Death in a Beach Chair

by Valerie Wolzien

  Susan considered that possibility for a moment. “I suppose it could be true, but it probably isn’t. And I can’t believe Jerry would cheat on two wives with the same woman. Why didn’t he just marry Allison after June died?”

  “I don’t know. But I know you don’t know, either.”

  “Look, what if what Peggy told you was the truth? What if they were in love? Do you think Jerry could have killed her?”

  “No. I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that.”

  “And you still want to find the killer and get Jerry released?”

  “Of course I do! But what if Peggy is telling everyone the story Allison told her? What if everyone believes Jerry came here to tell me about Allison?”

  “You know that is the oddest part of her whole story! Why would Jerry come on vacation with the three of us to meet Allison and tell you that he wants a divorce?”

  “Maybe he did want to protect the kids. If he told me at home, I might become hysterical. They would see me hysterical. It wouldn’t be good for them. If he told me here, I would be over the first shock before seeing Alex and Emily again. And you and Jed are here to help me through this.” Kathleen shook her head. “That does not sound like something Jerry would do. It doesn’t sound like something anyone would do.”

  “What have I been telling you?”

  “Okay. You’re right. It makes no sense. But-”

  “But it’s the story Allison told Peggy and Frank. And she must have told them for a reason.”

  “I suppose,” Kathleen said.

  “So let’s say she made it all up,” Susan continued.

  “She didn’t make up meeting Jerry in the city, Susan. They were together at the Four Seasons, remember.”

  “Jerry meets lots of people at the Four Seasons. You know it meant nothing.”

  “I don’t agree with that. He met her there. And less than a month later, they run into each other at a resort in the Caribbean. It could be a coincidence, but I doubt it.”

  “Are you going to ask Jerry about it the next time you see him?”

  “No. There’s always someone listening. We don’t talk about Allison at all. I’d feel much better if we could. I have so many questions.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I just heard someone on the deck.”

  “Kathleen, Susan… it’s Peggy. I have something for you.” She knocked on the doorjamb.

  Kathleen glanced over at Susan, who shrugged. “Come on in. The door’s open.”

  Peggy walked into the room. A gigantic brilliant pink straw tote bag dangled from one hand. “I didn’t know what to do with this. I was going to turn it in to the office, but then I thought of your husband. He’s really the closest thing Allison had to a relative on the island. Perhaps he should have this.”

  “What is it?” Kathleen asked.

  Susan was quicker. “Is that Allison’s bag?” She reached out for it.

  Peggy pulled the tote out of Susan’s reach. “Yes. She left it on our deck the afternoon before she died. I saw it and brought it in when the rain began and then forgot all about it.” Peggy paused. “When I realized she was dead, I just kept it. Frank said I should turn it in to the office, but I told him that the office didn’t have any more right to it than I do. Anyway, here it is. If you want it.”

  “We do!” Susan said.

  “I was thinking it should go to Kathleen,” Peggy pointed out.

  Kathleen accepted the bag. “Thank you. It was very nice of you. And-and thank you for talking to us.”

  “Oh, my dear, we should start a support group-women who’ve been wronged by the men they love.”

  “I don’t think-”

  “I know. You’ve had a shock and right now you don’t believe what I’ve told you. All I can say is that I have a nice broad shoulder to cry on when you come to accept the truth. Now I’d better get going. Frank is in the bar trying to drink all the rum. I plan on helping him.”

  “Thank you,” Kathleen said again, closing the door behind her.

  Susan didn’t even bother to wait until the door was closed to grab the bag from her friend’s hand and dump it in the middle of the bed. She scrounged around in the mess of paperbacks, sunscreens, scarves, combs, and small makeup bags, finding what she was looking for in just a moment. “The key!” She held her treasure up in the air. “The key to Allison’s cottage. Now all we have to do is wait until dark.”

  “But it won’t be dark for hours. What will we do until then?”

  The question was answered for them the moment they stepped off the deck in front of Kathleen’s cottage. The bridge-playing brigade enveloped them.

  “Oh, Mrs. Henshaw.” Ro Parker led her three companions to Susan and Kathleen. “I’ve been wondering where you were. We’ve been talking and we have a theory.”

  “And we have reservations for dinner, as well,” the man by her side added. “We hoped your husband would be able to join us, Mrs. Henshaw.”

  “I-we-” Susan glanced over at Kathleen. “We aren’t actually sure what we’re doing for dinner,” she said slowly. “Do you think we should wait for Jed?”

  “If you don’t think he would mind us going on without him, I think we should accept these people’s kind offer,” Kathleen said.

  “Well, that’s just fine. Let’s go to the bar and order some rum punch and get to know each other better.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t remember your name,” Susan confessed to the man by her side.

  “You can’t remember it. Probably never knew it. My name’s Randy Burns.”

  “Burns-but I thought you were married to Ro.”

  “Nope. You’re thinking of Burt. I’m married to Veronica-that foxy redhead in the green dress who’s standing next to the man who is married to Ro.”

  “Do I hear someone talking about me?” The gray-haired man walking on the other side of Veronica peered around her and grinned at Susan. “Ah, Mrs. Henshaw. Good to see you again. Although, of course, the circumstances could be better.”

  “Call me Susan, please, and it’s nice to see you again. And particularly nice of you all to think of us when you were making reservations for dinner.”

  “Hell, we’ve been thinking of you all day long. The girls are keeping themselves amused trying to figure out this murder thing. Cardplayers are good at puzzles, you know. We think we have an edge on the rest of the guests here.”

  Susan smiled. Lila’s prediction that guests would get involved in trying to figure out who murdered Allison had been right on the mark. “I’m sure Kathleen and I will be interested in what you’ve all come up with,” she said.

  “Then let’s find a place to sit, get us some drinks and something to munch on, and have a nice chat.”

  “I’ll have a white wine spritzer,” Susan said.

  “You’re not in Connecticut, for heaven’s sake. Have a rum punch,” Randy said. “This place makes the best rum punch in the Caribbean.”

  “And he should know. He’s tried them all in his time,” Burt said, sitting down between Susan and Kathleen.

  “It is good,” Susan admitted. “But-”

  “But what? You find a place that has good rum punch, you drink rum punch,” Randy said. “Bring a glass for everyone at the table,” he called out to the bartender.

  Apparently the order was specific enough. Six large glasses of rum punch appeared so quickly that Susan could only assume they had been poured and waiting.

  “How about an assortment of those things on sticks?” Randy yelled out to the departing waiter.

  “You’ll have to excuse my husband, Susan. Since he retired he’s decided that manners don’t matter,” Veronica explained, leaning around Kathleen to make herself heard.

  “Spent thirty-three years doing what other people wanted me to do,” Randy explained. “Now I do what I want to do. Know I’m not gonna live forever, so I’m spending the time I’ve got left living for myself.”

  “Perhaps you’re being just a little insensitive,” B
urt suggested. “Considering that there’s been a death and all.”

  “Sorry.” Randy took the cherry out of his drink with a shaking hand and managed to find his mouth. “Love these little buggers, even if they are full of sugar.”

  Susan, thinking that Randy apparently had more than enough alcohol already, was glad when the selection of “things on sticks” arrived as promptly as their drinks. “How long have you four known each other?” she asked, picking up a skewer loaded with fruit and chicken.

  “Over thirty years. We met when Ro and Veronica shared a room in the maternity ward at Sibley Hospital in Washington, D.C. Ro’d just had Ronald, our oldest boy. Veronica was there with her second: Molly. We talked about those two kids getting married one day.”

  “And did they?” Susan asked.

  “Fat chance. Little Molly-well, she’s not so little now-she’s been married three times, all of them losers. And Ronald, the apple of his mother’s eye, is gay. He’s been in a relationship with the same man for almost ten years. Nice guy, real nice guy. He’s an endocrinologist. Strange how things work out, isn’t it?”

  Susan could only agree.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Considering the fact that murder was the topic of the hour, dinner was surprisingly festive. Susan thought that the large quantity of rum consumed undoubtedly contributed to the conviviality of the group. No one seemed to have any new information, but everyone had theories, which they defended energetically.

  “I can see why they love playing bridge,” Susan said. “They’re the most competitive foursome I’ve ever met. I had thought the cards just might be an excuse to be social and drink, but I’ll bet they all play to win.”

  Susan and Kathleen were strolling on the beach, killing time until the last guests went to bed.

  “You know what was interesting?” Kathleen said. “Veronica’s husband-what’s his name?”

  “Randy.”

  “He didn’t drink.”

  “Of course he did! He even ordered most of the drinks.”

  “He ordered them, but he didn’t drink them.”

  “Who did?” Susan asked.

  “Veronica. She kept exchanging her empty glass for his full one. The first time I saw her do it, I thought he might not have noticed. But the second time she did it, he looked over at her and smiled.”

  “So she was drinking two rum punches for every one that the rest of us had,” Susan said.

  “Yes.”

  “Lord, I’m amazed she can still stand up.”

  Kathleen giggled. “Actually, she was sitting down when we left her. Perhaps they’ll just call James and he will carry her to her cabin.”

  “It’s strange that Randy would pretend to be drinking,” Susan mused.

  “Maybe he’s a reformed alcoholic and doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, although, in my experience, people who give up anything are unlikely to keep the news to themselves. The reformed alcoholics I know usually insist on talking about how their lives have changed in minute detail-usually while I’m enjoying a glass of wine.”

  “I know what you mean. Maybe Veronica is the alcoholic-prereform-and Randy is helping her to hide her addiction.”

  “Then he’s the codependent every addict dreams of finding.”

  “Yeah, it’s probably too weird to be true.”

  “But we really don’t know much about these people,” Susan said. “Almost anything could be true.”

  “I suppose. Did you learn anything tonight?”

  “Not really. What about you?”

  “Nope.” Kathleen bent down to pick up a small white disk from the sand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Sea urchin shell. Funny that they’re so black and dangerous when they’re alive, and the shell is so pale, fragile, and elegant.”

  “Hmm.” Susan examined the shell in her friend’s hand for a moment. “Think we should go back?”

  “Probably. If everyone’s not in bed yet, at least most of the people who are still up have probably had enough rum punch not to pay any attention to what we’re doing.”

  “Good. I’ll be glad to get this started. As anxious as I am to poke around Allison’s things, I can’t imagine how we’re going to do it in the dark. And we can’t risk turning on a light. The shutters on the windows offer a fair amount of privacy, but anyone outside would be able to see lights turned on in the cottage.”

  “We’ll use flashlights.”

  “Where will we get flashlights?”

  “They are in the nightstands on either side of the bed. At least they are in our cottage.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No. I guess the power goes out a lot here. Hadn’t you noticed all the candles scattered around?”

  “Sure, but I thought of them as romantic.”

  “They’re also practical.”

  “I guess. So we’ll stop in your cottage, pick up the flashlights, and if no one is around, go see what Allison brought here.”

  “Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

  Allison’s cottage was immaculate. Two pairs of sandals lined up next to the door and folded beach towels lying on the couch were the only immediate signs of her occupation.

  “Do you think someone’s cleaned up her stuff?” Kathleen whispered.

  “I don’t know. The bedroom’s upstairs. Let’s go up.”

  The bedroom looked more occupied, with clothing strewn about, books lying open next to the bed, cosmetics and creams crowded together on the small dresser.

  “Do you think we can risk turning on a light?” Kathleen asked.

  Susan walked over to the doors to the balcony. “I think it’s risky. Someone might see them. But the balcony faces the water. If we open these, the moonlight will shine in, and if we keep the flashlights aimed at the floor, I don’t see how anyone outside will know we’re here.”

  Kathleen had picked up a little tub of moisturizer and was examining the label. “This stuff sells for hundreds of dollars an ounce. I guess Allison was doing pretty well financially.”

  “Listen, it may have been years since I saw her, but I have no doubt that she had had every tuck, lift, peel, and injection ever invented. A few hundred dollars spent on cream would have been the least of it. She probably thought of it as protecting her investment.”

  “Was she always gorgeous?” Kathleen asked, opening the dresser drawer and beginning to rummage through an extensive collection of lacy underwear.

  Susan walked over to her side and offered to help. “Not even pretty. Wow! Looks like she was ready for a romantic evening or two.”

  “Or a dozen,” Kathleen said, picking up a tiny thong made entirely from black Chantilly lace and dropping it back onto the silky pile.

  “Jerry has nothing to do with this-this stuff,” Susan said.

  “I-I don’t know anything anymore,” Kathleen said sadly.

  “Kath-”

  “I know. This is no time to give up. We’re just beginning. We have to help Jerry. Etc. Etc.” She slammed shut the top dresser drawer and opened the one below it.

  Susan grabbed her friend’s hand. “Shhhh!”

  “I-”

  “Shhh!” Susan repeated. “I thought I heard a sound downstairs!”

  Kathleen clicked off her flashlight and froze.

  “Could have been the wind. I’ll go down and check it out.”

  “But-”

  Susan had slipped down the stairs before Kathleen could finish. She was back in less than a minute.

  “Can’t see anything and the door’s still closed. Must have been the wind or something outside.”

  “Or someone outside.”

  “Maybe someone who doesn’t want to be seen any more than we do.”

  “Maybe someone looking for something,” Kathleen said, returning to her search through Allison’s drawers.

  Susan went into the bathroom and looked through the prescription bottles scattered among the expensive cosmetics
before returning to the bedroom.

  “Learn anything?” Kathleen was going through a pile of bikinis on the dresser top.

  “Nothing interesting. Allison had some sleeping problems, took lots of vitamins, and was on hormone replacement therapy.”

  “Nothing interesting,” Kathleen agreed, sweeping the pile of swimsuits back into the drawer. “Too bad Allison didn’t keep a diary telling us all about her life.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Kathleen turned and discovered Susan standing by the bed, the drawer to the nightstand open, a leather-bound book in her hand. “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s that diary you were yearning for.” She directed the light onto the book and flipped through the pages. “And it looks like she’s been writing in it daily ever since January first.”

  “Sensational!” Kathleen paused a moment. “I think I hear something outside again. Grab that diary and let’s get out of here.”

  Susan nodded, tucked the book inside of her shirt, and the two women hurried down the stairs, across the first floor, and out the door, running right into James and his female companion.

  “Oh!” Susan felt the diary slip southward. “Hi. We’re-we-”

  “We were just looking around,” Kathleen said. “And now we’re done. Good night.” She grabbed Susan’s arm and pulled her back toward their own cottages.

  “I-yes, good night,” Susan called out, clutching her midriff and holding on to the book. “Boy, do you have a lot of nerve!” she whispered to her friend. “I’d probably still be back there trying to explain what we were doing if you hadn’t just brazened it out.”

  “They were glad we didn’t hang around. They had no business being there, either.”

  “Oh.” Susan turned and looked back at the row of two-story cottages. “Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, hurry. Let’s get inside.”

  “What?”

  “Just go!”

  “What was all that about?” Kathleen asked, as Susan carefully closed the door to her cottage behind them.