by Vicki Delany
“Mrs.”
“Does your husband help manage the resort?”
“I’m a widow.” I used a tone of voice that meant the topic was not up for discussion. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“That drink?”
“I’ve had enough for tonight, thank you.”
“A dance, then?”
“I don’t dance when I’m working. Have a nice evening.” I walked away, heading for the buffet table to check that it was ready for the desserts to be brought out. I felt Richard Kennelwood’s eyes on my back.
He seemed nice; he seemed friendly. His father had also seemed nice and friendly, before trying to destroy us.
Chapter 5
I had a quick word in Velvet’s ear as she and her newest partner danced past me. “That single man is Jerome Kennelwood’s son. Stay away.”
“Got it,” she said before being whisked across the room.
The windows had been flung open and the fans turned on, but there were too many people in the enclosed hall, and the air was thick with cigarette smoke, alcohol fumes, and perfume too heavily applied. I went outside for a breath of fresh air. The excessive heat of the day had dropped fractionally, and a gentle wind blew off the lake. Lamps lighting the paths and shining above doorways threw a soft yellow glow into the night. The trees on the hills all around us were wrapped in darkness. A young couple walked past, holding hands, and a rowboat headed for the dock, returning from an evening fishing expedition.
I took a deep breath. Helping my mother run a Catskills resort, desperately trying to keep the place profitable, might not have been part of my plans for my life, but I had to admit I was happy here. It was a simple life in a beautiful place, and it suited me. It even suited me—at this point in time, anyway—to live with my mother. We’d never been close, to put it mildly, as I’d been raised by Aunt Tatiana and her late husband, Rudolph. While Olivia danced in pursuit of her dreams of stage and screen glory, Tatiana and Rudolph stayed in Brooklyn, ran their corner store and newsstand, and had loved and looked after me. Uncle Rudolph died a couple of years ago.
A few of the guests also in search of a breath of fresh air slipped out of the building. A dance partner–waiter came onto the veranda with his arm tucked into that of an elderly guest. She wore a straight-lined, calf-length red dress that would have been all the rage in the jazz clubs of the twenties and red elbow-length gloves. The jewels at her ears, throat, and wrists flashed in the lights from above the door.
“Such a lovely party,” she said to me. “I’m sorry to leave early, but I’m not quite as young as I once was, and I’m all tuckered out.” She walked slowly away, the waiter guiding her. I called good night after them.
A man stepped out of the shadows and climbed the stairs. The white bow tie and heavily starched white shirt under his immaculate black suit shone in the deepening dusk, and his heavy gold cuff links reflected light spilling from the windows.
He nodded to me, said, “Good evening, Miss Grady,” and went inside. It was the silver-haired man I’d seen earlier, standing by himself at the edge of the lake, enjoying the silence.
I followed him across the lobby, up the grand staircase, and into the ballroom. The orchestra was having a break, and the lines at the bar and the food table were long. An angel food cake covered with a thick layer of pink icing dotted with maraschino cherries, platters of Rice Krispie squares, and a glistening pineapple upside-down cake were tonight’s offerings. More than a few of our guests took a piece of everything on offer. Some helped themselves to more than one piece of each.
Richard Kennelwood leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette, watching everyone and everything. The silver-haired man went to the bar and walked away with a highball glass containing one piece of ice and a splash of amber liquid. He made no move to find a seat.
Once the desserts were decimated, the trays replenished, decimated again, the side plates scraped clean, and the lights lowered, Velvet and Randy took the stage. They introduced Charlie Simmonds again, and once again he bounded onto the stage. Charlie shook Randy’s hand, hugged Velvet—taking a bit longer over that than he had the previous time—lit a cigarette, lifted the microphone off its stand, and started to talk.
The Brownville party remained in their seats. Mrs. Brownville sat stiff and disapproving through the whole act, but her husband’s shoulders shook with laughter. At one point I saw her turn her head and give him a ferocious glare. His shoulders slumped.
Charlie’s act the second time around was slightly more risqué than it had been earlier, and a few of his jokes verged on the bluer side, but nothing I’d consider inappropriate for eleven at night. He was booked here for three days, and I wondered if he was checking out the mood of the room tonight, saving the riskier stuff for later in the week. His routine was very Catskills-centered. He said he’d been brought up in Monticello, not far from here, and had spent his summers working at a resort much like Haggerman’s. Except, according to Charlie, the staff members were a lot funnier and the guests a lot wilder. He even got in a couple of digs at management.
Richard Kennelwood had taken a seat next to a young married couple, and he appeared to be enjoying the show. The silver-haired man in the black suit stood at the back of the room, smoking steadily, laughing occasionally, not speaking to anyone. He finished his drink and did not order another.
“You’ve been a great audience. I’ll see you again tomorrow night!” Charlie bowed deeply, and the guests applauded. He hurried off the stage.
The band resumed their places and immediately started an energetic Lindy Hop. I considered going home to bed but decided another grasshopper would not go amiss. We had some good dancers here, guests as well as staff, and it was fun to watch them going through their moves.
I was getting to the bottom of my drink, and the audience was thinning, when the bandleader thanked everyone for coming and told them they’d be back tomorrow with more great tunes.
Show over, people began gathering their things and getting to their feet. I put my empty glass on a table and went to stand next to the door, watching people file out, chatting happily. I heard more than a few say something along the lines of “great show” or “fun night.”
Richard Kennelwood gave me an exaggerated wink as he left. I nodded stiffly, trying not to smile. I hadn’t seen the silver-haired man leave. He must have slipped out, as silently as he’d arrived, when the comedy show finished.
Once the last of the lingering guests left, Rosemary helped the bartenders pack up their supplies, and the busboys came in to clean up the dirty dishes and glasses, discarded napkins, and food remains, and to stack chairs and sweep the floor.
One of the workers, I noticed, was Francis Monahan, who’d earlier caused such chaos in the kitchen. He saw me watching him, gave me a shy smile, blushed furiously, and ducked his head. He loaded his tray dangerously high, and as he turned to leave the ballroom, he almost tripped over one of the bartenders, who’d slid quietly up behind him.
“Whoa there, Francis! Watch where you’re going,” the bartender called. He turned his head and caught the eye of a third worker and smirked. They both laughed heartily.
I considered asking them what they thought they were playing at, but before I could move, Velvet handed me a coupe glass full of dancing bubbles. “You look like you could use this.” She had one for herself also.
Busboys and bartenders forgotten, I accepted the champagne with a smile. “I’ve probably had enough, but thanks.” I took a sip and sighed with contentment as the bubbles tickled my throat. “I’d say that went over rather well.”
“It did. I overheard one man say to his wife, ‘Maybe we should try staying at this place next year, honey.’ ”
“That’s what we want to hear.”
I glanced around the almost empty ballroom. Charlie Simmonds had disappeared the moment he stepped off the stage. I was surprised at
that; the acts usually like to have a drink after their show, chat to members of the audience, and ask me what I thought of it.
“What did you think of the comedian?” I asked Velvet.
“I haven’t laughed so hard in ages,” she said. “All the people near me were roaring with laughter. Some people might not have cared for the joke about waiters creeping into the cabins when the housekeeping girls are cleaning them after guests have checked out, though.”
“If anyone objected, I’ll hear about it soon enough. Everything seems to be under control. We’re not needed here. Let’s grab a few minutes and go sit by the lake.”
“Good idea,” Velvet said.
We took our drinks and went outside. Some guests lingered on the veranda, talking; rocking chairs squeaked softly; couples strolled down the paths. Velvet and I turned left onto the lakefront path. We passed the silent and empty tennis and handball courts and the children’s playground, the row of guest cabins, and eventually walked through the line of trees separating the public walkways from the working end of the lake. The bright lights of the path fell behind us as I jumped across the small, rocky creek tumbling out of the hills to spill into Delayed Lake. I turned at a low cry to see Velvet behind me, struggling to keep the contents of her glass from spilling as she tried to keep her footing on a wet rock. I grabbed her arm before she fell in, and she gave me an embarrassed shrug. I laughed, and we carried on. The wooden shacks stuffed full of life jackets and fishing equipment were locked, and canoes and rowboats secured to the service dock, rocking gently on the light waves. The paddleboats had been pulled up onto the shore for the night.
I turned at the sound of footsteps behind us to see Randy hurrying to catch up. “Mind if I join you?”
“It’s a free country,” Velvet said.
“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes.” He stepped between us and linked his arms through ours. “You should be pleased, Elizabeth. I heard nothing but compliments about the evening as the guests were leaving.”
“I’ll tell Olivia,” I said.
A soft woof sounded to our left, and Winston broke out of the trees. He ran up to us and sniffed at our feet, his chubby rump wiggling in delight. Twigs and dead leaves were caught in the short hairs under the dog’s belly and behind his ears.
He followed us to the end of the service dock and snuffled around the crumbling old wood as we lowered ourselves onto the planks. I kicked off my shoes and said “Don’t look” to Randy, hiked up my skirt, and unfastened my stockings. I then swung my legs over the side of the dock, rearranged my skirt, and dangled my feet in the cool water. Velvet did the same, except she didn’t bother to tell Randy not to look before she dropped into a puddle of polka dots and pink tulle.
He sat between us, his knees bent and his arms folded around them. Winston settled on the other side of me and nestled his head into my lap. I stroked his ears with one hand and sipped my drink with the other.
“What’s the story with Richard Kennelwood?” Velvet asked.
“Checking out the competition, so he said. He tried to be friendly, but we’ve been tricked once by his father. I’m not falling for that again.”
“Kennelwood?” Randy said. “From the hotel on the lake at the other end of the channel?” He pointed to his left.
“The very one. The son’s taken over management. If I see him on the property again, I’ll release the hounds.”
Winston grunted.
“I thought your mother might come down tonight,” Randy said. “But she didn’t.”
“She went to the cocktail party earlier, and that was enough for one day. Olivia can never simply relax and enjoy herself. Every time she steps out the front door, she’s making an appearance, putting on a show for the delight of her public.”
“Why do you call her by her name and not ‘Mom’?” Randy asked.
“Is that any of your business?” Velvet said sharply.
“Just being friendly. Don’t answer if you don’t want to, Elizabeth.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “It’s no secret. I was raised mostly by Aunt Tatiana and her husband while Olivia was dancing. Tatiana taught me to call my mother ‘Mama,’ with a Russian accent, the same as she’d called her mother. When I was ten Olivia suggested I drop the ‘Mama.’ So I did.”
“Is it hard for her, not to be onstage anymore?” Randy asked.
“Hard? Yes, very hard. But it can’t have come as a surprise. A dancer doesn’t have a long professional life. Olivia doesn’t have the temperament to teach dance students or to be the artistic director of a tiny dance company in the suburbs.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever met two more different sisters than Olivia and Tatiana,” Randy said.
I chuckled. “No kidding. Tatiana’s seven years older. They say their parents were high-ranking aristocrats who got on the bad side of the czar and had to flee Russia with nothing but their lives, but every Russian immigrant I’ve ever met says something like that. Regardless of their background, their parents came over from Russia dirt poor and worked every minute God gave them. They had no other children, and Tatiana pretty much raised Olivia. One of their neighbors had been a great ballerina before the revolution, or so she claimed anyway, and she introduced Olivia to dance. Tatiana married the son of Russian émigrés, as was expected of her, but Olivia decided that life wasn’t for her, and she went into theater. For all their differences, though, they’re very close.”
I breathed in the air and the silence, and felt as much as I saw Velvet and Randy do the same. A loon called across the lake, and the waxing moon threw rippling rays across the water.
Velvet sucked in the soft night air and spread her arms in front of her. “If I have to work for a living, rather than marry a rich, childless old man who conveniently drops dead on our wedding night, which is my ambition, I couldn’t find a better place to work in.”
“No,” Randy said.
Winston leapt to his feet and began to bark.
I grabbed his collar. “Shush.”
He was normally very placid. We couldn’t have a dog making a fuss, particularly at night, and potentially frightening or disturbing the guests.
He kept barking and strained against my grip.
“He’s sensed something,” Velvet said.
Winston wrenched himself out of my hold and bounded away, running back to shore. Instead of quieting down, the barks got louder and more insistent. Reluctantly, I pulled my feet out of the lovely water, stood up, and slipped on my shoes.
“Don’t look,” I said to Randy once again, as I reached under my dress and stuffed my balled-up stockings into the waistband of my girdle.
“Maybe he’s sensed a deer,” Randy said.
“It’s not a wolf, is it?” Velvet said, also getting up.
“Wolves would never come this close to the buildings,” I said. “A duck perhaps. Could be anything. Winston! Winston! Stop that!”
Far from stopping, the barking increased.
“He doesn’t usually fuss like that,” I said. “We’d better go see what’s gotten into him.”
My friends and I made our way down the dock. A loud splash sounded to the left as something heavy hit the water.
“That’s no duck.” I raised my voice and called into the night. “Is everything okay there? Hello? Is someone there? Do you need help?”
“The silly dog’s gone into the water,” Velvet said. “He’s chasing a log.”
I could see Winston about five feet from shore, his head up as his thick body sliced through the water, heading for a long black shape floating in front of him. It looked very much like a branch that had fallen from one of the trees lining the shore, but I knew right away it wasn’t. Moonlight shone on a flash of white fabric at the back of a neck and one pale hand drifting on the surface of the black water.
“That’s not a log. Someone’s
in the water!” I ran toward the edge of the lake and kicked off my shoes. I realized I was still holding my champagne glass, threw it to one side, and heard it shatter as it hit the ground. I jumped into the lake. Seconds later, two splashes followed in quick succession: Randy and Velvet were behind me. I waded out, fighting the weeds trying to wrap themselves around my legs and the mud sucking at my feet. Winston paddled in circles, still barking. The man in the water was hunched over, face down, arms and legs drifting. I grabbed for him and struggled to flip him over. He moved with the waves but did nothing to help me.
“I’ve got him,” Randy said. “Now!”
We shoved and flipped the man onto his back. Velvet reached us, and together the three of us pushed and pulled the unprotesting weight to shore. Randy and I clambered onto the bank, our feet struggling for purchase, and pulled at the arms while Velvet lifted the legs and Winston swam in excited circles. We dragged the top half of the body out of the water.
I stared into the open, unseeing eyes of the man I’d spoken to by the lake this afternoon, the one who’d stood at the back of the ballroom watching the comedy act. The man from cabin nineteen.
Chapter 6
Randy dropped to his knees, tilted the man’s head back, and lowered his own mouth to the other man’s.
“Is he alive?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” Randy gasped between breaths. “Got to try.”
“What are you doing?” Velvet asked.
“A swimmer on a movie set taught me this trick.” He took another breath. “I’m breathing for him.”
“I’ll call for help.” I set off through the trees, conscious of my bare feet on the small rocks, broken branches, and dead needles, and my sodden dress clinging to my body. As I waded through the creek, I considered going back for my shoes, but I reached the paved path in not more than a few strides and I broke into a run. Winston dashed past me, enjoying the race.
