by E. R. Torre
Robinson remained quiet as Sinclair had his say. Once again I strained to hear any of the conversation, but it was like watching a television set on mute. Whatever Sinclair said, it had an effect on Robinson. His anger withered away, replaced with deep shame. Robinson was in some kind of trouble and Sinclair was either scolding him or offering a way out. Maybe both.
After a few moments of talking, Sinclair eased back. A serpentine smile filled his face. He had his say and Robinson was left quiet and humbled. He turned away from Sinclair and stared at the hills and, farther along in the distance, Viktor’s mountain.
Robinson then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He grabbed a wad of bills and handed them to Sinclair.
Sinclair's serpentine smile remained on his face as he counted the cash. Once done, he pocketed his treasure. The smile on his face faded, replaced with an almost sinister look. He rested his right hand on Robinson's left shoulder. I had a clear view of his face now. I couldn't read lips, but Sinclair's words were brief and forceful.
"I'll take care of it," he mouthed. "You won't regret this."
He patted Robinson’s shoulder and tossed his cigarette onto the highway. It was so close I could almost smell it. Sinclair walked away and Robinson watched. His hand shook a little, less from anger than exhaustion. He slowly replaced his wallet in his pocket. He said something else and Sinclair turned. A grim smile was on his face.
"I'll expect more,” Sinclair said, his voice clear as day. “Much more.”
The scene cracked and shattered before dissolving into a blur of watercolors. The greens ran down and disappeared into the ground. All color faded. Everything turned white. Everything—
BEEP!
The car horn came from nowhere. My blood froze and I braced myself for the hit. I saw the blue color of my truck -or was it the sky- and closed my eyes? There was no impact. Very slowly, I opened my eyes again.
I was back. The snowy fields surrounded me and I was standing next to my SUV. A small yellow import was parked behind my car, the wear on its body proof that it had survived several winters. I turned away, to see the spot where Robinson and Sinclair argued. They were both gone. Long gone.
Behind me, the occupant of the yellow import stepped out of his car. It was Nick Jones.
I watched helplessly as he approached, unsure of what to do. I was still weak and lightheaded, confused by the transition from winter to summer and back again. There was no way I could defend myself should Nick once again attack. I tried to clear my head, but couldn't. I thought about running, but in my present state I wouldn’t get very far. There wasn’t even time to get into the SUV.
So I stood very still while every instinct screamed for me to run.
Nick looked me over with an expression that was hard to read. He didn't look angry but, in this desolate area, he could take his sweet time to finish the job he started outside the theatre.
"Mr. Towne?" Nick said. His voice was surprisingly mild. "I...I'm glad I spotted you."
He paused and silently eyed me. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath.
"I wanted to apologize for last night. I acted like a complete..."
He stopped and shook his head, then turned away and walked back to his car.
"This isn't an easy thing for me to do,” he said when he reached his car’s door. What he said was directed more to himself than to me. “I used to date her, but she's free now. Sometimes I think about the past and forget it’s gone. It wasn't my place to do what I did last night, drunk or not."
Once again, Nick paused. There was a genuine anguish and sincerity behind his words.
“You must have been quite a couple,” I said.
"The best," Nick replied.
“She still cares for you,” I said. In spite of my own feelings for her, there was no way to deny this, much as I would have liked to.
“I know,” Nick said. “She was the love of my life. But it could never be. It's over and I have no right to intrude, regardless…” His thought, incomplete, lingered. “I drove here to apologize to her, but I saw you on the side of the road and..."
Again his voice trailed off. The next words came out as if forcibly pried from his mouth.
"I guess you're here to see her."
"Yes, I am," I said quietly.
He nodded.
"Treat her well."
Nick entered his car and started it up. He made a sharp U-turn and drove off toward Viktor, where he had come from.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
I stopped the SUV in front of a cast iron metal gate that shielded the perimeter of Judith Robinson's estate. Beyond the gate were snow covered trees that stood guard beside a road that vanished into the woods. A little below the level of my vehicle's window was a metal post. On it was an intercom. I pressed the white button in the middle of the intercom and heard a low buzz.
"Yes?"
"Robert Towne, to see Judith."
There came a loud click, followed by the electric hum of machinery. The metal gate swung open in a smooth, elegant motion. Once it was fully open, I pressed down on the gas.
The Robinson estate was impressive. As I drove on, it felt like I had entered an enormous hidden world of snow and natural wonder. The trees lining the road were old and enormous. I couldn’t help but wonder when they had been planted. In the spring and summer their foliage would create the impression of driving through a living tunnel. Because they were bare, however, sunlight filtered down to the road in irregular intervals.
After a while I reached a fork in this road. To the right appeared the first hints of Judith's house in the form of an elegant gray roof that towered over the skeletal trees. I turned to the right and drove down that path. Soon, I saw the entire house unencumbered by the trees.
It was no house, rather a grand and palatial mansion. It was surrounded with smaller trees and bushes, all of which were covered with snow. The front of the house was designed in a Greek revival motif. Large white columns, four in total, rose from the patio to the roof. They looked like the Parthenon, magically restored to its former glory.
Large windows stood behind the columns while, on the patio, wood chairs were arranged for whatever company might stop by. Peeking out from the left side of the mansion was a frozen lake, its surface mostly covered with snow. The exception was a large area that was swept clean, revealing the lake's glistening icy surface.
As I drove closer, I noticed a large black metal bench to the side of the lake. Judith sat there, almost completely hidden. She was in the process of putting on a pair of white ice skates. She talked to someone standing behind a snow covered bush, just outside my view.
Whoever it was she was talking to irritated her. She turned her head sharply toward this hidden person and made brief, angry statements. At one point she shook her head and raised her hands. Her movements reminded me of the vision of her Grandfather arguing with Lewis Sinclair.
I turned my attention from Judith to the road. The mansion had a circular parking area in the middle of which was an elaborately sculpted statue of a crying maiden. I slowed the SUV to a stop and parked behind a mint silver Mercedes. The car was an older model, perhaps from the sixties or early seventies. It belonged in a place like this.
Once parked, I exited the SUV and walked past the Mercedes. It was a hard top convertible two-seater with a gaudy red interior. There was no trace of snow on the car and its hood still emitted faint waves of heat.
Beyond the car lay the entrance to the mansion. The huge double doors were made of a dark brown wood held together with solid slabs of dark metal. Though the columns were ancient Greek design, the doors looked like they belonged to a medieval fortress. Rather than enter the formal way, I walked straight to Judith.
As I neared the frozen lake, I slowed. Judith’s voice, bitter and angry, rose and fell. Another voice, lower and more in control, responded. This voice was familiar, but it took a few seconds for me to identify it as that of Lewis Sinclair.
"But Judi
th," Sinclair pleaded. “Your Grandfather would have wanted—”
"No," Judith shot back. "Whatever my Grandfather would have wanted me to do is irrelevant. In a few months, when I’m in control of the estate, I’ll make the decisions about any and all investments and I have no intention whatsoever of including you in any of those business decisions. Get it through your head, I'm not my Grandfather."
There was a long pause. Then Judith's voice returned, now more exasperated than angry.
"Look, you two were good friends. I get that. You made a great team for many, many years and you guys were practically brothers. But I don’t share your interests. I could care less about properties or shopping plazas or any of that other crap you want me to invest in. Why is it so hard for you to accept this?"
"You don't understand," Sinclair replied. "For five years I've waited for your Grandfather's estate to be turned over to you. You don’t know how many hours and days and weeks I’ve worked on these proposals. It’s not easy making the right contracts and laying the proper foundations. I’ve given you all my plans and you've never once told me to stop. On the contrary, I thought you appreciated my work. I thought you—”
"I'm sorry you wasted your time," Judith said. "But your memory of our conversations is very selective.”
“But—”
“How many times did I tell you to find different investors? Like last week, when I mentioned Land Line or Platinum Estates.”
“Please…”
“No.”
“Come on, Judith,” Sinclair continued, his voice increasingly desperate. “At least give these documents a look. Please?"
“I’m sorry, Lewis.”
That was the end of the conversation. Judith rose to her feet and skated away, leaving Sinclair alone. He walked to the edge of the lake, his hands open by his side. His head slumped down, pathetically. In a strange way, he too reminded me of this last vision of John Robinson, only the roles were reversed. Sinclair no longer had the upper hand.
I walked forward, toward Sinclair, and pretended to just arrive.
"Hello Mr. Sinclair," I said as cheerfully as possible.
Lewis Sinclair's face immediately lightened up. He looked directly at me with a smile that completely masked whatever disappointment he felt during his talk with Judith.
"How are you doing? Mr...Towne is it?"
"You've got a good memory for names," I said. I extended my hand.
Lewis Sinclair's smile remained frozen on his face, like the icy surface of the lake that lay beside him. He eagerly shook my hand.
"Judith told me quite a bit about you. How could I not remember you? Nasty business at the Inn."
I released Sinclair's hand and turned away. We focused on Judith as she skated in the near distance.
"The Inn?" I said, carefully feigning ignorance and apathy. I waved at Judith. She saw me, but didn't wave back.
“Come on,” Sinclair insisted. “It’s in all the papers and it’s the talk of town. A tourist was shot at the Green Manor Inn last night. My understanding is that you’re staying there. Surely you heard something about it?"
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. The police would rather I didn’t talk about it.”
“Oh, so you do know,” Sinclair said. A devious glint appeared on his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were somehow involved.”
“In a way,” I acknowledged. Sinclair leaned in closer and it was difficult to not say anything. “I found the body.”
“How terrible!”
"His name was Karl Walker."
"You knew him?" Sinclair gasped. His face registered what might have been genuine shock. But with Sinclair it was hard to tell what was real and what was a creative fantasy. It was surprising he didn't make it further in his field of choice.
"I met him by Viktor’s mountain,” I continued. In for a penny… “He was nice enough. Only someone didn’t think so and shot him through the eye. It was an ugly way to die."
"I have yet to hear of a pleasant way to die, Mr. Towne," Sinclair said. A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eye. His words sounded like they were from a movie. Perhaps Sinclair lived his own private film twenty four hours each day.
He turned away and glanced once again at Judith. Traces of disappointment returned to his face but he abruptly shook them off.
"I must go,” he said. “I'll catch you later, I suppose.” He paused and added: “Give Judith my regards."
Sinclair walked around the corner and to the silver Mercedes. He fumbled for his keys before entering and driving off. When he was gone, I stepped onto the frozen lake. Given the slick surface, it was hard to move forward in snow boots. After a few steps and a couple of near falls, I stopped.
At the other side of the icy surface was Judith. I stood still and watched her skate for a few moments. Her movements were elegant at times, but at other times her concentration and grace were gone. She slipped a few times. Once, she hit a rut and barely avoided a spectacular fall. She cursed loudly, displaying an anger far greater than the situation merited.
After a while it dawned on me that she was avoiding me much like she was doing with Sinclair.
“Was it something I did?”
The words were cryptic enough to draw a gaze from Judith. She skidded to a stop and shook her head. Even from fifty some odd feet away, I could see tears roll down her cheeks.
“Sinclair’s gone,” I added.
Judith ran her gloved hands over her face. She slid forward, propelled by light strokes of her legs. She was back to avoiding me. There was only one card left to play.
"I saw Nick Jones."
Judith abruptly stopped. She straightened and skated to my side.
"Where?” she asked. “How was he?"
I stared deep into Judith’s eyes and, for a second or two, held back. Despite whatever difficulties they had, Judith and Nick loved and missed each other. Judith had the same pained look on her face that Nick displayed less than a half hour before.
I lowered my head and noted the shimmering ice below. I barely knew Judith, but she touched me deeply. In this short time I had grown to like, perhaps even love, her. The feeling, I realized, was not mutual. Despite their difficulties, Judith was as committed to Nick Jones as he was to her.
If I wanted to, I could drive a wedge into this commitment. It would be easy to cast Nick in a bad light, to lie about our confrontation and bolster myself in Judith’s eyes. As tempting as it was, if I stood any chance at all with her, it would not be because of lies.
"He felt guilty about what he did yesterday," I said. "He wanted to apologize to you."
Judith tried to hold back her surprise and delight, but she wasn't as good an actor as Lewis Sinclair. Her emotions cracked through the porcelain beauty of her face.
"He should have come by. Why didn't he?"
"Maybe he was ashamed,” I said. “He also apologized for hitting me."
Judith took a deep breath. The turmoil within her grew and a small tear formed in her left eye. She turned away from me and skated with great vigor and speed to the far end of the lake, as far away from me as she could get. Her clumsiness was gone. She skated with grace and energy, uplifted where moments before she was down.
She was so beautiful.
I felt very alone standing at the edge of the lake, watching. After a while, Judith grew tired and slowed down. She smiled and let out a spontaneous, relieved laugh. Her hands came to her mouth and she looked at me, embarrassed by that momentary outburst of…
Joy. Pure, unadulterated joy.
I smiled and tried to show her I was happy for her, while deep inside I felt my soul crumble. Judith leisurely skated back to my side. She took several deep breaths while beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She massaged her right leg.
“Ouch,” she said but remained smiling. “Nothing like a good run early in the morning.”
“I wouldn’t know. Not too many people back home have frozen lakes in their back yard.”
“Then they don’t know
what they’re missing,” she said and laughed. "How about some breakfast?"
Judith retreated to her room to change and left me alone with her housekeeper in the dining room. The room was bigger than my entire apartment. At its center was a beautiful mahogany table capable of sitting twelve or more guests. I sat at the edge of the large table, close to the door leading into the kitchen. In front of me was a stone fireplace. Wood crackled as it was consumed by the flames, its warmth making the ridiculously large room very comfortable. I looked to my left, then behind. A large double window looked out at the frozen lake. I could still see the cuts Judith's skates made on the ice, scars on its otherwise pristine and polished surface.
“More bacon?” the housekeeper asked.
“Sure.”
Her name was Carol. She was in her sixties and was short and more than a little overweight. Her hair and face were gray and she had the look of someone who devoted herself entirely to another without caring for herself. She was the one who opened the gate for me when I first arrived at the estate.
Despite her ragged appearance, Carol was very friendly and had a radiant smile that almost hid the fact that our conversation was, for the most part, very shallow.
“It’s quite a place,” I said as she laid a couple of strips of bacon on my plate.
“You get used to it.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Sometimes it seems like forever,” she said. “Coffee?”
“No thanks. I’ve heard so much about Judith’s Grandfather. How was he?”
“Not all that different from the films, if you take away all that detective stuff. He was surprisingly normal.”
“Surprisingly?”
Carol walked to the fireplace. She grabbed a poker from its stand and stabbed at the burning logs.
“I suppose we’re all normal, when it comes down to it,” she said. “Some of us live in castles while others live in shacks. Some of us are gifted with talent while others grind out each day. One thing’s for sure, we’re all equal in the end.”
In the end.
