Death at Gills Rock

by Patricia Skalka

  On his second arrival at the chapel, cars lined the streets and the lot. He pulled into one of the last spots and eased out of the jeep, allowing himself to be caught up in the bonhomie of the people who’d come to witness the marriage of a retired doctor and a former schoolteacher.

  Madeline and Sofia ambushed him as he came around the corner. The two junior bridesmaids wore tea-length ecru dresses and carried straw baskets filled with blue hydrangeas. “You get to escort us in,” Sofia said, jittery with excitement.

  Assaulted by memories of his darling Alexis, Cubiak tucked their slender arms into his, adjusted his long stride to match theirs, and marched them up the stairs. Bathard and Sonja were inside the church foyer, greeting guests. Like the twin girls, they looked happily dazed and slightly old-fashioned, he in a light gray suit and she in a lemon yellow linen dress and bolero jacket.

  Cubiak bussed Sonja’s cheek and shook hands with Bathard. The melancholia he had detected in the doctor the previous day had disappeared. “Perhaps I failed to mention this, but I’d be honored if you would say a few words at the luncheon,” Bathard said as he gave Cubiak the rings.

  “Of course.” A toast. Cubiak was the best man. He should have realized. There was still time; he’d think of something.

  Cubiak arranged his face and again offered his arms to the bride’s granddaughters. In step with the music, he led the girls down an aisle lined with candles and peace lilies.

  He looked for Cate and found Emma Pardy and her husband in a middle pew. Natalie was next to them. A sandy-haired man sat to her left. Had Natalie brought a date? Cubiak colored, recalling his earlier plan to stop for her.

  Ida, Olive, and Stella were lined up together in the last pew, occupying the rear of the church just as they had the front row at their husbands’ funeral two weeks prior. The trio reminded Cubiak of the brevity of life. Sonja’s daughter and son-in-law were in the first pew, like bookends at the opposite end of the small chapel. They made him think of hope and faith in the future.

  Sonja’s fraternal twin sister, a minister, would marry the couple. Dark, short, and reserved, she was the opposite of the bride in every obvious characteristic. Still, she nearly bounced through the brief ceremony and recitation of the vows. A commitment to love and respect, to cherish and honor. Then the pronouncement of marriage. A kiss. Applause. Cubiak clapped enthusiastically but he felt detached, as if he were looking down from the ceiling.

  Still alone on the drive from the church to Bathard’s house, he fumbled for a meaningful phrase or quote with which to honor the newlyweds. As the guests filed into the tent, Cubiak recalled a bit of wisdom he’d garnered from one of his high school teachers, a taciturn Jesuit who had enjoyed confounding his students with quotes from Kant. “A famous philosopher says we shouldn’t focus on making ourselves happy but upon making ourselves worthy of happiness,” Cubiak said, raising a glass in honor of Bathard and Sonja. “I can’t imagine any two people more worthy of happiness.”

  After lunch, Natalie followed him outside. “You might take your own advice,” she said as they stood shoulder to shoulder, pretending interest in Bathard’s rose garden.

  He grunted.

  “Too bad Cate’s not here. I was hoping to see the two of you together.”

  “You were?” Her gentle candor and lack of sarcasm left him defenseless.

  “Sure. You think I don’t know that all the time we’ve been seeing each other you’ve been waiting to see what happens with her?”

  Cubiak winced. The truth stung.

  “I’ve known Cate most of my life. She’s not your type. You’re not going to be happy until you get over both her and your guilt about Ruby.” Natalie swiveled toward him. “Look at me. I know about her and about your wife and daughter, too. And I am so sorry that you had to suffer such loss and pain, but you can’t hang on to the past forever. Not if you want to be worthy of happiness. And I think you do.” She held his gaze a long moment and then turned and walked away.

  He wanted to follow her, to tell her that it wasn’t that easy. The past was part of him. He wasn’t hanging on to it; the past lived inside him. Cate would understand, he thought. Like him, she had a history of loss.

  Eventually the sound of music drew Cubiak back to the tent. Most of the guests were still seated, talking among themselves or listening to the string quartet that played Mozart. Cubiak wandered through, stopping to greet people he knew, smiling at those who turned a friendly face in his direction. The three widows shared a table with two other women. Olive caught his eye and he nodded politely but feigned a need to keep moving. He’d told Bathard that if Ida were at the wedding, he’d talk to her but he wasn’t ready for that yet.

  The coroner stopped him near the doorway.

  “A very nice toast. Apropos for everyone, I would think,” he said.

  Cubiak shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

  Bathard started to say something more when Sofia and Madeline latched onto his elbow.

  “Time to cut the cake,” they said together. As the girls tugged the doctor away, Madeline glanced over her shoulder. “Come watch, Uncle Dave.”

  Uncle Dave! Cubiak saluted. “I’ll watch from here,” he said. After the first slice was plated, he circled to the drinks table. He was surveying the crowd, still looking for Cate, when Ida approached.

  “Sheriff.”

  “Ida.”

  “Such a lovely couple,” she said, accepting the glass of champagne he held out.

  “They are.”

  “To happiness.” She raised her glass, and they drank together.

  “If you have a moment… ,” she said and began walking toward the door.

  Cubiak picked up another drink and followed her out, wondering what more she had to say. She was at the fence, watching a handful of sailboats struggle to catch a whiff of wind. He came up alongside, rested a foot on the bottom rung, and waited.

  “I’ve lived here all my life and I’m still fascinated by the water. Do you sail, Sheriff ?” she said finally.

  “No. Not yet. I’m going to learn.”

  “You’ll like it.”

  Suddenly she grabbed his arm. “Thank you, for helping Roger. He came up last night and told me everything. That was very humane, very kind.”

  “It’s up to him, really.”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Her grip tightened for a moment and then relaxed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “About Roger?”

  “No, about that night and what I told you happened.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  She turned back to the water. “It can’t be easy. I apologize if I’m making your life difficult.”

  It’s not you, he wanted to tell her. It was him. He had a duty to the law.

  “I’m going to fight for Walter. I’ll hire the best lawyer I can to defend him. After the trial—the acquittal—I’m selling the business and going away for a while. I’ve always wanted to take a cruise up to Alaska, and see the Grand Canyon, as well.”

  “Will you come back to Gills Rock?”

  “No. I’ll sell the house and find something else, but here on the peninsula. Assuming I’m not in jail.”

  “And if I arrest you?”

  “I’d kill myself,” she said with no hesitation.

  The response startled Cubiak. “That’s pretty hard to do while incarcerated.”

  “But not when you’re out on bail.” She looked at him. Her eyes flashed, whether in amusement or taunting, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m an old lady, Sheriff. No one would be surprised if I keeled over. Especially faced with the shame of being accused of murder.”

  “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. Just as I did yesterday. I didn’t kill them. I wish I had.”

  Cubiak had heard those exact words before. Where? From whom? He remembered Olive, inebriated an
d defiant in her chic living room.

  “You were all in it together,” he said.

  “The three little Indians? Hardly. I was the only one with a justifiable motive.”

  “Is that how you see it?”

  “What was it you’d have me do, turn the other cheek? If Christian hadn’t been wounded, they wouldn’t have been able to leave him—he’d have fought to survive. To come back. He knew I was pregnant. I did what I had to for Christian.”

  “What if Terrence rejected your suggestion?”

  “I knew he wouldn’t. To a man like Big Guy, life was all about pride and saving face. He would do anything to avoid disgrace. He proved that by the way he lived.”

  “And the others?”

  “Eric and Jasper? Those two! They stopped thinking for themselves years ago. It was always ‘Big Guy this’ and ‘Big Guy that.’ And how could they refuse? They sold their souls to the devil the day they agreed with his plan to abandon Christian.”

  Ida took a quick breath and continued. “They had no choice but to do as I said. If word got out that they were gay, there’d be plenty of gossip, but people are more tolerant about that kind of thing now and after a while they’d have put it out of their minds. But deserting a childhood friend, leaving a soldier to die? That’s unforgivable.”

  A burst of applause rose up from the yard, drawing their attention to the lawn where the string quartet had regrouped on a wooden floor outside the tent and begun to play an old-fashioned waltz. In time with the music, Bathard twirled Sonja across the platform.

  Ida moved a hand to the music. “Do you dance, Sheriff ?”

  “No,” he said. Lauren had suggested they take lessons. Why had he refused?

  “You should learn. Christian danced,” she said, pivoting back toward the water.

  “There is something else,” Cubiak said when the music faded. “Has it occurred to you that you could be wrong about them leaving Christian? What if the truth is that they didn’t find him? Or that he’d already died and they simply fabricated the story to make heroes of them all.”

  She seemed to shrivel at the suggestion.

  “I’m sorry, Ida. I had to ask it.”

  The music started again. A fox trot or cha-cha, he didn’t know the difference.

  Ida fingered the gold chain around her neck and pulled it free of her dress, revealing a small cross. She held it out for Cubiak to see. “This was my wedding gift to Christian. When he enlisted, I made him promise to wear it always. I thought it would keep him safe from harm. He’d never have taken it off if he thought he was going to make it. He gave it to Terrence to give to me because he thought his friend was telling him the truth, that there was no room in the rescue boat.”

  She tucked the necklace back into place. “I gave the three of them a choice. Which is more than they did for Christian.”

  “And you can live with that?”

  “They lived for years with the knowledge that they’d murdered a man. I can live out my remaining time knowing that I gave them an option.”

  “Disgrace or death.” Cubiak hesitated. “Will you tell Walter?”

  “When this is all over, I think so. He grew up feeling like he never was good enough for Terrence; the truth will free him from that lie.”

  “And Roger?”

  She smiled. “Roger acts tough, but he’s all mush inside. And he’s so young. I think the truth would break him. Later, when I’m gone and if you’re still here and still sheriff, you can make the call.”

  “You trust me with your secret?”

  Ida took his arm. “I suspect you are a man with many secrets,” she said.

  As they slowly progressed across the lawn, Cubiak felt her strength ebb. Twice she faltered. Near the tent, she stopped and lifted her face toward him. A lifetime of weariness was worn into the pale flesh and the blue eyes dimmed with a quiet resignation. “Well, Sheriff ?” she said.

  Cubiak knew he had no proof that Ida had done anything to harm the three old vets the night they died in the cabin. He’d offered one version of events and she’d countered with another, equally plausible. If he repeated his story, she would deny it and which of them would a judge and jury believe? The only tangible piece of evidence that supported his scenario was a blurry photo of an event lost to history and the murk of war, and he didn’t have a copy. He also had no proof to support or deny the possibility of suicide. If they had taken their own lives—either as a result of Ida’s actions or because of some long-lingering vestige of remorse—no one would ever know. Fact and circumstance indicated that the deaths were the result of an unfortunate accident. And if that were a lie, then it was just another fabrication attached to a long list of lies. If anything, there seemed to be some element of poetic justice that three lives built on a foundation of deceit should end the same way. Even Walter’s admission of attempting to harm the men could be plea-bargained into a slap on the wrists. And Roger, by the sheriff ’s own hand, had been given a pass. He had a duty to the law but he’d already sidestepped that on Roger’s behalf.

  Ida trembled. Cubiak squeezed her arm reassuringly.

  “I find it touching that you and Olive and Stella came to celebrate the wedding so soon after the tragic incident that claimed your husbands’ lives. I’m sure Bathard and Sonja and all the other guests feel the same.”

  Ida grasped his hand and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You are a good man,” she said.

  Soon after Bathard and Sonja drove away, the party started to break up. Natalie and her escort followed Pardy and her husband down the driveway. The three widows left in Ida’s car with Olive behind the wheel. The outside bar had been dismantled, and as the remaining guests headed toward their vehicles, Cubiak wandered into the kitchen looking for the last of the champagne.

  The musicians were eating at the table. Roger brushed past him toward the door.

  “You leaving?” the sheriff said.

  “Yeah. Got some business to take care of.”

  Cubiak questioned the boy no further. Roger was on his own.

  A streak of ashen pink lit the horizon when Cubiak left the house. Dusk was settling over the peninsula, and overhead in the great wash of charcoal sky, a single star glistened. Anxious about the pups, he barreled east toward the lake, but at the highway junction he made a sudden turn north toward Fish Creek. He told himself he meant to check on the loitering situation outside the Woolly Sheep, but he knew that the real reason behind the detour was Roger. Despite the boy’s promise and Ida’s assurance that her grandson would keep his word, Roger’s quick departure from Bathard’s house and the excuse that he had “business” to tend to made Cubiak wary. Had he made a mistake in trusting the boy; and if he’d been wrong about Roger, had he erred in believing Ida as well?

  Cubiak hit the slope into Fish Creek at fifteen over the limit and rode the brake hard down the hill. On the nearly empty streetscape around Founders Square, the motley crew outside the Woolly Sheep stood out easily. The sheriff crawled forward. Inside the brightly lit shop Kathy O’Toole rearranged skeins of yarn on the rear shelves. Cubiak drove up onto the curb opposite the store, not so conspicuous that he’d draw attention from the half-dozen tourists wandering the area but close enough for Timothy and his five cohorts to see him. Cubiak checked the clock on the dash: 8:10. He’d give them another ten minutes and then shag them away.

  Besides the leader, Cubiak recognized four of the loiterers. The other was a new recruit who looked barely sixteen. Tim’s girlfriend and the other girls were notably absent. Roger also was not with them.

  The punks were smoking and talking but Cubiak couldn’t make out more than an occasional curse word. Pop cans and bags from the local burger joint littered the ground. Cubiak wished one of them would crack a beer so he could run them in for underage and/or public drinking but figured they were too smart for that. At 8:15, Timothy hauled himself off the bench, gave fist bumps to a couple of his pals, and started ambling up the street toward the corner municipal lot. Th
e others followed in his wake; one of them even stooped to pick up a discarded bag and toss it into a wire trash basket. When they were out of sight, the shop lights dimmed and the sheriff drove away.

  As soon as he turned into his driveway, Cubiak noticed the lights through the kitchen window. Had his neighbor turned them on? A dark car stood in the shadows alongside the garage. Had Nagle traded in his brown truck and stopped by on the way from town rather than just walk across the road? And why so late? He said he’d feed the dogs at six and it was nearly nine. Could the car belong to Tim or one of his pals? Until then Cubiak hadn’t considered the possibility of retribution for his stand against the troublemakers. At the thought of a welcoming committee waiting inside, the sheriff took a small handgun from the glove box and dropped it into his pocket.

  Keeping to the grass, Cubiak crept up to the house. The porch smelled of dogs and fresh coffee. There was no evidence of forced entry into the kitchen but he heard voices inside. He tested the knob. It yielded easily. Cubiak turned it the rest of the way and kicked the door open.

  Butch barked.

  “Hey. You’re back.”

  Cate sat on the floor across the room. She wore a black turtleneck and jeans and leaned into the wall, her long legs crisscrossed lotus style. Two of the pups chewed the leather strips that hung from the cuffs of her black boots. Another slept in her lap. The fourth was at the water dish.

  “How’d you… ?”

  “Evelyn lent me his spare key. I stopped this morning to give him and Sonja my best wishes. He told me about the puppies and said he thought it might be all right for me to come see them.”

  “I thought maybe you’d be at the wedding.”

  She shook her head. Her hands and face were tan; her hair was deep brown and hung straight to her shoulders. She frowned at the open door. “It’s getting cold. Would you mind?”

  “Sorry.” Cubiak pulled the door shut.