the driveway where the fat Sunday edition of the
Cape Cod Times
lay in a plastic bag. Raoul looked around at his neighbors’ houses— quiet. Raoul slid the newspaper out of its plastic and scanned the front page. At the bottom in the right-hand corner was the headline: WOMAN MISSING OFF NANTUCKET’S GREAT POINT. Raoul moved slowly up the driveway, reading.

NANTUCKET, MASS.-

A woman disappeared off the coast of Nantucket Island early Saturday morning, Nantucket police officials said. Antoinette Riley, 44, longtime island resident, was swimming with two friends: island attorney Valerie Gluckstern and Kayla Montero, wife of construction baron Raoul Montero, builder of the Ting home in Monomoy. Mrs. Montero alerted police at 1:40 A.M. that Riley was missing. She told police that Riley danced into the water after consuming a significant amount of alcohol, and was apparently swept away by the riptide.

Detective Dean Simpson of the Nantucket Police Department said no body had been found, although the coast guard and Nantucket Fire Department had dispatched search parties based on information given to officials by Montero.

“We haven’t ruled out the existence of foul play,” Detective Simpson said. “These women call themselves the “Night Swimmers’ and they’ve been practicing dangerous and unorthodox rituals for years—skinny-dipping in tricky waters, drinking champagne. Suspicious circumstances surround Ms. Riley’s disappearance, although we haven’t brought formal charges against Mrs. Montero or anyone else yet.”

The detective went on to say that according to the coast guard’s mathematical formulas, had Riley swum with her full strength, her body would most likely have been recovered. Thus officials feared she was hurt or poisoned before entering the water.

“There is an extensive and complicated past between these three women,” Detective Simpson said. “And especially between Mrs. Montero and the missing woman. Some questionable factors have come to our attention, and we feel Ms. Riley’s disappearance requires further investigating.”

Citizens with information about the disappearance should contact the Nantucket Police Department.

Raoul threw the paper into the front seat of his truck. He had to keep the article out of Kayla’s hands for as long as he could. He wondered what exactly had happened at the police station. It sounded like they were trying to pin this on Kayla, and Val, too, though Raoul couldn’t imagine Val tolerating that. He would have to get the whole story later. As soon as he made his excuses inside, he was off to the Tings’.

Somehow Kayla had finished making both the waffles and the bacon, and three out of four kids were sitting at the table eating. Jennifer had joined Luke and Cass; she was chewing a dry waffle one square at a time. Kayla, who was always so concerned about Jennifer’s eating habits, didn’t even seem to notice. She sat at the breakfast bar, watching the kids eat, but it was obvious to Raoul that her mind was somewhere else.

“Where’s Theo?” Raoul said.

“Upstairs in his room,” Luke reported. “He said he’s not hungry.”

“What’s going on, Dad?” Jennifer said. “Did they find Aunt Antoinette?”

“No,” Raoul said.

The phone rang. Jennifer stood to answer it.

“Don’t you dare,” Raoul said. “This morning nobody answers the phone. Not even Mommy.”

“What if it’s Amy?” Jennifer said. “We’re supposed to go to the beach today.”

“If it’s Amy, she can leave a message and you can call her back,” Raoul said. He looked at Kayla. “Okay, Kayla? Don’t deal with anybody until I get back.”

“Get back from where?”

“I have to go to Monomoy.”

“For God’s sake, Raoul…”

“This isn’t optional. I have to go check on a problem that’s come up, and after I’ve dealt with it, I’ll come home. Okay? In an hour or two?”

Kayla said nothing, though Raoul could tell she was pissed. Her day was only going to get worse, but she didn’t have to know that yet.

“Home soon,” he said, grabbing his truck keys. “Don’t answer the phone.”

Raoul was hungry, starving, and he wished he’d eaten one of those waffles. He pulled up in front of Island Bakery. He’d get a couple of doughnuts and a cup of good coffee.

Tanner Whitcomb, owner of the bakery, saw Raoul as soon as he walked in. Tanner was Raoul’s age, skinny, a former cocaine user who was still constantly nervous and antsy. He wore a Red Sox hat and a long white apron smeared with lipstick-pink icing. Raoul had remodeled the bakery for Tanner fifteen years earlier during the height of Tanner’s drug habit; it was one of Raoul’s first big jobs, and so he didn’t mind when Tanner was late paying him. Behind the counters were built-in baker’s racks. Raoul had sanded each shelf of those racks by hand while Tanner and his buddies hung out in the back, sniffing lines off of cookie sheets.

Raoul smiled. “Tanner.”

Tanner looked past Raoul out the door. “Is the murder suspect out there in your truck?”

Raoul paused. Tanner’s voice was good-natured, playful—so maybe that was how folks on the island would treat this, as a joke. A silly assumption made by the overzealous police, who had nothing to do in the summertime but write parking tickets and break up high school beer parties.

“No, she’s at home,” Raoul said. “Sharpening knives.” He gazed down into the glass cases. There was a whole section of doughnuts iced with the garish pink. “Three bear claws,” he told the flame-haired Irish girl behind the register. “Three of those cream horn things, and a chocolate éclair.” He turned back to Tanner, who gawked at him.

“I was kidding, Tanner,” Raoul said.

Tanner stuffed his hands in the large front pocket of his apron. “I don’t know, Raoul,” he said. “It sounds like Kayla got herself in a heap of trouble with the law.”

Raoul paid the girl, dropped his change and an extra dollar into the tip jar, and took his bag. Then he squeezed Tanner’s arm hard enough to show him that it would be easy to break.

“You, my friend, shouldn’t pass judgment on anyone,” Raoul whispered. He let go of Tanner’s arm and strode out to the truck. He pulled away as quickly as he could, and then he realized that he’d spaced the coffee.

At the Ting house, there were three trucks in the driveway: Micky’s Durango, Carter’s sorry-looking Toyota pickup, and Jacob’s Bronco. Technically, his crew had the day off. Holiday weekend. Carter had tiling to do, and Micky was there to check out the vandalism, but Jacob? Why was Jacob around? The person they needed was Colin Freed, the plaster guy. Not Jacob.

As Raoul walked into the house, he stuffed a cream horn into his mouth. “Hello!” he cried out with a mouthful of icing. “Micky?”

“In here.” Micky, Carter, and Jacob stood in the living room gaping at the damage. The walls of the living room were gouged open so that the joists were exposed. The drywall lay in ragged sheets and crumbling piles. It would all have to be torn out and redone.

“What I can’t figure out,” Micky said, “is why anyone would want to do this. Do you think it was somebody from another crew?”

Raoul looked at Jacob. The night before as they drank the vodka, Raoul had sworn Jacob to secrecy about Theo and Antoinette. He wondered if Jacob suspected this vandalism was Theo’s. Raoul felt guilt clog his throat. He needed something to drink. “Listen, guys. I know who did it.”