Mermaids of Bodega Bay

by Mary Birk

  She tried to think about the night that Lenore was taken. Was it possible he’d gone out after she had fallen asleep? She never heard anything once she’d taken her pills. And they’d been at a party, so she’d had a few drinks. Maybe more than a few. But why would Will have harmed Lenore? She could not bring herself to think of the word “killed.” None of this made any sense. Then she thought of the photographs. He had to have been having sex with Marisol. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to stop the torrent of thoughts.

  Will must have fathered Lenore. Could he have killed her? Why else would he have the keys? Oh, God. But why? Then she remembered how it had been just him in the room with Lenore when she came to visit that day. The smell of semen hadn’t been from the night before—nor had the wetness. That would have long since dried. It had been from Will. Lenore, oh, God. He had sex with Marisol and then with her child—his child, too. Oh, God, this couldn’t be happening.

  She closed the glass cabinet doors and put the keys with the ballet program and the photographs on the desk. She had to get into the desk. Where did he keep the key?

  Across the room was a display shelf with Will’s mementos and some pieces of Pre-Columbian pottery. She had a vague memory of passing the room and seeing Will take something out of one of the pots. She hadn’t had any reason to care at the time and it hadn’t registered. Checking the inside of the smallest pot on the top row of the cabinet, she found the key.

  He would be back soon. She had to hurry.

  She unlocked the desk, releasing the drawers. Pulling them open one by one, she rummaged through the contents. In the bottom drawer, under some file folders, Rita found a large envelope, its contents bulging out so that the clasp could not be close. She pulled it out of the drawer and opened up the flap.

  Cash. Lots and lots of cash.

  And there was something on one of the bundles—blood. What could Will be doing with all this money? And why did it have blood on it? Whose blood? She looked through the rest of the drawer. A smaller envelope was pushed against the back of the drawer. Hands trembling, she opened it. More photographs. Lucy Shearling, naked and tied to some kind of a wooden beam, naked and bent over a bench, red welts across her backside. Had he killed her, too? There were more pictures but Rita couldn’t stand to look. She stuffed both envelopes back where she had found them, shut the drawer and locked the desk. She had to get out of here and get help fast. She got up and turned to go. Then she gasped and her blood froze in her veins.

  Will was standing at the door of the study.

  Chapter 74

  RITA TRIED to hide her fright while she furtively glanced over at the program and the Grainger house keys where she had put them on the desk, hoping that somehow, she could hide them before he saw them.

  She hurried around in front of the desk trying to block his view. She tried to look nonchalant. “Will, darling. You’re home.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  She quickly searched her mind for a legitimate reason for her to be in his study. “I was looking for a book.”

  He looked at her, puzzled. “What book?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well, so I thought I could just see if anything in here could give me a quick idea of what my symptoms meant.” Oh, God, that sounded so stupid.

  “Are you sick? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you. And actually, I feel better now. I just had a little headache. Probably my sinuses. Why don’t we go out to the kitchen? I’d love a glass of wine.” She tried to edge him out of the room in front of her.

  “Sure,” Will said. “Want me to get you some aspirin?” He went to take her arm and his gaze rested on the desk, taking in the Giselle program and the Grainger house keys. His eyes darted to her face. His grip on her arm tightened. He twisted it so he could see her fist, then pried her hand open. “The key to my desk?” He took it from her. “What have you been doing?”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “Shut up.” He pulled her roughly out of the study, up the stairs and down the hallway into their bedroom. He threw her on the bed. “Stay there.”

  She thought desperately of what she could say to reassure him that she was no danger to him so that she could escape. “Will, I don’t mind that you liked Marisol. I don’t mind that you thought she was pretty, Will, honey.” She heard her voice droning on but she couldn’t stop herself, even though she knew it sounded like nonsense. “All men like to look at pretty women. And I’m so much older than you. I understand.” She had to get away, call the police.

  “Shut up.” He put his hands to his head, shook his head. “Let me think. I need to get some things together.” His face had a strange, maniacal look she’d never seen before. Then he dropped his hands, looked around, and seemed to focus. He pulled open the top drawer of his nightstand where he kept vials of medications for their personal use. He grabbed a couple of the vials and put them in his pocket. He stepped over to his closet and reached up to take something from the top shelf.

  A gun.

  Rita caught her breath, but tried to appear calm. When did he get a gun? “Will, honey, let’s go have a glass of wine and forget all this.”

  “Forget all this?” He wiped his hair back from his forehead. “How can you forget all this? You always told me you’d divorce me if you ever caught me being unfaithful. Why would you forget it now? You’ll divorce me and I’ll get nothing. Nothing. After all I’ve done for you all these years.”

  He had to be crazy. How could he be worried about a divorce when he’d molested and murdered a little girl?

  His eyes glittered eerily. “You never let me forget about that damned prenuptial. I was always on probation, always auditioning to continue to be your husband. You made us move to this godforsaken place where I can hardly make a living as a doctor. So you hold the purse strings—you have all the power. Not anymore.” He motioned to her with the gun. “Now get up. We’re going downstairs to the kitchen. If you try to run, I’ll shoot you.”

  She walked slowly down the stairs in front of him.

  “Keep walking.”

  “Will, please.” She needed to calm him down. “I don’t care what happened with Marisol. That was so long ago, it just doesn’t matter. And I know Lucy didn’t mean anything to you, she slept with everyone.” If he was just thinking she thought he’d had an affair or two, she could calm him down, reassure him. Then go to the police when she could get away.

  He shook his head. “But you saw the keys.”

  “So what? Of course you have keys. You’re Andrew’s best friend.”

  “Sit down. There, on that chair.”

  She sat down on the chair in front of the kitchen desk. He opened the bottom drawer and took out a roll of duct tape. “Put your hands behind you—together.”

  “Will, you don’t want to do this.” She kept her hands in front of her.

  He slapped her face hard then grabbed her arms and pulled them apart. Her head jerked back hard, her face stinging with pain.

  “Now put your hands behind you or I’ll hit you again.”

  She quickly did as he said and he wrapped her wrists with the duct tape, then wrapped the roll around her mouth to make sure she couldn’t cry out. Next, he took her arms and taped them to her body so tightly that she couldn’t move. She could feel her nose running, and wasn’t sure if it was blood until it reached her mouth. Blood.

  “Don’t move or I’ll hit you again.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of the white wine Rita insisted always be kept cold there. “I’m going to get you that glass of wine you wanted.” He pulled a wine opener out of one of the drawers and opened the bottle. He took a wine glass out of the cupboard, filled it, then took the tape off her mouth.

  “What made you decide to go through my study?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Nothing. I was talking to Meg about Graham having an affair. I was just checking, you know.”<
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  His eyes drilled into hers. “Did you tell anyone what you found?”

  “Of course not. I’d just found them. We’ll just keep it our secret.”

  “Right.”

  Will opened several capsules of what she recognized as her tranquilizers and emptied them into the wine glass. “Open your mouth.”

  Rita tried to keep her mouth shut, but she started to cry.

  “Now, now, Rita, don’t cry.” He patted her on the back gently and held the glass up to her mouth. “Drink. This will help you calm down. You know I won’t hurt you. I didn’t mean to hit you. I was just upset, but I need you to calm down. So drink.”

  “Will, I don’t want to drink anything right now.” She didn’t trust him. She tried to make her voice sweet but it sounded like pleading.

  “Drink,” he commanded. “Open your mouth or I’ll have to open it for you.” He held the gun up to her mouth.

  She opened her mouth obediently and he fed the liquid in the glass through her lips. After she had drunk it all, he put the glass down.

  “Good girl. Now we’re going to go for a drive.”

  “No.” She was crying and started to hiccup. He got the duct tape from where he had shoved it inside his jacket pocket and rolled the tape around her head to seal her mouth up again.

  “We’ll go for a drive and then for a little boat ride.” He pulled her out the door from the kitchen to the garage. “You wait for me here in the car while I get some things together.” He popped the Mercedes’s trunk open with the key’s remote switch. Leading her around to the trunk’s open lip, he said, “Now, Rita, I need you to get into the trunk for a few minutes. Don’t worry, I’ll be back out to get you soon.”

  The trunk, oh God, no. She tried to think—would she be able to breathe in there?

  He lifted her up against the car, putting one hand behind her head to protect it as he lowered her into the trunk. She could tell that getting her into the car trunk was made more difficult for him because her hands were taped so rigidly behind her back, but he finally got her upper body into the trunk and folded her legs in after. But it must be a good sign that he’d been so careful putting her in. He couldn’t be planning to kill her.

  “I suppose I can’t trust you not to try to kick the trunk and make noise, can I?”

  Rita whimpered behind the tape covering up her mouth. Her husband took the tape out again and grabbing her ankles, encircled them tightly with the tape. “Take a little nap. I’ll be back soon.”

  She heard the trunk shut. The combination of the wine and tranquilizers was making her head spin and her ears buzz. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing through her nose.

  For the first time in years she prayed and meant it.

  Chapter 75

  WILL KEMPTON grabbed the fancy wicker picnic basket Rita always used for outings. He took it to the kitchen and filled it with some chicken, bread, fruit, the open bottle of wine, then added two more bottles of wine. He washed out the glass he’d used to feed Rita the pills and put it in the dishwasher.

  He went into the study and grabbed the keys to the Grainger Colony, both the master set and the house key he had from when he was treating Marisol. Finding out that his old key didn’t work in the lock anymore had almost screwed up his plan with Lenore. When had Andrew had the locks changed? Luckily he’d realized it in time and was able to take the master set of keys that Saturday when he came out to check on Lenore. It had all worked out well. He knew Andrew never set the alarm with Anne there.

  Looking around for anything that would incriminate him, he picked up the ballet program with the photographs. He looked at the photos and paused for a moment. He closed his eyes, remembering how Marisol had made him feel. How the thought of her overwhelmed him to the point where she was all he could think about. He had used any excuse he could think of to visit the Colony and see her and encouraged Rita to include the Graingers in dinners and other activities so that he could see Marisol more often.

  The first time he’d made love to Marisol, he had been so ready for her he’d ejaculated as soon as his flesh touched hers, before he’d even entered her. He’d quickly pulled away, afraid that she would wake up, although he knew she had far too much sedative in her to have anything disturb her slumber. The second time lasted longer and was more satisfying. He was always careful to clean her up after he finished so she wouldn’t suspect what had happened. Why hadn’t he worn protection so she wouldn’t get pregnant? He’d thought about it but he didn’t want anything between them. He wanted to feel her completely, so he took the chance, over and over. But it had all been okay, until now. Goddamn Rita and her nosiness.

  He knew he should destroy the photos of Marisol, but he couldn’t. He needed to figure out a place to hide them until all of this had blown over. He slid the photographs into the program, went back to the kitchen, and carefully put the program into the picnic basket. Then, remembering the money that had Gus Warren’s blood all over it, he went back to his office, opened his desk drawer, and took out the envelope. He would have to get rid of it, at least any of it that had blood on it. He spotted the envelope with his Lucy photos and grabbed that as well. Those photos he’d wouldn’t miss. He went to the kitchen and stuffed the additional items in the picnic basket.

  What else? He’d better leave a note for Bertha. She’d be back that night. Hastily, he scribbled a message letting the maid know that he and Rita wouldn’t be back for dinner—that they were going to have a picnic supper and spend the night on the boat. They had done that before, so she wouldn’t think anything of it. He told her she could take the night off, too.

  A plan began to formulate in his mind. Rita was known to like her wine and had been using and abusing tranquilizers and sleeping pills for years, thanks to him. He had started putting crushed pills in her drinks at night. The more she slept, the less he had to service her. Rita would have to have an accident—with the alcohol and prescription tranquilizers in her blood, an accidental fall off the boat in the night would explain her death nicely. Hitting her had probably not been a good idea; it would be hard to explain that as accidental. But it had felt so good to finally hit her after wanting to for years. When he dumped her over, he would make sure she went under the boat. That should take care of explaining bruises.

  He thought about the prenuptial. It cut him off if she divorced him, but not if she died, so long as they’d been married ten years. This might work out after all.

  It was dark now and the tint on the windows of his Mercedes were much more obscure at night than during the day, so he didn’t need to worry about someone saying that Rita hadn’t been sitting next to him when he drove off. He didn’t trust her to behave in the passenger seat on the drive to the marina. She could stay in the trunk. He would figure out how to get her out at the marina without anyone seeing when he got there.

  He quietly entered the garage, trying to hear whether Rita was making any noise. No, she was quiet. He opened the trunk. He didn’t want her to die until she went into the sea so there would be water in her lungs and so that her bruises being caused by hitting the boat or the motor would make sense. Post-mortem injuries did not look the same. He opened the trunk to check on her. Her eyelids, drowsy with the tranquilizers and alcohol, opened up slowly and her eyes looked at him with muted terror. Tears were streaming around her swollen nose and lips.

  “Don’t cry, Rita. You know what that does to your make-up.” He shook his head. “Very unattractive.” He put his hand down her blouse, squeezed her breast hard, and was surprised by his arousal.

  Rita like this was much more exciting to him than usual. But getting her out of the trunk to have sex with her would be too much work and would take too much time. He wondered if he had time to take care of it himself quickly while the desire was still hot in him. He slammed the trunk shut and got in the driver’s seat of the sedan. It would only take a minute the way he felt right now.

  He had time.

  Chapter 76

 
; FROM SOMEWHERE BEHIND her closed eyes, Rita heard the trunk open again. She felt herself being shaken gently. She tried to raise her eyelids, but they were too heavy. Finally, she got them open a slit. She felt so groggy, but then she realized he had opened the trunk again and she was still alive. They were outside, not in the garage anymore.

  “I’m going to cut the tape off your legs and hands. We’re going to walk out to the boat and try to figure all this out together. I brought us some dinner. I just needed you to calm down. We can talk on the boat. But I need you to promise not to scream or do anything.”

  Rita felt hope surging through her. He was going to let her out. She started to nod her head, but the movement nauseated her, so she stopped. He took his folding knife out of his back pocket and cut the tape off her feet. Then he pulled her feet over the edge of the trunk and lifted the upper part of her body and head out, again seeming to take care not to hit her head as he extricated her from the car.

  Glancing over at their boat while he was busy closing the trunk, she saw the lights were on. He must have already gone to the boat to turn them on. Leaning her against the open back of the Mercedes, Will seemed to change his mind about cutting the tape off her hands and mouth. He put her long fur coat over her shoulders and raised the hood to cover her head. She tried to see if there were any other cars in the marina. She didn’t think so, but he turned her around so fast she couldn’t be sure.

  When he started to walk her to the boat, Rita balked, but she felt him put his left arm around her shoulder, and use his right hand to put the knife under her sweater with the knife pointed gently pushed into her abdomen. “I don’t want to hurt you, Rita, but if you don’t behave, I will not hesitate to stick this knife in your skinny ribs.”

  He sounded like he meant what he said, so she decided she’d better comply for now. She obediently walked with him down the wooden dock ramp to the small fifty foot yacht that he had named after her. The Sweet Rita. Rita remembered he had wanted a fancier yacht, but she hadn’t thought it was necessary, and he had finally settled for this one.