by Kathi Daley
“You wouldn’t be a burden,” I assured Garrett. “You’re my brother. If you want to come home and the doctor agrees, I’ll be more than happy to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The big bedroom on the first floor is empty, and there’s a bathroom right next door. I’m not a contractor, but it seems that with a little modification we can create a door large enough to accommodate your wheelchair and give you direct access to the bathroom from the bedroom.”
A look of longing crossed Garrett’s face. “It would be good to be home again. Let me think about it a bit. Even if it does work out, it won’t be right away. I’d want to be sure I had the strength to get myself in and out of my chair on my own. My upper body strength is returning, but it has a way to go.”
“I’ll be thrilled to have you whenever you’re ready. George will be thrilled to have you back where you belong and I’m sure Blackbeard would love to have you at home again.”
Blackbeard reached around and kissed Garrett on the cheek. I had a feeling the boys would both be very happy to have things back to normal.
“Now, you mentioned a photo you wanted me to look at?”
I handed it to Garrett. “I know you were little more than a child when the woman most likely stayed at the resort, but it occurred to me that she may have been a friend of the family and you may have seen her at other times.”
Garrett stared at the photo. “No. Neither person in the photo looks familiar.”
“I think the woman is called Francine, just because I found this photo with letters addressed to someone by that name.”
“It’s too bad Dad has taken a turn for the worse. He would have been the one to ask about her.”
Our father had left Garrett and his mother when he was very young, and although he’d somehow found time to enter a relationship with my mother long enough for me to be born, he was never around when I was growing up either. I wished I’d had the chance to get to know him before his dementia got so bad he no longer remembered who anyone was.
“I’d hoped he’d work his way back to us,” I said.
“It isn’t looking good.” Garrett reached out and took my hand. “The doctor doesn’t think he has much time left. He could pass at any time and mentally, I’m afraid he’s already gone.”
I glanced down at the floor to quell sudden tears. I didn’t know him, but he was still my father, and it made me sad that his time on earth was nearing an end. “During the brief period when his mind cleared, did he happen to share with you his end-of-life wishes?”
“Actually, he did. He made it clear he didn’t want a fuss. He wants to be cremated and his ashes spread at sea. He doesn’t have a lot to leave to anyone, but he did say he had a few dollars to take care of that.”
“Did the doctor think there was any chance his mind would clear before the end?”
“He didn’t say, but it seems unlikely. I don’t suppose it’s impossible. If that does happen, I’ll be sure to call you right away.”
******
After our visit, I headed back to the resort. When I arrived, I found Clara sitting on the sofa with Agatha in her lap, chatting with Victoria, who was thumbing through the photos Jack had left for Clara to look over.
“Kill the cat, kill the cat,” Blackbeard squawked.
Agatha hissed at him, so I placed Blackbeard on his perch, near the back of the room.
Victoria chuckled. “I see Blackbeard has found his voice.”
“He started talking the minute he saw Garrett,” I replied. “I guess he just misses him.”
“That’s understandable.”
“How’s your brother doing?” Clara asked as I sat down.
“He seems to be doing better. I’ve invited him for Thanksgiving.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him.” Clara beamed. “I’ve felt his presence in the house since I’ve been here. It will be nice to put a face with the vibe.”
“Will all the writers be here for the holiday?” Victoria asked.
“I’ve had a chance to ask everyone except Brit, and so far, everyone’s accepted the invitation. I’ll talk to Brit when I next see her. Gertie’s coming too, and possibly bringing a date, and George plans to invite Meg from the museum.”
“Anyone else?” Victoria asked.
“I’ve invited Jack, of course, and Rick Savage said he’d get back to me.”
“I’m having dinner with him tonight; I’ll ask him,” Victoria offered.
“I’m glad you decided to have dinner with him and I appreciate you speaking to him about Thanksgiving. If everyone I’ve invited comes, there’ll be twelve of us. This will be the first Thanksgiving dinner I’ve hosted. I’m nervous, but I’m really looking forward to it.”
“It should be a lot of fun.” Victoria smiled.
“I see you’ve been looking at Jack’s photos. Have you found anything interesting?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Victoria answered. “For one thing, the photos taken at the party were extremely random.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They aren’t typical party photos. No one is posing or looking at the camera. It’s more as if the photographer had a purpose other than capturing memories with their friends. I called Jack to ask where he got them. He said most of the ones from the party were from a Facebook page owned by someone named C. Menow.”
I frowned. “See me now?”
“That’s the way I read it,” Victoria answered. “The page has been dormant since the day Trey died, so I checked the email address associated with it. The account’s no longer being used. I had Brit run a trace on the account to see if she could find the real name of the page owner. C. Menow is the only name listed. As far as Brit and I could tell, the name’s a fake.”
“How did Jack find the page in the first place?” I wondered.
“The person who posted the photos used plenty of tags, so when Jack entered Trey’s name in his search engine, the page came up along with a bunch of others. There were so many that initially Jack just surfed around, stopping to print photos or articles that seemed relevant or interesting. It wasn’t until after I had him go back to find the specific page he copied the photos from that he noticed the name on the account.”
“Were there other posts on the Facebook page than the photos from the party?”
“There were, and all the photos related to Trey in some way. In addition to those at the party, there were photos of Trey playing baseball in high school and college.”
“So C. Menow most likely went to all his games.”
“Perhaps,” Vikki said, “or got the photos from other sources and posted them on the page. It’s hard to know for certain. There were also photos of Trey’s friends, and some of him attending parties and social events in addition to the party the night before he died.”
“Sounds like Trey had a stalker.”
“That would be my take,” Victoria agreed.
I looked at Clara. “Did anything stand out when you looked through the photos?”
“I feel quite certain C. Menow is the additional player I referred to on the first night we discussed the case,” Clara answered. “That doesn’t mean C. isn’t one of the people already on the list and it doesn’t mean C. is the person who drugged Trey. C. Menow is a troubled individual, and the existence of the Facebook page is a piece of the overall puzzle. I studied the photos associated with the Facebook page a bit more closely, though, and there are a couple that jumped out as being more significant than the others.”
“Okay. Which ones?”
Clara picked up the pile of photos that had been sitting on the sofa between her and Vikki. She sorted through them, eventually picking out two and handing them to me. “What do you see?” she asked.
The first was a group shot of six people—four men and two women, smiling and laughing, none of whom I recognized—standing, chatting. Naturally, there had been other people at the party in addition to the suspects, but I wasn’t sure why Clara had singled out this photo o
ver all the others.
“Is there someone in the photo we should be paying attention to?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Okay. Which one?”
“The one who only casts a reflection.”
I looked at the photo again. It took me a minute, but eventually, I realized there was a mirror on the wall behind the group. Reflected in the mirror was the image of the person who’d captured the photo in the first place. The photographer held a large phone with a black case in front of their face, their identity further masked by a black hoodie pulled over their head. It was impossible to tell who the photographer was other than, based on the shoulders, they had a slight frame.
“Someone who was there must know who this is,” I said as I continued to study the photo for any detail I might have missed.
“Wearing a black-hooded sweatshirt to a party doesn’t seem an obvious choice,” Vikki agreed.
“Do you think this is C. Menow?” I asked.
Clara shrugged. “I’m not sure. The photographer may have noticed their own reflection in the mirror when they took the photo, but it seems to me that whoever posted the photo to the Facebook page was deliberate in doing so, meaning they noticed it. If the poster was also the photographer, I have to assume they wanted to be identified.”
“If they wanted to be identified, they should have taken off that hood so we could get a look at their face,” Vikki said.
“If the person who took the photo is the one who posted it, my sense is they wanted to be seen despite being invisible,” Clara responded.
“And if they continued to go unnoticed?” I asked.
“I suppose at some point they’d need to do something that would force the subject of their obsession to finally take notice.”
“Something like putting drugs in his drink,” I concluded.
“Perhaps.”
I thought about the people we’d already spoken to. Heather had seemed to be open to speaking to us, willing to help where she could. Maybe I’d have Jack call her to ask if she knew who’d worn a black hoodie and taken photos at the party.
I set the photo aside to consider the second image Clara had handed me. This one was of Trey standing behind the bar that had been set up for the party. Hudson and a man I didn’t know were sitting on barstools across from him, apparently chatting with each other, but Trey was looking at someone or something over their heads. It was impossible to know what he was looking at, but the expression on his face could only be described as haunted.
“I wonder what he’s looking at,” I said aloud.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing,” Clara answered. “My sense is that although he’s in a room filled with his friends, he feels alone.”
“He seems to be smiling and having fun in the other photos,” I pointed out.
“That’s true,” Clara agreed. “But my sense is that he’s wearing a mask. I believe this photo shows his true face.”
“Wow. For a party, it seems like there was a lot of deep stuff going on,” Vikki observed.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “There does seem to be a lot going on. The question is, how does any of this relate to Trey’s death?”
No one answered, I imagine because no one had any idea.
“By the way,” Vikki said after a long pause, “I called a friend of mine who works for the feds and asked him to look at your photo.”
“You asked someone from the FBI to look at an innocent photo of a young couple most likely taken fifty years ago?”
“Like I said, he’s a friend. The photo’s pretty old and he can’t do anything in an official capacity, but he’s going to dig around a bit to see if anything pops. If the man in the photo is Paul, we know he was probably in the military. I’m sure there must be another photo of him somewhere. It’s a long shot, a really long shot, but I figured it didn’t hurt to ask.”
“This guy must be a really good friend of yours if he’s willing to go to all that trouble for a very long shot.”
Vikki grinned but didn’t reply. I didn’t have to ask to know the FBI agent was another one of her conquests.
Chapter 8
I called Jack, who agreed to call Heather again to ask about someone wearing a black hoodie to the party. We also agreed on the time he’d pick me up for dinner that night, to a new restaurant on a neighboring island he’d been wanting to try. I’d been resisting the idea of dating Jack for weeks, but now that I’d finally taken the plunge, I realized I’d been crazy to fight it in the first place. Jack was kind and honest, as well as brave, handsome, and intelligent. He was everything I’d ever wanted in a man, which made me wonder what in the heck I’d been waiting for.
After I hung up I untied Blackbeard from his post and headed out the back door to enjoy a bit of fresh air. It was a perfect fall day, crisp and sunny with only a hint of a breeze in the air. I’d been so busy lately that I hadn’t had much time to enjoy the fall color that had begun to fade but still lingered in some areas.
Blackbeard seemed content to ride quietly on my shoulder as I passed the small cabins dotted around the property, heading toward the white sand of the nearby beach. The turtles were gone, but I could still see the roped-off areas where they’d had their nests. When I’d first moved to the island and taken on the responsibility of both the resort and the wildlife that made its home there, I remembered feeling completely overwhelmed. But I’d taken my responsibilities seriously and learned what I needed to, and now I found I was looking forward to next spring, when the turtles would return to lay their eggs.
“What a beautiful day,” I said aloud as the waves from the calm sea gently rolled onto the shore. I took a deep breath and allowed the serenity around me to chase the tension from my body. “It’s so peaceful and quiet on the island now that the shorter winter months are near.”
“No place like home, no place like home.”
“You’re right about that,” I said to Blackbeard. “I really do hope Garrett is able to move back to the resort with us. I’m sure you’d enjoy having him around every day.”
“Man overboard, man overboard.”
“Yes, I know Garrett has been away since he’s been sick, but it seems like he’s doing better. I guess I should mention that Garrett is considering moving home to the others before Thanksgiving. I’m sure they’ll all welcome him into our little family, but it would be best that they knew what we were thinking before he comes for dinner.” I dug my bare feet into the sand as the warm water lapped over them. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for him to have to give up the life he loved so much.”
“Grass is greener, grass is greener.”
“Yes, sometimes people do move because they’re chasing after something better, but in Garrett’s case, I think the grass is greenest right here at the resort.”
I paused as the photo of Trey flashed into my mind. In the beginning, I hadn’t found him to be particularly sympathetic, but the photo Clara had shown me seemed to portray something more than the self-centered jerk I’d believed him to be. There was no way for me, or anyone, to know what he was thinking at that moment, but I’d experienced a moment in my own life recently that had allowed me to imagine what he might have been feeling. When the photo was taken, Trey was a couple of months away from the draft that would bring about a huge change in his life. I’d assumed, as had most of the people who’d known him, that being drafted would be a good thing that would allow him to realize his dreams, but it would also require him to leave his old life behind. I suppose the achievement of that dream might have seemed bittersweet.
“I guess we should head back,” I said to Blackbeard. “I have a date tonight and I need to get cleaned up.”
“Captain Jack, Captain Jack.”
“Yes, with Captain Jack. He’s pretty great. I can see why you’re so fond of him.”
“Secret kisses, secret kisses.”
I smiled. The thought of stolen moments and secret kisses had been simmering at the back of my mind all day.
******
The restaurant, which was perched on a bluff overlooking the ocean, turned out to be a very nice steak house featuring fresh seafood and melt-in-your-mouth fillets. Jack ordered a nice bottle of wine while I looked over the menu, finally deciding on a small fillet and a petite lobster tail. Jack ordered steak and crab and we both started with a salad.
On the drive there, Jack had told me he’d spoken to Heather about the individual in the black hoodie. She didn’t remember anyone at the party wearing a hoodie of any color, although, she said, she likely wouldn’t have unless the person had stood out for some reason. He’d brought up C. Menow and Heather had sworn she had no idea who that was and had never seen the Facebook page, though she agreed to look at it when she got home that evening and would let Jack know if anything about it stood out to her.
I shared with Jack the conversation I’d had with Alex just thirty minutes before he’d picked me up. He’d had a long chat with Dexter and he seemed well over his adoration for Trey. Alex felt he hadn’t said or done anything that would indicate he was responsible for his death. I thought about Dexter and his reputation for being a nerd in high school. In many ways, a man with above-average intelligence and below-average social skills was a good candidate for becoming obsessed with another person to the extent they might stalk and photograph them. I had no proof that Dexter was C. Menow, but I’d looked him up online and found he had a slight build. Of course, by the time of the party, Dexter was a senior in college and might have worked through his socially awkward phase, no longer having the need to follow Trey around. Still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to take him off the maybe list. If it turned out Dexter was C. Menow, I’d be inclined to add him to the suspect list despite Alex’s impression of him.
Jack and I had agreed that once we reached the restaurant we’d put shop talk on hold and attempt to have a discussion of the more personal kind.
