She sent me an accusing look and turned back to the chicken. But a second later she began to laugh again. Soon, she was shaking with laughter.
Jeddy and I eyed each other in alarm. We’d never seen her like this. Jeddy scowled, and I would have, too, except that suddenly I found this breakdown to be wonderful beyond words. All the strictness had gone out of Marina’s face, which collapsed and turned pink no matter how she tried to stop it.
“Don’t look at me!” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “A person has the right to laugh in her own kitchen!”
Jeddy and I stood before her, solemn as two owls, though there must’ve been the twitch of a grin on my face.
I never did find out what set Marina off that day, but it changed the way I thought about her. She was still far ahead of me, an older girl who could make me blush just by meeting my eyes. But I’d caught sight of another person living inside, someone wilder and freer, less bound by the rules around her than she allowed others to see. That was something back then to recognize in a girl, and it filled me with excitement. I couldn’t have begun to explain why.
THE DISAPPEARANCE
SUPPER WAS LAID OUT, READY TO BE COOKED, when Charlie Pope finally arrived at the house three hours later. By then, it was after six. Jeddy and I were in a fume.
“He’ll be eaten up!”
“What took you so long?”
“Hold your horses, we’ll get there soon enough. Mildred got through to your dad,” Charlie said to Jeddy. “He’s on his way.”
Marina threw on a coat and followed us out the door.
“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of Sheba. Out for a bit of fun?” I heard Charlie say to her in a sarcastic voice.
“I’ll come if I want.”
“Course you will, honey. You always do what you want, don’t you?”
Marina brushed past him and we went out to Charlie’s car for the drive to the beach. I saw how careful she was to keep her distance from him. She sat in the backseat with me, arms folded across her chest. Something was wrong between Charlie and Marina. Jeddy didn’t notice, but I did.
The sun was low in the west when we arrived at the beach. The strong winds of that afternoon were dying. The air smelled of seaweed. We walked single file down the sandy path toward the shore. Jeddy, in the lead, slowed and lifted his head.
“What’s that noise?”
We all cocked an ear. Through the crash and roll of waves came a high, droning buzz. It grew louder as we marched over a rise in the dunes. Jeddy pointed across the bay.
“It’s an airplane!”
I looked and saw a tiny gray form floating above the Newport peninsula. Airplanes weren’t an everyday sight at that time. We all stopped to watch.
“Probably some tycoon coming in from New York,” Charlie said. “I read in the papers how they’ve built a landing field over there. Come and go like thieves in the night.”
He walked ahead, suddenly impatient. “Let’s get moving. I haven’t got all day.”
We set off again, and it wasn’t long before Jeddy and I were squinting along the beach, expecting to see the pack of gulls hard at work at the water’s edge. The closer we got, the more we couldn’t see one bird.
“That’s strange,” I said. “Gulls never give up.”
When we came up on the place, the reason was clear. The shallow pool where the body had lain was empty.
Jeddy stared in disbelief. “It was here!”
“It was,” I agreed.
Charlie glanced up the beach, then out to sea. The dead man could not have floated away. The tide was too low, still going out, in fact.
“The flock of gulls was there,” Jeddy said, pointing. “They were coming after him when we left.”
“Must’ve been hungry,” Charlie said, flashing a grin at Marina. She turned her head away. To Jeddy, he said, “You’re sure this was the place?”
“Yes, sir. It was here!”
“Lying just where, would you say?”
“In this little pool of water. Half in, half out.”
“A man, you said, and he was all dressed up?”
Jeddy explained again about the torn evening suit, the watch, the wedding band and the seaweed.
“He had bare feet,” I added. “His face was kind of mushed in.”
“Well, there’s no sign of him now. No sign of anything,” Charlie said, sounding oddly satisfied. “If somebody came and dragged him off, there’d be marks, wouldn’t you think? There’s not even any footprints.”
We all looked. The beach was smooth, except for the tracks we’d just made coming across the sand. Woven in among them were our first tracks, Jeddy’s and mine. No one else had been on that stretch of shore for the last eight hours.
“They might have come in by sea,” I ventured.
Charlie shook his head. “In here? Naw. It’s too shallow for a boat.”
That was true. The shelf of the beach extended way out into the water.
“Well, listen. There’s something else,” Jeddy said. He sounded desperate. “There was an empty wooden case that was washed in with the body. A bootlegger’s case. That’s gone, too.”
Charlie’s expression changed at this.
“You think this guy was a rumrunner?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying . . .”
“How could you tell he was shot?” Charlie wanted to know.
“We saw a hole in his neck, at the bottom,” Jeddy said.
“Yeah, but was there any blood?”
Jed shook his head. “It must’ve all washed away.”
“Any sign of bruising?”
“I didn’t see any.”
“This hole was from a bullet, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how did you make that out?”
“Well, I don’t know. It just seemed that it was.”
“There’s a lot of things that ‘seem,’” Charlie said, glancing over at Marina again.
“I know, but this body—”
“Especially with things like bodies,” Charlie snapped at Jeddy. “There’s a lot you can’t tell from just looking at them. I mean, there are officers whose job it is to say what happened and how it was done and when and where and so forth.” He stopped and gave Jeddy and me a look.
“The thing is, I wouldn’t be spreading the rumor of somebody that’s shot washing up here,” he said. “Since we don’t even know for sure that he was shot.”
Jeddy said, “Oh.”
“In fact, if you can keep the news down about this body at all, it would be best.”
“It would?”
“And you, too, Marina. Keep it under your bonnet.”
“My what?” she lashed out. “And who says? You?”
“Your dad and me,” Charlie answered. “We’re going to be reporting this supposed body to the proper authorities, and they’re going to be reporting to those above them, and it won’t do any good to have rumors flying about.”
“Supposed body!” Jeddy exclaimed. “What does that mean?”
“It means just what it means.”
“There wasn’t anything ‘supposed’ about this body!” Jeddy said. I saw he was losing his temper. There wasn’t much good that could come from that.
“When you find out, will you let us know who it was?” I asked Charlie.
“I might,” he answered. “And then again, we may never know exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“What happened.”
Marina laughed out loud. “I can see this investigation is off to a good start,” she said.
Charlie glanced at her angrily, turned his back and walked off.
“So, is that it?” I called after him.
“It is,” he spat over his shoulder. “Whew! Seaweed stinks to high heaven around here.”
There was nothing more to be done. Charlie was determined to drop the case. Even Jeddy’s father, who came a few minutes later, gave us a stern look, as if he was displeased that such a thing as a b
ody should have turned up and been found by anyone, let alone his own son. Now that it had conveniently disappeared, he seemed in no mood to discuss it further.
“I stopped by the house and saw that supper’s ready to be cooked,” he said to Marina. “Shouldn’t you be back there getting to it?”
She spun on her heel without answering and strode away. Charlie and Chief McKenzie went off down the beach for a private chat while Jeddy and I waited. Ten minutes later, the four of us set out after her for home.
Jeddy swung into step with his father. Whatever happened, Jeddy never stayed mad at his dad for long. You could see how he revered the man by the way he walked beside him, matching his stride.
“Hey, Dad, Ruben is coming, too,” he said. “Marina said it was all right.”
“Coming to what?” Chief McKenzie glanced down at him.
“Supper,” Jeddy said. “He called his mother. It’s all set.”
“Well, he can’t. Not tonight, whatever Marina said.”
“But why?”
The chief shook his head. “Because I say so.”
“But Marina invited him! And it’s Saturday night.”
Chief McKenzie glared. “I don’t care what night it is, I’ve had enough fuss and furor for one day!” he thundered. We all looked at him in astonishment.
“What are you staring at?” he shouted. “Marina’s not the head of this house, whatever she may think. Take a rain check, Ruben, all right? Tell your folks I’m sorry. We’ll see you another time.”
“Yes, sir. All right,” I said, and that was that. No one spoke another word the whole way down the beach, or in the chief’s car going back to the McKenzies’. I picked up my bike and scooted for home like a dog in disgrace.
Marina was already back by that time. She’d taken the walking path across the Point that cut between the roads. I saw the white of her apron through the kitchen window as I pedaled by. At the last minute, she looked out and gave me a wave.
That made me feel better. Marina always was a great one for bucking a person up. She could keep her head in murky weather, too, which was a good thing because, with the arrival of that body, murk is what was heading for us. Jeddy and I couldn’t see it yet, but the fog was out there, sifting and swirling, already beginning to close in around the McKenzies’ house.
The Interview
THE OLD MAN HAS BEEN TALKING FOR almost an hour when he goes suddenly quiet. (David writes the phrase swirling fog down on his notepad, to remind himself where they’ve left off.)
They sit in silence for a while, Mr. Hart with his eyes closed. Way, way back is where he is, lost in the folds of time. David read that somewhere. He didn’t really understand what it meant then; now he gets it. Mr. Hart has vanished over the horizon. He’s back with his pal Jeddy in 1929. Maybe he knew this was going to happen. Maybe it’s why he called up David and decided to talk, as a way of getting there, of revisiting the scene now that Jeddy is so sick. There’s some knot in their past that’s bothering him.
David has more pressing interests. So, who was the man on the beach? he wants to ask. What’s Charlie Pope covering up? But he can see that the old guy’s out of gas. Anyway, it’s almost dinnertime and David is due home himself. His mother has a fit if everyone’s not there to sit down at 6:30 sharp.
Should I come back tomorrow?
Mr. Hart grunts, eyes still shut.
I’d like to come back tomorrow, David says. You didn’t even get to any smuggling yet, or to the Black Duck. I guess you know that the crew on that boat was shot. They wouldn’t stop and the Coast Guard opened fire with a machine gun. I read an old newspaper story about it.
Behind his glasses, Mr. Hart’s eyes blink open.
Leave that alone, he rumbles. His eyes close again. David makes his way quietly out of the house, uncertain whether he’ll be allowed back.
But the next day when he knocks at a little past noon, Mr. Hart’s front door flies open and the old man appears at once.
I’ve been waiting all morning. Thought you’d chickened out!
David grins. Sorry, I had to wait for someone to drive me.
How old did you say you were?
Seventeen?
You seem younger. Mr. Hart fixes him with a spectacled stare.
David avoids his gaze. He wishes he’d never started this bit of fraudulence. It’s not like him. He usually keeps things on the level. He was just so afraid he’d be turned away. He wants to get this interview, needs to write this story. He allows the lie to stand.
They sit in the kitchen again, where Mr. Hart takes off his glasses and polishes them energetically on his sweater. His eyes are clearer today, sea-colored. Out from behind their lenses, they have a bright, youthful look. For a second, David catches sight of another Ruben Hart, the boy who was Jeddy’s friend, co-explorer of beaches and admirer of older sisters.
Where were we?
Swirling fog, David says. It’s closing in on the McKenzies’ house.
He’s brought his notebook again and is determined to make a better attempt at writing things down. His dad is on his case about getting a summer job. He’s pressuring David to work in the garden shop that’s part of the family landscaping business. So far, David has refused, not an easy stand to take.
Well, don’t expect any more handouts from me! his father raged. It’s about time you started supporting your own lifestyle.
What lifestyle? David had protested. How can I have a lifestyle when I live at home?
You know what. Movies, magazines, computer games. All that stuff you buy at the mall. Books.
Books! You mean, for high school next fall? His parents had always paid for those.
They’ll cost me a fortune. You could help out if you had a paying job.
I’m trying to get a job with a newspaper, David had explained. That’s what I’m working on. I’m researching a story.
It hadn’t gone over. He had nothing to show for it. His dad is a hands-on guy who measures industry by what he can see: gardens plowed, hedges pruned, lawns seeded. Another reason for the notebook. If David can produce evidence that he’s not wasting time, that he has good intentions, his father might cut him some slack. He might realize that David has a plan for his life, even if it doesn’t include Peterson’s Landscaping and Garden Design.
Who was the dead man in the evening suit, did you ever find out? David asks Mr. Hart now, to get him back on track.
Not right away. There was a clue, though, right under my nose. Something I’d overlooked.
What? David says, ballpoint poised and ready.
MUZZLED
I’D FORGOTTEN THE DEAD MAN’S PIPE.
That night, after supper, I took my jacket upstairs to my room and felt something in the pocket. There was the pipe. I’d stuffed it in without thinking. The leather pouch was there, too, one of the simple foldover packs so many men carried in that day. I turned it around in my hands and opened it. The leaf inside was still damp, alive with scent. An odd feeling swept me that I was out of bounds, prying into something that was not my business. Though that was absurd. The dead man on the beach would never know what I’d taken.
I’d told my father about the body the minute he’d come home from Riley’s store that evening. He’d quietly told my mother, and she, in whispers, had informed her sister, my aunt Grace, who lived with us and worked at the post office. Silence seemed to be the way my story was to be treated until Aunt Grace broke ranks, as she often did. She was unmarried, younger than my mother, and known for stating her opinions whatever company she was in. It was not how a woman should conduct herself, my mother believed, and she was always frowning at her and trying to quiet her down.
“So it’s come to this, murder on our own shores,” Aunt Grace blurted out as the four of us sat eating a late supper that night.
“Who said anything about murder?” asked my father. “A man washed up, that’s all we know for sure.”
“A man with a bullet hole in his neck, Ruben says. It was j
ust a matter of time,” Aunt Grace went on. “And now they’ve taken to stealing bodies to hide their crimes.”
“Come along, Grace. There’s no evidence of that,” my father said. “It’ll be investigated, I’m sure.”
“It’s the liquor that’s causing this! There’s no enforcement of our laws.”
My mother looked disapproving. “The trouble is that the Coast Guard can’t keep up. Our local police have no support. There’s too much smuggling going on.”
“They could keep up if they wanted,” Aunt Grace shot back. “They’re in league with it, most of them, making a bundle for themselves under the table.”
“Hush, dear,” my mother said.
“Well, they are! Just no one wants to say it. What’s become of this country? It’s all commerce and greed.”
“We’ll discuss this later, at a more appropriate time,” my mother said with arched brows. She meant, “a time when Ruben is not here to listen.”
“In case you forgot, I’m the one who found this body!” I protested.
“Ruben, please. We’ve heard enough about bodies. The subject is now closed,” my mother declared with finality.
As if that weren’t muzzle enough, my father took me aside after supper to back up Charlie Pope’s warning.
“There’s no good to be had in stirring up rumors. You and Jed keep a clamp on your mouths and we’ll all be the better for it.”
“But who would go and take that body? And why didn’t Chief McKenzie want to do anything about it?”
“He does want to. And he will, so keep what you saw to yourself. I mean it, Ruben, this is not our affair. Don’t go worrying your mother by bringing it up again.”
Alone in my room, I closed the pouch with an angry snap and put it down. I picked up the pipe.
It was made of good wood, smooth and glossy, though seawater had mottled it in places. The stem had a fashionable dip with a nice lip. Riley’s sold pipes, though none so fine as this one. I ran my finger over the bowl and remembered the expensive wristwatch on the dead man’s floating hand. Whoever the man was, he’d had style and the money to support it.
Black Duck Page 3
