Suspicion of Madness

by Barbara Parker

  "Anthony?"

  "What?"

  "Are you having second thoughts about marriage?"

  Their eyes met in the mirror. "Why do you ask me that?"

  "Tell me the truth. I can take it."

  He let out a breath. "I still want to marry you, Gail." The top of the mirror was steaming up. His dark head, her blond one, were becoming obscured in mist. "I love you."

  She threaded the belt of her robe through her fingers. "We don't talk about it anymore. Marriage, I mean."

  "What is there to talk about? We decided on June, no? I wanted to do it sooner, but you said stop pushing, I'm too busy, wait until Karen is out of school, so I said, well, all right, I won't bug her about it anymore." He raised his brows. "You want to get married sooner?"

  "No. June is fine."

  "¿Qué te pasa? You said June."

  "I know I said June!"

  He spread his hands. "Then why did you bring it up? Are you going to come in with me or not?"

  "I'll just wait here till you've finished."

  "Haz lo que te dé la gana." Telling her to suit herself, Anthony vanished into the cloud of steam rolling out of the shower, and she heard him humming an old disco tune. It sounded like the Bee Gees.

  A door with glass jalousies led to the deck, and she pushed it open and went outside, a cloud of steam rolling out with her, then dissipating in the faint breeze. She caught the scent of jasmine. The sky was deepest blue, touched by moonlight and dotted with stars.

  Finally the shower went off, and Gail leaned against the open door. The shower enclosure was visible, and so was Anthony.

  Water had run from his chest to his groin and down his legs, making the hair lie flat and dark. "Give me a towel." She tossed him one, and he wrapped it around his waist and took another to dry himself. He pressed his face into it. He had left his jewelry on, a gold watch, a heavy bracelet, three rings. He drew the towel down his face and looked at her. His eyes were so dark they could seem black, and they did now, underneath thick, straight brows. He smelled faintly of scented soap.

  "You want to know why I handled the arson case as I did."

  "What I want is for you to stop treating me like a weekend girlfriend."

  He looked at her for another moment, then put on the hotel robe. "You know very well I don't think of you that way." He lightly kissed her lips. "Come outside with me."

  They stood at the railing. "The last time I was here, the landscaping wasn't this full. Martin has done a beautiful job. Did you know that the lights are all solar powered?"

  "Really."

  "Each cottage has a panel on the roof." He leaned on his elbows and smoothed his damp hair. It fell into curls at the back of his neck. The moonlight gleamed on the white robe and lit his eyes when he turned to look at her.

  "I was going to talk to you, Gail. I am sorry that Lois got to you first. She doesn't like Billy. She never has, or Teri either. Lois was born in the Keys and she stayed here. Martin left but came back after nearly dying in New York of a heart attack, and she took care of him. He put her in charge, and no one can say she hasn't done a good job. She took it from a second-class bed-and-breakfast to a small resort featured in travel magazines. Then her brother remarried a young woman, an attractive woman with a difficult son. Lois was demoted, one might say. Martin and Teri are very much in love. It's rare, no? Martin is a fine man. A good father to Billy, but Billy can't see it. Where did I put my drink?"

  In the bedroom Anthony went through the shelves of the armoire for a pair of the satin boxers and soft cotton T-shirt he liked to wear to bed. He dropped his jewelry on the dresser. His drink was completely diluted, so he went to the living room to make another.

  Gail moved her legal files off the sofa and curled up on one end. "Tell me about Billy."

  "Ah, Billy. I don't know who he is anymore." Ice clanked into Anthony's glass. "Four years ago, I could tell you, but now? He's intelligent. A dark sense of humor. His childhood was lousy. Give me a criminal defendant, I give you a lousy childhood. His father is a fishing guide named Kyle Fadden, they say a very good one, but during his marriage he was a drunk and an abuser. Teri was too loyal to leave, or lacked the courage. There were two sons. Billy was eight years old when his little brother Jeremy, age six, drowned in the canal behind their house. It was Billy who discovered the body."

  "Oh, no. That's horrible. Where were their parents?"

  "Teri was a waitress on the night shift. Kyle was at home working on his car in the garage. It was an accident. No one was to blame, but it didn't matter, the family fell apart. Fadden spent time in jail for a series of DUIs. Teri lost her job. The house went into foreclosure. Billy got into trouble. Shoplifting, fighting at school. A psychiatrist put him on Ritalin and antidepressants. But now the story takes an upward turn. Teri was hired to clean rooms here at the resort, and Martin noticed her. He had been a widower for six years, and he fell very hard. So did Teri. He was the first man who had treated her with respect and kindness. She got a divorce and married him. Kyle didn't take it well, and Billy was caught between them."

  Anthony came over to the sofa, and Gail pulled him down beside her. She sat on her folded legs and stroked her fingers through Anthony's hair as he talked.

  "When his mother remarried, Billy was… I think eleven. Martin sent him to a high-priced hospital in West Palm Beach. He began to settle down after that, making fairly decent grades, staying off drugs. And then came the arrest for arson. The Morgans had hired him to mow their lawn. Billy said the gasoline spilled in the garage, caught fire, and spread out of control. That was his story, and he stuck to it. However, he made an inculpatory statement to a friend of his from high school, Richie Moffatt, who turned him in. Based on his priors, and the fact that he was a couple of months short of his sixteenth birthday, the state wanted to charge Billy as an adult. Do you know the maximum for arson?"

  Gail shook her head. "Twenty years?"

  "Thirty. But since Billy was so young, the prosecutor was willing to offer ten. Ten years in prison. What was I to do? Go to trial and cross my fingers? I hired a couple of very good investigators. Ah, the things we learned about Richie Moffatt. He was seventeen. Billy danced with his girlfriend at a party, and Richie wanted to fight him, but someone dragged them apart. A motive to frame Billy? Perhaps. Richie was the contact at Coral Shores High School for party drugs. Rufinol, Ecstasy. He would buy the stuff on Miami Beach. My investigator took some photographs of Richie in action. None of this is a defense to arson, but it adds a certain perspective, no? Richie knew what we had. I set him down for a deposition, and he didn't show up. Twice. Richie told the prosecutor he'd made a mistake in saying that Billy had confessed. And the Morgans had received complete restitution for their losses. So. The case was dismissed."

  Gail couldn't decide whether to be appalled at such maneuvers or envious.

  Perhaps reading her thoughts, Anthony took her hand. "You asked me if Billy was guilty of arson, and I said I didn't know. I didn't care then, and I don't care now. He was a seriously disturbed kid facing years in an adult prison. I couldn't let that happen. What about Teri? She would have lost her only remaining son. Do you understand?"

  Anthony was asking for more than a judgment on his ability to make a first-degree arson case go away. Gail nodded. "Billy had a good lawyer. He's very lucky. I'm sorry I jumped all over you." She couldn't resist adding, "If you'd told me before, we wouldn't have argued about it."

  "You're right. I should have told you." He set his empty glass on the coffee table. "Billy has put himself into another situation. Before he went off to commit suicide, he called the police to confess to the murder of Sandra McCoy."

  "What?"

  "Martin told me at the hospital." Anthony held up a hand to stop her from speaking. "Billy was lying. It was a delusion. Or a joke or a way to hurt himself or his parents. But definitely a false confession. I think so."

  "You think so. Wonderful. What are you going to do now?"

  "Get a
statement from his alibi witness. Billy was watching videos that night with a woman who lives on another part of the island. That is all it was, believe me. This woman is probably in her sixties."

  "Yes, I heard about her," Gail said. "Joan Sinclair, the famous movie actress."

  "Who told you?"

  "That guy with the stutter who drove the boat. Arnel something. He's such a fan, he can probably name all her movies. Anthony, you might have a problem with Miss Sinclair. Lois said she might have made up an alibi because Billy asked her to. Supposedly they're pretty tight."

  "Yes. It could be a problem."

  "You'll have to find out."

  "Tomorrow," he said, "but first I need to be at the hospital very early to speak to Billy before the police do. A psychiatrist is coming to see him, and then, after all that, I'll pay a visit on the actress. Do you know what kind of movies she was in? Vampire movies."

  "I heard she was nominated for an Academy Award, but I don't think it was for sucking blood. Unless she played a lawyer."

  Anthony smiled. "Well, she became a cult figure as a female vampire."

  "Oh, great. Just don't let her near your neck."

  "Vampira and a client with tattoos and spiked hair." With a groan Anthony let his head fall into his hands. "It's all going to go away tomorrow."

  Gail laughed. "Buy some garlic and a wooden stake before you talk to her."

  "Yes, I will, and a cross." His smile lingered as he continued to look at Gail, and his gaze grew intense. Shifting closer he opened his mouth over hers, slid his tongue inside, bit her bottom lip, then nibbled his way down the side of her neck. "Te voy a chupar la sangre." With a growl, he pushed her over on the sofa and stretched out between her legs. His breath scorched her ear. "Te voy a devorar. I'm going to eat you up."

  "All of me." She put her hands under his shirt and dug her nails into his back. "Until there's nothing left."

  "Quisiera casarnos aquí mismo en los cayos."

  Pushing him up by the shoulders, she said, "What was that?"

  His eyes shifted on hers. "I said… No, you tell me. What did I say?"

  "Something about getting married here. Is that what you said? Here in the Keys? You mean… before we go home?"

  "You want to?"

  "Very funny."

  "You know something?" He pulled her arms from around his neck. "They might still do that at the Inn." There was a writing desk under the front window. Anthony crossed the room and opened the leather-bound book that contained information about the resort. "Where— Ah. Here it is." He came back reading a brochure. Its cover showed a beach, a palm tree, a man in a tux and a woman in a white dress. They held champagne glasses and gazed rapturously into each other's eyes, WEDDINGS AT THE BUTTONWOOD INN.

  Gail fell back on the sofa. "Oh, my God."

  "Look at this. They could give us a preacher, a live band, a dinner, a cake. Here's a good one. Sunset wedding on the beach. What about that?" He whistled. "The prices! Wait. We save money this way, no big reception for all our friends and relatives in Miami."

  "Your client almost killed himself! The Greenwalds aren't going to host a wedding, even if the resort were open for business, which it isn't."

  "Billy's going to be fine. All right, we can get married at the branch courthouse in Tavernier. Uh-oh, there's a three-day waiting period. Three days. That means... Coño. Saturday. You wanted to be back in Miami on Saturday. Well, we could be married by a notary after midnight on Friday, have a very short honeymoon, and you can make it to Miami in the morning in time to pick up trash with Karen. What do you think?"

  Gail smiled up at him. "I'm sure she'd understand. 'Oh, Karen, guess what? While we were in the Keys, Anthony and I got married, and we're moving to his house.'"

  "Sweetheart, if you're going to share a bed with me, don't you think it's better to be married to do it?" As she started laughing, he shook his finger. "We're setting a very bad example for your daughter. I feel terrible about it. We can't put it off any longer."

  "Yes, we can. We have to."

  He shrugged. "Whatever you say." He tossed the brochure onto the end table. "Are you sure about June? Maybe we should wait until Karen graduates from high school. I don't want to rush you." He gave her a look, tilting his head to match hers. He pursed his lips in a kiss. "¿Qué pasa, bonboncita?"

  "I don't know when you're serious."

  "Yes, you do. ¿Tú me quieres?"

  "Of course I love you."

  "I love you too." He leaned over and brushed his mouth across hers. "Tell me what I'm serious about doing now. Dime donde quieres tu primer beso."

  Where did she want the first kiss? She told him. And the one after that, and the next...

  The bed was solid mahogany, too heavy to creak or thud on the floor. With no other guests at the resort, who could hear the noises they made? Making love in a strange bed always made it more erotic, Gail thought. These pillows were firmer under her hips, the sheets felt crisper, she slid across them in a different way.

  They opened the windows to hear the night sounds and feel the air that drifted languorously across their heated skin. Crickets sang in a steady rhythm. From far away came the drone of a boat. She sank into the mattress like floating on the surface of the sea. She drifted near sleep but not into it. Anthony was still awake. She could tell by the way he occasionally let out a sigh. She scooted closer so that her cheek fitted nicely between his shoulders. "Hey." She put her arm around him. He kissed her hand and held it close. She could feel his heart beating. "What's on your mind?"

  He was silent for a time, then said, "I spoke to the detective in the case tonight. He says that Sandra McCoy's throat was slashed to the bone. The intention may have been to let her blood drain out before she was pushed into the quarry."

  "Oh, God."

  "I don't believe Billy is capable of that."

  "He couldn't have done it. He has an alibi. Remember?"

  "Yes. An alibi." There came another long silence. "Four years ago the prosecutor offered us a plea as the case began to fall apart. A youthful offender boot camp until Billy turned eighteen, then three years of probation. I said no. After Richie failed for the third time to show up for his deposition, and the prosecutor saw the case going down in flames, he said, 'You know, Billy needs some help. Plead him guilty and I'll agree to probation on the condition that he gets some court-supervised therapy.' I refused. Billy was already seeing a psychologist, and I didn't want to burden him and his mother with having to report to the state. So he walked away without a scratch. I went back to Miami and forgot about him. And here we are."

  Gail sat up. The moonlight shone through the windows on Anthony's face. "Oh, sweetie, you don't think you're to blame for what he did to himself, do you?"

  "I don't know, Gail."

  "Of course you aren't." She kissed his shoulder. "If only we could be perfect. If we could see into the future. So many things went into making Billy who he is, and to want to end his life. He's so lucky you're here for him. What other attorney would care as much?"

  Anthony rolled over to his back. He traced a line across her cheek, down her neck, and finally to her breast, which he cradled as if it were a flower. "Tú que no sabes lo mucho te quiero."

  Her body warmed under his touch, and suddenly all her arguments seemed petty. She wanted this man. Waiting another eight months made no sense at all. Too much could happen in eight months. She would be thirty-six then. He could get tired of waiting. They could die in an car crash. Any number of awful things could happen, and then it would be too late.

  Her eyes stung. "The answer is yes."

  "Your Spanish is slipping. I didn't ask you anything. I said, 'You don't know how much I love you.'"

  "You mean to tell me you don't remember the question?"

  "What question?" He watched the path of his hand as it traveled to the other breast, circling lazily.

  "Do I want to marry you before we go home? Do I want to live with you? Can I somehow explain it to Karen?
The answer is yes. Yes, yes."

  He frowned. "You want to get married in the Keys?"

  "Oh! I knew it. You're so rotten! You didn't mean a word."

  "Yes, I did."

  "You did not. You were counting on me to say no. Admit it." She grabbed a pillow and swung it at him.

  "Ay, niñita." He was laughing. "All right, I didn't think you would say yes, but I am glad you did."

  "Swear?"

  "Te lo juro de todo corazón." He made an X over his heart. "I want you for my wife. I have no second thoughts, Gail. Don't ever say that to me again. And don't tell me tomorrow that you've changed your mind. You wouldn't make it back to Miami alive."

  "I won't change my mind."

  5

  At 6:30 A.M. the clock radio buzzed. Gray light was filtering through the shutters. Anthony groaned and swung his feet to the floor. Gail didn't move. How long had he slept? Four hours?

  A shower helped. Putting on his suit jacket, he walked over to the bed. "Gail. Wake up, sweetheart." Her eyelids fluttered. "Do you remember what I asked you to do this morning? Gail?" He straightened his cuffs.

  "Yes, general." Still tangled in the sheets, she saluted. "Leave a message with Joan Sinclair to call you."

  "Good. I hope to be back before noon."

  He kissed her and was out the door and down the steps to the white sand path that wound toward the main building. She would not be sleeping for long. The carpenters had arrived, and the yowl of power saws and pounding of hammers came from the unfinished cottages nearby.

  In the hotel kitchen, the cook gave him a freshly baked cinnamon roll and juice. Lois Greenwald was finishing her coffee, waiting for him. It took a moment to recognize her. She had lost weight, too much of it. Before, her hair had been short and brown; now it was frosted and tied back in a ponytail. She wore lipstick and mascara. He wondered if this meant she had found a man. Or perhaps not. Her shapeless black linen dress reached nearly to her bony ankles.