Dead of Summer

by Sherry Knowlton

  “There wasn’t much I could say,” Tyrell continued. “We unloaded the bus at the church parking lot. All the kids left. Most of their parents were waiting for the bus to arrive. Cecily and I wrapped up a few details about the day then she drove off. I got my bicycle from inside the church annex and rode back home.” Tyrell ended with a deep sigh.

  Melissa put her hand on his arm in comfort. “We’ll talk some more. Maybe later this week.”

  “Sure.” He glanced at Alexa. “Ms. Williams, maybe we could have coffee on Monday or Tuesday to talk about that other issue? The family is still distraught and looking for answers.”

  “Of course. Just call my office, and we can find a time.”

  Alexa’s eyes followed Tyrell as he moved away, languidly weaving through the room in his red Chuck Taylors. When she realized that she wasn’t the only woman watching Tyrell’s exit, Alexa turned back to Melissa.

  “I agree,” Melissa teased. “The man is hot with a capital H. I guess you can’t tell me what you’re meeting about?”

  “Nope. Good ole’ attorney-client privilege. Hey, I haven’t eaten a thing. I’m going to get some hors d’oeuvres before they’re gone. Plus, I want to track down Mom and Dad. Go be the artiste and hostess with all your guests.”

  Alexa filled her plate with cheese, veggies, and tiny finger sandwiches and snagged a glass of wine at the bar. Unwilling to juggle both a glass and her food, Alexa pounced on an open bench along the wall. Her seated position provided a good vantage point to survey the room. The crowd had barely thinned, and the noise level continued to rise.

  Across the room, Alexa noticed Quinn Hutton and Jack Nash standing together in front of a photo, engaged in deep conversation. Even at a distance, Alexa recognized the portrait as one of the show’s best. Melissa had captured a beautiful Thai girl, who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, leaning against a rough brick wall in a shaft of sunlight. The girl’s expression radiated demure warmth. Melissa had titled the photo, As It Should Be.

  Something about Quinn and Jack’s demeanor caught Alexa’s attention. Clearly, the two were acquainted. Surrounded by a room full of people, they leaned close to each other, giving their conversation a furtive air.

  A deep voice interrupted Alexa’s blatant snooping. “Is this seat taken?” Trooper Taylor sat down without waiting for an answer.

  “Is this like in the movies where they go to the funeral to see if the killer shows up? I know that this is not exactly Cecily Townes’ funeral, but are you here to look for suspects?”

  “Do you think I would tell you if I was?” John Taylor laughed as he leaned back against the wall. “I’ll just say that I am attending tonight’s event as part of our ongoing investigation.”

  “Fair enough.” Alexa took a bite of cheese.

  “Your friend Melissa is a good photographer. I’m not really into this art stuff. I couldn’t afford to buy any of these pictures if I wanted to. But a lot of these photos just reach out and grab you. It’s gives me a better sense of why Ms. Townes was so big into trying to stop trafficking.”

  “I agree. Even though Melissa told me about her trip overseas with Cecily and RESIST, these photos do so much to bring it home. I guess it’s that whole picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words concept.”

  “Have you remembered anything more about that night?” The trooper’s abrupt change of subject caught Alexa off guard.

  “Not really. Have you made any progress on the case?”

  “We’ve learned a lot about Ms. Townes. However, the more we learn, the wider the net we have to cast. This woman interacted with people all over the world on a regular basis.”

  “I hope you will be able to track down her killer.”

  “So do I, Alexa. Would you mind if I stopped out at the cabin some evening to pick your brain on this whole thing? I understand that you didn’t know Cecily Townes, but you move in some of the same circles. You might be able to help me get a better sense of the big picture here.”

  “Any night but Tuesday is fine. Just give me a call.” Alexa wondered if Trooper Taylor’s visit was necessary to his investigation or if he just wanted to spend time with her.

  Get over yourself, she thought. You’re probably imagining that this guy is into you.

  Alexa spent another hour at the gallery, mingling and talking with her family and Melissa’s parents. By ten o’clock, Jim had arrived, and Alexa passed her assigned role as Melissa’s chief moral support onto his broad shoulders. She left the clamor of the gallery behind and headed for home.

  Chapter Nine

  SOON AFTER SHE ARRIVED at the office on Monday, Alexa phoned Melissa. “Hi. I didn’t want to call yesterday. I figured you would be exhausted. But I have to tell you that your show is fantastic. You must be pleased with the opening. The place was packed.”

  “I couldn’t believe how many people showed up. And I sold five pieces. But I was exhausted by the end of the night. Jim and I went back to his place after the show, and we stayed there yesterday, relaxing.

  “I just pulled into the lot behind the gallery right now. I shudder to think what a mess I’ll have to deal with. We cleaned up all the food and trash Saturday night, but I’ll need to sweep and put all the extra tables and chairs away.”

  “I should get to work, too. I’m happy that your show was such a success. I’ll bet that you’ll have even more sales over the next few weeks.”

  “Hold on just a minute until I get inside. There’s something that I want to tell you.”

  Alexa could hear the car door slam and Melissa’s steps on the wooden back stoop. Then, a wail. “Oh no! Who did this?”

  “Melissa, what’s the matter?”

  “Someone destroyed my office. There are papers everywhere, and my computer is gone.”

  “I’ll be right over. I’m hanging up the phone now. Go back outside to your car, lock the doors, and call 911.” Alexa knew that her morning schedule was clear. She had planned to work on a brief.

  “Melinda,” Alexa said as she dashed out the door. “Melissa has an emergency situation, and I need to go over to the gallery. I’ll call to let you know when to expect me back.”

  By the time Alexa reached the gallery, the Carlisle police had arrived. Alexa found Melissa leaning on her gleaming red Prius in the parking lot. The state police had permitted her to pick up the car last week.

  “Are you OK?”

  “No. I’m not at all OK. Someone trashed the office and stole my computer and one of my favorite cameras. The police are doing their thing in there now . . . looking for clues or fingerprints or whatever they do. It appears the burglars came in through that bathroom window on the side. It was jimmied open.”

  “You don’t have an alarm system, do you?”

  “I got a quote once, but it was too expensive. I guess that was penny-wise but pound-foolish.” Melissa pursed her mouth in regret.

  “What about your exhibit? Was anything damaged?”

  “Thank God, no. After all the work I put into the show—that would have been a disaster. Most of the photos that sold on Saturday are still hanging in place. People are coming in this week to pick them up.” Melissa grimaced. “What a nightmare. I hope my insurance covers everything. Luckily, my other two cameras are at home. And I’ve got digital backups for all the photo files on the computer—which is good since I’m selling everything on display as a limited edition series of twenty-five. So I need to reprint everything that sold. I was planning on contacting Pete and getting that underway today.”

  “That makes sense. You should capitalize on the buzz from the opening. I think that article in Sunday’s newspaper is going to bring a lot more people into the gallery this week.” Alexa looked toward the office to see what was happening. A lot of policemen were milling around.

  “Maybe that newspaper article brought the burglar into the gallery. Nothing comes for free,” Melissa said in disgust.

  “Such a cynic. But I can relate. I was so pissed when those guys broke into my cabin la
st year.”

  The two women fell silent as they watched another police officer arrive and rush into the gallery.

  Alexa remembered their unfinished phone conversation. “Hey, you said you had something to tell me?”

  “Well, mainly about all the photos I sold. But there was one weird thing. Jack Nash bought one of the framed pieces on Saturday night—the one called As It Should Be.”

  “I would hope so. He sounded like a televangelist preaching to the congregation. ‘Get out your wallets and buy so RESIST can get half the proceeds.’ Very generous of you, by the way.”

  “Thanks. The image he bought is one of my favorites. We met this young girl in the slums of Bangkok. Her name is Roongnapar Rathanapimarn. Thai names are so interesting. Her first name means breaking dawn. Her last is the name for the third level of heaven. But we called her Pa, or the English version, Dawn. Her family belongs to a Christian church that’s involved with RESIST’s on-the-ground effort in Thailand. Her father, Somchart, which means good to be born now, manages part of the operation.” Melissa smiled. “Pa’s such a beauty. To me, she embodies the way things should turn out for children everywhere—despite the poverty she had a safe place to live, a loving family. Just like her name, she was a ray of hope after I’d been exposed to two weeks of victims ensnared in lives of misery.”

  “I know exactly which photo you’re talking about. It was one of the best in the show.”

  “I’m pleased that it sold. But Jack Nash acted all Lord of the Manor when he bought it. He paid me ten times the asking price on the condition that I make it a single edition. He insisted on having the only copy of the work.”

  “Maybe it was his way of contributing a large chunk of cash to RESIST?”

  “Could be, but I got the impression that he just wanted to show that he had a lot of money to throw around. It’s unlikely that I would have sold ten prints of the piece during the show, but now I can never sell it again.”

  “You could have told him to go screw himself.”

  “Funny, that’s exactly what Jim said. But Jack does a lot for RESIST, and he did me a favor by speaking at the opening. I just took the deal.” Melissa walked closer to her back door to peer at the activity inside. Then she came back to Alexa.

  “Speaking of RESIST, I’m supposed to run over there as soon as Schuyler comes in at eleven. They want me to take some pictures of the staff. They’re hoping to do some sort of photo tribute at Cecily’s memorial service. I guess I’ll have to postpone that appointment to later in the day. Plus, now I need to go home and get one of my cameras for the group shot.”

  A policeman called from the steps, “Ms. Lambert, we need you inside for a few minutes, please.”

  “I can run out to the house and pick up your camera. This morning is a loss anyway. Is the key still under the porch swing?” Now that Alexa had left the office, it was easy to shirk that brief that she needed to write. Besides, Melissa looked at her wit’s end.

  “You are such a friend. Yes, the key’s in the same place. I want the Nikon D3X that’s in a bag on the kitchen table. Just bring the whole bag.”

  Alexa dialed Melinda as she walked toward the Land Rover. “I won’t be in until after lunch. I don’t have any appointments, right?”

  After a brief pause, Melinda replied, “No, the schedule is clear today so you could work on the Parson brief. Tyrell Jenkins called. Said you had agreed to get together?”

  “That’s right, but I can’t do it today. Can you fit in an hour tomorrow for me to meet him for coffee? Say, at Legal Grounds? Thanks. See you later.”

  Chapter Ten

  August 13, 1969

  Go with the flow.

  Sukie’s forehead touched the van’s window as she leaned forward to study the sign. She shouted, “This is it. This is where we camp.”

  “I hope I can make it over this bump.” Robbie eased the big Ford Falcon Station Bus off the paved road and followed a makeshift dirt road through the field. Tents and cars sprouted across the grassy meadow like clumps of colorful mushrooms. The scent of newly mown grass wafted through the open windows.

  “Here, Robbie, here. Let’s just park and set up camp,” Ben yelled over the sound of tires thudding into big clods of dirt. Sukie held onto the back of the seat to avoid sliding off.

  “I was trying to get the lay of the land. I think I see toilets over there to the right.” As Robbie took his hand from the wheel to gesture, the van hit a pothole and swerved into the grass. Sukie’s head grazed the roof.

  “Hey, man. I can see some towers over that hill to the left. That must be the stage. Right on,” JJ mumbled from the back seat, stoned out of his mind.

  Cheryl laid her hand on Robbie’s arm and spoke into her boyfriend’s ear. “Babe, that looks like a great spot to crash. Let’s stop ahead.”

  “Yeah, man, this looks cool,” Sukie encouraged. Six hours glued to this seat were about all she could take.

  Robbie finally stopped the van, and the group clambered out. Sukie grabbed Ben’s hands and twirled him in a circle.

  “We’re here. I can’t believe it. This is going to be so cool.”

  Ben kissed Sukie and shouted toward the sky, “The Airplane, The Who, Hendrix. What a rush.”

  “Plus, we have days to spend together.”

  “Yeah. Dig it, babe.” Ben dropped her hands and looked toward the towers in the distance. From here, Sukie could see huge lights fixed to the structures.

  “Do you think Joplin is going to sing ‘A Piece of My Heart’? That’s my favorite song on the album.” Ben played a silent riff on his air guitar.

  Sukie bit her lip and smiled. “I want to hear Janis do ‘Summertime.’” Regaining her high spirits, she danced around singing the bluesy Joplin version in a raspy voice.

  When Ben melted away to talk to Robbie, Sukie paused to scope things out. The only people near their campsite were lounging around an ancient bread truck. The words “Levi Bloom and Flatbush Boulevard” were emblazoned across the side in psychedelic letters.

  Wow, she thought, how radical to live in New York City. Someday, I’ll visit Brooklyn and Boston and California and Paris.

  Nina approached Sukie, Ben, and Robbie. “Come on, guys, we’ve got to set up before it gets dark.” She lowered her voice. “We’d have been here an hour earlier if Eskimo had been on time.”

  “We’ve got a lot of light left. Just go with the flow and everything will work out.” Sukie skipped toward the van to grab a tent.

  A few hours later, Sukie sat on a blanket next to Ben, vibing on the pleasant warmth of the campfire. Ben and Nina’s boyfriend, Phil, had found a little wooded area and scarfed some fallen logs. Sukie tried to place the pleasant smell of the wood smoke: maybe pine?

  Totally psyched to actually be here at Woodstock, Sukie studied the group that she and Nina had cobbled together. All eight huddled in a circle around the fire.

  Ben’s long brown ponytail brushed Sukie’s arm as he reached over to pass the joint to Robbie. “Man, thanks for driving us here. We are in your debt.”

  “I’m glad we came early,” Robbie observed. “That traffic got pretty hairy toward the end. Although, when you think about the relationship between mass and volume, it’s not surprising.”

  Sukie liked Ben’s gangly childhood friend even though she sometimes had trouble understanding the MIT junior’s train of thought. Half the time, she didn’t know if he what he said was truly heavy or if he was just spacing out.

  Robbie took a long hit and blew it into Cheryl’s mouth. Coughing, she sputtered, “This is primo weed.”

  Phil pushed his wire rims back against his face. “Hey, man, don’t bogart that thing.” Sukie was surprised to hear him speak for the first time in hours.

  Robbie handed the joint to Nina, who took a quick toke. Sukie noticed that Nina passed it on to Phil with elaborate care, caressing his hand as she cautioned, “It’s getting short. Don’t burn your fingers.”

  When the joint came to JJ, he whippe
d out a roach clip for the dwindling stub. Sukie was impressed by his skill in attaching the joint to the clip. Then she remembered that Ben had mentioned that JJ, his fraternity brother and a star lacrosse player, spent most of his free time getting high. She hoped he wasn’t getting high in the dorms this summer, where he was acting as a proctor for junior-high-age kids attending a four-week educational program.

  “The damn thing went out,” Eskimo protested when he accepted the roach clip. “I guess we’ll just need to light another one.” He drew an enormous new joint from his shirt pocket and fired it up in a blaze of smoke.

  Sukie didn’t know much about Eskimo. JJ’s friend, he had come down from New England just for this trip. Eskimo was a fine-looking guy with his black hair and ice blue eyes, but he looked too much like a jock for Sukie’s taste. Although he dressed preppie, Eskimo had been high since the minute he climbed into the van.

  “Is that weed I smell?” A loud voice boomed from the darkness beyond the campfire.

  Sukie peered through the haze of wood smoke and marijuana to see a tall, reed-thin man approaching. Several girls trailed in his wake. Their entrance made Sukie think about Nana’s rooster and his flock of hens. Then, three guys emerged from the darkness lagging several steps behind the girls.

  The first man, maybe in his late twenties, wore striped bell-bottoms, a flowered shirt, and a fringed leather vest. His wild Afro seemed at odds with the pallor of his skin. Clad in long granny dresses, all the girls had twined braids of flowers in their hair.

  “Greetings, freaks and beautiful people. I’m Levi Bloom of the band and recording artists, Levi Bloom and Flatbush Boulevard. Arabella is lead singer. These other flowers of Brooklyn are fellow travelers seeking the healing power of music and cannabis.” He pointed to each of the remaining three girls, who bowed as he introduced them in turn. “Sunshine, Sophie, and the wee one is Willow.”

  Levi turned slightly to indicate the remainder of his followers. “These gentleman are my bandmates, Manny and Diesel.” He pointed to the small, Italian-looking guy holding a ukulele. “Manny plays a mean bass guitar and ukulele, of course. Diesel is our drummer.” Diesel dressed as a miniature version of Levi, with fringed vest and striped pants.