Death Rides the Surf

by Nora charles

  The trailer was pale aqua, the exact color of its owner’s eyes, Marlene noted as she opened the door. Annette Meyers had broad shoulders, a robust body, and stood straight and tall, taller than Marlene, which put her at almost six feet. She wore her gray-streaked black hair like Gloria Steinem’s, only shorter and sleeker. Her plaid shirt was well pressed and her jeans stretched over ample hips, though not nearly as ample as Marlene’s. She was barefoot and her toenails were painted cherry red: a feminist with flare.

  “Come in, come in, I’ve been expecting you.” Granny Meyers’s voice was as robust as her body.

  Marlene, puzzled but pleased to be inside, looked around the comfortable living/dining area. Charming. And its to-scale picture widow had a view of the sea.

  “You’re a little early. Can I get you a cold drink?” Annette Meyers walked over to a small bar. “Beer or soda?” Like Marlene, she added an r to soda.

  Since it was not yet eleven and she hated beer—a margarita might have been a different story—Marlene said, “Soda, please,” and went back to wondering who the hell Annette thought she was.

  Her hostess reached for a glass, and then peered at Marlene. “Aren’t you a bit overdressed? We’re forming a human chain on the ground; you might be dragged off to jail.”

  Seventeen

  It occurred to Kate, and not for the first time, that her daughter-in-law Jennifer could be a prissy pain. On Jennifer’s mother’s side, the family line went back to John Adams and any history buff knew what a prig he’d been.

  Kate, all too familiar with Nick Carbone’s tactics and how he ran a murder investigation, had offered her best advice, but instead of listening, Jennifer was speed-dialing her attorney in New York.

  The three generations of women sat in Kate’s kitchen, their tea growing cold as they waited for the detective to arrive.

  Katharine lost in a silence propelled by fear had said nothing since she’d heard Carbone wanted to question her. Ballou, his eyes closed, lay at the girl’s feet.

  And where had Marlene gone? Kate had tried both her home and cell phones. No answer. Maybe Marlene had forgotten to turn her cell on; that would be just like her, wouldn’t it? Kate’s impatience caught her attention: misplaced anger; Marlene wasn’t the problem here.

  The degree of Jennifer’s distress was evident in her lack of grooming. She’d awakened to the news that her daughter was about to be questioned in a homicide investigation and hadn’t even bothered to run a comb through her ash blonde hair. Her pale green eyes, minus shadow and mascara, appeared smaller and, without pencil extending them, her brows ended right after the arch.

  The cool stockbroker, paid all those high commissions for her advice, had panicked and called her New York attorney for his.

  “Mom,” Katharine said, breaking her silence, “why won’t you listen to Nana? She’s dating the detective.”

  Katharine’s presumptuous conclusion bandied about so cavalierly and the resulting look of amazement on Jennifer’s face was worth Kate’s embarrassment. And, even better, it worked. Jennifer said, “I’ll get back to you, Henry,” and hung up.

  Kate drained the last of her tepid tea.

  “Any suggestions, Kate?” Jennifer snapped, spilling her tea into the saucer.

  Still fretting about where Katharine had been all day yesterday, Kate succumbed to an urge to throw her daughter-in-law off guard and said, “Nick might be interested in why—and when—you flew down to Fort Lauderdale, Jennifer.”

  A flushed Katharine fidgeted in her chair, then stood—disturbing Ballou, who yelped and moved over to Kate’s foot—and put the kettle back on to boil.

  Jennifer waved her right hand as if swatting a mosquito. “Where the hell are you coming from, Kate?”

  Kate didn’t have a clue, but not for a New York minute did she buy into Jennifer’s story about meeting a client in Palm Beach. And neither would Nick. Like Katharine, Kate believed Jennifer had traveled from the city on a mission: to bring her daughter home. What lengths would Jennifer have gone to in order to achieve that goal? Kate laughed, nervous laughter. She really didn’t think her daughter-in-law had anything to do with Jon Michael’s death. It was a shark, wasn’t it? And a shark attack couldn’t be a homicide, could it?

  “What’s so damn funny, Kate?” Jennifer stood, too, towering over Kate, her hands on hips, her body language shouting confrontation. “A detective—your boyfriend, I might add—is on his way to interrogate my daughter, and you’ve just accused me of God knows what, and now you’re laughing.”

  Katharine stared down at the kitchen floor as if entranced with those vapid beige tiles.

  The telephone rang, jarring the three women. Kate rose and answered it, saying, “Hello,” in a shaky voice.

  “It’s Nick, Kate.” Self-assured. Not the least bit shaky. “This Tyler investigation is mushrooming. I’d prefer Katharine come to my office,” he hesitated, then added, “Can you be here at twelve thirty?” Phrased as a request, but more like a command.

  “We’ll be there,” Kate said, then hung up, and whirled around to face her daughter-in-law and granddaughter. “Get dressed, Jennifer. Katharine’s due at the police station in an hour.” She glanced at the uneaten bagels. “We should try to eat something. And if we don’t want to be late we need to leave here by noon. It’s almost the off-season and the bridge is up more than it’s down.”

  Jennifer bit her lip. “Does Katharine need an alibi?”

  “Why, are you thinking about lying to protect me, Mom? Or would providing me with an alibi cover both our butts?”

  Kate sighed. It should be a fun ride across the Neptune Boulevard Bridge to Palmetto Beach Police headquarters.

  Eighteen

  Be careful what you lie about, Marlene thought, or your scenario might come true and bite you in the behind.

  Annette, the aging hippie, had planned a sit-in and, believing Marlene to be one of the NOW volunteers, expected her to lie down with all—well, most of the other trailer owners, a few had balked—to demonstrate civil disobedience and to be willing to go to jail for their cause.

  “You mean the demolition crew is arriving today?” Marlene asked, thinking of the old man tending his garden. No wonder he seemed so cranky.

  “Indeed. And none of the owners will leave. Even the most conservative among us, who refuse to actively engage in passive resistance, are holding firm. Didn’t Beth explain all this to you? And where are the other women? Beth promised support from our local chapter. One person hardly qualifies as support.” Annette put on her glasses and peered at Marlene. “Funny, I’ve never seen you at any of our meetings.”

  “I’m from the Fort Lauderdale chapter.” Marlene, lying yet again, hoped there was one. “You know, Annette, maybe I’ll have that beer.”

  “There you go.” She reached into the tiny refrigerator and handed Marlene a beer. And there’s marijuana around here somewhere. Now where did I stash it? We deserve a toke today; that’s my motto.” Her hostess bustled off through a door into what Marlene assumed must be a bedroom.

  A moment later, the trailer’s front door flew open and Sam Meyers and his surfboard filled a good part of the living area. He wore stylishly long shorts in a dark print and no shirt. Great abs, though a tad on the skinny side for Marlene’s taste, Sam was tall, dark, and too geeky to be handsome, but still an attractive man, not a boy like the rest of the boardsmen. Would she ever sleep with a man that young again? Hell, would she ever sleep with any man again?

  “Hi,” he smiled, revealing straight teeth. “What’s going down?” He lovingly lowered the surfboard to the space behind the wall and the couch. Its ends stuck out on both sides. “I don’t want this baby injured in the scuffle. The cops might get tough.” Sam flashed another smile. “You must be one of Annette’s allies from NOW, right?”

  So he called his granny by her first name. How progressive. Now how much of the truth should Marlene reveal? Lying was much easier when mired in a few facts.

  “Right o
n,” Marlene said, sounding like a hippie cheerleader. Rah, rah, sis boom bah. Go, women! “I’m Marlene Friedman.”

  “Have we met before?” Sam stared at her.

  He’d fed her an opening line. “Call me Marlene. You look familiar, too. I’ve seen you on the beach, haven’t I? Palmetto Beach, that is. I live there.”

  Sam laughed. “I live there, too. Or maybe it just feels like that while I’m waiting to catch a wave.” If he’d heard about his fellow boardsman’s death he showed no emotion. And how could he not have heard?

  “Sammy, you bad boy, did you smoke all my pot? I even searched under the mattress.” Annette had emerged from behind the bedroom door.

  “No, no, Annette, you hid it under the cover of the air-conditioning unit in the kitchen.” Sam Meyers stroked his grandmother’s arm, his long fingers lingering on the inside of her elbow, then swooped down and kissed her on the lips.

  It took a lot to shock Marlene, but she gasped, involuntarily for sure, yet loud enough to catch Sam’s attention. He stopped kissing granny and grinned at Marlene. “Didn’t Beth tell you about Annette and me? All those other hot old broads in NOW think we’re a cool couple.”

  For possibly the first time in her life, Marlene was speechless.

  “Our trailer park has as many rules as any fancy condo, you know.” Sam sounded earnest, seeming to want Marlene to understand. “Only the owners’ kin can visit for more than a week. Lovers don’t qualify as kin. So for the record I’m Annette’s grandson.” Sam winked. “But we’re saving up to get married. Then we’ll be husband and wife and can live here legally. We don’t like to break the rules, but true love conquers all, right?” He squeezed Annette’s shoulder. “I can’t believe no one told you about us. Annette and I are going to be featured in the chapter’s newsletter.”

  Marlene shrugged, trying to present a calm exterior while her mind whirled. “I just joined the Fort Lauderdale chapter, haven’t even gotten my membership card yet.” She could feel sweat forming in her armpits and across her back, her silk jacket clinging to her body.

  “The locals are late,” Annette said. “Beth must have screwed up.” She slid out of Sam’s arms and walked around the long, narrow counter separating the tiny kitchen from the living/dining area. “You ready for another beer, Marlene?”

  If she didn’t need another drink now, when would she? “Yes, thanks.”

  “I’m smoking, with a beer chaser.” Annette lifted a plastic bag out from under the cover of an ancient air conditioner in the kitchen window. “The pigs may rough us up and the pot helps my arthritis.”

  Marlene felt as if she had landed in a really bad movie circa 1969, where the hippie heroine had been transformed into an old lady.

  Sam rolled the joints while Annette served the beers. Such a sweet domestic scene. Hell, somewhere the sun had to be over the yardarm. Marlene grabbed the can of Miller and drank with gusto. Maybe, while waiting for the protest to start, she could ask a few questions, like where did this odd couple meet and how Sam had hooked up with the surfers. He didn’t appear to be grieving Jon Michael’s death.

  A very precise roller, not dropping a bit of weed, Sam worked on his second reefer. Annette had lighted hers and the sweet smell of marijuana filled the trailer. Marlene wondered if she could just say no. “I fell in love with Annette the first time I laid eyes on her,” Sam said, albeit unwittingly, feeding Marlene the right line once again.

  “So, where did you two meet?” Marlene shook her head as Sam offered her a joint. She’d fretted for naught; he just stopped rolling and started smoking, seeming not to care that she wasn’t joining him. “Here in Florida?”

  Sam patted Annette’s behind. “No. We met in Acapulco.” Marlene almost fell off the bar stool she’d just straddled.

  “Recently?” She almost choked on the word.

  “Just last summer, though we were old souls together in several past lives, so we know each other real well,” Sam said.

  Humph. They’d probably shared company in previous incarnations with Mandrake the talking skull.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing, Marlene.” Annette inhaled. “This is good stuff. Imported.”

  “From Acapulco?” Marlene asked, thinking about the missing Amanda Rowling and the pain etched on her mother’s face.

  “No,” Sam said, “way closer than that.”

  A loud crash rocked the trailer, followed by screaming and another ear-piercing blast. The old man Marlene had seen earlier came dashing through the front door. “They started early, Annette, drove a goddamn bulldozer right through the clubhouse, demolished it.”

  “Rally the troops, we’ve been attacked by fascists,” Annette shouted over her shoulder as she ran out the door. “Come on, Sam! Move it, Marlene! This is war!”

  Nineteen

  When the bridge went up for the second time since they’d pulled in line, and they were still on Neptune Boulevard, behind a flatbed truck filled with rowdy teenagers, Kate knew they’d be late. She also knew Nick Carbone was not a patient man.

  After eighteen months in Palmetto Beach, Kate found the view of the Intercoastal Waterway awesome. The wide expanse of blue water, its shores lined with mansions and palm trees on the mainland, and restaurants and a marina on the island, and a sleek sailboat gliding by under the open bridge would have given her great pleasure if she weren’t so antsy. But today, even the smell of freshly baked bread wafting over the water from Dinah’s Restaurant didn’t improve her mood. Sometimes the only way to deal with worry was to worry. And sometimes the best way to deal with worry was to act. She opted for the latter.

  “Katharine, I want you to tell me where you were and what you were doing all day yesterday. Even more importantly, I need to know why you and Jon Michael were fighting just before he went surfing on Sunday night.”

  When Katharine squirmed in the front passenger seat of Kate’s new but secondhand white Beetle convertible, and glared at her grandmother, Kate added, “If you don’t tell me, I assure you, you’ll have to tell Nick Carbone.”

  In the backseat, Jennifer groaned.

  Kate, deciding there was no time for tact, said, “You’ll get your turn, Jennifer.”

  The bridge started to ease back down. Kate stepped on the gas pedal. “We’ll be at the police station in less than fifteen minutes. Start talking, Katharine.”

  “I already told you, Nana. I wanted to kill Jon Michael.”

  “Oh God, don’t say that,” Jennifer shouted.

  Jennifer had dressed in ten minutes flat and still hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup, convincing Kate that her daughter-in-law was frantic. What did Jennifer know that Kate didn’t?

  “Let Katharine talk.” Kate’s tone sounded kinder.

  “There’s another girl. I overheard him and Roberto quarreling about her earlier Sunday evening on the pier. I couldn’t ask Jon Michael about her while Roberto was around, so Sunday night I snuck out of the apartment around eleven thirty and went down on the beach and waited for him.”

  “Didn’t Roberto always surf with Jon Michael late at night?” Kate asked.

  “Yes, but I’d heard Roberto say he wouldn’t be going on the run Sunday night, and I needed to talk to Jon Michael.”

  “On the run.” Kate found that an odd way for Roberto to describe whatever the boys did on those midnight rides.

  “Katharine, why did you throw yourself at that boy?” Jennifer asked in a teary voice.

  “Quiet!” Kate said, shocking herself. “You’ll have your turn.” She heard Katharine stifle a giggle. Great, by the time she finished this inquisition neither her daughter-in-law nor her granddaughter would be speaking to her. But she couldn’t stop now. “Go ahead, Katharine.”

  “What do you want to hear, Nana? I told you this before. He said he never loved me and I shouldn’t have followed him here, and his last words were, ‘Take a hike, bitch.’”

  Kate looked at Jennifer in the rearview mirror. “Okay, your turn. Where were you Sunday nig
ht? And don’t say you were with a client if you weren’t. Nick Carbone will know you’re lying.”

  “How can this be a homicide investigation?” Jennifer whined. “That boy was killed by a shark.”

  “Mom, tell Nana the truth. I know you weren’t with a client.”

  A strangled moan escaped from Jennifer, but she said nothing.

  Katharine spun around and faced her mother. “You were on the beach, Mom, hiding behind the lifeguard’s station. I saw you there when I started back to the condo. Jon Michael was standing in the surf. What happened after I left?”

  “Are you accusing me of murder?” Jennifer shrieked, and then broke into sobs. Uncontrollable sobs filling the car, overpowering in their anguish.

  Whatever reaction Kate had expected when she started asking questions, it hadn’t been this

  “No, Mom, just of spying. Please don’t cry. I know you could never kill anyone.” Katharine sounded on the verge of tears herself. “I’m sorry, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Jennifer said, still sobbing.

  Kate smiled. If nothing else, her probing had brought her granddaughter and her daughter-in-law back together. They would need a united front when facing Nick Carbone.

  “And, Mom, I saw you leave the beach just as Jon Michael rode that big wave.”

  Good Lord, maybe mother and daughter could alibi each other after all.

  Twenty

  Splayed, her arms and legs akimbo, Marlene lay flat on her back between Annette and Sam on the grass in front of what was left of the Rainbow Beach trailer park’s clubhouse.

  The old man had exaggerated. Only the picture window wall facing the ocean was gone. The pool side and the clubhouse’s front and back walls were still intact. Out of the corner of her eye, Marlene watched an elderly lady in the pool floating on her back. “I can’t get down on the ground, so I’m protesting from here,” she’d said.