“In spite of all your marvelous motives and family spirit and so on, Gretel, it still leaves Van Harder on the beach.”
“He ran the Julie,” John said. “Hub put half of one of those horse capsules in—”
“John! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Jesus God! They can nail you for conspiracy to defraud, or whatever the right words for it are. Now tell me, John, what really happened to Van Harder?”
“I guess he must have had that big drink Hub gave him on an empty stomach. Or else he brought some liquor aboard with him and drank it too. He passed out when we were on automatic pilot, and one of the girls got sick and went up there and saw him and came down and told us. We decided we’d better go back to Timber Bay. When we found the pass and started in, Hub went up on the bow and—”
I interrupted him. He had been reciting it. He had learned it by rote. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Van got half a horse tranquilizer. I know the other story by heart too.”
John looked at Gretel for guidance. She said to me, “I guess you can understand why we can’t help your friend. Why John can’t help your friend. The establishment took such a beating, they would be glad to stuff anybody in jail.”
John Tuckerman made a muffled sound. We all looked at him. His eyes had filled and one tear broke and ran down his cheek. “He could have taken me with him,” he said. “Everything would have been all right. If he had to go, he could have taken me. Instead of that bitch architect. That dirty rotten bitch architect.” His voice broke.
Meyer said in his jolliest tone, “John and I are going to clean up here, while you and Travis take a walk on the beach, Gretel.”
She looked at him and then she looked at me, a steady, suspicious, interrogatory look, trying to see through my eyes and into my skull. There was a sudden impact, almost tangible. I wanted to be more than I was, for her. I wanted to stop being tiresome and listless and predictable. I wanted to be thrice life-size, witty and urbane, bright and reliable, sincere and impressive—all for her. She merited better than the pedestrian person she stared at.
The hostility and suspicion faded into a look of doubt, a lip-biting tension. “So come on,” she said, and I had to hurry to catch her halfway up the dune.
We stopped at the crest, the early afternoon sun speckling the sea with silver mirrors, aiming arrows of light at us. To the south, birds worked a moiled area of bait.
“We have to trust somebody,” she said. She looked sidelong at me. “I’ve had terrible luck in the trusting department.”
Before I could respond she was off down the slope, leggy and swift, heading south down the beach.
Ten
“You can’t really appreciate the change in John unless you’d known him before. So quick and funny and exasperating. If he’d just had the motivation, he could have been a successful person. Well, maybe he was a successful person. At least he had sense enough not to try marriage. He would have made a terrible husband. As bad, I guess, as the one I married too young, Billy Howard. I think John has always been more than half in love with Julie Lawless anyway.”
We were two miles down the beach from the cottage. A driftwood weatherworn section of wooden dock projected from the shallow slope of the dune—a shelf for sitting. She poked at the sand with a stick as she talked, making small avalanches.
“He tied his life to Hub Lawless’s life. And when everything went sour for Hub and he decided to run, he shucked John off. John has been an intensely loyal person. He drank for oblivion, and I think he found some … permanent kind. He is … a simplified personality now. At the time of the hearing and the investigation, he was himself. I couldn’t be here then, but I could tell from the newspaper stories. He could handle it. He couldn’t get through that sort of thing now. He can be tricked, like a child.”
“The way I was tricking him.”
“Yes. It made me angry.”
“You didn’t hide it.”
“Short fuse, friend.”
“Short fuse and long talk. You talk around and around it, and you keep on wondering if you should tell me anything, or if you should keep on waffling.”
“I just met you a few hours ago.”
“I came here at Van Harder’s request, to clear his name.”
“You’re a private detective, then?”
“Me? No. Those people have to have licenses and be bonded and carry insurance and report to the law people wherever they go. They charge fees and have office phones and all that. I just do favors for friends. Sort of salvage work.”
“But Van Harder is paying you?”
“No. He offered me ten thousand dollars in time payments if I could do it. He thinks his good name is worth twenty thousand. When I find things for people, I keep half. But I won’t take that kind of money from him. I’ll have to find some way of saving his pride, if I can get his situation reconsidered. He’s spent his life on the water. It isn’t fair that he should be victimized by some sharp operator rigging his own disappearance with other people’s money.”
“And leaving his best friend, as he always called John, flat broke in the bargain.”
“Self-preservation. A strong instinct.”
She poked away at the sand, bent so far forward I could not see her face. I looked at the smooth brown legs, the flow of the complex curves, one into the next, lovely as music. She had shed the work shirt. It lay on the weathered wood between us. The bikini string bit into the skin of her warm brown back, and I followed the way her back narrowed down to her waist, then flared to the hips. I read the calligraphy of the round knuckles of the bent spine, and of the twinned dimples farther down.
She turned sharply and caught me staring at her. She said, “I suppose your hairy pal is worming it all out of John anyway.”
“I could say yes in hopes it would open you up. Actually, I don’t know. He may be leaving it up to you to decide.”
She laughed. “When we were alone he gave me a little lecture on how people have washed their garments, down through the ages. He’s really a nice person.”
“Maybe we both are.”
“I have a track record that tells me not to trust my instincts. I have been undone by scoundrels, sir.”
“And probably scoundrels have been undone by you.”
“Sometimes. Thanks for the confidence. Anyway …” She told me what she had learned from her brother, little by little.
When things had begun to go bad, Hub had begun joking about escape. He and John had made up wild plans, as a sort of running fantasy. But as things got worse, the jokes became strained, and the planning became more serious. John had not learned until very far along in the planning process that it had been Hub’s wish, all along, to take Kristin Petersen with him, or to meet her there. John had thought this ironic, as the architect was really the person who had encouraged Hub to make the land purchases which had finally foundered him. Apparently, according to John’s observations, the affair between Hub and Kristin was intensely physical, the kind of obsessive infatuation which seemed to blind him to all consequences.
The most delicate and intricate chore had been the conversion, over three months, of assets into cash, with frequent trips to Tampa, Clearwater, and Orlando. They had taken a four-day trip to Mexico in late February, ostensibly to hunt cat in the mountains, actually to arrange for surgery in Guadalajara at a later date, and to set up a hideaway for Hub and Kristin after the operations.
When I asked where, she said that John didn’t know, that he had remained in Guadalajara while Hub flew off somewhere, but John had the impression Hub went to Yucatan.
They had done a lot of the planning right there in the cottage, arguing, picking flaws, finding solutions.
The cash had been hidden at the ranch. On March twenty-second, Hub Lawless had put the cash in the yellow jeep and driven out to the cottage. John Tuckerman had driven out there and picked him up and taken him back into Timber Bay. John had arranged for the two girls to come along on the Julie so that there would be innocent witnesses to the
accident. Hub had made certain neither girl saw the powerful tranquilizer in powder form being dumped into Harder’s token drink.
Just when it was about time for one of them, John or Hub, to go topside and “discover” Harder, one of the girls became seasick and went up and saved them the trouble. After she came down, they went up to see, then turned the cruiser around to go back. Hub went below and told the girls what they were doing, and also told them that now they were going into the wind, and it was very cold and ugly up above.
Hub went back up. John had taken the Julie as close inshore as he dared. When they came opposite the harsh gleam of the Coleman lantern John had left lighted on the deck railing of the beach cottage, Hub clapped John on the back, thanked him, shook his hand, and went overboard. When he was in the sea, he quickly yanked the cord that inflated the life belt he was wearing. They had tested it several times in rough water off John Tuckerman’s beach. Hub was confident using it and could make good time through the water.
John piloted the Julie to Timber Bay, went in the pass, thumped the bow onto the sandbar, began yelling for the girls, and threw the life ring over. He stayed and answered all questions, over and over and over. It was very late when he got back to his apartment. In the early morning he drove out to the cottage and to his consternation, saw that the yellow jeep was still there. He found Hub Lawless on the cot in the corner of the living room, gray, sweaty, and short of breath. Hub had the feeling, he said, that some round heavy weight was pushing down on his chest. It was more of a feeling of pressure than of pain. He had been much farther from shore than he had realized when he went overboard. He had struggled for a long time and had finally come to shore, exhausted, a long way south of the lantern light. The cold wind chilled him as he walked up the beach, and he had a nagging pain in his left arm and shoulder. It was not until he had climbed the dune that he had fainted. He did not know how long he was out, but he did not think it was very long. He got himself up the stairs and into the cottage, stripped off his sodden clothes, and dressed in the fresh dry clothing. The nausea had started then, and the weakness. He did not feel equal to driving the jeep to Tampa, as planned, and anyway he had already missed his early flight from Tampa to Houston and thus also his Houston–Guadalajara connection. The tickets and the tourist card were in the false name he had selected, Steven Pickering, the name he had used with the clinic in Guadalajara.
He told John Tuckerman to drive back to Timber Bay, contact Kristin Petersen, and tell her what had happened and to come to the cottage. In the original plan she had been supposed to hang around for a week, mourning Hub, and then go back to Atlanta, where she had lived when they met. Later—originally—she was to fly to Mexico and join him at some unknown place in Yucatan. But now, Hub gave John a sealed note to give her. He told John to conceal the jeep nearby in the brush before he left and to stay away from the cottage for a few days.
When John went back to the cottage, there was no one there. Hub was gone. The jeep was gone. There was no note and no money. John had understood that Hub was going to leave him some of the money, which he was to tuck away in a very safe place and not dip into for as long as possible.
“So they went off together in the jeep? With the woman driving, if he couldn’t.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“What was going to happen to the jeep if they’d followed the original plan?”
“Hub was going to leave the claim check for the jeep and the jeep keys in an envelope at the National Airlines desk, and John was going to get down there somehow and claim the jeep and bring it back and take the back roads to get onto the ranch property, and then just park it somewhere on the ranch, as though Hub had left it there.”
“Why a jeep, not a car?”
“This road and the hard road become almost impassable five miles south of here. A storm tore it all up. A car couldn’t make it, but the jeep could. He was going to come ashore and change, drive the jeep south, and be in Tampa before dawn.”
“Carrying money, lots of money? Oh, sure. No baggage check leaving this country, and no baggage check disembarking in Mexico.”
“Especially for the first-class passengers. And he had been in and out enough times to know the routines.”
“Having the woman leave Timber Bay on the twenty-third, with its being pretty much common knowledge there was something between them—that made it look more like an arranged disappearance.”
“Yes, it did. My brother worried about that. He says that Hub worked so hard and carefully to make sure Julia would get the insurance money, it’s a shame that all these rumors started. I suppose it was unavoidable. If he couldn’t manage the running all by himself, the woman had to help him.”
“It seems Hub made it to Guadalajara. Deputy Fletcher and the insurance investigator are down there now.”
“Who told them about Guadalajara?”
“When a case like this breaks in the papers, the police get a flood of crank mail and phone calls. They sort them out. Some young woman in Orlando sent an anonymous letter with a color slide to the Sheriff. She had taken the pictures on a Friday, April eighth, at a sidewalk café, of a street scene. She recognized the man in the left of the picture later as being the man whose picture was in all the area newspapers. She said she couldn’t come forward because her boyfriend thought she was visiting a friend in California. Sheriff Hack Ames made the connection with the big face-lift and cosmetic-surgery business there.”
She stabbed the stick viciously into the sand. “I could spit,” she said. “He sits down there fat and happy, and he left all this ruin behind him. Will they find him?”
“I don’t know. Bringing him back would be something else. We have an extradiction agreement. But he didn’t hold anything up with a gun. Right now there isn’t any warrant out for him that I know of. And if he has any political friends down there, it could take a long, long time.”
“Was that woman in the picture too?”
“No.”
“She must be a real charmer. A dandy person.”
“Hub Lawless must have been vulnerable.”
“Like my dear little husband, Billy Howard, was vulnerable. Vulnerable and full of big schemes. God! I was eighteen when I married him. We got a job managing a ski resort forty miles from the end of the earth, and I learned to ski well enough to teach beginners. I cooked and kept the books and waited table and cleaned the rooms and drove the bus and sold the gear too. We crapped out. Too much snow. They couldn’t keep the roads clear. The customers couldn’t get in. We operated a tennis camp for an old pro who gave the lessons and kept trying to hustle me into the bushes. I cooked and kept the books and waited table and cleaned the rooms and drove the bus and sold the gear, and got to play pretty good tennis. Until the old pro dropped dead on the court and his sister fired us. Shall I go on? Why am I telling you all this?”
“Because I want to know all this.”
“Sure. We ran a summer camp for little rich kids. I taught archery, riding, swimming, diving, woodcraft, judo, finger painting, and track. I cooked and kept the books and waited table and drove the bus and pitched softball. Billy made a pass at one of the young mothers who came up to visit, and she told the owners, and we got hurled out in the middle of August. More?”
“Can there be more?”
“You can believe it. So we got a job running a fat farm for California ladies. A dietician cooked. Local high-school girls waited table and cleaned the rooms. All I had to do was run all the exercise classes, keep the books, keep the weight charts, organize their day to keep them all busy, drive the bus, and so on and so on. So I was taking them on a little jog, and I looked back, still jogging, to see how the stragglers were coming along, and one of them ahead of me fell down, and I tripped over her and broke my wrist. See, it wasn’t set exactly right. It’s a little bit lumpy.”
I examined her right wrist. The bone seemed to jut out a little. Her forearm was baked to a warm golden brown, with the fine hairs, scorched whit
e by the sun, lying against the brown with a tender, infinite neatness. I said it didn’t look lumpy.
“We’re coming to the best part,” she said. “I couldn’t keep the books and records. The owners had to hire a bookkeeper. They cut my pay. The bookkeeper was cute. Dear darling Billy ran off with her. She couldn’t even keep the books right. She was one of those helpless ones with the big melting eyes. She sighed a lot. I don’t think she bathed as much as her mother might have wished. And the reason I couldn’t come here sooner, after I had seen the whole mess in the papers and called John, was because I was not supposed to leave the state until I got the final papers of divorce. The lawyer said it might gum things up. He said I could go if I wanted, and it would probably be all right. But I wanted to be very damned sure that my seven years of marriage were over. Aren’t we supposed to change completely every seven years, all the cells or something? I was ready. Wow, was I ever ready! I put in seven years of sixteen-hour days. Seven years of hard, hard labor.”
“What are you going to do afterward? After all this?”
“When the time comes, I’ll think about it.”
Our eyes caught and held for a few moments. When she looked away, I had a very strange feeling. I felt as if I had shucked some kind of drab outer skin. It was old and brittle, and as I stretched and moved, it shattered and fell off. I could breathe more deeply. The Gulf was a sharper blue. There was wine in the air. I saw every grain of sand, every fragment of seashell, every movement of the beach grasses in the May breeze. It was an awakening. I was full of juices and thirsts, energies and hungers, and I wanted to laugh for no reason at all.
I reached and caught the lumpy wrist, and she looked at me with surprise and faint irritation, gave one tug to get away, and then did not resist. I did not have to worry about her reaction. I could make her understand anything.
“Gretel, thanks for telling me all you know. Thanks for trusting me. I’m going to help you with this. Meyer and I will help you, and we’ll get it all sorted out.”
The Empty Copper Sea Page 12
