The Island of Dangerous Dreams

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “Forget it. We’re all pretty jumpy.”

  I turned and walked to the doors of her room and waited. Breathlessly she murmured, “Would you like to come in and visit a little while?”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I want to get back to sleep.”

  “You’re sure everything is all right?” she asked.

  “It has to be.”

  She looked like a small child prepared to fight dragons in the dark as she threw open one of the doors and disappeared into the flat, yellow light. Quickly she shut the door, and I could hear the lock slip into place.

  In panic I realized that I was standing alone in the dark and ran back to my room, resisting the temptation to bolt the outside doors as Benita had done. I tried to sleep, but wooden houses move and stretch in the night like the shades of old dinosaurs with aching bones, and I heard every sound.

  Soon the sky lightened to gray, and then to a pale, clear, cloudless blue. I got up and pulled on my still-damp swimsuit, shivering as it stretched over my bed-warm skin. I tossed on a shirt, buttoning it up to the neck, grabbed a towel and the fins Ellison had lent me, and hurried out to the beach.

  I met no one in the house and no one outside. I kept my back to the house just in case someone was watching as I unfastened my shirt and dropped it on the dock. The towel I took with me, draping it around my neck, over the ribbon. I quickly eased into the water, still surprisingly warm, and pulled on the fins. I needed those fins for speed, especially since the weight of the towel would hold me back.

  As fast as I could swim I headed west, rounding the point, glad when I caught sight of the limestone promontory. The tide was up, so I dived more deeply to swim under the arch and from there into the cave. I climbed up on the ledge, took off my fins, and wrung as much water as I could out of the towel.

  Walking gingerly on the rough limestone, I found a perfect niche deep in one of the near ledges. I took off the topaz, trying to keep my eyes from those of the monkey with the sharp golden paws, and wrapped it in the towel. I was taking no chances of having the artifact slip into a crevice in the rock or having some hermit crab scuttle away with it. Firmly I wedged the package into the niche and checked it carefully, finally satisfied that the artifact would be safe.

  I made my way to the edge, tugged on my fins again, and jumped into the water.

  On the way back to the dock I didn’t take time to enjoy the undersea color. I suppose I didn’t even notice it. I was relieved that the artifact was in a place where no one would find it, and reluctant to go back to face the others. The murderer—and it was a pretty sure thing that the judge had been murdered—was still in the house, but none of us had any idea who he could be.

  He, I thought. Why do I keep saying “he”? There were three women in the group who could be suspect. No, two. I knew I wasn’t the murderer, and surely Aunt Madelyn couldn’t be. Benita seemed to be the most upset by the whole thing. She couldn’t be the murderer—unless she was putting on an act, which was entirely possible.

  As I swam I tried to think about each of the people in the judge’s party. None of them looked or acted like a murderer, but one of them was. In movies or on television they cast people with sneaky, ferretlike faces or gorillalike bodies to play the villains, and they have cruel, deep-set eyes. It’s easy to tell the bad guys from the good guys. Why couldn’t life be that easy to figure out?

  I climbed up on the dock, again shaking the water out of my hair, pulled on my shirt, and headed for the house. Benita, wearing a sundress, was seated in one of the wicker rockers on the lower veranda, drinking steaming coffee and fanning herself vigorously as little beads of sweat popped out on her forehead and upper lip.

  “Have a nice swim?” she asked, as though our midnight conversation had never taken place.

  “Great. The water is wonderful.” I paused and added, “You seem to be feeling much better now.”

  “Well, of course I am,” she snapped. “Last night — I suppose that everything seems more ominous at night. Besides, you’re the one who insisted that everything was all right.”

  Maybe I had expected to be thanked for getting up in the night with her and allaying her fears. I should have known better.

  “Where’s your towel?” She put down her cup and looked at me quizzically.

  “I should have brought one,” I began, but she shook her head impatiently.

  “You did. I saw you walk down to the dock about an hour ago, and you were carrying a towel.”

  “Darn!” I said, hoping that she couldn’t see how her question had shaken me. “What happened to it?”

  She shrugged. “It probably blew off the dock. Well, hurry in. You’re not too late for breakfast.”

  Had I dreamed last night? I couldn’t have. “How is Norton feeling this morning?”

  “Norton? I have no idea. He hasn’t come down for breakfast yet.”

  “You were worried about him last night.”

  She blinked with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. Why do problems seem so much worse in the middle of the night?”

  “Is everyone else up?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I don’t know. I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone this morning.” She hoisted herself out of the rocker. “I think I’ll get another cup of coffee. Too much caffeine, but at a time like this, who cares?” She went inside.

  I was still dripping, so I walked to the east end of the veranda and stood in the sun. And I felt that strange sensation again. I felt eyes upon me as distinctly as I could feel the dry tickle of drying salt water on my skin. I stared at the woods so intently, I thought I saw a bush move, a shadow fall back, but the feeling of being watched remained, so I turned and ran down the veranda, hurrying into the front door of the house.

  After I had showered and changed to an old fun-run T-shirt and faded denim shorts, I went into the dining room to see what I could find to eat. Aldo and Kurt were sitting together. They stopped talking as I came in and greeted me somewhat glumly. Tomorrow afternoon the boat will come back, I told myself, the police will be called, and eventually all of us here at the house will be able to get away from each other.

  On the sideboard was a large platter of Danish rolls and cinnamon buns, a pitcher of orange juice, and a pot of coffee. I held up the coffeepot. “Did Ellison fix the generator?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Kurt said, “but he’s working on it. The coffee was made on the butane stove, and I’m afraid that it’s getting a little cold.”

  I helped myself to some juice and rolls and took a seat across from Aldo.

  “You had a swim,” he said. “How was the water?”

  Another watcher? Then I remembered that my hair was still damp. I suppressed a nervous giggle. “Beautiful,” I said. “You ought to go for a swim. Ellison has all the snorkel equipment you’d need.” I took a large bite of the Danish, squirting cherry glop on my chin.

  At first, as I mopped off my face, I was angry at Aldo for laughing, but then he said. “You are so much like my daughter, Elizabeth. I remember her trying hard to be sophisticated and grown-up, then doing something like that—something a child would do.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, then what he said penetrated. “You remember your daughter? I hope—”

  “My wife and I were divorced five years ago, and my daughter lives with her mother in New Jersey,” he said. “I see Elizabeth whenever I get a chance. Unfortunately, the pressures of my job are very demanding.”

  “Is it worth it?” I asked.

  “If you were in business, you wouldn’t ask that question,” he said. “People have two lives, one in the business world, one in their own private world.”

  “It shouldn’t have to be that way,” I said.

  Kurt butted in. “But it does. You’re too young to understand.”

  I didn’t answer, because I didn’t agree with them.

  Aldo sighed as he pushed back his chair. “I had promised Elizabeth I’d be on hand for her birthday party Sunday
afternoon. Now I can’t even inform her that my plans have changed.”

  As Aldo left the room Kurt poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down across from me.

  “Did you sleep all right last night?”

  “Not all night,” I said. “Benita came into my room, because I’d left the veranda doors open. She wanted someone to talk to.”

  There was a slight change in his face, and I was glad I’d answered openly and truthfully, because he knew. “What did she want to talk about?” He took a long sip of coffee, staring down into the cup.

  “She was worried about Norton,” I said. “She heard something that frightened her.”

  He looked up quickly. “What?”

  I laughed. “You won’t believe it. She heard him cough.”

  “A cough? Is that all?”

  “That’s it. She was so frightened she was ready to jump at anything. I talked to her awhile and finally convinced her she should go back to bed, so she did.”

  He shook his head slowly. “She has a right to be frightened. I feel so badly about all this. I think—I think I’d better try to make that swim.”

  “You can’t do that” I leaned toward him eagerly. “Is there another boat on the island? Maybe some old sailboat or something? Anything that could float?”

  “Not a thing,” he answered.

  Madelyn and Benita came into the room. Madelyn bent and kissed the top of my head.

  “Would you like me to get some coffee for you?” I asked her.

  “I’ve had breakfast, thanks,” she said. “I was wondering—well, I just don’t know what to do next. Maybe we should hold a meeting. They’ve all come down, haven’t they?”

  “Everyone except Norton,” Kurt said. He looked at me and I knew we were thinking the same thing. “I’ll check on him.”

  I was right behind him as he took the stairs two at a time, strode down the hall, and knocked at Norton’s door. There was no answer. He tried the knob, and the door opened easily.

  “He didn’t lock it?” I asked.

  But Kurt was pushing me back. I tried to peer over his shoulder, but he roughly shoved me aside and slammed the door in my face, yelling, “Stay out!”

  Madelyn and Benita came running up the stairs. Aldo opened the door to his room and leaned out, staring at me quizzically.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  Kurt opened the door and stepped into the hall, closing it firmly behind him. He looked a little sick as he said, “The man is dead.”

  Benita began to tremble. “Are you going to tell us that Norton was murdered?”

  “The man in that room isn’t Norton Lindsay,” Kurt began, but the rest of his sentence was drowned out as Benita threw herself into a full-blown case of hysterics.

  CHAPTER

  8

  It took all of us to get Benita back in control. I think it was Aldo’s suggestion that we put her to bed and leave her alone to rest that stopped the wild tears.

  “No!” Benita practically hung on Aunt Madelyn. “You can’t leave me alone!”

  “Then let’s all go downstairs,” Madelyn said as she tried to break Benita’s grip. “You can lie on one of the sofas, Benita.”

  We managed to make it downstairs and deposited Benita on a sofa in the living room near one of the open veranda doors. For some reason—probably because Benita was being such a nuisance—I kept thinking of that line from Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  The breeze carried the clean fragrance of sea salt and I breathed it in gratefully. We pulled chairs into a circle around Benita’s sofa the way covered wagons once circled to protect themselves from the enemy outside. Except in this case there was no enemy outside. If we had an enemy, it had to be someone inside the circle.

  I think we were all in shock. No one said a word as Kurt held out a wallet in one hand, some cards in another. “I tried to tell you when we were upstairs. The dead man wasn’t Norton,” he said. “What I mean is, the man we knew as Norton Lindsay wasn’t Norton Lindsay, according to his driver’s license and credit cards.”

  He paused and Aunt Madelyn said, “Well, go on. If he wasn’t Norton, who was he?”

  Kurt had the strangest expression on his face as he said, “Franklin Granakee.”

  “I can’t believe that!” Madelyn gasped.

  Kurt shrugged. “Have you ever met Granakee? Or seen a photo of him? Do you know what he looks like?”

  “He doesn’t allow himself to be photographed. Everyone knows that.”

  Kurt shoved the driver’s license at her. As she studied the ID photo on it, her eyes widened. “Well,” she said. She handed it back to Kurt, once more in command. “Could this be faked?”

  “Why should it be?”

  “Well, because—well, I have no idea.” She didn’t give up but looked at Kurt accusingly. “I distinctly remember Justin saying that you had thoroughly investigated every one of us.”

  “I did.”

  “Then why didn’t you discover Norton’s true identity?”

  Kurt slumped back into his chair, looking both embarrassed and angry. “Why are you grilling me?” he snapped. “I check credentials all the way to the source. If the source is credible but is covering up, it’s not my fault.”

  “Do you know who Mr. Malcolm represents?” I asked, but Aldo interrupted, so no one paid any attention to me.

  As he reached for the cards and license to examine them, he said, “Mr. Granakee must have enjoyed posing at times as his own agent. It probably gave him greater freedom than if he had appeared as himself.”

  Benita spoke up, struggling among the pile of pillows to support herself on her elbows. “I can’t believe it! Why should Franklin Granakee have wanted to pretend to be someone else? If we’d only known who he was, he would have been lionized!”

  “I guess that’s the reason,” Madelyn said.

  “But why did he die?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? He was murdered to get the artifact!” Benita’s voice shook. Her eyes narrowed as she zeroed in on Madelyn. “We’ll be killed off, one at a time! Whoever is hiding the artifact must give it up! Now!”

  I shuddered and gripped the arms of my chair. I hadn’t thought that someone would be killed because of what I had done. I felt sick, and the room became blurry. I’d get the artifact. I’d do it now. I squirmed to the edge of my chair, trying to make the dizziness go away before I got up. I’d hand the artifact over to the murderer. But which one in this room was the murderer?

  Madelyn’s cool, firm voice kept me in my chair. “Calm down, Benita. We haven’t got time for another case of hysterics. If we’re going to reach correct solutions, we must think logically. I can’t believe that Granakee was killed for the artifact. There was no reason for anyone to think he had the artifact. He showed no more sign of knowing its location than any of the rest of us.”

  “You may think that, but did his killer?” Benita’s eyes were so wide and unblinking that it made my eyes itch to watch her.

  Kurt broke in. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer Madelyn’s question, and you’re way off the track. I told you he was dead. I didn’t say anything about murder. He was just lying in bed like he died in his sleep. He was a nervous type. Maybe he had a heart attack.”

  “One more question,” Madelyn said to Kurt, and I gave her points for reasoning more clearly than the rest of us. “Had Franklin Granakee’s room been ransacked?”

  “No,” he said, frowning as he tried to remember. “Everything seemed to be in order. Granakee’s clothes were folded and laid on a chair. His slacks, where I found the wallet, were draped over the back of the chair.”

  Aldo nodded toward the wallet, which had been laid on the coffee table. “Nothing seems to have been taken from his wallet.”

  “Of course not!” Benita rose indignantly, then flopped again. “None of us would stoop to thievery!”

  “I think we should see the room,�
� I said. They just stared at me, so I added, “Kurt is the only one who’s been in there, and we’re just taking his word for everything.”

  It didn’t take them long to digest that. Almost together they got up and went upstairs. I trailed behind them. “Don’t disturb anything,” I called. “The police—”

  “That’s enough,” Madelyn said firmly, so I kept my mouth closed and my eyes wide open.

  Kurt had pulled the sheet up over Norton—Granakee’s face. Aldo pulled it down to study the body, but I turned away. I’d give the police what help I could, but I didn’t want to look at another dead body. For a few moments I just stood back against the wall, hugging my arms and shivering. I didn’t want to be in this room any more than the others did, but we had to do what was right, like it or not. We didn’t have a choice.

  “He’s just lying on his back, head on his pillow,” Aldo said. In my peripheral vision I could see him pull up the sheet again. I let out a long sigh of relief.

  Kurt had gone out on the veranda. Benita was still on the landing. Madelyn and Aldo, murmuring something to each other, left the room to join Benita. For the first time I had a chance to get a good look at the contents of the room. Nothing looked suspicious or out of place, until I noticed two small white feathers on the floor next to the head of the bed. Another feather lay near the open door.

  Holding my breath, terrified of coming so close to the body, I stepped to the side of the bed and slid my fingers over and under the part of the pillow that wasn’t covered by the sheet. The underside of the pillow, near its edge, was torn. I lifted the pillow slip to get a better look. There were two small slits in the casing, from which other feathers were poking. One of the feathers fell to the floor as I examined the slits.

  “Aunt Madelyn,” I called, and she came to my side quickly. I guess I’d sounded as frantic as I felt. “Look at this,” I said. “The pillow is ripped as though somebody’s fingernails tore at it. It’s like the pillow was over his face and he struggled and—”

  Kurt stepped up beside me. “Some of the pillows are a little worn. See—the material is thin. There’s a slit in my pillow too.”