Suspicion of Madness

by Barbara Parker

  Anthony pulled her along behind him. "Yes, very inconsiderate. I'll call him tomorrow. Now I want you to show me what you learned from that movie."

  The phone had rung twice before, and Doug had let it go to voice mail, but this time he rolled over and turned on the lamp. The woman beside him lifted her head from the pillow.

  "Why don't you turn off the damned phone?"

  "Let me just see who—"

  Lois Greenwald.

  "Shit. I have to take this. It's a client." He picked up the handset. "Yes?"

  "You said to call you. I was worried."

  He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I was asleep. What's up?"

  "Joan never came. I put her things in the room and gave Martin a key. Martin was going to talk to Joan. He could have persuaded her, but she never came."

  "Crap."

  "What do you want me to do now?"

  Doug swung his feet to the floor. "Where's Tom?"

  "He went home. His boat is gone. We didn't see him either. Maybe she went with him."

  "Maybe."

  "Douglas? I heard something tonight that hurt me a great deal. I want you to be completely honest with me. Do you have other women?"

  "No. Where'd you hear that?"

  "Is it true?"

  "Absolutely not. Someone is lying to you."

  He could hear her intake of breath. "Yes," she said. "Yes. You love me, don't you?"

  Naked, Doug took the phone down the hall, closing the bedroom door on his way out. "Listen to me. What did I tell you? I need time. Didn't we agree on that?"

  "Say you love me."

  "I don't want you calling me at home in the middle of the night—"

  "Say it. Please."

  "Lois, I'll say it when I fucking feel like it. Okay? Jesus. Don't push me. My therapist said the worst thing for me right now is to push too hard. Grief isn't something you can just turn on and off. You understand that, don't you? Honey?"

  There was a long silence. Then she said, "You have to try."

  "I'm trying."

  "I can help. I'd come to your house tonight if you wanted me to."

  "Not tonight," he said.

  "When?"

  Doug pounded his head slowly, silently on the wall. "Soon. Very soon. Maybe by next month I'll be able to... you know. God, I can't even say it."

  "It's all right. Forgive me, darling."

  "I want to be normal again. I don't feel like a man anymore." He made a choking noise, a stifled sob.

  "Douglas! Please, darling, what can I do to help you?"

  "Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'll be okay. I'm going to take a Paxil and go back to bed. Lois? Before I come out there tomorrow to take the photos—remember?—see if you can talk Joan into staying at the hotel for the weekend. Say you're having a party. I need her to be gone. Arnel too. Don't fail me, honey. It's important to both of us."

  "I won't fail you, Douglas."

  "Good girl. Well. Good night, cupcake."

  "Good night, my love."

  Before he disconnected he heard the sound of a kiss in his ear.

  The bedroom was dark, and he felt his way back to the nightstand, where he fumbled the handset onto the base.

  A laugh came from the other side of the bed. "A client? Give me a break."

  Doug reached for her. "Shut up and come here."

  Under an umbrella in the parking lot of Sea Spires Condominium, Lois Greenwald held her mobile phone to her chest and stared up at the windows of Unit 403. Top floor, bay view. Two bedrooms, two baths, eat-in kitchen, screened patio. The same as the vacant unit one floor below. She had looked at it last week, thinking she might buy it.

  Doug's silver BMW was in his assigned space under the building. There were many other cars underneath or outside in the open lot. Lois wondered if one of them belonged to a woman, and if that woman was with him right now. Teri and that other bitch, Gail Connor, had laughed about Douglas cheating on her. It was a lie. He had sworn it was a lie.

  But if he'd been asleep, why was the living room light still on?

  Lois went around the building as far as she could, until she reached the seawall. The wind was whipping the water onto the rocks. She tilted back her umbrella and looked up at his patio, through the sliding doors. He wasn't in his living room. Lois walked back to her car and got inside. Rain streaked the windshield, and the building seemed to wriggle and squirm.

  She slid down in her seat and took a sip of coffee from her Thermos. She would wait to see if the living room light went off. If it did, she would wait a little longer and see if anyone came out the main entrance.

  21

  With an electric hum and the clicking of cables, the lift arms lowered Martin Greenwald's boat into the water. Past the roof of the boathouse, the sky was gray as concrete. At dawn the rain had rattled the windows of the cottage, then had mysteriously stopped half an hour ago. Not trusting this pause to last, Gail had taken Anthony's umbrella along when she followed the men to the harbor.

  Billy shut off the lift motor. His green waterproof jacket was too long in the sleeves, and the bleached spikes of his hair stuck out like wires. He passed by Martin without looking at him. "I don't need anybody to go with me. I can take my own boat." He stepped on the gunwale and leaped to the deck.

  "Your boat is too small for this weather," Martin said.

  "Not for one person, it isn't."

  Weighty drops of rain made overlapping circles on the water. A sudden gust of wind clawed them away and swirled across the harbor to shake the tops of the palm trees.

  "Here." Martin held up the keys, attached to a bright orange float, and pitched them underhanded. Billy caught them against his chest. "You drive."

  "Aren't you afraid I'll capsize it?"

  "That's what life vests are for. Start the engines." Martin looked around at Anthony, more amused than irritated. He stepped aboard and sat in the copilot's seat.

  Gail held onto Anthony's arm. "Is he okay?"

  "Billy? He's scared to death and trying very hard not to show it."

  "And he still wants to do this?"

  "He has to."

  The thought of Billy flinging himself into the water in despair, or running the boat full speed into a bridge piling, went through Gail's mind. "Be careful," she said.

  The engines churned up the murky water and left the stench of exhaust. Gail walked onto the seawall as Billy steered the boat out of the harbor and beyond the breakwater. Last night Anthony had called Dr. Vogelhut for advice. She had told him that if Billy was still determined in the morning to see the mermaid lamp, then let him go—but not alone. Gail suspected that Billy's psychiatrist was as curious as they what would come of it.

  The islands stretching along the horizon were barely visible, and presently the boat and its occupants vanished into the rain. Gail put up her umbrella and headed toward the cottage. She thought of Billy's courage and wished some of it for herself. She had been avoiding a confrontation with Karen. Yesterday they had talked on the phone, but Gail hadn't mentioned marriage plans. Hi, sweetie, bow's school going, miss you too….

  Joan Sinclair drifted into Gail's thoughts. The actress in her long black wig, holding her martini and exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke. What the hell are you waiting for, permission?

  As soon as Anthony got back, they would drive to the courthouse in Tavernier to apply for a marriage license, one step closer to the edge. Gail wanted to grab his hand and jump. He wasn't a stranger. He was part of her life. They had been together—with a few lapses—for more than three years. Listen, Karen, you know that Anthony and I love each other very much. We plan to get married... next month. In two months. Please don't say you want to go live with your father until you try... until we all try to make it work out.

  Gail repeated these thoughts in different combinations of words until she reached the cottage and shook out the umbrella on the porch. Her suitcase was inside, ready to be carried down and loaded into the shuttle when Anthony returned. She wanted to wh
eel it back to the bedroom and hang her clothes next to Anthony's in the closet, but tomorrow morning she and Karen would be at Camillus House making sandwiches. Unless the event had been called off. Perhaps it had.

  She reached into her shorts pocket for her cell phone and hit a speed-dial button. After a few seconds, Irene came on the line sounding as though she were standing in a crevasse on the moon. "—lo?... Hello?"

  "Mom, it's me."

  "—calling from, darling? Can't hear—"

  "I'm at the resort. How's the weather there?... The weather…. I was wondering if the school project is still on for tomorrow morning…. If Karen's project— Never mind. Ready for a news flash? Anthony and I have decided to get our marriage license today. Isn't that wild? I don't know when we'll actually get married. Soon. Mother, I am so in love with Anthony. I can't bear to be apart from him."

  The line crackled. "—so happy—love him too—tell Karen?"

  "I'll be back this afternoon." Gail cupped her hand around the mouthpiece. "Tell Karen this afternoon…. Mother, the reception is awful, I can't hear a thing you're saying. I'll call later. Love you!"

  She noticed the telephone by the sofa. She was on the point of trying again on a land line when her cell phone rang. She put it to her ear. "Yes?"

  "It's Emma," the voice said.

  "Emma." The waitress at the resort. "Right, you were going to find Sandra's friend for me."

  The reception was fuzzy but she could make out that Emma's sister-in-law at the sheriff's department had come through with the name of Penny Lobianco. It was she who had seen Billy strike Sandra McCoy two days before her murder. Penny worked at a gift shop called Island Treasures near Mile Marker 85.

  Having brought nothing warmer than a shawl, Gail put on Anthony's brown cashmere sweater and rolled up the sleeves. Her sneakers were soaked by the time she ran up the front steps of the hotel. They squeaked all the way across the dim, empty lobby. She was looking for Lois Greenwald.

  She found her in the office. Lois was slicing Arnel Goode apart for his shiftless attitude yesterday. How dare he abandon Martin, whose two hundred pots of seedlings had been exposed to the weather all night! Had Arnel finished putting them away? Every last one of them?

  "Yes, ma'am, I-I did."

  "Good. I want you to go to Everson Electric in Key West and pick up a part for the generator. We'll need it if we lose electricity. Here. All the information is on this sheet of paper."

  "B-But it's so far, and I promised Miss Sinclair I'd t-take in her yard f-furniture and close her... shutters—"

  "Arnel, who do you work for? Who pays your salary?"

  "You do, b-but, Miss G-Greenwald, if I go to Key West, I m-might not be able to come back. The storm—"

  "If you stop arguing, and get moving, you shouldn't have a problem. Don't use the shuttle, we might need it. Take one of the runabouts."

  "What— What's the matter with the generator?"

  "Arnel, if you don't like working here, you can easily be replaced. Is that what you want?"

  "N-No. I-I'm sorry, M-M-M-Miss G-G-G—"

  "Say it. Ms. Greenwald," Lois pronounced with exaggerated precision. "You can talk when you want to, Arnel. Yes, you can. I've heard you. Greenwald. Say it."

  In the hall Gail listened in shocked disbelief. This was beyond the bounds of decency. It was like striking a child. She strode into the office and stood next to Arnel. She sent a chilly smile toward Lois.

  The wide-open spigot of the woman's verbal abuse immediately turned off, leaving only a drip of disdain. "Yes?"

  "Good morning, Lois. I need very much to get to the marina and back. I wouldn't bother you if it weren't extremely important."

  Lois looked at her as though she were feebleminded. "Why didn't you ride over with Martin?"

  "Because this just came up. It's regarding Billy's case," she added, but didn't know why this should make any difference to Lois. "Perhaps Arnel could take me."

  "I'm sorry, he can't," Lois said. "Arnel is on his way to Key West."

  "But he's going to drive there from the marina, isn't he?"

  "How would you get back? Arnel isn't returning immediately, and I can't pick you up."

  Gail said, "I'll think of something."

  "Fine. Arnel, take Ms. Connor to the marina." With a nod of dismissal, Lois Greenwald sat down and began to go over some figures on a spreadsheet.

  Once Gail had retrieved her umbrella, Arnel motioned for her to follow him out the back. They stood on the landing that led down to the delivery area. He had draped his plastic raincoat over the railing. He put it on, a rumpled gray shroud that came nearly to the tops of his rubber boots.

  "Where a-are you going in... Islamorada?"

  "Island Treasures? Mile Marker 85," Gail said.

  "I'll take you."

  "That would be wonderful. I'm sorry to be an inconvenience."

  "It's not." A smile flickered across his lips. He took a hat out of his raincoat, shook it, and dropped it on his head. Gail noticed his hands, which she had only ever seen before in gardening gloves. His nails were gnawed to soft pink pads, probably the result of raging neuroses. Gail was not surprised.

  They ran down the steps and into the rain, splashing through puddles, leaping over fallen palm fronds. Arnel's raincoat flapped like the wings of a bird. At the harbor the sea was a sodden blanket of gray wool. She followed him to a small boat bobbing up and down in the water, and she drew back. "Are we going in that?" Arnel reached under one of the seats and pulled out a rain poncho, which he told her to put on. He said, "D-don't worry. I'll get you across and... and Martin can bring you back."

  Wipers kept the windscreen reasonably clear, but Gail could feel the wind pushing them sideways. The boat nosed down, then came up, and a wave rolled over the bow, obliterated the view, and surged away.

  Gail lifted her feet to get them out of the water. "I hope we have life vests!" she shouted.

  "It's just a little s-s-s-s-squall passing by. We'll come out of it soon." Arnel clutched the wheel and leaned toward the windscreen. In a few minutes, as he had predicted, the thundering noise on the canvas roof abated, and the wipers scraped enough rain away to reveal their steady approach toward the marina.

  "How will you make it back?" Gail asked.

  "Not in this boat, if the w-w-wind gets bad."

  "Lois shouldn't have sent you to Key West!"

  "Oh, well."

  The little boat shuddered into a wave, and foam exploded off the bow. Gail held on and prayed.

  At the marina the masts of sailboats swung to and fro, and their cables rang like bells. Arnel tied up at the dock, and he and

  Gail made a dash for the awning where the resort kept its vehicles. Arnel opened the door to an old panel van obviously used for running errands, and Gail climbed in.

  He had just gotten in the other side when he reached into his trousers pocket for his cell phone. "Arnel here…. Yes, ma'am." He sighed. "I have to go to Key West…. Lois said to... A part for the generator." He glanced at Gail. "I'll try….Yes, ma'am…. Okay." He rolled his eyes and made a mock sigh of exasperation. "Yes, Miss Sinclair, I will." He put the phone back into his pocket. "She wants me to buy her some gr-groceries and... more candles and another bottle of B-Beefeater. She drinks too much, but... try to tell her that."

  "Have you got your phone set to vibrate? I didn't hear it."

  He nodded. "She d-doesn't like it to ring. If I'm... over at her house? She says, 'T-t-turn that... goddamn thing off! Can't you see I-I'm resting?'" Except for the stutter, his voice was eerily similar to Joan Sinclair's. He had mimicked perfectly the bored drawl, the Lauren Bacall accent, the smoky rasp. Why not? Arnel Goode was Joan's biggest fan. How many hundreds of hours had he spent watching her movies, memorizing her lines?

  He shook out a cluttered key ring and inserted the right key into the ignition. Gail remembered something. "Arnel, you took Sandra and Billy to the marina the day she died, didn't you?"

  "Sure." Arnel chec
ked the rearview and backed up.

  "Did you hear what they were they talking about? Did Sandra mention why she was leaving work early?"

  "No." He frowned through the windscreen. "But I think... she had a f-f-f-fight with Miss Sinclair."

  Gail had guessed correctly. This had been the day that Joan Sinclair had kicked Sandra out after catching her upstairs in her bedroom. "Did Sandra tell you about it?"

  "Miss Sinclair did. She said... Sandra was t-t-trying to steal her jewelry and... she told her to get out and don't... come back."

  "Does Joan have a lot of jewelry?"

  Arnel drove out of the marina and turned right, making no indication he had heard the question. The wipers beat on the windshield.

  "Arnel? I'm trying to help Billy. Anthony and I are looking for the reason Sandra McCoy was killed. What if Sandra... let's say she told someone that she had seen some valuable jewelry in Miss Sinclair's bedroom."

  "Told who?"

  "It's just a theory. Let's suppose that this other person wanted all of it. He killed Sandra so he wouldn't have to share it with her. Or maybe he thought she was going to turn him in to the police. Whatever. So does Joan Sinclair have something worth stealing?" Gail waited for Arnel to respond. "Arnel? What did Sandra see?"

  His face was hidden by the slouching brim of the old rain hat. "I-I don't know."

  "You just said Joan accused Sandra of trying to steal her jewelry."

  "I don't know w-w-what she has. She won't let anybody in her room."

  "Not even you?"

  He shook his head.

  "Has Joan ever mentioned having something valuable in there?"

  "No."

  Gail wanted some way to get past the surface, unsure whether Arnel simply didn't know or refused to say out of loyalty.

  Arnel glanced at her. "How are you g-g-getting back... back to the marina?"

  "A taxi?"

  "I'll take you. If-if you won't be in the store too long, I'll take you back to the marina. Then you call Martin."

  "But you're supposed to drive straight to Key West."

  "A-a-are you going to tell Lois?"

  "Not me," Gail said.