Death in a Beach Chair

TWENTY-ONE

Considering the fact that murder was the topic of the hour, dinner was surprisingly festive. Susan thought that the large quantity of rum consumed undoubtedly contributed to the conviviality of the group. No one seemed to have any new information, but everyone had theories, which they defended energetically.

“I can see why they love playing bridge,” Susan said. “They’re the most competitive foursome I’ve ever met. I had thought the cards just might be an excuse to be social and drink, but I’ll bet they all play to win.”

Susan and Kathleen were strolling on the beach, killing time until the last guests went to bed.

“You know what was interesting?” Kathleen said. “Veronica’s husband-what’s his name?”

“Randy.”

“He didn’t drink.”

“Of course he did! He even ordered most of the drinks.”

“He ordered them, but he didn’t drink them.”

“Who did?” Susan asked.

“Veronica. She kept exchanging her empty glass for his full one. The first time I saw her do it, I thought he might not have noticed. But the second time she did it, he looked over at her and smiled.”

“So she was drinking two rum punches for every one that the rest of us had,” Susan said.

“Yes.”

“Lord, I’m amazed she can still stand up.”

Kathleen giggled. “Actually, she was sitting down when we left her. Perhaps they’ll just call James and he will carry her to her cabin.”

“It’s strange that Randy would pretend to be drinking,” Susan mused.

“Maybe he’s a reformed alcoholic and doesn’t want anyone to know.”

“I suppose that’s possible, although, in my experience, people who give up anything are unlikely to keep the news to themselves. The reformed alcoholics I know usually insist on talking about how their lives have changed in minute detail-usually while I’m enjoying a glass of wine.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe Veronica is the alcoholic-prereform-and Randy is helping her to hide her addiction.”

“Then he’s the codependent every addict dreams of finding.”

“Yeah, it’s probably too weird to be true.”

“But we really don’t know much about these people,” Susan said. “Almost anything could be true.”

“I suppose. Did you learn anything tonight?”

“Not really. What about you?”

“Nope.” Kathleen bent down to pick up a small white disk from the sand.

“What’s that?”

“Sea urchin shell. Funny that they’re so black and dangerous when they’re alive, and the shell is so pale, fragile, and elegant.”

“Hmm.” Susan examined the shell in her friend’s hand for a moment. “Think we should go back?”

“Probably. If everyone’s not in bed yet, at least most of the people who are still up have probably had enough rum punch not to pay any attention to what we’re doing.”

“Good. I’ll be glad to get this started. As anxious as I am to poke around Allison’s things, I can’t imagine how we’re going to do it in the dark. And we can’t risk turning on a light. The shutters on the windows offer a fair amount of privacy, but anyone outside would be able to see lights turned on in the cottage.”

“We’ll use flashlights.”

“Where will we get flashlights?”

“They are in the nightstands on either side of the bed. At least they are in our cottage.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. I guess the power goes out a lot here. Hadn’t you noticed all the candles scattered around?”

“Sure, but I thought of them as romantic.”

“They’re also practical.”

“I guess. So we’ll stop in your cottage, pick up the flashlights, and if no one is around, go see what Allison brought here.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

Allison’s cottage was immaculate. Two pairs of sandals lined up next to the door and folded beach towels lying on the couch were the only immediate signs of her occupation.

“Do you think someone’s cleaned up her stuff?” Kathleen whispered.

“I don’t know. The bedroom’s upstairs. Let’s go up.”

The bedroom looked more occupied, with clothing strewn about, books lying open next to the bed, cosmetics and creams crowded together on the small dresser.

“Do you think we can risk turning on a light?” Kathleen asked.

Susan walked over to the doors to the balcony. “I think it’s risky. Someone might see them. But the balcony faces the water. If we open these, the moonlight will shine in, and if we keep the flashlights aimed at the floor, I don’t see how anyone outside will know we’re here.”

Kathleen had picked up a little tub of moisturizer and was examining the label. “This stuff sells for hundreds of dollars an ounce. I guess Allison was doing pretty well financially.”

“Listen, it may have been years since I saw her, but I have no doubt that she had had every tuck, lift, peel, and injection ever invented. A few hundred dollars spent on cream would have been the least of it. She probably thought of it as protecting her investment.”

“Was she always gorgeous?” Kathleen asked, opening the dresser drawer and beginning to rummage through an extensive collection of lacy underwear.

Susan walked over to her side and offered to help. “Not even pretty. Wow! Looks like she was ready for a romantic evening or two.”

“Or a dozen,” Kathleen said, picking up a tiny thong made entirely from black Chantilly lace and dropping it back onto the silky pile.

“Jerry has nothing to do with this-this stuff,” Susan said.

“I-I don’t know anything anymore,” Kathleen said sadly.

“Kath-”

“I know. This is no time to give up. We’re just beginning. We have to help Jerry. Etc. Etc.” She slammed shut the top dresser drawer and opened the one below it.

Susan grabbed her friend’s hand. “Shhhh!”

“I-”

“Shhh!” Susan repeated. “I thought I heard a sound downstairs!”

Kathleen clicked off her flashlight and froze.

“Could have been the wind. I’ll go down and check it out.”

“But-”

Susan had slipped down the stairs before Kathleen could finish. She was back in less than a minute.

“Can’t see anything and the door’s still closed. Must have been the wind or something outside.”

“Or someone outside.”

“Maybe someone who doesn’t want to be seen any more than we do.”

“Maybe someone looking for something,” Kathleen said, returning to her search through Allison’s drawers.

Susan went into the bathroom and looked through the prescription bottles scattered among the expensive cosmetics before returning to the bedroom.

“Learn anything?” Kathleen was going through a pile of bikinis on the dresser top.

“Nothing interesting. Allison had some sleeping problems, took lots of vitamins, and was on hormone replacement therapy.”

“Nothing interesting,” Kathleen agreed, sweeping the pile of swimsuits back into the drawer. “Too bad Allison didn’t keep a diary telling us all about her life.”

“I can’t believe it.”

Kathleen turned and discovered Susan standing by the bed, the drawer to the nightstand open, a leather-bound book in her hand. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s that diary you were yearning for.” She directed the light onto the book and flipped through the pages. “And it looks like she’s been writing in it daily ever since January first.”

“Sensational!” Kathleen paused a moment. “I think I hear something outside again. Grab that diary and let’s get out of here.”

Susan nodded, tucked the book inside of her shirt, and the two women hurried down the stairs, across the first floor, and out the door, running right into James and his female companion.

“Oh!” Susan felt the diary slip southward. “Hi. We’re-we-”

“We were just looking around,” Kathleen said. “And now we’re done. Good night.” She grabbed Susan’s arm and pulled her back toward their own cottages.

“I-yes, good night,” Susan called out, clutching her midriff and holding on to the book. “Boy, do you have a lot of nerve!” she whispered to her friend. “I’d probably still be back there trying to explain what we were doing if you hadn’t just brazened it out.”

“They were glad we didn’t hang around. They had no business being there, either.”

“Oh.” Susan turned and looked back at the row of two-story cottages. “Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, hurry. Let’s get inside.”

“What?”

“Just go!”

“What was all that about?” Kathleen asked, as Susan carefully closed the door to her cottage behind them.

“Someone was standing on the balcony of the Parkers’ cottage, looking at us through a pair of binoculars.”

“Oh, no. Who was it?”

“I have no idea. Whoever it was seemed to be wearing one of those white terry cloth robes that hang in all the bathrooms here. It’s a pretty good disguise. One person wearing one in the dark looks pretty much like the next person.”

“That’s true.”

“Maybe they didn’t recognize us.”

“We did come straight back to your cottage,” Kathleen reminded her. “Whoever’s up there could make a pretty intelligent guess.”

Susan frowned. “Oh, well, nothing we can do about that now. Besides, maybe this will tell us who killed Allison.” She pulled the notebook from beneath her shirt.

“Great.”

“Hey, I was wondering where you two had vanished to.” Jed walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and a comb in his hand. “I asked around and no one had seen you since dinnertime.”

“Did you get something to eat?” Susan asked, reverting to concerned wife.

“How’s Jerry?” Kathleen asked, feeling the same thing. “Oh, my goodness, I was supposed to bring him dinner!”

“He’s fine. We had dinner together. The food wasn’t as good as it is here, but there was a lot of it. His biggest problem is boredom.”

“Boredom?” Kathleen asked.

“Yes. The lawyer we hired has Jerry writing out everything he can remember about Allison. I thought Jerry would object, but he seemed delighted to have something to do.”

“I wonder if we could get a copy of whatever he writes,” Susan said.

“We could ask.” Jed had pulled the robe off the wall hook and was slipping into it as he spoke. “Kath, the lawyer-his name is Jude Armstrong-wanted to talk to you as soon as possible. I suggested breakfast tomorrow. At seven. That’s when the restaurant opens,” he added somewhat sheepishly. “I know I shouldn’t make appointments for you, but he wanted to see you before he visits Jerry and-”

“No, I’m glad you did. I’ll ask for a wake-up call.”

“That’s right. You’ll be up late tonight reading,” Susan said, going over to her side of the bed and picking up a paperback with a bright cover and a clever title. “You wanted to borrow this, remember?” She gave Kathleen the book along with Allison’s diary. “It’s a real page-turner.”

“But don’t you want to read it first?” Kathleen asked.

“No. I’m going to go to bed. I’ll get it back in the morning. Okay?”

“First thing in the morning,” Kathleen agreed.