by BV Lawson
Freaky resumed rocking on his stool. Was he rocking back and forth between the truth and lies? Or half-truths? The connections between Farland, Harston, Sterling, and Gatewood were like an atonal composition, no key, no rhythm, no form.
Drayco asked, “I’m sure Barry mentioned Virginia’s recent attack. Do you know why anyone would want to hurt her?”
“Must be Satan at work. Evil for evil’s sake. Hope it doesn’t destroy her. She was at the house this morning helping Barry. Couldn’t get her interested in painting. Said her heart wasn’t in it. She’s talking about not entering that contest.”
Freaky started humming and picked up the chain, wrapping it around his fingers. “You been in love, Mr. Drayco?”
Instead of answering yes automatically, Drayco stopped to think. Sometimes he doubted true love existed. Otherwise, how could you explain the never-ending parade of failed and unhappy relationships in the world?
Freaky’s voice drew him out of his reverie. “They say it comes once in your lifetime, Mr. Drayco. They say if you miss your opportunity, you’ll be cursed with misfortune the rest of your life. Look around you. The people of Cape Unity must have had a lot of missed opportunities.”
Freaky’s eyes glazed over as his humming and rocking grew more pronounced. Drayco slid out from underneath Shoggoth. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Farland. If you think of anything else, give me a call.” Drayco wasn’t sure where Freaky was right now, but it wasn’t in the present. He hoped the man was still in his right mind, for Barry’s sake.
37
Drayco parked his car under a black willow tree, which offered the best shade around. The sea breeze coming off the water helped. But one hundred degrees was still one hundred degrees. The drought showed no signs of letting up on the parched mid-Atlantic, reflected in the crunchy cinnamon-colored grass, stunted blue mistflower, and tulip trees outlined in yellow leaves with singed brown edges.
Great weather for the beach, for some. What was the attraction of slathering on grease to lie and broil under a nuclear furnace and end up looking like a cooked lobster? Maybe that’s why he never liked lobster.
The Rainbow’s End Park was more active than in March. He preferred it quiet. The boardwalk’s observing platform had one of the best views of the local marshes meandering out to the Atlantic in shades of aqua. Maida had looked in vain for a pelican nest months ago, but the pelicans were apparently successful. Dozens in various ages and sizes flocked together among the saltgrass near the shore.
The park attracted locals and tourists alike in summer, helping flood that area with splashes of bright colors and exuberant sounds. He spied the back of a wheelchair on the boardwalk off to his right not far from the water, and his heart skipped a beat. He almost ran after the chair until its occupant came out of the shadows, and he saw it was a petite elderly woman watching two grandchildren. Or great-grandchildren.
A man and woman holding hands joined the family tableau, and he did another double-take. Was that Darcie? Wrong again. Only this time, it wasn’t fear he’d felt, but a sudden inexplicable flash of an emotion that could be labeled as jealousy, if you squinted.
He spotted his real target, the one he followed from town. Her fluorescent yellow hair was easy to spot on its own. Add in the cherry red halter top and shorts covering so little she was in danger of getting a bun burn, and he relaxed. This was one mark impossible to lose in the crowd. She sat on a bench as if sunning herself. But she was waiting for something.
Or make that someone, for moments later, Barry Farland’s car roared into a parking place, where he sat there for a couple of minutes, engines idling. Iris pulled herself up and casually walked to her car, parked next to Barry’s. Barry shut down the engine, jumped out of his car with a toolbox in hand, and climbed into the passenger seat beside Iris.
Drayco followed them from a distance, and not seeing either Barry or Iris look back, he didn’t think he’d been made. For a problem that warranted a toolbox, Iris’s car appeared to work fine.
The pair pulled into Haffey’s Auto Body. Drayco drove on past, catching sight of Barry opening a garage bay to let Iris drive her car inside. Drayco circled back around. He parked down the road and trained binoculars on the garage.
After a half hour had passed, the garage bay door re-opened. The duo headed back the way they’d come, and Drayco wasn’t too surprised to see Iris drop Barry off at the park so he could retrieve his car and be on his way. Iris, however, turned off her engine and sat for a few moments. He watched as she climbed out of the car and walked toward one of the more secluded areas of the park. Was she meeting someone else?
Drayco approached the bench, tucked away behind a grove of trees where there wasn’t a view of the Bay. She jumped when he said, “Fancy meeting you here.”
Her eyes darted around, and her shoulders rose upwards as if pulled by strings. He smelled alcohol on her breath, possibly some of that Old Raj gin Caleb liked. She didn’t bother smiling. “I’m not good company. You should catch me some other time.” She peered at him through hooded eyes.
“You know what they say, no time like the present. I’m surprised to find you alone. I thought I saw you with Barry Farland.”
Her eyes widened, and she hauled herself up a few inches. “He was fixing my car. What of it?” With her middle finger, she traced a pattern across the upper parts of her breasts that erupted above the halter top like a Vesuvius of flesh.
“Barry is good friends with a young girl, Virginia Harston. The girl who came close to drowning at the pier the other day.”
“Not sure how it relates to me. Or Barry.”
“Have you had any interactions with the Harstons lately?”
“Only the one time I tried to get Lucy to join my lawsuit. Haven’t had anything to do with her since.”
Drayco studied her silhouette and took a guess from the flush spreading across her cheeks. “Interactions with Cole Harston, then?”
Iris licked her lips. “A long time ago. After Virginia was born.”
“An affair with Cole?”
“If you can call four rolls in the hay an affair. He broke it off.”
“Why?”
“We were pretty well soused, so the sex wasn’t that good. But that wasn’t it. He was ashamed. Don’t know if he loved his wife, he didn’t mention her. He did love that little girl. Went on about her so much, couldn’t get him to shut up.”
Iris peered at Drayco with bloodshot eyes. “I felt like I got to know Virginia through Cole, you know? Knew her favorite color was sky blue, she didn’t like licorice, that she was smart as a whip. After Cole broke it off, whenever I’d see that girl, I’d try to imagine what it would be like to be her mother. For a few moments, I’d pretend I was.”
She smiled as she rubbed her hands on her thighs. Her smile faded as she added, “I didn’t love Cole. Hell, I’ve only been in love once my entire life.”
“Caleb?”
She snorted. “That was lust. Lust for the gorgeous man he was and lust for his gorgeous money. There was just one man I loved, Patrick.”
She straightened up fully this time. “He loved me, too, I could tell. He was our gardener, Caleb’s and mine. Caleb may care for me as much as pigweed, but when he found out about Patrick and me, he was furious. The next day, Patrick was gone. Never saw him again.”
“Let’s talk about hate, then. Your hatred for Beth Sterling.”
“I told you. She butchered me. What was I supposed to do, nominate her for hero of the year?”
“You tried to sue her.”
“And see how well that turned out. Caleb didn’t want the publicity or anyone checking into his business. Caleb always gets his way.”
“Would you have killed her for revenge given the chance?”
She threw her arm over the bench. “I might have. Maybe as much to get out of that whole wife-swap deal. I’d be damned if I let that scruffy obese monstrosity called Arnold Sterling lay one paw on me.”
“Beth didn’t li
ke the idea, either.”
“No. To her credit,” Iris added grudgingly.
“Think back to when you were a new patient of Beth’s. What was she like then?”
Iris closed her eyes for a moment. When she resumed speaking, he was surprised her voice sounded more focused. “It started out fine. She was kind, gentle. Understanding. She seemed to know her stuff.”
“What about how she handled the business end of things, records and the like?”
“I guess she had some sort of accounting system. And she had a diary. She wrote in it every week, about her patients, her life, everything. Showed it to me once.”
There was nothing like an autobiographical diary on either of Drayco’s visits to Beth’s home and office. And it didn’t sound like the ledger he found at the shack. “Can you describe this diary?”
“It was one of those lock-and-key types, the ones young girls have. A little bigger and olive green, not pink with ballerinas or whatever. About this big.” She made a figure with her hands, and he estimated six by nine inches.
“Do you know where she kept it?”
“Nah. Been too long.”
It definitely wasn’t the same book as the ledger. If that damning ledger wasn’t incriminating enough to keep under lock and key, what in the diary would be? Or had she destroyed it? Maybe even burned it?
He lowered his voice, keeping it neutral. “I found another book Beth kept hidden. It contained records of women and girls for whom Beth had performed abortions. Your name was in it, Iris.”
She sat still for a moment, but the arm she’d draped over the bench gripped the slats. “Must be some mistake. She made it up, to spice up her dreary life. Some imagination, huh?” Iris tried to force a smile. It didn’t take.
“Those names and events weren’t imaginary, Iris. You suffered something horrible. Something no girl should experience, especially from a man you trusted.”
He wasn’t surprised when the dam burst. But the force of the burst was unexpected. She jumped to her feet and waved her arms around as she shouted, “No, no, no, you’re wrong. Daddy wouldn’t hurt me, he wouldn’t. It was my fault, all my fault.”
She turned her fury on Drayco, pounding his chest with her fists. “Take it back!”
He didn’t stop her from venting. He could deal with a bruise or two. As she wound down, he gently took her fists in his hands and held her still. She slipped out of his grasp and sank onto the bench.
He sat beside her. “Iris, it wasn’t your fault. It was his. And he was your stepfather, wasn’t he, not your biological father?”
“My mother chased him away after she found out. Not because she felt sorry for me. She was angry he’d looked at another woman. Even if it was raping her own daughter.”
Iris managed a weak smile and leaned into him. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I’ve been used as a punching bag before. Sorry I had to bring up such a painful subject. If Beth was murdered, I have to uncover the truth. Wherever that takes me.”
Amazingly, despite her slight intoxication and the tide of rage ebbing away, she looked like she understood. He said, “You shouldn’t drive in your condition.”
“Caleb’ll think the worst if you drop me off at home.”
“What if I follow you, then?”
“Okay.” She stood up, framed against a backdrop of purple lovegrass, looking as delicate as her namesake flower, the iris. “I never told Caleb about my stepfather. Not that he’d care.” Then she added, “Just like I didn’t tell him the baby I lost at Beth’s hand wasn’t his.” She smiled softly. “It was Patrick’s.”
38
After seeing Iris home, Drayco gave a quick call to Maida. Upon learning of Iris’ emotional state, Maida offered to take Iris some of her favorite ginger mint tea. Not a bad choice—Drayco’s great aunt once said ginger was the perfect hangover remedy.
It was while talking to Maida he learned Winthrop Gatewood had called, wanting to meet with him. Drayco didn’t care who he met with today as long as they had air conditioning.
It was Faris Usher who greeted Drayco this time. The man’s face had the controlled mask of a good servant, his robotic mannerisms like programmed code. After a “Right this way, sir,” and “Wait here, sir,” he disappeared behind two massive raised-panel doors that marked the threshold between the public sections and the private.
Drayco was shown to a different room from before, a study with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Upon closer look, the books were faux antique gold-trimmed sets of classics sold to people who liked the illusion of being well-read rather than the experience of it.
There was a smell of orange furniture polish in the air, the telltale sign of recent housekeeping. Maybe it was Vesta Mae’s task unless Usher was paid to be a jack-of-all-trades. If Vesta Mae was the housekeeper, she was less delicate than Gatewood let on.
Gatewood arrived with a flourish, trotting into the room and pumping Drayco’s hand. He was dressed in a three-piece suit despite the weather, a safe navy ensemble with white shirt and plain blue tie. Drayco had opted against a jacket since sweat wasn’t a genteel accessory.
Drayco glanced past Gatewood toward the foyer to see if Usher was keeping watch. “Your employee Mr. Usher must be invaluable.”
“Faris has been with me for fourteen years. He’s a talented fellow, so I pay him well to keep him around. I don’t know what Vesta Mae and I would do without him.”
“Is he from around here?”
“Not originally, no. I found him through a classified ad. His references were excellent.”
“I hope Mrs. Gatewood is feeling better.”
“Yes, thank you, she is. She has her good days and bad days. I’m afraid she tends to have the occasional panic attack and suffers from depression. She has a good doctor, and the best medicine money can buy. She sends her regards.”
Drayco doubted that. Like he doubted he’d see Vesta Mae on this visit, with Gatewood caching her away like family jewels trotted out for special occasions. Too bad. Drayco had a lot of questions he wanted to ask her, curious which Vesta Mae would show up—the music-loving socialite who was gracious, if not welcoming, or the contemptuous, quasi-hysterical hermit.
Despite his studied attempts at sociability, Gatewood projected an aura of a man having to deal with a pesky obligation and hurried the conversation along. “I don’t want to take up much of your valuable time, Mr. Drayco. I understand as the new owner of the Cape Unity Opera House you are looking for financial partners. I’m prepared to sign a generous check to the foundation in honor of my late father, who was a music lover.”
Gatewood would do well to take lessons from Faris Usher, unable to hold back the hint of hatred crossing his face at the mention of his father. So why was Gatewood making such a hollow gesture?
Drayco smiled noncommittally. “I’m sure the foundation would be grateful for the generosity. And from such a prominent citizen.”
The man didn’t seem to notice the mock praise. Gatewood might be a hero in the eyes of many, but the man was too damned smug. Gatewood came from a line of wealthy ancestors but bore the hallmark of the nouveau riche. No indifferent self-confidence or disregard for the opinions of the little people. He cared very much how he was perceived.
Drayco added, “By the way, I spoke with Beth’s brother-in-law. He’s grateful for the short-term lease until he can return to take care of her estate.”
Gatewood rubbed his chin. “Yes, well, I was happy to help out.”
“Did you give Beth and Arnold Sterling a break on rent? There must have been times when they were unable to pay.”
There was the briefest glint of something on Gatewood’s face Drayco would have ID’d as fear on anyone else. It was so brief, he almost missed it, and Gatewood reverted to his nice-guy persona. “I gave them what I judge a fair deal, under the circumstances.”
In light of Arnold’s wife-swapping scheme, how far was Beth willing to go to balance the books and protect her
husband’s life? Sex for a break on rent? “Do you mind if I ask, Mr. Gatewood, what they were paying monthly?”
Winthrop laughed a “Surely you must be joking” laugh. “That’s personal and private information, Mr. Drayco. I don’t see how it has relevance now.”
Gatewood smoothed out his vest. “I’ll check with the foundation and finalize the details of the transaction. I hate to be a poor host, but I have other appointments.”
“I understand. And I didn’t mean to imply you were anything but a model landlord. I’m sure the Sterlings appreciated the assistance, as I mentioned to Caleb Quintier the other day.”
Drayco hadn’t discussed anything of the kind with Quintier but wanted to see how Winthrop responded to the name. He wasn’t disappointed. Gatewood turned several shades whiter, from ruddy to pinkish gray, and a few beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead. He held out his arm toward the door as a not-so-subtle hint.
It was Gatewood and not Usher who escorted Drayco toward the door this time. Before he had a chance to open it, Vesta Mae breezed into the room and approached them. Gatewood frowned and made a move as if to stop his wife. Vesta Mae ignored him. Smiling at Drayco, she grabbed his hand and pressed a small folded piece of paper into his palm.
She said, “I didn’t want you to get away without saying hello in person. I would be a negligent mistress of the house if I didn’t greet our honored guests.” She smiled at both men, then excused herself back through the paneled doors Drayco noticed earlier. He put his hand in his pocket, transferring the paper there.
Faris Usher was admiring the Starfire when Drayco walked outside. Usher had a cigar in his hand and slipped off the gold band. Drayco could read Romeo y Julieta on the label. He wasn’t a cigar connoisseur, but those particular cigars weren’t cheap. Gatewood wasn’t lying when he said he paid Usher well.
“Nice car,” Usher said. “Vintage 1960s, isn’t it?”
“1962. The engine is much younger, but it needs some work.”
“I can put you in touch with someone. A genius when it comes to restoring cars.” Usher didn’t light the cigar and let it sit out the corner of his mouth. He folded the gold band into an origami figure resembling a tiny bird.