7th Heaven

by Kate Calloway

  "Good luck," Lizzie whispered.

  "You too," I said. With a sense of foreboding, I followed Guy up the ramp, scoping out the surroundings as I went. A band was setting up on the front lawn, the guitarist doing riffs that echoed across the water. Wearing an oversized Hawaiian mumu, Dora met me coming back through the front door and frowned at me like I was late.

  "Oh, good. You can help unload. Come on, I'll show you."

  So back I went and played pack mule for half an hour until the food, in all its abundance, was inside the house. The catering crew was setting up a buffet in the dining room, and the spread was lavish. Cold dishes floated inside huge bowls of ice while Bunson burners kept the hot dishes warm. The tables were adorned with carved open pineapples and clear crystal bowls filled with floating chrysanthemums. As I unpacked boxes, I had my first opportunity to study Ginny Cathwaite. She was a petite woman with a boyish build and dark glossy hair cut in a pageboy. She buzzed around like a bee, dipping her finger into dishes for a taste, rearranging flower arrangements, straightening furniture. She was a whirl of energy, an Energizer Bunny on hormones.

  "I hope you didn't forget the caviar," she said, lifting lids off of dishes for a peek.

  Dora stiffened. "On ice. Third tray over."

  Mrs. Cathwaite marched over and inspected the caviar, again dipping a painted red nail into the bowl for a taste. Apparently, she had no qualms about spreading germs to her guests.

  "Perfect," she declared. "Dora, you've done it again. Everything is absolutely perfect!" She beamed a red-lipsticked smile that radiated across the room. Dora and the other servers bowed their heads at the praise. This seemed to be expected.

  From the kitchen, I watched Ginny buzz in and out of the other rooms, directing others as naturally as an orchestra conductor. She'd been called cute, pert, a cheerleader type, but I wasn't sure those were the adjectives I would've used. There was a toughness beneath her shiny exterior, an iron will that seemed to dare anyone to cross her. No one did, including her husband.

  He came down the stairs, the handsome charismatic professor I remembered from the lecture hall. He and Ginny were dressed in matching white cotton pants and Hawaiian shirts. Hers was tied in a bow beneath her breasts, showing off her petite figure. When he entered the room, he playfully tugged at the lei around her neck and she hit him just as playfully, a show of domestic harmony for the hired help. They looked the part of the casually rich — just hosting a little get-together for seventy-five or so of their closest friends. The food alone had probably cost over a thousand dollars, I thought. What with the booze, the twenty or so fishing poles set up for the kids, the water toys and the band, this little soiree was going to set them back a pretty penny. Again I wondered where the Cathwaites got their money. Lizzie said that Ginny didn't work, and the last time I checked, a college prof at the community college level didn't earn more than seventy thousand, tops. I wondered if one of them had inherited the money. Or maybe they did something else on the side.

  "They're here, darling," Ginny Cathwaite announced. I looked out and saw the party boat arriving with the first load of guests. It looked like Guy Waddell would be busy for the next hour chauffeuring those without their own boats to the party.

  The music started up and soon the place was swarming. Outside, the professor got several barbecues going, doing the guy thing while his wife buzzed around playing hostess. Kids were leaping into the water off the dock while others tried to fish on the other side. A few Hawaiian-clad couples were already dancing on the deck near the band, and with the arrival of each new boatload, the crowd seemed to grow more boisterous. I didn't recognize many of the guests as locals. They must've been the professor's colleagues or people they knew in Kings Harbor. I winked at Lizzie hustling behind the bar, and she rolled her eyes at me like this was the last time she'd ever volunteer to do this! She and Kelly were swamped back there. The booze was flowing freely and the noise level grew proportionately. I went back inside and helped keep up with the escalating mess while I waited for Bart to arrive.

  The upstairs had been roped off with a red sash, reminding me of the old movie theaters. But there were three bathrooms downstairs, a family room with a pool table and wet bar, a nice quiet living room with a sit-down view of the lake, and of course the dining room and kitchen. All of these rooms were being used by the guests as they ambled through the house oohing and ahhing over how nice everything was. Without Bart's distraction, there was no way I'd get upstairs unseen.

  Just as I was starting to wonder whether they'd ever get there, Erica and Newt arrived. When I saw them, I did a double-take. Erica was wearing a green and blue Hawaiian shift that ended mid-thigh, showing off her long brown legs and well-defined arms. Heads turned as they made their way through the crowd, and Newt looked like the cat who'd just swallowed the canary. He had his hand on the small of her back, proudly propelling her toward the bar. She was doing her best to tolerate the possessive gesture, but I could tell it bothered her. She glanced at her watch and I did the same. It was still too soon.

  I had wondered if the gaming club members would be in attendance and I was pleased to see that all but the professor's colleague Kip Cage were there. Stickwell had brought his wife and children, the latter of whom were raising holy hell jumping off the boathouse roof into the water. Hawk, the ex-football coach-turned-realtor was there with his wife, too. She was half his age, I guessed, watching the two of them dance. But even with his beautiful wife in his arms, he seemed to be checking out the other women in attendance. And I noticed Guy, finally able to relax and join the party, talking with Ginny Cathwaite. There was an intimacy in the way they stood together, and I wondered if Erica had been right about the two of them having an affair. But if so, the professor was either oblivious to the fact or didn't mind. He was holding court by the barbecues, and his audience was as enrapt as his students had been in the lecture hall.

  Suddenly the sound of Bart's rented Jet Ski rounded the tip of the cove. I glanced at the bar and found Erica, whose gaze met mine. Lizzie heard the sound too and immediately reached up to adjust the knob on her headset beneath the flowered scarf. Erica said something to Newt, no doubt excusing herself to use the ladies' room. I hurried inside and positioned myself near the stairs, waiting for Erica to join me.

  "This is it," she whispered. "I hope it works."

  Just then, Bart's familiar voice rose above the din outside. He sounded drunk, which was part of the plan. At first I couldn't make out the words, but then the band stopped and even the children quit screaming. Bart's voice pierced the sudden quiet like a gunshot. "Hey Professor Cathwaite! Did you know Guy Waddell is banging your wife?"

  I could see Guy and Newt pushing their way toward the dock. Bart was still on his Jet Ski, cruising back and forth in front of the dock, just out of reach. He wore a bathing cap to conceal his red hair and he'd smeared Noxema over his freckled complexion, making him almost unrecognizable, but not quite. The people inside the house migrated toward the noise, some of them smiling, not sure this wasn't some kind of joke.

  Guy said something I couldn't hear, and Bart laughed.

  "You hear that, Professor?" Bart yelled, making sure the entire party could hear him. "He says Mrs. Cathwaite's not that great of a lay! But I don't know. I thought she was pretty good, myself."

  Now he had Cathwaite's attention, as well as everyone else's. Even the catering ladies had eased toward the front door to watch the disturbance.

  "Go!" Erica whispered.

  There were still quite a few people around, but their attention was riveted on the unfolding drama outside. I ducked under the red velvet cord and raced up the stairs, my heart pounding. When I hit the landing, I dug in my purse for the headphones and slipped them on. If either Erica or Lizzie saw someone coming, their warning might buy me some time.

  There were more rooms than I'd counted on upstairs, but only one was locked. I slipped out my lock picks and fiddled with them, willing my hands to quit trembling. There were
two locks, but even so I was inside in under a minute. I doubled-locked the door behind me, then went to work.

  The room was larger than I'd imagined and had a great view of the back of the cove. The blinds were open, which meant anyone on that side of the property could see me. But luckily, the party was contained on the other side. Down below, I saw the dogs — two Dobermans chained to a pulley that allowed them plenty of running room without giving them access to the guests on the other side. Agitated by the noise coming from the dock, the dogs were straining on their leashes, their teeth bared.

  Inside, seven leather swivel rocking chairs circled a mahogany table which was centered on a large rectangular Persian rug. The hardwood floor was polished to a sheen. A stone fireplace filled one corner opposite me, a wet bar to the left and the huge entertainment center filling the entire wall to my right. In the center of the room, near the table, an easel-style flip chart was perched on a tripod. I flipped a page and saw what must have been some kind of scorecard. It was complicated, with points awarded not only for events but also for frequency and intensity, whatever that meant. I didn't have time to study the chart, but at a glance, it looked like Hawk was ahead in the current game.

  Half a dozen VCRs connected to monitors like the one I'd bought at Boney's, were stacked on the shelves of the entertainment center, and from the glow of lights I could tell they were set to pick up action, though currently all the screens were dark. I'd have loved to turn on the big set and seen what the professor had been taping, but there wasn't time. I crouched in front of the television and used a screwdriver to pry off the speaker cloth frame on the left. I set the camera so it would face the mahogany table, hoping I had the angle right, then taped it into position. I slid the frame back into place and patted it down, hoping that if they turned the TV on, the noise from the television itself wouldn't drown out the sound of their voices. If it did, we'd have to take a crash course in lip-reading, like Boney had suggested. As quickly as possible, I used the remote control to adjust the volume so that it came primarily from the right speaker, helping to reduce the chance of interference.

  "Oh, oh," Lizzie's voice came over the wire, making me jump. "Bart's about to get his ass kicked. Can he go yet?"

  "Go!" I said.

  "Woo-hoo!" Bart's yell carried over from Lizzie's microphone, and I heard the Jet Ski roar off with the sound of two others right behind it.

  "You out?" Lizzie asked.

  "Not yet. Another minute."

  "It's getting kind of crowded in here," Erica said.

  "Ten-four."

  I was opening the drawers and cabinets on the entertainment center, searching for Cathwaite's video collection. When I pushed in on a tall thin door, it popped open, revealing an impressive array of vertically stacked videos. The rack rotated with a push of a lever, and I found what I was looking for on the third rotation. Home videos with neatly penned titles on the outside of the boxes read Fire in KH Diner, Scandal in Hawk's Church, Pizza Boy's Temptation — the list went on and on. I was struck by the sheer number of them. How long had these guys been doing this?

  "Trouble, Cass. The Cathwaites are coming up the stairs right now!"

  I didn't have time to reply. I dumped several of the tapes into my purse, slipping the empty boxes back onto the shelf, then closed the cabinet door. I could hear their voices right outside the door.

  The usually unflappable professor was in a rage. "Bullshit! Don't tell me you don't know who he is. It's the kid in the bar. The one whose brother is up on that ridge right now!"

  "Do not raise your voice to me," she hissed. "I'm telling you, I've never seen him before. Now get back down there and try to make light of this, for God's sake. We're not going to let some drunk kid ruin our party!"

  They were right outside the door and I stood frozen, afraid any movement would be heard. His voice strained, the professor was obviously struggling to get his emotion under control. "You're right, of course. We'll talk later. You go on ahead. I'll be down in a minute. I just want to check this out."

  I heard his key in the lock and my pulse hammered. I searched the room frantically but there was nowhere to hide. The balcony! I rushed to the door, unlocked it and slipped outside just as the other door opened and the professor walked into the game room. I sunk to my knees, then lay flat on my stomach, hugging the balcony floor. I could hear him inside, opening the entertainment cabinet. Would he remember how he'd left it? Had I taken a tape he was looking for? I crawled forward, keeping close to the wall beneath the window. Below me, I heard the guttural, unmistakable growl of two enraged canines. Their black obsidian eyes glared up at me, but I had no choice. If Cathwaite discovered a tape missing, it might not take him long to notice the balcony door unlocked. If he stepped out onto the balcony, it would be all over.

  I crawled to the far end of the balcony where a colorful nylon hammock was stretched between the corner post and the railing. I hadn't noticed it Friday night. I could just imagine Mrs. Cathwaite sprawled in the hammock, tanning her belly in privacy. Suddenly, I heard the inside door to the game room open again and Hawk's voice boom out heartily.

  "Hell of a party, Professor. Too bad we didn't anticipate the bozo on the Jet Ski. Coulda made a bet or two, eh?"

  I pressed myself against the wall and put my ear to the wood, praying that neither one of them would step out for a smoke.

  "What are you talking about?" Cathwaite asked, irritated.

  "Think about it," Hawk boomed. "We could've bet on how you'd react to the little turd or how Ginny would react. Would Guy beat the bastard to a bloody pulp? Would you?" He paused, then added, laughing, "Would Ginny?"

  "What are you saying, Hawk? You planned this? You're pulling a game on me?"

  Hawk laughed again, a big, full-throated guffaw. "Hell no, Professor. Not me. I'm just saying it would've made a good game, that's all. In retrospect, it would've been great. What are you doing up here, anyway?"

  "I'm almost positive that the kid on that Jet Ski is one of those twins from the tavern. Here. Let's take a look."

  The two quit talking and I strained to hear the voices coming over the videotape, but couldn't make them out. I needn't have bothered.

  "That's him!" Hawk bellowed. "You're right. It's the redheaded bastard sitting next to the Green kid. What in the hell was he doing here?"

  "That's what I intend to find out," Cathwaite said. "By now, Guy's probably beaten the kid to a bloody pulp."

  Suddenly, Erica's frenzied voice crackled into my earpiece. "Cass, are you okay?"

  I whispered back so softly I wasn't sure she'd be able to hear me. "I'll know in a minute. Tell Lizzie to let Kelly take over the bar and meet me where we were Friday night."

  I turned off the headset and stuffed it into my purse. I couldn't risk making any more noise. I detached the nylon hammock from the railing and tested it for strength. It would have to do. I tried to calculate the distance between where I'd land and the end of the dogs' leashes. No matter what, it was going to be close. I heard the band begin to play again and welcomed the background noise. Maybe no one would hear the dogs if they started to bark.

  Taking a quick look around, I hoisted myself onto the railing, wrapped the end of the hammock around my wrists and threw myself over, bracing myself for the impact if the nylon gave out.

  It was like bungee jumping, I thought, except in addition to worrying about hitting the ground, I had the snarling dogs to avoid. The nylon dug into my wrists painfully, but to my relief, the rope held. I was still a few feet off the ground, dangling just beyond the dogs' reach. They'd given up the deep-throated growl and had begun to bark furiously. At any second, Cathwaite and Hawk could look out the window or step out onto the balcony and see me.

  Holding my breath, I let go of the rope and dropped to the ground, rolling out of the path of the lunging dogs just in time. I leaped up and ran toward the stucco wall that surrounded the property. The dogs kept up with me, tugging at their leashes, which kept them just out of reach. />
  "Stop that!" I heard Cathwaite's voice boom across the yard as he opened the door to the balcony. I dodged behind a tree and stood stock-still, my chest heaving. I didn't think he'd seen me, but the dogs weren't giving up that easily and continued their frenzied barking. If one of the leashes gave, I was dog meat. Literally.

  "Come here, Franny! Here Zoey! Come on, girls!"

  Obviously a J.D. Salinger fan. "Good dogs," I crooned under my breath. "Go to papa."

  Franny, or maybe it was Zoey, showed me her teeth.

  Suddenly, a woman's voice cut through the yard and I knew Ginny Cathwaite was on the warpath.

  "Franny! Zoey! You stop that ridiculous racket right now! Come here this instant!"

  Cathwaite called down to her. "Maybe you should just let them off their leashes, let them run around a bit. That idiot got them all riled up."

  "Are you all riled up?" she asked, switching to a baby voice as she got closer. "Are my little poopies upset?"

  Oh, God, I thought. Please don't let them off their leashes. The dogs started to wag their stubby tails, unable to resist her crooning.

  "Come on, that's my good girls." When the dogs didn't come running over, she lost her patience.

  "Get over here right this instant!"

  Whining like pups, their rear ends wiggling, the dogs trotted back toward their mistress. I remained plastered to the tree, willing myself invisible. One of them gave me a last, feeble bark, but by then Ginny Cathwaite had them by the collar and was leading them back to their doghouse, where she directed them to stay inside until further notice.

  "Aren't you coming down?" I heard her call to her husband in yet another voice. She was back to the party hostess. "People are asking where you are."

  "On my way," he said. "They catch up with that little punk yet?"

  "They're not back yet. I hope they're beating the crap out of him as we speak." Then she did a scary thing. She giggled. It was a girlish sound, something that didn't sound quite right coming from her. Like she'd punched the wrong button by accident and let out one of her alternate personalities. Despite myself, I shivered. Something was definitely off with this woman. If she was the one running the show, I thought, it just got more dangerous.