Twillyweed (31 page)

“Connecticut. One day when you have more time I'll sail you over.”

“I'd love that.”

“Tell you what … I've got some leftover chicken below.” He jumped up. “You hungry?”

“I'm always hungry.”

“And some wine? You like wine, I think.”

“Too early for me.” I laughed. “Haven't even had breakfast! I'll make tea.” I went below, filled the kettle, and set about lighting the kerosene stove. He went back to the tiller. Jake lay basking in the sun and I thought,
Hmm, this is good; anywhere we go we can take him
. Waiting for the kettle to boil, I couldn't help noticing the wines Morgan had in his little stowaway rack. I pulled one out. A Silvio Nardi, Brunello di Montalcino, Italia 2005. Impressive. I reached for the teapot and mugs shackled up on the shelf. Wobbling and careful not to knock anything over, I took them topside on a tray and centered it on the cabin trunk. I raised the pot to put the tea bags in and it rattled. I lifted the lid to wipe it out and at that moment I saw the frozen look on Morgan's face. My first thought was, he's hidden something in there. A surprise? I looked down. It was a key. A red key.

It took some seconds for my mind to struggle through this revelation, but only one to know it.

I kept looking down at the key, then out at the sea. He'd let his guard down. For me. But of course he remembered the teapot, seeing me with it. The moment I saw it, I knew. I looked to him. He saw it, too. He realized his mistake but didn't miss a beat. Disappointment must have collapsed my face. I remember I must have said something, something about the tea, maybe. We stood there together for some seconds in the sunshine, hovering between pretense and knowing. Then I tipped it over and the key fell into my hand. It was cold and hard. I clenched it and I felt him wince, his plans caved in.

It was damned and we both knew this. We would always know it. Once you knew, you couldn't go back and not know. He checked both ways peripherally, as though to be sure no one sailed near. What if there was no stopping him, no conscience and no honor, just the cunning draw toward what worked best for him? My mind raced. He must have strangled Patsy Mooney to get that key. And a chill lit up like wings, growing from my back to my shoulders. He started toward me and I went rigid with fear. Jake, sensing my terror, leveled off an objection from the depths of his throat. Morgan hesitated and in that moment I watched him reject this idea, change his mind, go on to the next plan. As smoothly as a man in a dance, he moved backward and, still holding my eyes—regret more than anger in his eyes—he left me there and went below. I tucked the key in my pocket. It was only a short while, but it felt eternal. And I knew he was coming back because what I knew threatened his existence. White fear gripped me and blanked my vision. And then, doing what he wouldn't think I would think to do, I flung myself without a backward glance under the short rope and overboard into the fast-moving depths. Right behind me, Jake splattered in.

The boat sped away. The strong current pulled us. Both shores were far away, irretrievably far. I gasped for breath and struggled out of my shoes. My clothes pulled me down and my eyes stung with brine. To my horror I saw the
Gnomon
tilt, then veer and turn.
Oh, no.
Fear clutched me and I reached for Jake, who paddled toward me, but the current was too strong in the other direction. I watched him get carried away, paddling madly, his eyes strained and wild and frantic like a horse in a blood race, and I knew despair. I heard someone call out from somewhere and I saw Morgan at the helm, decisive, leveling off, aiming the boat toward me. He was talking into a walkie-talkie. Desperately I tried to think of a way to get clear, but I knew there was none. I dove under in desperation, my eyes open.

He swept past me and I came up gasping for air. The
Gnomon
turned at breakneck speed to come again, the wind in her sails, but a yawl off course appeared like a ghost and loomed up with tremendous suddenness and I swam toward it. There were two men on board. They were three sheets to the wind, but they were men. Then the
Gnomon
pulled alongside me and Morgan was leaning over the side and reaching out his arm and shouting at me. I mean really shouting. “What the bloody hell are you doing!” he yelled, heaving a line toward me, veins of fury standing out on his forehead. “Are you daft? You stupid woman! What's wrong with you?”

It was his tone. He wasn't acting like a red-handed murderer at all. He was acting like my father when we kids thought we were smart and almost killed ourselves climbing up on the roof and jumping into the raked-up leaves. Had I been wrong? I was wrong, wasn't I, I realized, sputtering. Those men had seen me. He wouldn't kill me with onlookers, anyway. Arms reached out from the other boat, but I let him hoist me up onto the
Gnomon
. I was so relieved to be out of the cold water. They fished Jake out with a shark hawler and held on to him until they pulled alongside. Then he leaped across. You couldn't have stopped him. He crouched beside me, brackish, panting, I could hear his addled breath. My arm went around him and I clung to him.

“You're out of your mind!” Morgan continued ranting while he went to fetch two warm blankets and put them around us.

The two men on the other boat waved us away with doubtful expressions.

“That's the last time I take a lass out on the boat. That's it!”

I was beginning to feel a little stupid. But had he not tried to hit me with the
Gnomon
? Now
I
was mad. I shouted, “I thought you were trying to hit me with the boat!”

He yelled back, “I fucking hell was not! I was trying to come get you, you daft female! Jesus Christ! What happened? Why the bloody hell did you jump overboard? Did you dive in after the dog?” He lowered his voice. “Why would you think I'd hit you with the boat?”

I reached into my pocket and came up with the key. We looked at each other. Then he said, “Are you hurt?”

“No! It's the
key
. The key that was around Patsy Mooney's neck!”

“Well, what's it doing here?”

“That's what I want to know! It was in your teapot, as if you didn't know!”

He drew back. “I didn't.”

“The hell you didn't! Why did you give me that look?”

“What look?”

“When I opened the teapot.”

“I thought you found a bloody mouse. It wouldn't be the first time. They hole up in there.”

I didn't buy it. “Come on!”

“
You
come on! I ask you out on my boat and the next thing I know it's man overboard. What do you think; it's a joke? You could have been killed! Or worse! There are worse things than being killed!” He slumped forward. “Jesus. You'll be giving me a heart attack!”

He did look pale. I moved forward. “You mean you didn't know anything about the key?”

He shook his head. “No. What do you think? If I did, you imagine I'd have sent you to it?”

That made sense. I began to shiver uncontrollably. “Come on.” He dropped anchor and hauled me downstairs.

“I just thought you'd forgot about it,” I explained as he rubbed my head with a rough towel.

He gaped at me. “
Ach
, I see. I murder Patsy Mooney for a key and then I leave it in a wee teapot for you to find and then I kill you, too.” He raised his eyes. “Brilliant.”

I hung my head. “Yes. I see what you mean. Come here, Jake.” I made him come and sit beside me by the heater. “But … but …” I was shivering so hard I could hardly speak. I pulled myself together. “If it wasn't you … who would have put it there?”

Morgan shrugged. “Anyone could have come on board. She's never locked down. And with the race, the docks are crawling with strangers.”

“Someone was trying to frame you and I come along and fall for it.” I bit my lip, befuddled. “I'm sorry. I really am. I was paranoid and I panicked. You've been nothing but good to me and I seem to be nothing but trouble.”

He made a sound of disgust and turned from me, saying, “What will you do with the key?”

“Give it to the police.”

He sailed us back to port in a brooding silence.

Chapter Six

Claire

I made my way to the station house. Detective Harms, I was told by a female officer, was not in yet and would get in touch with me. She seemed disgruntled that I'd brought Jake in with me. I left the key with her and a detailed note. Disappointed—I never did get over my childhood love of station houses—Jake and I went home. I peeled off my damp clothes and put on a cozy nightgown, crawled into bed, and took a nap.

It was the phone that woke me. I was surprised when it was Paige. She sounded absolutely chipper. “Listen,” she said, “I spoke to my friend over at St. Francis and she said she could slip us in this morning.”

“Slip us in where?” I blinked.

“For your AIDS test, Claire.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure. But I'm waiting for the detective to call me back.”

“Why? You weren't there when it happened.” She paused. “Were you?”

“Very funny. Hey! Jake! Get off me!”

There was loud silence at the other end of the receiver.

“Oh,” I explained hurriedly, “it's my dog, Jake. He's my dog.”

“You have a dog there?” she cried, and I realized the reason I was so worried she'd mistakenly think I had a man in my bed was because I wouldn't want her telling Morgan. Which is sick. I am odious. I rubbed my eyes. “What time is the appointment?”

“In an hour and a half. I'll pick you up in an hour.”

“Paige, is Jenny Rose there with you? I've got to speak to her.”

“Look, my friend is doing us a favor fitting us in. You can talk to Jenny Rose any time, all right?” Without waiting for an answer she hung up.

I looked at the clock. I'd have just enough time to feed and walk Jake, take a shower, and have breakfast. I staggered from the bed and padded to the window. A flock of geese were crossing the blue sky, coming home for the summer. A definite good sign. Little sailboats skimmed the water. And there—I leaned out the window—was Daniel! I leaned so far out to wave to him that I tumbled out the window headfirst and into the garbage pail. My legs stuck up in the air and churned like an eggbeater. More embarrassed than injured, I thrust myself over, wiggled to my feet, and lifted the heavy rubber can off me and ran back in the house. I struggled into my mukluks, opened the door, the dog ran out, the kitten ran in, and I took off down the path in my baggy flannel nightgown. He was almost to the end of the strand and I was out of breath when I got to him but, huffing and puffing, I cried, “Hi!”

He turned and looked at me and I thought,
How could I ever have been frightened of this pathetic little man?
He was scrawny as Robinson Crusoe. His pale, diluted blue eyes lit up when he saw me and he gasped, “Did you see the geese?”

“Yes,” I said. “I saw them. Means good weather, right?”

He pushed his bottom lip up over his upper and stood there staring at me.

I said, “Daniel, I want to introduce myself. I'm Claire. I'm staying in Noola's cottage.”

“Oh, she's dead,” he said informatively. “She drank bad tea!”

“Er, yes,” I agreed. Bad tea? Is that what they'd told him? We looked together up at the cottage. I went on, politely and sincerely as I could, “I wanted to say—uh, I'm sorry I screamed last time I saw you. You see I imagined you were someone else and I was just shocked, I guess, to see—” But he wasn't listening. He was, at the moment, petting my hair, which had come undone from its scrunchy back at the garbage pail. And then I remembered just what it was that had made me scream last time. It hadn't simply been that he was the wrong sex. There was definitely something weird going on, some eager, demented cast in his expression that followed me inside and looked for something, something private. Delight suffused his toothless smile and I could feel a lump forming in my beating chest. Trying to be casual, I glanced peripherally to see if anyone else was on the beach. Nope. Just he and I.

“Paige's coming to pick me up.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “I'd better get going.”

Daniel, however, didn't intend to let go of my hair. He had my arm, too, holding me fast while he patted,
tap tap tap
, on my hair. I gave a little pull to see how that would go. No dice. He held me tight. He had an odd smell, too, like coriander or something. Part of me felt sorry for the pathetic little man he was, so obviously in need of human touch, but the other, more urgent feeling, now, was definitely distress.

“La la la,” I sang, making no sense, intending to convey
Hey! This is all okay!
I held his eyes and smilingly sang, “
La la la, la la la la la. It might have been in County Down, or in New York, or gay Paree, or even London Town …
”

He began to turn me, like in a dance or a children's game, round and round we went—

“
No more will I go all around the world, for I have found my world …
”
Me in my nightgown and he in his crazy world, stubbing and denting a circle of sand in the sun. “
In yooooou
.”

The ferry horn blew from Steamboat Landing and Daniel stood still like it was a signal, then went running off.
Maybe
, I thought,
I'll just move back to Queens
.

Jenny Rose

Meanwhile, Jenny Rose was throwing back the curtains to let the sun stream in, “Come on, sport, get yourself dressed. No school today. We're off to the boats.”

Wendell's eyes flew open and he clattered from the bed, conscientiously smoothing his blanket across the top and tripping over himself getting dressed before she changed her mind.

He frowned. “We have to have cereal first.”

He'd forgotten. Jenny Rose said cheerily, “Nah. Know what we'll do? We'll buy ourselves a snack at the deli and take the wee sailboat over there. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

He was so excited he raced around with his shoelaces trailing, assembling his blue backpack with compass, ball cap, and whistle.

“What's this?”

“I'm not allowed to go on a boat unless I bring this stuff.”

“Oh. Okay. That's smart.” She wondered who'd thought of that, the mother?

Together they crept down the stairs and past the yellow tape that crisscrossed and held the basement door. He stopped in his tracks, startled, and looked back at Jenny Rose. There. He remembered now. Patsy Mooney was no more. Jenny Rose nudged him forward, grabbed two apples from a dish on the table, and put down a note for Paige. She chose two of the smaller fishing poles from the mudroom, and they scooted out the door before anyone could object. It was already warm and they removed their sweaters and tied them around their waists. Halfway to the dock, they crossed paths with Mrs. Dellaverna, arms laden with greens, on her busy way.

“Top of the day to you,” Jenny Rose greeted her pleasantly.

“Watch out!” Wendell shouted to Jenny Rose. “She's got poison ivory!”

“It's fresh dandelion!” Mrs. Dellaverna protested, lowering the bushel and letting him look. “Where are you two off to so early, eh?”

“We're taking out the wee sailboat,” Wendell told her excitedly in Jenny Rose's Irish way.

“Oh, yeah? Bring me back a nice fish. What do you say?”

“Okay!” Wendell's eyes shone and he gave her a high five before they continued on.

“Don't sail too close to that old factory; she's condemned!” Mrs. Dellaverna hollered after them. “And there's a riptide runs aside the gat. Don't go out past Teddy's boat. That's a bad tide, now, okay?”

“We won't, we won't,” Jenny Rose assured her and they ambled on.

“We'll never go by Teddy's stupid boat,” Wendell agreed scornfully.

Hmm
, Jenny Rose wondered,
how come?

It took them quite a while to get the boat out past the fine sloops. There wasn't a trace of wind and Jenny Rose had to row. When they were at last sitting pretty and their rods leaned easily against the rail, Jenny Rose ventured, “Do you not like Teddy, Wendell?”

Wendell didn't answer.

Jenny Rose, trying not to act too interested, slathered the boy with Coppertone. She massaged and wobbled the white liquid up and down the frail little arms.

“That's my very favorite smell,” Wendell confided.

“Mine, too! How about that? So … I wonder why Mrs. Dellaverna doesn't like Teddy?”

“Because,” Wendell offered, “Teddy hurted Noola's cat, Weedy.”

“Noola? Oh. The lady who passed away. Morgan's mother, that would be?”

“Yes.”

“Hurt her cat? Why would he do that?”

“He did.”

“I'm sure he didn't mean to.”

“Yes.” He nodded his head. “Teddy tricked Weedy and put him in a box and he almost ran him over but he got away. Mama says you can't catch a cat doesn't want to be caught.” In his vehemence, Wendell jumped up and tipped over the bait box, sending the worms, avid for freedom, into escape. He tracked the worms down and plopped each one carefully into the box Jenny Rose held.

“Wendell, adults have to restrain cats to take them to the vet, say, for a shot. Or to the groomer. It doesn't do them any harm.” She shivered as one worm jimmied up her hand. She lifted it into its doom box, cut it in half, and threaded the smaller half onto Wendell's hook. She felt a sudden pity.

Wendell held his shiny knees. In a rush he revealed, “Mama promised we could go and find Weedy and then she never came back!” He looked around this way and that, his bad eye twisting furiously. “She never came back!”

“All right. That's enough for now. I don't want you to think about another thing. You just sing a little song so the fish will come. All right, lovey? What about that nice one I taught you?

Just then the fishing pole signaled a hit and Jenny Rose was glad for it, glad not to think anymore of a woman who'd come up with promises and then never kept them. She wiped the slime off her knife and rinsed it in the cold, clear water. But now there was something else nagging at her. For which was worse, a woman who would go off and leave this dear little boy, or one who'd never come back because she never could?

After a while, they both caught some fluke and Jenny Rose demonstrated to Wendell how to clean them, how to handle the knife carefully and wipe it and wash it when he was done. They weren't far from shore and they both were tired now. They headed back to Twillyweed, up the sandy slope and at last onto the drive. There was the sound of somebody's radio. A ball game going on. Mr. Piet and Teddy sat at the kitchen table, listening to the Yankees and playing rummy. They loved the Yankees in defiance of Oliver, who passionately revered the Boston Red Sox because his alma mater was Boston College. Mr. Piet was delighted with the cleaned fish and promised to make the fluke with rice, which Wendell loved more than anything, for supper.

“How's that, Wendell?” Teddy ruffled the little boy's hair. “I'll pick up some ice cream if you like. What's your favorite kind?”

Wendell made a face. “Don't want ice cream,” he said and ran inside and up the stairs.

“Sorry,” Jenny Rose said. “He's exhausted. It's a lot for a little tyke. With Patsy and all.”

“No offense taken,” he said. “Kids are kids.”

Yes, she thought. She must be careful. She mustn't judge him until she knew what the dickens Wendell was talking about. She took the stairs and found him down on the floor in his room, tooling a Hess truck across the rug. She struggled out of her sneakers and chucked them across the room. “Why ever were you so rude to Teddy?” she whispered, crouching down beside him. “Whatever you think he might have done, Wendell, he's still an adult. You must be polite. You might have been mistaken, you know. Sometimes things look one way and they're really another.” She plopped onto the bed.

He pushed out a stubborn lip. “Don't like Teddy.”

“Why? Because of what happened with that cat? Wendell, I'm sure something like what you thought did happen. But sometimes children see things differently. It might not have happened exactly as you thought. I can't imagine Teddy purposely hurting any animal. He might have meant to take it somewhere. He probably put it in a box to take it somewhere—to get it neutered, perhaps. I'm quite sure he wouldn't try to kill it.”

Wendell looked out the window with a sullen face. She'd never let him explain. He closed his eyes and rocked himself back and forth.

Claire

Driving in the car next to Paige was surreal. Just the day before we'd been in her kitchen with a dead body down the stairs. And something else had changed. Knowing she wasn't wealthy leveled the playing field somehow. I know that's a terrible way to put it but it's what I felt. She was still the cool blonde, but it brought her, bad as it sounds, closer to me. Like we were in this together. I got it, understood her motivation. Her quest for Morgan was not based on sacred love, but security. For herself and her brother. And, of course, Teddy. No wonder they wouldn't help him with his tuition; they couldn't. Now that we were on equal ground, we could be—if all went well—chums. No, that was crazy. I was, after all, after her boyfriend. Oops. There. I said it. No going back now. We stopped at the gas station, and I, with my guilty conscience, insisted on paying with my credit card. Unfortunately she let me. As we pulled out, I mentioned meeting Daniel on the beach. “I think I might have upset him the other day. I'm afraid I screamed when I saw him.”

“Well, he's not your everyday North Shore citizen,” she said. “After all, he's my brother and I love him but—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on. Daniel is your
brother
?”

“Don't look so astonished. He's the first child, Daniel. He … stopped growing at one point. I know he looks like a Willy Nelson reject. He's not as old as he looks. It's just some of his teeth had to be pulled. It's because of”—she hesitated—“an accident years ago. He refuses to go back to have the work finished. It's ridiculous. Annabel was taking him there for a while. … She was very good with him, I have to say. I can't take him by myself. Oliver's going to have to help me get him there but he's always … busy.” She grimaced and let her shoulders slouch. “Busy as in gambling. Oh, I know I'm selling him out, destroying his anonymity, as they insist you dare not do, but it doesn't matter at this point. It's not as though he's going to meetings anymore. And you'll find out soon enough. You ought to know. You have a right to know if you're going to date him.” She scratched the back of her neck and looked at me appraisingly. “Of course if you were going out with him, he might stop. He gave it up for Annabel, after all. He was really being good when they first got together.”