Leo, standing at the counter, nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am, I believe I do.”
“I’ll see if I can reach him. He’s got some family issues right now, and—” She left it hanging, called a number, and had a conversation in an undertone. When she hung up she said, “Mr. Swain, Aaron is in Luna Bay, but he’s about to leave. It’ll be at least an hour before he gets here, though. Can you come back?”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Leo said. He took his backpack and settled on the bench. Other than visiting the water fountain and the men’s room, that’s where he had been ever since, and it was now within a few ticks of the hour mark.
Leo thought about his notebooks, bursting with all kinds of information except what he had originally set out to write. The words that had come to him back in his trailer had never left his head: You can’t write a confession without confessing. Well, Leo had tried, but determined as he was, he couldn’t. If he was going to finish his work, and if it was going to mean anything to Leo or anybody else, he had to do what he set out to do, and that was confess.
The door opened and a man walked in. The secretary looked up and said, “Hi, Aaron. This is Mr. Leo Swain. He’s been waiting here to see you.”
The man turned, nodded at Leo, and said, “Come on into my office, Mr. Swain.”
Leo stood, picked up his backpack, and followed Aaron Malone.
– 45 –
Aaron had spent the drive back from Luna Bay thinking about Clara, Loggerhead Point, and the ring the campers had found— Alice’s ring. He had tried to be gentle about the implications, but privately he thought it looked bad for Ronan. Still preoccupied, he walked into the department and saw a man sitting on the bench by the door.
Leo Swain did not look familiar to Aaron. He wore a white T-shirt with a row of ballpoint pens in the pocket and he had bristly gray hair, eyes of an indeterminate color, and a forgettable face. Aaron might have seen him at Margene’s sometime, but if so, he had no memory of it.
When Leo put down his backpack and seated himself in the visitor’s chair in Aaron’s office Aaron said, “I understand you were with Miss Patsy Orr the day Jim Tuttle’s body was discovered at Luton’s Landing.”
Leo nodded. “Yes, sir, I was.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
Aaron listened to Leo Swain’s version of the events at the canal, which matched closely what Patsy Orr had said. Leo ended up by saying, “I told Miss Orr I didn’t have a phone and I suggested she call the police, and that’s what she did.”
Aaron nodded. “And then what?”
Leo shrugged. “I felt like there wasn’t anything else I could do, so I left.”
“Did you tell Miss Orr you were coming back?”
“Maybe I did say that.”
“And did you go back?”
“No, sir, I didn’t,” Leo said.
Aaron frowned. “Why not?”
“I just— I guess I didn’t want to get involved. The old man was dead.”
Aaron leaned toward Leo. “Mr. Swain, I tried to locate you to question you about this incident, and I couldn’t find you at your trailer. You didn’t show up for work at Margene’s, either.”
“That’s right,” Leo said.
“What happened, Mr. Swain? Where did you go?”
Leo looked at Aaron, and Aaron saw him take a breath. Then he said, “My name is not Leo Swain.”
Aaron sat back. “I see,” he said, although he definitely did not see.
“I was born with the name Rex Loomis,” Leo said.
Rex Loomis. Aaron had heard that name. It would come to him.
Leo went on, “Forty years ago I was at a poker game at the Gulf Dream Lounge, out on St. Elmo Beach. I had been hitchhiking along the highway, and when I saw the Gulf Dream Lounge, there on the corner where Margene’s is now, I told the trucker who was giving me a lift to let me out. I don’t know why, except the Gulf Dream looked like a congenial venue for a footloose young man. And it was.”
He went on, “It was kind of late in the afternoon, and I took a seat at the bar. I hadn’t even finished my second beer before I got to talking with the bartender and a couple of locals, and they invited me to play poker that night. I gathered it was a regular weekly game, but the cast of characters varied depending on who showed up or didn’t. They asked me to play, and I said sure. And that’s how I happened to be playing poker with Ronan Trent. We were sitting next to one another at the table in the back room.”
“I know who you are, now,” Aaron said.
Leo gave Aaron a nod of recognition. He went on, “Ronan wasn’t much good as a poker player. I think he may have played there before, but he was no expert. And you can take that from me, because I was.”
“You were what?”
“An expert. I was a very good poker player, or so I fancied at the time. I was young, I was cocky, and I was a total idiot.”
“All right. Go on.”
“Ronan was losing, and he was preoccupied. We were all drinking, including him, and the more he drank, the more he seemed like he had something else on his mind. He wasn’t interested in the game, that was obvious.”
“How did he act? Nervous? Scared?”
“Not scared, nothing like that. More like distracted. And he didn’t even seem to care that he was losing. I kept expecting him to fold and leave.”
“So what happened?”
“Things got out of hand.” Leo shook his head ruefully. “Everybody had had a lot to drink by that point. As for me, I was winning. I was winning almost every hand, and I saw some of the others looking at me and muttering. I’d been in that same position before, so I said I was going to take a break and visit the men’s room. Right about that time Ronan said he needed a breather but he’d be back later on, and he left.”
“So the other players had decided you were cheating,” Aaron said.
“That’s what they thought,” Leo said. “And here’s the pitiful part— I was.”
“You were cheating?”
“I was an idiot, I already told you. Once I went to the men’s room, I decided it was time to get out while I still could, so I left by the back door. I went out onto a little patio area, and I hear voices coming from the poker room window. The players were talking loud, and I could tell they were mad. I could see Ronan up ahead of me, walking fast up the rise toward the Gulf Dream Villas.
“I took off and started to run. I could see Ronan cross the parking lot at the Villas. When he was just about there, I saw somebody walk around the far corner of the Villas, coming toward him. I just caught a glimpse. A person in dark clothes, wearing a cap or something. Kind of bundled up, considering it was a hot night. Nobody I could recognize. I had my own problems right then.
“Anyway, the person seemed to see Ronan and turned around and went back around the corner. And Ronan went to the door of one of the units. That’s when I heard yelling behind me, and I knew I had to put on all the speed I had. I took off up past the Villas and through the woods in back. I was a pretty fast runner then, and I headed for the deep woods with them after me. After a while they gave up, and that saved my skin.”
Aaron sat back. “So you’re telling me you saw somebody hanging around the Villas that night. Somebody besides Ronan Trent.”
“Somebody else was there, without a doubt. Yes, sir.”
“So Ronan Trent didn’t make up that story of an intruder hanging around.”
“He didn’t make it up. I saw the person the same as he did.”
“But you just kept on running.”
“I just kept on running,” Leo said. “I didn’t even know about the murder until a few days later. And I didn’t come back to tell what I’d seen.”
“I worked on that case,” Aaron said. “What you’ve just told me could’ve made a big difference.”
“I understand that,” Leo said. “I’ve known that all these years. But I was already in serious trouble, and I didn’t want to go to jail.”
Aaron had known
there had to be more. “What trouble was that?”
“The kind of trouble an idiot gets into,” Leo said. “I was doing exactly the same thing— cheating at cards— in Mississippi, not long before. And like an idiot, I got cocky and I got caught. But that time, I had a car. I got in it to drive away, and one of the guys from the game jumped in front of me in the parking lot, trying to force me to stop. I hit him and kept going. I found out later that he died. I ditched the car, hid out for a couple of days, and then I started hitchhiking. That’s how I ended up at the Gulf Dream Lounge.”
“And did the same damn thing all over again,” Aaron said.
“That’s what an idiot does,” Leo said. “I haven’t played poker since, though.”
“But somehow you got away— twice— and you came back here. You went to work at Margene’s, where the Gulf Dream Lounge used to be.”
“Yes, I did.”
“But Mr. Swain— Mr. Loomis— why?”
“I felt like I should be here. I didn’t feel right anywhere else.”
Aaron was baffled. “You came back here because it felt right?”
“That’s about it,” Leo said.
“You killed a man. There’s going to be consequences. You understand that?”
Leo nodded. “I wasn’t ready to face the consequences then, but I am now.”
Aaron sighed. “I’m going to have to hold you, Mr. Swain. I’ve got more questions, and I’ll have to contact Mississippi.”
“Yes, sir.” Leo Swain looked completely at peace.
The paperwork took Aaron quite a while to complete, but eventually he reached a stopping place. He had some final arrangements to make for his mother’s funeral, and his daughter was going to be flying in. He turned off the lights in his office and went home to his empty house. He sat at his kitchen table, drank a beer, and shed a few tears for his mother.
– 46 –
Clara had felt very strange when she put Alice’s ring on her finger. My pretty ring!!!! Alice had written. Clara took off the ring and left it on the coffee table next to The Book of Alice, where it seemed to give off an innocent glow against the dark wood of the table. The pretty silver leaves, the carved coral rose— how could such a sweet object be part of a terrible tragedy? And how had it happened to be in the sand at Loggerhead Point? That was yet another question Clara might never be able to answer.
She tried to think about something else. She had done almost no painting since Ronan’s death. She needed to get back to work. She had the sketches she had made on the beach in St. Elmo. Maybe they could be a starting place for something? She dug out the sketches and sat at the dining table with them in front of her, but her mind kept drifting away.
Toward the middle of the afternoon, the phone rang. It was Nadine, calling from downstairs. “There’s a woman here asking to see you. She says she drove over from St. Elmo.”
“Did she give a name?”
“Hang on,” Nadine said, and in a moment returned to the line. “Merle Evans.”
It took Clara a moment to recognize the name. Merle Evans had been Alice’s co-worker at the air force base. She and Patsy Orr had discovered Alice’s body together. When Clara phoned her, Merle Evans had been adamant in her refusal to talk with Clara. So what was she doing here? “Send her up,” Clara said, and a minute later she was answering the door to her visitor.
Merle Evans had a severe face with a prominent nose and chin-length gray hair. She was sturdy-looking and wore sensible shoes and a short-sleeved navy blue dress.
As Clara ushered her in Merle said, “We haven’t met in person, but we spoke on the phone.”
“I remember,” Clara said. “You refused to see me. You were pretty firm about it.”
“I didn’t want to talk with you,” Merle agreed. “I didn’t even keep your phone number. I don’t really want to talk with you now, but I’ve decided that I have to.”
Mystified, Clara fell back on manners. “Why don’t we have a cup of tea?” she said, and led Merle into the kitchen, where there was a small round table and a couple of chairs. Merle sat down with her handbag in her lap while Clara put the kettle on and got the teapot out of the drainer. “It’s good of you to come all this way,” she said.
Merle said, “I had to. I wanted to speak with you face to face.”
That ended the conversation until they each had a mug of tea in front of them. Clara said, “What did you want to tell me, Mrs. Evans?”
“Call me Merle,” Merle ordered.
“I’m Clara.”
Merle took a careful sip of tea. “This morning, I was at a meeting at Patsy Orr’s house,” she said. “The Floral Tribute Committee of the Missionary Society met to discuss flowers for two upcoming funerals— Wanda Malone, who was Aaron Malone’s mother, and Mr. Jim Tuttle. Mr. Jim, I expect you’ve heard, died in a drowning accident.”
“I heard.” Floral tributes? What on earth was this about?
“It’s time for me to say something,” Merle said.
Clara nodded permission, hoping Merle wouldn’t balk at the last minute.
Merle took another swallow of tea, as if steeling herself, before going on. “I feel I should tell you that Patsy Orr has been saying vicious things about you since you came to St. Elmo. Today at the meeting Patsy said that Jim Tuttle would still be alive if you hadn’t started asking questions about the death of Alice Rhodes. She said you had gotten Jim upset and agitated, and that’s why he wandered away and drowned at Luton’s Landing.”
“I see,” Clara said. “She’s said that sort of thing before.”
Merle went on, “Mrs. Trent— Clara— you know very well I was not in favor of your looking into the Alice Rhodes case. But to hold you responsible for everything that has gone wrong since is a mistake. As you know, this is not the first time Patsy has made statements of that kind, and finally I had to speak up. I told her I thought her remarks were inappropriate and uncalled-for, and that furthermore I intended to tell you what she was saying so you could defend yourself if need be. At that point she accused me of taking your side and not caring about Mr. Jim’s death and Vickie Ann’s suffering, which is not only cruel but ridiculous.”
Clara felt a rush of warmth toward Merle. “Thanks for defending me,” she said.
Merle nodded, tight-lipped. “It was the right thing to do.”
Clara said, “It seems that Patsy Orr took my coming to St. Elmo as a personal affront. Obviously, the death of Alice Rhodes hit her hard, and she still feels strongly about it.”
Merle bristled. “Feels strongly!” she said. “Patsy took over poor Alice’s murder like it had happened to her own kinfolks! Another reason I’m here today, Clara, is so you get another side of the story.”
Clara really liked Merle. Merle sat in her chair like a rock of integrity and determination. “Please tell me,” Clara said.
Merle squared her shoulders. “It gets away with me the way Patsy goes on,” she said. “She acts like she and Alice were close friends, but I knew Alice Rhodes as well as Patsy did, and I can tell you that Alice barely tolerated Patsy. Alice was a very pretty woman, she was out on her own after being married to that awful Coby, her kids were living with the grandparents— Alice was having a good time. She tolerated Patsy and let her hang around, but she had no particular regard for Patsy. And Patsy wanted to be Alice, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Yes. I see.”
“Alice had boyfriends, plenty of them, and Patsy didn’t. So Patsy wanted a boyfriend,” Merle went on. “After a while, she started mentioning an airman, how crazy he was about her and all. So I would say, ‘What’s his name, Patsy? I’d like to meet him sometime.’ And of course she wouldn’t say a name and I never saw her with anybody.”
Clara’s mind was racing. “Are you saying it was Ronan? That Ronan was Patsy’s boyfriend?”
Merle shrugged. “She never said a name. Frankly, at the time I thought she made the whole thing up. It was just another way she could pretend to be Alice.”
>
This was a development Clara had never imagined. Could Ronan have known Patsy Orr?
“There’s something else,” Merle said.
“Yes?”
“Even though Patsy acts like she did it alone, I was there when Alice’s body was discovered, too. It was an awful, awful experience. I can assure you I’ll never get over it. Even so, it is not the most important thing that ever happened in my life. But that’s what it is for Patsy. And since the murder case got reopened, it has been the only thing that seems to matter to her. She can’t let it go. And maybe because you were Ronan Trent’s wife, she sees you as the center of it all. I think she believes you want to prove your husband is innocent, and that would be an injustice to Vickie Ann.”
Clara shook her head. “I never said I was trying to prove anything. I only said I wanted to understand what happened.”
“She doesn’t see it that way.”
“Maybe it will calm down, now that I’ve left St. Elmo?”
“It won’t calm down if Patsy has anything to do with it,” Merle said. “That’s why I came over. You need to know what you’re up against.”
Clara said, “Merle, everything you’ve told me— it has made a huge difference. And the biggest difference is that you were willing to stand up for me to Patsy.”
“I’ve known Patsy Orr all my life,” Merle said. “Going against an old friend is a hard thing to do. But sometimes there’s no choice. Frankly, I wish the case had never been reopened. All of us, including you, would’ve been spared a lot of upset and grief.”
“We can’t go back to before,” Clara said. “None of us can.”
“I guess not.” Merle got up. “Thank you for the tea. I’d better start back to St. Elmo.”
Clara, still trying to process what she’d heard, thanked Merle again, and the two women walked into the living room. When they were halfway to the apartment door Merle stopped abruptly.
Heat Lightning Page 16