by Lee Roberts
“We must wait until June,” she said. “I promised my parents I would finish school.”
“We’ll see—but you will marry me?”
“Oh, yes, yes.” She turned to face him, her small face uptilted, her eyes searching his face. “I—I love you, Dick.”
“You don’t know much about me.”
“I know enough.”
He said with faint grimness, “Maybe there will be things about me you won’t like, I’m not—”
She placed a hand on his lips. “Don’t tell me. Not now.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her, long and hard, and his hands went over her body. When she began to struggle, almost frantically, he released her. “I—I’m sorry,” he said in a shaky voice.
“Please understand,” she whispered.
“Sure.”
There was a soft knock on the door then and Richard admitted a waiter bearing his drink on a tray. When the waiter was gone Richard lifted his glass and said to Rose Ann, “Sure you don’t want one?”
“No, thanks. Listen, Dick, tomorrow is my day off. Can you pick me up after work tonight?” She smiled, half shyly. “It seems that we have plans to make.”
He thought fast. Not tonight, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to arouse Karen’s suspicions, not even a little bit, not now. He said, “Honey, I’m sorry, but I can’t tonight—business. I’m having a poker party for some men from a boat company. It might mean a lot to me.” He paused and touched her cheek and added, “For us.”
She sighed. “But I will see you tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Don’t count on it. Tomorrow is Saturday and you can’t tell what these boys will cook up. There’s a good chance I’ll be tied up on Sunday, too—there was some talk of fishing on the reefs, and I’ve got to play along. You see, they build the boats, but buy the motors, and I want them to buy my motors.”
She sighed again. “A fine vacation you’re having.”
“I met you,” he said soberly. “I’m not complaining.”
They kissed again and then sat side by side on a small divan while he finished his drink. They made plans for their marriage and it was agreed that on a week-end soon he would take her to her home in Dayton to meet her parents. It all seemed strange to Richard, outlandish, even stupid. But he liked it.
The devil in love.
He took her to her rooming house, promised to see her as soon as he could, and drove to Erie Cliffs. Karen was still asleep, sprawled on her back, clad only in a slip, snoring gently. He gazed at her from the bedroom doorway thinking in a detached way that she was still an attractive woman. He moved to the bed and sat beside her. Part of his preliminary plan was to be especially kind to his wife. Besides, the time in the hotel room with Rose Ann had left him tense. He touched Karen’s naked shoulder. She stirred, mumbled something, and her eyes opened. She smiled at him instantly.
“I’m lonesome, darling,” he said. “You’ve slept all afternoon.” His fingers moved along her arm.
She pulled him down to her. “Richard, I was dreaming about you…”
That evening as they sat on the terrace after a late dinner drinking Scotch and soda, he said casually, “Darling, let’s go out in the boat tomorrow. Maybe have a picnic supper at Put-in-Bay, or one of the other islands, and come back by moonlight.”
She raised herself in her chair. “Why, Richard, that’s a lovely thought. Just the two of us?”
“Who else is there? Besides, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I was afraid you were getting a little bored up here.”
“Never,” he said, “not with you.” He took a long swallow of his drink.
“I’ll make the lunch in the morning,” she said happily. “Chicken sandwiches, and some ham. I have that big thermos for coffee, and there’s some roquefort left from dinner—I’ll even make a salad. It was so thoughtful of you, Richard. It’ll be like sort of a—a little second honeymoon.”
“Yes,” he said, drinking.
“Let’s go to bed now,” she said, “so that tomorrow will come quickly.” She was tired, in spite of her afternoon nap. She was constantly aware of the difference in their ages, and sometimes it was difficult for her to be everything to Richard that she imagined he wanted her to be. Tomorrow would be fine, though. On the boat, in the breeze and sunshine, the two of them alone. She reminded herself to be sure and take gin and vermouth and ice. This summer she’d acquired a liking for martinis, especially before lunch. That was the time that Richard made them, almost every day lately, but after she’d eaten she became so sleepy…
Richard Barry finished his drink and the ice rattled in the bottom of his glass. “You go on to bed, darling,” he said. “I’ll be in pretty soon.”
She stood up and placed a hand on his cheek. “I love you, Richard.”
He smiled at her and half turned in his chair to watch her cross the terrace. At the door she paused and blew a kiss. “For my handsome, thoughtful husband.”
“Good night.” He was still smiling, but his voice held a faint weariness.
She blew him another kiss on fluttering fingers, hesitated, and for a moment he was afraid that she intended to return to his chair. But she didn’t, and when she had entered the house he sighed deeply, lit a cigarette, and gazed out over the dark lake. Presently he got up, made himself another drink at the portable bar, and then sat for a long time, smoking and drinking, perfecting his plan. The moon was high and pale and a gentle pre-dawn breeze was blowing before he stirred and entered the house. He undressed quietly in the dark, listening to his wife’s gentle snoring.
In the morning they ate a combined lunch and breakfast and Karen began to prepare the picnic supper. Richard went down to check the cruiser and fill the gas tank. By two o’clock they were ready to leave. “No need for any clothes,” he said. “Just bathing suits.”
She raised her brows and shook a finger at him accusingly. “No clothes? Just what are your intentions, sir?”
He grinned at her. “Wait and see.” He was already wearing tight green swimming trunks and carried a mauve-tinted shirt. He patted her hip. “Put on that white two-piece job—it drives me nuts.” His plan demanded that she be found in a bathing suit—if she were found.
Karen laughed and entered the bedroom. Richard moved swiftly to the kitchen, lifted the telephone from its cradle and laid it on the shelf of the breakfast bar. He heard a metallic buzz and smiled to himself as he returned to the living room. If anyone should telephone the summer residence of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Barry this afternoon the line would be busy, indicating that someone was at home. He entered the living room, locked the front door and then carried the picnic hamper to the terrace. Karen came out wearing the brief white bathing suit. He had locked the rear door and they were descending the stairs to the beach, Richard carrying the hamper, when Karen said suddenly, “Oh, I forgot to call the dry cleaners. I want them to pick up some dresses and two of your suits.”
“It can wait,” he said quickly, and guided her firmly down the steps. Out at the end of the dock the cabin cruiser waited, tugging gently at her moorings.
Richard turned away from the vast window and moved through the house, snapping on lights as he went. In the kitchen he replaced the phone on its cradle. There had probably been no calls, he thought, but there was no point in passing up any angles. He went to the bedroom, thinking that everything was his now, this house and the big one in Cleveland, the cars, the stocks and holdings, all the money and worldly possessions of Karen. In the morning he would call the coast guard station to report his wife’s absence. Already he was rehearsing his story.
His wife had gone for a spin in the boat, alone. He had had a headache (or something) and had stayed at home. He had not worried too much when she had not returned by dark; she was an expert in the operation of the boat and knew the lake well. No, sir, she can’t swim, had never learned. Yes, we have friends along the lake, not near here, but it is entirely possi
ble that she may have cruised farther than she intended and had put in at one of the friend’s docks for a visit. However, if she had, I’m sure she would have phoned me. I was here, at home, all afternoon and evening, and she didn’t call. I went to bed, leaving a light burning on the end of our dock for her. This morning, when I realized that she hadn’t returned, I became worried—Oh, I forgot to tell you that last night I phoned our home in Cleveland, thinking that she might have gone there, but the servants had not seen her, or heard from her… Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. The boat was built three years ago, a Chris-Craft, thirty foot, registry number…
In accordance with his imaginary telephone conversation Richard went to the kitchen and flicked a switch there which turned on the beacon light at the end of the dock. It wouldn’t do any harm, he thought. Someone might notice that it was turned on, maybe even a coast guard patrol boat passing by, and it would check with the story he’d give out in the morning. And he must not forget to telephone the house in Cleveland tonight. Then it would be a matter of record, the devoted husband worried about his missing wife.
He took a hot shower, donned a pair of Bermuda shorts, made himself a tall gin and tonic and carried it back to the bedroom, where he lit a cigarette and, using the bedside phone, placed a call to the house in Cleveland. A woman answered and he knew it was Maggie, the housekeeper. “Hello, Maggie,” he said. “This is Mr. Barry. I’m a little concerned about Mrs. Barry. She isn’t there, is she?”
“Here? Oh, no, sir.”
He sighed, loudly enough for Maggie to hear, and said, “She went out in the cruiser alone this afternoon, and hasn’t returned. I thought she might have taken it into her head to run to Cleveland.”
“Oh, dear,” Maggie said. “Alone, in the boat?”
“Yes. She may have gotten lost in the darkness and anchored somewhere to wait for daylight. That’s probably what happened, but I’ll feel a lot better when she returns. I’m going to notify the coast guard, but if she shows up there call me right away, will you? Or ask her to call me?”
“Yes, indeed, sir, I certainly will.”
“Thank you, Maggie. Now please don’t get upset. I’m sure she’s all right.”
“I hope so, sir.” Maggie paused, and then said hesitantly, “Would—would you call me, when she comes home, so I won’t worry?”
“Of course. Is everything all right there?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Swell. Tell Albert I said hello. Goodbye, Maggie.”
Richard hung up, crushed out his cigarette, carried his drink to the long living room overlooking the lake, where he reclined in a deep armchair with his feet on an out-sized ottoman of soft leather. He sipped the drink, finished it, made another, and another. By midnight he was pleasantly drunk. He didn’t turn on the radio or television; he felt pleased with himself and just wanted to sit quietly and contemplate his future with Rose Ann. He wished he could be with her, but it wouldn’t be smart for him to see her tonight, or even leave the house. There was plenty of time to see Rose Ann, all the years of his life.
At one o’clock in the morning he went to bed, leaving the lights burning, including the lonely beacon on the end of the dock. He slept soundly.
CHAPTER FOUR
Richard awakened a little before nine, early for him, and after a breakfast of orange juice and coffee he lit a cigarette and telephoned the coast guard station. His conversation with the officer who answered went pretty much as he’d rehearsed it in his mind. As he talked, he crushed out the cigarette, which tasted like burning straw (how much gin had he taken aboard last night?). The officer listened sympathetically, asked questions and promised to alert all patrols. Richard thanked him, assured him that he’d be at home all day in case they had any news for him and that he’d call immediately if his wife returned. Richard hung up, smiling. Everything was under control, working according to his plan, very professional. Alex Kamin would approve.
But it was a long day for Richard. He couldn’t go down to the beach, for fear of not hearing the phone. He wandered around the house drinking bourbon straight from the bottle, but not too much. There was a chance they’d find Karen’s body or the boat, and he wanted to be alert. He thought constantly of Rose Ann, knowing that she would be half expecting him to meet her, in spite of what he’d told her on Friday afternoon. But it would be too risky; he was supposed to be a worried husband waiting at home for news of his missing wife.
At noon he made a ham and cheese sandwich on rye and poured a glass of milk. As he ate, he became aware of the darkening sky and the rising moan of the wind. He went to the kitchen window and gazed out over the lake. Whitecaps were breaking on the beach, and far across the rolling water, toward the Canadian reefs, the sky was an angry gray broken by vivid flashes of lightning. It began to rain and he hurried to close the windows and doors. Then he ran out to the drive and drove the Corvette into the garage beside Karen’s white Cadillac. Back in the house he stood for a moment, wiping rain from his face. In spite of the sound of the wind and the drumming of the rain on the windows and roof, the house seemed oddly silent, almost lonesome.
He stretched out on his bed, his head on his folded arms, and listened to the sounds of the storm. He felt safe here, secure, safer than he’d ever felt in his mother’s flat in Sacramento. For the first time in many years he thought of his mother, who had died when he was sixteen. He had never known his father. He’d been killed in a dock strike in ’Frisco before Richard had been born. He closed his eyes, trying to recall a childhood he’d never really known, and presently he slept.
The ringing of the phone awakened him. He sat up, waited a moment until his head had cleared, and then picked up the phone from the bedside table. “Hello,” he said.
“Mr. Barry?”
“Yes.”
“This is Lieutenant Prentice, at the coast guard station. I—uh—I’m afraid we have bad news for you.”
“What is it?” Richard asked sharply.
“We’ve found the boat, Mr. Barry—beached on the rocks near Catawba. She’s pretty well smashed up.”
“But my wife—what about her?”
“There was no one on board.”
Richard waited a suitable moment before he said hoarsely, “Where is she? What happened to her?”
“We don’t know. She may have fallen overboard, and you said she couldn’t swim…” Prentice coughed delicately.
“You mean she’s—drowned? How could that happen? She was always careful around boats, and near the water—especially careful, because she couldn’t swim. I can’t believe…”
“It may have happened during the squall we had around noon—we can’t tell how long the boat has been beached.” Prentice coughed again. “Try not to worry about it too much, Mr. Barry. We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything to tell you. What do you want done with the boat?”
“To hell with the boat. Just find my wife.”
“We’ll do our best.” Prentice paused, and then added, “If you like, we’ll see that the boat is moved to the station yard. You can come and look it over later.”
“All right, thanks, but you can understand how I feel.”
“Certainly. We’ll be in touch.” Prentice hung up.
It was a little after two in the afternoon. Richard went to the kitchen and as he drank a glass of cold water he gazed out of the window. The storm was over and the sun was shining on the gently rolling water. He could not sleep any more and he paced the house slowly, carrying a bottle of bourbon, smoking and taking an occasional nip. He felt fine, a little jittery, maybe, but it would soon be over. Even if he were suspected, there was no possible way anything could be proven. Around five o’clock he shaved and took another shower, mostly to pass the time, and changed into white linen slacks and a tight, dark-blue, short-sleeved polo shirt which accentuated his powerful shoulders and muscular tanned arms. He thought of calling the house in Cleveland again, but decided not to over-do it. Around seven he broiled a medium-sized sirloin fro
m the freezer, heated some frozen French fried potatoes and made a pot of coffee. He had his dinner at the kitchen table from where he could see the terrace, the beach below and the undulating expanse of lake tinted red by the sinking sun. Far out on the horizon the smoke from an ore barge made a dark smudge against the evening sky. When he had finished eating he rinsed his few dishes, carried the coffee to the living room, lit a cigarette and sat down to wait.
They came at dusk, two of them, a young fresh-faced man and a tall older one wearing khaki, a silver shield, a broad-brimmed hat and a cartridge belt bearing a Colt .38 in a black leather holster. Richard opened the screen door and let them in. The young man said he was Lieutenant Prentice of the coast guard station and introduced the tall man as Harry Lambert, the sheriff of Island County. Richard shook hands with both, invited them to sit down. They sat, but politely declined Richard’s invitation to have a drink. Whisky, beer, coffee? Prentice spoke first. He regretted that Mrs. Barry had not been found, but urged Richard not to give up hope. The boat was a wreck; perhaps the motor and some fittings could be salvaged. He had brought Sheriff Lambert because there was a possibility that Mrs. Barry had been aboard the cruiser when it cracked up on the rocks and had gotten ashore. If so, she might—uh—be somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps injured. The sheriff’s men were conducting a search along the shore in the area. Would Mr. Barry mind if the sheriff asked a few questions?”
“Certainly not,” Richard said.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “You understand, Mr. Barry, that we’ll do everything we can to find your wife, and that the questions I’m going to ask are merely routine?”
Richard nodded in a grave cooperative manner. “I understand.”
“When did you last see your wife?”
“About two o’clock yesterday afternoon. She suggested a ride in the cruiser, but I didn’t feel too well—coming down with a cold, I guess.” Richard coughed against the back of one hand. “She asked if I’d mind if she went alone. I said I didn’t mind, but warned her to be careful.”