by Mark McNease
Chapter 25
Cabin 6
Kyle was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the laptop open in front of him. Next to the laptop was his camera, with a USB cable running from it to the laptop: Kyle had downloaded all the photographs he’d taken since they arrived. He had come to believe over the years of taking pictures that people experience the world in images, one instant after another in a series that stretched from birth to death, and that, without intending it, answers could be found among the many accidental photographs he took. It was why he wore the Nikon around his neck nearly everywhere he went. He seldom knew what he would shoot, or, looking back over the forty or fifty pictures he might take in a day, what he would find.
“What are you looking for this time?” Danny asked. He was wearing beige shorts and a sweatshirt, settling in to rest until dinner and the party. The weather hadn’t turned especially bad, but the sky had filled with clouds and a chilly rain looked likely. He had no desire to go sightseeing or make a trip into town. For Danny, the weekends at Pride Lodge were about resting, about not looking at seating charts (even though he did peek), about lying in bed reading a newspaper with the television turned low in the background. He knew Kyle was looking for answers in his photographs, but that was his process for making order of chaos, of connecting dots that otherwise formed no pattern.
“I don’t know, you know that. That’s the point. I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it.”
“Are you calling Imogene back?” Danny asked. Kyle’s boss had been trying to reach him since early that morning, but Kyle had successfully ignored her voicemails and texts. Danny wondered if he had finally convinced Kyle that he was not on call for Imogene twenty-four hours a day.
“It’s just withdrawals,” Kyle said absently, peering intently at his laptop screen. “She has to go cold turkey. Forty-eight hours from now and I’ll be back, handing her a cheese Danish and a cup of coffee from Cecil’s and it’ll be like I was never away.”
Cecil’s was a diner on 38th Street near the studios where Japan TV3 rented space for their programming. Kyle happened upon it the first day they were working there and had presented Imogene with of cup of their rich, distinctive coffee most mornings since then.
“You’re making progress on ignoring Imogene,” Danny said.
“You forget there’s been a murder,” Kyle replied. “There are a few things in life more important than meeting her needs.”
The luck of the lens did not appear to be with him this time. Nothing in the dozens of photographs he had taken since they arrived told him anything. He didn’t even know what he was looking for, some image that would tell him what words could not. It had been a picture of the woman on the cruise ship kissing her paramour by the hanging lifeboats, taken accidentally when Kyle was aiming for a shot of the walkway, that gave him the evidence he needed in the cruise ship murder. But so far this weekend at Pride Lodge . . . nothing.
“A picture wasn’t worth any words this time, apparently,” Kyle said, resigned. He closed the laptop and decided he was finished with the camera. He needed to be present now, to stay alert and pay close attention to his surroundings and the people in it. Sometimes the camera was a way of hiding, of giving himself to distraction. He would put it in the drawer and let his eyes be the camera from here on in. Whatever he’d been looking for in the photographs he had probably missed because of them. The time had come to watch everything closely and commit what he saw to memory.
Kyle’s phone vibrated just then and he picked it up. A text had come from Dylan: “Sid leaving, come up in 10.”
Kyle got up from the table and put his camera in the dresser.
“Where are you going?” Danny asked, wishing for once that Kyle had answered Imogene’s calls instead, that he’d given in to her needs and not pursued something that would certainly lead to trouble.
“I’m meeting Dylan.”
“Stay out of this, Kyle. What’s Dylan involvement?”
“Nothing, but he can let me into Teddy’s room. Hopefully that’s where I’ll find what I’m looking for.”
Kyle slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be back, hopefully soon,” he said, and opened the cabin door to leave.
“But you don’t know what you’re looking for!” Danny said too late, as the door closed. Within a minute of Kyle leaving, Danny’s worry got the best of him and he began searching for the business card that Detective Linda Sikorsky had given to everyone she had interviewed. Kyle may think he needs to wait, but Danny feared waiting was precisely the wrong thing to do.
Chapter 26
Teddy’s Room
Dylan watched from the empty restaurant window as Sid drove off in their Highlander toward town. No sooner was the car out of sight than Kyle came walking up from the cabins. The two men waved at each other, Dylan looking anxious and forlorn in the window.
Kyle had never been upstairs at the Lodge. There had not been any reason to go there, since he and Danny always stayed in the cabin. When he entered the main room, he saw several people he did not know sitting around chatting and drinking coffee, and there in his recliner perch sat Jeremy Johnson, wearing the same clothes he’d been in the night before. Maybe they were duplicates, like someone who dresses only in black. Maybe it’s all Jeremy wore.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been here all this time,” Kyle said, closing the outside door behind him.
“No,” said Jeremy, “I’m still capable of making it up the stairs. And I wasn’t here earlier when you came for lunch.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“But I noticed you,” Jeremy said, winking.
Kyle was struck again by how enigmatic Jeremy was: the guest who’d been coming the longest, whose presence everyone was aware of, but who blended in so well he might be said to be invisible; and he clearly enjoyed his status as a fly on the wall. Kyle knew there couldn’t be much that went unnoticed by the old sentinel.
“Speaking of upstairs,” Kyle said, nodding at the staircase. “I’ve never been up there and thought, why not take a look.”
“I’m sure Dylan can show you around,” Jeremy said, winking again before turning and reaching for his cup of tea, the string dangling over the side.
Kyle suddenly had the idea that Jeremy thought he was having some kind of affair with Dylan. It was unnerving enough to have himself so astutely observed, but that wink when he mentioned Dylan, as if something was going on between them, was a step too far. He made a mental note to set Jeremy straight before the day was over. He would not have anyone, however imaginative, thinking he was cheating on Danny. That was untrue, unfair, and just the kind of innuendo that could spread through Pride Lodge like a brushfire.
He turned then and headed for the stairs, leaving the others to their lively conversation and old Jeremy to his fantasies.
Bo saw him coming up the stairs just as she was about to head out and she quickly backtracked into her room, closing the door until only an inch was open, just enough for her to peer through. She didn’t need to know Kyle had never been upstairs to know something was different. The old man in the chair wasn’t the only one skilled at watching, and if there was one thing Bo could spot in human behavior, it was the clandestine. It was the way he climbed the stairs, as if he didn’t want to make any noise, didn’t want anyone to see him. And then easing his way down the hall, glancing at each door, still moving carefully so he would not alert anyone to his presence. Only a man up to something acted this way. It wasn’t even conscious, she knew, but the body’s way of accommodating a guilty mind, a mind that feared it might be caught. And when she thought that, she, too, wondered if Kyle Callahan was meeting someone up here, someone with whom he was being unfaithful. Or maybe faith had nothing to do with it. Maybe Kyle and Danny had an arrangement. Bo knew such relationships existed. “Open marriages,” they were called. But if that was the case, why the stealth?
And then the door to room 208 opened and Dylan waved at Kyle, equally careful to be q
uick and quiet. (Her great luck had been to get a room so close, having never been here before, but finding the room assignment exceedingly favorable to her plans.) Her first thought was that this was the man Kyle was having his affair with, but when she saw Dylan hurry Kyle into the dead man’s room, glance back out into the hallway to make sure no one had seen, and close the door, she suddenly had a different thought, an uncomfortable suspicion: what if this wasn’t about sex at all, but about looking for something with Sid gone? She, too, had watched him drive away, and not more than ten minutes later Kyle Callahan came skulking up the stairs. If the two men were meeting for lust, they could have used any empty room, or met somewhere on the grounds away from prying eyes. It would be macabre in the extreme to meet in a dead man’s room for any reason other than to search it. (She knew room 208 was Teddy Pembroke’s room because the police had gone through it, but not sealed it off; they were probably looking for a suicide note, just in case Pembroke had decided to end his life in grand fashion by flinging himself to the bottom of an empty swimming pool, martini glass in hand.)
Once Kyle was in the room and the door closed, Bo quietly slipped out, made sure the door was locked, and headed downstairs. Things may be moving more quickly than she’d wanted.
Dylan thought he saw the door to Bo Sweetzer’s room opened a crack, then close as Kyle walked by. He gave it only a moment’s thought, his mind on more important things, and quietly welcomed Kyle into Teddy’s room.
Kyle was taken aback at the thought of anyone living in a single room. He and Danny had always taken Cabin 6 and he never stopped to wonder how small a room seemed without a bathroom. There was only a bed, a dresser, a flat screen TV mounted on a wall, a makeshift kitchen Teddy had set up on a bookcase, with a hotplate, some dishes and cups, and essential items for making coffee. He had eaten all his meals in the restaurant or in town, and he didn’t seem to own many clothes. The small closet wasn’t even full.
Kyle was able to get the complete tour by simply standing in the middle of the room and turning around.
“Did he have a computer?” he asked. It was unusual these days for someone not to at least have a cheap laptop or a low-end tablet, and he’d emailed Teddy enough times to know he had access to one.
“Teddy wasn’t very computer literate,” Dylan said. He had slumped down onto the corner of Teddy’s bed, his shoulders hunched, clearly not wanting to be in the room. “He would use the guest laptop if he needed to go online. Sometimes he would use ours.”
Yes, Kyle thought, he used yours and it got him killed.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find,” Dylan said. “Teddy was a simple man in most ways. You can see he didn’t own much.”
Well, of course not, Kyle thought, there’s no place to put anything!
“I just want to look around. You’re right, there’s probably nothing here, but humor me a moment.”
And then he saw it: the “Big Book” of Alcoholics Anonymous. On the shelf underneath the coffee pot and hotplate. It was their bible of sorts, the text they used to turn their lives around. Kyle only knew what he’d learned about “the program,” as it was called by people in it, from friends and acquaintances he had known. He had never even held their book, and when he took it from Teddy’s shelf he had the odd sensation he was holding some sort of holy manuscript.
He started slipping slowly through the pages and saw that Teddy had underlined dozens of passages. As he looked at the book he was more convinced than ever that Teddy was sober when he died, that he had changed his life and would never knowingly end it with the appearance of a drunkard’s death. And then, toward the back, he came upon Page 417, so often quoted by Teddy Pembroke. Acceptance. It was a passage on this page that Teddy repeated over and over, like a nun reciting her rosary. Kyle opened the pages and there, slipped between them, was a piece of paper. He took it out and opened it: an email.
“What’s that?” Dylan asked, getting up from the bed. He walked over, staring at the sheaf of paper as Kyle read it over:
From: “Sam Tatum”
To: “[email protected]>
Wednesday, September 12
Sid—Lucky we even stayed in touch, surprised you would, but maybe not. Maybe I was the canary in the mine for you. Frank was for me, that’s for damn sure. I can’t say God rest his soul. That’s a man who’s soul won’t ever rest and shouldn’t. Stone cold killer, Frank was, and look at what it cost us. Someone’s coming, I don’t know who. Frank was killed in Detroit and I know it wasn’t random, they came for him. I only know because he owed me money and some lawyer called to say he was paying me back, from the grave. Landlord found him with a bullet in the head and an empty watch box. Watch box, think about it. Two months later and still no suspects. It’s only a matter of time for you and me, you should know, that’s why I wrote. You gotta keep a look out, check in sometimes, make sure I’m still alive. Kidding. Not really. I’m not counting on being around too much longer. I’m too old and tired to run. I think instead I’ll just get some more nose candy and a pretty young man to share it with. Yes, I haven’t changed. No, I don’t care what anyone thinks. This is some serious shit. I thought we’d made it, but some things you just can’t escape.—Sam
“The 23rd is when we met,” Dylan said, sounding fanciful.
“What?”
“His email name, Sid Stanhope323. Our anniversary is March 23rd. That’s sweet.”
Kyle thought it was an odd time to be sentimental. He’d just read an email that implicated Sid in something terrible, something that would make someone want to kill three men, and he was sure he knew what it was.
“Where does Sid come from?” Kyle asked.
Dylan looked at him as if it was the strangest question he’d ever been asked. “What do you mean?”
“When you met him, where did he say he was from?”
“Jersey, always. He was born in Elizabeth and grew up in Newark. His family moved to Atlantic City when he was in high school. What difference does it make?”
“None, for now,” Kyle said. “I need to take this, or a copy.”
“Take it,” Dylan said, exasperated. “I wish I’d never seen it. This is a horrible situation, Kyle. Something’s going on, something awful, and Sid’s involved. The guy in the email said as much.”
The guy in the email may well be dead, Kyle thought, not saying it. If his warning was right, someone had killed one of the three already, and since they’d now moved on to Sid, it seemed likely that Sam Tatum’s next communication, if there was any, would be from beyond the grave.
Dylan’s mood had darkened still further and he spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “Do you think this has anything to do with the money?”
“What money?” Kyle asked, folding the email and slipping it into his shirt pocket.
“The money Sid used to buy the Lodge!” Dylan said sharply, as if Kyle had not been paying attention when he should.
“I don’t know what the connection is, or if there even is one. I’m going to give this to Detective Sikorksy and see what she makes of it. Whoever’s in on this game isn’t going to stop now, and if they’ve killed several times already, they’re dangerous indeed.”
“‘They,’” Dylan said. “You make it sound like there’s more than one.”
“If you mean more than one killer, I’m afraid so.”
Dylan visibly shivered, rubbing his hands on his upper arms as if a sudden chill had slipped into the room. “What do I do?”
“Wait, just a little while longer,” Kyle said. “I think by tonight we’ll have all the answers we need.”
“None of them answers we want,” Dylan said sadly. “None of them.”
Kyle nodded, aware that as the threads came together it would weave a very different life from the one Dylan had been living, had dreamed himself living. Hopefully no more lives would be lost, but everything, for Dylan and the Lodge, would be changed.
Chapter 27
Cabin
6
Kyle had not stopped pacing since returning from Teddy’s room two hours earlier. He had shown Danny the email, providing the evidence he had insisted he needed to take to Detective Sikorsky. On learning that Danny had already reached her and that she was coming that evening, he had decided not to add fuel to the fire for now. He would wait patiently and give her the email when he saw her. After that, he expected things to move rapidly.
“Why don’t you call Imogene back?” Danny said, having watching Kyle try to sit still and repeatedly fail. It was the last thing he thought he would ever suggest, but he wanted something to distract Kyle from the escalating events at the Lodge. “It’ll take your mind off this.”
“I don’t want to take my mind off this. Focus, Danny, it’s time for me to focus.”
“Wearing a hole in the carpet is not focusing. She’s going to start calling the hospitals, you know.”
“Who?” Kyle said, turning on his heel toward Danny. “The detective? Whatever for?”
“Noooo! Imogene. You never ignore her completely like this, unless we’re in the middle of the ocean and there’s no cell phone reception. I know you sneak texts to her when you think I’m not looking, it’s okay.”
Kyle sighed and sat at the table, channeling his restless energy into his shaking foot. “She doesn’t even know where we are. I mean she does and she doesn’t. Manhattan is her universe, get her outside the City and she doesn’t know east from south. All she knows is we’re in the countryside somewhere, which to her is the entire continent, with the possible exceptions of Los Angeles and Chicago.”
Kyle took the email from Teddy’s room out of his shirt pocket, flattened it on the table and read it over again.