“I …” Patricia took a deep breath and made an effort to continue. “She left late last night. I … I got back from our breakfast and went up to the room she was staying in. But she wasn’t there. This note was on the pillow.” She held it out to Brett with a shaking hand. “It says … it says she was going to go for a long swim in the water off Montauk. It says she was going to see what the lighthouse looked like from a few miles out at sea. It says goodbye.”
No one spoke. The only sound was Patricia’s sobbing.
THIRTY-FOUR
One Week Later
“I had wondered exactly why you were so happy to help me look into the murder.”
“What did you think?” Josie asked, pouring some beer from her Bud Light can into Clue’s open mouth.
“I had no idea,” Susan admitted, picking up the pile of towels she had been folding neatly. “I did finally realize that you had made the phone call to the station saying that a member of the crew was a murderer.”
“That was pretty stupid. I was worried about you. Patricia said that she wanted me to investigate the men on the crew, but she didn’t say anything about murder. And I hadn’t known about the note that connected you and Ken Cory to Simon’s murder that was found in Simon’s hand.”
“Patricia had told Lillian that I investigated murders. She probably saw the initials on the nail gun, what Simon had already scribbled on the paper on his desk, and added my name, thinking she was adding a suspect or two. Of course, she had no way of knowing that Ken Cory’s men really were going to be suspects or that I was going to be in immediate need of a contractor,” Susan explained.
“Well, once I got here and found out what the true situation was, I just felt like the police should get involved and look after you. Of course, I had no idea at the time that you were an experienced detective,” Josie added, her characteristic grin on her face.
“As you are now,” Susan pointed out.
“I am going to go home tomorrow and return to work for my old boss.” Josie tossed her head in a gesture Susan had come to recognize as an expression of her happiness. “It’s not an exciting life, but it’s my very own. I’m leaving murders to someone else.”
“Does this mean that the third-floor bathroom is almost finished?” Susan asked.
“We finished this afternoon. Just let the men clean up.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Hey, those guys aren’t sexist at all!” Josie insisted. “They said they’d mop up the place … as long as I took everyone out to dinner tonight.”
Susan laughed. “But there is something else that you want to confess, isn’t there?”
“How did you know?”
“Your hair.”
“My hair?” Josie once again repeated the impossible task of trying to smooth it down.
“It always looks like it’s going to take off into space, but that day in Simon’s office I thought it was going to levitate by itself.”
“That’s what my hair does after it’s been washed and rinsed a half-dozen times,” Josie admitted.
“And then I realized that you were the only person who knew I was going to visit Patsy Porter,” Susan continued.
“You know that I didn’t mean to scare you like that, don’t you?” Josie asked, sounding worried. “I was feeling so guilty about all the lies. I just wanted to talk to you. I thought I’d confess what I was doing in town. When I reached out to get your attention, I never thought I’d get socked with Clue’s manure.”
“If you’ll forgive me, I’ll forgive you,” Susan offered with a hug.
Later That Evening
“Wow! You’re a genius. This room looks wonderful!” Jed stood in the doorway and admired the third-floor bath. No longer did the eaves seem low. Now they were interesting angles that defined the room. Unused porcelain gleamed. The walls were freshly painted and the tiles on the floor unscuffed. Long towel racks held fluffy new linens and large shells displayed piles of scented soap. “Maybe we really should add a guest room up here,” Jed enthused. “This is great.”
“What a good idea.”
“After we pay off the bills from this project,” he continued.
Susan knew what that meant: There was no reason to start planning now. Besides, she had to worry about the other bathrooms. She kept calling the man who was making the tiles and he wasn’t giving her any answers. Maybe she should drive there, she thought, sliding her hand across the smooth, shiny rim of the bathtub—and running into a lump. “Jed, there’s a scratch here,” she cried out dramatically, flinging herself down on the floor and examining the spot more closely.
“This is the dent I saw when the tub was delivered,” she muttered. “I told them it was damaged and they ignored me.”
Jed sat down on the tub’s rim and examined the spot. “It’s just a tiny dent.”
“I know, but—”
“And to replace the tub, all the tiles would have to come down. And possibly the wall—”
“Probably the wall,” Susan corrected him. “I remember when it went in.”
“Do you like the room? Are you happy with everything except for this?” he asked gently.
Susan smiled. “Very. It really looks nice, doesn’t it?”
“Can you live with this?”
“Yes. I have other things to do. I’d better get down to the tile man if I want the other bathrooms finished before the kids get home,” she added, following her husband down the stairs.
Three Weeks Later
Susan cut the ribbon that hung across the doorway. “Ta da!” she exclaimed, and moved out of the way so that her children could enter and admire.
Except Chad seemed to have something different on his mind. “I’ve been living in the wilderness for five weeks. As nice as this looks, now that I’m finally in a bathroom I’d like to do something other than admire it!” he said, and hurried up to the third floor.
Chrissy strolled slowly around the room. Despite the oppressive heat of late summer, she was proudly wrapped in a new outfit of Spanish suede. The heels on her boots tapped loudly on the new tile floor.
“Do you like—” Susan began.
“Who did the tile work?”
“A man, an artist, really, who was recommended to us by the people who laid the tiles. See how the tiles are painted to resemble a field of flowers.”
Chrissy emitted a long, and almost but not quite, despairing sigh.
Susan got the impression that her daughter was sure that her parents would never, ever learn. She was just not sure what there was to learn.
“They’re okay. A little suburban, of course, but what else can you expect?”
Susan and Jed smiled weakly.
Three Weeks Even Later
“I thought you were going to take a bath in your wonderful, new extra-large bathtub,” Jed commented as his wife headed down the stairs in her terrycloth robe.
“Just getting some stuff,” she muttered.
Jed chuckled and leaned back against the wall to await her return.
“Look what I found in the refrigerator! Cold champagne!” she said a few minutes later, a bottle and glasses in her hands.
“Two glasses?” Jed grinned. “Does this mean you’re expecting company?”
“Jed …” She paused. “I’d really like to soak for a while.”
“I know. You go ahead and enjoy your first bath. I’ll have a glass of that stuff in the bedroom while you turn yourself into a prune—a sexy prune.”
“You’ll open the bottle for me?”
“Sure.” He took it from her and followed her into the bedroom. Gardenia-scented steam was billowing out of the bathroom door. “That tub isn’t going to overflow, is it? We don’t want another flood.”
“No. But it does take an awfully long time to fill.” Susan put the glasses up on the dresser and turned around.
“Where are you going?”
“Forgot the votive candles,” she muttered, vanishing out the door.
Jed was struggling to
open the bottle and didn’t bother to comment.
Fifteen minutes later the tub was full, the bathroom warm and steamy, a thin crystal flute of champagne waited on the metal shelf, and a half-dozen white candles shimmered on the iridescent watery surfaces of the room. Susan checked out the water temperature, dropped her robe on the floor, and got in, stretching luxuriously and slowly, slowly leaning back into the bubbles until she felt her head sink under the water.
“Jed,” she sputtered, spitting water out of her mouth and wiping bubbles from her eyes. “Jed!”
“What’s wrong?” he cried, dashing into the room.
“The tub! My perfect tub!”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s too long. I can’t lie down and keep my head out of the water. It’s … it’s like a coffin.”
Jed chuckled, then started to unbutton his shirt. “Don’t think of it that way. Think of it as a tub built for two,” he suggested.
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