Slow Dancing

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “Hold the line please,” dispatch said. Alan looked down at the glass and gravel ground almost into dust, intermingling with busted black top.

  “Sheriff Dalton,” a familiar voice said.

  “Sheriff, this is Alan Johnson. Ellen Fisher’s father.” It was premature, but so what. “Mary Cook told me she was over at the McPherson place a few nights ago and witnessed a deplorable act between Frank and my daughter. Now I don’t believe it, but she says they were kissing, holding on to each other. Like lovers.”

  Boyd Dalton immediately thought of the destroyed garden. “Did she tell you what night it took place?”

  “No sir, just that she was walkin’ by the river. But like I said, I don’t believe it, but I felt it was my duty to let you all know down there at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Johnson. I’ll look into it.” They said goodbye and Alan hung up and walked back to his car.

  “I’ve got to get over to Seymour for a bit.” Boyd stuck his head in the control room of the station before he headed out to Mary Cook’s. He’d have an interview with her before the night was up.

  ***

  The lights were on in the dining room at Towering Pines. Alan hesitated, dreading a public admonishment from Cate and Miss Logan. He thought it might be in his favor to let them see him vulnerable since he needed something from Cate.

  “I’m back,” he said, announcing his arrival. But they’d watched him unloading his bag out of the front seat of the car, and were waiting expectedly, especially Miss Logan. When he glanced into the dining room, it was at a sea of smiling faces, not a wagging finger in sight.

  “I see that,” Cate said, getting up from her chair. “Come in and eat with us.”

  “Okay, I’d like that.” He followed her back into the room, everyone watching, forks poised above plates. “You have a room available?” There was a stranger at the table, a lovely woman with blond hair wound into a twist in the back of her head, very 1940’s.

  “Yep, you can have your old room at the top of the stairs if you’d like,” Cate said. “This is Miss Margo Portland, by the way.” She nodded toward Margo who was smiling.

  “Okay, I recognize you,” Alan said. “You’re over at the clinic.” Margo nodded and smiled. Now that he’d revealed it to everyone, she was legally free to acknowledge him.

  “My guest,” Miss Logan said.

  “Help yourself,” Cate directed, pointing to the buffet. “Roast beef tonight.” Alan took a plate and heaped on the food, not realizing how hungry he was.

  “So what happened at Mary’s?” Miss Logan said, launching right in.

  “Sally, for God’s sake, shut up!”

  “That’s okay, Cate. I might as well get everything out in the open. I believe I’m Ellen Fisher’s father and Mary wasn’t too happy about it.” Margo and Miss Logan exchanged looks.

  “I wondered why you were so interested in Margaret,” Miss Logan said, smirking.

  “Yes, and I am sorry about seemly deceiving you,” Alan said. “I knew when I was fishing for information that it might come down to this, you being annoyed, but I had to take the risk. You started talking about Margaret without me saying a thing. I blindly arrived here having seen only a newspaper article and a name. Everything fell into place. It’s almost scary how easy it was; dumb luck.” The problems Miss Logan instigated by accusing Frank of passionately kissing Ellen were foremost in her mind.

  “Are you going to do anything about the father messing with the girl?”

  “Sally! Are you insane?” Margo yelled. “Honest to god, you are going to get your ass into hot water if you don’t keep your damn mouth shut.”

  “I think it’s a bunch of crap,” Alan said. “But I’m sure the investigation will clear his name.” He didn’t mention talking to Boyd Dalton earlier to tell him about Mary’s accusation and Margo hadn’t had her evening chat with Boyd, so she didn’t know either. Miss Logan knew because she’d heard Mary’s gossip from Jessie and later, Mary confirmed it.

  “Don’t be too sure,” Miss Logan said.

  “Let’s change the topic, shall we?” Cate said. “Alan, how’s the job?” Giving more details than were necessary just to keep control of the conversation, Alan then pulled Mr. Rosen into the conversation and even tried to engage Emil.

  But Miss Logan had to bring up Mary’s name again. “So, is it over between you and Mary? You made a great looking couple, by the way. A customer said she saw you two dancing and you made quite a team.”

  “We’ll see,” Alan said, chuckling, thinking of Mary laying on the floor, screaming at him. “She’s a pistol, that’s for sure.”

  When dinner was over, he had one thing in mind and that was to get to his room and crash. It had been an exhausting couple of days.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m beat. Think I’ll get unpacked and call it a night.”

  “We’ve been meeting on the porch for wine around eight for summer nights if you’d like to join us, I mean if you’re still awake,” Cate said quickly.

  “Any special occasion?” he asked.

  “Just in honor of the summer,” Miss Logan said.

  “It’s already almost the end of June,” Cate added sorrowfully. “I hope I get to the beach this year.”

  “What beach?” Alan asked, confused. He was thinking she might be talking about a beach on the Alabama River.

  “What beach? What beach!” Miss Logan said. “Are you crazy?”

  Alan laughed out loud. “Tell me woman, what beach?”

  “Dauphin Island, of course. Didn’t you say you lived on the Gulf? Galveston, wasn’t it? And you don’t know that beach? Good lord, man. Get with it!” Everyone was laughing. It felt good to relax and let it all out.

  “Maybe I’ll join you later,” he said. “Unless I fall asleep. Then you’ll have to knock on my door.”

  “Choose who knocks,” Miss Logan said, a sultry tone to her usually down-country accent. “Cate or me. Or both.” Cate was laughing, holding on to her side.

  “Sally Logan! What in hell has gotten into you? Please, no one pay any attention to her.”

  “I think you’re all nuts,” Emil Magda said, pushing his chair away from the table. “I’ve lived her for four years and none of you ever made a big deal out of me coming down for summer nights.”

  “Don’t feel left out, Emil. They don’t give me the time of day, either,” Mr. Rosen said sadly.

  “Okay, if I’m awake at eight I’ll come down. I’m pretty tired, though.” He looked at the men. “No malice intended.”

  “None taken,” Emil said, frowning. “I’ll be there tonight, by the way. I wouldn’t miss this one for a million dollars.”

  “Me neither,” Mr. Rosen said. “I think our presence might prevent an unsuitable event from taking place.”

  “Mr. Rosen! I’m shocked,” Cate said.

  “I’m hoping it will be good and unsuitable,” Miss Logan said. “As a matter of fact, I’m counting on it.”

  “You’re impossible,” Cate said.

  “Well, goodnight, for the time being,” Alan said, trying to get away without being rude. He didn’t wait for a reply, but left the dining room quickly and hurried up the staircase to his room. Cool air rushed out at him when he opened the door; Cate must have turned the air-conditioner on when they were chatting during dinner. He reached over to turn the light on when the pain hit, he thought something must have crashed on him from the ceiling. But when the knife twisted in his back, he realized nothing had fallen. The pain was too excruciating to call out for help, and within seconds, he wanted nothing more than to lay down on the clean bed and go to sleep. He fell forward and face hitting the pillow, saw Ellen’s image walking toward him, smiling, saying, “Hi, Dad.”

  Chapter 21

  Boyd walked up the steps to Mary’s house and knocked. When no one answered, he knocked again. He looked in the living room window but it was dark; she was probably out for the evening, known for her forays to the dance c
lubs in Beauregard. Boyd and Mary dated very briefly many years ago, and there was still a little bit of chemistry between them. He was relieved she wasn’t home. He got back into the patrol car and headed out to Frank’s although he wanted to talk to Mary to confirm what Alan had said first. Concerned Mary tore up the McPherson’s garden; he would use the information to try to get at the truth about Frank and Ellen.

  Repeating the same procedure he had the day before, he turned his car off letting it drift up to the house, just in case there was something to see. But he needn’t have bothered; the outside lights were ablaze and Frank was standing behind the garage with Ellen in front of him, a hand gun in her hands, his arms outstretched, guiding her hands as she aimed at a target. Boyd waited until the gun fired, evidently a bull’s-eye because of the screams of delight and laughter that followed. He put his flashers on just to warn them he was there. They looked up, and Frank took the gun from Ellen, who removed her earmuffs as they walked to meet him.

  “Good shot!” he called.

  “This girl’s a natural,” Frank replied. “Born to it.”

  “What’s the occasion?” Boyd asked. It wasn’t unusual for father’s to teach their children how to shoot, but there was usually a preceding event and although Boyd knew what it was, he wanted to hear it from Frank.

  “Just in case I’m not around and she needs to defend herself. Now’s the time to learn, not after it’s too late.”

  “What’s she defendin’ herself from?” Boyd asked softly.

  “Can I go inside?” Ellen asked, anxious.

  “Of course,” Frank said, looking right in Boyd’s eyes, challenging him to say differently. “You don’t need to talk to her, do you?”

  “No, not at all. Good night, Ellen,” Boyd said.

  The men stood and waited until she was in the house. “I got some news tonight,” Boyd said. “I heard that someone, someone who will be unnamed for now, was out here at the cottage and saw you kissing Ellen the other night.” Frank started to protest, but Boyd put up his hand. “I’m not out here to accuse you again, Frank, although it might come to that later. What I’m thinkin’ was this person may have been the one who tore up your garden.”

  “What’re you sayin? That someone was spyin’ on us? And then they picked every goddamned flower out of my yard? Now that makes no sense at all.”

  “Why would someone think you would be kissin’ Ellen? Now this makes two people.” Frank wanted to protest; didn’t you just say you weren’t accusin’ me? But he was starting to get scared and decided quickly to be his own best witness.

  “That night Ellen and me were practicing our dancin’. Come inside and I’ll show you the letter we got. She’ll tell you herself, we were slow dancin’, like we do all the time. Come inside now, Boyd, I’ll prove it to you.”

  “It’s not necessary. I believe you. It just isn’t looking real good for you right about now, I’m sorry to say.”

  Frank didn’t reply, looking up the house. He could see Ellen moving from window to window, probably worried sick. Why was everything in our life turning to shit so quickly?

  Chapter 22

  Saturday afternoon, two burly men wearing hazmat suits struggled getting a blood soaked mattress down the steps of the Towering Pines Boarding House front porch. On Friday night when Alan Johnson didn’t show up for summer nights wine tasting, Cate went up and tapped on his door, but he didn’t answer. The next morning, everyone came down for breakfast, and waited for Alan, debating whether to delay eating or not. His car was out in front so they knew he was still home.

  “I think I’ll go up and invite him for breakfast,” Cate said. No one answered her, watching as she put her napkin down and left the room. She grasped the stair rail and started up the steep flight of stairs, not sure if what she was feeling was annoyance or dread.

  Tapping on the door, she called out his name. “Mr. Johnson, Alan. We’re having breakfast. Would you like to join us?” She tapped a little louder, but there was no answer. Pulling out a key fob attached to a lanyard pinned to her jeans pocket, she pushed the key in the lock, but hesitated. There was a smell, and it made her pull back. Running down the steps, she grabbed the phone in the hallway and called the sheriff’s office,

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Rosen asked, coming out into the hall. She put her finger up, mouthing one minute.

  “This is Cate over at Towering Pines. I have a resident who isn’t answering his door and I’m concerned. There is a smell coming from the room.”

  Dispatch replied they would send someone over as soon as they could. Cate hung up and went back into the dining room. Everyone was watching her as she poured a cup of coffee with shaking hands.

  “Do you want me to go up and look in on him?” Miss Logan asked. “I saw a corpse once when I was in beauty school, right at the entrance of Buford Medical. He didn’t make it to the ER.” Cate grimaced, shaking her head.

  “Stop with the gruesome talk, will you please? It’s probably nothing; I just don’t want to barge in.”

  “What if he needs help and your modesty is keepin’ him from gettin’ it?” Miss Logan said.

  “She’s got a point,” Mr. Rosen said.

  “He could be in there choking to death and we’re out here makin’ small talk.”

  “Would you mind going?” Cate asked Mr. Rosen.

  “I can’t stand the sight of anyone suffering. Let Miss Logan go.” Against her better judgment, Cate unpinned the fob from her jeans pocket and handed the keys over to Miss Logan. She started up the steps and everyone followed, Emil Magda covering his face, fingers spread so he could see.

  “I already smell death,” he said. “It’s the same at work.”

  “Shut up Emil,” Miss Logan snapped. They reached the landing and Cate pointed to Alan’s door.

  “Go for it.” Miss Logan put the key in the door and as she turned it, everyone involuntarily stepped back one-step.

  “Oh! Is that blood?” she said, walked slowly toward the bed. Alan was face down on the quilt, fabric bunched up in both hands. His eyes were open, and weirdly, he was smiling. “Oh no, I think he’s dead.” She turned to see why no had responded and they were cowering out in the hall.

  “Someone call the sheriff back, in stead of standing there like a dummy. We’ve got a corpse here.”

  “Did you feel for a pulse?” Cate asked.

  “The man’s been stabbed for heaven sake. Or shot. Right in the back. Your Aunt Petra’s quilt is a goner, by the way. You should have let me have it when I asked ten years ago.”

  “Not the quilt,” Mr. Rosen said, snickering. Cate flashed him a dirty look and tiptoed in the room. Seeing Alan, obviously dead, she gasped.

  “Oh no! Someone came in here and murdered the man? But when?” Miss Logan pushed her aside and ran out of the room.

  “I’ll call the myself sheriff,” she said, pushing by the group. “Honest to god what a bunch of useless pieces of crap you three are.” Miss Logan ran down the stairs to the phone in the front hallway and dialed the operator, asking for the sheriff. Hand muffling the phone in case one of them called out something inane, they walked down the stairs huddled together.

  “What if the murderer is still in the house?” Emil asked, voice shaking.

  “What if it’s one of us?” Mr. Rosen asked. Cate pushed him away, disgusted.

  “I’ll go clean up from breakfast,” Cate said.

  “Not yet! I didn’t eat and I’m starving,” Miss Logan said. “Oh hell, I’ve got a booked morning, too.”

  “Let someone else take your appointments,” Mr. Rosen said. “The sheriff will probably want you around to question, just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Miss Logan snapped. “Don’t you have something to do?”

  “I didn’t eat, either,” he answered.

  “Me either,” Emil replied.

  “Get away from me, all of you!” Finally, dispatch answered and Miss Logan told her what they’d found.

  “Don’t
let anyone touch anything,” dispatch said. Miss Logan rolled her eyeballs.

  “Of course I won’t.” They ended the call and she joined the others in the dining room. “I’ll lock up the room again so they can’t accuse of us tamperin’ with the scene, and then I’m eatin’ with the rest of ya.

  “Nothing has ever happened like it here,” Cate said, upset. “It won’t be good for business.”

  “Well, since he’s the first new person come around in a while, I think you’ll be okay,” Miss Logan said, turning her head to roll her eyeballs again.

  Margo Portland stepped out of the shower and heard talking coming from her bedroom. It would be Boyd on a call. He’d come over first thing that morning and they’d had a wonderful time in bed, the first in a long while. She knew he’d have to leave eventually, but hoped they’d be able to have breakfast together.

  “Do you have to go?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid so. You’ll never guess in a million years.”

  “Oh no, don’t do that to me,” she said. “Tell me before I burst.”

  “Alan Johnson was found dead in the upstairs guest room at Towering Pines.”

  “No way!” Margo plopped down on the edge of the bed watching Boyd buckle his holster around his waist. “I was there when he came back to Cate’s last night.”

  “Is that right? Sounds like a murder, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “How is that possible? Was it Frank?” she asked, the words just popping out of her mouth. Margo felt sick. Please, not Frank.

  “Oh God, I hope not,” Boyd said, frowning. “I never even thought of him. I thought a jerk comes into town and pisses someone off.”

  “Right, Boyd. Frank McPherson.” But Boyd was shaking his head.

  “No way. I can’t see Frank killing a squirrel, let alone a man. And this was a stabbing. It was personal. Did Johnson say anything about, well about anything last night?”