Caught Read-Handed

by Terrie Farley Moran

  What was wrong with me? George and Alan were reunited. I had a huge part in making that happen and instead of being pleased with myself, I was in total mental disarray. I needed to clear my mind.

  I turned my back on all the activity going on around me; deputies working, telephones ringing and computer keys clacking. I stood still and closed my eyes. My favorite meditation spot had long been sitting on the beach with my mind focused on the horizon. When I couldn’t make it to the beach, my meditations hadn’t been as successful until I learned to close my eyes and visualize the horizon line, straight and true over the Gulf of Mexico. I had barely gotten completely immersed in my contemplation when I was startled by someone calling my name.

  It was Ryan. “Sassy, the family will be out in a couple of minutes. I could hear some crying but no shouting. I think it was a good meeting. I don’t know how close you are to these people but the perp, er, Alan Mersky, needs a doctor.”

  “Oh, no. Is he hurt?”

  “Not that kind of hurt. Not that kind of doctor. He needs a psych eval—a psychiatric evaluation. I’m really surprised that Swerling didn’t ask for one. Sloppy lawyering.”

  At the look on my face, Ryan patted my arm. “Don’t worry, the prosecutor will probably request an eval before deciding on the exact charges. And the family can ask us to provide medical assistance.”

  Over Ryan’s shoulder I saw Regina Mersky walking toward me. She was crying into a handful of tissues. I hurried toward her and stretched out my arms, grabbing her in a tight hug.

  Sniffing back her tears, Regina’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t sit there anymore. Alan has no idea what is going on around him. He keeps asking when we’re going to take him back to his hut. I don’t even know what that is. Sassy, I didn’t want him to see me lose control. But it’s so sad. He’ll never be able to defend himself in court.”

  When she realized Ryan was standing next to us listening to every word, Regina abruptly buried her face in the wad of tissues and began sobbing again. Ryan shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable, knowing he was adding to her stress. He offered to get us more water and vanished.

  After a minute or two, Regina quieted down. She was wiping away her tears when she asked, “Can I wait out here with you? I can’t go back in there. Alan mustn’t see me like this. O’Mally says we have to be strong but . . . he’s my baby brother.”

  Ryan came back into the room, handed me two bottles of water and fled. I was on my own with Regina.

  I handed her a bottle of water. “Have a sip. You’ll feel better.”

  She took a small sip. Then she sighed. I was afraid the tears would start again but she brushed the tissues across her eyes one last time, blew her nose and stuffed the tissues in her pocket.

  She looked so dejected I was desperate to cheer her, so I told her, with far more confidence than I felt, that everything would work out. Regina asked if I truly believed that Alan would be exonerated and the real murderer would be caught. I doubled down, if only to make her feel better for the moment.

  “Regina, here in Lee County we have the best sheriff’s department in the state of Florida. They will absolutely solve this murder.”

  “I’m glad you have faith in us.” Lieutenant Frank Anthony was right behind me. As always, when he caught me off guard, his eyes smiled no matter how serious he might otherwise look. He turned to Regina. “The sheriff’s office is concerned about your brother’s mental health. I have spoken to my superiors and as soon as your other family members are finished speaking to Alan, we are going to transport him to the hospital for a minimum twenty-four-hour period of observation—could be longer. They will check him out physically but the primary purpose will be to evaluate his mental state.”

  Regina’s chin quivered and I was afraid she was going to begin to cry again, but she held the tears back and offered a brave smile. “You are very kind. Thank you. Could you . . . could you talk to my brother George? He’ll be making the family decisions.”

  Frank agreed to talk to George and was kind enough not to tell Regina that it wouldn’t be for George to decide, but I realized that nothing affecting Alan, other than hiring Goddard Swerling, would be the family’s decision until this muddle was resolved.

  Frank excused himself and I strived for small talk to distract Regina and keep her from crying again. We were already past, “Is this your first trip to Florida?” and “Hydration is really important in this climate” when George came down the hall. He had one arm around O’Mally and she seemed to be physically supporting him rather than offering comfort.

  George was surprised not to find Goddard Swerling standing with us. I told them that Swerling left once he was assured the family would be allowed to see Alan. Nothing was further from the truth but I could see that the family couldn’t take any more disappointing news, and sooner or later I’d have to deliver Swerling’s message about the fee.

  Regina wanted to know if anyone had asked George if it was okay to take Alan to the hospital. A sad smile flitted briefly across George’s face. He took a step closer to his sister, put out his hand and chucked her under the chin. “Gina, honey, a lieutenant told me that arrangements had been made to put Alan in the hospital for observation. I don’t think we have much of a voice when it comes to Alan’s care. I did tell them that he’d been treated at various Veterans Administration facilities and the lieutenant said they’d relay that information to the doctors who would be examining Alan. Don’t you worry.”

  Regina reached up and patted George’s cheek.

  Watching brother and sister help each other cope was so touching, I felt tears begin to well in my own eyes. I brushed them away and suggested we head to the Read ’Em and Eat.

  Regina protested. “Aren’t there things we should be doing?”

  Once more, her big brother offered a touch of realism. “Our job now is to wait. Wait for Alan to be evaluated at the hospital. Wait for the lawyer to do his job. Wait for the deputies to find the real killer.” He heaved a massive sigh. “We may as well have something to eat. Could be a long wait.”

  The brief ride to the café was unnervingly quiet. Four people in the Heap-a-Jeep and no one said anything. I toyed with the idea of putting on the radio, but decided against it. Who knows what a newsbreak might dredge up?

  When we got to the Read ’Em and Eat, I could see through the window that we had some customers. As soon as I opened the door I recognized Pastor John Kendall, husband of the always-irritating Jocelyn. I often wondered how such a kind and placid man could be married to a woman as petty and annoying as Jocelyn. For the most part, the marriage seemed amiable, so I guess the old adage about opposites attracting rang true. That reminded me once again how I’d often wondered about the pairing of docile George and high-spirited O’Mally. I guessed I’d just have to wait until my opposite number came along. I shook off the silliness floating in my head and concentrated on the present.

  Pastor John was sitting with two men I didn’t recognize. As soon as we walked in, all three men stood. Of course the Merskys had no idea that the men were clearly waiting for us. George asked where I wanted them to sit. Bridgy came rushing out of the kitchen and greeted everyone warmly. She’d met George and O’Mally in New York and I introduced Regina, who graciously thanked Bridgy for sharing me with them.

  “I know you are doing the work of two people when Sassy is busy with us, so I want you to know we are grateful.”

  I was surprised to see Bridgy blush with pleasure at being recognized for doing her part. It occurred to me that we’d gotten used to covering for each other and shouldering as much as an entire shift when the other one had something to do outside the café. It was exhausting but it was how we’d always managed. It was time to take that next step. I was glad we’d decided to hire Elaine Tibor to fill in once in a while. I made a mental note to talk to Bridgy about that later. We should probably bring her in soon.


  Bridgy looked directly at George. “Pastor John and his friends have been waiting for you.” She indicated the three men standing by the Dashiell Hammett table. “They know your brother and they want to help.”

  The effect of her words on the Merskys was electric. All three brightened instantly. George murmured. “Alan’s friends? He hasn’t been alone all this time? Oh, thank goodness.”

  Pastor John and the two men came forward. John clasped George’s hand warmly, identified himself and then introduced the two men at his side. The balding gray-haired man with a sun-mottled face and a wide scar on one arm was Mark Clamenta. Owen Reston was decades younger with longish blond hair and piercing green eyes. Even under the circumstances, neither Bridgy nor I failed to notice that he had an extremely well-toned body stretching against his muscleman tee shirt.

  Bridgy and Owen moved the Barbara Cartland table alongside Hammett so everyone could sit together. Pastor John and his friends had been drinking coffee and nibbling on Robert Frost Apple and Blueberry Tartlets. Bridgy brought a tray of glasses and asked me to get a pitcher of sweet tea from behind the counter. While I poured the tea, Bridgy went into the kitchen and came out with a plate in each hand. One plate was piled high with Miguel’s famous Cuban sandwiches stuffed with roast pork, cheese and thinly sliced dill pickles. The other was loaded with Swiss Family Robinson Cheeseburgers. She set the plates down and scrambled into the kitchen only to come back with an enormous bowl of The Secret Garden Salad. I grabbed lunch plates and salad bowls from behind the counter and set them out accordingly.

  Bridgy and I hovered around until we were sure everyone had enough to eat, and then we sat at either end of the tables. By tacit agreement, no one mentioned the real reason we were all together. This meal break was a much-needed interlude of normalcy for the family, and everyone seemed to understand and respect that.

  The conversation was light and mild. Pastor John asked if any of the Merskys enjoyed fishing. And when the talk of snapper, grouper and snook petered out of its own accord, Owen Reston told George that he taught an exercise class at the church twice a week and invited George to come along. George took one look at Owen’s pectorals and biceps under the clingy tee shirt and laughed. “A half hour of exercise would probably kill me.”

  A sense of discomfort enveloped everyone at the table as soon as he said the word “kill.” No one knew where to look or what to say. George looked stricken. “I’m sorry. It was nice being normal for a while, but well, there has been a killing, and my wife, my sister and I are here to prove my brother didn’t do it.”

  He looked at the three men across the table. “You’re Alan’s friends. How can you help us?”

  Chapter Twelve ||||||||||

  “Truth be told”—Mark Clamenta broke the silence—“we’re not sure how we can help. I can tell you that the night the woman was killed Alan attended a meeting at the church hall. It’s not much of an alibi—a short meeting during a long night. As far as the, ah, incident goes, we only know what we read in the paper and saw on the television news. But we do know Alan and it doesn’t seem likely . . .”

  Pastor John latched on to Mark’s wrist. “Let me.”

  Mark nodded.

  Pastor looked directly at George and then widened his gaze to include Regina and O’Mally. Then he folded his hands on the table and began talking in the soothing tone I’d heard him use so often when someone needed to be comforted.

  “Sometimes when people come home from war, the experience changes them.” He paused. “More than a decade ago members of the local clergy council discussed their desire to help veterans returning home from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. We wanted to provide definitive assistance for those suffering from the mental and emotional distress.”

  George interrupted. “My brother was fine after his first two tours. It was during the third tour that something happened.”

  Pastor John took a sip of sweet tea and continued. “The short version is that we met with experts from the Veterans Administration and other organizations, and those of us who have churches with room enough opened day programs where all vets would be welcomed. No questions asked.”

  Owen added, “Word spread and the vets living on the island stopped by. Some of us stayed to help or be helped. The retirees haven’t forgotten, either.” He tossed a hitchhiker’s thumb Mark’s way. “Back in the Stone Age this old man spent some time in Vietnam.”

  Mark laughed and pushed Owen’s arm away.

  Regina took George’s hand and squeezed tightly as if signaling she was ready to hear the worst. George threw back his shoulders and said, “Okay, tell us what you can. We know that Alan has spent time in mental hospitals but then he is off on his own again. We’ve never seen him at his most troubled. Is he capable of . . . Could he have done this?”

  Pastor John wanted to comfort them but looked helpless as he tried to dredge up an answer.

  Owen Reston had no such problem. “From what I saw on the news, Alan had a run-in with this woman, Mrs. Lipscome, at the library. Based on that very public row, the deputies brought him in for questioning and then detained him. After any kind of confrontation, the Alan I know would have avoided that woman like the plague. He would mutter about her for days but he would never seek her out. Heck, according to the newspaper report, when they had the argument in the library, Mrs. Lipscome was the loud one. Alan never raised his voice.”

  I bounced in my chair excitedly. “That’s true. I don’t think he spoke to her at all. She was screaming but Alan walked out and was talking to himself under his breath.”

  Everyone looked at me like I had announced the winning lottery numbers.

  “You were there?” Pastor John was incredulous.

  “When you called me, it was because you saw Alan with this woman?” George looked like someone had blindsided him.

  I felt terrible. I thought I’d explained it all clearly when I picked the Merskys up at the airport. Thinking back, perhaps I was more vague about Alan’s arrest than I should have been. I guess I didn’t want to give George any more bad news than necessary.

  “Well, I wasn’t inside the library . . .” And I recounted exactly what happened, ending with Alan being kind enough to pick up one of the books I dropped.

  O’Mally, who’d been extra quiet since we arrived at the café, pinched George’s cheek affectionately. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s still the old Alan?” She swung her head around, meeting everyone’s eyes one by one. “Does that sound like the behavior of a killer to any of you?”

  Pastor, Bridgy and I all spoke at once, assuring her that Alan’s actions bore no resemblance to a homicidal fiend. I noticed that the veterans remained silent. I’m sure some of the things they lived through may have taught them that there is a speck of killer instinct in us all.

  George turned the conversation around another bend. “The deputies have taken Alan to the hospital for observation.”

  Pastor rubbed his hands together. “Excellent news. A clinical evaluation will certainly confirm that Alan has no violent tendencies. Absolutely none. Do you know where he is? I can try to make a pastoral visit in the morning.”

  George took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Pastor glanced at it and passed the paper back to George, saying, “Fine place. Great care. I’m sure I’ll be able to see Alan and perhaps I can make arrangements for you to speak with his doctor.”

  “I was wondering . . .” Regina began, stopped and began again. “I was wondering if any of you know where Alan lives.”

  Pastor stared at a spot somewhere high above Regina’s head as though he was praying for guidance. The two veterans exchanged a look and then Owen sat back. Mark Clamenta cleared his throat. “You know that Alan is a real loner, right? Keeps to himself. He’ll always pitch in to help another vet, but won’t take help for himself. Just his way.”

  Regina nodded hesitant
ly, as if she wasn’t sure exactly what she was agreeing to.

  “If you read the newspapers anywhere in this country, it won’t surprise you to learn that there are a lot of homeless veterans. When we came home from Nam, there were some soldiers, well, people would say they couldn’t adjust to being home. There was no diagnosis of the problem. Post-traumatic stress wasn’t recognized until the early 1980s. The war was long over. Thousands of guys went untreated. We’re trying to make that different today.”

  George interrupted. “We know Alan has PTSD, we just don’t know how to help him.”

  “Your brother gets nervous around people. There are a few vets who live in the woods down island. Not many, five or six. They built huts and lean-tos. Not really a social group, but I guess you could say communal. Alan lives near them. Not with them. He built his hut out of branches and palm leaves, about thirty, forty yards away from the group. He’ll help out if asked but otherwise stays on his own.”

  “His hut. That’s what he was talking about. He barely spoke to us, but when he did he kept asking to go back to his hut. We didn’t know what he meant.” George put his head in his hands. “Why is it so hard to understand my own brother?”

  O’Mally put her arm around him and pulled him close.

  I heard the word “branches” and had to ask. “Is that why Alan had that big tree limb in his car? Is he building another hut?”

  Owen replied. “No. No. Alan is one of the finest wood carvers I’ve ever seen. His hut is filled with pieces of art. He has a beautiful hand-carved chess set. It must have taken him a year to make it but he won’t play with anyone. Just sits in his hut staring at the board.”