From the Murky Deep

by Kerry J Charles

  The service lasted for only half an hour. Toward the end, Dulcie was vaguely aware of someone entering late. She heard, rather than saw, a brief flurry of activity in the pew on the opposite side. Nick sat between her and the latecomer. She saw him glance over, and could have sworn that has face had gone pale.

  After the service guests were invited to Clark and Lydia’s home. Jennifer’s body was being taken to a crematorium where another, smaller service was to be held the next day. Dulcie offered Nick a ride to the beachfront cottage. “Thanks, but let’s take my car,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have to be available for a quick exit should duty call.” He drove smoothly along the winding roads toward the ocean.

  As it came into view, Dulcie smiled. “Funny,” she said. “It’s the same water, but it just depends on the house you’re in beside it, or the boat you’re in on it.”

  Nick glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

  “My family lived on the water, but not like this,” she gestured at the grand houses of the rich around her. “I come from a line of fishermen and lobstermen. I was the fifth generation to live in that house. I watched my dad go out on a boat nearly every day. But it wasn’t a boat like that, for sure!” She pointed to a beautiful sailboat slipping along through the sunlight, clearly there simply to give pleasure. “It’s strange how the exact same thing can be different, depending on who you are.”

  Nick nodded. He didn’t think she remembered when he had mentioned his own background once before. He had been one of those people. The ones who lived in the houses that they drove by now. And he had walked away from it all.

  Dulcie turned to him. “Do you know who came into the church late? I heard someone but couldn’t see them.” She saw his hand grip the steering wheel tighter. ‘Did I strike a nerve?’ she thought. ‘Or did I just change the subject too suddenly?’

  “A friend of Clark’s, I think,” he replied. “From Boston. Do you know if it’s going to stay sunny today or are showers coming in like yesterday?”

  Dulcie almost laughed out loud. For such an excellent police detective, his change of subject was ridiculously obvious. “I really don’t know. Ah, here we are. Looks like nearly everyone else is here already.” They drove slowly for some distance before finding a place to pull over and park. Dulcie stepped out of the car, glad that she’d worn her flats for the walk to Clark and Lydia’s cottage.

  The room was full when they arrived. People were standing, drinking coffee, holding finger sandwiches or cookies on napkins but not actually eating anything. Some were perched on the arm of a sofa or leaning against the barstools but no one actually sat. Dulcie wondered why that was always the case. Maybe they didn’t want anyone, including themselves, to think they were staying for long? She leaned toward Nick. “I’ll get you a coffee. What do you take?” She saw him scanning the room.

  “Cream. Thanks. I’ll be over there.” He nodded to the corner beside the fireplace mantle. He could see straight through to the kitchen from there. For the umpteenth time, he wished that he could read lips. ‘I’ve gotta learn that,’ he thought. In his spare time. Sure.

  Dulcie located the coffee in the kitchen. As she was pouring she sensed someone beside her and looked up.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Amelia Davenport-Jones.

  ‘Dammit,’ thought Dulcie. She hadn’t thought to cook up a cover story with Nick. “A friend from a long time ago. I went to high school with Lydia and Jennifer,” said Dulcie.

  “Ah yes,” Amelia replied smoothly, looking Dulcie up and down. “Small world. ” She turned to leave and bumped into a man standing behind her. Dulcie saw a quick look of disgust flash across her face. She forced a smile and said, “Ms. Chambers, have you met my husband? This is Ross.”

  The man stuck out his hand with a jerky motion. He shook Dulcie’s exactly once, then released it quickly. “Pleased to meet you,” he added quietly.

  Dulcie smiled warmly at him. “You also. Your wife and I have a great deal in common, both lovers of the art world,” she said.

  Ross looked pained. “Yes, that’s a good way to put it.”

  Amelia grabbed his arm and said, “We have to talk to Clark.” Without even looking at Dulcie, she pulled him into the next room.

  ‘Wow,’ thought Dulcie. ‘There’s a match made in Hell.’

  Dulcie followed them at a distance to rejoin Nick. She stopped short and nearly spilled the coffee when she saw him talking with someone. Dulcie had never seen her before. She was striking. Blonde, heels that were a little too high for the occasion, expensive clothes. She was turned away from Dulcie, so she couldn’t see the woman’s face. She could see Nick’s, however. He clearly was not happy.

  Dulcie pretended to admire the ocean view, and timed her trip across the living room so that she reached Nick just after the woman left. “Who was that?” she asked. “You didn’t look happy to see her.”

  Nick looked tense. He took a deep breath. “Her family and mine were friends. In Boston. We kind of grew up together. Actually the families are still friends, but I’ve been shunned since I chose not to follow the predestined path.”

  “I’m surprised she talked to you then,” said Dulcie, handing him his coffee.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. He took a big gulp. It was hot, thankfully. Coffee was usually lukewarm at best for these gatherings. He was grateful. It cleared his throat along with his thinking.

  ‘She was the one who came in late,’ Dulcie thought. ‘No wonder he didn’t like seeing her. He’s working right now. He doesn’t need the distraction.’ She looked over at the woman again, who was putting a comforting hand on Lydia’s arm. She saw Lydia tense slightly, but she didn’t brush her away. Then the woman moved on, but first, behind Lydia’s back, the woman caught Clark’s eye and flashed a quick smile. It was not the smile of someone offering their sympathy. It was the smile of someone with a secret.

  “I wonder how she knows them?” Dulcie said to Nick.

  “Who?”

  “The woman you were just talking to.” She glanced at him briefly. He still looked annoyed. “Who is she?”

  “Lexi,” He said quickly. “Alexia Kent.”

  “She looks like someone who likes to manipulate people.”

  “You could say that.” His clipped response told Dulcie to drop the subject.

  Now Dulcie was somewhat annoyed. She had believed that she and Nick were working as a team. ‘No, I’m just the person who got dragged into this,’ she thought. ‘He does this for a living,’ she reminded herself. Still, she had thought they were getting to know each other more and that he might even be interested in her, in a somewhat non-professional way.

  Maybe she was wrong on that score. Right now, she had to focus on the task at hand. Nick was watching Lydia closely. Dulcie whispered, “I saw Amelia Davenport-Jones in the kitchen. She asked why I was here.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her I’d gone to high school with Jennifer and Lydia. It’s true, but I don’t think Amelia bought it. I mean, I think she knows there’s another reason.” She felt, rather than saw Nick nod. “I met her husband, too. Completely different. She clearly wears the pants in that relationship.”

  Nick smiled and Dulcie watched his face begin to relax. “Let’s mingle,” he said. “Try to speak as little as possible. Listen as much as you can.”

  “Yes, Detective,” Dulcie quipped.

  Nick smiled again. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘Stop. Don’t fall for her. You can’t.’ His lips stretched into a thin, straight line.

  They drifted from one group to the next, saying whatever was appropriate, listening more. On the third or fourth group, one man was droning on about his boat and Dulcie became bored. She glanced out the window. It looked over a small section of the porch, only visible from where she stood, then to the beach. She stared at the beach until two people stepped onto the porch. It was Clark and the woman that had made Nick so tense, Lexi. Dulcie couldn’t hear them but Lexi was clearly spea
king smoothly to Clark, and he was growing more and more uncomfortable. She made one last comment that Dulcie thought might have been, “Think about it,” and quickly left. Clark mopped his brow with his sleeve. Then he stumbled off the porch and walked out to the beach. He stood there for several minutes, then returned to the house.

  Dulcie hadn’t seen Lexi come back into the house. She quietly excused herself from the conversation and walked quickly to the back door. Peering out, she was just in time to see a red Mercedes pulling away. She thought it was Lexi at the wheel.

  ‘Interesting,’ she mused. She made her way back to the kitchen and poured more coffee. ‘Time to talk with Lydia,’ she thought.

  Lydia sat on one end of the couch looking exhausted. A couple stood over her, offering condolences as they were clearly heading for the door. Dulcie waited for them to go, then sat down next to Lydia.

  “How are you holding up?” Dulcie said.

  Lydia shook her head.

  “How about we go outside and get some air. Want to sit on the porch?”

  Dulcie gestured to the back door where fewer people would see them go. Lydia looked at her gratefully and stood. Dulcie followed her out the door, around the corner of the house, and back up the porch steps. Dulcie quickly chose the wicker chair facing the porch door where any of the guests were likely to come out. Lydia sat in the other chair with her back to the door. The chair backs were high, so Lydia would not be easily seen. Lydia sank into the cushions and closed her eyes.

  “This isn’t me,” she murmured. Dulcie said nothing. Lydia opened her eyes again. “You know who I am. Or who I was. I’m not used to this.” Her eyes roamed the surroundings, taking in the exquisite little house, a few of the expensive cars parked nearby, the ocean in front of her. “My grandmother lives in a doublewide, for Chrissake!” She looked back at Dulcie. “I thought having money would be fun and would solve every problem. I do have nice clothes, a nice house, a nice car... but the price you pay for it…. That’s what I never realized. These people,” she glanced back into the house. “They have their own language and I don’t understand it. They’ll talk about a bottle of wine or a place that they’ve traveled to, and I know there’s some underlying meaning, but I don’t know what it is. It’s like when you learn French in school, then go to Quebec. You understand the words people use, but you don’t know what they mean.”

  She looked very small. ‘She’s in over her head,’ thought Dulcie.

  “But Clark must help you. Doesn’t he understand what you’re going through?” Dulcie asked.

  Lydia’s face registered several emotions in rapid succession. She did not know what to do. She was caught. She had her plan, but it was all falling apart with Jennifer’s death. Should she tell Dulcie? No, she couldn’t. But she could at least tell her some things. Dulcie was practically a stranger now. It was so much easier to tell a stranger. She sat forward. “My husband doesn’t have any understanding of people’s feelings. Oh, he plays the part very, very well, certainly. But Clark thinks of Clark first. Always. He grew up with privilege. He was a little prince. Why wouldn’t he think that way?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dulcie, but Lydia didn’t hear her. She’d made up her mind.

  “You see, Clark has provided for me. He’s given me a beautiful home, car, allowance... but I’m here on my own for days at a time. He likes to be in Boston. He has friends there. One in particular. He doesn’t know that I know. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Dulcie exhaled in a low whistle. She knew exactly what Lydia meant. “Why don’t you divorce him?” she asked.

  Lydia began playing with her rings. “I don’t know. Because I feel stupid. Because I do like having the money. Because they’d all cackle about me and say how they knew I couldn’t hack it. Because my own family, who thinks I’m stuck up now, would have a field day with it as well.” And because she needed to figure out what to do about her plan.

  “I know what you mean, I think,” said Dulcie. “I inherited a lot of money recently, completely out of the blue. It changed my relationship with some people. In a couple of cases, we don’t speak any more. I don’t think I’ve changed really, but it’s amazing what jealousy can do.”

  Lydia nodded. “Thank you. It helps to talk about it. I can’t talk to anyone in Clark’s circle, and I certainly can’t tell anyone from my old group of friends or my family. I started to tell my Mom once, but she just got a little angry and said that I needed to ‘work on my marriage’.”

  Dulcie smiled ruefully. “I’ve never really understood what that means. But then, I’ve never been married.”

  “What it means is, ‘Shut up, solve your own problems, and you better stay married or you’ll have me to answer to.’ That’s what it means.” She closed her eyes again. “I just want to go as far away from here as I can get.”

  Dulcie reached over and squeezed Lydia’s hand quickly. She stood and said, “You stay in that chair for a little while longer. No one’s discovered you out here yet. Rest for a minute.”

  Lydia looked up at her. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “And Lydia, seriously, if you ever want to talk, I’m happy to. I mean that.”

  Lydia smiled softly and mouthed the word “thanks” as her eyes drifted closed.

  Nobody wants to be the first guest to leave a social gathering, even if none of them want to be there in the first place. They all wait and watch to see if someone else will leave before them. Once that first brave soul goes, however, the floodgates open.

  Dulcie watched people troop out the door one after another as though they were all late for somewhere else. If it had not been a funeral, she would have laughed. Lydia was discovered out on the porch shortly after Dulcie had left her, which was the perfect excuse for everyone. They could offer their final condolences and since they were already out the door and half way to their cars, they could just keep on walking. ‘Why didn’t I come out here sooner?’ thought Lydia.

  Locating Nick, Dulcie gave him a quick wave from across the room. He extricated himself and joined her. “Thought I’d lost you!” he said.

  “No such luck,” Dulcie replied. “I’ve had some interesting conversations, though. And have noticed a couple of things. Are you ready to go?”

  “All too ready,” he replied.

  They slipped out the back door and trekked down the road to Nick’s car. “I saw your friend leave. Rather quickly, I might add!”

  Nick’s easy saunter became a tight, measured stride. “Really.”

  “Yes. She’d been having a conversation with Clark Davenport-Jones that I would have to describe as clandestine. They were outside on the porch, down on the end where almost no one could see them. I was inside so I didn’t hear anything, but he was clearly uncomfortable. At the end I could swear she said, ‘Think about it.’ He literally mopped his brow and walked out to the beach for a few minutes. I went to the back door just in time to see her drive off. At least I think it was her. It was a red Mercedes sports car of some kind.”

  “That sounds about right,” Nick said with a hint of sarcasm. “You didn’t notice anything else? Did they exchange anything? Which one seemed in control?”

  “They definitely didn’t hand anything to each other. And I’d say that she was in control entirely. He looked surprised, confused, and maybe even a little scared. Doesn’t that seem strange?”

  “Yes. And no,” said Nick. He didn’t elaborate. “This is really helpful though. Anything else?”

  “Yes. A good talk with Lydia. It seems she’s pretty miserable in her marriage. She implied that Clark is cheating on her. She seems very lonely too. Her own family is jealous of her new status so she’s essentially been ostracized, and she doesn’t fit in with the wealthy set on Clark’s side either.”

  The wealthy set. That had been Nick. The life had the illusion of freedom. You had the means to do whatever you liked, but it came with strings attached. Many, many strings. He knew what it was like. Whoever held the str
ings was in control of your life. He knew how it could smother you. “They’ll eat her alive, if they haven’t already,” he said.

  #

  Amelia Davenport-Jones was particularly silent on the drive back to Boston. She was usually barking some order at her husband or, at the very least, criticizing his driving. Ross was grateful for whatever was on her mind.

  Amelia was reviewing the events of the afternoon and reflecting on her conversation, albeit brief, with Dulcie. She certainly had not expected to see her there. It threw Amelia off her game. ‘I must set up lunch with her again,’ she thought. ‘Soon. I don’t want her changing her mind on that piece for sale. They’ve already pulled out of auction once.’ She yanked out her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts. Yes, there was Dulcie’s number. She was sure she had entered it.

  “Who are you calling?” said Ross. He wished he had not spoken as soon as the words left his mouth.

  “No one!” Amelia spat out. “And watch out for that minivan. Damn things. People who buy those can’t ever drive!”

  ‘Here we go,’ thought Ross.

  Art is a lie that

  makes us realize truth.

  ― Pablo Picasso

  CHAPTER 11

  The differences between Dan Chambers and his sister Dulcie were many. The few traits that they did share were strong and defining. One was a love of the water. Any water. Another was dogged perseverance and a determination to get to the bottom of anything that puzzled them, big or small. If either latched on to a mystery, they could not stop thinking about it until they had some reasonable explanation. Otherwise, it bothered them continuously.

  The lobster buoy that was out of place bothered Dan. It was only one, on its own, and clearly set wrong. Anyone else would have put it down quite simply to the work of an amateur. But that was not a good enough explanation for Dan. Something about it was strange.