Grayton Winds

by Michael Lindley

  “No, you were away at school back then. Our courtship was the talk of Atlanta, two old families with a son and a daughter making the perfect new couple. It wasn’t but a few weeks after the wedding he began to slip away into these dark moods and we wouldn’t talk for days at a time. I kept hoping it was just a phase or some difficulty he may be having down at his law office, but it never got much better.”

  “How have you put up with this for so long?” I asked.

  “I guess I’m just too stubborn to admit I made a mistake.”

  “And now the bastard’s working against the family,” I said, my blood reaching a near boil. “If he had anything to do with Jess…”

  “Oh Mathew, I just can’t imagine.”

  When we walked back up to the hotel, Maggie called my father from the phone in the lobby. I listened as she tearfully shared Palumbo’s story of betrayal by her husband and my father’s new lieutenant, Desmond Raye. He asked to speak with me, but I refused and walked out onto the porch. Palumbo was sitting there with the cup of coffee in his hand. “I sure as hell hope you’ve got your story straight here,” I said.

  At mid-day, Palumbo pulled up in front of the house with Anthony at the wheel of his big car and his wife Louise sitting beside him in the back. He yelled for Maggie and me to join them. They were going into town for lunch and some fun, he promised. We debated for a moment and then decided we needed to think about something other than what was going on back up in Atlanta. All the introductions were made and we found ourselves bumping our way along on the rough road out of Grayton Beach, Palumbo exuberantly talking away about all sorts of new opportunities the day held in store, his wife quiet and somber beside him.

  When we arrived in town and pulled into the lot in front of his club, there were cars parked everywhere and people waiting to get in the front door. Even a sheriff’s patrol car was parked over in the sand to the side of the club, but Palumbo seemed to show no concern. I had noticed in past visits that the authorities were as welcome as anyone to come in for a drink and some good food, and of course, a small contribution to their future retirement fund before they left.

  A prime table was suddenly available and we sat down as Eleanor came up to take our orders. She leaned over and kissed me and Palumbo whistled. “Man, you work fast, Coulter,” he said, and then laughed, holding his big belly. I introduced Eleanor to my sister and they shook hands politely.

  “Hi honey,” Eleanor said, “nice to meet you.

  As she walked away to get our drinks, Maggie said, “She’s lovely, Mathew.”

  “Your brother’s quite the lady’s man,” Palumbo said. “Eleanor can’t keep her hands off him.”

  His wife Louise finally showed some sign of life and slapped him on the arm for his rude comment. “Willie, would you please behave yourself with our new guest here,” she said, looking over at Maggie and smiling apologetically.

  Eleanor returned quickly with four mugs filled with the house’s best whiskey. She leaned over and whispered in my ear she would be off work in two hours and had the night off. I nodded to her and immediately began the debate in my mind about abandoning my sister on her first night in Florida for further adventures with my new girlfriend.

  Palumbo held up his mug in a toast. “Maggie, welcome to our club. I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you today. When I heard about your husband I just couldn’t sit tight and let that scum sucker keep on with this scheme of his.”

  We all drank to his toast and I could see the sadness in Maggie’s eyes as she sipped the whiskey. I reached over and touched her arm, trying to reassure her that all of this would eventually be okay. She looked over at Willie and said, “Mr. Palumbo, thank you for what you’ve done. I just can’t imagine how I could have let this happen right under my nose.”

  “Sometimes roaches can hide under our own damn shoes,” he said. “Don’t beat yourself up, honey. I’m sure your old man can take care of this now.”

  I could tell Maggie was thinking the same as I that we may have both seen Desmond Raye alive for the last time.

  The drinks and food came steadily through the afternoon and Eleanor was very attentive to our every need. Maggie seemed to find some solace in the whiskey and soon we were all drunk and laughing at Palumbo’s crude jokes. Even Louise finally loosened up and joined in the merriment. When Eleanor got off duty at around 4:00, she came over and joined our table at Palumbo’s invitation. She slid in close beside me and tried her best to start catching up with our current state of inebriation. After a while, I sat there looking at beautiful Eleanor talking with my sister like they were the oldest of friends. Soon one of the bartenders that had just come off duty had joined us as well and he and Maggie seemed to quickly become very interested in each other. Palumbo was a most gracious host and cigars and whiskey and platters of seafood kept coming in a steady supply.

  The rest of the evening was just a blur of random recollections of drinking and dancing and walking in the surf with the Palumbos and Maggie, and her new friend Randall. Eleanor and I were pawing at each other like we might never see the other again.

  When I woke up the next morning, I was in a room I didn’t recognize, a hotel room nicely appointed with a window looking out over the Gulf. Eleanor was still asleep, her bare back and bottom cuddled up beside me. I tried to shake off the dull ache in my head and there was a glass of water on the table beside the bed that I drained to try to quench the dryness in my mouth. I got up and walked naked over to the window. The curtains were open. We were on the second floor of the hotel, a beautiful view of the beach and the calm emerald water before me beyond the small deck outside the door. A few people were out on the beach and in the surf. It looked to be mid-morning by the height of the sun in the sky to the southeast.

  I felt Eleanor’s hands gently caress my shoulders and the bareness of her against my back before I even heard her get out of bed. Then she traced her fingers down slowly over my chest and stomach. I turned and she came into my arms and placed her head on my chest, her hair hiding her face. We stood there holding each other, swaying gently together for some time as we both awoke to the possibilities of another day.

  I found my sister later down by the pool. Palumbo had brought us all out to this beach hotel late the night before. She had chased the amorous bartender, Randall, away in the end and had actually managed to get some sleep. There was still no sign of the Palumbos and Eleanor was upstairs taking a bath.

  The realities of our family’s situation had obviously caught up with my sister again as she sat pensively looking out at the water, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands. “I’m afraid to call Daddy,” she finally said. “I’m afraid to hear what’s happened, to Desmond I mean.” She took a sip of the coffee. “That asshole deserves all the old man chooses to bring down on him, dammit, but as much as I try to hate the bastard,” she said, “I just can’t get over that we actually loved each other, at least for a while.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” I said. “It’s best we found out when we did while something can still be done.”

  She came over and sat down on my lap and put her arms around me like a small child looking for comfort from a parent. Her cheek, wet with tears, slid against mine and we sat there together quietly, listening to the morning sounds of the waves breaking against the beach and birds squawking overhead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Desmond Raye was nowhere to be found.

  When we returned to Grayton Beach later that day from Panama City, Maggie had called home to Atlanta and spoken with our father. Apparently, her husband had been warned his treachery had been uncovered. No one had been able to find him through the night and he hadn’t come in to the office that morning.

  To get her mind away from all of that I convinced Maggie to come with me over to Point Washington to pick up some more paint supplies for the Headley house. I was almost done with the project, but had underestimated the last amount of paint needed to finish. The old pic
ket fence across the front of the house also needed a fresh coat and I was finding the work excellent therapy and diversion.

  We took my car and made our way slowly over the rough sandy road up through the tall pines and scrub toward the Back Bay and the small logging town. We dodged herds of pigs from the Howard’s ranch rooting along the road and left the windows down to keep air flowing through against the heat of the day. It was mid-afternoon before we pulled in under the cover of the huge live oaks that twisted up into the sky in a massive canopy around the Bidwell’s little store. A long pier was built out into the channel that led to the Choctawhatchee Bay, allowing the boats from Destin and the Gulf of Mexico to come in with supplies and passengers and to load the milled lumber and other commodities like turpentine and contraband moonshine for transportation to markets across the South. Rebecca Bidwell sat alone at the end of the pier. We walked out on the old worn planking, the wind blowing down the channel from the west. Pelicans sat precariously atop some of the tall pilings, trying to hold their position against the breeze and looking down for a fishy meal to swim by.

  Rebecca didn’t look around until we had come up behind her. I introduced my sister and we sat down on each side of her. On the way over from Grayton I had told Maggie about the death of her fiancé, Seth Howard and the illicit affair he had been having with Louise Palumbo. Now that Maggie had spent some time with Palumbo she was as suspicious as I about his involvement in Seth’s murder, alibi or not.

  I reached over and took Rebecca’s hand and asked how she was doing; which I had come to think of as such a stupid question myself when I had been asked the same thing after my brother had died. I was surprised at the gaunt and pale appearance of her face. Her long beautiful hair was tied up raggedly in back. Her feet were bare, dangling out beneath an old pair of torn jeans, but not able to reach the water below. She looked at me in response and tried to smile, gripping my hand more firmly.

  “Did you know about Seth and Mrs. Palumbo?” she asked. The question caught me by surprise and I looked beyond her to Maggie. Her reaction was the same. In an instant I knew there was no reason to try to hide our knowledge of the whole situation and I nodded. “My brother Jonas told me at the funeral,” she said, with a tone in her voice that was almost matter of fact.

  “I’m so sorry, Rebecca,” I said.

  “I knew that Seth would be a handful,” she replied. “He was such a wild one.”

  I was thinking, without remorse, it was surely best Rebecca Bidwell had been spared the life ahead of her with Seth Howard and his hostile family and then I thought of all the pigs and I almost smiled.

  Off to our left a large steamer was coming in through the channel, a long trail of smoke following it in from the bay. We all stood to make room for it to come alongside. Rebecca’s father was coming out to greet the boat. We all helped with the lines in securing the big ship which reached nearly the entire length of the pier. Maggie and I walked with Rebecca back up to the store.

  “Would you like to go for a ride with me?” she asked. “I’ve got Barley saddled up back in the barn and I just couldn’t bear to go alone today so I just left him there.”

  Maggie seemed up for it and we were certainly in no hurry to get back to the beach. There was very little adherence to rigid timeframes in this remote place. We helped her saddle two other horses in the barn. The stench from manure and stale hay was overpowering in the heat and the breath of fresh air we were able to inhale when we came out was a great relief. We mounted up and Rebecca led us back along the narrow road through Point Washington. There was a small clapboard-sided church and a cemetery alongside. I wondered if Seth Howard had been buried there, but I didn’t ask. A few houses had been built in the little settlement and the old lumber mill could be seen back through the trees. It wasn’t long before we were out in the wilderness again and Rebecca led the way as the horses walked in single file in the loose sand. It felt wonderful to be out in the fresh air with a cooler breeze blowing through the trees off the bay. We rode in silence for what must have been at least an hour, all lost in our own thoughts and issues with the unexpected turns and not so private calamities in our lives.

  The trail ahead opened up and we came along a big lake that spread out to the south toward the Gulf of Mexico. Rebecca told us it was Western Lake and I realized it was the same body of water where I had wandered upon the big gator. The water was an odd blend of brackish brown, almost tea colored, tinted in a muted shade of blue reflecting off the clear sky. Across on the far side, perhaps not quite a mile, the striking white sand dunes along the beach rose up and farther to the east a row of tall pines stood sentry, swaying slightly in the breeze. We continued on along the sandy road by the lake and when we passed the gate to the Howard ranch, Rebecca didn’t seem to slow or hesitate. The trail kept on skirting the edge of the lake and then it curved down closer to the Gulf shore as we got beyond the water. We could hear the waves crashing up onto the beach on the other side of the dunes. There were a few beach cottages built into the high bluff above the Gulf and Rebecca led us out past one of them that seemed uninhabited at the moment. We all sat there together atop the high dune, looking out over the most beautiful scene of sparkling water and endless sky. Two parallel sandbars ran as far as you could see down the beach in both directions, a lighter color green against the blue of the deeper water. A few ships were far out on the horizon.

  I looked over at Maggie and Rebecca and they both sat there motionless on their horses, enjoying the spectacular scene. Old Barley dropped his head to feed on some beach grass and Rebecca let him have his way.

  “This is magnificent, Mathew,” Maggie said. “I can see why you’ve come to love this place.”

  “It gets under your skin, sister.”

  Rebecca looked over at us and smiled. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I can tell you this view always catches me by surprise and takes my breath away every time.” She pointed down the beach to the east to a larger building sitting high up on the sand bluff. “That’s the old Seagrove Hotel down the way there. We all used to go down there to the dances on Saturday night on the pavilion that looks out over the beach.”

  Down below there was a long trail, a couple of feet wide, that had been left in the sand leading from the dunes below us all the way down to the wet sand of the shore break. I asked Rebecca about it.

  “It’s the loggerheads… the turtles,” she said. "This time of year, they come up on the beach and lay their eggs in nests along the dunes. When the babies hatch, they dig out and head for the water.”

  “That must be amazing to watch,” Maggie said.

  “They come out mostly at night,” Rebecca said. “Unfortunately, the birds and other predators usually have their way, but a few make it to the water.”

  “That is so sad,” said Maggie. “Can’t someone be there to help them all get to the water?”

  “It’s nature’s way.”

  The sun had started its progression toward the western horizon and Rebecca thought we should start home to make sure we got back by dark.

  The ride back was cooler in the long shadows of early evening and Rebecca pushed the horses at a faster pace. I looked over at my sister’s face as we rode along and she smiled back in the sheer joy of the moment and the wonderful trip down to the beach. Thoughts of husbands and other troubles seemed far away.

  When we got back to Point Washington we helped Rebecca put the horses up and then she led us back over to the store. Her mother had already locked up since it was close to dark by the time we got back, but she came over from the house to let us in to get the paint and supplies we needed. As we were gathering up to head home to Grayton Beach, Rebecca came over and first gave Maggie a long hug and then over to me with the same. She thanked us for spending the day with her and then when her mother had gone back into the store to close up, she said, “Mathew, you know Mr. Palumbo pretty well now don’t you?”

  “Pretty well, I guess.”

 
She hesitated and then went on in almost a whisper, “Jonas thinks it was Mr. Palumbo who killed my Seth.” I let the comment hang there for a moment without responding and then she continued. “Do you think so, Mathew?”

  I really didn’t know myself, but I said, “The sheriff has talked to him and he’s got a real good alibi for that night. I guess he was over in Panama City the whole night.”

  “What about that awful man that’s always with him?”

  “You mean Anthony, the bodyguard?” She nodded. “I think the sheriff has talked to them both. Did Seth have any enemies, anybody that would have reason to hurt him?”

  “He was always getting in a scrape with somebody,” she said. “He had a pretty fair temper on him.”

  I noticed that tears were starting to form in her eyes and realized again she had loved this boy, in spite of all his faults. “Rebecca, I’m sure they’ll find who did this. It’s just a matter of time. Thanks again for the ride today.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Maggie said. “I had a wonderful time.”

  We got in the car and started back to Grayton Beach. Maggie looked out the window and let the air through the open car blow her hair back. I wondered if she was thinking of her husband after all the talk with Rebecca about her loss. It made me think how strange and unpredictable it is, the people we find ourselves attracted to.

  It was well after dark when we pulled into Grayton Beach. Lights were on in some of the cottages and the hotel was lit up brightly. A few guests were sitting out on the porch. As we drove by, I could hear Melanee playing the piano. I pulled over and parked and took Maggie inside. The little girl was playing with great concentration and a look of proud accomplishment on her face. Her mother, Sara, was sitting over in a corner watching and she nodded as we came in. As we walked up near the piano, Melanee said, “Oh Mathew, I’m so glad you’re here. I have a new piece I want to play for you.” Maggie looked at me with a puzzled expression, I’m sure taken aback by the little girl being able to identify me before I had even spoken. I had told Maggie that Melanee had been born blind, but had an incredible sixth sense that was always surprising people.