by Lee Harris
I knew that he was finished talking to us about the fire. He didn’t want to talk about any of the things that were relevant to the murders. I could understand it in a way. Ken Buckley had been a friend and a source of companionship. Tina Frisch had been a young girl with most of her life ahead of her. And arson was a dirty word to those in the fire-fighting service.
We talked about lighter things for a while and left when Eddie got restless. Instead of walking back to the house, I continued toward the beach.
“This is where he goes at night,” I told Joseph. “I think he carries a lightweight chair with him and sets it up facing the ocean. And he smokes a cigarette.”
“That sounds very lovely to me. He’s turned a vice into an innocent pleasure. I must say, I’m sure a place like this gets in your blood, but I can’t imagine enjoying such isolation in the winter, not to mention the weather. The wind must be unbearable.”
“There’s no easy explanation for love.”
I took Eddie out of the stroller and walked onto the dune, carrying him. “There’s our house. It’s really quite close.”
“And the deer come from where?”
“There are parks at both ends of the island, Robert Moses State Park at the western end and a bunch of parks in the east. Altogether, the deer have twenty-five miles of park. The humans have only seven miles at the western end of the island.”
“Twenty-five miles of park,” Joseph said. “I suppose there must be a lot of deer.”
I agreed. I put Eddie back in his stroller and we took the long way home, through the streets.
—
It was late afternoon by the time we got back. Considering that Joseph had arrived only this morning, we had certainly been around. Jack was just coming back from a swim in the pool, rather a cool day for that, but I’m sure he felt as I did: if you didn’t do it now, you’d wait a year for the next opportunity.
I told him what Chief La Coste had reluctantly admitted, that Ken Buckley was acting fire chief the night of the Great Fire.
“So we know he was there,” Jack said. “Anyone mind if I shower right away?”
We shooed him off but he stopped on the way to the stairs. “You ladies see the extra key?”
I looked over at the board in the kitchen where the keys had hung since our arrival and saw that the extra set was gone. I felt the pockets of my shorts. I got my handbag and opened it on the kitchen table, feeling around the bottom and sides without luck. “I don’t seem to have them. I don’t remember taking them off the board.”
“Did you give them to anyone?” Joseph asked.
“No, of course not. Who would I give them to?”
“That’s weird,” Jack said. “I hope they turn up before we leave.”
“Did Kyle drop by? We saw him just for a minute when we went to look at the crime scene. He was walking one of the girls down to the ferry but we didn’t wait for him to come back.”
“Haven’t seen anyone,” Jack said.
“This is very creepy.” It gave me an uncomfortable feeling. If we locked up tonight, would we be safe? “Take a shower. We’ll look later.”
A moment later the phone rang. We picked up at the same time and I recognized Curt Springer’s voice. I hung up and let Jack take the call.
—
Jack came downstairs twenty minutes later looking freshly dressed, his hair still damp and forming ringlets as I watched it. “That was Springer. They’ve matched prints from the house Dodie Murchison stayed in with prints on the bicycle at Tina’s place.”
“Dodie touched the bicycle?”
“Looks like it. He said there was a great set of her whole hand on one of the handlebars, on the rubber cover on the handlebar.”
“I gather he hasn’t found her.”
“Not yet, but he and the sheriff want her for questioning. Real bad.”
“And she must know it. But she’s got to turn herself in sometime soon. Monday is a workday.”
“She’ll do what’s right.”
Joseph looked at her watch. “If you nice people will excuse me, it’s five o’clock.”
Five o’clock was evening prayer time at St. Stephen’s. “May I join you, Joseph?”
“I’d be happy if you would. Let’s go out on the front deck.”
“See you ladies later. Eddie and I are going to look for those keys.”
I grabbed a couple of pillows and took them outside. We knelt side by side along the railing facing the sea. To our right the sun was preparing to set in the west; ahead of us and to the left the great Atlantic stretched south and east to places I had never been but that someday might be within reach. I had not prayed with the nuns of St. Stephen’s for three years, yet the words came as easily as if I had spoken them the thousand and some times since the day I left. When we sang, I heard Joseph’s clear, strong voice leading the way as she had led and assisted me in the years I spent as a guest, a novice, and a nun in the convent. My own voice hardly matched hers in color and intensity. I have the greatest difficulty carrying a tune but I sing with great enthusiasm and pleasure.
It was a wonderful half hour, perhaps the best of the two weeks we had spent in this magnificent house. As we prayed and recited and sang, I thought of other times, of my great affection and admiration for Joseph, of my own good fortune in being here with these people that formed my family.
When we were finished, I remained on my knees looking out to sea. After a few moments, I realized that Joseph had taken her pillow and walked away. I took a deep breath of the salt-air breeze and stood up.
Joseph was standing in the rounded area where the deck wrapped around from the front to the far side of the house. I walked over. She was looking toward the west.
“We should see a fine sunset tonight,” she said.
“Yes, it’s very clear. We’ve been treated to a lot of them these past two weeks.”
“And tomorrow morning I’ll see the sunrise from where we’ve just been kneeling.”
“I think you will.”
“Worth the trip even if I hadn’t had the chance to see you and your family.”
We went inside where Jack was sitting at the kitchen table talking to Kyle. Kyle was wet and sandy from his last dip in the ocean, a little uncomfortable about the puddles he was leaving on our kitchen floor. I assured him we intended to take care of the cleanup tomorrow and not to worry.
“Danielle’s gone,” he said. “I don’t think she’ll ever set foot on Fire Island again.”
“I can’t blame her,” I said. “Have the Kleins arrived?”
“They’re here. When they started going over the house and making a note of every missing chip of paint, I figured it was time for me to take a swim.”
“I’m sure renting out a house has its problems.”
“Well, we weren’t the neatest group. But we paid for a cleaning service to come in next week. You find anything out yet? About Tina?”
“Not too much,” Jack said. “You think of anything that can help us?”
“Danielle gave me this. She found it right after Chris left this afternoon. She said to give it to you.” He opened the zipper bag that I had assumed held his snorkeling gear—and maybe it did—and pulled out a plastic bag with an upscale Manhattan supermarket’s name on it. “It’s a notebook. It’s Tina’s.”
“Where’d Danielle find it?”
“In the refrigerator, if you can believe it. Looks like Tina didn’t want anyone to find it. Danielle said she was cleaning out the shelves and this was under a carton of eggs.”
Jack had opened it and was turning pages. “Looks very interesting, Kyle. I appreciate your turning this over.” He closed it and rested his hand on it. “We have your address and phone number, don’t we?”
“Yeah, I gave it to Chris.” He stood. “I guess it’s good-bye.” He reached out a big hand and shook each of ours.
I couldn’t help thinking as he gripped my hand that these were hands that could do a lot of damage, and I immediate
ly felt guilty for thinking so. He had liked Tina. It had been she who seemed not to want a relationship. There was no reason to believe he would do injury to her.
20
After Kyle left, Jack grabbed the mop from the utility closet and went over the puddles our guest had left behind. He laughed as he did it. “No wonder folks with nice houses don’t want to rent them out. Forget the paint chips. There must be salt water and sand on every floor and every chair in that house.”
“What’s in the notebook?” I asked.
“Lots of good stuff. Looks like she kept a kind of diary of her search.”
“I’m torn,” I admitted. “Eddie needs his supper and bath and I can’t wait to see what’s in that notebook.”
Joseph was all smiles. “I’m glad to hear motherhood hasn’t taken you over completely. I’ll resist temptation till Eddie is safely in his crib.”
“I knew I could count on you,” I said, lifting my little one off the floor with a swoop and a kiss.
“OK, I’m outvoted.” Jack put the notebook back in its plastic bag and dropped it on the table. “I’ll start getting things ready for dinner so we’ll have a little time before the Jorgensens come.”
We had invited them to meet Joseph and join us for spareribs. And until we had read every word of the notebook, I had no intention of sharing its contents with anyone. Jack had put together his best barbecue sauce during the day. I knew this because I smelled it when we returned from one of our jaunts. “OK, Eddie,” I said, my eye on the precious package, “it’s bath and suppertime. How does that sound to you?” I gave him a big kiss and we got started.
—
Joseph was more interested in the almost ten-month-old Eddie than she had been in the little baby. She was clearly pleased that he said her name, and she joined in the good-night kisses when he was ready for bed. I took him upstairs and read to him from a picture book with hard cardboard pages, showing him the pictures and talking to him about them. When he started looking drowsy, I put him in his crib. Three little fingers went right into his mouth and he closed his eyes. I dashed downstairs.
—
Jack had cleaned and cut the vegetables, made his wonderful blue cheese dip, and was sitting at the kitchen table with Joseph, the notebook untouched between them.
“You are the two most honorable people I know,” I said. “Are we going to look now?”
“You bet.” Jack slipped it out of the bag. It was an ordinary spiral notebook with a soft cover picturing some rock star unknown to me standing in front of a microphone, holding a guitar and singing his heart out. Jack opened the cover, and inside was a sticker like those you get in the mail from organizations that want donations. On it was Tina’s name and address.
The pages were written mostly in blue ballpoint—Jack flipped through them before turning back to the beginning—but occasionally in pencil or some other color of ink. Tina had grabbed whatever was near to make her notes.
“Well, here’s the beginning. No date.” He began to read.
“ ‘I know he was my father. Mom always said no but I believe Bill was my father. I remember the last time I saw him, just an ordinary visit. Afterwards I remember asking Mom why he didn’t come around anymore. She said she didn’t know and for a long time I didn’t believe her. But I believe her now. He had simply disappeared. I want to find him. I want to know the truth. And I will.
“ ‘A group of us will rent a house on Fire Island. I volunteered to do the dirty work so I could get a place in or near the town of Blue Harbor. That’s where Bill told Mom he was going the last time he came to see us.’
“There are a lot of short notes here,” Jack said. “She visited Blue Harbor, she mentions Honey Quinn, the realtor, the Kleins’ house, a couple of other houses. Let’s see. This must be her first weekend out here.” He moved his finger down the page.
“ ‘Walked around. Took a swim. Talked to a neighbor who’s lived here over twenty years. Said I should see an old man named La Coste. Will look him up next time.
“ ‘Found La Coste. He’s really old, over ninety. Asked him about deaths in Blue Harbor fifteen or so years ago. Says he doesn’t remember any. Went to police station. Cop named Springer. Wasn’t here when Bill disappeared. Doesn’t like “fishing expeditions” into his files but said maybe next time I come he’ll let me look. Bernie La Coste says he’ll look in the files for me.’ ”
“Was Tina out here all summer?” Joseph asked.
“No. The group, there were about ten of them, shared the house. They alternated weekends so that about five were out here every weekend. Half of them came for the Fourth of July and the other half for Labor Day. Most of them took their vacations out here for a week or two. Tina took the weeks before and after Labor Day, the way we did.”
“So Tina had only a small number of weekends to work on her project.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Jack said.
“Sorry for the interruption. Please go on.”
“ ‘Bernie La Coste saw the police files! Made a list of several years of fights and disturbances when I got back. No one named Bill or Will or William. No Jamieson at all. No one killed. No one even badly hurt. No drownings. No boating accidents. Where is he? Nobody seems to be hiding anything. Could he have come and gone and then disappeared?
“ ‘Housemates worried that I don’t join in the “fun.” I do but they expect more. Kyle very sweet. I like him but can’t spend all my time with him and don’t feel like explaining what I’m doing. Have to keep looking. Maybe get together in the winter.
“ ‘Talked to a couple of people where fights took place. They don’t even remember them so how important could they have been?
“ ‘What else is there? Bernie talked about big fire about that time if he has his dates right. But house was empty. Next time.
“ ‘Not much time left. It poured two weeks ago. Stayed home. Nice weather this weekend. House that burned down in Bernie’s “Great Fire” is really gone. Talked to people across the street. Said nothing was left except chimney. Same as Bernie said. Lots of firemen. Lots of water. Everything a mess afterward. Could Bill have been there? Could he have set fire?
“ ‘Went to firehouse. Like a sitcom. Old guys sit around playing cards and pool. Won’t let me look at their files.’ ”
“That’s interesting,” I interrupted. “When I was down there this morning, Fred invited me into the chief’s office. He said their files were open to the public.”
“Maybe they removed something damaging after Buckley died,” Jack suggested.
“You’re talking about a conspiracy. With a lot of people involved. Maybe they just didn’t want Tina poking around. Maybe the person she talked to didn’t feel he had the authority to let her look. Or was too lazy to show her the files.”
Jack turned a page.
“ ‘This is a mess. I’ll never find out what happened. Maybe he just met a girl and took her to California. Maybe he’s not my father after all. Maybe he and Mom had a fight and they split up. But she told me he was going to Fire Island. She said he was going to Blue Harbor. What if he went swimming and drowned and got washed out to sea? He was a daytripper. No one knew who he was. There isn’t much to check anymore. If I don’t find out the truth on my vacation, it’s all over. I think he drowned. I think he’s dead. I think he’s in California.’ ”
“Poor thing,” Joseph said. “This search really consumed her. If this man was really her father, someone should have told her.”
“He may not have been,” Jack said. “It could have been a fantasy that wouldn’t let go.” He looked down at the page.
“ ‘This is it. Got here this afternoon (Sunday). The alternate gang hadn’t left yet. Had to wait to get into my bedroom. They’re complete slobs. They don’t even blow the dust away. What a mess.
“ ‘Saw Bernie. He just likes to talk. Sat on his deck and listened. Said Polly Adler used to live on Fire Island. Then he talked about the hurricane
of thirty-eight. Must have been awful. Houses swept into the sea. Roofs lifted off. Walls collapsed.
“ ‘Finally I asked him if I could talk to a fireman about the Great Fire. He said see Chief Buckley. Stopped at Chief Buckley’s house on the way back. No one home.
“ ‘Tried the firehouse this morning. No one knows where he is. Maybe off island. Sure to come back for Labor Day.
“ ‘Tried the firehouse again. No Buckley. Not at home either.
“ ‘Success! Talked to Chief Buckley today. Says he remembers the Great Fire very well. Says there isn’t much to tell but why don’t I come over on Labor Day? There’s some party on the beach and we can talk in his house. Hope he doesn’t come on to me. He’s got to be fifty and I like Kyle better.
“ ‘Have to organize my thoughts. When was fire? (Date and time) Anyone hurt? Whose house? Who was home? Names, addresses. Was it arson? Accident? Whose fault? Why can’t I think of anything else to ask?
“ ‘Labor Day. This is it. They’re setting up tents on the beach. Ran into Bernie.’ ”
Jack looked up. “That’s all.”
“It ends just like that?” I said.
“Just like that.” He flipped pages but they were all empty.
“It’s just like stepping off a cliff. My heart is pounding. I feel as if I were the one who was going to the Buckley house.”
“She must have been too upset when she came back to write anything,” Joseph said.
“Or too busy trying to hide the coat she picked up,” Jack said. “She had to ink out what was probably Buckley’s name and get it out of the house before the police came to question her. Once she saw Chris, she knew she was in trouble.”
“But we still don’t know what happened,” I said. “She never mentions a weapon. We don’t know whether she went to his house with or without the gun that killed him. And I have to say, if he was waiting for her in bed without any clothes on, it looks as though he, at least, had something more planned than a question-answer session.”
