by Tom Shepherd
“I am so tired...” Tanella’s curved eyelids stayed shut. “Should have ordered iced tea for the caffeine.”
“Perhaps, Miss Blake, you should rest after such an ordeal,” a softly accented voice said from behind my high back chair.
“Ahmad?” But when I turned, the big white belly of Abdu’l blocked my view. When he bowed, I saw the Prince standing on the carpet by a white pillar.
“His Highness requests the honor of sitting at your table,” Abdu’l announced.
“Hasn’t the Prince,” Tanella said without lifting her head, “ever heard of Myles Standish?”
“Your pardon?” Abdu’l said.
“Sally Ann, your call,” she said.
I shrugged. Ahmad took that as a “yes” and hurried to our table. He thanked Abdu’l, who took posted himself by a shuttered window to watch over the prince from a respectful distance.
“Yo, Prince dude!” Eric waved. “Want a corn dog?”
Ahmad smiled. “Perhaps a strong cup of Columbian coffee.”
Tanella raised her head. “Me, too.”
When soft drinks and coffee arrived, Tanella asked Moses if she could play the baby grand piano in the reception space between the Riverview Room and the Grand Dining Room. With nothing but the pounding rain to accompany her, Tanella slid across the black piano bench and perched her coffee cup on a coaster at the far end of the keyboard. She brushed the keys and began caressing a dreamy, floating melody.
The two black hotel workers from Atlanta came out of the kitchen and stood in the doorway, listening. Even while keeping one eye on his prince, Abdu’l cheated along the windows to get closer to the source of this rich music. Soon a blonde policeman—Borkowski’s other cop—appeared in the doorway, lingered briefly, and left the restaurant.
“Your friend plays like a cool wind in the desert,” Ahmad said.
“She’s thinking. When Tanella works on a problem, she takes a walk or plays the piano. She’s pretty good, too, for somebody who never took a lesson. The school music teacher called it perfect pitch, or something.”
“I do not recognize the piece. Chopin?”
“Blake.”
“Excuse me?”
“She makes up the tunes,” I said. “Never the same twice.”
“Amazing.”
Olivia Bennett came in and paused at the piano, swaying slightly at the knees to my friend’s music. She touched Tanella’s head, then went to a table by a boarded window. Nodding to us, Mrs. Bennett drew a pair of reading glasses from her purse and began reviewing the luncheon menu.
“So, Ahmad,” I said, “why aren’t you locked in mighty battle with the Israelis? Thought you weren’t breaking off the talks until the helicopter landed.”
Ahmad spooned sugar into his coffee cup. “Ah, yes. But even delicate negotiations must pause for food, drink and fine music. In my country, good manners require leisurely pursuits.”
He checked his watch, then waved for Abdu’l. Ahmad whispered something in Arabic, at which Abdu’l nodded and waddled down the carpeted aisle between the Greek mini-columns and disappeared out the double doors.
“You gonna attack the Jews?” Eric said, chewing on the stem of a maraschino cherry.
The Prince laughed. “I can attack no one, Mr. Thornburg. I am a poor servant of my father, the Emir.”
“Yeah. But the oil problem—”
I kicked his shin under the table, wishing my legs were longer.
“Ow! Quit it.”
“Apparently, Dr. Thornburg has briefed you,” Ahmad said.
“That hurt.” Eric reached under the tablecloth, rubbing his leg. “Nobody told us nothing. Actually, we overheard. By accident.”
“Accident?” Ahmad said.
“Well, you know, sorta accidentally on purpose,” Eric said.
“Please keep that information confidential. If word of their oil strike leaks to the media, the Israelis will be even less flexible, more demanding.” He dumped another spoon of sugar into his cup, stirring. “Although I don't see how they could be harsher to us than they have been today.”
“Israeli oil strike?” Eric said. “That’s what your people were mumbling about while you were out?”
I kicked him again, harder still. “Ow! Stop it, Sally Ann, you’ll break the skin.”
“How much oil do they have?” I said.
“I should not tell you, but we are marooned here. By the time you could pass on the information, they will have announced their find to the world.” He sighed. “Israel is a tiny country, but they apparently have struck a massive oil dome under the Negev desert. Some estimates put their discovery at three hundred billion barrels.”
“Don’tcha mean three hundred million?” Eric said.
He shook his head. “Billion.”
I was confused. “But Tanella said your whole country only has—what? Thirty billion barrels?”
“Yes,” he said. “And the biggest oil producing Arab nation, Saudi Arabia, has about two hundred sixty billion under the desert sands.”
“So, why is that a bad thing?” I said. “Couldn’t all y’all, Arabs and Israelis, sell every barrel you produce on the world market?”
“This is a very complex economic problem. Many nations produce oil. Russia, China, Iran, Canada—”
“And the United States. We’re the number one oil producer right now,” I said. Well, I finally remembered something Mr. lambert taught us.
“Exactly. But the United States has a diversified economy. Arab countries are absolutely dependent on oil. It is our main source of income. If the Israelis start pumping oil without subscribing to the rules of the world trade, they could flood the market and drive the price so low the whole Arab world would be bankrupt.”
“Yo, Prince,” Eric said, “No offense, but that wouldn't exactly break my heart.”
“I understand your feelings, Eric,” Ahmad said calmly. “But oil prices are linked, worldwide. Every major market would crash, and the collapse will reach even your robust American economy. Recession or depression will follow. Large and small companies will have no money to pay their employees.”
“So, what can you do?” I was dreading the answer.
“The same thing you Americans did to Iraq—attack and knock out Israel’s ability to destroy the world economy.”
“But we’re on Israel’s side,” Eric said. “Right?”
Ahmad nodded. “Doubtless, the U.S. will fight to protect the Zionist state. Your country will be at war with the Arab world.”
“Even you?” I wanted to touch his hand, but I was too scared.
He sipped his coffee. “We have made some progress. Well, at least the Israelis made an offer. I await word from home.”
“Why do you have to pump that oil, anyway?” I heard myself whining like a spoiled girlfriend. “Tanella says we need to reduce our carbon footprint, or we’ll kill the planet.”
He shrugged. “The world needs energy.”
“You a have a zillion square miles of desert,” Eric said. “Build solar farms, sell the electricity.”
I glared at him. Had my idiot cousin actually said something smart?
The Prince sighed. “We have a resource which brings badly needed currency to the Emirate. It isn’t as simple as turning off the pumps and switching to alternatives.”
Abdu’l returned as lunch arrived. “A line is open, Highness.”
Ahmad gulped his coffee. “As much as I enjoy your company, I have duties.”
“You’re calling Utaybah for instructions from Daddy,” I said. “Why don’t you decide for yourself?”
“Your innocence is most refreshing.” He spoke a word in Arabic to Abdu’l, who hurried away. Ahmad looked at me with a sad smile. “Diplomats do not make policy. I am a very young man playing a dangerous game. I must ask for guidance.”
“Coach calls the plays,” Eric said with a mouth full of hot dog.
“Excellent metaphor, Mr. Thornburg,” Ahmad said.
“But if you bring peace, won’t
your father be proud of you?”
“Sally Ann, you possess a virgin purity in a world of pitiless men. Protect your virtue. It is a trust from Allah.”
“Hers is safe,” Eric said.
Ahmad shook his head. “Such a treasure is never safe this side of Paradise.” He bowed slightly to me, then was gone.
I sighed, dreamily. Then I glanced at Eric. “If you say a single word, I’ll kill you.”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothing.”
“Tooth powder!” Tanella banged on the piano. A clump of notes, like a cat thrown on the keyboard. She jumped up and marched to Olivia Bennett’s table.
“I gotta hear this,” I said. Eric started to get up but I said, “Stay!”
“I ain’t your dog.”
“Be thankful. I’d put you down.”
Olivia had not noticed, so Tanella cleared her throat. “Uh, Mrs. Bennett? I was wondering if you’d tell me why Carsten O’Malley was so terrified of water?”
“Tanella! Join me for lunch? You too, Sally Ann.” She patted the table. “Sit here, Tee, by the window. Not that you can see anything with Hector’s plywood nailed across the shutters.”
“Will you tell me?”
She shrugged. “It’s too painful.”
“Forgive me. But it’s important.”
“You don’t relent, do you?”
“Not when my father is accused of murder.”
Olivia shook the flatware from the place setting and selected a spoon, laying the hump against her palm and rotating it slowly, as if she were buttering the heel of her hand.
“While Hector was hopping capitals with Chris Christopher, O’Malley and I were kidnapped by Arab terrorists. Not political terrorists—these men were undisciplined scum who wanted only money. They tortured Carsten, frequently. Tied him to a pillar near Alexandria and let the tide wash over him, each time telling him it was an execution. After a few weeks of nearly drowning, Carsten was terrified of deep water.”
“God!” I said. “It must’ve been awful. How’d you escape?”
“We didn’t. Hector paid $3.6 million in ransom. Carsten spent six months in the mental ward of a U.S. Army hospital in Frankfurt. Later, he returned to Egypt, hunted down our captors, and killed them all.”
“Were you tortured?” I wished I hadn’t asked, but still hoped she would answer.
Olivia sat back and looked away, as if she didn’t want to say the words to our faces. Finally she nodded. “I got an infection. I can’t have children.”
“I am sorry,” Tanella said.
“Why did you want to know all this?”
“If Carsten O’Malley hated deep water, he must have had extremely strong motivation to come to the pier. At first, I thought he only came because the tide was out, but the kind of fear you described would keep him away even from shallow water. Now I realize he might have come for two other reasons. Two strongest human emotions.”
She smiled. “Love or hate?”
“Yes,” Tanella said.
“Well, he hated terrorists. But Ahmad is no terrorist. That leaves love. You want to know—did I entice him to the pier with my feminine wiles, then kill him?”
“Did you?”
“Tanella!” I said. “That’s rude.”
“It’s all right,” Olivia said. “No, dear, I did not murder Carsten O’Malley.”
“Whom were you with that night?”
Olivia pushed away here coffee cup and stood. “I think we’re done playing detective for today.”
Tanella grabbed Olivia’s purse strap. “You didn’t tell us the whole story. Ahmad may have thrown O’Malley off the pier, but somebody else fished him out, talked with him for almost two hours, then killed him.”
“Let go of my bag.”
“If I do, it will be to go find Inspector Borkowski.”
Mrs. Bennett closed her eyes, then sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you. But I’m not sure you’ll want to hear it.”
She sat down, purse in lap, like she was ready to go but waiting for us to finish dessert. Tanella’s eyes never left Olivia’s face, as if she were studying Mrs. Bennett for any signs of deception. I got this bizarre feeling she already knew the answer.
“Carsten ridiculed the boy mercilessly,” Olivia said, “until Ahmad took a swing at him. He missed. Even half-looped, Carsten was still agile enough to defend himself against a teenager. Then the big Arab delegate, Abdu’l, appeared out of the night. He bashed O’Malley’s head into the wood pillar at the south end—yes, I saw it—and tossed him off the pier. The two Arabs fled as soon as O’Malley hit the water. I don’t think they knew his phobia.”
“You fished him out?” I said.
“Didn’t have to. He climbed aboard the Tropical Snow under his own power, dripping wet and howling like a madman. Banging on the door to the cabin, shouting my name. I got dressed and let him in—what else could I do?” She rubbed her elbows on the tablecloth, swaying with the memory.
“Carsten wanted a gun,” she continued. “I told him there was no gun. He said, ‘Don’t lie to me. Hector keeps a gun here somewhere.’ I repeated, no gun. He kept cursing Ahmad, pulling cabinet drawers, throwing my things on the floor. I was afraid he might leave and go after the boy, so I gave him what he really needed.”
“Sex,” I murmured, giving her my ‘we-women-understand-these-things’ look.
She frowned. “Booze.”
“Intelligent choice,” Tanella said. “Alcohol slows down responses. It’s a central nervous system depressant.”
“Well, I hoped it would calm him down. But Carsten could really hold his liquor.” She sighed. “I could use a drink.”
“Please go on,” Tanella said.
“I poured him a tumbler of scotch, then another, until he’d finished the bottle. I couldn’t believe it—he was still standing, cursing all Arabs and their mothers. So, I slipped into the pantry to fetch another bottle. Before I could return he staggered up the steps to the deck, fell overboard, and was splashing in the water. Only now the tide had come in. I threw two, three life preservers, but he was too drunk to grab anything. Never saw him in the darkness. I kept calling his name, long after the splashing had stopped.”
“Why didn’t you jump in and save his life?” I said.
“I look good in a bathing suit, honey, but it's all show. Can't swim a stroke.”
“Why were you sleeping alone at the boat?” Tanella said.
“Hector loves international finance, geo-political wheeling and dealing. I love my boat. When he’s wrapped up in a project like these negotiations, I often give him space.”
“And you spent the rest of the night alone?” Tanella said.
She flopped her purse on the tablecloth. “Why do you girls persist in asking me about my sex life? Some adolescent fantasies?”
Tanella shook her head. “When I used the bathroom in your cabin, the wardrobe door was standing open. You kept at least a dozen negligees at the boat. Yet, you said you were ‘naked in bed’ when Ahmad and O’Malley woke you up with their argument on the pier. Do you normally sleep in the nude?”
“Sometimes, if the night is warm. I like to leave the windows open, to hear the water lapping against the boat. The air was refreshing.”
“And buzzing with mosquitoes,” Tanella said. “Your boat has no window screens, but it does have central air.”
“I don’t intend to listen to your childish—”
“Why did you say I won’t like your story, Mrs. Bennett? I won’t like the truth, because I won't like the name of the man you were waiting for?”
“Tee, what are you talking about?”
“How do you know my babyhood nickname? You confused Sally Ann with Sally Mae, but you’ve been calling me Tee since we met. Only one person calls me that.”
“I’m done with this Q&A. Believe whatever you want.”
“It was my father, wasn’t it?”
“Tanella!’ I said.
“I figured it out while playing the piano.�
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Olivia’s face flushed red as her fingernails. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were waiting for him. You have been lovers for at least five years. That’s why he keeps coming back here summer after summer. No matter how remote the Hochberg Institute’s yearly topic is from Dad’s academic discipline, you always finagle him a slot.”
“I respect your father!”
“You certainly do. There was a plastic wrapped package of Winterwhite tooth powder beside your open tube of Crest in the bathroom. You expected him to spend the night.”
I squirmed in my seat. “Now, that tooth powder could be a coincidence.”
“Winterwhite isn’t sold on Barrier Island. You drove to Brunswick to buy it. Didn’t you, Mrs. Bennett?”
“Yes.”
My voice trembled. “Your dad killed O’Malley?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t come to the pier last night.”
“What?” Olivia said.
“When I came down to get ice for my bucket at midnight, Daddy and Dr. Thornburg were discussing politics in their pajamas, badgering each other in a mixture of Arabic and English. I recall the time because CNN News was covering the hurricane. Eric was watching Dick Tracy upstairs, so they let me stay for a few minutes of the Hagar update before shooing me up to bed.”
“I—I don’t understand,” Olivia said.
Tanella shrugged. “He stood you up.”
“I’m totally lost,” I said.
“Everything you told us is true, Mrs. Bennett,” Tanella said. “What you didn’t know is that somebody was on the deck when Carsten O’Malley staggered up the steps. That person pushed him overboard.”
“Oh!” I said. “But she thought it was—"
“Exactly. Mrs. Bennett expected my father, so she figured it was him. She assumed he fled after killing O’Malley. She hid the information to protect her paramour.” Tanella’s lips trembled slightly. “Am I right, Mrs. Bennett?”
Olivia nodded. “I love your father,” she whispered.
“That doesn’t make it right,” Tanella said. “You're married.”
“On paper.” She took a deep breath. “Who was on the deck?”
“I don’t know, yet.” Tanella shook her head. “Something is missing. I see pieces, but the puzzle is not coming together.”