Murder on the Cliff
Page 24
Charlotte remembered seeing the police scooter ticketing the parked cars on Ledge Road on the morning she had visited Shawn. “What did he look like?” she asked. “Did you see him?” She was thinking of the wandering tourist she and Shawn had seen on the Cliff Walk, the man wearing the baseball cap and yellow windbreaker who had studied them through his field glasses.
“Yeah. I was there when they brought him in. A thin guy with long, scraggly hair, a baseball cap, and very weird eyes: hard and shiny. They kind of rolled around in his head like loose marbles.”
Charlotte hadn’t seen his eyes, but the rest of the description fit the man she had seen on the Cliff Walk perfectly. She remembered him looking down at a piece of paper. She had thought at the time that it was a map, but it had probably been a photograph of his mark.
“A free-lance criminal: anything you want for a price. Burglary, safecracking, dope-peddling, murder. A witness identified him, someone who lives in one of the second-floor condos at The Waves. Saw the whole thing, but was afraid at first to come forward. They also found some bloodstains in his car that they expect will match Shawn’s blood.”
So, Lester had bought himself a killing, just as she had suspected. She thought back to Miller’s tips on how to get away with a murder: either do it yourself on the spur of the moment or hire somebody else to do it for you. Lester had tried it both ways.
“Something else too,” said Lew as the bartender handed him a beer for himself and a wine spritzer for Toni.
“What?”
“Remember the topknot you saw at Shawn’s condo? The one that someone had sent to Shawn to harass him?”
Charlotte nodded.
“It was Hayashi,” said Lew. “After what you said about him holding up the sign at the sumo match, Sullivan decided to bring him in for questioning. When they started grilling him about Shawn, he got scared and admitted to sending the topknot. He said he did it because he didn’t want to see a foreigner become a yokozuna; it was an insult to Japanese national pride.”
It was also jealousy, she thought, remembering how he had mooned over Okichi-mago at the geisha party and later insulted her by calling her Tojin Okichi. “Did you see the paper today?” she asked.
“Didn’t get a chance,” Lew replied. “What did I miss?”
“Yoshino Electronics just bought Paragon Studios. The idea is to merge the technical and artistic sides of the business. Tanaka and Hayashi may not like Americans, but they’re going to have to get used to us if they’re going to be running the country’s biggest entertainment company,” said Charlotte. It was one thing to buy office buildings and factories, but it was quite another to take over a business that struck so close to the heart of the American spirit.
“I guess we’re going to have to get used to them as well,” said Lew. “Was Paragon your studio?”
“Mine and most of the top stars in the business,” she said. “Which means the Japanese now own all my old movies.” It was the pending deal with Paragon that Tanaka must have been thinking about when he took his midnight stroll on the Cliff Walk on the night of Okichi-mago’s murder.
Toni had joined them, and Lew handed her her drink. The children had taken off for the cove at the foot of the lawn. The sight of them reminded Charlotte of Nadine’s sons. Their fate was the only unpleasant note in the final outcome. She had no qualms about Nadine going to jail, but she hated to see her boys suffer on account of it.
“What’s going to happen to Nadine’s kids?” she asked Lew. “Are they going to be ostracized because of what their mother did?”
“I’ll defer that question to my lovely wife,” said Lew.
“I doubt it,” said Toni. “People aren’t ostracized by society anymore because a relative has committed a crime. Not by Newport society, anyway. If that were the case, there wouldn’t be a Newport society. In fact, in some circles, having a relative who’s committed a crime, or, for that matter, even having committed a crime yourself, carries a certain cachet.”
“At the worst, her crime will be looked on as a social climbing accident,” Lew added. “Injuries sustained in a fall off the ladder.”
“But who’s going to take care of them?”
“Probably their aunt and uncle,” Toni responded. “The brother of Nadine’s former husband and his wife. They live here in Newport. They’ve practically raised Justin and Charlie anyway. When Nadine stayed with Paul, they always stayed there. Their sons are about the same age.” Her warm brown eyes smiled. “They’ll be all right. They’re good, solid kids.”
Charlotte was relieved.
As they talked, Charlotte caught sight of Marianne on the other side of the crowded terrace. She had battened herself to the side of a handsome young naval officer. Her nostrils were quivering, and her eyes had taken on a trancelike glaze. Hadn’t she learned? thought Charlotte. The last time she’d gone off the wagon she’d nearly gotten herself killed.
Lew’s glance followed Charlotte’s. “I can just envision the next Marianne Montgomery collection,” he commented with a devilish grin. “The return of pea jackets and bell bottoms.”
“She could call it ‘Anchors Aweigh’,” said Charlotte.
Lew burst into laughter.
As he joined them, Spalding figured out from the direction of their glances what they were laughing about, and adopted the expression of pained forbearance that he assumed with regard to anything that had to do with Marianne’s sexual eccentricities. Charlotte suspected, however, that he was fascinated by the ease with which his stepdaughter acquired and shed men.
“We were just observing that Marianne doesn’t seem too upset about Lester’s arrest,” said Charlotte.
“She’s not upset about the arrest, but she’s pretty damned upset about him trying to kill her. Actually, I think that’s what this is all about,” he added, nodding at the couple. “A combination of nervousness and the need for male companionship. I can’t say that I’m all that displeased about Lester’s being out of the picture,” he added. “But I’m worried about what’s coming next.”
Charlotte looked over at the handsome naval officer. “A naval officer isn’t a typical choice for Marianne,” she oberved. “Maybe the incident with Lester has inaugurated a shift toward a more conservative choice of lovers.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Spalding, with a weary shake of his white head. After a pause, he pulled a newspaper out from under his arm and opened it up to show it to Charlotte and Lew. “I thought you would be interested in seeing this,” he said.
It was a Japanese newspaper. An aerial photograph on the front page showed the Temple of Great Repose in Shimoda, the temple where Okichi had lived with Townsend Harris and which was to be the site of Okichi-mago’s funeral service. The courtyard in front was packed with people; others waited in long queues outside the gates.
“What are all those people doing there?” asked Charlotte.
“Pilgrims,” said Spalding. “Okichi-mago and Shawn are the front-page story in every newspaper in Japan. They’re calling it the greatest love story of the century.” He turned to the second page, which showed photographs of Okichi-mago and Shawn, both individually and together. “Lovers are flocking to the temple from all over the country to pay homage to them.”
“It’s like The Love Suicides at Sonezaki,” said Charlotte. “Immortality in this world and the next.”
“Exactly,” said Spalding. “They’ve been beatified.”
They were joined by Just-call-me-Ken, whose eyes shined behind his sporty aviator glasses.
“I see that you’ve seen the newspaper,” he said. “I got a call from Kanazashi-san in Shimoda this morning. He says his hotel is full of pilgrims who have come to visit the temple. He wants to organize a tour for the Japanese to visit the temple in Newport. I’m going to work with him on it. Our goal is to make the Newport festival as big as the Shimoda festival.”
“If the story of Okichi and Townsend Harris could become a legend, I suppose the story of Okichi-mag
o and Shawn could become an even bigger legend,” said Lew. “Maybe Yoshino Electronics will make a movie of it,” he added.
“I’m too old to play the part this time,” Charlotte said as she looked again at the newspaper. A close-up showed a young couple laying a bouquet of red camellias on the gallery of the temple.
As she looked up, she caught a glimpse of a tall, distinguished-looking man out of the corner of her eye. He was talking with Paul Harris. It was Jack Lundstrom, her fourth husband. Like Paul, he was an art collector. As a successful businessman, he had plenty of money to spend on art, and he had amassed a valuable collection of modern paintings. Charlotte guessed they were talking about the influence of the ukiyo-e artists on the modernists.
Turning her head, she caught Connie’s eye, and fixed her with the accusing stare that had often withered her leading men.
Connie’s blue eyes sparkled as she made her way across the terrace. “Isn’t it nice that Jack could make it to the party,” she said as she reached Charlotte’s side. “He just happened to be in town, and I invited him to come. I knew he’d enjoy meeting Paul.”
“He just happened to be in town?” said Charlotte sarcastically.
Connie smiled. “He’s going to be staying with us tonight,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. You two are such good friends.”
Charlotte took a sip of her drink and thought again of her dream. She had thought that when she saw Jack, she would know which to choose: the temple or the cathedral. But she was just as confused as ever. More so, because his intentions, which had been vague before, were now clear. He wouldn’t have come to Newport if he weren’t seeking a reconciliation. The thought of the dream reminded her of Aunt Lillian, who had spent fifty-six years out in the ocean on her white rock. “Where’s Aunt Lillian?” she asked.
“She just called,” said Connie. “She said she wasn’t feeling up to coming. She’s been working on her will. She says she has to be ready when the time comes. But she’s been saying that for the last twenty-five years. She asked me to give you a message. I didn’t really understand it, but she wanted me to pass it along exactly as she said it. Maybe you’ll understand. Sometimes I think her mind isn’t what it used to be.”
“What’s the message?” asked Charlotte.
“She wanted me to tell you that she’s leaving you the Japanese wisteria chest. She said to be sure to tell you that it’s for your temple, the temple of your dreams.”
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by Stefanie Matteson
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3713-6
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