Death in a Beach Chair

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Susan, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

  Susan reached out to hug him and was stunned when the guard grabbed her hands. “Ow!”

  “We’re not allowed to touch,” Jerry said sadly. “She doesn’t know the rules,” he explained to the guard. “She won’t do it again.”

  “No, I won’t,” Susan assured him, trying to control her nervousness and her temper. Her wrist was stinging as a result of the man’s rough handling.

  “You only have a few minutes,” he growled, and leaned back against the door, replicating his former position outside the room.

  “Sit down. I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to see you,” Jerry said.

  “I’ve wanted to see you, too. I-”

  “Susan, I’ve been thinking. About my life and my past, and I think that Kathleen and June are very much alike.”

  “Really… I-”

  “Yes. In fact, I’m sure of it. The more I think about it the surer I am.”

  “Well-”

  “Of course, you could say the only thing they had in common is that they were both married to me, and that’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “But I believe their situation made them alike in many, many ways.”

  Susan realized she wasn’t going to be allowed to speak a full sentence unless she interrupted. “Kathleen isn’t-”

  “She’s much more like June than it may appear at first glance,” Jerry said firmly and loudly. “You must realize that she and June are in the same situation, and the end result could be the same.”

  “You mean Kathleen might die in an accident?” Susan was completely perplexed.

  “No talk about death. Visit is at an end,” the guard said, putting his gun between Jerry and Susan to emphasize his point.

  “But-” Susan cried out.

  “This is fine,” Jerry said quickly. “You think about what I said, Susan. Think and you’ll realize I could be right.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Susan’s taxi driver was waiting, leaning against the trunk of his car, eyes closed. Susan started toward him and then stopped. She was upset, and the thought of returning to Compass Bay was completely unappealing. Leaving her driver to continue his nap, she turned and walked toward the center of town.

  Jerry and Kathleen, she remembered, had come to town for dinner their first night on the island. She wasn’t really hungry, but she was thirsty and nervous; stopping for a drink seemed like an excellent idea. The first restaurant she came to was a run-down bar-a surprisingly active bar considering the time of day-and she continued on to the next. THE COCONUT HUT: DINE IN PARADISE read the brilliantly painted sign above the door. Susan decided she could use a little paradise and went in.

  The air-conditioning felt wonderful although she had walked less than a quarter mile, and when the hostess appeared, Susan was happy to be escorted to a small table in the back of the room.

  “I don’t need a menu. I’ll just have a large lemonade and… and a glass of ice water,” she ordered. The hostess hurried off, and Susan picked up her purse. She probably had a pen, and she wanted to write down what Jerry had said while it was fresh in her mind. Frances Adams had said Jerry was depending on Susan for his release. He must have known she would, if possible, have come to see him. He must have planned what he would say. So why did his words make absolutely no sense?

  June and Kathleen had only two things in common: They had both been Jerry’s wife, and they both were the mothers of two children by him. Period. They didn’t come from the same background. June had been brought up in the suburbs, attended an excellent women’s college, and married Jerry soon after graduation. Kathleen grew up in New York City, attended Hunter College, and fulfilled a childhood dream when she joined the police force. Being a suburban housewife had been a natural avocation for June; for Kathleen it was an ongoing struggle. June was domestic by nature and by training. Kathleen took good care of her family and her home because she cared about them, but she had had to learn to do it and it hadn’t been easy. Accustomed to meals on the run or takeout in New York City, Kathleen had been unfamiliar with many of the phrases common in cookbooks. It was only recently that Kathleen had managed to pull off large dinner parties with as much ease as June had the first month of her marriage.

  Susan picked up the pen she had found in her purse and moved the paper place mat closer, continuing to think about Kathleen and June without writing a word. Of course, there were things about wives that only a husband would know, but Susan couldn’t imagine that Jerry had been referring to such private, personal things. They were both good mothers, but their style was different. Although Kathleen seemed more casual than June, she was just as concerned and involved. Like June, she served her time as class mother, but while June brought elaborately decorated cupcakes to class parties, Kathleen found a bakery that made delicious health food bars and passed them out to Emily’s and Alex’s classmates.

  June had never seemed to need anything outside of her home and family. Kathleen had been eager to start her own security company as soon as her youngest was in nursery school. Kathleen loved her life, but sometimes Susan worried that it was too confining. Kathleen needed excitement. And June didn’t. June was… well, June was dull.

  Susan was surprised. She had never thought of June that way. June had seemed perfectly happy to do what was expected, but nothing more, nothing surprising or fun. Susan hadn’t been looking for anything else when they had been friends. Busy with two young children, Susan was content to make it through the day without a crisis call from the school nurse or a torrent of sibling rivalry upsetting the balance of family life. But, if June had been alive when Chad and Chrissy were older and less demanding, would she and Susan have remained friends? As she had told Kathleen yesterday, Susan doubted it. Oh, they would have seen each other-their husbands’ relationship would have guaranteed that-but close friends? The type of friends she and Kathleen had become? Susan knew it wouldn’t have happened.

  The waitress delivered a tall glass filled with ice cubes and bright yellow liquid. She had forgotten the water, but this looked so refreshing that Susan didn’t complain. She grabbed her drink and downed more than half in a few quick gulps. And gasped.

  “There’s alcohol in there,” she protested, setting down the glass with a bang.

  “Rum, triple sec, and Absolut Citron. Just like the sign says,” the waitress replied, nodding to the drinks menu posted on the wall. “Call me if you want another,” she added before slinking off toward the bar.

  Susan blinked a few times and looked down at the glass. It was cold, it was refreshing, it was delicious. She picked it up again, finished it off, and looked in her purse for money. Appreciative of the mistake the waitress had made, she left a generous tip before heading to the bar to pay her bill.

  “I had a lemonade,” she explained to the bartender.

  “Looked like you needed it when you came in,” the bartender replied. He was young, tanned, and blond, and wouldn’t have looked out of place playing on Chad’s soccer team at Cornell.

  “I guess I did,” Susan said, paying the reasonable bill.

  “Say, don’t you have some connection to that man they say murdered his ex-wife that they’re holding over at the embassy offices?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s a small island and murder’s big news. So, who are you? A relative?”

  “I’m a friend. He didn’t murder anybody. And the woman who died was the sister of his dead wife, not his ex-wife.”

  “Really? You know, he and that woman were in here the day she died.”

  “No, I think he and his wife were here the night before Allison died.”

  “I make a pretty good living being nice to the customers, lady, but I gotta tell you, you’re wrong. He was here with the dead woman. Belinda-that’s the woman who waited on you-works days. She had to be at her son’s school-some sort of play or something-so I was alone. I waited on them m
yself. There was a picture of the dead woman in the newspaper. I’m sure it was her here with him. If you know what I mean.”

  Susan, who was familiar with the poor grammar habits of even the most well educated young people, nodded. “Did you overhear what they were saying? I’m not accusing you of eavesdropping or anything, but it could be important.”

  “I eavesdrop all the time. That’s part of the reason I took this job. I’m a writer. Well,” he added modestly, “I want to be a writer. And, let’s face it, at twenty-two years old I don’t have a hell of a lot of life experience to write about. Came down here to get some. And if I can grab a piece of someone else’s life experience, it’s just fine with me.”

  Susan’s spirits lifted-someone who could report on Jerry and Allison together. What a find! “So what did you hear?”

  “Yeah, well, not a lot. There was a Lakers game on the radio and I sort of spent most of my time listening to that,” he explained sheepishly.

  “Then did you notice anything about them? Did they appear happy? Sad? Angry with each other?” She added the last question reluctantly.

  “All of the above,” he answered. “I watched them carefully. A man with a woman he wants to impress is likely to be a good tipper. Didn’t want to miss any signals.”

  “So how did they seem happy and sad at the same time?”

  “Not at the same time. It was sort of sequentially.”

  “Do you remember the sequence? No, wait, first-did you notice if they came in together?”

  “They didn’t. She came in first. Sat right down where you were sitting this afternoon and ordered the same thing you did. One large lemonade.”

  Susan wondered if Allison had known about her choice’s amazing alcohol content. “Did she seem happy or sad or anything like that?”

  “She seemed just like lots of ladies that come in here-impatient. You know, she looked at her watch a lot, shook her foot, tapped on the table.”

  “Like a woman waiting for a man who’s late.”

  “Yup. You got it.”

  “Did he keep her waiting for long?” Susan asked.

  “Sure did. About half an hour. I thought she was gonna get up and leave when he walked in the door.”

  “And did she seem glad to see him?”

  “Seemed surprised that he’d finally shown up, if you ask me. I was surprised he did, tell you the truth. He didn’t look real happy to see her. He sat down and ordered a double Scotch. Not a real popular drink around here. Most people on the island, especially the tourists, stick to drinks with lots of rum and lots of sugar.”

  “You must have delivered his drink.”

  “Yes, and a second large lemonade for her,” he answered helpfully.

  “And they talked? Yelled at each other? Laughed? What?”

  “They just stared at each other and drank mostly. Every once in a while one of them would say something to the other, but mostly they just drank. It was a little weird. They made a point of meeting and then might as well have been alone.”

  Susan wasn’t sure what to make of that. If Kathleen’s information was to be believed, Jerry and Allison had seen each other recently in New York City, so any awkwardness here wouldn’t stem from the time that had passed since they last met. On the other hand, they might have been worried about running into someone they knew. “Did you seat Allison?”

  “No, she came in while I was busy with something else. I didn’t even see her. She probably seated herself.”

  Susan turned and looked at the table. Allison had chosen to meet Jerry in a public place. She hadn’t been worried about being seen. Her choice of seat could have indicated that she actually wanted someone to witness their meeting. Susan realized that anyone believing Jerry was the murderer could use this against him. If Allison had suspected Jerry might cause her harm, she certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be alone with him. She frowned. She had come here to relax, and think, and get a drink. What she was getting was confused.

  “You know,” the bartender broke into her thoughts. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ve been thinking and it’s like a little weird that they met here right before he killed her, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “ ’Cause he could have done it after they left here, right? Why wait until that night back at Compass Bay? Why not just off her here?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to be seen.”

  “Hey, drag someone behind one of the buildings here and no one would be likely to see you. You know, that’s interesting,” he added, apparently intrigued by his own thoughts. “He could’ve killed her here and he didn’t. Why, I wonder.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not a writer. I have a writer’s imagination. I can think of lots of reasons. You know what?” he asked, his face brightening. “I think I’ve just realized something. I think I’ve had an-an ep-an eppy-something. What is it people call it?”

  “Do you mean an epiphany?” Susan asked.

  “You got it! An epiphany! That’s what I just had. I’m not going to hang around here and wait to get old to have something to write about. I’m gonna write mystery novels. I’m gonna write about people killing people and getting away with it… until the last chapter.”

  “Sounds like a mystery novel to me,” Susan agreed, starting toward the door.

  The bartender may have found a new career, but she was more puzzled than ever.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Susan had a lot to think about on the ride back to Compass Bay. She made two decisions. First, she would tell Kathleen what her conversation with the bartender had revealed. She wanted to know if Jerry had said anything about his meeting with Allison to his wife. And, second, she would not mention Jerry’s insistence on the similarity between his two wives to Kathleen. It could only hurt her.

  But she couldn’t find Kathleen. Jed, enjoying a late lunch poolside, reported not seeing her all morning, but offered to buy them both lunch when she appeared. That way, he explained, yawning, Susan could tell them both about her visit with Jerry. Susan just smiled and walked off. Kathleen wasn’t in her cottage or on the beach. Susan thought for a moment that she had discovered her stretched out on a lounge by the bar, but that sunbather turned out to be male.

  Susan exchanged greetings with the other guests, but didn’t ask about her friend, not wanting to increase the attention their group was already receiving. She was ready to give up and rejoin her husband, when she noticed something unusual lying next to one of the kayaks turned upside down beside the dock.

  Once Susan realized what she was seeing, she abandoned her reluctance to draw more attention to their group. She forgot everything in her overwhelming urgency to get help. She screamed, and within minutes help had arrived-if everyone in the resort, staff and guests, could be called help.

  Kathleen was unconscious, sprawled on the beach, half-hidden behind a lightweight plastic kayak. Susan, trying to control her own panic, couldn’t see anything obviously wrong-no blood, no bullet holes, no scarves wrapped tightly around her neck-but she was relieved when the female half of the honeymooners identified herself as a doctor and took over the examination.

  “Does this woman have diabetes or any sort of condition that might cause her to pass out?” the young woman asked.

  “No, nothing like that,” Susan assured her.

  “No, I see now.” The doctor gently cradled Kathleen’s head in her bejeweled hand. “She has quite a large egg here. She must have slipped and fallen and hit her head on the stone wall.”

  Kathleen began to regain consciousness. Susan was slightly amazed to hear her friend say “What happened to me?” just like actors returning to consciousness in movies and on TV. “You fell and hit your head,” Susan said, speaking up before anyone else could.

  Kathleen looked up at her friend. “My head does hurt. I-can someone help me back to my cottage? This sand isn’t very comfortable.”

  “You shouldn’t stand up right away,” the doctor i
nsisted, firmly pushing Kathleen’s shoulders back into the sand.

  “Go get the board! Right away!” Susan recognized Lila’s voice. And so, apparently, did her staff. People dashed off, and in moments, James had organized three other men and, with their help, placed Kathleen on a glossy surfboard, and carried her back to her cottage.

  Lila and the doctor went in, the carriers came out, and Susan, as well as most of the other guests, waited on the beach for some word. Soon Lila reappeared. “Mrs. Gordon is going to be just fine,” she announced.

  “I want to see her,” Susan spoke up.

  “You’re Susan Henshaw?” The doctor appeared by Lila’s side. “She wants to see you. But she really should be kept quiet. If she shows any signs of concussion…”

  “I’ll give you a yell,” Susan answered. “My son played on every school team possible when he was young. I know about concussions.”

  “Excellent. Then I’ll leave her in your hands.”

  The lights were off in the Gordons’ cottage. Kathleen lay on the bed, a damp washcloth folded in half and draped across her forehead. Susan tiptoed across the room, enjoying the cool breeze generated by the ceiling fan. “Kathleen?” Susan whispered.

  Kathleen opened her eyes and smiled. “Susan, thank God! Someone hit me!”

  Susan dashed to her friend’s side. “Are you sure? How do you know? Do you know who did it?”

  “I’m sure. I didn’t fall, for heaven’s sake. I was sitting on one of the kayaks on the beach. It was turned upside down, and someone smacked me on the head with something very hard. I swear I saw stars.”

  “Do you have any idea who did it? Did you recognize any distinct scent that might offer a clue? Or see anyone out of the corner of your eye? Or anything?”

  “No. Nothing. I may have heard someone coming up behind me, but I didn’t turn around and look. I wanted to be left alone.”

  “How long were you unconscious?” Susan asked.

  Kathleen languidly lifted her left arm and peered at her watch. “Not terribly long. Maybe half an hour.”