Season of Fear

by Brain Freeman

  ‘Yes, someone told me how exciting it was to meet Naomi Watts in person,’ Cab replied.

  ‘You’re so funny, darling. Wicked but funny. You know, one of the women only had eyes for you. I may as well have been invisible.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Tarla inclined her head toward the welcome desk with a flirty flick of her eyebrows. Cab glanced in that direction and saw a woman in denim overalls staring intently at him. When their eyes met, she turned away. He didn’t know her, but she was about his age, black and skinny, with reddish corn-rowed hair. The red T-shirt under her overalls advertised a local landscaping company.

  ‘She looks quiet, but the quiet ones can surprise you,’ Tarla said.

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘I do say. I hear that librarians are ferocious in bed, for example.’

  ‘Where exactly did you hear that?’ Cab asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s true. What they lack in uncorrected vision they make up for in voluptuous curiosity.’

  He knew better than to argue with his mother. He took a last look at the museum desk, where the black woman stared back at him again. Her puffy lips were pressed into a frown. She picked up a water tank as he watched her and headed outside to water the hanging flowers.

  Cab offered Tarla his elbow, and she slung her arm through his as they left the welcome center and made their way uphill toward the tower. It was the top of the hour, and he heard carillon bells. The lawns around them were lush and manicured. Spanish moss swayed like a skeleton’s arms as a stiff wind rustled the tree branches. Quivering red and pink flowers dotted the bushes. As they climbed, the concrete trail gave way to spongy dirt. Bamboo clusters leaned over the path. Where the ground leveled, they could see the pink stone tower and its elaborate metal grilles on the far side of an algae-laden pond.

  They sat on a bench. The bells played a medieval carol. Tarla stared at the tower, which was full of memories for her, and the breezy self-assuredness in her face gave way to something more tentative. She could smile and make jokes, but she didn’t want to be here.

  ‘I know this is difficult for you,’ Cab said.

  ‘More than I expected,’ Tarla admitted. ‘I never came back here. After.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘It’s a shame, because this was one of my favorite places as a child. Diane and I spent hours here. There were days in Hollywood where I would sit and think about what was going on at the tower at that very moment. Who was there. What the weather was like. What music might be playing. It got me through tough times, remembering this place.’

  ‘Did you ever regret leaving home?’ Cab asked.

  ‘You mean, did I ever think about going back to Lake Wales? To my old life? Yes, many times. Even after I’d broken through, I had fantasies of going back. As soon as you leave something behind, you start to think of it as an easier, simpler time. Which it probably was.’

  ‘Why did you leave in the first place?’

  ‘Oh, you know me, Cab. I wasn’t cut out for small-town life. What would I have done here? I couldn’t steal a rich man like Diane. I didn’t have it in me. Probably, I would have been one of those women back at the welcome center. I’m sure they’re very fulfilled, but me, I would always have been on a low simmer, wishing I’d done something else.’

  ‘How did Diane feel about your leaving?’

  ‘She hated it. Hated me. At least for a while. However, when you chase a dream, you know you’re giving something up. There’s always a price. Your grandmother and I moved west, and a year later, she had a heart attack and died. I was alone. I really had no business making it on my own out there. I should have been ground into nothing. Most wannabes are. I was lucky. I never forget how lucky I was.’

  Cab frowned. Somehow, it was painful for him to think of his mother alone in Los Angeles, with nothing and no one to rely on for support. Tarla touched his sleeve. When he looked at her, she took his hand.

  ‘May I ask you something, Cab?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Am I a bad mother?’

  He was aware of the seriousness in her face and her fears over what he would say. ‘Why on earth would you ask me something like that?’

  ‘Hollywood types are not exactly known for their parenting skills, my dear. We can’t all be Brad and Angelina. I dragged you around the world. I threw you into crazy social situations with no preparation. I couldn’t help but notice that as soon as you had the opportunity to get away from me, you did.’

  ‘I assumed you wanted me to follow in your footsteps,’ Cab said.

  ‘Guilty,’ Tarla admitted. ‘Nepotism is the new black when it comes to actors. You could well have outshined me.’

  ‘I wanted to make my own footsteps, not follow yours. I was very much like you in that respect.’

  ‘And how is that working out for you?’

  ‘Not altogether well,’ Cab admitted, smiling. ‘I guess your shoes are hard to fill.’

  Tarla laughed. ‘Mine? Minuscule, compared to yours. Not just those size thirteen feet of yours. Imagine me raising a son who would actually do something worthwhile with his life.’

  ‘Do you really mean that?’ he asked.

  His mother looked at him with genuine surprise. ‘Are you serious? Of course I mean it.’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ Cab said.

  ‘I apologize if it seems that I’m trying to run your life, darling. I’m afraid it comes with the territory. I could promise to quit, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. As long as you don’t mind when I pay no attention.’

  Tarla grinned. ‘Sooner or later, I’ll wear you down. Which brings me to you and Caprice.’

  Cab held up his hand. ‘Enough.’

  ‘Well, you can’t blame me for trying.’ She stood up and squared her shoulders. She waited as he got off the bench, too, and then added: ‘So are you planning to stay in Florida?’

  ‘I guess I am,’ Cab said. ‘I’m not sure I’ll stay with the police, but I need a home base. This is actually a lovely place. And, as much as it pains me to admit it, I sort of like having you close by.’

  ‘Well, you charmer you,’ Tarla said. ‘Come on, let’s do this.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘As ready as I will be.’

  They made their way to the tower, through the clutch of vines, past the webs of huge spiders, and finally broke onto the wideopen crest of the hillside. The bells above them had gone silent. The wind was loud and strong, like an ocean wave. He could see orange groves lining the land below them. That was where the killer had come from, an assassin in black marching through a cloud of citrus.

  A wide path led from the tower itself, with soaring trees on either side, and ended in a broad swath of green lawn. ‘This is where they built the dais,’ Tarla said. ‘Diane and I were the first to be seated. She wasn’t feeling well.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Tarla shook her head. ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say.’

  ‘What about the assassin?’

  ‘Nobody knew where he came from. However, we all knew what would happen when we saw him there. You could have asked anyone in the crowd. We knew people were going to die.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’ Cab asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did anyone talk to him?’

  ‘Birch swore at him before he was shot. Other than that, there was simply screaming.’

  ‘What did Diane do?’

  ‘Diane? Nothing that I remember. She was frozen. In shock.’

  ‘Before the assassin shot Lyle, he turned toward Diane. You stood up and protected her.’

  Tarla sighed. ‘I told you, I don’t remember that.’

  ‘You’re here now. You’ve never been back before. Close your eyes.’

  She did, reluctantly. ‘Sorry, Cab, I don’t—’

  ‘Don’t talk.’

  Tarla looked like a ghost, all in white with the wind mussing her blond hair. She inhaled, swel
ling her chest. The fabric of her dress fluttered. The two of them were alone, and except for the hillside breeze, the world was silent. No voices. No music. Sometimes it worked that way; sometimes the past could speak, if you invited it. He waited for her, and a minute passed, and then two minutes.

  ‘I don’t remember him,’ Tarla said, ‘but I remember what I felt.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I remember thinking he was an ordinary man. How odd that was. I was taller than him. He just didn’t seem like … I don’t know.’

  ‘A soldier?’ Cab said softly.

  Tarla opened her eyes. ‘No, he certainly didn’t seem like a soldier.’

  ‘Do you remember anything else?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘I wonder if you felt like you knew him,’ Cab said.

  Tarla’s face grew sharp. ‘Knew him? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Is it possible he wasn’t a stranger?’

  ‘He was wearing a hood,’ she said. ‘And how could it be anyone I knew? Who would do something like this?’

  Cab debated whether to say anything at all. Then he said: ‘Could it have been Drew?’

  She reacted angrily. ‘Drew? That’s ridiculous, Cab! No, it wasn’t Drew.’

  ‘Someone overheard him threatening Birch shortly before Labor Day. He said he would kill him. Blow his head off.’

  ‘I don’t care what he said. Drew did not do this. He was in the pool at home when we left.’

  ‘He could have gotten out of the pool.’

  ‘And driven there how? Do you think Diane left him with car keys? He was just out of rehab. He wasn’t going anywhere.’

  She seemed certain of the truth, and he had to admit there was logic to what she said. He assumed that the FBI would have confirmed Drew’s whereabouts as a standard check-a-box during their investigation. Even so, he wondered. Something made sense to him about Drew pulling the trigger. The whole affair felt personal.

  Murder, not assassination.

  ‘Why would Drew have threatened to kill Birch?’ he asked.

  ‘He was troubled, Cab. He was an addict. That doesn’t make him a killer. He wasn’t the type.’

  ‘No one ever seems like the type.’

  ‘I knew Drew. You didn’t. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with this, Cab. If you’re trying to protect Diane, why aren’t you back in Tampa? Whatever happened here was in the past. It’s over, it’s done. Why do you insist on reliving it?’

  ‘Maybe because everyone tells me not to,’ Cab said.

  ‘Yes, you’re stubborn. I get it. You’re my son. Just please tell me you didn’t raise this nonsense with Diane.’

  ‘I asked where Drew was that night. That’s all.’

  ‘And you don’t think she’s smart enough to leap from A to B? Cab, you disappoint me. She deserves better from you than foolish accusations. Let it go.’

  Cab felt slapped. He knew when Tarla was asked to go places she didn’t want to go, she blustered and got angry. He didn’t know why the next words popped into his head. Maybe he just wanted to hurt his mother.

  ‘We slept together,’ he told her.

  Tarla stared at him. ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Diane and I. That summer. We slept together. Once. I left the next day.’

  He did something he’d thought was impossible. He left his mother speechless. She opened her mouth, and it was as if she were staring at a blank cue card. She said nothing at all. The color drained from her beautiful face. This wasn’t hurt; this was something much more profound. He’d damaged her in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

  She folded her arms across her chest. Head down, she stalked away from him.

  ‘Wait,’ he called after her.

  Tarla didn’t stop.

  ‘Let’s talk about this.’

  His mother never looked back. She hurried down the trail to the tower and continued past it, where the downhill path swallowed her. She disappeared, and she wasn’t coming back to him. He knew that.

  He stared after her, utterly devastated.

  *

  It was an hour before Cab summoned the strength to leave the gardens. The clouds made it look darker and later than it was, but it was already early evening. He felt a hollowness in his stomach as he headed for his car.

  ‘Mr Bolton?’

  Cab was outside the gates when he heard the voice behind him. He turned. The black woman in overalls who had been staring at him when they arrived hovered near the bushes. She spoke softly, as if hesitant about approaching him. Her fingers played with her corn rows.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘You are Cab Bolton, aren’t you? You’re a detective.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘My name is Gladiola Croft. Rufus Twill told me about you. He said you were looking into what happened here. He and I, we know each other pretty well. I told him things.’

  ‘Things?’ Cab asked.

  ‘I used to work in Birch Fairmont’s house,’ she said. ‘I was there that summer. Those murders? They didn’t surprise me none. That man deserved what he got.’

  20

  The waitress at the Starfish Grill in St Pete Beach had the largest breasts that Peach had ever seen. They were like muskmelons overflowing in brown flesh out of a low-cut orange T-shirt that was tight enough to be body paint. When the girl, who called herself Steffi, bent over her to put an O’Doul’s on a salted napkin, Peach was pretty sure she could see all the way to China at the bottom of her cleavage.

  ‘Fire wings’ll be right out,’ Steffi told her with a toss of her blond hair. ‘You want anything else?’

  Peach was distracted. ‘Uh, no, thanks.’

  ‘They’re super big, huh?’

  ‘What?’

  Steffi pointed to the indie-rock magazine overturned on the table in front of Peach. The Dutch band Rats on Rafts was featured on the cover.

  ‘Oh,’ Peach said, fighting the flush that crept onto her face. ‘Oh, yeah.’

  Steffi winked. She knew what Peach was thinking. ‘I love them. That what you’re listening to?’

  A headphone wire snaked from under the magazine and wound its way to Peach’s ear. ‘No, Skynyrd.’

  ‘Hey, classic,’ Steffi said.

  Peach nudged the magazine closer as the waitress disappeared. She wasn’t listening to Skynyrd. The headphone was connected to a shotgun spy microphone and voice recorder hidden under the open pages. The microphone, pointed at a table nearest the white beach, amplified the conversation that Frank Macy was having with another man and two girls who didn’t look much older than Peach. Frank and his male friend had pints of Guinness in front of them. The girls didn’t look old enough to be drinking anything other than strawberry lemonade.

  So far, they were talking about Cosmopolitan magazine and threesomes. Yuck.

  Peach sipped her O’Doul’s. She didn’t drink, but she blended in readily enough at a beachside bar with a non-alcoholic beer in front of her. She’d taken her outfit from Harley Mannequin. Spiky black wig, streaked with red and blue. White Road Warrior tank top. Jean shorts with an oversized American Rebel belt buckle and fishnets down her legs. Black studded boots. She’d added thick blue eyeshadow, a nose ring, and a fake tattoo of chains and flames on her forearm.

  The bar was half a block from Gulf Boulevard at the southern end of the peninsula between the Gulf and Tampa Bay. Steps away, waves roared over the sand, crashing in foam. The patio umbrellas rattled and flapped in the wind. So did the palm trees. There was no sun, only layer after layer of dark clouds. On the beach, surfers rode in on the swells, and teenage girls had their hair swirled into birds’ nests. The dust of blown sand coated everything, including her tongue.

  ‘One of my buddies has a place on the beach,’ Macy said. ‘I think we should take the party there.’

  ‘Does he have a hot tub?’ one of the girls asked.

  ‘Hey, it’s a zoning requirement to have a hot tub when you live on the beach. Didn’t you know
that?’

  His joke was greeted with giggles. Frank Macy was a hit with the young girls. Macy, sexy and suave, looked like a male model. Wavy hair, long and deliberately greasy. A plain white tee under an unbuttoned checked short-sleeve shirt. Red European pants. Weirdly smart, innocent eyes. His companion, who was Asian and had mostly avoided the conversation, was tougher and less sophisticated. Muscle shirt. Tattoos. Wild, ragged hair with a shaved railroad track.

  ‘I bet my colleague here can get us all happy and relaxed,’ Macy said.

  The Asian man didn’t smile. He drank his beer, and his eyes were stone.

  Peach spotted a familiar face near the entrance to the bar. Annalie Martine scanned the tables, eyeing the crowd, which was mostly swimmers with wet towels slung over the backs of the wooden chairs, and beach hipsters with dirty hair and chains. She hunted for Peach, but didn’t find her. Harley Mannequin had done her job.

  Peach’s phone vibrated on the table. She saw a text message.

  Okay, I give up. Where are you?

  Peach grinned and wiggled her fingers at Annalie across the bar. Her new colleague picked her way through the tables, watched by most of the men, including Frank Macy. Annalie’s hair was loose again. She was dressed in black, but her golden legs were shapely below the fringe of her lycra shorts. Her biking shirt was a zipped sleeveless jersey. She wore fluorescent sneakers. She had a leather handbag, which she draped over the chair.

  ‘One of these days, I’ll spot you before you spot me,’ Annalie said. There was a burble of noise hanging over the bar, but Annalie kept her voice low. Only Peach could hear her.

  ‘If you do, I’m slipping,’ Peach said.

  Steffi thrust her immense breasts between them. Annalie ordered a Corona with lime.

  ‘Wow, those things have to hurt,’ Annalie said as the waitress headed for the taps. She cast a dubious eye around the bar. ‘I didn’t figure you for a boob ’n’ lube kind of place. Big busts and tight short-shorts? Why are we here?’

  ‘Work, not play,’ Peach said.

  Annalie noted the overturned magazine and the wire feeding into Peach’s ear. ‘So who are you after?’

  Peach fingered the charm that dangled around Annalie’s neck and smiled as if she were commenting on it. ‘Table nearest the sand, two guys, two teenagers.’