Suspicion of Madness

by Barbara Parker

  In the tiled hallway Billy's footprints shone like neon arrows. She paused at the corner, peered around, and crept to the door of the business office. She had left it open, but now it was closed. There was a folding screen in the lobby, and she went to stand behind it, keeping her eyes on the door. He wouldn't get past her.

  The door opened, and through the crack in the panels she watched him come out. There was nothing in his hands. By the time she walked around the screen, Billy was gone, his footsteps fading toward the back door.

  What have you stolen this time? The front office appeared undisturbed. She tested the drawer where her assistant kept the petty cash. She went to her own office, saw her desk, and let out a cry. The wood was shattered around the lock. She opened drawers, flung papers aside. There was the envelope with a bank deposit. The cash was still in it. She slid open the bottom drawer.

  The revolver was gone.

  Lois ran out of the office and down the hall. What was he going to do with that gun? She stopped short at the back door, breathing hard. She eased it open, willing it not to squeak. She caught a glimpse of Billy's gray sweatshirt vanishing around the corner of the cart garage. Heedless of the rain, Lois ran after him.

  He went up the steps to his apartment. The door opened, then closed. Lois stood for a moment in the shelter of the eaves. She imagined Billy raising the gun to his head and pulling the trigger. In horror she looked up at the window expecting to hear the explosion and see blood and bone fragments splatter on the glass.

  She turned back toward the hotel. Had to tell Martin. Had to go upstairs and tell him before it was too late. She flung open the back door and ran down the hall and halfway across the lobby. And then her steps slowed.

  Something had occurred to her, such an audacious thought that she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from saying it aloud. What if she hadn't seen Billy take the gun? What if she simply returned to her cottage and waited? The hotel was so dark and empty. Who would know what she had seen?

  Oh, but Martin would know. She wouldn't be able to fake her reactions, and he would know. Anyway, she had to go upstairs; Doug needed to find out where Joan was.

  Beyond the patio, over the tops of the palm trees swirling in the wind, Gail could see a wall of black clouds on the horizon. Lightning flickered, silent at this distance.

  The Greenwalds' private suite on the upper floor had touches from the South Seas, much mahogany and sisal, with accents of red and gold. An L-shaped sofa faced the windows that looked out over the sea.

  Teri Greenwald had made a good effort to hide her swollen eyes under extra makeup, but it was obvious she'd been crying. Her long hair framed a face that suddenly looked its age. She must have found out, Gail thought, what had happened this morning when Billy encountered the mermaid. Her son was more ill than they had realized. But Anthony would be calm and reassuring. He would remind her that Tom Holtz had agreed to tell the police about his law partner's relationship with Sandra McCoy. This was good news. Billy was not likely to be arrested for the crime if they had the dead girl's lover as a suspect.

  Gail heard Martin tell Anthony that it looked like all hell would break loose in a few hours, but not to worry.

  "Teri and I like to sit right here and watch the show. We've been through a bunch of them. We open a bottle of Dom Perignon and put on some Latin jazz. Great fun. Gail, if you were staying, we'd have a party."

  "That is so tempting." Gail came away from the window. "Teri, I was curious about something. When Billy was eight years old, did he know Teddy Lindeman?"

  This question, coming out of nowhere, made Teri pause as if to remind herself who he was. "Teddy Lindeman? No." She glanced at Anthony for an explanation.

  "Ah. I think Gail is referring to Billy's delusion about his brother's death. He thinks that Jeremy died at Teddy Lindeman's house." Anthony added, "I was going to ask you this myself. Billy was never at that house? Never saw it? Never met Teddy?"

  With a small laugh, Teri repeated, "No, we never met Teddy Lindeman."

  "Do you think Kyle knew him? Could he have taken Billy to his house?"

  Shaking her head, Teri held on to her gold locket, which contained the small photographs of her sons. "Kyle was never involved in anything like that. I never heard the name Teddy Lindeman until... when? Until I came here."

  The telephone rang from its place on an antique ship-captain's desk. Teri looked in that direction. "I'll get it."

  Gail said to Anthony, "Shouldn't I go before the weather gets worse?"

  "We'll go now if you like." Martin stood up and took her hands, and his craggy face softened. "Teri and I are sorry you have to leave us so soon."

  "So am I. I'll miss you both. And Billy too." This was the truth, and if Gail had not made other promises, she would raise a glass of champagne with the others as the full force of the storm pounded the island. Instead, she would soon be on the road, and tonight she would lie miserably alone in her bed wanting Anthony beside her.

  "You won't believe it," Teri announced, coming back across the room. "That was Joan. She just woke up and checked her messages. She wants someone to pick her up. I didn't think she would come, but I'm glad. Martin, should I go?"

  "Is she ready right now?"

  "She has to get dressed. She said she'd call."

  "When she does, tell her I'll pick her up when I get back from the marina. You stay here with Anthony and put some champagne in the ice bucket. Better take out an extra bottle if Joan Sinclair is coming to the party."

  Gail groaned. "Please. Another word about what fun this storm is going to be, and I might have to stay."

  "You're always welcome here." Teri hugged her. "Be careful on the road. Will you call me sometime? I admire you so much."

  Before Gail could reply a loud knock came at the door, then again, even louder.

  "Who in the world?" As Teri hurried across the room, the door swung open and Lois came in, a gaunt figure in a navy-blue sweatshirt and slacks.

  Teri stood squarely in her way. "Can I help you?"

  Ignoring her, Lois pushed past. Her wet hair stuck to her forehead, and splotches of red darkened her cheeks. "Martin, I have to talk to you."

  Teri grabbed her arm. "You may not come into our home as if you owned it. You don't." Her voice cracked, perhaps from the unaccustomed experience of confronting her sister- in-law.

  "Let go of me." Lois spoke through her teeth.

  From the windows Martin said, "Lois, what's wrong?"

  She pulled her eyes away from her rival and folded her hands at her waist. "I... came to... to ask whether Joan Sinclair has decided to join us this weekend. If so, I should prepare lunch. And I thought... Martin... that you could ride over and bring her back, if she's coming."

  Teri said, "Martin has to take Gail to the marina. I told you this morning."

  "Are you speaking for my brother?"

  "Yes, she is." Martin was not pleased. "Joan is coming, and I would appreciate it, Lois, if you would drive over to get her when she's ready."

  "She won't get in a cart with me"

  "We have no one else," Martin said. "Teri is attending to our guest. If Joan gives you a problem, call me on my cell phone, and I'll talk to her."

  Lois lifted a hand. "I know. We'll ask Billy to go. Where is he?"

  "He's asleep," Teri said. "He's taking a nap, and I don't want him disturbed."

  "Oh, I see. Then let's not disturb him."

  Martin said, "Lois, do as I ask." It was an order, curt and final. He could have been speaking to one of the housemaids.

  Something flashed between them. It was as though years of interpreting Martin's moods and his wishes had given Lois the power to know his thoughts, and she had read them clearly: Her position with her brother had been radically and forever changed. She lowered her eyes.

  "I can't help you with Joan," she said. "I'm leaving."

  His heavy brows drew together. "What do you mean, leaving?"

  "I'm going to my cottage to pac
k a few things, and then I shall leave. It's time for me to turn the management of the resort back to you. Naturally I'll be available to smooth out the transition."

  "Lois, for heaven's sake."

  "The rest of my things can be sent to me later. Don't concern yourself, Martin, with getting me to Islamorada. I have a boat. I can get across before the storm."

  "Don't do this. You're being foolish."

  "On Monday I'll begin looking for a job. I don't expect any problems finding suitable employment."

  "No one has asked you to leave," Martin said.

  She made a slight smile. "Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

  Wearily he shook his head.

  "I have only wanted what was best for you, Martin. That has always been my guiding principle. I am sorry my efforts haven't been appreciated by everyone."

  "Wait a moment. Where will you go? How will I find you?"

  Her chin rose, and she lifted a shoulder. "I'll probably stay with Douglas. I didn't tell you about Doug, did I? You don't know everything about me, Martin. I have a life apart from The Buttonwood Inn."

  He put his fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Oh, Lois."

  "We've been in love for quite some time." Her gaze included the other three people in the room, daring them to contradict her. "Doug wants to move to the old Lindeman house and restore it. We'll be together. So I'm not really leaving, am I?"

  Anger pushed Martin to shout, "He's using you, can't you see that?" Embarrassed and reluctant to speak openly, he murmured, "Doug Lindeman was sleeping with Sandra McCoy, and there are others. Please. I don't want you to be hurt."

  Lois must have heard the truth in his voice, because her face had gone pale as ashes. She turned and walked to the door. It clicked shut behind her.

  "Oh, my God." Teri grasped for words. "Martin... is Lois really leaving?"

  "Apparently so. I'm as surprised as you are." He put an arm around her. "Teri and I had a long talk last night. We'd thought we might move to Palm Beach and let Lois run the resort, but she's made the decision for us. I didn't want to discuss it with her now, with so much else going on, but we'll come to an agreement."

  "I feel sorry for her." Teri sounded half-surprised to be making such an admission. "I've hated her for so long, and she has hated me, but now... I am sorry for her."

  "Teri, you're a saint."

  "No, I'm not." She put her head on his chest.

  "Indeed you are." He kissed the part in her glossy black hair. "I told Teri about my heart operation, so you see she's being very nice to me."

  Teri started to shake him by the shirt front, but looked around when the telephone rang again. "That must be Joan." She hurried to get it. "Hello?" Her smile faded, and the phone nearly slipped from her hand. She took a breath. "Yes. Yes, he is. Hold on."

  Martin said, "Who is it?"

  Teri's eyes were black and enormous. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Detective Baylor. He wants to speak to Anthony."

  Frowning, Anthony quickly crossed the room, and Gail drew closer as he spoke.

  "This is Anthony Quintana…. Courtesy call? Should I say thank you?" His face darkened. "Yes, but he's asleep on the orders of his doctor."

  "No!" Teri leaned against her husband as if she might otherwise sink to the floor.

  "When can we expect you?" Anthony listened then said, "It is your inconvenience, Detective, not ours." He hung up and looked at his companions. "The police have obtained a search warrant."

  25

  Billy and his father stood on the seawall on Joan's side of the island. It was raining again. Waves crashed into the pilings and spurted up through the broken boards in the dock. Billy had just handed over the gun. "It's loaded. I made sure."

  The chambers clicked as they spun around. His father checked the safety, then zipped the gun into his jacket. "Come on, let's get to work."

  Billy stepped over a gaping crack in the concrete as he followed him up the slope. He was tired. He wished he hadn't taken a sleeping pill on top of the Percodan, but that was before he found out they were leaving for Mexico in a few hours. He had packed some clothes but couldn't remember if he had brought his passport.

  "Help me, will you? Grab the other end of that tarp."

  Billy dropped his backpack to the ground, and they pulled a brown plastic tarp out from under some bushes.

  "It's heavy. What've you got in here?"

  "An acetylene torch."

  "What for?"

  "To cut through some metal." His father turned back the tarp, revealing a heavy red toolbox and a canvas bag with leather straps. "I don't need all this stuff. I brought everything I could think of."

  "We've got the cart," Billy reminded him.

  His father sat on one heel and opened his toolbox. "I spent some bucks on these tools. Nothing that can't be replaced, though. Now, listen. When we get over to Joan's house, you knock on the door. If she's gone, great. If she's still there, I want you to take her over to the hotel, then come right back. But if anyone asks, you're going to your room to take a nap and you don't want to be disturbed."

  "I understand."

  "See? I knew you'd be a good man to have along."

  "Dad, I have to ask you something. You remember the house that burned down? The one the Morgans owned?"

  "How could I forget?" He went through the toolbox and took out what he needed. "Hold that bag open for me."

  "Did you and Mom and me ever go over there? I mean... before the fire."

  "To that house? No. I saw it only once, after you burned it."

  "There was this mermaid on the dock, and I know I saw her before, when I was a little kid."

  "Saw who?"

  "The mermaid. Well, it's not a mermaid, it's a lamp made out of concrete—"

  "Billy, forget the fucking mermaid and help me. Finish loading that bag and put everything else out of sight. I'm going to check out the weather."

  He walked toward the dock.

  Billy quickly filled the canvas bag with the tools his father had chosen—a small sledgehammer, a hacksaw, extra blades, screwdrivers and wrenches, crowbar and pliers—then closed it and scrambled to his feet. A wave of dizziness hit him, but he blinked and his head cleared. He shoved the toolbox under the bushes and lay the tarp over it.

  On the dock he put up the hood of his rain jacket. The wind changed direction and the mildewed foam floats rolled in a half circle, tethered by ropes tied to the rotting lobster traps. Everything on the dock was black and rotting. It surprised him that the beam had held his weight.

  The bill of his father's Mercruiser cap swiveled around. He had a big smile on his face. "It's going to get bad sooner than I thought. I've done some crazy-ass shit on the water, but running a bonefishing skiff in a tropical storm is not one of them."

  The water rose and fell in jagged points topped with froth that the wind ripped away and sent flying. "What are we going to do?" Billy asked.

  "Can you get me Martin's boat and bring it over here?"

  "You're kidding."

  "Can you get the boat or can't you? If not, we're screwed."

  "Yeah. I can get it."

  "Excellent. Get it ready to go and wait till I call you. We'll drop it off at the marina in Marathon with a thank-you note. Do you have your cell phone? Billy? I'm talking to you."

  His father's voice faded out. The black dogs were here. They were barking and howling and running up and down the dock. They had huge paws, and their toenails clattered on the wood. Something bumped against a piling, and Billy looked over the edge. It was a little boy with a long green tail like a fish, but the scales were flaking off. The boy rolled over in the water and opened his eyes and laughed.

  Billy moaned and slid downward. Then he was on his back on the dock and his father was shaking him by the shoulders and calling his name.

  "Billy! Billy, what happened?" A lined face and gray hair came into focus.

  "Stop. Dad. My neck—"

  "What the hell's the matter
with you?"

  "Nothing." Billy sat up and leaned over his crossed legs. It felt like a rusty nail about an inch thick was being pounded into the back of his head. He wanted to vomit.

  "Nothing? You fainted. Jesus. Don't do this, Billy. Not now."

  "I'm okay." Billy tried to stand, and his father helped him up. "I didn't eat anything. Must be light-headed or something."

  "You scared the shit out of me." His father turned him around and looked at him. "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Are you sure? What about Martin's boat? Can you get it?"

  "Sure, Dad."

  They walked back to the tools, and his father put the canvas bag in the cart and tossed Billy's backpack in after it. Billy sat in the passenger seat. He held onto the roof support and watched the bushes come at him and slide out of the way. The tools rattled around, and then he was on the porch at Joan's house knocking and knocking on the door until his father said to get back in the cart.

  Billy couldn't remember getting out.

  "Okay, Billy, what are you going to do? Let's make sure we have this straight."

  The words came out of his mouth so cleanly. "Well, Joan is gone, so I'm going to the harbor and take Martin's boat down off the lift. I'll wait for you to call me."

  "All right. Now get going."

  A minute later Billy was staring at the open gate in the chain-link fence. He turned around the other way wondering where the cart was, and how he got here. Over his head the tunnel of bushes breathed in and out like he was caught in the throat of a giant animal.

  He thought of the razor blades in his kitchen drawer. He'd bought some at a hardware store to see if he could have them around and not want to use them. Five in a little box, edges wrapped in thin strips of cardboard. He had taken one out and pushed the point down on the vein at his wrist. The skin popped back when he lifted the blade. A kid in his ward at the hospital had told him you had to cut up and down, not across.

  What have you done? I told you to watch him. I told you!

  Billy spun the other way and looked through the gate at the closely mowed grass of the resort. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to be doing. Something important for his father.