by Luanne Rice
“Yep,” Lulu said.
“It’s heartbreak for all of us, but you don’t even have kids. I mean, Beth was our friend, but Sam is Isabel’s. My daughter is a wreck.” She stared across the water to where Isabel was sitting on the raft, all alone.
“It must be horrible. I remember how it was for us when we were her age, how hard to know how to be around Kate and Beth.”
Scotty took a very long drink. She wished she had brought slices of fresh lime. No need to suffer. She’d have to remember for next time. “The detective is coming to interview Isabel. I made the mistake of telling him how she and Pete had read the same book, gruesome thing about a killer hiding a body in a cold room.”
“God, like Beth,” Lulu said.
“Poor girl; he’s coming over to grill her later.”
“Well, it’s good of her to help the investigation.”
“Sam isn’t taking Isabel’s calls,” Scotty said. “They had that bit of trouble over at Little Beach, with the rocks.”
“The graffiti,” Lulu said, so harshly it felt like a slap in the face.
“I’m not trying to sugarcoat it, if that’s what you think.”
“Good, because what they did was horrible.”
“I agree. But I get the feeling Kate is blaming Isabel for it. Has she said anything to you?”
“No. I just think she’s worried about Sam.”
“Well, of course!” Scotty said. “If you can’t act out after your mother gets murdered, when can you?” She caught the look Lulu gave her and checked herself. Drinking always made her want to be outrageous—the worst was when she drunk-texted or posted political messages on Facebook or Twitter. The next day she’d go back and do a mad scrub, furiously deleting everything. At least Lulu was drinking too and hopefully wouldn’t remember.
“This is really hard on Kate,” Lulu said.
Scotty peered at her. Lulu always looked so chic. She and Kate hadn’t had children. They’d kept their svelte shapes and single-woman attitudes. While Scotty wore a Hawaiian-print bathing suit with the hint of a frilled skirt to cover her thighs and built-in bra cups to keep everything from wobbling, Lulu wore a white lace halter dress over her black bikini and looked like a model from the Sundance catalog, where they were all too thin, too pretty, and far too cool.
“It’s hard on all of us,” Scotty said, staring out at Isabel. “We loved Beth too. And let’s face it—she confided in us more than she did Kate. Has anyone talked to Jed, by the way? He must be destroyed.”
“Kate met him,” Lulu said. “She hasn’t told me the details yet, but she texted that she found him.”
“I can’t believe I had to be the one to tell her about him. I felt so awful. And I haven’t heard from her at all, as if she’s blaming me. Where is he, anyway?”
“Camping somewhere,” Lulu said, sipping her drink and looking away as if she wanted to evade further questions. That was so Lulu—keeping Kate mostly to herself. It had always hurt Scotty, the way the two of them were a closed society. Beth had felt that way too. Scotty felt herself burning over it.
“Sometimes you seem so superior,” Scotty said.
“What?”
“Yes, you and Kate. The pilots. Above it all, better than me and Beth. It hurts.”
“I’m sorry; I don’t mean to make you feel that way,” Lulu said, sounding genuinely surprised. Was it possible she didn’t know how fat and suburban and boring Scotty felt beside her?
“Well, you do,” Scotty said. She realized she was slurring her words but took another long drink anyway. She was about to tip over into weepy territory, feeling sorry for herself about Beth, feeling helpless about Isabel’s pain—and even Jed’s. Beth hadn’t treated him very well at the end.
And then there was Julie. Her beautiful little girl with schizotypal personality disorder. The name alone terrified her, but the reality was even worse. Even the literature was hurtful—people with the disorder were labeled “odd and eccentric.” Julie turned inward, had never had a close friend. She didn’t know how to interpret people’s words and actions, so she was easily hurt and confused.
Julie had started dreaming about the murder, screaming out in her sleep.
“When I think about Sam’s mommy, it hurts me a lot!” she cried while Scotty rocked her.
Scotty wanted her daughter to feel peace, to not be so scared. She felt as if Julie’s fears would pass as time went by, but some nights they were extreme.
“Sweetie, it was just a dream,” Scotty whispered, holding her.
“Bad person, terrible bad person,” Julie had said, shaking as she’d cried.
The rest of Julie’s diagnosis, receptive and expressive aphasia and language processing disability, meant that she experienced life in ways both simpler and more complicated than everyone else. She got so frustrated trying to get her thoughts and feelings out.
Scotty told the pediatrician, asking if it would be appropriate to give Julie something for anxiety. The doctor had suggested taking Julie to therapy. And Scotty was more than willing to do that, but in the last few days, Julie had seemed quieter, retreating into her safe, private world.
Nick was far from helpful. He would come home from the office, throw on his shorts and Nikes, and go running for hours, sometimes until dark. He was training for the Labor Day half marathon, aiming for next year’s New York City Marathon. He had told Scotty a bunch of people from work were doing it. Scotty pictured the women in his office. Everyone but her was in shape. She downed a big gulp of her drink.
“Let’s take a swim,” Lulu said, reaching for her hand. “It will be good for us.”
“I’m looped.”
“We don’t have to go out far.”
“That detective is coming to see Isabel later,” Scotty said. “I should go up to the house and take a nap. I have the G&T flu.” She paused, glancing at Lulu. “Who do you think did it?”
“Mostly I think Pete.”
“Me too, but sometimes I think Jed—I mean, she met him in prison.”
“I know,” Lulu said.
“And he’s an art person—it would make sense for him to take Moonlight. I’m sure he has a network; he could sell it. And we really have no idea how he took the fact Beth had cooled off, was seeing him less. I think she wanted to stop altogether.”
“She did?” Lulu asked, and Scotty couldn’t help feeling gratified that she knew at least some things Lulu didn’t.
“She had made a mess of things—to go from perfect Beth to being pregnant and having two men in her life. It was tearing her apart. Didn’t she tell you?”
Lulu shook her head. “She never talked to me about it, Scotty. You’ve told me more than she ever did. I only saw her with Jed that one time, on the ferry.”
Scotty sighed. “He made her so happy for a while. It must have felt so nice to have someone all for herself, someone who really wanted her. Not like Pete, off with Nicola.” She thought of herself and Nick. She couldn’t help wondering about the women he worked with, beautiful and thin, training for the half marathon. Surreptitiously, on the side Lulu couldn’t see, Scotty grabbed the roll of fat around her waist. The old commercial used to say if you could pinch more than an inch you needed to eat their cereal and get into shape. Scotty could pinch half a foot.
“I really need to get into shape,” she said.
“You look great,” Lulu said.
Scotty gave her a skeptical look. There was all this wise-woman BS about accepting yourself the way you were right now, not thinking about the body you had when you were twenty-five. Easy for Lulu to say it when she had a stomach as flat as a teenage boy’s.
“You’re beautiful,” Lulu said.
Scotty didn’t believe her, so she ignored her. “I hope Isabel remembers about the detective coming.”
“Want me to go get her?” Lulu asked.
Scotty nodded. “That would be really nice of you.”
“I need the swim anyway,” Lulu said. She gave Scotty a big hug and kisse
d the top of her head, then went running into the water, dove in, and started swimming fast out toward Isabel on the raft. Scotty gathered her towel, beach bag, and chair and walked as steadily as she could across the hot sand, toward her house on the other side of the boat basin. She couldn’t wait to close the door behind her. Emotions made her drink, and she was nothing but emotions these days.
Right now, she needed to lie down. She would hit the reset button and start fresh after her nap. She had to keep going on, but it wasn’t easy. Murder didn’t just take one life; it stole the essence, will, and ease from everyone it touched. It took their old lives and left them to make their way in a completely new and uncertain world.
Scotty had to find a way back to being alert and present for Julie and Isabel. Julie: hiding deep within herself. Isabel: her beautiful, troubled daughter. Scotty didn’t want to be a bad influence, drinking to escape the pain. Nick had grounded Isabel after she’d come home wasted the night of the graffiti.
Maybe Scotty should ground herself.
38
In Reid’s interviews with Pete and his friends, he had heard repeatedly that Pete was a member of Mensa, the high IQ society. Pete seemed determined that everyone know it, and to Reid’s mind, if someone had to brag about being a member, he might not be as smart as he thought.
Mac Green had relented and decided to let Pete take the polygraph. Reid had questions, a list of them, and he was going to request an interview after the polygraph. He met Jen Miano at the crime lab.
“Are we going to arrest him today?” Miano asked.
“I’d like to,” Reid said. “But we’re not there yet.”
“Jed is interesting.”
“Yeah, but he has an alibi,” Reid said. As soon as he had left Jed at the Paradise Drive-In, he’d called Lainie Stewart. She had told him that Jed had stayed in the main house with the family. His bedroom was between her grandson Terry’s room and the master suite where she and David slept. He had given art lessons in the living room of their guest house, reconfigured as an art studio, and had been with the family the whole time, including meals.
Reid had then checked with the ferry operators, determined that Jed had taken the boat only twice—on his way to and from the island. He hadn’t brought a car. The Stewarts had arranged for him to be driven back and forth to Black Hall. Reid had confirmed that fact with William Nelson, the owner of Admiral Limousine Service. The Stewarts were favorite longtime customers, and whenever they called, Nelson drove the passengers himself, as he had with Jed.
“Pete has an alibi too,” Miano reminded Reid.
“True, but the time line works against him,” Reid said.
“Jed was in love with Beth.”
Reid nodded.
“Then there’s the baby,” Miano said.
Reid felt the breath rush out of him.
“Don’t feel too bad,” she said. “Who would think of a paternity test? Pete was the cheater! Not one thing made us think Beth was anything but faithful to Pete.”
“Thanks,” Reid said, appreciating that she was trying to make him feel better. To everyone, Beth had been an angel. Humberto Garcia, the coroner, hadn’t tested Matthew’s DNA, and Beth’s body had been released to the family for cremation.
“What the hell was Beth Lathrop doing with a guy like that?” Miano asked. “It doesn’t track. He seems like kind of a loser.”
“He’s not, actually,” Reid said. “I could be wrong, but he seems like a decent, stand-up guy.”
“Yeah, but homeless?” Miano asked.
Reid remembered what Leland Ackerley had said about Beth: that she loved and nurtured artists whose talent she believed in. And how Jed had said she took care of everyone.
“Well, if she wanted to get in Pete’s face,” Miano said, “she couldn’t have done better than choosing a homeless con. A younger homeless con. So much for the perfect Black Hall life.”
“Only on the outside,” he said.
“You know, if it turns out Jed’s the father, it would make a hell of a motive for Pete,” Miano said. “Jealousy over Jed and wanting to be rid of Beth so he could be with Nicola. Plus, the baby. Whose was it? I know, I know. The damn paternity test.”
“Right,” Reid said, feeling his chest constrict.
Pete and his lawyer had arrived. Mac Green had a full head of white hair, and he wore a perfectly tailored gray pinstripe suit. He had represented several of Reid’s suspects over the years, and Reid had a grudging respect for him. He did a good job for his clients without resorting to dirty tricks that Reid considered the stock-in-trade of many defense attorneys.
Pete sauntered over to Reid and Miano. Like his lawyer, he was dressed in a suit instead of his usual beach boy garb.
“Looking sharp, Pete,” Reid said. “You look as if you’re dressed for court.”
“I want you to know how seriously I am taking this.”
“This?” Reid asked. “The polygraph?”
“The fact my wife was murdered and you’re wasting time harassing me instead of doing a real investigation.”
“Harassing you? Correct us if we’re wrong,” Miano said, “but aren’t you the one who pushed for this?”
“Pete, we’re ready,” Green called sharply, and Reid could see the lawyer wasn’t happy with his client baiting the police.
“What a cocky son of a bitch,” Miano said when Pete and Green stepped away. “What makes him so confident?”
Reid didn’t reply. He felt nervous. She was right. Pete held himself with total assurance and an air of martyrdom, as if a great injustice was being done. Reid was looking forward to the results wiping that look off Pete’s face, but something told him not to be too sure just yet.
An hour later, when it was all over, his misapprehension was confirmed. Pete passed. The examiner had paid extra attention to his answers to questions about Jed, Nicola, and Beth’s last day. He told Reid and Miano there was no ambiguity: the machine had picked up no lies or signs of deception.
“Well then,” Green said as he and Pete walked toward Reid and Miano. “I hope this means you’ll be moving on.”
“Not quite yet,” Reid said. “We have a few more questions.”
“I think Pete has been helpful enough for today,” Green said.
“Yeah, it’s true,” Reid said. He smiled at Pete. “Beautiful day out there. Going to go sailing?”
“No, I have other things to do,” Pete said, sounding haughty.
“Ever do any night sailing?” Reid asked. “Get away from land, look up at that canopy of stars in the sky?”
“Where’s this going, Detective Reid?” Green asked.
“Just thinking of how nice it can be to get away from it all,” Reid said. “I’d sure like to.”
“As it happens, I do enjoy sailing at night,” Pete said. “Ocean races especially—Newport to Bermuda. Out there in the Gulf Stream, bioluminescence flashing against the hull. Do you know what bioluminescence is?”
“Sea creatures that glow in the dark?” Miano asked.
“That’s right. Very good,” Pete said.
“Gee, thanks,” Miano said. She glanced at Reid. “I got it right!”
“One up on me,” Reid said. He saw Pete grin.
“Let’s go, Pete,” Green said.
“Did you ever do, that thing—I forget what it’s called?” Reid asked, tapping his forehead as if he was trying to come up with the word. “You know, when you point that instrument at the sky to figure out where you are?”
“Celestial navigation,” Pete said. “And that instrument is a sextant. Yes, I’ve done it. It’s very mathematical. Really just angles. If you can do geometry, you can steer by the stars.”
“Steer by the stars,” Reid said. “I like that. Really nice way to describe it. Easier than celestial navigation! Well, enjoy the rest of your day, gentlemen.”
Green shook hands with both detectives. Pete stood back, then turned to go.
“Hey, Pete,” Reid said. “I almost for
got. I met your friend Martin.”
“Who?” Pete asked.
“Martin Harris. You know, the astronomy expert.”
“I have absolutely no idea who you’re talking about,” Pete said. He and Mac Green left the building. Reid wiped the gee-whiz expression off his face and narrowed his eyes as Pete walked away.
“That was genius,” Miano said. “That bit about sailing at night. Steer by the stars.” She punched Reid’s upper arm. “Too bad he didn’t admit to knowing Harris. Think he was telling the truth about that?”
“Hard to say.”
“Then again, he just beat the lie detector,” Miano said.
“It didn’t show deception, that’s for sure,” Reid said.
“Come on—like any good narcissist, he doesn’t register emotion the way normal people do. Cool as a cucumber.”
“He never got riled,” Reid said.
“Let’s get a warrant for his computer, look for articles on how to outsmart the machine. He probably researched it!”
Reid stood still, thinking. He pictured Pete sitting across from the examiner, strapped to the machine. Pete had stared straight ahead, no change of affect no matter what he was asked. He’d barely blinked.
“We still have time of death going for us,” Miano said. “Other than body temp, everything points to Beth having died the morning Pete left. Thank God for stomach contents.”
“You’re right,” Reid said. The autopsy had shown that Beth’s last meal had been eggs, melon, and blueberries—exactly what Pete had said they had had for breakfast before Ackerley picked him up.
“Those polygraph questions,” Miano said, giving an exaggerated shiver.
“What about them?”
“The way he recounted their last minutes together. That he hugged and kissed her, that he told her he loved her, and then left.”
“Shit,” Reid said, suddenly getting it. “That’s exactly what he did do.”
“But if she was already dead . . .”
“Jennifer, I think you’re right. He did research the polygraph.”
“Okay . . .”
“But before he killed her, not afterward. It’s why he’s been insisting on taking the test!” Reid said, excitement building. “Because he knew that if he actually hugged and kissed her dead body, told her he loved her after he’d smashed her head in and strangled her, the machine wouldn’t detect a lie when he told the story.”
