The Weekend Visitor

by Jessica Thomas

  No, I shouldn't. I would then have embarrassed Cindy, who was at work, not play, this afternoon. It was her problem, not mine, and she would handle it graciously. Let it go. Face it, Mary was like a label in your shirt: either you don't know it's there, or it's driving you crazy. I walked into the small conference room and my mood immediately brightened.

  Here the crimson carpet gave way to deep sumptuous gray, on which sat a large table with eight matching chairs, all in American cherry, matte finished in black and hand-rubbed to let the rich brown of the wood intermittently show through. The walls were a pale peach and adorned with several of my black-and-white photos, greatly enlarged and framed in cherry wood. Deeper peach draperies were pulled closed, and spotlights shown on each photograph. It was a spectacular room!

  And the photos were mostly my favorites. There was one of Fargo, on his hind legs, front paws stretched up against the trunk of a small pine tree. Just above him was a head-down squirrel, nose not two inches from Fargo's . . . both laughing. Another favorite was a line of nine starlings, feathers bushed out and dripping wet, grumpily sitting out a heavy rain along a phone wire, and looking like Supreme Court Justices about to hand down an unpopular verdict. And there was one of a glass water tank filled with minnows, a homemade Bait for Sale sign askew on the tank's side. On the mesh top lay a very contented, very fat cat dozing in the sun.

  The other pictures were more commercial. A flight of Canada geese, a fog rolling in across the marsh, an old dog dozing beside an empty deck chair, a fishing boat, lines garlanded with rime, sparkling in the sun. They all looked great to me. Nature photography was my "second career," and it looked as if it were taking hold. I felt I had arrived.

  I walked out onto the balcony and perused the scene below. Cindy had somehow gotten rid of Mary and Maureen and was now shaking hands with a young man I didn't know. The two Ms had progressed to a buffet table and were making a meal out of a bowl of iced shrimp. It looked tempting. I'd get there at some point. Maureen said something to Mary with a smile. Was Maureen gay? My gaydar, usually sharp, was not telling me anything.

  I continued my visual sweep and spotted my mother talking to bank VP Choate Ellis. Mom looked particularly elegant in a lavender dress with a lavender, green and white short jacket. Ellis made some remark that made her reach out and touch his sleeve, laughing. He preened as she touched him, and I didn't blame him. She looked great when she laughed. Still slim and straight, she had good legs and square shoulders. Her wavy hair, once a true auburn, now had enough white in it to look reddish blonde. She was damn good looking for a woman in her fifties. I was told I was the spitting image of her when she had been in her early thirties. I hoped that luck held.

  My glass was empty, so I made my way back down to waiter country and got a fresh one. I made my curtsies to various bank officials to thank them again for selecting my photos for display, in between snagging some broiled scallops with bacon from a tired-looking waitress. I managed a fast hello to my Mom and a brief stop at the shrimp shrine. I waved to Cassie, said hello to Vance and Charlie and suddenly realized I was beat.

  Cindy was now surrounded by three earnest-looking young men, so I simply caught her eye, blew a kiss and left. I made a fast stop at the Chinese take-out. I figured egg rolls, shrimp with bacon, chicken with veggies and pork-fried rice ought to give us a nice variety.

  At home, I let a sulky Fargo out while I changed into oh-so-welcome T-shirt and jeans and poured some iced tea. I saw Fargo walk over and look down the driveway. Then he looked at me, Where was Cindy? "Later," I called, "She'll be here later." I went out and flopped on a handy chaise and scratched Fargo's ears. "She had to work. But she will come soon, soon." He sighed and lay down, and I wondered again about Mary Sloan's companion.

  Obviously, friendships and love affairs were not limited to people of your own exact age. Everything I knew about Mary said she was a control freak. Maybe Maureen didn't mind that.. . very young, in a strange country. Maybe she was using Mary as a mother. And Mary was using her as a .. . what? My first, uncharitable thought was a maid. But maybe not. Maybe Maureen was a relative, or maybe Mary felt Maureen was a surrogate daughter. Maybe they were madly in love. Maybe it was none of my business.

  I wondered what problem Mary had that required, first, a lawyer and then, probably, an investigator. That would be my business. But it would wait for tomorrow. In a few minutes I would go and cut up a salad to have with dinner. Right now, I would have a cigarette. I had the feeling it was number six for the day, so I lectured myself sternly and swore it would be the last. Probably.

  It was still a little strange to me to consider two for dinner. When Cindy had moved up from Rhode Island to take the job with Fishermen's Bank, she had rented a diminutive cottage from my Aunt Mae. Cindy loved the little place, which overlooked a small pond and my aunt's extensive herb gardens. And when we finally became lovers, she saw no reason to give it up.

  I say finally, because we knew each other and were friends for several months before we found our way to bed. I assure you it was worth the wait. It was simply a great departure for me. Usually, I fell madly in lust, fell immediately into bed and then fell into mild depression wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into.

  This way I pretty well knew what I was into. And I liked it. I think.

  Cindy could still come up with surprises. She had learned early on that I was leery of commitments, and when we became lovers, she suggested that we not live together. Sometimes our schedules disagreed sharply. Sometimes I traveled a bit. Sometimes one of us would simply feel like being alone. We should have that option, she opined. It had nothing to do with monogamy and with loving each other.

  It seemed to be working well. And I went happily in to chop up some greens. As I did this, Cindy came in the back door, carrying her shoes. "I think I am crippled for life." She gave me a sort of sideswipe kiss. "Shower. If I am not back in fifteen minutes, call 911."

  I finished the salad, put the entrees in the microwave and set the table. Cindy timed it well and came through the kitchen door as the micro buzzed. She was barefoot and wearing only a terry robe. I held her close for a moment as she sighed, "Forgive me for not getting dressed. I simply couldn't face it."

  "Let's eat," I said. "Then we can just collapse."

  She looked in the cartons and began to fill her plate. "Oh, this all looks wonderful!"

  We ate silently and fast for a few minutes and then slowed. "How did it go?" I asked.

  "Great, I think. I know Choate Ellis was pleased, and he's the one who counts. So was his stone-faced brother. I actually saw him break a smile. Small, but it was there. And loads and loads of new people seemed interested in our Financial Planning Services. If even half of them follow through, I'm gonna be really busy."

  "Great. Among them, I'm sure, will be Mary Sloan and friend."

  "Oh, please! She's a walking emery board. Wherever you touch her, she rasps. Pass me my fortune cookie." I complied and she broke it open. "It says I will be very busy in my chosen work. Wonderful. Tell me something I don't know."

  I followed suit with the other cookie and unfolded the little paper. "Oh, great. It says I will soon go on a trip. I hope that means to bed. I am beat."

  We gave the kitchen a fast straighten-up and went to bed. We both struggled to stay awake through an episode of Law and Order. Cindy was losing the battle. I leaned across her to turn off her bedside light and caused the top sheet to fall away from her breast. She had brought a glass of wine to bed, but hadn't finished it. It sat on her night table, and I caught a few drops of wine on the end of my finger and drizzled it on her breast. She opened one sleepy eye and smiled.

  I dipped my head and licked the wine. Pretending to savor it, I smacked my lips and said, "A-aa-aah! Delightful little wine! A bit sassy and assertive, but—"

  Somewhere, Cindy found a surge of energy. "Sassy and assertive?" she laughed. She sat up and pushed me away and I rolled onto my back. "You want sassy and assertive? I’ll gi
ve you sassy and assertive."

  And so she did.

  Chapter 3

  I felt a cold, wet nose nuzzling the back of my neck. Being a trained observer, I was pretty sure it was Fargo, not Cindy. I turned over softly and reached an arm out into the cool morning to stroke his silky cheek. His warm, bright eyes held a hopeful look, and his rudder tail gave little half-wags. Perhaps I am a pushover, but I find it very hard to resist those eyes.

  Dogs are not allowed on the beach in the summer. It is against the law. I am the sister of a police officer. I am on friendly terms with most of Provincetown's finest. But I don't speed. I don't drive when I've been drinking much. I don't park in crosswalks or near fireplugs. I don't start fights in bars or shoplift or make loud noises late at night. I try to be very law-abiding, so that neither Sonny, nor his subordinates nor I might be placed in an embarrassing situation.

  But I took Fargo to the beach. He understood many things, but he did not understand why he could not run and swim on a fresh and sunny early summer morning. And neither did I. So I broke that law three or four mornings a week, secure in the knowledge I would not be ticketed. We went to Race Point. It was barely six o'clock, and the beach was deserted except for a few surf fishermen, left over from the night. The surf itself was gentle, the air calm. It did not have the brittle snap of the fall, but a softer, enveloping touch, like a cool hand on a tired brow. The tide was out, and Fargo took off across the hard sand, low and fast, like a solid black cheetah, chasing some unseen prey for nearly a quarter of a mile. He made a sudden skidding turn and was in the water, all fifty-five degrees of it, splashing through it, swimming out, then back. Then trotting up to me for a pat and bringing with him the odor of ocean and wet dog. I found neither objectionable. Then again, he ran, joyous and enviably carefree.

  I was armed with a plastic bag for poopie pick-up, being not entirely unmindful of our obligations to our biggest cash crop— the tourist. And if a passing patrol car noticed us, they did not make their presence known.

  When we got home, Cindy was seated at the kitchen table with hot coffee and cold cereal. She was already dressed and presented her cheek for a chaste kiss. "I know where you two have been." She smiled. "I wait for the day I have to come and bail you out."

  I poured a mug of coffee and sat opposite her. "Won't happen at least till the current crop of officers retire," I said smugly. "We're safe for now. How come you're wearing jeans and a shirt? Aren't you going to work?"

  "It's dress-down Friday," she reminded me. "Thank God. I'm not up to another day like yesterday. Even sneakers hurt. What's your drill for the day?"

  I lit cigarette one of the allotted five. The first one was always the best. Obviously it was bad for you. Nothing that tasted that great could be good for you. "I've got to catch up with John Frost this morning. Mary Sloan has retained him for some reason, and he wants me to investigate something connected with it. I've no idea what. Then around three, I have to see Mary herself. I can't imagine what on earth this is all about."

  I got up and got more coffee. Cindy shook her head at the carafe I had waved toward her. "Maybe," she said, "Mary came into some money. She was asking about all kinds of investments yesterday ... or trying to, until I finally convinced her she was at a party, not a business conference. Well, change of subject—I have every hope of leaving that bank on time today. Why don't you come over to the cottage when you finish with Mary and we'll do something about dinner?"

  "Fine. I shouldn't be long at Mary's, I imagine."

  "Well, if you beat me home, take the chicken out of the freezer and light the grill." She stood, gave me a light kiss, Fargo a light pat and was off.

  I turned to my coffee and cigarette. My thoughts jumped hither and yon. I mused fruitlessly over what John wanted. Maybe Cindy was right about an inheritance, but why would that involve me? You just took the money and ran. A problem at work? Harassment, maybe. Or with a neighbor? Mary wouldn't take kindly to any encroachment, real or perceived. Any way I looked at it, I was surprised Mary would spend the money on a lawyer and allow him to hire an investigator unless it was really important. Well, I'd find out shortly.

  A couple of hours later, Fargo and I set off for our 10:30 appointment. We walked down Commercial Street toward the center of town, and we had lots of company. We already had a ground cover of tourists. Like weeds, they started popping up in May, grew thick in June, and completely overran us in July and August. Slowly, slowly they began to thin again in September and pretty well disappeared in November, depending on how the weather held up. Very few tourists were spotted for the following four months ... and they were the purists who truly loved the cold, bleak beauty of our winters.

  With Fargo padding alertly at my side, we were virtually assured of a roomy right-of-way on the sidewalk ... of which we took full advantage. On the one hand, I was glad to see the tourists every year, for some of their activities contributed heavily to my income. And my Aunt Mae's. And Cassie's. Tourists were the main reason Ptown had a sizeable police force for Sonny to help oversee.

  They put food on the tables of most of my friends. Yes, I was glad to see them. On the other hand, I didn't do overly well in crowds.

  We reached John's office and were both happy to be off the bustling sidewalks and away from the heavy, exhaust-spewing traffic. John's secretary said he was expecting me. She gave Fargo a dubious smile, and said to go on in. I opened the door to his office, and we walked in to find him in conversation with Trish Woodworth, Sonny's girlfriend. She and Sonny make a handsome pair. Sonny with the wavy dark hair and always-tan skin of our Portuguese father, and Trish with light skin and baby-fine, whitish blonde hair, worn in a sort of Dutch cut. I imagine any other style would last about an hour.

  We all said our good mornings. John, as usual, called Fargo Denver and had to be corrected. We chatted a moment about the bank's fete of yesterday. Then John sighed and pulled a yellow pad in front of him.

  "Well, let's get moving on this. It's an unhappy, unpleasant affair here. We seem to have on our hands a case of date rape."

  I looked up, startled. "Mary was raped? That's awful! But why come to you, John? Why hasn't she called the police?" I had a second thought. "My God, I just saw her yesterday at the bank. She seemed fine. When did this happen?"

  John looked up and shook his head. What had been a round face in his youth was now somewhat elongated by a receding hairline. It gave him an overly solemn look like that famous portrait of Shakespeare, and belied his rather jovial nature. "Sorry," he said. "I misled you. It wasn't Mary who was raped. It was her young... er, friend. Maureen Delaney. And it was Sunday night."

  I still didn't understand. "Maureen was with Mary yesterday. She seemed fine, too. If that happened to me, I don't think I'd be at a big affair anytime soon. I'd be sure everyone there, even if they didn't know me, would know what had happened and be secretly nudging each other."

  Trish added a comment. "She's young, Alex. Kids recover fast. She's barely twenty-one. And maybe Mary thought it would do her good to get out. Just what is her relationship with Mary, anyway?"

  "Don't ask me. I thought she was a niece or something."

  "I think it's or something," John twinkled. "Mary referred to Maureen as friend and housemate. They work together. Or at least they both work for the phone company."

  I lit a cigarette. John looked pleased and pulled a pack of his own from his desk. Trish wrinkled her nose at both of us. "Housemate?" I repeated. Another thing not understood. "I never thought Mary had much luck with housemates. And Maureen her lover? There must be fifteen, sixteen years age difference there."

  "That's not necessarily a barrier," John pointed out. "Sometimes those arrangements work out well. Anyway, let's continue. The night of Sunday, June fourth, Maureen met some female friends at the Bitter End. After a glass or two of wine, her friends left. They all had to work the next day. Maureen had Monday off. It was approximately nine thirty. Maureen vaguely remembers that she stayed a few minutes to fi
nish her drink, and that she moved to the bar, rather than finish it alone at their table. That's about all she remembers." John paused and sipped from a glass of water on his desk.

  "Did she know the man? Does she recall anything about him?" I asked.

  "She doesn't recall much," Trish supplied.

  "All she remembers," John continued, "is that he was Caucasian and may have had dark hair. She remembers a breeze, as if riding in a car, a large building, possibly light gray or white, and steps. The next thing she remembers, she was standing in Mary's kitchen with Mary shaking her and asking what was wrong. Mary recalls noticing a car just backing out the end of her driveway, though she didn't notice what kind or color. That was sometime after one a.m."

  "I thought the building might be the old icehouse condos," Trish said.

  "Good possibility," I agreed. I leaned over and put my cigarette out. "And what about the cops? What are they saying? I really don't understand why the three of us are sitting here."

  John sighed and shuffled some papers. "They did not report it to the police. First, Mary didn't feel that Maureen was up to it. She seemed to feel that the police would not be sensitive to the girl's feelings and need of privacy, also that if the police knew, the press would know. And sometimes, unfortunately, that's quite correct."

  I shifted in my chair and wanted to disagree. I thought they would be as sensitive as anyone could be. They would perforce ask intimate and embarrassing questions, but they would try to be delicate. Leaks to the press, however, were an ongoing problem in any police department, Ptown being no exception.

  "So," John finalized, "Let's try to find the man and find exactly what happened. If there was a crime we will, by law, report it. I've advised them of this. Then the question is, will Maureen be willing to go to an open trial and testify against this man? A quiet damages settlement may be more what she has in mind."