Harsens Island (9 page)

He rose before the sun, kissing her once on the forehead to wake her, and then he kissed her lips when she was awake.

“I’m leaving,” he whispered.

“What time is it?” she said.

“Early. Around five.”

“Okay, I’ll see you out…”

“I got it.”

“Okay…”

She closed her eyes.

“Hey, Sam, you still awake?”

“No…”

“I get off work about one tonight. Maybe we can catch a meal after the fireworks.” 

“Oh…a date?”

“It’s up to you...”

“Hmm, I
guess
that would be okay.”

He kissed her on the lips a second time.

“Let’s make it midnight. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay…”

She heard the front door open and close, the screen door open and close, his footsteps, and the sound of the car engine. The car idled for a moment before she heard its tires crackle the earth.

She lay awake for a long time, thinking.

**********

It was July Fourth, a beautiful Friday morning. The humidity was moderate, the clouds scattered and fleeting, and the shore was blossoming umbrellas, towels, and beach chairs. Without debating the thought, she decided to walk to The Old Club
compound.

She saw yachts and smaller boats; Jet Ski’s buzzed between them. From somewhere on the beach she heard firecrackers. A single engine plane circled overhead, preparing for a landing on the island’s single airstrip.

The main building of The Old Club glowed white. Its adjacent grounds – tennis courts, golf course, and hotel – reminded her of an impressionist painting: red roses and white oleander framed by a bright blue sky. She walked under towering willow trees before reaching the wide, open porch of The Ritz.

At the front desk, a young woman in a green vest asked her to sign in, called Houle’s room, and allowed her to proceed.

When she reached his room, she found the door open. She walked in without hesitation.

“Look what wandered in,” Houle said, looking at her in a bemused way. “Did you forget how to knock while you were in the joint?”

The room was simple-ornate, elegant and rich without screaming either fact. There was a sitting area, where Houle was; there was a fireplace and above its mantle a large TV; straight ahead was a private porch.

“Not bad for a grand a night.”

“Even more so as I get a discount,” Houle said.

“I thought this hotel was for members only.”

“Of which I am one.”

“How about that?”

She paused on the porch and looked over the grounds and the river. A warm breeze pressed against her.

“Lots of space,” she said. “A good view. You’re on top of the world, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” he said. He gestured. “Sit.”

She sat across from him. An oval and expensive coffee table separated them. His laptop and papers were scattered over it; the papers were face down. His briefcase, which was open when she walked in, was now shut.

“Still wearing jeans, I see.” He motioned to her boots. “At least you’re not wearing sneakers.”

Sam brought a heel up and let it fall with a solid thump on the table.

“You break it, you buy it,” Houle said, his voice flat and calm.

“I imagine I already have.”

“How can I help you this morning, Samantha?”

“Redsky’s said she’s one of your clients.”

“This is true. I have many clients,” he said.

“I wanted an assurance that there’ll be no conflict of interest.”

“There never is. It’s one of our selling points.”

“Who was Hunter traveling with?”

“I have no idea. That is a question for the police and others. There was a companion, and everyone in an official capacity as well the locals are aware of the fact. Who it was, male or female is unknown, at least to me. There’s a rumor you met her the night she died.”

“It never happened. I’ve made that clear.”

“I’m curious, Samantha. Did the sheriff deputize you last night?”

Sam flushed with embarrassment and anger.

Houle’s voice took on a paternal tone.

“You do understand your past actions and our shared circumstances warrant prudence? Especially with Rowland’s obvious infatuation. I would hate to see your choices or actions compromised by an uncertain relationship with the man charged with determining the facts.”

She decided that any more time with this man was useless. She rose.

“The facts are the facts,” Sam said. “Nothing can color or change them. You can bill me for our time but not this palace. And let your buddy know I’m paying him a visit.”

“My buddy?”

“Four.”

His light-heartedness vanished as Sam entered the empty hallway. She heard his door shut with a gentleness that came from a warm pulse of river air or, perhaps, a man in deep thought.

**********

She evaded the Old Club’s concierge desk. The lunch and bar crowd provided her with a shade of invisibility. But a man, pear-shaped and balding, dressed in an expensive suit, approached her and asked if he could escort her back to the front desk. He had dark, brooding eyes embedded in an oval face. It took her a moment to recognize him as Hannibal’s majordomo.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I came to see Four.”

“Excuse me?”

“
Four
. Clayton Ethan Hannibal the Fourth.” She gestured. “About yeah-high. Humorless, rich.”

“Come with me,” the man said.

“I’ll find him if you steer me in the right direction.”

She heard whispers and light laughter that were obviously directed at her, the gossipy disdain of etiquette and affluence. A wolf whistle came from the direction of the bar.

“Serhad!”

Hannibal’s voice hushed some of the onlookers.

From the bar a man stage-whispered,
“Get ‘er, Four!”

“Yes, sir,” the servant said.

Hannibal was standing outside a room adjacent to the bar. Behind him, three men were huddled around a poker table, cards and cash scattered over its green surface.

“Escort the young lady to my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without taking his gaze from his servant, Hannibal continued.

“Then close the bar until whomever lacks manners is identified and ejected. After his removal, reopen the bar, and then ensure he doesn’t appear for the remainder of the season.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make the young lady comfortable. I’ll be along shortly to explain the dress code.”

“Yes, sir.”

**********

Hannibal possessed an office suitable to his station. There was an imposing mahogany desk and a leather chair suitable for a king. Two chairs faced the desk, and she knew each would set its occupants lower than the man behind the desk. There was a thick, patterned carpet, a bar, and a pool table. Ceiling to floor windows captured white yachts, a blue swimming pool, and the fantastic Michigan summer light.

The majordomo gestured to one of the chairs. 

“Would you like a drink while you wait? A Shirley Temple, perhaps?”

She ignored his disdain.

“No, but you can tell Four that I know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Two words. I know.”

Serhad straightened his shoulders and exited.

They let her wait for fifteen minutes.

She didn’t react to the soft whisper of the door closing as Hannibal entered. He ignored her as well, and went to the bar.

“What an unwelcome surprise,” he said, his back turned to her. “How unbearable it is to see you.”

He prepared a drink, Jack Daniels, two fingers.

“Did your servant relay my message?”

“Right to the point, eh?”

Hannibal held his glass to the window light. He brought it to his nose. He inhaled and closed his eyes for one brief second.

“You know, at one time he was a capable, shrewd man. Wharton and Syracuse graduate. His father was a doctor and his mother a belly dancer. He was a real estate broker in Florida before I acquired him. Can you guess what I did when I first met them? Straightaway?”

He raised his glass, and drank half its liquid.

“You bought a house?”

“I seduced his wife – Susan or Suzanne, something like that. She was eight years his junior, and had a Scarlett Johansen body operated by a South Miami Beach nightclub brain. She married him for his money, you see. And he married her to show off to his fraternity brothers and business associates. He didn’t understand that one should always marry one’s equal. It’s why I never married. The way I look at it, it’s easier to pay by the hour than by the decade. I told him as much when we first met. I mean, look at the man. He’s no Tom Cruise, is he? He rejected the truth, chose to ignore my wisdom, and so I decided to educate him.”

Sam shrugged.

“So then you bought a house?”

“To prove my point I seduced her, promised her the world, and she in turn began divorce proceedings to take up with me. I encouraged her to give him everything, promising her my heart and bank ledger. While the divorce was in progress, I set her up in a penthouse overlooking Boca Raton, not bothering to tell her it was a month-to-month lease. This was at the advent of the real estate collapse, so over the next six months I gobbled up his pathetic little empire for pennies on the dollar. And as I am an exceptionally compassionate man, I brought him on board to help me personally. He’s proved an apt student and his connections have profited me substantially.”

“What happened to the wife?”

“She took her own life,” he said. “She was quite the drama queen.”

His settled onto his throne; he did indeed rest higher than her.

“No matter. There’s no need to check on him Ms. Melillo. And why should I care what you know?”

“You can call me Sam.”

Hannibal drained his glass.

“
My god
, you’re boring. Luckily, I won the hand or otherwise this conversation wouldn’t be as amiable. So don’t waste my time with petty riddles and boorish behavior. And as we’re on the topic, you have
again
arrived at my home in your farmer chic. But understand that from this point forward, you will
never
be allowed entry even if you are on fire and bring your own bucket of water. Do you understand?”

His office phone chirped.

“That will be Houle,” she said.

Hannibal didn’t take his eyes from her as he lifted the handset to his ear. He uttered his last name.

Sam heard Houle’s voice. He spoke to Hannibal for maybe thirty seconds.

“I understand, yes,” Hannibal said, and hung up.

He smiled and winked.

“When Sheriff Rowland is grunting in your ear does he call you
Sammy
or does he use more lascivious language?”

“Now who’s boorish?”

Hannibal’s arms had been resting on the arms of his chair. Now he raised his left hand, cradled his chin for a few moments, said nothing, and then swiveled a half-turn to face the windows.

He stood. He gazed over his kingdom: the yachts, the shimmering water, and the wealthy at play and rest. Then he faced her, his hands coming to rest on top of his chair, kneading the leather with fingers feathered with gray hair.

“What do you want, Ms. Melillo? What do you hope to gain?”

“I want to know who murdered Hunter.”

“She didn’t drown? So, the coroner’s report and news services have it wrong?”

“You know who murdered her.”

“Seriously? This is how you approach business? Hello, how are you? I know what you did last summer?”

“I know about Snake, Moon, and Redsky. I know Houle’s connected to you and you to them.”

Hannibal spoke with unexpected joy.

“Did anyone ever tell you that intelligence and aggressiveness don’t compliment beauty? You should consider the effect silent beauty has on a man. It’s a much more effective ploy.”

She returned his smile.

“Two words. I know.”

He crossed his arms and looked down at her.

“Your dalliance with Rowland will prove costly to you both. At an opportune time, I’ll contact the state authorities and provide them with your tacit admission of guilt.”

Sam stood.

“I don’t care about Moon. She means nothing to me. I just want to know who killed Hunter.”

“Yes, now, isn’t that lovely?”

He pressed two buttons on a line of dark green buttons embedded in his desk.