‘A muscle spasm,’ he replied. He laid next to her trying to wish his heart rate back to normal; he was as close to panic as a man of his nature could be. So the police were looking for a man from New Hampshire in connection to the murder. Well, that was just great. It was now critical that Angie’s murderer be found soon, before they could find the man from New Hampshire, before certain facts came to light that could ruin him in Suzanne’s eyes forever.
He needed to put in a call to Charley Belchek and light a fire under his ass.
TWENTY-NINE
Carol Anne
Michael eased the Dermabrasion out of its slip while Cara and Eva ran giddily about the deck, both of the girls wrapped in life vests. Pacified by the churn of the boat’s engines and the warm sun on his face, Michael, Jr. kicked contentedly in his car seat. It was their first time out this season, and seeing the happiness on her children’s faces, away from the poison of television, Carol Anne wondered why she had fought Michael so hard over getting the boat in the first place.
Purchased with the spoils of vanity, the Dermabrasion was a thirty-eight-foot cruiser with two staterooms, a galley to rival most land-locked kitchens, and the best navigational equipment that silicone could buy. Carol Anne gave silent thanks to the women who had underwritten this extravagance with their tummy tucks and eye lifts and unreasonably enormous breast implants. She looked down at her small chest, smaller still after the last baby, and smiled. There would be none of that for her. Though her husband’s trade was making people what they weren’t and holding the ravages of age at bay, she accepted what nature had given her and was willing to take what time would bring.
The boat chugged through the glassy water of the marina at a no-wake speed, past docks of equally fine vessels. As they pulled from the calm harbor into the chop of the lake, the boat started to rock. Carol Anne looked back at the skyline, the high-rises like grey teeth against the blue sky. Against her will her eyes brushed the woods where Angie’s body had been found, and she felt hugely unsettled. It was unnerving how close her body had been to the harbor. Michael opened the throttle, the prop bit into the water and the boat lurched forward. As the girls screamed in glee, Carol Anne allowed herself suppress all unpleasant thought. Nothing was going to spoil this idyllic day.
Michael drove the boat for some time without stopping. When they were far enough offshore to be alone, he put the engine in neutral and called down to the girls, ‘Anyone want to drive?’ Piercing squeals followed as Cara and Eva clamored up to the bridge on their long skinny legs, each one fighting to be the first, the sounds of let me let me carrying over the water.
Carol Anne picked up the baby and sat in her deck chair nursing him. She watched his perfect little hands clutch her and his dark inquisitive eyes take in everything around him, rendering her so overwhelmed with love she feared she might burst. Her miracle baby, he was so long in coming, he may have never come.
When was it that the physical aspects of their marriage began to wane? Was it after the second baby or had it started before that? For the last years, their sex life had been practically non-existent, months passing without any physical contact between them other than a hug or a kiss. Whenever she broached the subject, it would turn into an argument and Michael would grow defensive, blaming their lack of intimacy on the pressures of work. The arguments would always end in the same way, rote, unsatisfying sex followed by more barren months.
While things were certainly different after Eva’s birth, in retrospect, their lovemaking had already tapered off long before that. Maybe not too long after they were married. With Michael in medical school and then interning, there hadn’t been a lot of spare time for sex, and after the girls came along there was even less. Each pregnancy and birth brought more prolonged barren spells. Carol Anne told herself this was how mature love was, and contented herself in raising the girls and taking care of her family. She had tried everything imaginable to make him more interested in her: sexy lingerie, scented body lotions, dirty movies, everything short of hanging from a trapeze and she would have had one mounted in the ceiling if she thought it would help. She couldn’t understand his lack of interest in her. She kept her figure, did the best she could with her unruly hair, and knew the face that stared back at her from the mirror was still attractive. She asked herself daily what was wrong with her that he was no longer interested in her.
But when they went six months without any relations, Carol Anne had gone to Michael and cried. Their son was conceived that night after he had made dutiful love to her. Afterwards, Michael had given her physical attention on a weekly basis until her belly was swollen with the baby, and once again the bed they shared was only used for sleep. It had stayed that way since Michael, Jr.’s birth.
But suddenly in the last week, Michael had done a complete turnabout. Since Angie’s death, he had made love to her nearly every night, which added up to more times than they had made love in the preceding year. Carol Anne didn’t know what to make of it, but she wasn’t complaining. She hadn’t forgotten the look on his face when he learned about Angie’s death. Maybe her death had shocked him into realizing that it was possible to lose someone dear to you. Or was there some darker reason? The one she had ever so briefly suspected. That he had been involved with Angie, and with Angie out of the picture, his love for her had returned.
Carol Anne refused to believe such a betrayal was possible. Michael had been her best friend since they met, and they had weathered the storms of young love together. The bedrock of their marriage was strong. She put away her doubts. Right now her biggest care in life was that they thrive as a family.
While Carol Anne nursed the baby, the girls took turns driving the boat until Michael cut the engine and let them drift. She went below deck with the baby and put him in his car seat while she prepared a lunch of turkey sandwiches, carrot and celery sticks, and, as a special treat, potato chips. She never served chips at home, didn’t want the kids to get too fond of junk food, but this was a special day. And it would appease Eva, who missed peanut butter sandwiches. Ever since Cara developed a peanut allergy, peanut butter was a forbidden commodity in their house. Even so, Michael kept an ample supply of EpiPens in the boat’s first-aid kit – just in case.
Carol Anne put out juice boxes for the girls and a cold beer for Michael. A Tab for herself. Leaving Michael, Jr. secure in his car seat, she carried the tray of food and drink upstairs and had just placed it on the table when the sound of an approaching boat drew her attention. There was a speedboat coming toward them with two men on the bow and a third one piloting. All three men were thin and bronzed and nearly naked in nylon thongs. They were waving at the Dermabrasion with an odd familiarity. As she stood there watching, the engines started up and Michael called out, ‘Hold on!’
Carol Anne was thrown against the railing as the boat jolted forward. The tray slid from the table, spilling lunch onto the deck.
‘Michael! What are you doing?’ she screamed. Even over the roar of the engine she could hear wails coming from below. She rushed down into the cabin to check Michael, Jr. He was crying, but otherwise all right. When the boat finally slowed, she marched back on deck with the baby in her arms. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ she shouted up to the bridge.
‘Mommy swore,’ yelled Eva.
‘Mommy swore,’ her sister echoed.
‘Those people in that boat – I didn’t want to deal with them,’ he replied, his voice barely audible over the churning engine and the wind whistling in her ears.
‘You knew them?’
‘They’re part of a group of moochers who’re always hanging around the marina. Ever since they found out I’m a plastic surgeon, they don’t want to leave me alone. If we’d let them tie up, we’d never get rid of them. This is our family day.’
‘Don’t you think that was rude, gunning away like that?’
He brought the boat to an idle without answering her. They were alone in the water, the phantom boat nowhere to be seen. ‘
How about we have lunch here?’
Carol Anne looked at the tray lying on the deck and shook her head in frustration. The sandwiches had survived intact, but there were potato chips and carrot and celery sticks strewn all over. She cleaned up the mess and carried the bowls back below deck to refill them. Michael and the girls came down from the bridge and the family sat in the sun, eating in peaceful contentment with the waves lapping the sides of the boat. Michael took a long drink from the beer, his eyes veiled but his smile broad. He put the can down and wrapped an arm around each of his daughters.
‘It doesn’t get any better than this, does it?’ he asked.
As perplexing as her husband’s behavior was, Carol Anne decided to let it go. No matter what, she was determined nothing was going to ruin this day.
The June sun was still high as they chugged back into Belmont Harbor, the water flat in the breathlessly still evening air. Michael docked the boat, only slamming into the pilings a couple of times, much to the amusement of the girls. Leaving the children on the boat while their father fiddled with the engine, Carol Anne started the first of many trips to load up the car. She had just put the cooler down on the ground next to the Volvo when she became aware of the two men watching her from a sand-colored car parked two spaces over. The doors opened and they got out. Warning bells sounded when she recognized them as the detectives who had come to her house after Angie’s murder. What are they doing here?
‘Pardon us for disturbing you, Mrs Niebaum,’ said the bulldog she remembered as Detective O’Reilly. ‘Do you mind if we speak with you for a minute?’
‘Of course not,’ said Carol Anne, not really meaning it.
The larger one picked up the cooler and put it in the back of the car for her. ‘That’s some beautiful boat you have,’ he said.
‘Yes, we’re very lucky to have it,’ she concurred. ‘We’ve only had it a couple of years and didn’t get a lot of opportunity to use it last year – me being pregnant and all. We’re really going to make the attempt this summer.’
‘You ever get the chance take it out at night?’ O’Reilly asked.
Carol Anne hesitated. The question seemed odd, and the unpleasant vibe coming from the detectives even odder. She planted her feet firmly and put her hands on her hips. Like a lioness facing off a predator outside the den, she sharpened her mental claws. Her sole purpose was to protect the pride. ‘What’s this all about?’
‘Mrs Niebaum, I want to ask you again what time your husband came home last Friday night – or Saturday morning – as you prefer.’
She tried to remember her lie, to keep it consistent. ‘I told you before. He came home shortly after midnight.’
‘Is your husband here? We’d like to speak with him.’
‘He’s on board with the children. I’ll get him for you,’ Carol Anne said, doing her best to sound cavalier with a tongue turned to cotton. The good feelings of the day had just gone up in smoke, leaving a tar pit smoldering in their place. She walked back to the boat on ankles made of wood, her head spinning like batter in the blender.
‘Michael,’ she called out breathlessly, as she climbed down the steps into the cabin. He poked his head from the engine room and she went to speak with him away from the girls who were entertaining their baby brother with a set of plastic dinosaurs. ‘The police are here. They want to talk to you,’ she whispered.
‘What the hell?’ His face blanched and his eyes went to the open hatch.
‘Not here, they’re in the parking lot,’ Carol Anne said. ‘Michael, I told them you got home around midnight the night Angie was killed. I know it’s a lie but I didn’t want them to know how late you’d been out. I didn’t think they’d understand.’
The color returned gradually to his cheeks. ‘That’s all right, honey. You did the right thing. I’ll talk with them and be right back.’
Carol Anne remained with the children, trying not to explode with anxiety as she finished cleaning up. The children were getting fidgety and it was all she could do to keep them below deck. There was no reason for them to be up top while their father was talking to the police – especially if something terrible happened. She wasn’t sure what terrible was, but somewhere in her imagination handcuffs were involved. Not that there was any reason for handcuffs.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ asked Cara. ‘Are we going home now?’
‘Daddy’ll be right back. Now be a good girl and get the rest of your things together.’
While the girls gathered up their clothes and books, Carol Anne finished wiping down the galley, alternating between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. She had never felt so confused and frightened in her life. Ten minutes passed, and then another ten, before Michael finally appeared in the doorway. When she saw him wearing his usual, easy smile, she finally let herself relax. All that worry for naught.
‘Well, gang, are we ready to go?’
‘Daddy, Daddy,’ the girls clamored noisily, scrambling up the steps behind him. Carol Anne picked up the baby and followed.
In the car on the way home, with the girls in the back seat absorbed in their coloring books, Carol Anne quietly asked Michael what the detectives had wanted.
‘Nothing really. Someone had put it in their heads that Angie and I might have had an affair.’
‘You call that nothing?’ Revisiting her unvoiced fear, Carol Anne grabbed the opportunity to clear the air. ‘Well, did you?’
‘Honey, don’t be ridiculous!’ He gave her a quick, sincere look before turning his eyes back to the road. ‘I can’t believe you even asked me that. I swear to you I never had an affair with Angela. Or any other woman.’
She watched him drive with his eyes fixed on the road. Though she believed he was telling the truth, the feeling something wasn’t right nagged her nonetheless. But despite everything coming at her, her world was currently back in place, so she held her tongue and rode the rest of the way home in silence.
THIRTY
Vince
Vince’s foul mood was further exacerbated when he pulled into the driveway and saw his wife’s Mercedes parked at the front door. No matter how many times he told her to put the car in the garage – they had three spaces – she regularly left it in the circular drive, making the house look like a shoot for a car ad. As if their stately abode wasn’t enough of a declaration of wealth, she had to prove to the world what she had. Once a peasant, always a peasant, he thought.
He pulled his Seville into the closest bay and closed the door. Giovanna had insisted on the Mercedes. He wasn’t a believer in imported cars, preferring to buy American. This country had been good to him, and he wanted to be good back to it. He was a standup citizen. He voted and paid his taxes. Well, most of them anyway.
He entered through the garage and stormed into the kitchen.
‘Giovanna!’ he called out, his voice filled with none-too-subtle anger.
Maria, the El Salvadoran housekeeper, poked her head from the pantry and pulled it back like a turtle retreating into its shell. She knew when it was best to stay out of her employer’s way. Vince’s trajectory took him through the kitchen to the entry hall where he stopped at the foot of a winding staircase and shouted again. ‘Giovanna!’
A moment later his wife’s head popped over the railing, her long brown hair flowing loosely over her shoulders. ‘Vince, what’s the matter with you, howling like a mad man? You’ll scare hell out of Maria and I’ll end up looking for a new maid.’
‘Goddammit, Giovanna. How many times have I asked you to park the goddamn car in the garage? How many times?’
‘Calm down, Vince, or you’ll burst an artery. I had some packages to bring in. I’ll move it in little while.’
Packages, packages. All the woman ever did was shop. ‘I’ve got some work to do, I’ll be down in my office,’ he yelled, bringing an end to the conversation if there was one. He took the winding stairs to the lower-level game room where a picture window looked out onto a landscaped yard and pool. With a bar under cons
truction, the room resembled a battle zone with tools and half-sawn pieces of wood scattered about. Vince ran an appreciative hand along the seamless cherry wood of the unfinished bar. The workmanship was as close to perfection as he had ever seen. Then, as if he were punishing the bar for something it had done, he banged it so hard his hand stung.
He went into his office and closed the door. Sitting behind the massive oak desk, he spun the Rolodex until he found the name he was looking for. He was already speaking before the receptionist spit out the name of the hotel.
‘I want room thirty-four. And if he’s not in I want to leave a message.’
But the resident was in. ‘What’s up?’ he said upon hearing Vince’s voice.
‘What’s up is I want you here immediately.’
‘Hey, man, it’s Sunday.’
‘If you want to keep your job, get your ass out here right away.’ Vince slammed the phone down even harder than he had slammed the bar. So what if the asshole was the greatest craftsman on earth, he sure was lousy at following instructions. Vince’s anger was so out of control he felt like his head might fly off. Giovanna was right. He got far too angry for his own good. His doctor had warned him it was unhealthy to get so mad, that it wreaked havoc on his blood pressure, but this was one of those situations where he couldn’t help himself.
There was a light knock at the door. It cracked open and Anna stuck her head into the room. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ she asked, flashing her dark eyes at him.
His mood softened immensely. He was glad to see his daughter was wearing her hair in its natural raven color again; she dyed it so often he was never quite sure what to expect. One day it was blonde, another day carrot orange. Giovanna had assured him hair was just hair and easily changed, not like tattoos which seemed to be the coming trend. Those would be tougher to get rid of.
‘Come in, baby. You know you never disturb me.’ She opened the door the rest of the way and walked into the room. Her tight jeans and a skimpy top bordered on trashy, and Vince reminded himself to have Giovanna talk to her about the way she dressed. Then he reminded himself that her mother didn’t dress much better herself, always opting for flashy as opposed to subtle. He wished Anna had a better role model; someone with class, someone like Suzanne.
The Last Night Out Page 18