by Tessa Kelly
I tried to imagine it—no more Kathy’s Bakery.
No more red and white awning over the entrance, no more flowers in the little vases on the tables. No more cheesecake brownies and mocha lattes with the extra whipped cream.
No more job for Sandie. She’d have to find some other way to pay the bills.
I swallowed and gave my sister a quick hug, hoping comforting her would help comfort me as well. “Whether you sell or not, it’ll all work out, right? Maybe it won’t even come to that. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
Marlowe came back with the stick and stood wagging his tail at us. I took the stick and threw it as hard as I could. It flew toward the beach and Marlowe hurtled after it with seemingly boundless energy.
On the terrace above us, Geraldine disappeared inside while Leonie sat down at the card table next to Carl.
“You’re playing Poker, right?” I heard her ask. “I’m kind of terrible at it but I always wanted to learn.”
“You should.” Carl grinned at her, ignoring Susan’s not-so-subtle eye rolls. “We’ll start a new game and I’ll explain the rules as we go.”
He sounded like a good teacher, patiently correcting her moves. Just as Leonie seemed to catch on, Jennifer and John strolled out and asked if they could join in. Jennifer pulled up a chair, wedging herself between her daughter and Vincent. Susan’s face soured and she stared at her cards, ignoring everyone.
Tray suddenly put his cards down. “I’m getting tired of sitting. Think I’ll just go for a walk.” He got up and headed over to us, hopeful eyes raking Kathy’s face. “The atmosphere at that table was getting a little...stuffy. Mind if I join you two?” he whispered.
I grinned and winked at my sister. “Of course we don’t mind, but I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I leave you two alone, and you can hold hands and talk about the sunset or something.”
Kathy laughed as she play-punched me on the arm. “Very subtle, Sandie. You’re terrible.”
Tray just shrugged. “I like pretty much everything she just said. I’ll take that action.”
I left them to it and ran up the steps to the terrace and past the card players. I found Geraldine inside, sitting with Henry and Eric at the bar. She had a glass of some kind of fizzy stuff in front of her. Seeing me, she slid off her stool, taking the drink with her, and hurried over to me.
“How’s your sister, dear?”
“She’ll be okay.” I tried not to think about the possible sale of the bakery looming in our future.
At the bar, Eric and Henry were deep in some discussion. They didn’t turn around at my approach, but Eric’s reflection kept throwing intense glances at me from inside the bar mirror. That made me want to get away from there.
“Actually, what I want is to speak to Dr. Jennings,” I whispered. “Do you know where he might be?”
“I haven’t seen him in a few hours,” she said, “but Henry just came down from taking a nap upstairs. He thought he heard Ronald in his room. Let’s go and check.”
We climbed the stairs to the second floor where Dr. Jennings and Dr. Huber were staying.
“This is Ronald’s room,” Geraldine whispered.
She knocked. A moment later, the door next to it opened, and Dr. Huber looked out. He wore a midnight blue dressing gown over pajamas and slippers.
“I’m sorry, Ronald’s not well,” he explained.
“Oh, no!” Geraldine’s face grew alarmed. “Is it serious?”
“I don’t think so. Just nerves. He gets an occasional bout. I told the hotel to send for a doctor an hour ago, and he gave Ron some pretty powerful sleeping pills. Ron’s out cold, but we thought it would be all right. Since the wedding’s being postponed, we figured you wouldn’t miss us tonight.”
“Of course! Get your rest. I hope Ronald feels better by morning. If there’s anything Henry and I can do, please let us know.”
Dr. Huber thanked her and retreated back into his room. Just like a parent, believing his friend’s drug-induced sleep was also his time to rest. As the door closed behind him, I wondered what could’ve made Dr. Jennings so upset a doctor’s personal visit was necessary. Was it excitement over the tragedy, or something worse?
At that moment, there were rapid footsteps on the stairwell behind us, and Jennifer came up running.
“There you two are!” Her face lit up with a triumphant grin I couldn’t account for. “I was looking all over for you. We just got news from the sheriff’s office. They did the preliminary autopsy on Timothy’s body and, guess what?”
Geraldine and I shrugged as we stared at her. This wasn’t the kind of guessing game either of us wanted to play.
“Just tell us your news, Jennifer,” Geraldine said with an impatient nod.
Gleeful, Jennifer’s eyes darted to me. “The autopsy showed no signs of foul play. There was no struggle, nobody killed him. He drowned, that’s all. The whole thing was an accident.”
She swung on her heels and marched back to the stairs, head held high, her whole posture saying “I told you so.” I watched her go, speechless.
“That doesn’t mean it was really an accident,” Geraldine said. “Does it?”
“No. A preliminary autopsy won’t tell you everything. But I expect the sheriff’s very happy with it. I doubt he’ll want to look any further.”
Geraldine looked confused. “What do you mean, dear?”
“The hotel’s owner is also the sheriff’s nephew,” I told her. “He was the man down at the dock with him earlier. I also saw a picture of him in the sheriff’s office. They like fishing together.”
“I see.” Frowning, she propped her chin with her knuckles again. “Naturally, they’re interested in hushing things up because they don’t want the bad publicity. That’ll make it more difficult for us.”
“Yep. The sheriff might’ve already lifted the ban on the guests leaving the island,” I said. “If not, I’m sure he’s in a hurry to do so.”
Which meant, my investigation was now on a ticking clock.
Chapter 15
I slept fitfully and woke before the sun came up.
My dreams were eerie, invaded by empty docks and creaking floorboards. Dark, faceless figures crouched in the reeds. I was trapped in the hotel, shuffling up and down staircases on legs turned to rubber, trying to get away from a man in a diving suit who crept after me, never too far behind. From the mirror walls, piercing blue eyes watched me unblinkingly. And, through it all, a vague thought buzzed like a fly at my ear, insisting on something important I’d forgotten. Something I should’ve done from the start.
I opened my eyes and blinked into the darkness. Slowly, the fog of the dream cleared, but the thought remained.
How did I not think of this earlier? Rolling over, I reached for my phone on the nightstand.
My brother’s voice came on after the third ring, grumpy and groggy. “Sandie? Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry, Will. I thought you might be at work already.”
My younger brother, a police detective, often kept irregular hours. I felt bad about waking him. He must’ve had a late shift the night before. But what I had to ask couldn’t wait.
“Fine,” he mumbled. “What’s this about? Make it quick.”
I told him in a few words. By the time I finished, he sounded more awake. “You think there’s been a murder, is that it?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” I winced, waiting for him to tell me I should mind my own business and not get involved. To my relief, he didn’t.
“What do you need me to do?”
“I need information about one of the wedding guests. Would you look into it for me?”
“Hold on. Let me write that down.” I heard him shuffling for a notepad. “Okay. What’s the person’s name?”
“Eric Harding.” I spelled the name out for him. “He’s a retired surgeon from Boston, and he’s married to a woman named Majandra.”
He snorted. “What was the wife’s n
ame again?”
I repeated it. “She’s a former television actress. Small-time, I think. Not like a star or anything. Oh, and they have a sailboat. It’s called Hija del Mar. They’ve been traveling around the world in it.”
“Okay, got it.” He stifled a yawn, ready to fall back to sleep, judging by the sound of it.
“I kinda need that A.S.A.P.,” I said.
He groaned. “Fine. I’ll call the precinct and tell one of the guys to do a search. Get back to you in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks, Will.”
I looked at the time. Breakfast wouldn’t be served for another hour. Still, I got up and took a shower.
By the time I was dressed, the sun peeked from beyond the horizon, washing the sky in golden hues and chasing the shadows from the hotel grounds. It showed me I wasn’t the only one up this early.
Down on the beach, a lone figure stood at the water’s edge, a small man with gray hair and an artists’ easel in front of him. This was serendipitous.
Setting my phone on silent, I left the room and went to the service stairs where I had the least chance of being intercepted. I ran down, taking the steps two at a time, and came out onto the grounds at the back of the building, then made a beeline to the man on the beach.
Dr. Jennings had picked a spot at the far edge of the grounds, just beyond the last bungalow. He stood with his back to me. The seascape on his canvas was still more blurry strokes than shape, but it was getting there. I could tell the painting would be quite nice when finished.
Stopping a few paces behind him, I stood for a few moments, admiring his brushstrokes as a single wave appeared on the canvas, foamy at the top and translucent with the sunlight coming through. Then I gave a quiet cough to let Dr. Jennings know I was there.
He must’ve jumped a foot in the air as he spun around. Eyes bulging with terror, he clutched at his heart. In a flash, his face had gone from pink to white.
Realizing it was just me, he let his breath out in a gust and his whole body went limp. The hand that wasn’t clutching his chest searched for the canvas for support.
“Oh, dear God!” he wailed. “You can kill people that way.”
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Jennings.” Cursing myself, I hurried over to make sure he wouldn’t collapse on me. “I didn’t want to scare you. Was just out for a morning walk and I spotted you painting here. Couldn’t resist the curiosity.”
“Uh, well. That’s all right, I think.” He straightened slowly, still breathing with difficulty. But he seemed in no danger of collapsing.
I bent to pick up his brush and wiped it on the stained rag hanging from the easel, careful to get all the sand off.
“That’s going to be a stunning painting.”
“You think so?” A shy smile lifted his flabby cheeks. “Thank you. It’s a hobby of mine. Started after I retired. Keeps my nerves in shape and my hands busy.”
I nodded, waiting for a hint of color to return to his face, and wondered if that was him in good shape.
“Has something been upsetting you lately?”
He blinked at me and quickly turned back to his canvas. “Well, uh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just nerves, the usual side effect of getting old.”
Taking up his palette, he began mixing three different shades of blue with the utmost concentration. He needed to concentrate: his hand was trembling.
I wondered how best to broach the subject without setting off an attack of his nerves again, then decided to just dive in.
“Actually, Doctor, I’m glad I ran into you here. There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
His back stiffened. “Oh, yes? What about?”
“The night of the accident, you went to see Timothy on the boat. I wondered if you could tell me why.”
For a moment, Jennings stood perfectly still, then he shook his head. “Why would I go to see that man? I had absolutely nothing to say to him.”
“Well, someone saw you go down there,” I insisted.
He pivoted, brandishing the paintbrush in the air like a fencing foil. “Who? Who saw me go there?”
“Sorry. I...don’t think I should tell you that.”
We just stood there, staring at each other. Suddenly, his face crumpled.
“Okay, yes. I did go down.”
His eyes turned red and he leaned against the canvas, holding on for support. “I’m an old fool. I thought I could talk that man into doing the right thing. It was the shock of seeing him again that did it. I had no idea he was working for Eric, or that he’d be at the wedding. I thought he was gone from our lives for good.”
Slowly, he lowered himself on the sand and sat there with his head in his hands.
I knelt down next to him.
So, I had been right. Jennings and Timothy had known each other before coming here, even though the old man lived on the West coast, about as far from Boston as you could get on this continent.
“Dr. Jennings, how is it that you knew Timothy?” I asked.
There was a long pause, then Jennings gave a sigh that sounded more like a sob.
“What happened was all my fault,” he said. “It was two years ago when I still had my practice in San Diego. Every Thursday after work, I’d go down to the local sports center. I enjoyed their steam rooms and the swimming pool. Timothy was working as a scuba instructor there and eventually we became friendly. He seemed like a very nice young man, but I see now I was just taken in by his charisma. He could turn on the charm, as you say. When he wanted to. He didn’t have family in the area, and I ended up inviting him to my house for Christmas.” He swatted the sand with his brush like he wanted to whip it for misbehaving.
I cleared my throat. “So, what happened then?”
“Nothing that I knew of at the time,” Jennings muttered. “I’d no idea what Timothy was like around women. It turned out, he made a move on my youngest daughter, Jolene. She’s the prettiest in the family, took after her late mother. She was only nineteen at the time, and you know what girls are like at that age. She fell head over heels, of course. It was a terrible time.”
“You were against them dating?” I asked. Not that it was a difficult guess. Two years ago, Timothy would have been forty-two.
Jennings shook his head. “It’s not that. They kept it secret, and I only found out afterwards. After the scoundrel left town. Skipped out, rather, when Jolene told him the news. Then, six months later, I had a grandson on my hands.”
He left that revelation hanging in the air between us as he stared at the sand, his cheeks covered in bright red spots. After a while, he looked up at me with a fearful expression, as if awaiting judgment. I forced my mouth to close.
Jennings nodded. “Yes. Jolene was supposed to go off to college that Fall. Such a terrible mess it was.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I understand why it was such a shock to see him here. Must’ve brought back all the bad feelings. But why did you go to see him that night?”
“Actually, I went to talk to him that very same evening,” Jennings said. “Tried to convince him to do the right thing and marry my daughter.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Uh...would she still want to marry him after the way he left her?” The thing was hard to imagine.
“What does it matter what she wanted?” Jennings suddenly looked indignant. “Of course she would marry him, to spare us the disgrace. A young girl with a child out of wedlock!” He covered his face with his hands.
I stared at him. The man was stuck in another decade, one in which a single mother brought shame to her family, better off with a cad for a husband than alone.
I gave a silent thanks for my dad. He had his faults, like everyone else, but I couldn’t imagine him trying to force me into a bad marriage, no matter what was at stake.
“Well, it was no use.” Jennings said. “Timothy just laughed in my face, said he had better fish on the line these days. His words, not mine you understand. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Had I the strength, I woul
d’ve strangled him right then and there.”
Adding weight to his words, his hands folded into white-knuckled fists. We both stared at them. They were thin, old man’s hands, not fit for strenuous tasks like strangling a man twenty years his junior. Untying mooring lines, though... The question was, how determined had Jennings been to carry out his punishment?
“But you didn’t give up,” I said. “You went to see Timothy again the night he disappeared.”
Jennings nodded to himself several times before answering. “But...I didn’t see him. I went there full of determination. I told myself I wouldn’t back down until I had his consent, even if it took all night. But I never stepped foot on that boat, it was already heading out to sea by the time I got to the dock.” He paused and added in a quieter voice. “I was rather relieved, to be honest. I’m terrible at confrontations.”
Was he telling the truth? Hard as I looked, I couldn’t detect any signs of deception in his eyes. Still, two people were at the dock the night of Timothy’s death. Both had seen the boat drifting, neither said a word about it. If they had, all of this might’ve been avoided.
“Why didn’t you notify the hotel when you saw the boat drifting?” I asked, unable to keep the anger from my voice. “Timothy’s life could’ve been saved.”
Jennings shrugged, looking helpless. “I assumed he had a secret rendezvous, thought he was taking the boat to give someone a visit. It had been my first thought, knowing what he was like. I hated him for it. I stood there, watching and wishing some accident would befall him out in the ocean, so that he’d never come back... And he didn’t. I know a psychologist has no right to be superstitious, but I can’t help thinking, can you cause someone’s death just by wishing it?” He looked at me, taking deep breaths as if lacking air.
