StoneDust (22 page)

“Where?”

“To the kitchen, I guess.”

“Leaving you with Bill?”

“Bill said, ‘I was kidding.' That was B.S. but I said, ‘Okay.' We settled into the water—on opposite sides—and stared at each other like a pair of amoeba. Bill started sinking, sliding off the seat. The water covered his nostrils and he started coughing. Next minute Sherry walked in, looking pleased. She pounded his back. Then Rick slunk in, guilty as sin. Somebody poured more Tombstones and things settled down.”

Georgia stood off her barstool and held the bar for support. “Right back.” She took her bag and worked her way to the ladies' room. When she finally came back, she had washed her face and brightened her eyes.

“Well,
that's
better. Now where were we? Oh, yes.”

And off we went, after the fox. Trampled by verbiage, I managed to isolate the following events: Susan and Ted returned to the party room and joined Georgia, Rick, Bill, and Sherry in the Jacuzzi. Duane came back from the kitchen and cranked up his overworked blenders for a new round of Tombstones. There was some desultory talk about how unhappy Reg seemed, and with Michelle still out of the room, considerable laughter about the cocaine Bill Carter had tidal-waved.

“Duane didn't mind?”

“Duane was laughing along with the rest of us—he couldn't have cared less, even though he'd paid for the stuff. He's much freer than Michelle, you know, more generous. Michelle's always worried about getting ripped off. I know Duane's supposed to be a hardheaded businessman and all, but he's really kind of a pussycat, compared to Michelle, though a lot of people don't understand that at first because all they see is a fat, beer-drinking slob bossing people around.”

“Could be confusing,” I agreed, but Georgia's ear for irony was chemically blocked and she kept talking.

Michelle came back from the kitchen, without Reg, and climbed into the Jacuzzi between Duane and “invisible” Georgia.

“Where's Reg?” asked Duane.

“In the kitchen.”

“How's he doing?”

“He's flying,” said Michelle.

“On what?”

“
I
don't know. I went to the bathroom, and when I came back he was stoned out of his gourd. At least he's starting to cheer up. I told him to come join us.”

“Think I should check him out?”

Michelle, Georgia said, had answered, “Bring him back in here if he's mellowed out.”

At that point Susan said, “I told him to come back and he said he would.”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted Georgia. “Susan had been in the kitchen with Reg?”

“Apparently.”

“And Ted?”

“Surgically attached. In fact—now I remember—Ted said he'd go get him. But Duane hopped out first and said he'd do it.”

“Did he?”

“He was gone a long time—or at least it seemed long—I don't know. I was feeling no pain, except when Rick got in beside me and tried to touch me. Yeeccch. I swam over to Susan and closed my eyes.”

Warm water had swirled. Tombstones were drained. Conversation drifted, wandered on currents and counterflows. Suddenly, Duane burst into the party room, yelling for Susan.

“Come quick! Come quick! Something's wrong with Reg.”

Chapter 26

“Duane was so wired his eyes were bulging,” Georgia contined. “Susan didn't get it at first and he started screaming, ‘You're a nurse. You're a nurse. Do something!'

“She jumped out of the water and ran, dripping, slipping,
ran
through the house. Ted scrambled after her. Then Michelle, and Bill and Sherry. Next thing I knew I was alone in the Jacuzzi with my horrible husband.

“Rick said, ‘Do you think we should?' I said, ‘Don't talk to me, you slime,' or something along those lines. He asked, ‘What's wrong, darling?' I said the traditional, ‘I think you know what's wrong.' And after a while he got out and lunked off to the kitchen.”

“Leaving you alone in the Jacuzzi? Everyone else had gone?”

“Alone at last. God, was I glad they'd all gone. The water felt like silk and the night air was blowing through the screens. I turned off the jets so I could hear the bugs singing. And I lowered the lights so I could even see stars. And up in the mirror there was this beautiful girl sprawled in the water like a nymph. It was me. I looked so beautiful. Except my hair was all wet and plastered around my face. Am I crazy, Ben?”

“Didn't you wonder what was going on in the kitchen?”

“I didn't care. I thought, Hell, they're not coming back. So I took off my bathing suit and spread out naked, admiring myself with naked admiration. Heaven. Then I began to wonder—I kind of began to remember why they'd gone to the kitchen. Something about Reg. And Duane yelling for Susan. Wait a minute. That broke the spell. I jumped out, dried off, put on my clothes, and went out there.

“What a scene. I'll never forget it. They had Reg on his back on the floor. Susan was hunched over him, shining a light in his eyes. Duane was sobbing, ‘Please, Susan. Please save him.'

“Susan was so tender. She turned out the light and pulled Duane to her like a baby. ‘He's gone, Duane. I'm sorry.'

“Michelle looked like wax—frozen, white, catatonic. Bill and Sherry were holding each other. Rick looked like his boss had fired him. My heart went out to him. I know him so well…”

“What about Ted?”

“Ted stood there like Gregory Peck in
On the Beach
: ‘Sorry, Australians, we've had a little trouble in the Northern Hemisphere.'”

Georgia's giggle was a prelude to tears. Soon she was mopping her eyes with cocktail napkins and soldiering on in a broken voice. “Poor Reg. The poor man. Ben, I'd just seen him a little while ago in the party room and, and, and
now
he looked like plastic furniture. His skin was blue. Huge, empty eyes staring at the ceiling.

“I mean, I didn't know him that well—we socialized a bit before Janey left him—but he was
nice
. Like you, he was gentle. And smart. And did something with his life—not one of these beer-drinking couch potatoes. Interested in stuff. Suddenly dead.
D-E-A-D
gone. And nobody cared. Except Duane.”

“But you just said they were upset.”

“They were
stunned
. Shocked. But they didn't
care
. Duane cared. Fat, beer-drinking Duane cried like a baby. He made me cry. I stood there trying to mourn Reg, but I was really crying for Duane. I kept waiting for Michelle to comfort him, but first she was catatonic and then, when she snapped out of it, boy did she go into action.

“‘What are we going to do?' she asked.

“Nobody answered. What the hell
were
we going to do?

“Michelle said, ‘We have to do something, Duane. What are we going to do?' Duane stopped crying. Bill Carter said, ‘Boy are we in trouble.'

“Well, that got everybody's attention. Like you said at your Aunt Connie's, Ben, there was a sudden realization that we had a terrible problem on our hands.”

“What did you think?” I interrupted her.

“Me? I knew we were going to get caught. I knew that the second I saw him lying there. I could see Court TV: Pan Main Street, flagpole, General Store; closeup Fisks' Jacuzzi; wide angle four prosperous couples in handcuffs. State's attorney: ‘And you, Ms. Georgia Bowland, what did you do to your friend who died?' I knew it was all over.”

“But Michelle didn't.”

“She kept screaming, ‘What are we going to do? What are we going to do?'”

“Whose idea was it to move the body?”

“I don't know. Not mine.”

“Come on, Georgia. You were there. Somebody must have taken charge.”

“I was ten percent there. I was bombed. My husband had just betrayed me with goddamned Sherry Carter. I was scared. And I was so sad for Duane.”

“Georgia, you are an incredibly intelligent woman. You must have noticed when things started moving.”

“Well, I didn't. All of a sudden things were moving. The guys picked him up and sat him on the chair.”

“Why?”

“I don't know why.”

“Who told them to sit Reg on the chair?”

“Does it matter? He was flopping around like a doll. It was grotesque. Rick couldn't bear to touch him. Duane and Bill did it.”

“It matters. Who told them to pick Reg up?”

“I don't know. I was blanking out. Ohmigod.”

“What?”

“I just remembered: Duane and Bill were wearing gloves.”

“Gloves?”

“Garden gloves. I just realized that. Makes sense. Fingerprints.”

“So they knew what they were going to do. Somebody got it started. Who?”

“I don't know. I just now remembered the gloves. They must have got them in the mudroom. Except they were clean. Oh, yeah, I remember thinking, Good move, clean gloves. If they were dirty they'd leave marks. Amazing how much I blocked out.”

“But you didn't block out who got them started.”

“Yes, I did.”

“The person who got them started was someone you like a lot. Liked more than the others. Admired. You know who I mean.”

Georgia started crying. “Don't make me do this, Ben.”

“I'm not making you do anything. You know who told them to pick the body up.”

She stood up, reeling, and pushed away from me when I reached to help her. “No!”

“Relax,” I said. “I know who it was. There was only one person who knew what to do. Sitting the body on the chair was a crucial, vital decision. Without doing that you would have been caught. The medical examiner would have seen right away you had moved the body.”

“The nurse,” Georgia whispered.

“Of course, Susan,” I said. “She was the only one qualified to know that the body had to be moved quickly—in the position you intended to dump it. And, being a nurse, she was also the one with her head on straight at such a horrible moment.”

“Hey, it doesn't mean anything, except she thought fast.”

I agreed, to comfort Georgia. Fact was, Susan had thought fast. And smart. But I had to wonder: Had the nurse planned ahead? I held Georgia's hand a minute. “Everything we talked about is between you and me. I really appreciate your help.”

She took a deep breath. “It was kind of like your dinner party—fun, till it got heavy.”

***

I found Sherry Carter in a construction trailer next to a renovation Bill was performing on an old sawmill that had been converted into a house in the 1930s. I'd sold it to the new people, a New York doctor-lawyer couple with an impressive art collection to house and considerably more money than sense. Their total expenditure when Bill got done would total out at about twice the property market value—in case I needed another reminder that love defied reason.

Sherry was poking keys on a computer. Her desk was neat, her In box empty, her Out box full. On the wall was a telephone and a list of suppliers and subcontractors. Atop their numbers was scrawled the trailer's phone number. She was wearing jeans, a blue workshirt, and, from what I could see as she folded her hands behind her head and turned to me with a smile, no bra.

“Well, hi there, Ben. You just missed Bill. He went to the lumberyard. Coke?” She bent over an under-the-counter refrigerator and brought out a pair of cold Diet Pepsies. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“You look like you had a liquid lunch.”

“Stopped by the Club. Had a few with Scooter's granddad.”

“Under-the-table time.”

“I held my own.” In fact, my mouth tasted of stale gin and my eyes ached.

Sherry winked. “And now you've come to play with someone your age?”

“When's Bill coming back?”

“Couple of hours. Anything I can do for you?”

“Maybe something I can do for you.”

“Oh really? Something fun?”

“Something a little embarrassing, actually.”

“For you or me?”

“Embarrassing for me to say, and embarrassing for you if what I heard is true.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen, I don't go looking for gossip. And I sure as hell don't like getting between people. But just as a friend, I've got to tell you—before Bill hears it somewhere—that I picked up some talk about you and Rick Bowland.”

I had no idea how she would react to this little ploy. It never occurred to me she would laugh. Much less a huge laugh, with her big eyes wide, and her lovely teeth gleaming and her head thrown back and her whole, long, lanky frame stretching out, then doubling up, dissolving in giggles as she tried to catch her breath.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I gather it's not true.”

“Not true? Rick
Bowland
? Ben?” She cracked up again. Unfolded and threw her arms around me. “I hope you told whoever said that, Don't be ridiculous. Did you?”

“I didn't want to dignify it with a denial.”

“Rick Bowland's a skinny tightass. I go for big bears like Bill. And medium bears like you.”

Chapter 27

I guess I should have been grateful I'd come this far in life before I'd been called a medium bear, but it rankled.

“What's the matter?” she asked, arms draped over my shoulders. “Tell Sherry.”

“I don't want to be a medium bear.”

“Well, you're not a big bear. And you're certainly not a little bear. So—”

“I don't want to be a bear at all. It sounds fat.”

“I didn't mean fat. I meant cuddly. Hold-on-able.” She demonstrated.

“Sherry, there's carpenters over there.”

“Ohmigod.” She slithered past me and locked the door. “Now, where were we?”

“Where did anybody get the idea that you and Rick were hooked up?”

“Did Georgia tell you that?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Oh God, I've got to talk to her. I thought something was bugging her. You know the party—well of course you know the party,
the
party—Georgia gave me this look, like, You've been screwing my husband, bitch. I was so drunk I didn't really pick up on it, and then everything hit the fan.”

“What made her think you were?”

“I went outside for air. I couldn't breathe. Those stupid drinks Duane was shoving down us. Tombstones. Sweetened Drano was more like it. I sat under a tree and kind of mellowed out. But after a while the mosquitoes started, so I headed in. I fell over Rick; he was passed out on the lawn. If I didn't wake him up the mosquitoes would suck him dry. So I nudged him with my toe, but he was really out.

“I knelt down and shook his bony little shoulders. He came out of it all groggy, kind of focusing on me like I'm spinning in circles. I'm going, ‘Hey, Rick. Wake up, hon, before the mosquitoes eat you.' He goes, ‘Hit the snooze alarm,' and I realize Rick's thinking I'm Georgia telling him to haul his tail to IBM.

“‘Rick. Wake up. Come inside, we'll jump in the Jacuzzi.' Suddenly he's awake. Totally aware. He knows he's in the grass. He knows I'm not Georgia. And he thinks I'm trying to jump his bones. I said, ‘Oh, no. No, no, no.' Rick goes, ‘You're overdressed'—must have heard it in a movie—I'm wearing a bikini made of kite string. He grabbed, and pulled, and ripped. My tits fall out. He goes, ‘
Oh God
,' like it's supposed to be a compliment.”

Sherry laughed. “I hit him so hard I thought I knocked him out. You should have seen it, Ben. It was great. I tied my string and went inside. I thought, Wow, I decked a guy!”

I must have been gaping a little, because she explained, “Keep in mind, the drinking?”

“Did anybody notice?”

“Well, it certainly sounds like Georgia noticed. Damn. I like her. I don't want her to think I want her stupid husband.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No. But after I got in the water, in came Rick, looking weirded out. I guess Georgia thought he looked guilty. Thanks for telling me, Ben. I've got to clear this up with her.”

“Would you keep my name out of it?”

“Absolutely. I'll just tell her what happened, minus the grab. Can't blame Rick for being drunk as I was.”

“Did he go upstairs?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you think Ted and Susan made the same assumption as Georgia?”

“No. They didn't see us come in.”

“Didn't Bill wonder?”

“Bill?”

“Your husband.”

“Bill doesn't have a jealous bone in his body. I mean, if he walked in right now and saw me doing this! To you.”

“Sherry!”

“He might be pissed.”

“Hands off.”

“Or this! But he thinks I'm only kidding around.”

“If you don't stop doing
that
, I'm going to start taking you seriously.”

“I'm sorry; I'm teasing. I have a thing about you bears. But you're no fun. You never follow through.”

“And end up punched out like Rick Bowland?”

“Okay,” she said, with a businesslike glance at her watch. “Let's get serious. Bill's gone two hours.”

I reached for the door.

“Chicken?” She smiled.

“Call me sometime when you've got a week.” It seemed a safe bet she'd never get a full week free, which, while it would be marvelous, was not something I wanted to do to my friend Bill.

“I might,” she said.

“In the meantime, can I ask you one more thing?”

She crossed her arms and smiled indulgently. “Sure, Ben. What's up?”

“Didn't anybody want to call 911?”

“Oh, Ben. You're still doing that. What's the matter? You feeling guilty for your friend?”

“Sure.”

Sherry looked at the locked door. “Now, listen. This goes no further than you. If you repeat it, I'll say you're lying.”

“Why?”

“Because nothing will bring him back.”

“Who called 911?”

“Bill tried.”

“Tried?”

“They stopped him.”

“Who stopped him?”

“Ted.”

“What do you mean, ‘stopped him'?”

“Susan was doing CPR. I said to Bill, ‘Shouldn't we call an ambulance?' Bill grabbed the phone. Ted leaned over and said something to Susan. She shook her head. Ted grabbed the phone and said, ‘Wait.'

“‘What do you mean, Wait?' Duane comes over. ‘What's going on?' Bill said, ‘I want to call an ambulance. Ted says wait!' Duane was really confused. The next second Susan called, ‘He's gone.' And it was over. It wouldn't have made any difference.”

“How long did she work on him before you said to call an ambulance?”

“Ben, I've worried about that over and over. And you know what I think happened? I think I saw her being a nurse, being in charge, being the expert, doing her job; and I thought, Okay, she knows what's best. I'm just a spectator. Which I was. I was just watching an accident. Like you pull over on the side of the road, but you don't get in the ambulance crew's way. Susan was the ambulance crew.”

“I guess so.”

“It has to be so, Ben. Could have been any one of us. We've been friends for so long, through so much…Do you remember how we worked in the 'Eighties, throwing up houses like there was no tomorrow—But you weren't here—Let me tell you, Ben, we had fun. We were so young. We were still in our twenties. Ted had the big boat and we all had plenty of money. It was fun and work and fun and work and fun. Who knew, growing up here, we'd make ten times what our parents ever did?

“Then everybody got mangled in the recession. But we survived. Sure, some people disappeared, but we brought in Rick and Georgia and they're full of life. And you came home. It's getting good again, except for poor Reg. Christ, I don't know. It makes you feel old, sometimes. But we've
survived
. And we've got new things cooking. And if you'll sell that turkey over on Mine Hill Road, life'll be good. Is that too much to ask?”

“Suppose not.”

“Ben, do you believe I didn't screw Rick Bowland?”

“If you say so.”

“Would you care if I did?”

“I'd figure it was none of my business…Although I would wonder if you did it in the upstairs guest room.”

“I never went upstairs. Would it make you more or less inclined to sleep with me if I screwed Rick?”

“None of your business.”

***

I went home. No messages. I telephoned Ramos's Bar. The bartender recognized my voice and passed the phone when I asked, “May I speak with the president, please?”

Before I could ask about Spider, she said, “The troopers tapped this phone, again.”

I hung up before they could trace me.

My basil hadn't recovered, so I boiled some mushroom tortellini, drenched it in oil and garlic, and ate it. The night had turned hot. A dense mugginess had arrived from the south, shoving out the cool, dry air the Canadian high had blessed us with.

The porch was thick. I gathered my lists and retreated to my library. Deep in the oldest part of the house, the stone chimney exudes a coolness on the worst day. I spread out on the reading table and crossed off Bill and Sherry.

I was down to Duane and Michelle and Ted and Susan as my only suspects who'd been with Reg in the kitchen. I felt I was closing in. Except for one problem. Motive.

Pondering that imponderable, I turned again to Reg's telephone bill and studied it closely. Twice I dialed numbers that intrigued me. Neither was answered by the dinner date who'd stood him up at Brassée.

The library was the quietest room in the house, insulated from the street sounds. I thought I heard a door. I listened. A board creaked in the hall.

“In here, Spider.”