Long Gone Man

by Phyllis Smallman

  They crept down the mountain in second gear, riding the brakes and waiting for them to fail at every turn.

  Fifty-four

  “My aunt was in a car crash,” Lauren told the stylist. “Drunk driver. They had to cut her hair to get her free.”

  A fit of coughing overtook Singer.

  Lauren patted Singer’s back and continued, “I tried to fix it, but it didn’t help much.”

  All sympathy, the stylist ran her fingers through Singer’s hair and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it perfect.”

  “I have to go to the bank, Auntie . . . mmm Mim,” Lauren said, patting Singer’s shoulder. “I’ll be back before you’re finished.”

  Singer raised her eyebrows.

  The phone rang and the hairdresser excused herself.

  “Mim?” Singer whispered.

  “Almost called you Singer. New person, so Mim it is.”

  “Very classy. Go empty the accounts and take out as much cash on the credit cards as you can.”

  Lauren was smiling when she returned. That smile increased when she saw Singer.

  “What do you think?” Singer shook her head experimentally.

  “Wow, it looks great.” Lauren pulled out the platinum Amex card that Wilmot had given her and handed it to the stylist with a smile. “And this is on me.”

  Outside, Lauren took Singer’s arm and led her to a jewelry store. She pointed to the display in the window. “I’m going to buy you a watch.”

  “Why?” asked Singer. “The last thing I need to know is the time.”

  “You can always hock it,” Lauren replied.

  “Now you’re talking like a girl on the road.”

  “And how about those diamond studs while we’re at it? Some bling to pawn should you ever need to, but I don’t think you’ll ever need to. I have another plan. But first, let’s see just how much John’s card can handle.”

  At the Moon Runner, the most exclusive women’s store on the island, Lauren told the clerk the sad story to explain Singer’s lacerations and cane. “My aunt was in a terrible accident on her way to be with me, she lost everything. She was lucky to escape with her life.”

  Great sympathy was followed by armloads of clothes hanging in a change room. “Why the story?” Singer asked.

  “Explains why the widow is out shopping.”

  “No one is going to drop a coin in my case if I’m dressed like this,” Singer whispered, posing before the tri-fold mirror and admiring herself from all angles.

  “I have a little idea,” Lauren said with a smile. “Don’t think you’ll need to sing on corners anymore.”

  Singer stopped in the middle of trying a hip-swiveling model’s turn on her one good ankle. “That’s the second time you’ve hinted at that. Why? What have you got in mind?”

  Lauren pulled the curtain aside and stepped out of the cubicle. “You’ll see. I’m going to search the racks for something for evening.” The rings of the changing room curtain jangled shut behind her.

  They left with an off-white linen pantsuit and two different tops, pairs of jeans in white, black, and the traditional color, a half dozen tees, three silk blouses, and several sweaters, plus a leather jacket with snakeskin trim that Lauren thought was overdone but Singer fell in love with.

  Outside the store, Singer grabbed Lauren’s arm. “Now what’s this idea? Why won’t I be singing on street corners anymore?”

  “I have to take these back to the truck.” Lauren lifted her hands full of bags. “Go sit on the boardwalk and watch the world go by. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Bitch,” Singer replied to Lauren’s laughter. “Sadistic bitch.”

  “Waiting will make it all the sweeter,” Lauren said as she walked away.

  Singer limped to the boardwalk built along the waterfront and leaned on the rail. Down below, the tide was out, leaving purple, orange, and raspberry starfish clinging to the velvet green, seaweed-covered rocks.

  A seal, stretched out on his back to enjoy the sun, lifted his head and considered Singer.

  “How you doing?” Singer asked.

  The seal gave a huge yawn and laid his head back down.

  “Well, you can’t please every audience.” Singer lifted her nose and sucked in the damp smell of the ocean and sea life. She leaned on her cane and went a little farther down the boardwalk to a bench. She settled in the sun and considered the boats with American flags bobbing at anchor, boats that could come and go at will. Would any of them take a passenger with them? She closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she wanted to enjoy the sun and think of nothing.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, caffeine.” Lauren held out a Styrofoam cup to Singer.

  “Who knew spending money could be so exhausting,” Singer said, taking the coffee. She waved a hand at the harbor. “It’s like falling into paradise, all these islands.”

  “Something like two hundred and twenty-five islands, most of them too small to be inhabited but great places to boat to for a picnic and some sunbathing.” Lauren took the top off her cup, set it on the bench, and then reached over and took the cup out of Singer’s hand and removed its top.

  “A girl could get used to all this—islands, shopping, a personal servant.”

  “Well, enjoy it while it lasts.” Lauren sipped at her coffee. “I’ve enjoyed Glenphiddie Island. It’s full of fun things, yoga, tai chi, massage, and body works, and if you weren’t so beat up and bruised, we could spend the rest of the day at a spa, plenty of them here. I’ve spent my time here goofing off and doing nothing with my life.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Yeah, I think it is.” Her head jerked up from her coffee, and she looked beyond Singer. Lauren’s face lit up.

  Singer turned to her right to find out who Lauren was so delighted to see. The girl Singer had seen going into Chris Ruston’s office, the girl whose cigarettes Singer had stolen at the ferry terminal, was coming towards them.

  “Hi, Janna.” Lauren said and then turned to Singer. “This is my Aunt Mim.”

  With fine features, very pale skin, unnaturally black hair, and bangs cut straight above fine brown eyes heavily outlined in kohl, Janna Vibald was a striking beauty and easy to remember.

  “Hi.” Janna smiled faintly in Singer’s direction but didn’t really look at her. She turned to face them but didn’t stop walking, stepping backwards away from them.

  “Are you staying for a while?” Lauren asked.

  Janna continued moving away as she answered Lauren’s question. “Don’t think so.” She raised her hand. “See you.” And then she swung away and was gone.

  “See what I mean,” Lauren said, watching Janna’s retreating back. “She’ll barely talk to me.”

  “Sit down,” Singer told her. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Fifty-five

  Singer watched Lauren settle onto the bench and pick up her coffee, and then she said, “I’ve seen Janna three times before: once in the Sidney terminal, then getting off the ferry with the foot traffic coming to Glenphiddie Island, and yesterday outside Chris Ruston’s office.”

  Lauren’s coffee cup was halfway to her lips when the implication of what Singer was saying sunk in. She lowered her cup. “But that means . . .” She swung to face Singer. “Wait, you’re saying Janna was on Glenphiddie when John was killed?”

  “Yup.”

  “But she called me yesterday and asked me to pick her up at the ferry.”

  “Did you see her walk off the ferry?”

  “No. I always wait up at the coffee shop for her. There’s no parking at the terminal.”

  “She was already here when she called you.”

  “But why?”

  Singer shrugged.

  Lauren combed her hair back from her face with her fingers. “She was here. She could have killed John.”
She looked at Singer. “What are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know about you but I think I’m up for some more shopping.”

  Lauren’s worry about taking money from Janna evaporated, and her buying frenzy grew more demented with each store. Leather sandals, with a matching handmade leather bag from Italy, were added to a two hundred dollar silk scarf. Singer’s favorite outfit was moccasins and a beaded jacket, made by a Mohawk woman in Ontario. To this she added a black straw cowboy hat.

  Singer said, “Maybe I’ll switch to country. This is the perfect outfit for singing hurtin’ songs.”

  They bought things they didn’t even want just because they could, including enough skin care products to turn Singer into a sixteen-year-old, if the creams all lived up to the promises on their packaging.

  “I never knew what an unlimited Amex could really do,” Lauren said, as the door to the Outrigger closed behind them, and then she added, “Shit, I hope I don’t go to jail for this. Is it fraud?”

  “If it all goes wrong, just blame it on your auntie. I’ll be long gone by then.” Singer handed Lauren a small tote bag from a perfume shop. “I’ve had it. Even free stuff loses its appeal.”

  Lauren laughed. “So let’s have an early dinner.”

  “Great, and you can tell me what this hot idea of yours is.”

  “You wait here, and I’ll bring the truck around. We’re going out of town to the vineyard. They have a Greek chef who does amazing lamb. The island is famous for lamb.”

  “No, thanks.” Singer slumped onto a bench outside an ice cream shop. “I don’t eat anything that hasn’t been weaned.”

  “I’m surprised you have such delicate feelings,” Lauren said and piled the parcels on the bench beside Singer. “Be right back.”

  The winding country road, past pastures of sheep and even llamas, led to a vineyard on the south side of the mountain. They sat on a deck, under a red umbrella, and Lauren ordered a hundred dollar bottle of wine. “It’s a special occasion,” Lauren told the server. “It’s my aunt’s birthday.”

  “Happy birthday,” the waitress said and went to get them their wine.

  “Here I thought I was going to lead you astray, but you just went by me on roller skates. You really are a natural at this lying business.”

  “Nice to have some talent.” Lauren smiled. “I can’t believe I’m actually enjoying myself. After last night and Missy . . . Oh.” She lowered her face into her hands.

  Singer reached out and rubbed Lauren’s arm. “It’s always like that. You can forget things for a bit and then everything comes slamming back, but with time, it will hurt a little less.”

  The young waitress came up and set a tray on the table. Then she saw the tears running down Lauren’s cheeks and her own face crumbled. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vibald.” The poor girl looked like she might cry too.

  “It’s all right, Sue.” Lauren scrambled in her bag for a tissue and then took the napkin Singer handed her. “It’s just . . . well, you know.”

  Sue nodded in understanding and held up the bottle. “Maybe this will help.”

  The wine was poured, and they were left with the gigantic menus.

  Singer leaned across the table and whispered, “The waitress is in there now, telling everyone how broken up you are over Johnny’s death and how you’re trying to carry on for my sake. My god, you’ll get the sympathy vote.” Singer opened a red leather menu. “What are we going to order?”

  “The most expensive thing we can find,” Lauren replied. “John is paying. And while we’re waiting, I’ll tell you about my idea.” Lauren clapped her hands in excitement. “You’re going to love this.”

  Singer set her menu aside. “Hurry up, you’re driving me crazy.”

  “Seven years with John taught me more than a little about the music business. It was all he ever talked about.” Lauren pointed a finger at Singer. “Now, you have songs, right?”

  Singer gave a tiny nod, waiting to see where Lauren was going with this.

  “And I’ve met quite a few people in the music business, know them well enough to call them up and get them to listen to a demo. What if you make a little demo of your songs using John’s recording studio, and I act as your agent to sell them? Isn’t that a great idea?”

  Singer started to grin and nod as Lauren went on. “You have new clothes, you can start a new life writing songs, and I can start a new life as your agent. How does that sound?”

  “Deal.” Singer stuck out her hand, wincing as they shook. “I’m not going to be able to make a demo any day soon, though.”

  “We don’t have much time. I’m going to get kicked out as soon as the will is read.” Lauren tapped her polished nails on the table. “What are we going to do?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll solve that. But will anyone agree to listen?”

  “That’s the best part,” Lauren said. “Corporal Duncan gave me back John’s Rolodex. I’m going to call everyone in it to tell them about John’s death, and at the same time, I’ll tell them that John wanted them to listen to a demo tape. How can they say no to the grieving widow?”

  Singer raised her glass of wine. “You have the true instincts of an agent.” She picked up her cigarettes and pulled the ashtray towards her. “Now all those nice things we bought need to be packed in suitcases.”

  Lauren played with the fine gold chain at her throat. “Why?”

  “Because it’s time to get the shit out of Dodge.”

  Fifty-six

  Both Lauren and Singer questioned whether it was wise to go back to Syuwun. In the end, they decided it was no safer down in Kilborn.

  They were sitting at the pine table in the kitchen sharing a drink, when Lauren said, “I think exposing John as a murderer and a thief will protect you. There’s no need to kill you now.”

  “Maybe, or maybe even with this great disguise, sooner or later the person who tried to kill me will try again.”

  “Standing next to you, being in the same house with you, is making me nervous.”

  “Think how I feel.”

  Lauren’s anxious fingers played with her gold chain. “So what are we going to do about it?”

  They considered the problem in silence, until Singer asked, “Does Thea still walk like a constipated duck?”

  Lauren grinned. “Oh, you mean like this?” She bounced to her feet, bent over slightly at the waist, and walked across the kitchen taking tiny little steps with her knees together.

  Singer erupted into laughter. “Yup, that’s it. I’d like to see that walk again.”

  Lauren planted her fist on her hip. “What are you hatching?”

  “Just a trip down memory lane.”

  “In a ‘fasten your seatbelt, it could get bumpy’ kind of way?”

  “Something like that. Why don’t you call the Pyes, Stevie Dee, Ruston, and Janna and invite them all for drinks?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “You think there’s a murderer among them and you want to bring them all here?”

  “I know there’s a murderer among them.”

  “And you want to get them all together to do what?”

  “Chat.”

  “Are you out of your tiny little mind?”

  “Probably, but I want to find out everything I can about what happened to Michael.” She rolled her glass between her palms. “I’ll get the chance to say my piece before I leave. I want them all to know how and why Michael died. If nothing else, I need them to know they cheated him out of his life for a song.” Singer put her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I want to blow their safe, comfortable lives apart and set them wondering if one day I’ll come back—or if the murderer among them will kill once more. When I’m done, they’re never ever going to feel secure again. I want them looking over their
shoulders and wondering, is this the day?”

  Lauren slapped her hand against the table. “I’m up for that. I’d like a little revenge of my own. Let’s make their lives miserable.”

  “Call them. Explain to them it’s about Johnny’s estate and a lawsuit that is coming. Make sure they understand it involves all of them. Tell them their homes are at stake. Let’s have them scared before they come through the door and worried about the wrong thing.” Singer pointed at Lauren with her glass. “Say you want them to hear all about it before it hits the papers.”

  Lauren nodded. “I don’t know if they’ll come but I’ll give it my best shot. And don’t drink anymore. We both need our wits about us tonight.”

  “You know, your personality leaves a lot to be desired,” Singer said. “I’m older than you. You’re supposed to respect me.”

  Lauren tilted her head to the side and put her forefinger on her chin. “Let me see, a murderer on the loose and an inebriated woman who can’t walk without a cane. And you’re talking about respect?” Lauren went to the phone and started dialing.

  “Well when you put it so nicely. But you’re convinced I’m a drunk. Why?”

  Lauren stopped punching in numbers and looked at Singer. “John was a drunk. I was terrified when he was drunk. I used to hide until he passed out.”

  “And I told you about my bad old days, days of excess, and you’re afraid I’ll slip back there.”

  “Something like that.”

  Singer used the table to push herself to her feet. She picked up her glass and, using the cane, went to the sink. There, she upended the glass and said, “Make those calls.”

  Steven David arrived first, looking even worse than he had when he left that morning. He’d always been a man who took pride in his appearance, but now a gray haze of whiskers speckled his sagging jowls. The powder blue sweater he wore was covered in food stains and was unraveling at the cuffs.

  Lauren led him to the family room, where the carved pocket doors to the hall had been pushed back into the walls, leaving the room open to the foyer.