Deadly Summer Nights

by Vicki Delany

  “Francis told me Westenham was in cabin nineteen. I came here the next night after dark. I found Westenham standing by the lake, having a cigarette. Not a care in the world, but my son’s life ruined. It made my blood boil.”

  “You wanted to talk things over with him, make him understand what he’d done, all those years ago.”

  “Talk?” Monahan spat onto the planks of the porch. “Lady, I don’t talk to the likes of him.”

  “You didn’t mean to kill him,” I said.

  “Sure I did. Pick up a good-size rock, quick blow to the back of the head, and then roll him down the hill into the lake. Splash. Over and done with. Guy didn’t even know what hit him.” He grinned at me. “What do you think you’re going to do about this? You and your city friends? I’m the chief of police here, lady. You’re a suspected communist.”

  “I have a newspaperman listening to this entire conversation,” I said. “Jim, you can come out now.”

  Silence.

  “Jim?”

  “You think Westenham’s nephew’s hiding in the woods.” Monahan laughed. “Think again, lady. Last I saw him, he was on his way to Rock Hill. As is my deputy. Seems the staties have made an arrest in the arson at Shady Pines. Imagine, the New York mob in the Catskills.

  “I’ll be on my way now. It seems you forgot our little deal. You help me out, and I’ll help you. That deal’s over. Your days are numbered here, lady. You and your mother.”

  I swallowed. My hands were shaking. I’d counted on Jim to be here, to be my witness. No court of law would take my word or that of Velvet and Randy, who were, after all, my employees, over that of the chief of police.

  What on earth had I been thinking, not to just get on with my life and forget what I’d figured out?

  Monahan stepped off the stairs. He stood in front of me, smirking. Randy’s light threw deep shadows across his face. His eyes were small and dark.

  “Get that blasted light out of my face,” he snapped.

  Randy lowered the light, and all I could see were our feet.

  An animal roar emerged from the line of trees, a solid shape flew through the air, and a hard body landed between Monahan and me. I screamed, Monahan screamed, Velvet and Randy screamed. Monahan threw up his hands and stumbled backward, crashing into the steps.

  Randy raised his flashlight, giving me enough light to see Monahan reaching for his gun. He pulled it out of its holster and aimed it at the creature crouching at his feet. Not a vicious wild animal but Winston, tongue lolling, chubby tail wagging, here to join the fun.

  “No!” I screamed. “Don’t shoot!”

  Velvet had remained where she was, on the porch, above Monahan. Realizing what he intended to do, she swept an ashtray off the table and brought it down on the chief’s head the moment he pulled the trigger. His arm jerked and the shot, thankfully, went wild. Wide-eyed, shocked at what she’d done, Velvet stared at the ashtray in her hand. The light wavered as Randy dove for cover, and then all went dark. Winston barked. For a brief moment Monahan stood still. His gun was in his right hand, and he lifted his left to touch the back of his head. “You’ll pay for that. Both of you.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Velvet said. “I . . . You can’t shoot Tatiana’s dog.”

  Monahan appeared not to hear her. His eyes fixed on my face, he lifted the gun, and pointed it directly at me. I sucked in a breath, but once again he’d turned his back on Velvet. Before he could fire, or not, she threw the ashtray aside, let out a mighty yell, and leapt onto his back. Monahan jerked and twisted, trying to throw her off, and I was reminded of a movie I’d seen some time ago, a cowboy taming a wild horse. Velvet’s golden hair flew out behind her, and she kept screaming, but she held on. He raised his hands and clawed and swatted at her arms, and I heard a clatter as something hard fell to the ground. I leapt toward them, intending to grab Monahan from the front, pull him forward, and help Velvet bring him down. Instead, I tripped over Winston, who’d set up a chorus of furious barking, and I crashed into one of the pillars supporting the porch. My head spun, and stars danced in front of my eyes, but I kept enough of my wits about me to grab wildly for one of Monahan’s legs. He kicked out at me. The blow had been aimed at my head, but I’d ducked in time, and he got me in the side of my shoulder. Pain sliced through me.

  “Randy!” I yelled. “Help.”

  “I can’t find the flashlight!”

  “Never mind the flashlight. We need help.”

  The old wooden boards of the porch shook as Monahan threw Velvet off him and she crashed hard into them.

  “What’s happening out there?” a young woman’s voice called.

  Another joined it. “Do you need help?”

  “One of you, call the security guards,” I yelled. “The other, stay where you are. Don’t let him get past you to the hotel.” I braced myself for another kick, but it didn’t come. Instead, footsteps pounded on the ground and shrubbery rustled. In the weak light illuminating patches of the path, I could see Monahan running down the trail.

  Winston took off after him in a streak of brown and white. I had no idea the chubby, short-legged dog could run so fast. Without thinking, I took off after them.

  “Get help!” I yelled.

  I ran. I don’t quite know why I ran. But Monahan was running, Winston was running, and therefore I was running. A befuddled young dance instructor stood in the center of the path. She held out her arms, blocking access, and said, “What’s going on here?”

  “Get outta my way,” Monahan roared.

  But the girl knew who signed her paycheck, and she asked, “Mrs. Grady? What’s happening?”

  Rather than stop and try to explain, or to push his weight around, Monahan veered off the trail and crashed into the woods, into the dark forested spaces where the lights of the lamps didn’t reach. It’s hard, if not impossible, to run without making a sound, in the dark, in the woods. I stopped running and listened. My heart was pounding, and not from that brief moment of exercise, and I tried to control my breathing. Branches groaned as they bent, twigs snapped, undergrowth crunched beneath heavy boots. Winston barked once. I didn’t know what had happened to Monahan’s gun. I’d heard something fall when he fought off Velvet. Had he dropped it? Or did he have it in hand, ready to shoot me when I came in sight?

  “Mrs. Grady?” the dancer called.

  “Stay here. Tell the security guards where I’ve gone and to follow me.” I stepped on a branch, and I bent over and picked it up. It was about two feet long, as thick as my thumb. The best I could do by way of a weapon. Ahead, the creek splashed over rocks as it meandered downhill toward the lake. I gripped the branch, held it in front of me, gathered what little courage I possess, and slipped into the woods. Like the creek, we were going downhill, and in no more than a dozen strides, the black mass of the lake appeared in the gaps between the trees. I felt the slippery rocks at the creek bottom beneath my feet, and I stepped cautiously into the cold water. My shoes would be ruined, but that wasn’t something I’d worry about now. I broke out of the forest to emerge on the service path the moment the clouds separated. A huge round full moon came out and threw a long line of white light across the dark water. Rowboats were tied to the dock, paddleboats pulled up on shore, and at this time of night no workers would be around.

  Perhaps foolishly, I didn’t fear that Monahan would spring out and attack me. Far too many people had seen him running and me giving chase. He’d want to get into town, to the police station, where he could sit behind his desk, call the state police before I could, and give his side of the story. He’d try to present me as some sort of deranged female, burdened by too much responsibility. And they’d believe him.

  The moonlight illuminated the dock and the man and dog running along it. Monahan reached the end, and whirled around. His hands were empty: he’d lost his gun. He saw me step out of the trees, brandishing my branch
.

  “You can’t get away, Norm.” My voice broke, and I took a deep breath to try to control it. I needed to sound calm, reasonable, as though I was in control. “Look, it’s late. Why don’t you come up to the hotel and have a cup of coffee, maybe some sandwiches or cake, and we’ll talk things over. My staff are waiting for us; I’ll get someone to call Francis and have him come down. How does that sound?”

  He stared at me for one brief moment, and then he turned toward the water and, without hesitating, jumped. Winston leaned over the edge of the dock and stared down, still barking.

  I put on a burst of speed and ran toward the dock. I hadn’t heard the loud splash I would have expected as Monahan’s considerable bulk hit the water, but a moment later I heard a soft one as he untied a rowboat and slipped the oars. The boat pulled out onto the calm, moonlit water.

  I hit the dock running and skidded to a stop next to Winston. In the far distance I could hear the babble of voices, rising in intensity as people asked one another what was going on. Close to me—nothing.

  What had happened to Velvet? Had she been hurt when she fell? Had Randy stayed with her, trying to help?

  Out on the water, Monahan faced in my direction as he rowed steadily away, but I couldn’t see if he was looking directly at me or not. Winston barked one last time, and then, show over, he wandered back to shore.

  For the briefest of moments, I considered grabbing a boat and going after Monahan, but I dismissed the idea. He’d grown up around here, among the hills and trees and lakes of the Catskills. I’d grown up among the pavement and corner stores and traffic of Brooklyn. Other than a couple of trips on the Staten Island Ferry on outings with my dad when I was a child, I’ve been in a boat exactly once in my life. Shortly after Olivia and I arrived to take over Haggerman’s, a staffer took me out in a paddleboat to tour the lake and see our property from the water.

  Delayed Lake is a small body of water, but around the bend to my left, toward which Monahan was heading, a narrow channel leads to a progressively larger series of lakes. Where the channel opens into the next lake sits Kennelwood Hotel.

  Was Monahan heading for Kennelwood? Did he expect to find a friendly welcome there? Would he have them call the state police to come and arrest Velvet, Randy, and me?

  I was about to turn and head back when movement on the water caught my eye. A boat was emerging from the channel. A canoe, moving fast, low in the water, a single person seated in the rear paddling steadily and efficiently.

  I jumped up and down, waving my arms over my head. “Stop him! Stop him! He tried to kill me.” My shouts skimmed across the water and echoed off the hills.

  The canoe slowed, and then it turned slightly and moved to intercept the rowboat. I heard men’s voices, but I couldn’t make out the words. The voices started out low, and then Monahan began yelling and gesturing wildly. The rowboat pulled away, heading out into the lake. The canoe followed. The canoe was sleeker, faster, and the man at the paddles younger and fitter.

  “Someone came running into the hotel yelling at the top of their lungs that shots had been fired and calling for a doctor. What on earth is going on? Elizabeth, have you lost leave of your senses?”

  I turned to see Olivia standing in a group of elegantly dressed people, many still holding their cocktail glasses, all of them watching me. Curious staffers, some fresh from the kitchen or the ballroom, others in casual clothes or even their nightwear, peered out from behind trees.

  Randy ran down the dock. His hair stood on end, the right knee of his pants was torn, and he’d lost his tie, as well as the flashlight. “She’s okay. Velvet’s okay. She was knocked unconscious, but only for a moment, so I stayed with her until help came. What do you want me to do?”

  “Get me a boat,” I said. “Where the heck is our security guard?”

  “Here, Mrs. Grady,” Eddie said. “I came as fast as I could when I heard there was trouble.”

  The dancer I’d sent for him peeked over his shoulder.

  Deputy Dave pushed his way through the crowd. Jim Westenham was with him.

  “What’s going on?” the deputy called. I could barely hear him over the hubbub of everyone asking one another the same question.

  “Your chief killed Harold Westenham, fired his gun at me, and is trying to get away.” I pointed to the lake. “We need to get out there. You need to get out there, I mean. Can you row?”

  He jumped onto the dock and came to stand beside me. Jim joined Olivia as Eddie suggested—in vain—that everyone go back to the hotel.

  “I see Norm in the rowboat, but who’s in the canoe?” Deputy Dave asked me.

  “I don’t know. It came out of the channel. They spoke, and then Monahan rowed away.” I waved my arm in the air.

  Deputy Dave ducked. “Why don’t you put that down before you take out someone’s eye?”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” I tossed the branch into the water. Winston appeared out of nowhere and leapt in after it.

  The dock swayed as more people began to join us. Another rowboat was untied, and Bradley, the night clerk, and a waiter jumped in and began rowing.

  We watched as the canoe caught up to Monahan’s boat, both craft caught in the line of moonlight as though it were a spotlight. The canoeist put his hand out and grabbed the side of the rowboat. Shouting voices drifted across the smooth water. Monahan stood up. Even from here, we could see the boat tip to one side, right itself, and tip to the other side. The man in the canoe shouted at Monahan to sit down. Monahan stared over the side, down into the dark water.

  “Norm, don’t do it!” the canoeist yelled. I recognized the voice: Richard Kennelwood.

  The second rowboat paddled steadily toward them, but they were still a good distance away. The boats at Haggerman’s are intended for bobbing gently in the shallow waters at the edges of the lake or in the nearby marsh while guests fish for their supper. They are not built for speed.

  One of the young staffers handed a bullhorn to Deputy Dave.

  The deputy lifted it to his mouth and called. “Norm! This is Dave Dawson. You have to come in. Let’s talk it over.”

  Randy untied another rowboat. He held the rope and looked at me. I looked at the boat. It didn’t appear to be entirely seaworthy. I can swim, but I’m not comfortable out of reach of shore. I shook my head, and Randy got in and picked up the oars.

  Winston ran down the dock, dripping wet, proudly bearing the branch. He dropped his prize at my feet, and smiled up at me, asking me to continue the game.

  On shore Velvet, a cloth pressed to her head, had joined my mother and Aunt Tatiana. A man, nattily dressed in a pristine white dinner jacket, hovered beside her. When she saw me watching she gave me a crooked smile and a thumbs-up. A considerable number of the people behind her had cocktail glasses in hand, and the hems of long dresses and expensive shoes were sinking into the soggy ground at the edge of the lake. A young man had the pink-and-blue sash awarded to Miss Haggerman’s tied around his neck.

  Bradley and the waiter were about halfway to the canoe and rowboat. Randy had barely cleared the dock. Richard Kennelwood held Monahan’s boat with one hand and extended his other, asking Monahan to take it. The rowboat shifted from side to side, Monahan swayed. His legs were apart, his arms extended to his sides. As I watched, he dropped his arms, and turned to his left. Again, he looked down into the depths. Delayed Lake isn’t deep. But it’s deep enough.

  “No!” Richard shouted.

  “Francis is waiting for you at home, Norm.” Deputy Dave’s calm voice bounced across the lake and echoed in the hills. “Come on in and let’s talk things over.”

  Monahan didn’t move for several long seconds, and then he dropped onto the boat’s wooden bench and buried his head in his hands. Richard pulled his canoe alongside the rowboat, hand over hand. When he reached the side of the other man, he stretched out his arm and touched Monahan’s
bent back.

  They stayed like that, the two watercraft caught in the moonlight, moving softly on the swell of the lake, until the next rowboat arrived. Bradley clearly had some experience with boats as, after exchanging a few words with Richard, he swiftly but carefully transferred himself from his boat to Monahan’s. He settled himself in his seat, picked up the oars, and began rowing toward the dock with steady, confident strokes. Richard followed, and Randy slowed his own boat, waiting for them.

  I let out a long breath.

  Deputy Dave turned to the onlookers and lifted his bullhorn. “Show’s over, folks. Please return to the hotel.”

  Not believing him, no one moved.

  Olivia marched onto the dock, her black gown trailing behind her, her long white gloves glowing in the moonlight, her mouth a slash of red in her pale face. Jim Westenham followed her. I glared at him, and he gave me an embarrassed shrug.

  “Give me that!” My mother snatched the bullhorn out of Deputy Dave’s hand.

  “Wasn’t that a marvelous show? Let’s have a hand for the inaugural performance of the Haggerman’s Catskills Resort dramatic club.” Still holding the bullhorn, Olivia began to clap. Jim Westenham joined her, displaying as much enthusiasm as if he were front-row center at the Metropolitan Opera, and one by one the onlookers joined in. I blinked, struggled to recover some of my wits, and then sunk into a deep curtsy.

  “Bow!” Olivia growled to Deputy Dave.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He bowed.

  I doubt anyone believed Olivia, but she’d spent a good part of her life making people want to believe.

  Out on the lake, the little convoy was getting closer.

  “I need these people to disburse before the chief lands.” Deputy Dave held out his hand for the bullhorn.