Suspicion of Madness

by Barbara Parker

  "What are you doing, Gail?"

  "If there's no good reason for me to be here, I might as well go back to Miami."

  "How? Swim?"

  "Arnel can take me to the marina. There must be a bus going north."

  He sighed. "All right. You can help me work on the case." She turned around and looked at him, swinging her hair off her face. He said, "Don't forget whose case it is. You check with me before you do anything. Is that clear?"

  "Perfectly." She tossed a high-heeled black sandal back into the closet.

  "How much are you going to charge me for your services?"

  "Oh, my fees, I nearly forgot. Let's see. For you, five dollars an hour."

  "Que barato. That is cheap. I would have given you ten."

  She held out her hand. "I need a retainer. Come on, let's have it. I don't work for free."

  Anthony took out his wallet and gave her a twenty. "That's four hours. I expect you to turn in a time sheet."

  Smiling, she tucked it into a side pocket of her dress. The dress was thin cotton that followed her curves. He bent to press his lips to her chest, just at the edge of the low neckline. Her scent filled his head.

  "I wouldn't really have left." She put her arms around his neck. "Not unless you told me to. Maybe not even then."

  "I know. Te quiero. Nunca te diré que te vayas." He kissed her. "I will never tell you to go. I did it once, to my shame. Not again. Ever."

  She outlined his mouth with her fingertip. "Scratchy."

  "I'll go shave."

  "No, wait. Kiss me again. Do it just like that."

  After a minute she pulled away. Her breaths came as quickly as his. "You have to talk to the Greenwalds. When?" She undid the top button of his shirt. Then the next.

  "They can wait." He plucked the flower from her hair and tossed it onto the bed.

  9

  They took the white sand path leading behind their cottage, catching only a glimpse of the cottages tucked into the trees, the white clapboard and pastel gingerbread trim winking through the foliage. A soft breeze brought the scent of frangipani and jasmine. The quiet was broken only by birds and the rustle of palm fronds. The carpenters had left, or had traded their power tools for paintbrushes.

  Anthony had called ahead to let Teri and Martin know they'd meet them on the patio behind the Inn. As they walked Gail read the tags on the trees. Golden raintree, cassia, royal poinciana. Lignum vitae, with wood so dense it would sink. Gumbo-limbo, nicknamed "tourist tree" for its peeling red bark. Ylang-ylang, perfuming the air with delicate fragrance. Gail was not the gardener her mother was, but many of these species were in Irene's back yard. Cycads, fuzzy red chenille plants, variegated ginger. Heliconia made vivid splashes of red and orange in the dark green shade.

  They walked around a croquet green, then past a chess set with pieces three feet tall. There were nooks where a person could sit and read, and chaises for dozing in the sun. Holding Anthony's hand as they walked, Gail wondered what it must belike to own such a place, as the Greenwalds did. It was all very nice for a week or maybe two, but beyond that?... If she had to live here, she might soon find herself slumped sideways in a chair, drooling.

  A gust of wind teased her sun hat, and she reached quickly to keep it from flying away. They walked past the spa, whose entrance was a Zen courtyard paved in black slate. The few leaves that had drifted there seemed placed by the designer's hand. A hammered brass egret dipped its beak into a long narrow pond. At the other end, a fountain splashed musically against the rocks.

  For a shortcut to the hotel, they cut across the grass, went through a break in the hedge, and came out behind a two-story building, the fitness center, as best they could tell. They were about to round the corner when they heard low, angry voices. A man, a woman.

  Anthony held up a hand. Gail took off her hat and shifted forward to see through a thatch palm.

  The woman was Teri Greenwald. The man... Gail had never seen him before. He wore shorts and a billed cap, and gray hair touched the collar of his shirt. His wiry body was tight, as if ready to leap. Teri blocked his way up a staircase leading to a porch on the second floor. They were arguing about Billy.

  "I gave up a fuckin' five-hundred-dollar charter trip to come over here."

  "If you'd wanted to see him so much, why didn't you come to the hospital this morning like you said?"

  "It's not my fault. The water pump went out on my car, and I got stranded."

  Gail whispered, "Is that Billy's father?" Anthony nodded.

  Kyle Fadden's arms were corded with muscle, and his right hand opened and closed. He might have wanted to slap his ex-wife for old time's sake. Gail knew it was bad manners to eavesdrop, but she waited for Anthony to back away. He didn't. Neither did she.

  Teri's eyes flashed fire. "You can't just show up whenever you want to. This is private property."

  "What are you going to tell him, Teri? Huh? 'Your dad was here to spend some time with you, but I threw him out.'" Fadden grabbed her elbow. "I'm going up there to see my boy."

  Anthony went around the corner, then stopped as if surprised to see anyone here.

  "Oh, hello," Gail said, following.

  Kyle Fadden turned and gave the intruders a cool stare.

  Teri took a breath. "Kyle, this is Anthony Quintana, Billy's lawyer. And Ms. Connor. Also a lawyer."

  Fadden had a screw-you smile. "Two lawyers. Billy must be in trouble."

  Anthony walked over to Teri. "Is everything all right?"

  Fadden said, "I'm here to see my son. He's expecting me."

  "Go ahead," Teri said. "You want to see him, go."

  Anthony stepped in front of him, getting close enough to demonstrate the difference in height. "Mr. Fadden, before you do, I want to speak to Billy. It won't take long."

  "Why?"

  "To remind him not to talk about the McCoy case. That's all. And I would ask you, as his father, to avoid that topic. If the police know that you've been here, they might ask you questions. You understand." Without waiting for a reply, Anthony trotted up the stairs.

  Kyle Fadden turned around, smiling, spreading his arms, unable to challenge Anthony and showing the women it didn't matter. "Okay. No problem." Teri stared at the brick pavers in the courtyard. She had changed her rumpled dress for cropped linen pants and a white top. Her black hair gleamed in the dappled sunlight. Billy's father settled a shoulder against the clapboard side of the building to wait. Gail noticed the triangular leather case on his hip. Her own ex, who had gone fishing on weekends, had once pointed out to her what the pros carried. The case would contain a scaling knife and needle-nose pliers for removing hooks. Gail assumed that the bigger the pliers, the bigger the manhood.

  When Fadden spoke to Teri again, he had calmed down. "Billy's not going to try this again, is he? Try to kill himself?"

  Teri gave him no more than a quick glance. "We don't think so. He has an appointment in Miami on Tuesday with a psychiatrist. Her name is Sharon Vogelhut. If you're interested."

  "Yes, Teri, I'm interested. Maybe I should go with you." Her dark eyes fixed on him. "Maybe not. Could you give me a call after? Let me know how it went?"

  "If you like."

  Kyle Fadden hooked his thumbs in his belt and gazed up at the windows. "This is a wake-up call. I blame myself somewhat. You know, the divorce and everything. I want to be around more often. I want to take him fishing. Diving. Whatever. You know. Do some father-son bonding. I think it'd be good for Billy. Is that okay with you?"

  Teri stared at him as if he'd just told her he'd been baptized by immersion and wanted to share the experience with their son. She said, "It's up to Billy."

  Listening to this, Gail became confused. She had understood that Kyle Fadden was a monster, a wife-beater, a child abuser. But her sympathy had begun to shift in another direction. This was Billy's father. He was making an effort. People did change.

  She put her hat back on. No one spoke.

  The door upstairs opened,
shut. Anthony took his time coming down, making Kyle Fadden wait at the bottom. When Anthony was out of the way, he went up without a backward glance.

  Teri closed her eyes. Anthony said quietly, "Let's find a place where we can talk."

  They crossed the courtyard. Teri lifted the latch on a white wooden gate, and they walked onto the patio behind the hotel, paved in big squares of coral rock, shaded by a trellis draped with passion flowers.

  Freed of the possibility that someone might overhear, Teri let out a cry of exasperation. "I don't believe him! I looked out the window and there he was. He never comes here!" Her voice was quick and light, with only the faintest trace of the accent she'd brought from Cuba.

  "Where is Martin?" Anthony asked.

  "Resting. I didn't tell him you called. Martin has been so good, so supportive with Billy, but I don't want to put too much on him. This isn't his problem, it's mine."

  Gail found this attitude very strange. Did Teri expect that her husband would run out of patience? Was she afraid what he'd do if he saw Kyle Fadden on his property? Martin Greenwald had not seemed like the kind of man to lunge against his chain if his wife's former husband showed up. Unlike Anthony. But who knew?

  Anthony was saying, "Teri, I've persuaded Gail to work with me. She's an excellent attorney, and I hope you feel no hesitation talking to her."

  She gave Gail a warm smile. "None at all. Come on, let's go sit by the pool." As they walked, Teri slowed her steps, turning sideways to speak. Her hair fell from a center part to just below her shoulders, thick and glossy. Her lipstick shone, and liner accented her eyes.

  "Kyle sounds so sincere, doesn't he? He is—until he has to follow through on his promises. Bond with his son? I'm sorry, but I'm not impressed. If it happens, then I'll believe it." She went on about Billy's desire to see his father, the times that he had gone to his house in Marathon and Kyle hadn't been there.

  They arrived at the lagoon-shaped pool, which overlooked the ocean. Ferns softened the white rocks marking the perimeter, and arbors made shady places to sit. A small thatch-roofed hut for drinks and towels had been freshly painted in wild Caribbean colors. Teri gestured toward a blue metal table with four chairs tilted up against it. "We can sit over there. Please let me get you something to drink. There's a phone by the bar."

  They said they didn't want anything, thank you.

  "What a view," Gail said, sweeping off her hat, lifting her face to the sun.

  "Oh, yes. I love it. It's paradise. Martin and I travel occasionally, mostly in the summer, but we're happiest right here. He bought Lindeman Key in 1988. The hotel was only one story, basically a fish camp. We have old black-and-white photographs in the library. You should let me show them to you."

  Anthony had pulled out their chairs. "Por favor, ladies."

  Teri hooked her arm through Gail's as they walked toward the table. "When it's all done, I want you and Anthony to come back and really enjoy yourselves. I feel terrible that we've had to leave you on your own." Except for the narrow straps of her snug white top, her shoulders were bare, her skin like amber honey. From a gold chain hung an antique locket with a filigree case.

  Sitting down, she beamed at Anthony. "You're my savior! You too, Gail. You wouldn't believe, last time Anthony came here—he told you about it?—he fixed everything. He saved the day. That's why I know Billy's going to be all right."

  Anthony and Gail exchanged a brief glance as he took the chair between the women. He folded his sunglasses and set them on the table. The sun wasn't so bright here in the shade, and the shadows of palm fronds moved on the terra-cotta deck.

  "Gail and I are going to see Joan Sinclair tonight. Tomorrow we'll take her to the sheriff's office, if she will go with us. There could be a problem. Douglas Lindeman is planning to seek a guardianship alleging that his aunt is incompetent. Lois told me this morning. Did you know about it?"

  "Yes, she mentioned it a few weeks ago, but we haven't heard anything lately." The mild curiosity on Teri's face turned to alarm. "Oh, my God. He can't do that."

  "Lois said she would ask him to delay until this is over. I've left a message at his office, but he hasn't yet returned my call. Where is Lois?"

  "Still with the contractor in Key Largo, I believe. I'm sure if Lois asked Doug to hold off, he will. That law firm gets a lot of business from us. Do you want me to call her now?"

  "A little later, if I don't hear from Lindeman. What's your opinion of Joan Sinclair's mental state?"

  "She's fine. When she called me about Billy, I didn't have the slightest doubt about it."

  "When was the last time you actually saw her?"

  Teri dug her fingers into her long black hair and swept it off her forehead. "Let's see. Last Christmas! Has it been so long ago? I took her a nice wine and cheese basket from Martin and me. She said thank you but didn't invite me in. Billy knows her better than I do. He never said she had problems. I'm sure she's perfectly fine."

  "Why do you think that Doug Lindeman intends to allege she's incompetent?"

  That brought a blank look. "Well... I hadn't really thought about it."

  "So you don't know where he's getting his information? I ask because we've heard that Lindeman and his aunt don't speak, and he hasn't seen her for a long time."

  "That's true," Teri said.

  "We also believe that he paid Sandra McCoy to check on Joan for him. Perhaps Sandra's observations caused him to question his aunt's competency. Is that possible?"

  "It could be."

  "Who hired Sandra to work here at the resort?"

  "Lois did. She knows Sandra's grandmother. She wanted someone completely trustworthy, someone who could follow orders. Well, that didn't work out. Lois said she was going to fire her as soon as she found someone else."

  "Was there any particular reason?"

  Teri rested her chin on her fists. Her long nails gleamed, a perfect French manicure. Even nearing forty, she was petite and curvy, with a small waist to go with the Latina hips.

  "Lois didn't say, and I didn't ask her. I don't interfere in what Lois does, unless it gets too silly, like wanting our employees to use the back halls and stay out of sight of the guests. I'm not criticizing! She's done wonderful things with the resort. Martin and I couldn't do it without her."

  But you'd like to try, wouldn't you? Gail was beginning to pick up on the hostility between wife and sister-in-law that Anthony had alluded to last night. Having met both of them, Gail could understand it. Lois had been overshadowed by this woman in every way but one: power.

  Anthony asked more questions about Sandra McCoy, but Teri apologized and said she didn't know much about her, as Sandra had worked for Lois, and Teri didn't have much to do with running the hotel. That was Lois's territory.

  Drifting at the edge of the conversation, Gail gazed at the ocean glittering in the sunlight. Two cabin cruisers passed each other, their engines barely audible. A double-masted sailboat tilted in the wind. This morning Gail had turned on the news in time to see a satellite image of the Caribbean, a big red-and-yellow splotch right under Cuba. The storm was expected to intensify today and turn east on Thursday, pushed by a cold front coming through Florida. There could be thunderstorms in Miami. Gail wondered if the Biscayne Bay cleanup would be rained out.

  Gradually she became aware that Teri was talking about Sandra's activities the afternoon she died, a few more details to add to those that Gail had heard. Billy taking Sandra to the Blue Water Marina around four-thirty then staying in Islamorada to buy some parts for his boat. He had returned to Lindeman Key by eight o'clock that night and had gone directly to Joan Sinclair's house. Sandra McCoy had rented a video at Movie Max at 7:52 P.M. She'd been grabbed in the parking lot.

  "Did Billy talk to anyone at the marina who could verify what time he left?"

  "I don't know," Teri said.

  Anthony said he would find out.

  The sky had been clear this morning, but between the palm trees Gail could see clouds floating la
zily westward. If the school trip was called off, Anthony would ask her to stay through the weekend. Gail thought she would go home on Friday as planned, even if it was raining buckets in Miami. She had promised Karen. Anthony wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't force her to make a choice: me or Karen. Even so, Gail could hear them already. If she wanted to stay: Mom, you promised you'd be here Friday night! If she wanted to go: Why do you let a twelve-year-old call the shots?

  Teri was explaining about Billy's movie collection.

  "He records them off the satellite dish. He has over a thousand videos. Seriously! Martin installed a dish outside Billy's apartment that gets about a hundred foreign channels. He has movies from all over the world."

  Anthony wanted to know how often Billy went to Joan's house to watch movies.

  "Not often. You'd have to ask Billy about that."

  "Does she invite him? Or does he just drop in?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Do you know if Joan Sinclair drinks? Has Billy ever mentioned she has a problem with alcohol?"

  "I know she drinks, but he didn't say she had a problem."

  "What I am wondering," said Anthony, "is whether she might have been drinking on the night of October third."

  Teri vigorously shook her head. "Oh, no, she wasn't drunk that night, or she wouldn't remember what time he got there or when he left."

  "Does Billy drink when he goes to see her?"

  She raised a shoulder as if warding off the question. "Probably. Yes. I thought... it's better here than with his friends, where he could flip his boat and drown. I was trying..." Anthony's brown eyes were on her, but he said nothing. Teri pushed her hair behind her ear. "I didn't know he drank so much. He said he didn't. He won't let me in his apartment. 'Mother, would you please leave me alone?'" She bit her lip. "That was a mistake. I've made a lot of mistakes."

  Anthony said gently, "There is time to put it right again."

  "He's all I have. Martin... I love Martin, but Billy is my life." Teri stroked her fingers slowly through her hair, again and again. "I don't know him, isn't that funny? My own son. Who is he? He plays music, he watches movies, he rides around in his boat. He never said he was so unhappy he wanted to put a rope around his neck and kill himself."