“What was Blenny doing?” I asked. “I could feel his presence around me. Ever since I moved to Parkers. But I could never figure out what he was after.”
“The resort,” Pete said. “Apparently he was making land deals around the resort property. And by the way, that Sheriff arrived on the first plane this morning and stopped by to make sure you were alive. You were out of it. So he went over to the State’s Attorney’s Office to start putting a case together. All he said was, ‘Tell Mr. Shannon that Chumbucket and the Blenny Man are talking like magpies.’”
Burl and Martha arrived later in the morning, happy to learn that I would be released in the afternoon. Burl was effusive about the events of the last 24 hours, and my role in them. He just rushed in the door and started talking. He was wearing his tweed jacket, with the pipe tobacco burns on the pockets, where he stuffed his pipe bowl as he went into buildings. Usually he emptied the pipe near the curb just outside his car, but invariably a spark or two of embers would survive all the way to his pocket and leave their telltale spot. In addition, Burl this morning was sporting a Scottish driving cap, brown tweed of course, but wrinkled to the point of demanding an explanation.
“Burl, where’d you get that hat?” I asked.
“Ned, I’m wearing this in your honor,” Burl said. “I found it under some books in the attic, my volume on atom theory and some old books on auto mechanics.”
“Were you going to Mars or the Good Times Auto Repair Service?” I asked. Burl looked a little sheepish and admitted he was really looking for his environmental law books, to bring to the hospital as a present. He hadn’t used them in a long time, and felt he had memorized all the eco law he needed, so they might make a perfect gift for a lawyer about to lose his biggest client.
“Ned,” Burl said, “I have some good and bad news, all in one fact.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said, “you found a hundred dollar bill in the hat.”
“No,” he said, “but I’ve been getting calls about you all morning. And the best one came from the head of our Hijenks Committee. She says the Chesapeake Resorts International people have just locked their doors, circled the wagons, and apparently have something to do with the Blenny Man and your brother’s death. You know I thought that all along. It’s just like Watergate, we should have followed the money. That’s what the Sheriff and the Maryland State’s Attorney are huddled about right now. There’s a rumor that even the Governor is involved, and you blew this case wide open. How about that?”
Martha had quietly entered the room with Burl, but moved behind Burl to allow his excitement about CRI to flood the room. I noticed she didn’t share his intensity. She looked at the floor, and glanced occasionally at Lil, who was on the far side of my bed, as if they shared a concern that was being ignored. My mind was flooded by Burl’s new evidence, but even with all those questions, I was beginning to realize that Martha and Lil had another perspective that made me uncomfortable.
“I assume the bad news is that I no longer have a retainer from the greatest job-creating resort to ever hit the Chesapeake,” I said.
“I’m afraid so,” Burl said. “But those guys are crooks and you should be damn glad you’re not involved with them. In fact, they may have been responsible for Jimmy’s death, and maybe even your own threats. At least they had the kind of deep pockets that a blenny man can swim around in.”
“I guess you’re right Burl, but with my boat gone, my inheritance in question, and my biggest client in trouble, I’m having a little trouble enjoying the silver lining.”
“And that may be the least of your trouble, my dear brother-in-law,” Martha interrupted. The room went silent with her first words. The questions had to be spoken, and everyone in the room knew the moment had come. Certainly, no one left the room.
I noticed that Martha looked terrific. Her hair was completely gone, of course, and the sheik head scarf of the Moose dance was replaced by a baseball cap. Her jeans were snug and a light Irish sweater accentuated her figure. But her face was white, drawn and all the emotional facial lines were pointed down.
“Did you sleep with Simy Sims last night?” she asked. “The woman who killed my husband?”
Last night, I repeated in my mind. Was it only last night? Seems like a million years ago that I arrived at Simy’s house. How could so much have happened?
There was no movement in my room. No one attempted to break the silence or change direction of the questions. I wasn’t certain how to ever explain this, and especially not in this crowd.
“Martha,” I said, “I am so sorry. I don’t even know all the answers to these questions. Can’t we talk about this later?”
“No,” Martha said. “Now. Talk about it now. I want your friends to hear. And I want them to tell all our friends what you say.”
“Well, I….”
Before I could say two words, Martha interrupted. “Wait. First, I want to say that I appreciate everything you have done for me and for Mindy. And I will see that the court approves your inheritance even without the Martha Claire. You deserve what Jimmy gave you. But our friendship may be over.”
“Martha,” I said, “I shouldn’t have been with Simy, but I had no idea she was involved with Jimmy, certainly not that she may have killed him. It wasn’t until I saw the matching sneakers at her house, the ones that matched the pair Jimmy was wearing, the ones that were on his body, that I knew she had some involvement. Please forgive me Martha.”
“Forgive you? You’ve been sniffing around that woman for weeks. She killed my husband.”
“Wait,” I pleaded. “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know till I saw the shoes. Even then I couldn’t believe it.”
“Of course you didn’t believe it!” Martha screamed. “You’d been banging her all night long.”
“Wait!” I screamed, expecting a horde of nurses to run in at any minute. “She’s the one who came on to me. She killed my brother, and she still came on to me. How outrageous is that? I wouldn’t dream in a million years that she could do that.”
Martha hesitated, trying to sort that out. Finally, she turned to pick up her jacket. “You men are so weak,” she said. “Burl, take me home.”
Martha turned and stomped out the door. Not until then did I notice that she wasn’t using her walker. I was pleased by her continued physical improvement, but her abrupt and unyielding attitude about Simy was based on anger. Martha had a right to be angry. And so did I. At first, I thought maybe she wanted more explanation, or more pleading, or more tears of contrition. But I couldn’t do it. I was having trouble putting it all together myself, especially Simy’s role in all this. It would all just have to wait.
Burl waved his rumpled hat and followed Martha out the door. Lil walked around the bed and took my hand. “This will all work out,” she said. “The authorities will sort it out. The explanations will come, and I know you’ll be fine. Now Pete and I will go down to the cafeteria and get some coffee. You get your clothes together, and we’ll take you home.”
It took a couple hours to find the doctor, secure a release and leave the hospital. The doctor said I had received a concussion when Blenny’s boat crashed into mine. He couldn’t say how, of course, only that I had hit my head on something. But he thought I would be fine after a few days of rest. As the doctor left, calls were flooding into my room. I asked Pete to let Lil get the coffee, and empowered him to stay and answer my phone. I didn’t want to take any calls. And if the police called, I wanted someone other than me to talk to them, or at least to find out what they wanted.
By the time I had dressed and prepared to leave, Pete had talked with the State’s Attorney and the Sheriff. They had arrested Ray “The Blenny Man” Herbst on several charges including conspiracy to commit murder, racketeering, and several related charges. Jimmy had apparently been killed because he overheard, during a charter boat trip, that the Resorts group was paying off the Governor for his support. And supposedly my boat was sunk to get me to leave Parkers. Pet
e said he thought they would hold a press conference the next day to discuss the case.
I just wanted to sleep, and urged Pete and Lil to put me in the backseat where I could stretch out. This was my second hospital departure in the last several weeks and the experience was becoming less and less pleasant. This time I was in the traditional wheelchair out the door, riding, not pushing Martha. But in both cases there was a sense of extreme anxiety about leaving, about exiting the protective arms of nurses and doctors and finding myself totally responsible for my fate. Fortunately, the sun was warm against my face as Pete helped me into the backseat, and I felt better.
We drove back to Parkers trying to consider the many legal questions about to enter our lives. But it wasn’t necessary, of course, to answer them. The central point, and new revelation that kept circulating in my mind, was that so many people in this little town of Parkers actually cared about me. Martha’s anger about my night with Simy was a vivid memory. She expected more from me because she cared. Friendship implied a standard of behavior, a loyalty to certain standards. And I deeply regretted letting her down.
“Lil?” I asked. “Will Martha be all right?”
Lil knew exactly what I was asking. “Don’t worry Ned, she’ll get over it. Your friends understand. It’s just that Martha cares a little more deeply for you than you may realize.”
I decided to leave the conversation there, for another day, as my dad used to say.
“Pete,” I asked, “how about driving over to Osprey Cove before we go home. I want to show you my property. Have I ever told you about my dream of a French chateau on pilings, with ten foot doors that open onto a deck overlooking the Bay?”
Lil’s body went on full alert. She turned around in the front seat, with eyes as big as hubcaps, and asked, “What are you up to? Are you going to build a house?” Lil knew this would be a huge step, a commitment far greater than just running a crab boat or a law practice.
“Lil,” I said carefully, “I have heard the oyster music.”
“Hallelujah!” Lillian screamed. “Welcome to Parkers.”
“Listen Ned,” Pete said, “I want to talk to you about a new boat, a charter fishing boat. You could take the insurance money from the Martha Claire, make a down payment on a brand new fiberglass charter boat. It might cost two or three hundred thousand dollars, but you can handle it. What do you think?”
“Let’s not go too fast, Pete,” I said.
Pete slowed the car to make a final turn off Solomons Island Road and head for Osprey Cove. As we maneuvered around the corner, Lil pressed her face against the window and stared in silence. Walking along the road were the familiar figures of the Pipe Lady, the Lab and the Mutt. She was puffing confidently on her pipe, and small clouds of smoke rolled gently over the rim. Occasionally, she pulled the bowl from her mouth, and uttered several rambling phrases. The Lab never raised his head.
THE END
About the Author
Marlin Fitzwater is the author of several books including a memoir, a novel, and short stories. He received America’s second highest civilian achievement award, the Presidential Citizens Medal, from President George H. W. Bush in 1992. He was Presidential Press Secretary to both Bush and President Ronald Reagan. He is from Abilene, Kansas and is actively involved with the Marlin Fitzwater Center for Communication at Franklin Pierce University. He is married and has two children.
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