Sweet Dreams, Irene

32

“IRENE? Irene? Are you okay?”

I looked blankly into Frank’s worried face, my mind still flooding with images of being in a small, cold, dark room; of being beaten; of being afraid I would be killed. Dice rolling across a bare wooden floor.

“Sit down,” I heard Frank saying, as if from a great distance. “Try to put your head down.” I let him position me without resistance; I couldn’t seem to will myself to do anything.

When I had recovered somewhat, I lifted my head and said, “Sorry,” and took a few deep breaths. Frank and Jack were anxiously watching me. I was shaking. I started to talk to them, but it was no good. I wanted the fear to pass, but it was like waiting for a long freight train at a railroad crossing.

“He’s the one,” I finally managed, but my mouth was so dry it came out a whisper. “He really is the one,” I said again. “Malcolm Gannet. The Pony Player.”

“The fourth man?” Frank asked.

I nodded.

“How do you know it’s Malcolm Gannet?” Jack asked.

“Devon and Raney kept talking about someone they called the Pony Player. They also said he was the big boy. They were afraid they might be set up to take a fall for Paul or the Pony Player. I got the impression that Devon and Raney didn’t do the actual killing – they were there, but Paul or maybe this Pony Player were the ones that actually carried out the murders.”

I thought over what I had heard Devon and Raney say, placing Paul Fremont in their cryptic references to Sammy’s murder. I looked up at Frank.

“Paul had a knife. After they killed Sammy, he cut this Pony Player with the knife, so that it had both the Pony Player’s and Sammy’s blood on it. Devon and Raney had a blanket they were going to use in the same way – so that if they were caught, they had a way to protect themselves, to implicate this same Pony Player.”

“That was when you broke the window,” Frank said, remembering what I had told him. “Devon took the blanket and hid it somewhere in Las Piernas.”

“Right. Devon took a long time getting back to the cabin. When Raney asked Devon why it took so long, he said something like ‘it was out’ and talked about having to ‘wait until they brought it back in.’ I think he meant the yacht. Raney said he ‘didn’t think they would do that this time of year.’ It puzzled the hell out of me at the time. Then Devon said something about a client or an investor being with the Pony Player. Maybe Gannet had the yacht out that night.”

“So why do you think Gannet and the Pony Player are the same man?”

“His yacht is called the Long Shot – and a pony player is someone who gambles on horses. He wanted your mother’s land. He was at her funeral even though he hated her.”

“He didn’t hate her,” Jack said.

We both stared at him.

“He even dated her for a while. I was about twelve or thirteen. She figured he was after the beach property, but I’m not sure. They were rivals, but in some ways, that also made them respect each other. I think if they hadn’t fought about developing the beach, they would have been friends, or maybe more. I used to watch the way he looked at her. I think he thought of her as someone unattainable.”

“Maybe she was unattainable, Jack. But so was her beach property, as long as she was alive. I think she was killed because Gannet wanted it. You were ill. If she died, and you died or went to prison for killing her, then Paul would get the property, right? So maybe Gannet put ideas in your son’s head. Maybe Gannet even planned the whole thing. I think the knife that killed Sammy can link him to her murder. And that blanket – that might do the same.”

“Can you get a search warrant, Frank?” Jack asked.

Frank was quiet. The whole time, he was watching my face. “It’ll be tough.”

He saw my disappointment.

“Look, I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll do my best. But he’s powerful and all I’ve got is your word about something you overheard and guessed at the meaning of-” I started to open my mouth to complain but he motioned me to silence. “Settle down, I believe you. But we’ll have to come up with some way to convince a judge in order to get a warrant.”

I saw the hopelessness of it.

“I’ll try,” he said firmly. “But in the meantime, don’t talk about this to anyone else, Irene. I mean it. If he is involved and he thinks you’re on to him – please just don’t say anything to anybody for now, okay?”

I nodded.

ON THE WAY BACK home, I resolved not to let seeing the Long Shot spoil a great day. When we got to the house, I gave a surprised Jack a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Why, Irene! If I had known I could get kissed, I would have taken you out on the Pandora long ago. At your service any time, my dear.”

He left. Frank had a look on his face that bordered on jealousy, and it made me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he said testily.

I didn’t answer, just hobbled over and gave him the kind of kiss that could make him forget his name and address. When I remembered mine, I said, “Do you think we could manage to work around my orthopedic supplies and take up where we left off this afternoon?”

He kissed me back, moaning softly. “I’ve missed you so damn much.”

The guy had been tethered to me night and day for two weeks, during which I had been a regular pain in the butt. But I knew what he meant. I had missed him, too.