Death in a Beach Chair

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Where were you all morning? Jed said he couldn’t find you.”

  “I took a walk on the beach.” Kathleen sighed and closed her eyes again. “I didn’t want to see anyone. I’m so worried about Jerry, and I just can’t think of anything to do to help him. Except…”

  “Except what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s probably a stupid idea. I’ll tell you about it… later.”

  “Are you feeling nauseous?” Susan asked. “Shall I call the doctor back?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. You know, this might help Jerry.”

  “How?”

  “If he’s guilty, why would someone want to hurt me? Doesn’t it make sense that the murderer hit me over the head? So isn’t that proof that Jerry’s innocent?”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Susan agreed reluctantly. If Kathleen, after her experience as a police officer, could believe that, she might actually be suffering from a concussion.

  “I think we should call the local police and tell them what happened to me just now,” Kathleen insisted, starting to sit up.

  “Okay. But you have to lie down. And I need to talk to you before we call anyone. I saw Jerry!”

  “How is he?” Kathleen asked as though she hadn’t seen her husband herself an hour or so before Susan’s visit.

  Susan smiled. “He’s just fine. He-he sent his love.” Well, she told herself, he would have if he hadn’t been so busy babbling about the supposed similarities between his two wives. “But I stopped in a bar downtown before coming back here.”

  “Susan, that doesn’t sound like you! Did Jerry say something that upset you?”

  “No,” Susan lied. “I was thirsty. I ordered lemonade. I had no idea that it would be full of rum and vodka.”

  Kathleen grinned. “Not a bad surprise.”

  “Well, I wasn’t driving. Anyway, the bartender told me something that surprised me, too.”

  “That Jerry and Allison met in his bar the afternoon of the day she was killed.”

  “You know! Kathleen, how do you know that?”

  “He told me. Remember I was looking for him that day? Well, I was furious that he had vanished like that without telling me, and that night we had a big argument. I asked him what was going on, and he-” She stopped and looked toward the front door. “Look outside and make sure we can’t be overheard before I go on, will you?”

  “Of course.” Susan leapt up and looked out the door. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and the guests and staff could have been models posing for photographs advertising the joys of Compass Bay. They were swimming, sunning, kayaking, playing cards in the bar. No one was skulking around the Gordons’ cottage eavesdropping on Susan and Kathleen. “We’re fine,” she assured her friend, coming back inside and moving near the bed. “Now go on. You and Jerry had an argument and…”

  “And he told me that Allison had been following him around ever since we got here. If he sat by the pool, she pulled up a chair close by. If he went for a walk on the beach, she appeared there. He said he had gone into town to get away from her, and she was sitting in the bar he went into as though she was waiting for him to arrive.”

  “Really? But how would Allison have even known he was going to be in town?”

  “I wondered that myself. But I was in the office the other day when the honeymooners-I suppose we should call them the doctor and her husband rather than the honeymooners now-well, they asked Lila to call them a cab to take them to town, and it occurred to me that Allison could have been following Jerry around and overheard him do the same thing. Then she left before he did and just waited for him to run into her there.”

  “I suppose that’s possible. It’s an awfully small place. It would be easy for that to happen.” Susan thought for a moment. “I think we should call the police and tell them about the person who assaulted you.”

  “Oh, I do, too. Maybe they’ll free Jerry before dinner.”

  “Kath…”

  “Susan, I know it’s not realistic, but I can hope, can’t I?”

  “Sure. You stay here. I’ll go over to the office and call them.”

  “Great.” Kathleen closed her eyes, and Susan headed off on her errand.

  Lila was in the office and she looked up, concerned, when Susan walked in. “Is Mrs. Gordon feeling worse? Shall I call for a doctor?”

  “No, Kathleen’s fine. She wants to talk to the police. I wonder if you would call them for her.”

  “Of course. May I ask what’s the matter?”

  “I think Kathleen should be the person to talk about this,” Susan said.

  “Of course. There should be an officer at her cottage in a very few minutes. Perhaps the lawyer who is handling Mr. Gordon’s case should be called, too.” Lila’s hand hovered in the air above the phone.

  “No, I think just the police. Thanks. I’ll go back and tell Kath that they’re on the way.”

  “Good. Mrs. Henshaw…”

  “Yes?”

  “Our island police may not wear fancy uniforms or have a lot of sophisticated equipment, but they’re not idiots.”

  “I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” Susan admitted.

  “Just that they are not as credulous as you would like to believe.”

  “I don’t believe that they are anything like that,” Susan said firmly, turning and heading back to Kathleen’s cottage.

  As Lila had promised, two uniformed police officers were on the deck of the cottage almost before Susan had finished telling her friend what Lila had said.

  As well as being prompt, they were polite, professional, and completely unwilling to believe Kathleen’s story.

  “I think you fell and hit your head,” the youngest officer stated. “Head injuries can be strange. You may have imagined the big man coming up and hitting you.”

  “I didn’t say anything about a big man! I said someone! How do you think I got this bump on my head if someone didn’t hit me?”

  “You fell. You hit your head. It happens,” the older man said in an offhanded manner.

  “I’m telling you that I was assaulted. You should file a report. You should be asking me questions. You should start to look for whomever it was who did this to me! You are holding my husband without any real reason at all, and there is someone loose here who has criminally assaulted me! That person and the murderer could be-very possibly are-the same person! And you’re doing nothing!”

  “Mrs. Gordon, we are not doing nothing. We will file a report, which will require much paperwork. We will investigate your allegation that this strange man-or woman-knocked you out. If there is a crime here, we will do our very best to find the person who committed it. But there is no connection that I or my partner can see between this and the brutal murder of Miss Allison McAllister. Except for the involvement of your family in both crimes.”

  “I-what? But that’s ridiculous!”

  “Not so ridiculous. Let me tell you a story.”

  Kathleen ground her teeth so tightly that Susan could hear them skid, but she merely nodded and the police officer began.

  “Years ago when my father joined the police force, there was another murder on the island. A young woman kill another young woman. She think if this other young woman dead, then the woman’s fiancé will fall in love with her and marry her. But he did not love her, and in time, he found another woman to love. So, as you might guess, the woman who murdered his first fiancé murdered the second. That’s when we caught her, of course.”

  “So what? You just proved what I was saying to you! If you think Jerry killed Allison, do you think he assaulted me, too? While you have him locked up? Are you nuts?” she asked, sitting up in bed and scowling at the men.

  “This is a small island, Mrs. Gordon, but we have our bad people, too. A person who is locked up, a person of means as your husband appears to be-” He stopped and looked around the luxury cottage before going on. “A person like that could hire a bad p
erson to do these things for him.”

  “My husband would not hire someone to hurt me!” Kathleen said, standing up and yelling right in the oldest officer’s face. “Get out of my cottage. Now!”

  “We must file report. We’ll be back for you to sign it,” the younger man said.

  “I won’t sign anything,” Kathleen said, turning her back on the men. “Now please leave my cottage.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “You should lie back down,” Susan said, trying to guide Kathleen toward the bed. “Please, Kath. You can’t help Jerry unless you take care of yourself.”

  Kathleen sat on the bed. “I don’t seem to be capable of helping Jerry period.”

  “I’m going to call Frances Adams. Maybe she can help us.”

  “Who?”

  “Frances Adams. The American embassy representative on the island.”

  “Oh, yes. I met her. That might be a good idea,” Kathleen said quietly.

  “Are you all right? Are you feeling nauseous? Faint?”

  “I’m just terribly tired. You know, I think I will lie down for a while. Maybe take a nap.”

  “I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

  “You should. I’m okay, Susan. Just unhappy and tired. You go do what you have to do. Maybe you can help Jerry. I sure don’t seem to be able to.”

  “I’ll call Ms. Adams.”

  “And I’ll take a nap.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’ll be fine. One thing about these louvered windows-someone will hear if I call out.”

  “I guess so. You know one thing that bothers me about this place?”

  “What?”

  “The lack of phones. I hate the fact that Lila or someone in the office overhears all our conversations.”

  “We should have brought international cell phones. You can rent them. Jerry actually suggested it, but I didn’t want him checking in with work and vetoed the idea. What an idiot I was.”

  “You had no idea all this was going to happen.”

  “You can say that again.” Kathleen closed her eyes.

  “Do you want me to wake you up for dinner?”

  “When are you going to eat?”

  “Around seven?”

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant. Save me a seat.”

  “Sure. See you then.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Susan smiled. Kathleen was already drifting off to sleep, so she quietly shut the door and started toward the office, stopping to stick her head in the gift shop. James was lounging against the wall, smiling seductively at the attractive young woman who was sitting behind the cash register pretending to work. Susan thanked him for his help in organizing and moving Kathleen, then explained that her friend was resting. “She promised me she would yell out if she needed something. Since you’re close by, I wonder if you would just keep an ear out-just in case.”

  “Of course. Lila expects us to do all we can to help the guests. I’m here until six tonight. If she calls, I’ll run.”

  “Thank you so much,” Susan said, thinking that she was going to have a lot to remember when it came time to pass out tips.

  Lila was in her office with the door closed. A woman Susan didn’t recognize was manning the desk. “I need to make a phone call,” Susan said.

  “Of course, Mrs. Henshaw. Do you need a phone book?”

  “I want to speak to Frances Adams. She works for the United States embassy office.”

  “I can get that number for you. We have it right here in this little book.” She flipped through the pages of a small, worn notebook and found the number immediately. “I can dial for you. Phones on this island are not what you’re used to in the United States.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” Susan didn’t say any more as the door to Lila’s office opened and she came out, followed by the two officers who had been so horrible to Kathleen. In an example of dreadful timing, their appearance coincided with the call going through.

  “Ms. Adams,” the young woman announced in a tone no one could ignore and handed Susan the receiver.

  “Thank you.” There was nothing she could do but take the call. “Hello, Ms. Adams. This is Susan Henshaw… Of course, Frances. I-” She paused and looked at her audience. “I’d like to speak to you about something… Wherever it would be convenient… Let me write down the address.” The woman who had dialed the embassy for Susan pushed a pencil and paper toward her. “Thank you.” Susan wrote quickly. “I’ll be there in less than half an hour. Bye.” She handed the receiver back. “I must go get my purse and talk to Jed. Could you call me a cab and tell them this is where I need to go? Thanks.”

  Susan turned and walked away without even acknowledging the police officers’ presence. Back at her cottage she found Jed napping after his large lunch. Susan woke him enough to tell him what she was doing and then wrote a note in case he woke up later and couldn’t remember a thing she had said. Finally she grabbed her purse and took off.

  Susan’s cab once again splattered coral chips into the sky as it took off toward town. As they approached the more populated area of the island, her driver made a sharp turn and entered what looked to be jungle. The trees narrowly parted for the dirt road, and the buildings disappeared.

  Susan leaned forward so the driver could hear what she said over the noise of his engine. “This isn’t the right way!” she yelled. “I’m going to see Frances Adams. She works at the United States embassy offices.”

  “Yes. Ms. Adams. That’s where I take you,” he yelled back, swerving to avoid a scrawny black chicken busily pecking at something in the middle of their path.

  “This isn’t the way to the embassy, is it? We don’t seem to be going downtown,” Susan called back when she could sit up again.

  “Not embassy. Not downtown. Ms. Adams. You wait. You’ll see.”

  For the first time the possibility of kidnapping occurred to Susan. Who had told this driver where to take her? She was alone in a foreign country. No one knew where she was. She could vanish, and no one would ever be the wiser. Jed would look for her. Kathleen would look for her. She wouldn’t have succeeded in helping Jerry, and he might rot in a foreign prison. She was busily creating a plot for a B movie, when, pulling the steering wheel sharply to the right, the taxi driver flew between two large stone columns and entered paradise.

  It was, quite simply, the most beautiful place Susan had ever seen. Deep green lawns were bracketed by wide beds where tropical flowers rioted. The white pebble drive led up to a pale peach stucco house fronted by a wide mahogany veranda. White stone steps led down to the ground, and Susan could imagine Cole Porter, wearing a white tuxedo jacket, martini in hand, descending to greet his guests.

  Instead Frances Adams, in well-worn jeans, a white linen camp shirt, and pink plastic flip-flops on her feet, appeared at the top of the stairs, waved, and called out a greeting.

  The cabdriver slowly approached the house, got out, and opened the door for his passenger. Susan fumbled around in her purse.

  “I pick you up. You pay me then.”

  “That’s fine, but how will I call you?”

  “Ms. Adams knows how,” he explained, and climbed back in his cab and drove off.

  “I like that driver,” Frances Adams said. “He doesn’t make a mess of the drive the way many of the other drivers do.”

  “This is incredible,” Susan said, looking around. From the vantage point of the house, the garden seemed almost to embrace them. “And absolutely gorgeous.”

  “It had what gardeners call good bones when I arrived; the main beds were laid out and most of the walls built. The house was in disrepair, but still very beautiful. I’ve lived here for sixteen years and put most of my free time and much of my money into this place. Gardening is a passion.

  “But we’re not here to talk about me. Come inside. We’ll have some tea and talk.”

  Susan followed her hostess up the broad stairs, through open French doors, and into a spac
ious hall that ran straight to the rear of the house. The doors at the far end of the hallway were also open, and Susan spied a small swimming pool in the middle of another even more beautiful garden.

  “The living room is that way.” Frances Adams pointed to the right. Susan saw an elegant room with formal furniture and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “But I usually only use it for official functions. Let me show you my bolt-hole, my library.”

  They turned to the left, crossing the highly polished hallway and through more French doors into a large room, lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Two large, worn deep couches covered in claret linen faced the wide windows on the fourth side of the room. Behind one couch, a scarred table supported a computer, printer, and a mess of papers and books. Frances Adams nodded at the computer. “My downfall. I am addicted to books-all books, but my particular passion is old gardening books. It was bad enough when letters and catalogues from stores and dealers around the world arrived by mail. But the Internet, alas, has made it all too easy for me to indulge.

  “Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

  “Not really,” Susan admitted.

  “Then how about a drink? I have some rum that is made in the hills on an unnamed island. It’s not completely legal to make and is never exported. We drink it in very small glasses. It’s quite a treat and something few tourists get to sample.”

  “How could I pass that up?” Susan said, wandering around the room and examining the books, as her hostess walked over to a small table set between the windows and poured two tiny drinks from a cut-crystal decanter.

  “Here is yours,” she said, offering one to Susan.

  Susan tore herself away from the bookshelves and sat down on the closest couch. She picked up her glass of dark hazel liquid and took a sip, suddenly nervous.

  “Wow! That’s amazing,” she exclaimed, blinking.

  “It is, isn’t it? Now, what did you come here to see me about?”

  “I’m-this is going to sound silly,” Susan started.

  “It’s about the murder, I assume? And your friend, Mr. Gordon?”