Retirement Can Be Murder

CHAPTER 20

They were walking to the common building at Sunset Cove when Gary got cold feet. He tapped his cane on the ground once and waited for Jake to look back. It took him a few steps to notice. He turned back to Gary and asked him what was wrong.

“Jacob, I just don’t know if it is the right thing to do.”

“What?”

“I know you say this woman, Sheryl, she has some sort of information about Charlotte.”

“Right-she may even know what happened. Or worse. She might be a part of it.”

Gary swallowed. He tapped his cane on the sidewalk again.

“Jacob, I don’t feel right seducing this strange woman, even if it is for a good cause.”

Jake put his hand to his head.

“What? Gary, when did I say you had to seduce her?”

“You’ve met my wife Meryl. She is a wonderful woman. Very understanding. She understands much more than I do. I know we are trying to discover what happened to Ms. Ward, but I fear that this might be acrossing the line.”

“Crossing the line, you mean?”

“However you want to put it, it is wrong.”

He looked around. It was late afternoon and the sun had started to set. Few people were walking around. When they’d found Sheryl Goldfein’s condo, they’d been told she was in the common building, planning for a bridge game that night. It wasn’t the normal night. He looked back at Gary, who was struggling with his short sleeve shirt. He was trying to wipe the sweat off his forehead while still holding his cane. It wasn’t working.

“Gary, all I said was that I wanted you to come along so she’d be more comfortable. I don’t think she likes me. Did I ever say that you needed to seduce her? Or flirt with her? Even talk with her?”

“Jacob, please. It was obvious. I could guess at why you’d want me there. She is a woman and I am a man.”

He dropped his cane and looked at Jake. Jake bent down and handed it back to him. He nodded stoically.

“Meryl and I, Jacob, we have a bond. A wedding ring. All these things. You wouldn’t understand. Your generation. You kiss and hug strange girls, willy nilly. Love is just a joke for you.”

“Gary, I don’t want you to seduce Sheryl.”

“Does she like a man with a sense of humor? Or the strong silent type?”

“I don’t know. You don’t have to do anything at all, if you’re worried.”

“Meryl will have to understand,” Gary said and sighed. “It’s for our friend Charlotte.”

“Wait, I thought you didn’t want to seduce her.”

“Our search for the truth requires bravery. Sacrifice. Seduction.”

He led the way to the building and Jake just followed. Slowly.

“Just remember it’s all informal. We can’t let her know what we figured out. She probably thinks I gave up on the idea that Charlotte didn’t die naturally.”

They went into the building. There was a miniature movie theatre in the center-the one they’d passed over for the picture of Palmstead’s more impressive one. Tables were pushed against the wall, three covered with aqua tablecloths and three bare. A handicapped rail clung to the side-wall-he thought about Charlotte and her walker, rolling down the ramp. Then Sheryl came out from behind an open closet door.

“Slow news day?” She held a tablecloth in her hand, folded into a square. “Or slow news year?”

“How are you?”

“Who’s your friend?”

Gary was walking down the stairs, one foot at a time. He had a grin on his face as he lowered his cane onto each step.

“Hello, a pleasure to meet you.” At first it sounded like he was trying to hide his accent. He gave up quickly. Sheryl started unfolding the tablecloth.

“This is Gary Novak,” Jake said. “He’s my photographer. We’ve been working together today, so I thought I’d bring him along to Sunset Cove.”

“Fine. Can you get that vase in the corner and put it on this table?”

Gary started to walk forward, but Jake cut him off and got the vase first.

“What are you preparing for?”

“A bridge game. I’m sure you heard.”

“I did.”

Gary coughed suddenly and started speaking loudly.

“You may have heard about me,” he said, his chest pushed forward. “I am a photographer. Some say I have my own unique way of seeing the world. I say, perhaps this is so. Some people have prescriptions for their blood pressure or their eyes. I medicate the soul.”

She didn’t look up.

“What time is your game?” Jake asked.

“A half hour. I can’t talk for a long time.”

“Sheryl,” Gary said dramatically.

“Yes?”

“I love to photograph beautiful things.”

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. It almost made the pain go away.

“Sheryl,” Gary repeated. She flapped the tablecloth up and over. It covered the wood in a wave of blue. “Do you normally play bridge tonight?”

“No,” she said. “We were going to dedicate it to Charlotte.”

She crossed to the closet and got another tablecloth out.

“Did you tell anyone that?”

“Ech.”

“Sometimes,” Gary volunteered, “I cannot bear to look at the images I’ve made. Such beauty causes me great pain.”

Jake sat down at one of the chairs and rested his head against the hard wood table. Sheryl walked out from behind the closet and then she looked up slowly. She spoke in a softer voice.

“Why can’t you bear to look at the beautiful images, Mr. Novak?”

Jake looked up. Her accent seemed washed out. It was somewhere under the tablecloth, for a second at least. Gary walked across the room, his chest puffed out.

“I cannot speak of it.” He sat down and let his cane drop. “I don’t talk about my work. The images, they are a part of me. A secret part.”

“Sheryl,” Jake said. “Don’t mind him. I’m trying to learn more about things at Sunset Cove. Everyday things.”

She ignored him and walked over to Gary. He had his eyes closed. She stayed a foot away.

“Why can’t you talk about your work?”

“Words. They are blunt tools.”

“They are?”

“Like using a baguette to hammer a nail.”

She didn’t flinch, so he continued.

“Can you describe an open beach? A last birthday? Only my photographs can do that.”

“Sheryl,” Jake said. “Who will be playing bridge tonight?”

“Ech.” Her accent returned. “Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”

“What?”

“Rude, inconsiderate. You really are a reporter.”

She turned back to Gary and her face softened.

“I was a nurse. I always found it hard to talk about my work.”

Gary opened his eyes wide.

“We see the things that other people look away from.”

They both looked at Jake.

“What?” he said. “I see things too. I am a reporter.”

“Well,” Sheryl said, “you think you see things.”

“I do.”

“Did you see the soul of the city?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Exactly, my reporter friend.”

“I don’t talk about it.”

Jake bit his lip. Sheryl wasn’t even looking at him. She was watching Gary, her eyes sparkling. He started again.

“When I photograph a setting sun, it is poetry. But only because the night is drawing near.”

Jake sat down and put his face in his hands as Sheryl leaned toward Gary.

“Do you photograph the beach?”

She was close. The frizz of her gray hair almost touched his.

“The beach? I see it constantly. Waves. Sand. Birds. Waves.”

Jake sat up.

“Gary, you said ‘waves’ twice.”

They both shook their heads at him, their hair almost becoming entangled. Gary looked in Sheryl’s eyes.

“In fact, a friend of mine just passed away. She took a long walk on the beach and then…”

He turned his head down toward the floor. Then he looked up at Jake so Sheryl couldn’t see. He winked. Or tried to. It looked like he was wincing. But Jake knew what it was supposed to be. Sheryl sounded cleaner and calmer.

“Mr. Novak, you knew Charlotte Ward?”

“I did. Jacob and I both knew her.”

“I’m sorry. I miss her.” She coughed.

“Do you?”

“I’m used to it.” The accent was back. She sat up straight and took the edge of the aqua tablecloth in her hands. She rubbed it against her eyes and the corners turned darker.

“No,” Gary said. “You don’t have to be saying that.”

She looked up. Stood up. Then she sat down again.

“It’s fine.”

“I just wish there were a way,” Gary said. “A way that I could find out what she was thinking that last night.”

“I can help you.” Her voice hardened a little. “I know the last man to see her.”

“I photographed her, you know.”

“The last man,” she said, “was Abram Samuels.”

Jake wrote it in his notebook and interrupted.

“When did Abram Samuels see her?”

Sheryl rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me, reporter, we were having a conversation.”

Gary nodded his head gently.

“Sheryl, please.”

“Abram saw Charlotte at dinner that night. From 4:30 to 5:00, right before her death. Then he probably went on one of his night walks.”

“Night walks?”

“You see him every night. He walks the sidewalk trail before going to sleep.”

“Gary, I’ve got to run. I’m going to find him.”

“Jacob, wait!”

He ran up the stairs. When Gary tried to follow, Sheryl took his cane and moved it across the room. She smiled at him, showing her teeth.

“You have to stay a little longer and tell me more about your passions.”

He shouted from his chair.

“Get my cane! Please!”

“Gary, a struggling artist like you could use a little rest.”

As he went out the door he looked back. Gary was staring at his cane and Sheryl was leaning forward, her chin resting on her hands, waiting to hear more.