by Lee Doty
“Good. Action. How about Gin? She going too?”
Anne shook her head.
To Norma, her best friend looked like a stranger. More disconcerting than the uncombed hair and slumped shoulders was the trembling in her voice. Norma asked, “Do you know why she isn’t going?”
“Too groggy to get up.” Anne described the sideshow of the night before, giving Norma the impression Gin had taken enough pills to supply CVS for a month.
“Her own daughter’s been kidnapped and she’s too tired to get up?”
“If you want to give it a try, Norma, I’d be grateful. I can’t stand another minute with her, God help me.” Anne dried her hands and prepared to leave.
Norma took the stairs two at a time and, stepping into the hall bathroom, turned on the shower’s cold spigot. She flung open the guest room door and, finding Gin curled into a ball, tore back the bedclothes, grabbed the deadweight and hauled her into the bathroom.
“Hey! Wah?”
With her free arm, Norma swept back the shower curtain.
“What’s going—?”
“There you go, princess.” Norma shoved her into the shower and, once certain Gin wouldn’t fall and crack her skull, held the curtain tight at both ends to prevent her from exiting.
Gin’s string of insults was the human function variety: “You’re puke! You’re a shit!” It confirmed Norma’s belief that Gin had no imagination. No wonder Anne was disappointed.
She tossed Gin a towel. “There. Feeling refreshed?” With an arm around her waist, Norma hurried her back to the bedroom. On the way, Norma decided on a plan. She would get more useful information if she removed Gin from her mother’s home and took her someplace that might jog her memory of recent events. “Get dressed. I’m taking you to Red River Resort.”
“You’re going like that?”
Norma considered her attire. She thought her consignment shop pedal pushers and white camp blouse, tinged pink from close association with a cheap red T-shirt in the wash, looked just right. “I won’t embarrass you, Gin, not unless I have to. Now let’s go.”
Norma knew the grand hotel was always booked during peak season, yet there never seemed to be more than two or three guests in the cavernous lobby. They always looked like walk-ons in a play, drifting in from stage right and disappearing stage left. It amused her now to see a corporate type making the crossing, hair neatly trimmed but with his tennis shoes rakishly untied to suggest the turbulent inner man.
Gin had remained silent during the car ride, but now that they were in the lobby, wouldn’t shut up. Norma only tuned in when she said, “It’s impossible that Kenny and I were here just two days ago. Now he’s gone and Laney’s gone. Here today, gone tomorrow.”
Norma yanked Gin around so fast she stumbled, then pulled her up so they faced each other, nose to nose. “Look, dumbbell, if you think for one moment I’m going to let you write Laney off, think again. You’re going to help find her and if I meet with one second of resistance, I’ll call on a friend of mine. Ex-con. Trained as a short-order cook. Used a paring knife on his girlfriend’s face.”
There was no such person, but Norma would be damned if she’d tolerate the idiot’s apparent ennui at a time when Laney’s life. She shut down that thought. The maître d’ seated them at a table in a corner where there was no view and no other distraction, as Norma had requested. It was not quite lunchtime so they practically had the place to themselves.
She had to play it smart and let Gin suspect she already knew everything, so there would be no point in lying or hiding information. “You should know the police think your boyfriend’s death is related to Laney’s disappearance, so I want to know everything about him. Leave nothing out. Start with how you two met.”
“Who do you think you are, the police? I don’t have to answer you.”
“Would you rather talk to the police?” Norma leaned forward and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She punched two buttons, saying to Gin, “Speed dial,” and waved the phone at her. “Go on, take it.” This was a familiar trick on cop shows, but Norma figured Gin would fall for it.
Gin bobbled her head and rolled her eyes in theatrical resignation. “All right I’ll tell you. A few months ago I came up to see Laney. Kenny saw me at a bar. He liked what he saw. He picked me up. That a crime?”
“That’s the last lie you’re going to tell me. I know you and Kenny met years ago and you were more than just friends. He contacted you again six months ago.”
“If you know the truth, why are you asking?” Gin crossed her arms and leaned back, as if gloating over her masterful counterpunch.
The waiter arrived. He looked Norma over, shook his head, took their order, and left.
Norma started in again. “I know you two corresponded by email and text, Gin. Thousands of messages. A forensics team is studying them.”
If Gin was like the rest of the world, she’d said things over the Internet she shouldn’t have and hadn’t a clue what those things were. Her sudden pallor confirmed Norma’s hunch.
“We know what was going on. It would be better for you if you explained why. It may help in the long run.”
Gin’s eyes shifted left, then right. A poker player she’d never be.
“I had every right to Laney’s property. And so did Kenny. He’d paid Old Man Todd good money for it.”
Whoa. Norma hadn’t seen that one coming, but did her best to sound like she had. “Right, go on, Laney had land that Ken Crawford bought from Old Man Todd.”
“You know what I mean, that land she was supposed to inherit from her grandfather, at least.... Hey, I thought you said you knew everything.” A thought must have then occurred to Gin. The soft clink of silver, fine china and crystal filled the dead air. In a child’s voice she asked, “Does my mother know about all this?”
23
Every year a local church held a “Blessing of the Fleet” to seek protection for the seamen and a good catch for the village. The gathered families and well-wishers would conclude the ceremony by picking a child to stand on the end of the dock and toss a decorative wreath out to sea. As surely as tides ebb and flow, the wreath landed upside down and crashed on the rocks. Norma envisioned just such a fate for Gin. The idea that Gin had tried to cheat her own daughter out of a possible inheritance made Norma want to hurl her through the window and out to sea.
All these years Norma had harbored a suspicion that Anne overstated her daughter’s selfishness, and if Anne would only be more understanding of her daughter’s inadequacies, the young woman might become a better person. But Norma knew the truth now. Gin was terminally rotten.
She wondered whether there was any difference between selling your kid for cash and doing what Gin and Crawford had plotted to do, regain custody of Laney for no reason other than to steal her inheritance. Norma had been unaware that Laney was an heiress and thought Anne would have mentioned it if it were true. Norma was, after all, the family lawyer.
Gin had raised more questions than answers, but one question Norma could answer. The property Laney was to inherit had to be the Samoset Way beach access, because her grandfather had owned it and it had value for Crawford. What she couldn’t understand was why Gin and Crawford were hell-bent on getting their hands on Laney’s land when Crawford, or at least Red River Resort, already owned it. But assuming there were a compelling reason, wouldn’t Buddy Todd have been first in line to inherit from his father, and didn’t that fact give Gin motive to kill Buddy Todd?
That Anne’s daughter could plot and carry out a murder took some getting used to. Was she also the one who killed Crawford? Her grief over his death had seemed genuine. Norma struggled to believe Gin was not only capable of drowning Buddy Todd, but skillful enough to outsmart Crawford into trusting her. Based on Norma’s observations of the man, Crawford had been no one’s fool.
It was possible the murders were unrelated. Crawford had probably made many enemies along the way. Norma resolved to keep that possibility open
, but adhere to the over-arching theme guiding Coigne and her from the beginning: All mysteries relating to the corpse on the beach led to Laney.
Gin’s hand shook as she reached for her Bloody Mary. The woman was fragile and nervous, but why? Maybe she was frightened that her mother knew she’d tried to steal Laney’s inheritance. Norma seized that lever and pulled. “In answer to your question, Gin, your mother doesn’t know about your attempted swindle. Not yet. But she will when I tell her.”
“You. You wouldn’t.” Gin’s voice trailed away as she looked over Norma’s shoulder.
Norma turned around. The waiter was coming back with their food. “Put that down and get out of here, you condescending pimp!” The waiter looked too startled to do anything but exactly as told. “That’ll teach him,” Norma said to herself, remembering the haughty look on his face.
Norma got back to business. “I have no need to tell your mother of your criminal activities if I get what I want, Gin. If I don’t, my telling your mother will be the least of your worries.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“That’s right. What, you think you’re the only one capable of familial felony?” Norma had just made up the legal term, but liked the sound of it. All those Fs and Ls sounded like a minimum twenty years in the pokey. “The first thing you’re going to do is march down to the State Police Barracks in Skaket and help identify the man who came to the breakfast table yesterday and spoke to Ken Crawford. He may be the one who kidnapped Laney, not that you’ve expressed the least bit of concern. Then, I want every piece of paper, gift, recording, anything and everything you ever received from Ken Crawford. If you leave anything out, I’ll finger you for Buddy’s and Crawford’s murder. And Lieutenant Coigne will believe me. So will the jury.”
Gin deposited several sugar packets into her purse and stood to go. “That’s ridiculous. I would never have hurt Kenny.”
“Your omission suggests to me you would have hurt Buddy.”
“Go to hell.”
24
Coigne replaced the phone, leaned back, and propped his feet on his desk. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples. He’d just finished a call with Norma in which he’d heard all about her interview with Gin Sager. The call left him feeling the way any exposure to Norma did, no matter how brief, no matter the topic. He wanted to bang his head against the wall and, at the same time, drag her off to a cave for a week of sex.
What was it about that woman? Anyone else would keep his distance. She was unreasonable and at times downright cruel. Yet he found himself bewitched. He knew how a hunter felt when hot on the trail of a lethal animal. He wanted to be the one to drop the net, but was scared as hell to get too close.
As for the looks department, Norma was magnificent. He could easily imagine her donning a long white gown and raising her arms before a crowd of millions, holding them in her thrall. What you saw when you looked her in the eye was bold, stark intelligence—not the dull, wordy kind, the penetrating, arousing kind.
He shook his head in bafflement. He couldn’t explain the attraction. He just knew he felt it and had to be careful or he’d find his manhood chopped to pieces.
He was wondering if he should have brought her fully into the investigation, shared with her what he knew about Sandal Man and she didn’t. On the one hand, telling her could bring them closer to solving the case and finding Laney, if she was still alive, poor kid. Norma might just make something out of the information he’d uncovered, whereas his own brain was mired in possibilities, but no solutions. On the other hand, for all her smarts and experience in law, Norma was still a civilian. It wasn’t prohibited to involve her fully in the investigation if he judged her helpful and not harmful to it. But he didn’t know her well enough to make that assessment. If wrong he could lose his job or, much worse, lose Laney Sager.
He had to admit she’d handled the interview with Gin well. The tip about Laney’s inheritance might explain Sandal Man’s motive in kidnapping her, if that’s what happened.
The phone rang.
“Coigne,” he snapped, irritated at having his woolgathering disturbed. As the caller went on, Coigne let his feet drop to the floor. “Hold on. You’re going too fast.” He opened his desk drawer and reached for a pen and pad. “Give me that again.” He kept writing, his face taut. “How’d you get all this?”
More talking.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
He shouted down the hall, “Be back.”
“Hey, where are you going?” someone called.
The stairwell at the Barracks was steep, but bounding downward, Coigne was already pushing through the door when the question penetrated his brain. “Out.”
Without giving his inner debate about Norma another thought, he called her from his cruiser, filled her in, and said he’d pick her up at her place. Before she could barrage him with questions, he hung up. He had mentally tossed his qualms out the window. There was no one on the force he could count on to make this case a priority in the way Norma would. He grabbed the debris in the passenger seat and threw it in the backseat.
Norma got in. “You look like shit, Coigne.” She refused to strap on her seat belt, so it was over the ding-ding-ding sound that she said, “Give me the details, word for word. What did they find, and how, for God’s sake?”
“Call came in fifteen minutes ago.” He waited for the final ding. “You know we’ve brought in help from Cockle Cove and Skaket to help in the search. Young trooper named Katepoo—don’t look at me like that. His family’s from Asia—Jimmy Katepoo called. He’s young, but sharp and aggressive with his cases, lives in Skaket. He was out on his bike this morning, not even on duty today but looking for the girl near Marymac Pond. Was crossing Route 136 and his damn bike runs over a sandal, nearly throws him.”
Norma didn’t miss a beat. “Jade beads on the big toe ring?”
“You got it. Someone’s taking it to Anne Sager for identification right now, but it certainly matches the size and description she gave us.”
“Any signs of . . .”
Coigne never thought he’d hear Norma’s voice quaver. His own softened. “No violence. No evidence of it at that location.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence except that Norma fiddled incessantly with the air conditioner vents, cursing under her breath.
They came to a police barricade and, after Coigne said a few words to a young officer, they were ushered through. He introduced Norma to Trooper Katepoo, who led them to the spot on the pavement where the sandal was found. Katepoo had a high forehead, the only feature that kept him from being standard issue handsome, but his cheerful manner helped him out. Police were still combing the roadside for other evidence that Laney had been there, but according to Katepoo, nothing had turned up.
“We’re hoping she dropped her sandal on purpose,” he said to Coigne.
Norma asked why, although she thought she knew.
“It would show she was conscious and might be able to drop other clues.”
Coigne said, “Do you agree she dropped the shoe after the swim in the pond? Kind of surprising she still had it after that.”
“I do, sir. The pond’s right off the bike path, where she started out. We’re almost four miles due north of there.”
Coigne looked at Norma for input. She was staring into the distance, seemingly dazed, and he wondered if she might be caving in to the strain after all. He left her a moment to question another trooper about the scope of the roadside search. They made plans to call in Air Wing assistance. He knew he’d meet with resistance from dispatch and the unit commander if he authorized the helicopter himself, but there wasn’t time to go up the chain of command. He figured he’d be on solid ground if later challenged. He also instructed the trooper to contact neighbors for a line-walk of the area. When he looked back again, Norma had vanished.
25
Anne confirmed for one of the Tarleton Twins, as Norma had called them, it was Laney’s san
dal found on Route 136. The officer jotted the information in his pad and was preparing to leave when Gin arrived. Her long-simmering anger at her mother had been stoked to full conflagration during breakfast with Norma and she revived the flames with an attack against Anne for failing to protect Laney. The charge of negligent supervision was well-trodden ground between the women. Their raging battle allowed the officer to slip out, but without an audience their argument soon lost heat.
Anne left the living room to lie down and returned a half-hour later ready to call a truce. “You want something to eat? We need to keep up our strength.”
“No. I’m getting a drink.”
“God, Gin. Can you just stop?” Anne gave up. An argument required energy and she’d run out.
Standing in the center of the room, unsure what to do next, she stared at a strand of Laney’s hair on the floor, caught by a stream of sunlight. She bent to pick it up. “Now how does it go? I won’t let them harm a hair on your head?” She tried to shut out the clatter in the kitchen where Gin was making her drink and wandered over to the piano. She ran her hand along its sleek ebony casing, a habit before starting to play. Gordon always said the gesture made him think of a young girl patting the flank of her beloved black stallion. She sat down and without conscious thought began playing a Brahms sonata. It was one Laney liked. Anne put her heart into the dynamics of the piece, hoping that if she played the notes just right, her precious granddaughter would hear and follow them home.
Gin slammed a door upstairs and caused Anne to lose concentration. She pulled the cover down over the keys. If she did not occupy her mind, she’d go mad. She considered sleeping pills or other anesthetics so she could stop thinking, but she could never do such a thing while Laney was still—what? Away? Yes, that was a safe word. While Laney was away.
