Murder Makes Waves Page 9

  “Sophie’s doing just fine with the one she’s got,” Haley said.

  “Have y’all seen Fairchild?” I asked.

  Haley reached for the sunscreen. “I looked in on him for a minute. I thought you might be over there.”

  “Was he overwhelmed with women?”

  “Nobody was there but Laura Stamps from next door. She was fixing him some lunch.”

  “Had he heard anything? Did he say?”

  “I didn’t ask. I just told him we were next door if he needed anything.”

  I remembered what Mary Alice had said about Millicent’s throat looking as if it had been torn by an animal and told them.

  “Lord!” Frances said. “A shark?”

  “A shark wouldn’t have just torn her throat,” Haley said.

  “He didn’t say it was an animal. He just said that it wasn’t cut with a knife or something like that.”

  “Vampires?”

  Haley and I both looked at Frances.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Vampires just leave teeth marks, don’t they?”

  We continued to look at her.

  “What?” she asked. “What?”

  “Vampires, Frances?”

  “You’re right. This is the Florida panhandle, not New Orleans.” She reached for a beer from the cooler.

  I turned over the book she was reading and looked at the cover. Anne Rice.

  Frances turned a little pinker. “I guess there’s a logical explanation. Right?”

  Haley and I both nodded.

  Mary Alice came over the stile and joined us. “Did Patricia Anne tell you about Blue Bay Ranch?” she asked Haley and Frances as she stretched out on a beach towel.

  “I’m surprised Millicent and Fairchild weren’t building a house over there,” Haley said.

  “Didn’t Laura say she and Eddie were?” I handed Sister the sunscreen bottle. “Here, put some on your face.”

  But nobody could remember.

  Sister handed the bottle back to me. “I’m just going to be here a minute. I’ve got to go read the short story I got at the conference this morning. Critique it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said. “We need a few things from Delchamps. We’re almost out of bread, for one thing.”

  Haley looked up. “Get some of that no-fat caramel popcorn. I love that stuff.”

  “And those no-fat cookies, too,” Frances chimed in. “The chocolate fudge kind.”

  “Some of that fruit dip and some apples.” Sister sat up. “That stuff’s great with those real crisp apples. Not the Delicious ones, the rounder, fatter ones. We need some of those, too.”

  “And tonight’s two movies for the price of one night. See what you can find, Mama. And you better check before you leave. We may need some more Diet Coke.”

  “Does Chinese suit everybody tonight?” Sister asked. “We can just call it in.”

  I pushed up from my chair. “We really lead a gastronomically deprived life, don’t we?”

  They had the decency to smile.

  Chapter 8

  That night we watched the movies while we pigged out on Mu Shu pork, almond chicken, and shrimp fried rice. Then Sister disappeared into her bedroom to critique the story she had been given at the conference. When Fred called, I told him about Millicent’s death, leaving out the part about us finding the body. When he jumped to the conclusion that she had drowned while swimming, I let well enough alone.

  “That’s terrible!” he exclaimed. “She was such a nice lady. How’s Fairchild holding up?”

  “Pretty good, I guess. He’s surrounded by a harem of women wanting to console him.” I thought for a moment. “Just like you would be.” I could imagine Fred’s grin 250 miles away. “It’s the truth and you know it. I’m not going to be stiff in the grave before you’re married again.”

  “I’ll never marry again,” Fred said emphatically. “No way.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with marriage?”

  “Nothing, honey. I just could never be married to anyone but you.”

  Bull. I wouldn’t be stiff in my grave.

  “When’s Millicent’s funeral going to be?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Fairchild hasn’t made all the arrangements. Sister and I’ll go, though.”

  Our talk ended with Fred’s usual admonishment. “Do not,” he said, “and I repeat, do not let Mary Alice get you mixed up in any of her harebrained schemes.”

  “Like what? Bungee jumping?” The mental picture of Sister jumping from a tower and bouncing on rubber bands like a yo-yo was an awesome one. Probably it was to Fred, too. “She’s at the writers’ conference every day,” I assured him.

  “I wouldn’t put bungee jumping past her.”

  “I love you, too,” I said. And I did. Forty years, and the thought of any woman other than me consoling him was infuriating.

  Frances and Haley were sharing a box of Kleenex and watching Elizabeth Taylor die beautifully in The Last Time I Saw Paris. Haley looked up from the floor where she was sitting in some kind of semi-yoga position. “What did Papa have to say?”

  I sat on the sofa beside Frances. “He said not to go bungee jumping.”

  Elizabeth Taylor gasped for breath.

  “That pneumonia sure got to her in a hurry,” Frances said.

  “Getting locked out in that snow and rain, and she’d already had it once.” Haley wiped her eyes.

  Elizabeth Taylor cashed it in. The music, “The Last Time I Saw Paris,” soared. I reached for a Kleenex. “At least Van Johnson didn’t get married again before she was stiff in her grave.”

  “You know,” Frances said when the credits were rolling and Haley was crawling over to hit the rewind button, “one of the security blankets of my life is that Elizabeth Taylor and Debbie Reynolds are older than I am.”

  “I know what you mean,” I agreed.

  Mary Alice came in carrying the manuscript she had been critiquing. “Damn,” she said, looking at the TV. “She’s already dead.”

  “I can run it back,” Haley offered.

  “Just to where she’s locked out. I love it when she’s collapsing against the door and it’s snowing and raining.” Sister put the manuscript on the coffee table. I picked it up and looked at it. On the cover page, she had written in red magic marker “Medical help is available.”

  “What kind of critique is this?” I asked. “Medical help is available?”

  “The poor fellow is impotent and suffering. I think he needs a penal implant.”

  “Penile,” Haley said from the floor.

  “Whatever. He needs one of those things you pump up.”

  “But, Sister, it’s just a character in a story.”

  “No way. He knows too much.”

  “I knew a man had one of those,” Frances said. “You really couldn’t tell the difference.” We all looked at her. “Well, that’s what his wife said.”

  “Y’all ready?” Haley asked. “I think I’ve got Elizabeth Taylor at the door.”

  Sister reached for a Kleenex. “Let her rip.”

  It was early the next morning that Sister got the phone call. She was talking as I went into the kitchen, and she pointed toward the carton of orange juice on the counter and handed me her empty glass.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m on my way out. I’ve got to be at Sunnyside at the conference by nine. Can’t you just tell me on the phone?”

  I handed her the refill on her orange juice. “Who is it?” I mouthed.

  “Laura,” she mouthed back. And then into the phone, “We’ll be through about four.” A pause. “Sure, I’ll call you tonight. Can’t you at least tell me what it’s about though?”

  I poured myself some juice.

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.” Sister hung up the phone, looked at me, and shrugged her shoulders.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  “Damned if I know. Laura says there’s something she’s got to tell me about Fairchild and Bl
ue Bay Ranch. She wouldn’t tell me on the phone, though. Said it was,” Sister held up her fingers like quote marks, “‘too complicated.’”

  “Complicated? What’s she talking about?”

  “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “Maybe you better go talk to her now. Be late to the conference.”

  “Don’t be silly. You know how melodramatic Laura can be.”

  I’d never known Laura to be melodramatic about anything. “Go talk to her,” I insisted.

  “I don’t have time. You go.” And with that, Sister sailed out of the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, I was knocking on Laura’s next-door apartment. There was no answer. I turned, walked past our apartment, and knocked on Fairchild’s door. Laura opened it, and when she saw it was me, she looked disappointed.

  “Hey, Patricia Anne,” she said. “I thought you were Mary Alice.”

  “She’s gone to the writers’ conference. She said you sounded upset. Anything I can do to help?”

  “I’m sorry, Patricia Anne. I don’t mean to be rude, but this is something I need to talk to Mary Alice about.”

  “Sure.”

  “But come in for some coffee, won’t you?” Laura opened the door wider. “I was just straightening up a little. Fairchild’s not here. He and Eddie have gone to De Funiak Springs to make funeral arrangements. They’re releasing Millicent’s body tomorrow.”

  “Have the police said anything about what they think may have happened?”

  “They know she didn’t drown; they know that much. She bled to death.”

  “So she had to be dead when she was thrown into the water?”

  Laura held up her hands in a “who knows?” gesture and shrugged. “You want anything in your coffee?”

  I nodded that I did. “About a half teaspoon of sugar.”

  “Let’s sit on the balcony. Go on out. I’ll bring the coffee.”

  It was another cloudless day, and would probably be hotter than the day before. A perfect beach day. The procession of young parents juggling floats, coolers, and kids over the stile and onto the sand brought back memories of Fred and me herding our three to the beach. I could have told them that as soon as they were settled under an umbrella, the kids would have to go to the bathroom. It was a given.

  “Here we go.” Laura put a tray with two cups on it on a small glass table and we sat down.

  “It feels strange being here without Millicent,” I said.

  “Yes, it does.” Laura picked up her coffee and blew across the steam. “Lonesome.” Tears filled her eyes. As she brushed them away, she parted her bangs and I noticed a large bruise on her forehead.

  “Are you okay? I asked.

  She saw I was looking at the bruise and smiled. “Eddie hasn’t been abusing me, Patricia Anne, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re building over at Blue Bay, you know, and I bent down too quickly over the corner of a kitchen cabinet. Saw stars.” She pulled her bangs back into place.

  “You’re lucky it didn’t break the skin.”

  “Bumps and bruises seem to be par for the course when you’re building a house.”

  “Mary Alice and I went over to Blue Bay Ranch yesterday. I had no idea it was going to be such a fancy development.”

  “Millicent was sitting on a gold mine. I don’t think she ever understood it, which makes you realize what a mindset money is. If you’re born poor, I wonder if you can ever feel wealthy.”

  I thought about that a minute. “Mary Alice seems to have the hang of it. Of course, we weren’t poor when we were children, just very middle class.”

  Laura nodded. “So was my family.” She put her coffee on the table. “We’ll be moving in about a month. The boathouse is already finished.”

  “What color is your house? We probably saw it.”

  “It’s lavender. My favorite color.”

  “I remember it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Laura said, so obviously pleased at my compliment that I felt guilty for lying. The color didn’t bother me. After all, this was Florida. It was all the turrets, gables, and gingerbread.

  “Are you selling your place here?” I sipped my coffee.

  “Yes. We’ve already had several inquiries. You interested?”

  “Don’t I wish.” I looked out at the water and the sailboats. Maybe it wasn’t such a farfetched idea. Fred had sounded pretty excited about the Metal Fab merger. But then I remembered that only a few months ago he had been scared the business was going to go belly up. I sighed. “I don’t think so.”

  A black-clad figure approached the stile. “That’s the child who lives next to us,” Laura said, pointing. “Look at that outfit. Looks like she’s on her way to a coven meeting.”

  I looked down at Sophie Berliner. “Haley says she has an unbelievable figure. Maybe she doesn’t know how to cope with it yet.”

  “She knows. She’s just weird. Pops up everywhere and scares hell out of you. Like one day, I went in the laundry room and she came up from behind the washing machine. My heart nearly stopped.”

  I grinned. After all those years of popping into the girls’ bathroom at school, I was pretty sure what had been going on. “Did you smell cigarette smoke?”

  “Hell, I didn’t wait to find out. I dropped the clothes and went and told her father.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. Laughed.” Laura put her cup on the glass table. Her hands were shaking. “You see, that’s the problem. They let her get away with everything.” She reached in her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes as if my remark about smoking had reminded her, and lit one. She picked a piece of tobacco from the tip of her tongue, “Millicent thought Sophie was handed down, too. Thought everything she did was amusing.”

  I watched the black-robed figure head down the beach. “She’ll turn out fine.”

  “The father’s about twenty years older than the mother,” Laura said, managing to talk and exhale smoke at the same time. “Second family.”

  Which was what Haley was asking of Philip Nachman, I thought, to father a second family. Jack Berliner might have jumped into the role eagerly, but it was something Philip didn’t want and shouldn’t be forced into. Suddenly I felt very sad and angry. I stood up to leave.

  “I don’t need to know the details about why you called, Laura,” I said. “I just want to know if Fairchild is in serious trouble.”

  Laura stubbed her cigarette into her coffee cup; it sizzled fiercely. “Oh, God, we all are.” And with that, she got up and walked out of the apartment.

  I was so surprised, I sat there for a moment thinking she would come back. When she didn’t, I rinsed out the coffee cups and put them in the dishwasher. As I left, I turned and looked into the condo behind me; it suddenly seemed as empty as a shell.

  And what in hell had Laura meant by saying we were all in trouble?

  I didn’t mention Laura’s remark to Haley and Frances, but when they wanted to go to Sunnyside for lunch I was very agreeable. It’s a small community so I was hoping we might run into Sister. I wanted to tell her what Laura had said, to encourage her to get in touch with her as soon as possible. As for Haley and Frances, they were hoping to find out the impotent man’s reaction to “Medical help is available.” But the writers’ conference participants were meeting in a building known as “The Nest,” so we were informed by the waitress at Billy and Jo’s. And their meals, she said indignantly, were being catered by The Catfish Market in Panama City, though Billy and Jo’s food was ten times better, a hundred times better, and they had even offered to throw in a brownie.

  “Did Aunt Sister,” I asked Haley as soon as the waitress had left with our cheeseburger orders, “happen to mention that she was meeting in The Nest and eating food from The Catfish Market?”

  “Didn’t say a word.” Haley grinned.

  “Sounds kind of nice to me,” Frances said. “I like catfish.”

  “But she didn’t get a brownie t
hrown in, Frances.”

  “Maybe she got something else, like one of those smushy lemon things with the graham-cracker crumbs on the bottom. Or even a slice of poundcake.”

  I looked over at Haley who was studying the beach. “After lunch,” I said, “let’s go see Blue Bay Ranch. It’s on the way home.”

  They both nodded yes, but Frances was not to be sidetracked.

  “You know what else she might have gotten?” she asked. “A cupcake with something on it. Maybe a marzipan shell, since we’re at the beach.”

  “Or a catfish,” Haley said.

  I kicked her lightly.

  “Will they let us in at Blue Bay?” Haley asked quickly.

  “We’ll tell them we’re visiting Eddie and Laura Stamps,” I said, “if they stop us.”

  They didn’t. In fact, no one was at the guard house. A sign in the window said, “On patrol. Back in 1 hour.”

  “Good. We’ll be able to steal a lot of stuff in that amount of time,” Haley said.

  “When you get to the fork, hang right,” I directed Frances.

  “Looks like a bunch of nothing in here,” Haley said. And just then we broke through the spindly trees and scrub bushes onto the bay where the five rainbow houses perched.

  “My Lord!” Frances stopped the car. “Look at that pink house. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  “I love the blue one!” Haley, who was sitting in the back-seat, leaned forward excitedly. “Look, Mama. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

  “No! The pink one! It’s gorgeous!” Frances insisted.

  The houses still looked to me as if some visually challenged architect had designed them. But I was in the minority here, so I kept my mouth shut while they ooohed and ahhhed.

  “The lavender one is Eddie and Laura’s,” I said finally.

  It was wonderful, too. Did I think it would be all right if they got out and looked?

  “Sure,” I said. What did I know? I even got out and looked around some myself, peeked in the windows of Laura’s lavender house, which glistened with new paint and wallpaper, walked down the pier and admired their boat. I had to admit that being on the bay would have its advantages.