Behind the Boater's Cover-Up

by Etta Faire

  I had a feeling if anyone was going to crack, it was going to be this guy. He always seemed like the nervous type who liked to talk but tried not to say too much. So, all I really needed to do was get that last part to change.

  “What do you mean you’re sorry the girls got involved?”

  “I mean with Freddie and drinking and swimming after dark…”

  I leaned across the desk and lowered my voice. “I already know how those girls died, Mayor Wittle, so you can drop the act. My ghost friends told me they were on the Donovan boat being beaten up and thrown overboard.”

  His lip quivered as he snapped his chicken neck toward the door. “Kelly!”

  “I want to know why.”

  “Kelly!”

  Kelly poked her large head into the room. “What the hell is it now?”

  “Please escort Ms. Taylor out. I told you sh… sh…she’s crazy.”

  She motioned for me to follow her. “Come on, Carly Mae.” She leaned into me as we were leaving and lowered her voice. “Ms. Taylor. Honestly. He’s the one acting crazy. Calling me in here to escort Ms. Taylor out. Acting like Rockefeller all of the sudden. I swear if that man wants caviar for lunch, I’m knockin’ him out myself.”

  Chapter 19

  Pages From History

  Mildred finally called me back a couple days later. I was right in the middle of figuring out how to hang Rosalie’s stinky strands along my bedroom and bathroom door frames, (which included a lot of swearing because hanging weird strands isn’t as easy as it sounds), when the phone rang. I jumped down from the chair I was balancing on to welcome the break.

  “You were right,” the gruff voice on the other end said when I answered. “I found my diary and I was wearing pink that night. How on earth did you know that?”

  “I told you. Gloria.”

  “The ghost,” she said, like she halfway didn’t believe it.

  “Yes.”

  “If there was any doubt in my mind before, it’s gone now. I didn’t remember my pink phase. Used to wear a pink flower in my hair when I water-skied too, apparently, so my mom could tell me from the other skiers. Funny the things you forget. Debbie wore blue…”

  I listened for any traces that Mrs. Nebitt had beaten me to the punch here, and that Mildred was now too afraid to talk to me, but she didn’t seem any more reluctant than usual.

  I searched the room while we chatted. “Hold on. Let me find my recorder.”

  There was a long pause where I heard her smacking her gums again. “I don’t want to be recorded.”

  “It’s just for my research. We’ll only record the things you’re okay with…”

  “I’m not okay with recording anything.”

  I ran my hand over my face. It smelled like dirty diapers from the strands I’d been hanging. “Is this about you and Mrs. Nebitt? What happened with you two anyway?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Let me guess. It has something to do with the library.”

  Her voice was louder than I’d expected, and I pulled the phone away from my ear. “My father bent over backwards to get us those jobs chaperoning that night. He was very liked and respected at that country club. Best groundskeeper around. He took such good care of that place, the people there, and us. But after Debbie and I were blamed for the accident, the Donovans had the board fire my father. And you know who my family blamed? Me.”

  I gasped. “I hadn’t known he’d been fired. That’s a big deal.”

  “Damn straight it was…”

  I thought about Parker. I didn’t think being fired would be too much of a big deal for the guy, seeing how he had just been hired, but he was so happy about being employed.

  She went on. “Debbie knew the truth about that night, too. She knew we did our best to keep those kids from that punch bowl. That Myles Donovan had been the one to spike it in the first place. That punch tasted just like my dad’s moonshine. Plus, Myles all but demanded I let him do it.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “My dad liked to make moonshine and most the rich folk liked to drink it, too. Oh, I know they probably thought it was quaint or kitschy or however they liked to describe the poor, working-class folk when they thought we weren’t listening…”

  My mind went to my own ex-husband and the way he described the Knobby Creek.

  She went on. “My dad never asked for a dime for his moonshine, either. Mainly because he liked all the compliments he got, people saying he was a genius for infusing his moonshine with stuff like juniper so it tasted like gin, or cayenne so it had a bit of a kick. He kept a lot of that moonshine in the woodcutting shed, and Myles made me hand over the key to that shed about a week before the dance. I knew why. Debbie was there, too. She knew why.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just sat and listened as the woman ranted.

  “I tried to get Debbie to go with me to the board, to the police, maybe even to the newspaper to tell the truth. There were inconsistencies in everybody’s story.” She paused for a minute. “You know I’ve spent most my life trying to forget that night, and reading it over in my diary was a little bit painful.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I was tempted to ask if she just wanted to hand over the diary to make things easier for her. But I knew that would never happen.

  Mildred’s voice was softer after her pause, slower too. “Debbie called me out of the blue the other day to tell me Parker got a job working for Donovan gym. She told me about your investigation too.” She started to smack her gums again, but stopped mid-smack. “She said she just wanted me to know, as a friend. You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you should call me when you find that recorder. I might have a few select passages to read yet.”

  I never ransacked my house faster looking for something.

  I decided I shouldn’t interrupt her as she read each entry into my speakerphone. But it was really hard not to, especially with entries like this one, written the day before the accident:

  “July 19, 1957,

  “Dear Diary, I am so mad I could scream. The woodcutting shed burned down this morning with all of Daddy’s moonshine in it, and I know why. I should tell someone. I should. But I can’t.

  “I’ve never seen Daddy so upset. He used every curse word in the book about a hundred times. I feel so heartbroken for him. All his hard work.

  “And it’s all because Freddie and Myles were mad at me. I saw Freddie sneaking out of the shed last night. So I confronted him. I know. Dumb move. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was mad.

  “He denied getting moonshine and even had the nerve to say no one else was in that shed, but I could hear Myles sneezing on the other side of the door. Freddie must think I’m stupid.

  “And this time, they’ve gone too far. Apparently, those two killed a deer off-season. Freddie admitted it. He didn’t even care. He said it was an accident, that he was just shooting at cans and trees, but who knows? I told him he didn’t own this country club and he needed to stop acting like it, just because his family’s rich and one of the town’s founders. I told him I’d had enough. I was going to tell on him, to his father and the board.

  “And then the shed burned down. I guess he showed me.”

  “Wow, Mildred,” I said. “So, the good ole boys club already knew how to intimidate people and shut them up, even as teenagers.” I suddenly remembered I was still recording, and made a mental note to take my comment out.

  “You wanna know what really burns my butt?” She didn’t give me time to respond. “That was the last time I saw Freddie. I looked for him at the dance because I was getting up enough nerve to confront him about that shed and the fire, but I never saw him.”

  Could it be because Freddie and his father were already dead? Or already in the Caribbean?

  “I tried to tell that to the board when they went to fire my father. I never saw Freddie at the party, much less getting drunk. I tried to get Debbie to tel
l them that too. But she said she couldn’t remember. That she might’ve seen Freddie there.”

  I gulped. This was why they didn’t talk for years.

  “Next thing I know, town’s getting that library she always wanted. I think she’d saved all of 150 dollars before the generous, anonymous donors stepped in. They broke ground pretty much right after the accident.”

  My stomach sank. It was true. The library had been built on lies. Mildred’s shaky voice echoed through the room. “She was going to be my maid of honor that fall. But I couldn’t. I rescinded the offer and uninvited her to my wedding.” Her voice broke when she said that last part.

  “Wow. I’m sorry. How’d you two ever make up?”

  “It’s a long story, but when Debbie’s husband got sick, I guess we both decided life was too short. We were different people then, too.”

  I’d heard Mr. Nebitt passed away in the 1990s from cancer, which meant Mildred and Mrs. Nebitt hadn’t spoken from 1957 t0 199o-something. Those women could hold a serious grudge.

  “I should read you the stuff I wrote when I got home from the dance. Hold on,” she said. I could hear her turning pages.

  “And boy was Mr. Donovan mad. He grabbed my arm after the dance and twisted it. He said he had a boat full of drunken teenagers now. And that his friend Mr. Linder was especially mad about how drunk Freddie was. He said if anything happened to them it was my fault for being a poor chaperone.”

  I interrupted her. “So, after establishing that Freddie Linder was at the dance, even though you say he wasn’t, and establishing that he had drunken teenagers on his boat, even though he probably didn’t, Mr. Donovan even went so far as to imply that something terrible might happen, which it did. That’s pretty suspicious.”

  Mildred stopped reading. “You know what? Benny wants to check up on Parker anyway. Boy’s in his thirties, but he still treats him like he’s seven. When’s this seance?”

  I told her all the details, except the most important one: that it had been canceled, or I was assuming so. My two days had passed, and no tickets had been sold.

  “And the whole town’s really showing up? I heard you had a lot of people last time.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” I lied again. “All the locals. All of them… us,” I corrected myself, forgetting for a second that I was a local.

  “I’ll be there with my diary. There are things that need to be said all over again, in person. My dad’s reputation still matters to me.”

  As soon as we hung up, I threw my head back into the cushions of my couch and closed my eyes.

  How on earth was I going to get the seance going again, and the whole town to show up?

  As soon as I opened my eyes, I realized Gloria was hovering by the fireplace. I could tell by her vibrant coloring that she was more than ready for our second channeling. I wondered if I was.

  I gave her the one-minute sign. “After dinner and a shower,” I said, dreading the whole routine I had to go through to shower, which still included a swimsuit. I needed to figure out how to hang Rosalie’s stinky strands, and fast.

  Chapter 20

  Birds of a Feather

  After finishing the freezer-burned pizza I found wedged behind the ice cube bin and the discolored frozen vegetables I threw in just to say I was eating healthy, I made a fire and plopped onto the couch cushions in front of it. It was only 9:30, but with my pajamas on, it felt like midnight. I tucked my feet under the throw and waited for Gloria to materialize again, allowing my eyes to close and my brain to relax until she did.

  Was I awake enough to do this channeling tonight? I was about to see the birds up close, see the things that had terrorized this town. I needed to concentrate.

  Jackson appeared by my side. “You don’t have to do this. I know you’ve been having eyesight flickering problems and dizziness.”

  “I can handle it,” I said. I didn’t tell him that I was also having hallucinations. And that I kind of liked it.

  “You need to take care of yourself in order to be strong against this curse. That eyesight problem you’re experiencing is a sign that something’s not right.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said in much the same way Gloria had to Mrs. Nebitt just before she guzzled the punch in 1957. “I’m well aware of the consequences, Dad.”

  Gloria appeared. “If you want to do this some other time, that’s totally fine. No rush. I have all the time in the world.”

  “I don’t,” I said. “I have a seance coming up a week from Saturday and I need you there, too, as well rested as you can be.” I turned to Jackson. “I’ve already decided. After the upcoming seance, I’m taking a break from channelings and seances. At least a full month. I hate to admit it, but you’re right. Connecting with the other world is having a toll on me. I need to start eating better, getting more sleep, maybe find a good therapist or use my new gym membership…”

  “Spin classes sounding good, huh?” Jackson asked.

  “Please stop with that,” I said. “You want to cause a rift between Justin and me. And it’s not going to work this time. I’m not a stupid, impressionable girl anymore, and you… you’re not even a person.” I turned to Gloria. “I’m ready.”

  I closed my eyes and let my mind go blank. The clock in the dining room ticked in the background and I tried to focus on it and my breathing. Tick. Tick. Tick. Inhale. Exhale.

  I never even felt her entering this time. I opened my eyes when the ticking of the clock finally turned to something tapping against a glass somewhere. The air felt warm now, humid and stagnant. Hot, actually. Didn’t they have air conditioning in the 1950s?

  I was in a dark green accented bedroom with pale white furniture and orange shag carpet. I shuffled over to the window where a little gray bird thumped the glass again and again.

  “Hello there,” Gloria said to the bird. “You birds sure are strange on the lake this year. Why is that, huh?”

  The bird tapped out an answer onto the glass, making Gloria giggle.

  Gloria’s window overlooked the lake. An already loud motor got louder in the background as a couple of speedboats whooshed by.

  She touched the window and the bird flew over to greet her hand. It must’ve been close to a hundred degrees outside. A chubby brunette bounced in from the hall, wearing a bright red swimsuit and carrying a striped beach bag. “Come on,” she said. “My dad said we can watch the ski show.”

  I looked at the 15-year-old in front of me, round face, freckles, braces, no makeup. I barely recognized her. Nettie, before her Marilyn Monroe phase. “I bet there’s gonna be a lot of boys there.” She let out a little squeal and held up her bag. “I brought makeup. We can put it on in the boat. Come on. Hurry.”

  Pulling Nettie into the bedroom, Gloria pointed toward the little bird still sitting at the window. “You have to see this, Nettie. I think this bird is trying to communicate with me. I feel like Cinderella. Watch.”

  Nettie scrunched her face. “You’re acting like weirder-ella. Stop noticing birds like my mother and go get dressed. You’re starting to worry me. Of course there are birds. They’re all over the place. Geez.”

  Nettie left after telling Gloria to hurry.

  Gloria pulled open a drawer and riffled through the neatly folded pants and shirts until she found the largest floral swimsuit I’d ever seen out. Thick and heavy, the suit made the $169 one at the Knobby Creek look like a controversial Sports Illustrated cover. “This awful thing was my mother’s old suit,” she said to me. “I was too busy with finals and didn’t have time to get a new one. So now, I’ve gotta make due.”

  She locked the door before slipping out of her clothes and into the suit. It was just as scratchy and heavy as it looked. She stared at herself in the mirror and I was amazed at how different she looked than she did three years later at the dance. She was shorter and thinner. Her hair hung flat and lifeless, her face free of makeup. She puffed out her chest and turned to the side. The awful bright green and red flowers seemed to hang off h
er almost non-existent curves like they were trying to slink away from a bad idea.

  Gloria took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway where Nettie quickly fell into a long, hard laugh, stumbling against the back wall. She made a twirling motion with her finger and Gloria spun around to show her the droopy butt part too. “Okay, good one. Now go take off your mom’s swimsuit and get dressed into your real one, you goof. And be quick about it.”

  “My mom’s making me wear this one,” Gloria said.

  Nettie yanked Gloria down the hall by the arm, the carpet scratched at our bare feet. She practically threw me into her room, which was small and bright yellow with the same shag carpet as the hall. Without speaking, she yanked a gray hard plastic suitcase from under her bed, plopped it onto the mattress and unlatched it. There were only a few items in there.

  “My secret stash,” Nettie said, pulling out a black bikini with its sales tags still on. It was large compared to the bikinis of today, but very small compared to what Gloria had on. She snatched it and hid it behind her back.

  “You’re not serious,” she said.

  “Our mothers don’t have to know everything we do, you know?” Nettie winked.

  Gloria’s heart raced. I could tell partly because she was thrilled and excited and partly because she was so nervous she was going to puke.

  Nettie went on. “When it comes to moms, you gotta start them out slow, like boiling a frog. This summer, a bikini. Makeup by fall, that we don’t have to sneak. And by next summer, they’ll be ready for us to get a dye job.” Nettie’s smile was broad, already straight from her braces.

  As Gloria got dressed, I heard something just outside the window again. This time it sounded like a low growling sound. I wanted Gloria to rush to the window and look, but she didn’t seem to notice.