Deadly Summer Nights

by Vicki Delany

  “Anyway, I wanted you to know that I never believed you were a communist.” She sipped at her drink. Liquid in shades of orange and yellow, much like a sunset, filled a long thin glass.

  “That’s nice. I guess.”

  “I’m an excellent judge of character. I told everyone what they were saying about you and your mother was absolute nonsense, didn’t I, girls?”

  Eyebrows were raised and glances exchanged, but no one out and out contradicted Mrs. Brownville.

  “I hope you enjoy your evening,” I said. “Try to catch the show later. It’s Charlie Simmonds’s last night with us.”

  “Such a marvelous comedian,” Mrs. Brownville said. “He can be a tad risqué for those with less sophisticated tastes, but I always say you don’t have to go to his show if you don’t approve.”

  I excused myself as Velvet’s class ended and the women headed back to their rooms and cabins to get ready for the evening.

  Velvet picked up a towel that had been thrown over the railings of the dock and wiped at the back of her neck. I waited for her at the bottom of the dock, and she soon joined me.

  “Good class?” I asked as we started to walk.

  “Good enough. The beauty pageant went well. It’ll be a boost to the hotel if a picture gets into the paper. I was surprised to see Chief Monahan here, in his civvies, acting all jovial and friendly.”

  “I suspect our chief never passes up the chance to be the center of attention. He certainly wasn’t here to do any work. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure. What?”

  I told her, and she stopped walking and turned to face me. “You aren’t serious?”

  “Deadly serious.”

  “Okay, Elizabeth. You’re the boss.”

  I found my mother and her sister relaxing on our porch, icy drinks and a tray of deviled eggs and smoked oysters on toast on the table between them. Winston peered through the porch railing, alert for wildlife that needed to be taught to keep to their assigned places. I’d decided not to tell Olivia I’d encountered, again, the dratted Louis. Hopefully, his sister was right, and once his nephew had deposited him in New York City he wouldn’t find his way back.

  “Are you planning to go to the show tonight?” I asked her.

  “I thought I would. You have that magician appearing, don’t you?”

  “Yes. He’s here tonight and tomorrow. We have two acts tonight, as Charlie Simmonds is still here, singing for his supper. On Monday that dance couple you got for us arrives for the entire week.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m going to drop in later.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? We’ve had to make a change in the bartenders. One of them quit on us.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “No reason,” I said. “Aunt Tatiana, you should come to the show one evening.”

  “Pff,” she said.

  “You’d enjoy it. Get yourself gussied up, have a few drinks, a couple of turns around the dance floor.” I winked at her. “Maybe meet an eligible gentleman. We do get a few staying here now and again, you know. Widowers with their children and their families.”

  “I work hard all day,” she said. “I have no desire to gussy up, as you put it.”

  “All the more reason to have fun at night. Put some glamour into your life.” This was an old conversation. I knew she wouldn’t come.

  “The glamour,” Aunt Tatiana said, patting her clean but well-worn and several times mended housedress, “I leave to Olga.”

  “Olivia,” my mother said.

  Aunt Tatiana popped a deviled egg into her mouth. “There is a leak in the ceiling of cabin nine, Elizabeth. The wallpaper in the main bedroom is beginning to peel.”

  “Have you told George and the maintenance crew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you don’t have to tell me.” I took the last egg, reminded, as though I needed to be, that the resort business is not about glamour.

  “You caused a scene in the dining room at Kennelwood last night,” Aunt Tatiana said. “I was telling O about it.”

  “What do you know about that?” I asked.

  “Everything.” She chuckled. “Irena sent a boy over this morning with a note for me. After you left, Richard and Jerome got into an argument. Richard said Jerome had been out of line, and Jerome said if that snip of a girl—his words, not mine—can’t handle the cut and thrust of business, she needs to go back to her kitchen. And then Richard said personal insults and underhanded maneuvers are not part of any business he’s in charge of, and Jerome said—”

  “I can’t believe they had an argument like that in public,” I said.

  “Really, Elizabeth. Will you never learn? This did not happen in public but in the kitchen, and one of the cooks, who is Irena’s nephew, overheard. If it had been in public, word would not have spread so quickly, and not to me.” Aunt Tatiana threw back the contents of her glass.

  I harrumphed and went inside. I dressed for the evening with some care and not a small amount of trepidation, as I mentally went over everything I’d learned this afternoon. I knew who’d killed Harold Westenham, and I knew why, but I had no way of proving it, and no court would be interested in my conclusions, no matter how convinced I was that I was right. Tonight I intended to lay a trap.

  I could only hope I didn’t fall face-first into the blasted trap myself.

  Chapter 19

  The magician was a disappointment, to put it mildly. Rather than a tuxedo or a costume, he wore a business suit the color of milky oatmeal that had seen better days, far better days. He sounded like he was giving a speech to the board of directors of a bank, not entertaining a demanding audience. Worst of all, his magic tricks fell flat. They would have bored an audience of ten-year-olds.

  From my post at the back of the room, I saw guests exchanging rueful glances with one another. I hoped he’d spice things up a bit for the second show. Olivia, sitting at the Hart table, actually yawned.

  At last, the so-called magician gathered up his tall hat and his numerous scarves and bowed to unenthusiastic, scattered applause. Randy bounded onto the stage and tried to work up some enthusiasm for the man’s next appearance. When that failed, he introduced Charlie Simmonds. “Held over at Haggerman’s by popular demand!”

  Randy didn’t mention that the popular demand was from the police, but that didn’t matter. A couple of people cheered, and the crowd picked up their applause. I couldn’t help but notice that some of the most enthusiastic clapping was coming from the Brownville table. Mrs. Brownville leaned over and whispered something to her niece, the runner-up at today’s beauty pageant. The girl laughed heartily. I also couldn’t help but notice that she’d positioned her chair so she pointedly had her back to the pageant winner, who was proudly sporting her wide pink-and-blue sash across her low-cut dress.

  The small elderly lady I’d seen last night at Kennelwood Hotel, the one with all the diamonds who didn’t appear to have much time for Jerome, had come with a good-size party. She’d taken a few turns around the dance floor with men the right age to be her sons and sons-in-law, laughed heartily at Charlie Simmonds, and chugged back a substantial number of brightly colored cocktails as the evening progressed.

  The waiters and activities staff who’d been pressed into service as dance partners lined the wall, waiting for the band to retake the stage. The newly famous Luke stood alone, apart from the rest of the waiters who clustered together. His eyes casually swept across the room, and I wondered if he was seeking out his next conquest, or if he waited for the women to approach him. At that moment, he turned his head and looked straight at me. I tightened my lips and gave him what I hoped was my best steely-eyed no-nonsense-boss glare.

  He turned quickly away. I’d noticed him once before, on Wednesday, when Rosemary and I were admiring the food ready to be
taken upstairs for the cocktail party. He’d gone into the kitchen moments before Francis Monahan had dropped a tray of plates and came out right after, laughing as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

  Luke, I guessed, was a self-entitled, privileged bully. Personal relations between the members of staff were hardly my concern, but someone would have to keep an eye on our Luke. I might have a word with Rosemary and Aunt Tatiana.

  I put Luke out of my mind and took advantage of the brief lull at the bar to talk to Rosemary. “Everything going okay?”

  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. “Going great. Olivia saw me, but she pretended not to.”

  “She’s saving her choice comments for when she and I have a quiet moment.” I studied the rows of bottles behind the bar. “What do you recommend tonight? What’s good?”

  “Everything’s good,” Rosemary said. “When I make it. If you’re looking for a suggestion, how about a sidecar? Pretty orange color and slightly sour.”

  “Sure.”

  “And before you ask, yes, I can manage the dessert buffet, supervise the staff, and also work the bar. I was in the kitchen when we had a slow couple of minutes, before people starting falling asleep at that awful magician, and everything’s ready.” Her hands flashed as she scooped ice and poured streams of colored liquid out of bottles. Next to her the other bartender served up two scotch on the rocks.

  He gave me a grin. “She knows what she’s doing.” He was a good two decades younger than Rosemary, and her neck stiffened at the supposed compliment.

  I accepted my drink, served in a coupe glass with a twist of orange and a light sugar rim, and took a sip. “This is great.”

  Rosemary smiled her thanks and said, “What can I get you, sir?” to the next customer.

  “I’ll have two of those, thanks,” he said.

  Charlie’s act ended, and the band returned to the stage and struck up the next tune, a lively Benny Goodman swing. Couples rose from their seats and took their places on the dance floor while men rushed for the bar and ladies headed outside for a breath of air. As he always did, Charlie slipped quietly away. The magician joined the line at the bar and ordered a double bourbon.

  I checked my watch. Almost ten o’clock. It would be full dark outside now.

  Randy was dancing with an elderly lady, and Velvet, dressed in her pink tulle, stood by the door. She also checked her watch and then she glanced over at me. A cluster of women returned from the ladies’ room, sweeping Chief Norm Monahan along with them. He was in uniform tonight.

  Velvet stepped in front of him and spoke in a low voice. He nodded and looked around the ballroom.

  I took a sip of my drink, which had suddenly lost all flavor, and wiped my hands on my skirt.

  Velvet and the chief left the ballroom. I put my glass on a table and rapidly crossed the room. Randy excused himself to his partner and also made his way to the door.

  “Mrs. Grady. May I have the honor of this dance?” A gentleman stood before me, immaculately dressed in a dark suit and thin black tie, and enough grease in his silver hair to lubricate my car.

  I brushed past him. “I’m dreadfully sorry. Emergency in the kitchen. Another time.”

  “The judging this afternoon wasn’t at all fair.” The runner-up plucked at my sleeve. Her eyes were glassy, her words slurred, and tendrils of hair were coming loose from her bun. “It’s obvious Olivia Peters was going to pick an older woman, and of course Randy will do whatever she does. You need to have—”

  I stepped around her and kept walking.

  “I’ve had a complaint about the value of your judging,” I said to Randy when I reached him, waiting for me by the door.

  “I’m not surprised. MarySue didn’t like coming in second. I’ve heard all about it, from her as well as her aunt.”

  We walked quickly down the sweeping staircase. Randy slipped around the reception counter and found the flashlight he’d left there earlier, and together we crossed the lobby and stepped outside. Lights lining the pathways, on cabin porches, and above the hotel’s veranda had come on. Groups of people were gathered on the veranda, catching the air or having a nightcap before turning in. In one corner, an enthusiastic game of canasta was in progress.

  Randy and I hurried down the steps and took the path running along the lakefront. Behind us, the hotel was a blaze of lights and laughter. To our left, people called to one another in the cabins or sat on their porches enjoying the end of the day. The swimming pool was quiet, the tennis and handball courts empty. To our right, the lake lay dark and silent, the boats taken to the service dock for the night. A bat flew overhead. The moon was full tonight, but clouds had been gathering.

  I could see Velvet and Chief Monahan ahead of us. Randy and I hurried after them, trying to keep up while being unnoticeable about it. They reached the end of the public path and turned up the hill, heading for cabin nineteen. They walked quickly, Velvet setting the pace, Monahan trying to keep up. Randy and I followed. The lights over the side path were dimmer and the space between them larger. On one side the dark woods crowded in, and the undergrowth rustled as the passing people disturbed whatever was in there. Cabin nineteen was shrouded in darkness. This afternoon, after the beauty pageant, I’d instructed maintenance to remove the police tape, asked Aunt Tatiana to have her staff pack up Harold Westenham’s possessions and prepare the room, and told the reservations clerk the cabin would be available as of the day after tomorrow. If the police or the FBI wanted to argue with me, I’d play dumb and say I thought their investigation was finished.

  I heard old planks creak as Velvet climbed the stairs to the porch.

  “Okay,” Chief Monahan said. “Let’s see it.”

  “Sorry.” Velvet’s voice was low and soft in the night. “I forgot to bring the key.”

  “You forgot? You’re the one who told me you’d found something. What are you playing at?”

  “You don’t really care, do you?” I tried to keep my voice strong and steady, but it might have cracked just a little.

  Monahan whirled around. “Who’s out there? What’s going on?”

  Randy switched on his flashlight. It was a small thing and didn’t cast much light, but I could see the face of the angry man staring at me.

  I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “You came here tonight in response to Velvet’s call because you have to keep up the fiction of believing that rubbish about communists gathering at Haggerman’s and meeting with Harold Westenham. But you know that’s not true. You’ve always known that.”

  “This one said—”

  “Sorry.” Velvet’s voice was calm. “I don’t know anything about any communist cell meeting here earlier today and leaving evidence behind that you needed to see. I lied.”

  Monahan came down the steps, his eyes fixed on me. “What are you playing at?”

  “I know Harold Westenham was responsible for your son Francis being court-martialed and jailed and then dishonorably discharged during the war. I also know Francis wasn’t guilty, or if he was it was because he’d been set up by the other guys. I suspect Francis is the butt of a lot of jokes.”

  “You know nothing,” Monahan said.

  “You look out for him. Your late wife asked you to, and so you should. It’s what fathers are supposed to do. But when Francis was in the army, you couldn’t be there for him. And so he ended up disgraced.”

  “That happened nine years ago.”

  “So it did. But the fallout wasn’t over. It never will be, not in your mind. Harold Westenham, the person who’d gone after Francis because he was furious at what he thought your son had done, showed up here. Obviously doing well in life. Well enough to rent cabin nineteen for five weeks. Francis recognized him. It came as such a shock he dropped the tray he was bringing with Westenham’s dinner and ran back to the kitchens without even cleaning it up.” When
I spoke to Rosemary this afternoon, she’d confirmed it had been Francis who’d fled from cabin nineteen, which I guessed after hearing about the wartime history between him and Harold Westenham.

  “What of it?” Monahan said.

  A plank creaked as Velvet shifted her weight. Randy held the thin beam of light steady. Neither of them said a word. I could see Monahan, his face set in tight lines, his fists clenched at his sides, his body stiff. And he could see me, a dark shape outlined against the light coming from behind me.

  “I understand why you killed him,” I said. “For your son.”

  “Francis. He’s a good boy.”

  “I know that.”

  “He wouldn’t have stolen any necklace. What does Francis know, or care, about the value of a piece of jewelry? That pack of bullies he called his friends put him up to it, and when he got caught they let him take the fall. If I’d known, if I’d been there, I’d have put a stop to it, right enough.” Monahan’s voice began to rise. “That Westenham! A university professor, of all the useless people. What did he know about the law? What right did he have to persecute my boy! To ruin his life. A dishonorable discharge! I searched for him, after the war, when Francis came home, and I learned what had really happened. My boy had a hard time in jail, and he couldn’t get a decent job after. Westenham didn’t go back to his college, and I couldn’t find him. I put it out of my mind. I tried to forget, and I helped my boy move on. Then he showed up here, Westenham, bold as brass. Francis saw him. Francis came home that night, upset, shaking like a leaf. Frightened. It all came back to him.”

  “You decided to get it out in the open. To confront Westenham,” I said.

  He said nothing. My heart pounded. I needed to hear him say it.

  “You love your son. I admire that so much. You’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you? I can understand that. My own mother wasn’t a large part of my life when I was a child, but she always knew I was in good hands. She knew my aunt and uncle loved me as much as she did. She knew they could be counted on to look out for me. Always. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you, when Francis had to leave and you knew the world would be a hard place for a boy like him.”