by Jac Simensen
“I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“She’s likely to heap abuse on you.”
“Not a problem. I’ll just ring off.”
Gordon took her hand. “Thanks, Nila. I appreciate your help. I really do appreciate you.”
Gordon released her hand, and Nila carried the dishes to the sink.
“Gordy, why don’t you come out to the beach with me? After I feed the girls, we can slather them up and take out the playpen. I’ll put a sheet over the top to keep them out of the sun. You can read while I finish the pelicans. Wouldn’t that be fun? Some fresh air would help clean out your unpleasant thoughts. Why don’t you give it a go?”
Gordon smiled as he looked at Nila standing at the chipped, porcelain sink washing dishes: her long, well-formed legs, her shapely rear and slim hips, her brown hair (now with highlights from the sun). Mary had been right; he really did need a certified nanny.
Nila turned toward him just in time to catch his appraisal. She smiled. Gordon smiled back.
8
Nila was using a pliable eraser to create highlights and soften the pencil lines on her drawing. The white pelican that sat frozen on the page of her sketchbook had long since departed from the twisting driftwood branches. With her pencil, she planted several sea-grape bushes behind the driftwood.
The twins were rolling on their backs in the playpen, softly cooing and trying to stuff their toes into their small mouths. The stand of queen palms on the right partially shaded both the playpen and Gordon, who was perched in an uncomfortable-looking, folding beach chair, reading some documents that Nila had picked up from the post office the day before.
The turquoise waters of the Gulf lapped against the beach. The air temperature was in the low eighties, and the water temperature was slightly lower. It was a perfect, chamber-of-commerce, early summer, South Florida day.
“Gordy, did you put sunscreen on your feet? They’re looking a bit rosy. Sunburned feet are the worst.”
Gordon leaned down and spread a towel over his feet and ankles. “You’re right—it happened more than once when I was a kid.”
Nila put down her pad and pencil and swiveled around on the beach blanket to face Gordon.
“How long have you been coming to Castle Key?”
Gordon slid the documents he’d been reading back into the manila envelope and dropped it on the sand next to his chair. “Ever since I can remember. My grandfather built the big house in the thirties. The beach house came later, after World War II, I think. When I was small, we used to stay at the beach house—Father as well. Grandmother and Grandfather would hold lotsa parties at the big house and there were always people going in and out. My grandparents died within a short time of each other. I was young and I don’t remember them well. Father didn’t want the big house, so he sold it to Myra Silk. The lawns and gardens are well-tended and the house looks like it’s been recently painted, so I guess Mrs. Silk still cares about it, even though she seldom stays there anymore.”
“Your family used the beach house for holidays?”
“Just Mother, Mary, and me. Like I told you, by then Father was staying in Boston most of the time. It was sad, because Mother really loved him—adored him. She was devastated when his liver gave out and he died. ’Til the day she passed, I never heard her say a single bad thing about Father, although he gave her lots of reasons to be bitter.”
Nila pursed her lips together. “Mum’s the same—never a strong word for my dad. The first year after we came back from Africa, she always told Della and me—and the neighbors, too—that he was fixing up the family farm in Ghana and would be sending for us soon. Then she just stopped talking about him. Eventually, she got a divorce, but never remarried, although she does have a steady boyfriend now...Did Karen like Castle Key and the beach house?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Last September, shortly after we found out about her cancer, was the first time she came to the island. Before then, we were always too busy. We met only a year before we married, and then there was the planning for the wedding and honeymoon. Three months after the wedding, we discovered she was pregnant. Then, when we got the prognosis that she had less than a year to live, Karen said that she needed to get away from Massachusetts. The way she put it was that she could see pity in everyone’s eyes, and that made her afraid. She was a very brave woman. She wasn’t more than nominally religious but she said that she knew that her life had a purpose and she was sure that it was bringing the girls into the world. She said that having achieved her purpose, she could peacefully flow back into the river of life that brought her here.” Gordon’s voice cracked. “And that’s exactly what she did.” He stood and lifted the corner of the sheet that covered the playpen. “They’re out cold. We should take them back to the house soon, don’t you think?”
Nila ignored his question. “You don’t talk about Karen very often. Is it still too painful?”
Gordon looked out at the water and smiled. “Karen and I knew each other for about three years. Three years from our first meeting to the end. We were very much alike: same family background, same type of schooling, and similar politics. We even shared quite a few friends. That’s how we met—through a mutual friend.” Facing Nila, he lowered himself onto the beach blanket. “Karen was feminine, intelligent, caring, and very sexy. She was all the things I had always looked for in a woman. I loved her almost from the first time we met. The thing is that I was just starting to get to know her when she died. We had very little history—I don’t have a large reserve of memories to draw on. You’ve never been married, have you?”
Nila shook her head.
“Ever get close?”
She shook her head again.
Gordon gently ran his finger along the edge of Nila’s bare foot and gazed at the water. “Maybe you could take one of the girls in now. I’d like to sit here for a few minutes. I’ll bring the other along soon. You can just leave everything. I’ll come back for the playpen and cooler.”
~*~
Julie was asleep. Nila had the baby tucked up on her right hip, with Julie’s head resting on her shoulder. When she entered the kitchen, the phone was ringing. Nila took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose. They got few calls during the day—this one was likely to be unpleasant.
“Hale residence.”
“Oh, it’s you again. Put Gordy on.”
“Is this Maggie Cartwright?”
“Of course it’s Maggie. Put Gordy on.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Cartwright. I gave Mr. Hale your message and he told me that if you called again, I was to tell you that he didn’t wish to speak with you.”
“What? Who in the hell do you think you are? Go find Gordy and put him on this instant!”
Nila moved the phone away from her ear. The screaming and profanity continued. Nila placed the phone back on the hook. She walked to the nursery and carefully laid Julie into her crib. The baby yawned but didn’t open her eyes. Nila stroked Julie’s dark curls. “Sleep, sleep, my pretty one,” she whispered. Nila exited through the hall to the kitchen but left the nursery door ajar. The phone started to ring again. Nila decided not to answer. After fifteen rings, she lost patience, lifted the phone from the hook, and placed it on the table. As she walked to the bathroom to wash the sand from her feet and legs, she could just make out Maggie’s shrill voice behind her.
When Nila returned to the kitchen, the phone had gone quiet. When she placed it to her ear, she heard an oscillating tone. She shrugged and placed it back on the hook. She waited for the phone to ring again, but it remained silent.
~*~
“This one’s zonked,” Gordy said.
Nila held out her hands and gently lifted Janna from her father’s arms.
“It’s the warm air and the sun,” said Nila. “I feel a bit drowsy myself. Let me put her down and then I can run out for the post. You have any letters going out?”
Gordon shook his head. “Not today. If you don’t mind, I’ll go. I need to
stop at the hardware store to get a hammer for the stone crab. I thought we had a toolkit here somewhere but I can’t find it.”
“A hammer? You’re joking!”
“Nope. That’s why they’re called stone crabs. You’ll see.”
Nila started for the nursery with the baby, then turned on her heel. “Maggie called—twice. I gave her your message, and your prediction about smoke coming from the phone was correct. When she called the second time, I just left the phone off the hook. I guess she gave up screaming after a while.”
Gordon put his hand on Nila’s arm. “I’m sorry—it was thoughtless of me to put you through that. If the phone rings while I’m out, don’t answer it. When she calls again, I’ll talk with her. It’ll be a very short conversation. Okay?”
“It wasn’t uncomfortable. I’ve heard worse. Think I’ll take a catnap while you’re gone. The little ones should be out ’til dinnertime.”
Gordon gently squeezed her arm and headed for the garage. “Oh, your sketchpad’s on the table. I brought in everything except the playpen and cooler. Leave them—I’ll get ’em when I come back.”
~*~
Nila took the towels and beach blanket outside and shook out the sand. She listened for the distinctive exhaust notes of the old Buick as Gordon turned from the driveway onto the main road, then slowly walked the short distance back to the beach, grasping the fine sand between her toes. She perched on the cooler, gazed out at the calm Gulf waters, and let her mind wander.
Nila understood that she was purposely suppressing her growing affection for Gordon. Although Gordon was obviously still emotionally wounded, his recent behavior left no doubt that he was sexually attracted to her. But was it really her, she thought, or could it be any good-looking young woman with whom he shared such constant, close contact? For the last nine weeks, the two of them had seen or spoken to few people besides each other—the post office and the shops were the outer boundaries of their world. What would be the outcome if she followed her own rising desires, responded to Gordon’s gentle advances, and they wound up in bed together?
The shadow of a low-flying gull momentarily blocked her view of the water and interrupted her thoughts. “Not now. I’ll sort myself out tomorrow,” Nila said aloud.
She stood up, stretched, and then dragged the playpen back to the house and into the living room. When she stepped back through the French doors into the kitchen, she sensed that something was different. There was an odor in the air: Sweat? Musk? Douche? That was it: the bittersweet, antiseptic smell of an old woman. One of the twins began to cry. Nila moved quickly to the open nursery door.
Although she had never seen her before, Nila instinctively knew that the creature hovering over Janna’s crib was Maggie. The beautiful, sexy Maggie that Gordon described had degenerated into a living cadaver. She stared at Nila through blood-shot, rodent-like eyes. Her dark roots had grown out three inches and made it look like her long blonde hair was pasted onto a dirty scalp. Her clothing was several sizes too large and hung on her body like rags draped over a scarecrow.
“Get away from that baby!” Nila screamed in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
Maggie turned her head toward Nila. “Stay where you are, you little whore. Been playin’ house with Gordy?” Her voice was emotionless. “Get Gordy. I’m here to collect what he owes me.”
Nila took a step toward Maggie but stopped short when she saw the gleam of a silvery object in Maggie’s right hand—scissors! Nila remembered that she had left scissors on the kitchen table when she removed the sketch of the twins from her pad. Janna began to cry again.
“Get him,” Maggie almost whispered. “I wouldn’t want to do something nasty to this child.”
Nila was paralyzed by the sight of the scissors. “He’s not here. He’s gone out in the car to the shops.”
“I saw the old car was gone, so I guess you’re not lying. Then we’ll just have to wait for him to come back.”
Adrenaline surged through Nila’s body. Her heart was pumping at full throttle. She forced herself to slow down and think. Maggie was somewhat taller than she was, but surely she couldn’t be any heavier or, in her ragged condition, any stronger. Maggie stood perpendicular to the crib, with the scissors in her right hand. There were less than ten feet separating them—in two steps Nila could be on her and between the crib and the scissors. Julie reacted to Janna’s cries and started to fuss. Maggie clearly hadn’t noticed the second crib and baby in the room. She was momentarily startled and turned to her right toward Julie. Nila saw her chance and rushed at Maggie. She grabbed the scissor-wielding right hand in her left and forcefully jammed the butt of her right hand into Maggie’s face, as she had been taught in self-defense class. She felt Maggie’s nose crumple under the impact. Maggie staggered backward, dislodging Nila’s grip on her right hand in the process. Bright crimson blood spurted from Maggie’s smashed nose.
“You filthy bitch!” she screamed. Blood flowed over her mouth and dripped onto the front of her pale green dress. “You’ll pay for that, you slut.”
The twins began to wail.
Maggie stepped forward and stabbed toward Nila’s abdomen as if she were wielding a sword. Nila turned to the side and shifted her weight to her back foot, narrowly avoiding the point of the scissors. Maggie turned the scissors to the right toward Nila and stabbed her in the side, just above belt level. Nila felt a searing pain as the scissors entered her body. She reacted quickly, grabbing Maggie’s outstretched right arm with her left and bringing her right fist down hard on Maggie’s wrist like a hammer. The force of the blow dislodged the scissors from Maggie’s hand and Nila’s side, and the scissors fell to the floor. When Nila stooped to retrieve them, Maggie fell on her. She opened her blood-smeared mouth and attempted to bite Nila’s throat, but before Maggie’s teeth could find a soft target, Nila headbutted her. Nila’s forehead struck Maggie’s jaw, and Maggie fell on her side.
As Nila sprang up with the bloody scissors in hand and moved protectively between the two cribs, she pressed her left hand against the wound in her side. It was bleeding freely. Maggie stumbled to her feet and staggered through the nursery door to the hall, to where a black purse lay on the hall table. Without a word, Maggie reached into the purse and pulled out a small handgun. The next two minutes were seared into Nila’s memory where, in slow motion, they would replay for months.
Maggie pointed the gun at Nila. A man’s voice somewhere behind Maggie rang out. “Police! Drop the gun—now!”
Maggie turned the gun toward the voice. One shot rang out, and then another. Maggie’s throat exploded, nearly separating her head from her torso. Her legs crumpled under her and she fell backward onto the floor in the hall with a sickening crack as her skull hit the ceramic tile.
Nila felt faint. She dropped the scissors, slumped to the carpeted floor, and rolled onto her side. Her blood spread into a pool as it soaked into the carpet.
Janna and Julie stopped crying. Janna pointed to Nila sprawled on the floor. “Mama,” she said. “Mama.”
9
The ambulance arrived in less than five minutes. Nila was still unconscious. The EMTs checked her blood pressure, placed a compression dressing on her wound, and quickly moved her to a wheeled gurney and into the ambulance. Gordon carried the twins from their cribs to the playpen in the living room—the girls were alert, but silent.
“You go ahead with the ambulance, Mr. Hale,” the deputy sheriff urged. “A female deputy will be here real soon to see to the girls. I’ll stay until she comes.”
Gordon, still in a state of shock, nodded, exited the house and climbed into the back of the ambulance as it pulled away with lights flashing.
~*~
Myra Silk and Hattie, drawn to the beach house by the sound of gunshots and the howl of the sirens, were standing in the kitchen with a deputy sheriff.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay with the children, Ma’am?” the deputy asked Myra. “Deputy Williams should be here any minute no
w, and then she’ll take over.”
“You go on after the ambulance, Officer,” the old lady replied. “Hattie and I will be just fine. Won’t we, Hattie? Hattie’s a nurse, you know.”
The tall, pale woman nodded. “Jus’ fine,” she said.
“If there are any problems, the deputy in the car outside can help. He’s waiting for the medical examiner to arrive. Please don’t touch the body, or attempt to clean or move anything.”
“Don’t be concerned, Officer. Hattie and I will look after the children until the deputy arrives.”
Deputy Sheriff McGill turned on his heel and exited through the kitchen door.
“No time to waste,” Myra Silk exclaimed, as she walked briskly down the hall. Carefully avoiding the pool of blood surrounding Maggie’s head, she lowered herself with surprising agility next to Maggie’s body.
“The needle,” she said impatiently, extending her hand.
Hattie opened her colorful, beaded bag and handed Myra a two-inch-long needle—a needle with a T-shaped black wooden handle. Myra raised the hem of Maggie’s blood-stained green dress above her waist, pulled down her panties, and deftly began to puncture the skin on Maggie’s belly, just above her vulva. After finishing her grisly task, Myra took the hem of Maggie’s dress and wiped away the small amount of blood that had accumulated on the design, and then extended her arm once again to Hattie.
“Now, the power,” she said.
Hattie took a small vial from her bag and squeezed a few drops of an ink-black liquid onto the punctures Myra had made on Maggie’s belly. Myra rubbed the liquid into the skin with her index finger and then wiped off the excess with Maggie’s dress.
Hattie looked down at the body. “Perfect,” she said in a soft voice. “Her eye.” And indeed, the mark was a well-drawn, miniature eye, no more than an inch wide.
Myra extended her hand. “Help me up,” she whispered. As soon as she stood, she bent over and inserted the needle into Maggie’s right eyeball. She removed the needle and then quickly held it above the new tattoo on Maggie’s belly. A single drop of fluid fell from the needle to the tattooed eye.