Suspicion of Madness

by Barbara Parker

  He tucked in his shirt. "Besides calling me a spic bastard, Billy said that Jeremy drowned behind that house. Not his parents' house in Marathon. That house. So. If you want a connection between the mermaid and his dead brother, there it is."

  "My God. Is it true?"

  "Of course it isn't true. He's irrational. He needs psychiatric care. He should have had it four years ago." Anthony stared out the window at the rain. "¿Cuándo va a parar la jodía lluvia?" He wanted it to stop. So did Gail. He downed half his brandy in one gulp.

  "What will happen now?" she asked him.

  "You and I are going to Tavernier." Anthony sat on the end of the chaise to put his shoes and socks on. "We have to hurry. The courthouse might close early. Martin will take us to the marina. From there, you drive my car. I'll use his and come back. Did you pack everything? If not, I'll bring it later."

  "Anthony, we don't have to do this. Never mind going to the courthouse. There's no time. Martin can take me to the marina. You stay here with Billy."

  "No, no, I have this worked out. It was my idea that we get married in the Keys. It didn't happen, but at least we can apply for our license."

  "Oh, sweetie. You don't have to prove you love me. I know you do." She went over to the chaise and sat on Anthony's lap. "I know it."

  "What about our marriage license?"

  "We can do it later. It's all right. Really."

  He looked at her, the whites showing under the intensely dark irises of his eyes. His hair was still damp, combed back in waves off his forehead. He put his arms around her. "I would marry you anytime you want. Tomorrow, next week, a month... but not June. I can't wait that long. Do you want to come back here? A sunset wedding. Martin said he would give us the biggest, best party—"

  She laughed. "No, thank you. Teri made the same offer, but I don't think so. Anywhere but Lindeman Key."

  Anthony closed his eyes. "Ay, Dios mío, todo sale mal."

  "Everything is going badly? Is that what you said?"

  "I don't mean you, sweetheart." He tried to move Gail off his lap, but she held on. "Gail, please."

  "Wait. It's about Billy, isn't it? I want to know what happened. You're not telling me everything."

  Seconds ticked by. Anthony let out a breath, then turned his eyes toward her again. "Billy admitted that he set the fire. He wanted the Morgans' house to burn. He poured gasoline on whatever would catch fire, and he lit a match. He lied to me, to everyone, and I fell for it. I bent the rules to save him, and all the while, he was laughing."

  "He did it on purpose? But why?"

  "Why? For fun. To see the flames. Because they didn't give him a big tip when he mowed their lawn the first time. Because he has a screw loose."

  "That doesn't make sense."

  "Exactly. He was sick. He needed help, and I refused to see it. But I won the case, no? I earned my fee. And I'll earn a fee defending him on a charge of first-degree murder."

  "He didn't do it. Anthony, it isn't your fault." She tried to embrace him, but he took her arms away.

  "Gail, we have to go."

  "I don't want to go. Let me stay here with you. We'll go back on Sunday."

  "Are you crazy? Your daughter would kill me."

  "We can blame it on the storm."

  "No, they expect you. You are going back to Miami, don't argue with me."

  "God strike me dead, but I don't care about making sandwiches at a homeless shelter. Karen will just have to understand." Gail put her head on his shoulder. "Don't you want me to stay?"

  "Ay, niñita, of course I do, but there's nothing more to be done here. I'll make sure that Tom Holtz talks to the police about Doug Lindeman, and then I'll be on my way home, too, as soon as the storm passes. You should go. For me." He kissed her. "I don't want to worry about you. Go now, it's a long drive in the rain."

  "I suppose I should. Are you all right?"

  "I am already missing you. Come on, let me up."

  Gail looked at him and realized why he didn't want her to stay. Not because of Karen. Not that. "You're afraid of Billy, aren't you? Yes, you are. Anthony, who's being irrational? He didn't kill Sandra McCoy. I don't care what he did four years ago, he wouldn't... do that. Cut someone's throat like that." Gail made Anthony look at her. "Do you honestly believe he did?"

  He thought about it, then said, "There is a difference between what I believe, and what is possible. No, I don't think he did it, but... but all the same, I think you should go."

  Climbing the steps to his apartment, Billy's feet weighed twenty pounds each. His neck hurt. His clothes were dripping. All he wanted was to go back to bed. When he opened the door he saw someone sitting in the lounge chair across the room drinking a beer. His father.

  "Hey, Dad."

  "You look like a drowned rat. Where've you been?"

  "Nowhere. Plantation Key." Billy hung his jacket on a peg behind the door, where it started making a puddle.

  His father wore rubber boots and dark gray waterproof pants with suspenders. A jacket had been tossed over the back of a kitchen chair. The apartment was two rooms cut out of a storage area over the cart garage. Most of Billy's stuff was heaped in piles on the floor. His mother used to come in here collecting dirty clothes, but she'd given that up a long time ago.

  "You were out in the boat with Martin Greenwald." His father tilted his beer can to his lips.

  "He had some stuff to do before the storm hits. I had to go with him."

  "Did Martin pay you? Or do you do whatever he says?"

  "I don't do anything for that bastard unless I get paid."

  His father laughed.

  Billy went into the bedroom to change clothes. He found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt between the bed and the wall, and some dry socks in his hamper. Through the door he could see his father's boots on the extended footrest.

  He put on his jeans. "So, Dad, what brings you here?"

  "I'm on my way over to Joan Sinclair's place. I went over there last night, but she was home. I didn't want to bother her."

  In the bathroom Billy opened his bottle of Percodan. There were only four pills left, and he thought that Dr. Vogelhut had probably given him so few in case he tried to take them all at once. He slid one into his palm and opened a second bottle for a sleeping pill. He filled a glass. It hurt to tilt his head back, and the water ran down his bare chest. He wiped his mouth and stared into the mirror. He looked sick. He hadn't shaved since he'd come home from the hospital. He touched the dark line of bruises going from under his left ear around his throat. He could see the ghosts of the turns in the rope. His mother, Martin, his lawyer—they were all afraid he would try it again. Sooner or later they would put him back in a psych ward. It was inevitable, especially after what just happened. Stupid, stupid, losing it like that.

  They would take him to see the doctor on Tuesday. The police would show up. They would say... "Come along, young man, don't cause any trouble," like last time, and they'd take him to the hospital, and his mother would be crying, but she wouldn't stop them.

  He turned the light off.

  His father said, "You got anything to do right now?"

  "Why?" Billy came back into the main room pulling his sweatshirt over his head. He lifted his hair with his fingers. "I'm not helping you with Joan's roof. It's raining."

  "Come over here. I want to talk to you," his father said. He pointed to the sofa. "Move some of that junk and sit down."

  In no hurry, Billy took a beer out of the fridge. He wasn't supposed to drink with the pills, but so what? When he sat down with it, his father kicked the footrest down and leaned toward him with his elbows on his knees. Lines went across his forehead. His lecture mode. "Billy, you're the only one in the world I trust right now. Do you know that? The only one."

  "Okay." Billy opened his beer.

  "I'm going to tell you something, so pay attention and don't interrupt. Forget the roof. I never intended to fix it. I wanted to get on her property."

  Billy st
ared at him, beer can poised at his mouth. "What for?"

  "Because there's some cash hidden over there."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Some cash. I don't know how much, but it could be considerable."

  "Where? Whose is it?"

  "It's nobody's. It's been there a long, long time. You know, back in the thirties, in Prohibition they called it, alcohol was illegal here, but rumrunners would go back and forth to Cuba bringing it in. They used the Lindeman house as a drop-off point, and one of them hid his cash on the property in a strong box. I don't know how much. Could be millions."

  "Millions? Oh, man. Over at Joan's?"

  "Yeah. I heard rumors over the years, and I figured, oh, a lot of hot air, but one day I said, hey, why not check it out, so I got to know Doug Lindeman. I thought he'd be able to get onto the property, being Joan's nephew and all, but she hates him, so we had to think of something else. Never mind all that. The point is, the money is there. Not in Joan's house. Not in it, exactly. It's buried on the property. I have a map."

  "Where'd they bury it?"

  "Somewhere. Don't ask so many questions. No one knows about this except Doug and me and now you."

  "It's Joan's money, though. I mean, if it's on her property—"

  "Jesus. It belongs to whoever finds it. Billy, she's crazy as a bedbug. I would bet you she has piles of money in the bank. She was a famous movie star. She has money, she's just too crazy to spend it."

  "She's not crazy."

  His father lowered his head for a second and pressed his beer can to his forehead. "Technically, the money belongs to Martin Greenwald. He bought the island, and Joan Sinclair is living there until she dies, then it's all his. Do you understand that, Billy?"

  "I guess."

  "Do you think Martin needs more money than he's already got?"

  Billy shrugged. "No."

  "All right, then. Listen to me. Doug and I were going to go in there together when Joan was out of the house. Then he called me up and said don't do anything yet, we're waiting a couple of weeks. Bullshit. I know what he's planning. He wants to cut me out and take it all for himself. He was talking about Europe, Hawaii, God knows where he'd go. Billy, are you following what I'm saying here?"

  "Yeah. I understand, Dad. He's going to screw you out of your share."

  "That's why I want to get in and get out. After that, I pick up my new boat. It's mine as soon as I show up with the cash. And then... I'm thinking of going to Cabo San Lucas. I want you to go with me. What about it?"

  "Puerto Aventuras in Mexico?"

  "In the Yucatán. You've never been there. It's a beautiful place. Fish jump right onto the hook, you'll see."

  "What about Doug Lindeman? He might be pissed off if you take all the money. He might come after us."

  The lines in his father's face deepened when he laughed. "I won't take it all. I'll leave some for him. Here's what I want you to do. First. I put some tools onshore at Joan's dock, and I need you to help me carry them— Billy? Are you listening?"

  "Yeah. Are we ever going to come back?"

  "We'll be back. We've got to buy that marina, remember? What's the matter? Why am I not hearing, 'Yes, Dad'?"

  "My lawyer said not to go anywhere till this stuff with Sandra is cleared up."

  "Did you kill her?"

  "No, I did not kill her."

  "Then tell your lawyer to go screw himself." He clamped his hand on Billy's arm. "I'm doing this whether you're with me or not. You think I want to be a bonefish captain the rest of my life, sucking up to the tourists, always in debt? What about you? Martin Greenwald's got you under his control, and so does your mother, but you don't see it. Come with me, Billy. You're good with boats. You could make something of yourself."

  Billy said, "My lawyer thinks Doug killed Sandra. He says Sandra knew what Doug was doing at Joan's house, and he killed her."

  His father stared at him for a minute. "Sandra knew about it?"

  "That's what Mr. Quintana thinks, but he doesn't know about the money."

  "Did he mention me?"

  "No, not at all."

  His father finished his beer and set the can on the floor. "Okay. Now look. I don't believe that Doug will come out here today. He's no boat man, and the seas are getting pretty rough. But he might. He might. I need a weapon. I didn't bring my pistol, and it's too late to go back for it. Can you help me out, Billy?"

  "Are you going to shoot him?"

  "Jesus, no. It's just insurance."

  "Dad, I don't have a gun."

  "Get me the one you had the other night."

  "I—I think it's locked up in the office."

  "Get it for me. Break the lock. I need some protection."

  "I guess I could."

  "You guess?"

  "Okay. I can get the gun for you."

  "Good. Next thing. You have to get Joan out of the house for a while. Bring her over here. Make an excuse. You're her friend, she likes you."

  "Dad, Dad, she's coming anyway. Mom called her on the phone this morning and asked her. I mean, she left a message and said, like, 'Come over and let's have a hurricane party all weekend.'"

  "Great. So you make sure she's on her way, but don't stick around. We need to get going. You never answered my question. Do you want to do some charter fishing?"

  Heat flooded into Billy's face, and his muscles wouldn't hold still. He felt the laughter ripple out of his chest. "I want to go with you."

  "You sure about that?"

  "I definitely want to go."

  His father held his hand up for a high-five, and Billy slapped it, then jumped up and danced around the apartment.

  "Okay, let's get busy." His father went to put on his coat. "You call if you run into any problems."

  "Dad—" Billy's heart was slamming in his chest. "I've been wondering something about Jeremy. Where did he die?"

  "What are you talking about?" His father stared at him with one arm in his coat, one out.

  "It's so weird because I can't remember. I thought he drowned in the canal behind our house in Marathon, but I'm not sure."

  His father put his coat on. "That's right, he did. Our house on Westwood Street. You remember. You saw him and you ran to get me in the garage. I was changing the plugs in my car. I jumped in the water and pulled him out. We tried to save him. The paramedics came, but it was too late." His father hugged his shoulders. "Hey, you're not still thinking about that, are you? Come on. You were only eight years old. It wasn't your fault."

  "I know that. It was an accident." Billy listened to the rain battering against the windows. "Okay, so where are we going to hook up?"

  "Meet me on Joan's dock as soon as you can. Bring a bag with whatever you absolutely have to take, but keep it light. Do not leave a note. You can call your mother later on." He put up the hood of his jacket and opened the door, a black silhouette against gray, slanting rain. "I'll be waiting for you."

  24

  Lois Greenwald had come back to her cottage to make the call, and had lain on her sofa for a long time thinking about it. Dim green light filtered through the leaves, and rain slid down the glass. It was like being underwater; the pressure on her chest made it hard to breathe. Finally she reached for her telephone and hit the button for Doug Lindeman. He answered on the second ring.

  "It's me," she said.

  "Hey. What's going on? Did Joan come over yet?"

  "Who were you with last night?"

  She counted off the seconds until he said, "What do you mean, who was I with?"

  "I saw your living room light go off at one-twenty-six this morning. At one-twenty-eight a woman came out of the building. Black hair, about thirty. She got into a Lexus with a New Jersey license plate."

  "Lois... I wasn't with anybody. I remember I got up for a glass of water, but if some woman left the building at the same time, it wasn't out of my apartment." He laughed. "Strange women do not go in and out of my apartment in the middle of the night or at any other time. I c
an't believe you were watching me. What kind of trust is that? What kind of friendship do we have?"

  "It was my understanding, Douglas, that we had more than a friendship."

  "Did you write down that woman's license tag? We can find out her name, and you can call her. Ask her if she knows me."

  Lois said nothing. She could feel his lips on her ear where the phone touched her.

  "Lois?"

  "I'm here," she said.

  "Why didn't you come up? I'd have let you in. You could have seen I was alone."

  Tears burned her cheeks. She wiped them away. "Don't ever lie to me. I think I'm capable of doing something terrible if you lied to me."

  "I'm not lying. Jesus. I can't believe you sat outside my apartment all night"

  "Not all night."

  "Poor kid. Next time, would you just knock on my door and ask me?"

  Lois held the phone so tightly her fingers were cramping. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

  "It's okay, cupcake. Do you mind if I call you that?"

  "I like it." She laughed. "Nobody ever called me such a silly name before."

  "Well, you are silly for worrying. Hey, while we're on the phone, did Aunt Joan come to the hotel this morning?"

  "No, not yet." Lois hugged a sofa cushion to her chest. "I spoke to Martin about inviting her for the weekend. Joan won't listen to me, but she likes Martin. He said he'd ask Teri to call because he had to go to Islamorada early with Billy and his lawyer. I don't know why. They got back a little while ago. But Arnel is gone. I sent him to Key West."

  "You're super."

  "When are you going to Joan's house?"

  "Soon as I can. Would you make sure where she is and call me right back?"

  "Douglas? You do love me, don't you?"

  "Of course I do, cupcake."

  Lois ducked under branches and palm fronds so laden with water they drooped across the path. Intending to take a shortcut through the delivery area, she noticed Billy going up the back steps. It was the way he did it that caught her attention. Skulking, slithering around the corner like a snake. She could feel his eyes probing at the bushes that shielded her from view.

  What was he doing? Lois decided to follow.