Evelyn Marsh

by S. W. Clemens

  Breathless, she checked Friend Finder again. Brooke was less than five minutes away. She deleted Howard and Connie from her Friend Finder app. What next? She remembered Ramon’s laptop in the beach basket in the study and decided there wasn’t time to deal with it. She stripped down to her bikini, and dropped her halter top and cutoffs into the basket, and placed the basket at the foot of the stairs. Then she rushed through the dining room, hung her car keys on the hook in the kitchen, and turned off her phone and laid it on the kitchen counter. She peeled off the latex gloves and tossed them into the trash compactor. As she turned to go she remembered the list on the kitchen table. She picked it up. With no time to set a flame to it, she ran it under the faucet to blur the writing, then tore it into little pieces, and threw it on top of the gloves. She could hear Brooke’s Honda Civic climbing the steep drive.

  Evelyn exited through the French doors and jogged to the far end of the pool. She took a few deep breaths, composed her features, thought of Sam happily walking the streets of Paris, smiled, and turned to face the house. She resisted looking at the dark shape resting on the bottom of the pool. No use crying over spilled milk. What’s done is done. Half a minute later, she saw Brooke come into the living room and stand before the easel.

  Brooke studied the painting for a moment before glancing outside. She saw Evelyn, who waved before diving into the pool and swimming to the shallow end. She rose out of the water, bent for a towel, and stepped into flip-flops. She toweled off as she walked down the lawn. Brooke met her by the fountain. Evelyn beamed at her, genuinely glad for the release of tension that she’d felt for the last half hour.

  “You have flowers in your hair,” Brooke said and picked two off.

  “Ah, the pool boy didn’t come this week. The pool is thick with jacaranda blossoms.” Evelyn sighed deeply. “Well, tell me, what do you think?” She nodded toward the painting.

  “It’s wonderful. It’s not — and I don’t mean this as a criticism of your other paintings — it’s not as static, with the water flowing from the hose and the dog looking so expectant. I love the composition, and the mixed media gives it a textural interest.”

  “Do you think it’s big enough?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I’m never sure what size best suits the subject. I guess now that we’re digitizing them, I can print different sizes and make up my mind. Do you want help taking it out to your car.”

  “No, I’ve got it.”

  “Okay then, I’ll just run upstairs and change.”

  She grabbed the beach bag on her way upstairs and tossed it into the corner of her closet. With her outfit already laid out, it took only a minute. She looked in the mirror, ran a brush through her damp hair, grabbed her purse and went downstairs with a light step. She met Brooke at the open trunk of her car.

  “If it was any bigger, it wouldn’t fit,” Brooke said.

  “Where should we go for dinner? Seafood or Mexican? I’m kind of in the mood for mussels, but I could go either way.”

  “Seafood is fine.”

  “Do you know the Beachside Cafe?”

  “Next to Goleta Pier?”

  “Right. The best way to get there from here is to turn right at the bottom of the drive, take Sueños Perdidos to Esperanza, Esperanza to Tranquila, then Tranquila to Mariposa.” She pointed uphill. “Drive up to the garage. There’s just room enough to turn around there.”

  Brooke did as instructed, as Evelyn went in the side door of the garage. A moment later, the door of the middle bay rolled up, and Evelyn backed out her white BMW. She pulled up behind Brooke’s blue Civic, and tripped the remote to close the garage door. Then she got out of the car and approached Brooke’s open window.

  “I’ve got to close the French doors and lock up. You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” She repeated her directions and watched Brooke’s Civic roll to the bottom of the drive and turn right. Then she drove the BMW a third of the way down the drive and parked. She ran back to the garage, opened the left bay, and backed Ramon’s truck down to where the front walk intersected the driveway. There were several Taco Bell napkins on the passenger side seat, with which she hastily wiped the steering wheel, the shift lever, and the door handles. Then she jumped into the BMW and followed Brooke at a brisk pace. Rolling through a few stop signs, taking one shortcut, and accelerating through yellow lights, she arrived just as Brooke was getting out of her car.

  “I don’t know about you,” Evelyn said, “but I’m looking forward to a nice cold glass of white wine.”

  Brooke was an engaging conversationalist, allowing natural tangents to dictate the subject matter, which distracted Evelyn from thinking about Ramon. Over dinner they talked of other restaurants, of Brooke’s boyfriend, of framing art, and how a frame can affect how one sees a painting, or a view. “The same scene viewed through a rectangular window, seems somehow different from the same scene viewed through an arched window,” Evelyn said. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s true.”

  She told Brooke of her plans for the next painting. Eventually their colloquy drifted to travel, which brought to mind Samantha. “She’s having such a fun time in Paris. Here, I’ll show you where she’s staying.” Evelyn looked through her small purse. “Damn, I forgot my phone. I should call Howard; he won’t know where I’ve gone. Can I borrow yours?” She got his voicemail, as expected. “Hi, Howie, I’m out to dinner with Brooke from the gallery. I forgot my phone, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be home around nine.” She handed the phone back to Brooke. “Thanks. It’s funny how dependent we are on these things. I remember the days when we only had landlines, and you never knew where anybody was. Now you know where everyone is twenty-four-seven. I don’t know if that’s such a good thing, but I’ve grown used to it.”

  Evelyn had two glasses of wine, which left her pleasantly tipsy and relaxed. “It’s such a pleasure to have a night out without men,” she said. “I love them, but the posturing and pontificating gets old. Or am I being unfair? Maybe it’s just Howard.”

  No, Brooke assured her, it was all men. They couldn’t help it. It’s the way they established dominance. “They’re a little bit like lions,” Brooke said. “They don’t do half the work, but they roar a lot and look important.”

  The two women, separated by age and experience, clinked glasses in solidarity and watched the sun sink into the Pacific.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In the parking lot Brooke said, “After we have the painting scanned, we’ll go over some framing options. I have some ideas.”

  Evelyn smiled benignly, gave her a light hug and an air-kiss and said, “I had a wonderful time. We should do this more often.”

  The wine, the food, and the conversation left her feeling serene. If eventually she were found out, at least it wouldn’t be tonight. Tonight she had an alibi.

  She’d intended Howard to come home to an empty house, search for her, and discover the body. Of course, there was no guarantee he would search, in which case she would come home late and contrive to find the body in the morning before he went to work. But that was before she factored in the truck. The truck had changed everything. It would have been blocking the drive when Howard came home, as he usually did, around sunset. He would then have gone in search of the pool boy to complain. Had he looked into the pool? Had it been light enough to see? She hoped so. Of course, the keys were still in the ignition, so he could have just moved the truck, but surely he’d have looked for the owner. She fretted about the details all the way home, and even as she worried, she knew it was foolish because only one scenario would play out. She only had to play the cards that were dealt her.

  Driving up Via Sueños Perdidos, she could see the glare of red and blue lights. She pulled to the curb opposite her drive, which was blocked by the truck, Howard’s black BMW, and two police cars. An ambulance and sheriff’s car were parked another forty feet up the roa
d. The red lights of the ambulance and the “Christmas trees” atop the police and sheriff’s cars lit the neighborhood in a garish glow.

  Evelyn jumped from the car, leaving her door open, and ran up the drive. She was panting by the time she reached the front walk, where a police officer tried to stop her. She sidestepped him, crying, “I live here. What’s happened? Where’s my husband?” She managed to put breathless panic into her voice (it wasn’t hard after running up the drive), and bolted into the house past one startled officer, down the hall to the living room, calling out, “Howard! Howard! Where’s my husband? What’s happened to my husband?”

  Another officer at the French doors put up his hands. “Ma’am, please step outside. This is...”

  “What’s happened to my husband?”

  Then she was outside and running toward people gathered around the pool. The pool lights were on, as well as police spotlights that lit up the poolside as bright as day and turned those who were backlit into faceless silhouettes. “Howard! Where’s Howard?” she cried. She stopped in front of a black body bag. Her hands shot up to her face. “Howard!” she cried. “Oh, no!” For a moment, she almost believed it herself.

  Then his voice spoke up from behind the bright lights. “Here, Evy. I’m over here.”

  She looked up dully, as if in a trance, then brightened. “Howard? Oh, Howard!”

  She ran for him and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest. “I thought...Oh my god, I thought you were...Oh my. Who then?”

  “The pool boy.”

  “How? What happened?”

  A voice spoke up from behind her. “That’s what we’re trying to determine, ma’am. Could you tell me where you were for the past few hours?”

  “Yeah, where were you?” Howard asked. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I left you a voicemail. I was at dinner with Brooke. I forgot my phone.”

  “Speaking of which,” the sheriff said. “I’ll need both your phones.”

  “Why?” Howard asked, a tone of belligerence creeping into his voice.

  “We’re authorized to impound anything that might be of material interest at the crime scene.”

  “What crime?”

  “I should have said potential crime scene. A young man has died here under mysterious circumstances. It may have been an accident, but that remains to be seen. An autopsy will have to be performed. Now if you would please hand over your phones.”

  “I’m a lawyer. I know my rights.”

  “Then you’ll know if you don’t comply with my request, you’ll be interfering with an officer in the performance of his duties.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. If you want my phone, you need a warrant.”

  “Should I assume you have something to hide?”

  “Don’t think you can intimidate me. Come on, Evy, let’s go inside.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” the officer said.

  “You can’t hold me.”

  “I can, and I will. Would you like to come down to the station for questioning?” The officer then turned to the sheriff. “How fast can we get a warrant?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Howard said. “Okay, all right. No need to get adversarial here. I’m on your side.” Grumbling, he pulled a phone from his coat pocket and handed it over.

  “And your phone, ma’am?”

  “I must have left it inside. I don’t know where.”

  “We’ll find it. Now, if you’d answer a few questions.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The area around the pool was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and motion detectors were set in place. The police and sheriff didn’t leave until well after midnight, with the admonition to stay out of the backyard and to call them immediately if either of them saw or heard anything out-of-the-ordinary.

  Neither Evelyn nor Howard had much to say.

  “That poor boy,” Evelyn remarked. “I wonder what could have happened. Do you really think he might have been murdered?”

  “No, how could it be? He probably just slipped and hit his head. I just don’t understand why he was here in the first place. It was too late in the day to be cleaning pools. And he was wearing a tie, for Christ’s sake. It’s just strange.”

  Howard made himself a martini to calm his nerves. “You want one?” he asked.

  “No, I’m going to take a warm shower and a sleeping pill.”

  Howard set his briefcase on the kitchen table, popped open the latch, and took out his cell phone.

  “I thought you gave your phone to the police.”

  “I gave them a phone.”

  “Whose phone was it then?”

  “Yours. You left it on the chaise lounge.”

  Evelyn smiled smugly. “How very clever.”

  “I thought so.”

  “But won’t you get in trouble?”

  “I don’t see how. I remember very clearly, he said, ‘If you have a cell phone, hand it over.’ I did. Anyway, I have a fiduciary duty to my clients. I’ve got confidential correspondence on my phone. Doesn’t matter though. It’ll all be a moot point as soon as they realize the boy just had an accident.

  “I suppose so,” Evelyn said.

  They both awoke groggy and exhausted. Evelyn made coffee, while Howard took a shower. He was half an hour late leaving for work.

  As soon as he was gone, Evelyn dressed and carried the beach bag to the garage. She put her gardening gloves in a bin with trowels and spades and weeders and gardening shears. Then she backed her BMW out of the garage, placed the beach bag under the left rear tire, and backed over it. The computer made a satisfying crunching sound. She put the bag on the passenger seat and drove down the hill to the Hope Ranch Private Beach, careful to check that no one was following. There was a restroom at the parking lot. Anyone seeing her enter the restroom would have seen her go in with a beach bag, and come out a minute later with a beach bag. The crushed laptop had been stuffed into the trash can and covered with paper towels. She took off her sandals and walked at the edge of the water, letting the sound of the surf wash over her and ease her fears.

  Back home, she went online to search for pool services, and left messages with two to call her back. Later that afternoon, she sat at the dining room table, sketching. The concept was coming into focus now: an open suitcase on a bed; men’s clothes, neatly folded, but no suit, suggesting this trip was of a personal nature (for pleasure or of necessity had yet to be determined). Reflected in a mirror above the chest of drawers, an open doorway revealed a pedestal sink, above which a fogged mirror reflected the indistinct silhouette of a man.

  While she contemplated how to infer the nature of the trip, a white SUV with a gold emblem on the door came up the drive, followed by a white and blue police cruiser. Her heart beat just a trifle faster. She knew she had done everything in her power to provide herself with an alibi, but she also knew from watching CSI dramas on television that scientists in the crime lab would eventually ferret out the guilty party. She was resigned that if that time came, she would go meekly to prison. However, until that strand of hair, swab of DNA, or fingerprint linked her to the crime, she would play the part of the innocent bystander. She was ready when they knocked on the door.

  There were three men, a thick, blond patrolman in uniform, who couldn’t have been much older than her son, and two middle-aged men wearing short-waisted navy-blue jackets with logos that identified them as investigators from the office of the coroner. The eldest, in his forties, looked tired and apologetic as he held up a sheet of paper. “We have a search warrant,” he said. She didn’t bother to confirm it; she expected it.

  “Do you know what happened to that poor young man?” she asked as she opened the door wide to admit them.

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine, ma’am. I’m Detective Olso
n. This is Detective Marks. We’ll be handling the investigation.”

  “You weren’t here last night.”

  “No, ma’am. We’ve been brought in to answer some questions that remain unanswered.”

  “Such as?”

  “First, do you have any computers or tablets on the premises?”

  “In the study,” she said, flicking her eyes to the open door, through which the computer was plainly visible on the desk.

  “Our computer forensics team will want to look it over.”

  “What could a computer in our study have to do with that boy’s accident?”

  “It remains to be seen if it was an accident.”

  Evelyn turned a dismayed look upon each of them. “You don’t think it was an accident then?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine. The autopsy revealed some anomalies we’d like to clear up.”

  Evelyn shrugged. “Whatever I can do to help. But last night they took our phones, and now you’re taking our computer. How am I supposed to contact my daughter? She’s in Europe. How can I text or email her without a phone or computer?”

  “I’m sorry, but an investigation of this sort takes precedence. The phones and computer will remain in our custody until the investigation is over.”

  The patrolman went to the study, while Detective Marks left to examine the scene of death in daylight.

  “Now, if you can tell me, when was the last time you saw Ramon Esposito?”

  “The Tuesday before last, I suppose. But I didn’t always see him when he came to service the pool.”

  “Was Tuesday his usual day?”