Second, she saw Furl peeking out from behind a fern that had somehow found itself shading a magazine stand, in the corner of the room.
Furl’s eyes were staring out of a tangle of green foliage and colorless glossy advertising,
Were they glaring with hatred, or did Furl simply need to go out on the deck to use the litter box?
“The main point is, it’s been two weeks that I’ve been here now. I’ve been in what seem countless meetings.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I have to tell you, I have wished for you.”
“I wouldn’t have been much help.”
“Oh I think you would have been. The voice of reason, that kind of thing.”
“It’s more likely I would have been in the way.”
“No, dear. Not at all. But I do feel I have to share some things with you.”
“Good,” said Nina.
Uh oh, thought Nina.
“First. Four days ago I sat in on a presentation given by the high school principal. I believe his name is––”
“Paul Cox.”
“Yes! Yes, that’s it! Several other members of the school board were there, but it was Paul who commanded the most attention.”
Why, Nina thought, are you calling him ‘Paul?’
You don’t know him well enough to call him ‘Paul.’
Or do you?
“Well, Mr. Cox is a very charismatic principal, and very supportive of his teachers.”
“Oh, I can see that! But the vision he laid out for a new school was truly astonishing. Whether that can actually be accomplished or not is—well, you know, everyone has a wish list.”
Yes, thought Nina. And a lot of people are wishing basically the same thing about you.
“But the thing that stood out in my mind was Paul himself. He’s—well, he’s a cut above what one usually finds in village life.”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“I found myself visualizing ways he could be useful to Bay St. Lucy. And to myself.”
He could be useful to Bay St. Lucy, Nina mused, by continuing to be the high school principal.
How he could be useful to you, I don’t want to even consider.
“He has ‘corporate’ written all over him. He’s a man who walks into a room and commands attention. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes. Mr. Cox is special. No doubt about it.”
“I’m so glad we’re on the same page on this.”
“I think we definitely are,” Nina replied, thinking all the while:
You’re going to seduce Paul Cox.
You’re going to wait until that damned mansion is fixed up and ready. And you’re going to invite him over there.
And you’re going to bed with him.
You’re not even going to have the decency to shack up with him over in Biloxi or Falls Cove, the way he did with Macy.
“We’re definitely on the same page,” Nina continued, rather than say I HATE YOU DIE I HATE YOU DIE I HATE YOU DIE.
Because she did.
She hated the woman sitting directly across the table from her more than she had ever hated another human being, except for principals.
And of course, that was a different thing entirely.
It was also a difficult thing to explain.
Why did she realize so clearly that this woman, for all her honeyed tones and sugared words, was utterly evil? Was it jealousy? Was she jealous of the woman’s astonishing beauty?
No, everyone was more beautiful than Nina, and she did not hate everyone.
Was it because she was a stranger?
No. No, because she did not seem to be a stranger. She seemed to be someone Nina had known her entire life, hating her every second.
You cannot, Nina found herself thinking, be prejudiced against a person who has done nothing bad to you; or to anyone else you know, for that matter.
Then she looked again at Eve Ivory.
Then she said to herself:
Of course you can be prejudiced against her.
It is, in fact, the only concrete thing you can do.
Except sit here and listen.
Which she did, for fifteen or so minutes more. She heard about the various city council meetings, about the zoning meetings, about the plans for allowing people to own property they had up to now been renting, about the new fire station, the new improvements to the admittedly small but still useful marina, the new visitors’ bureau—
––and the proposal, made by Allana Delafosse, concerning the cultural center of Bay St. Lucy.
Said center being the actual Robinson mansion itself.
As Eve Ivory paraphrased it, Nina could actually picture Allana herself, standing at the same podium in the library where Tom Broussard had insulted every writer in the village, and holding forth in bizarre and incongruous vowel elongations:
“Here, in these rooms, could be housed a THEEEE ah tah. And here a small nook, where the writers’ group might meet. The larger rear salon could be given over to chamber music concerts. With such a maaahvellus range of acoustics––”
Yes, she could hear Allana, saying all of these things.
And thinking they were going to come about.
And not at all visualizing the condescending smile which now spread across the face of Eve Ivory as she said:
“Such a colorful woman!”
“Yes. Allana is certainly that.”
“And you cannot fault her intentions. Except—when I think of the renovated mansion, with gold inlaid fixtures and oaken bannisters, carrara marble floors—when I think of children running around in there––”
She used the word ‘children’ as anyone else might have used the word ‘squid.’
“Well, like I said. I appreciate Ms. Delafosse’s efforts. As I do those of the rest of the village. And I have tried to be a good listener, really I have. But Nina—here is where I may need your help.”
“All right.”
“Not everyone can be pleased. The wish lists cannot all be fulfilled.”
“Of course not.”
“I must do what I think is best for the village in the long run.”
“Certainly.”
“And when the difficult decisions are in fact made, I need you to intercede in some measure between me and any villagers who may be—well––”
“Mad.”
“Yes. Although I do hope it won’t come to that. Allana Delafosse spoke of you during her presentation. She talked of using teachers—even retired ones such as yourself—to lead the Young Writers’ Program. And of course there is no reason why that cannot happen.”
“I would hope not.”
“No, no reason at all. It’s just––”
There was that smile again.
“Just not in rooms with emerald inlaid mirrors.”
“No. Of course not.”
“So—do you see what I’m asking you?”
“I think I do.”
“And may I count on your support?”
“I really don’t know what to say. I’ll try my best to make the folks realize that not everybody can be satisfied––”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“You realize, though, that a lot of these people have lived their entire lives here. They’re used to Bay St. Lucy the way it is now.”
“That’s gone.”
The smile disappeared.
Just for a split second.
Then it came back but with a shade more darkness in it, and a few pounds more dead weight.
“Change happens. And it will happen here.”
Silence for a time.
“Like I say. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”
“That is all I’m asking, Nina. It really is. Because after all––”
They were interrupted by the entrance of Margot, who, flushed and excited, seemed to have come from making a great discovery.
“Oh, it’s lovely out there!”
“Good walk?�
�� asked Nina.
“Absolutely exhilarating. You should both go down to the beach now and walk toward Biloxi at least two miles! The breeze is fabulous and the air is crystal clear!”
Eve Ivory rose.
“It sounds enchanting,” she said, “but I’m afraid I have a meeting in several minutes.”
“Oh, what a pity! A later time, perhaps?”
“Certainly. There will, I hope, be time for many more walks on the beach and such things. Nina, thank you for your hospitality. Margot, so glad to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise. And I must tell you, for the last half hour I’ve been thinking about nothing other than what you’ve said. I know it isn’t set in stone, but I’m going home right now and polish my typing skills!”
“Excellent! Well, good bye ladies!”
“Goodbye!”
“Goodbye!”
The sound of steps on the staircase.
Nina looked at Margot.
“Where have you been?”
A shrug:
“Around.”
“You hate the beach.”
“Not always. Sometimes it’s useful. Actually, it’s the sea that’s so useful.”
“A secretary?”
“Well, I’ve always wanted to be a secretary.”
“Really?”
“I suppose it’s because I never learned to type.”
“Margot––”
“OH FOR––!”
There was a piercing scream from beneath.
“ARE YOU––!”
The two women looked at each other.
“Is Penelope Royale around?” asked Nina, softly.
“No. I think those words came from our friend, Ms. Ivory.”
“I’ve only heard those words—used in that particular syntax, I mean—from Penelope.”
“Ms. Ivory and Penelope may have more in common than first meets the eye.”
In two seconds, they were on the stair landing looking down at Eve Ivory, who was still kneeling beside her sports car.”
She rose, looked up, and, her voice quivering with rage, screamed:
“Some–– slashed my tires!”
There was, for several seconds, only the sounds of the gulls wheeling and screeching overhead.
Then Nina heard Margot whispering.
“Sonofagun. What do you know about that?
More gulls.
More cursing from Eve Ivory, whose potentially violent side was beginning to manifest itself for the first time in Nina’s presence.
And the continuous soft strain from Margot, who was shaking her head, all the while muttering.
“What do you know about that?”
Things were quite busy around Nina’s beach shack for the next half hour. The police were called, of course. It took no more than five minutes for the first squad car to arrive, another five for the second.
The third—with Moon Rivard driving it––was expected shortly thereafter.
Several of Nina’s neighbors walked up from their own beach houses, respecting almost exactly the same ring of distance they had established a few weeks earlier, when her own place had been vandalized. These people were shocked that two crimes had been committed in Bay St. Lucy within a month, and they wondered whether the latest outrage might signal an invasion of ‘street gangs’—none of them being quite certain what a ‘street gang’ actually was—and the naturally ensuing onset of urban warfare.
Eve Ivory did nothing for a time except walk back and forth.
Very fast.
It was strange, Nina thought, how she seemed to have established her routine.
She would kneel beside one of the slashed tires, inspect it for no more than five seconds, then straighten up and walk straight toward the ocean.
She would only walk ten feet.
Then she would stop and, arms folded across her breasts, stare at the Simcon Oil Refinery rig, whose lights had been turned on, despite the strikingly clear weather prevalent on the coast at this time.
Then, seemingly having made a decision, she would whirl and retrace her steps to the car, kneeling in precisely the same pose she had assumed before, and beside the same tire.
It was as though she had expected the tire, this time, to have been made whole again, to have been cured, restored to its former rubbery health.
But finding that it was the same tangle of black strips that it had been a half a minute earlier, she resumed the routine.
Police officers from the first two prowl cars—one of them the young woman who’d come to the restaurant and informed Nina of the earlier vandalism—had no luck communicating with Eve Ivory, who clearly did not deal with underlings.
“Ma’am, if we could just––”
“Where is your boss?”
“He’s been called. But if you could just tell us how––”
She would say nothing more, but she did, after the first two such encounters, walk two or three steps closer to the ocean.
Under the beach house itself were five figures: the clothes washer, the clothes dryer, the meat freezer, Margot, and Nina.
The only sound or motion that came from any one of them was a slight humming from the meat freezer.
After a couple of days, Nina’s reckoning, forty five minutes Mean Greenwich Time, Moon Rivard arrived, parked beside the ventrally mangled MG, got out of his squad car, inspected the four tires, and confronted—or rather was confronted by—Eve Ivory, who said:
“How could you let this happen?”
It was as though a mother had left the house in charge of her teenage son, who, out of pure negligence, had allowed wild animals to come in and eat all of the drapes and furniture.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry about this.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Officer Rivard.”
“You’re the head of police here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, you look like a bum.”
There was complete silence after she said this.
Then Moon Rivard—who did, when one thought objectively about the matter, look a little bit like a bum—ran his fingers through his exploded iron-shard hair, and said quietly:
“You don’t know who done this?”
Eve Ivory glared at him:
“Of course I don’t know who ‘done’ this, you buffoon!”
Another moment, but there was not quite complete silence.
A kind of gasp escaped from the circle of spectators, who, it could be seen, were weighing the relative disadvantages of having rival Hispanic gangs move into the village, or Eve Ivory.
“Well, it might be kids. It’s a new car, and something they ain’t seen. So––”
“Kids? Kids? You’re saying children did this?”
Another vehicle arrived about then, this one a tow truck, for, clearly, the car owner’s seaward incursions and excursions would not cure it, and new tires would have to be installed.
“I’m not sure, ma’am.”
“Then when will you be sure?”
“It’s just––”
“Just what?”
Moon Rivard shook his head. He had apparently forgotten Eve Ivory’s gross insults to him, and, in what Nina took to be a rather stunning display of professionalism, was actually thinking about the crime itself.
“Just that, looking at the tires––”
“Talk, you idiot! What are you trying to tell me!”
“These tires were slashed by somebody, knew what he was doing.”
“What?”
“You can’t just take a knife to a tire and ruin it. You got to know where to cut. This whole job was done in—like a minute or less. Drunk kids, out to ruin something—don’t sound right.”
Eve Ivory was silent for a second.
Then, ignoring Moon Rivard, she walked under the beach house, to where Nina and Margot were standing.
Ignoring Margot too, she breathed deeply and said to Nina:
“I’m very sorry this has happen
ed.”
“I am too, Eve. I can’t imagine––”
“No. Don’t worry. It’s not your problem. This simply underlines the importance of the subject you and I were discussing.”
“Yes. I can see that it does.”
“I cannot believe that this—well, I won’t use the proper word to describe him. I’ll simply say that I doubt his ability to find out who did this thing. I will say this, though. A great deal of money is coming into Bay St. Lucy. And the things bought with that money will be properly looked after. From this moment on, I will have my own security people here. They will not interfere with Officer—whatever his name is. But neither will they allow acts of wanton vandalism to take place.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sure you do, Nina. In fact, I’m sure you understand a great many things. The problem is, the same can be said for so few of your neighbors. Again, I’m sorry this had to happen. And good bye.”
“Good bye.”
The MG, whose tires had now been rendered as completely convertible as its top, had been towed to the garage in Bay St. Lucy that had the best chance of getting four antique British tires before New Year—some New Year if not this one—and Eve Ivory had been deposited by The Bay St. Lucy Police Force—in what was to be one of their last official acts, Nina was certain of that—at her mansion.
The circle of spectators had broken up.
Leaving Nina and Margot sitting on the deck, where Margot was actually smoking a real, and not an imaginary, cigarette.
“I cannot tell you,” she said, “how exhilarated I feel. But I’m so sorry about your carving knife. If it doesn’t wash ashore in a few weeks, I shall certainly replace it.”
“Moon had nothing but praise for the job you did. He called it very professional.”
“Yes, wasn’t that nice of him? But really, it’s much like blowing up a building; once you learn, you never really forget.”
“That’s ‘riding a bicycle’ that you’re talking about.”
Margot stared at her.
“What do bicycles have to do with it?”
“You had a very difficult childhood, didn’t you, Margot?”
“Nonsense; I had marvelous childhood, both years of it. My only regret is that I didn’t destroy the woman herself. In the first place, it takes much less work on an actual human being than on tires. Two nice quick thrusts will do a human, as opposed to sixteen or seventeen on tires. In the second place, the tires, as opposed to human beings, haven’t really done anything wrong, have they?”
Sea Change (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
