No answers came to mind, so I turned my thoughts instead to the upcoming session on Aunt Hettie’s couch. It was not something I looked forward to. I knew from conversations with my father that she was a Jungian … a believer in “depth psychology,” also known as “the psychology of the unconscious.” That meant she would place strong emphasis on probing my dreams and their meanings. I shuddered at the thought of having to retell the one about the creature, with its spiderlike legs and its terrible scurrying, chirping, and chittering.
But I would have to do it. If I didn’t, my father would have no choice but to have me committed, at least for an observation period, to some asylum, possibly Riverside. The thought of that was worse than revealing my dreams so I knew I would just have to suck it up and be the good patient.
I glanced at my watch. It was going on eleven … time for bed. I spent a few minutes cleaning up, then retired to my bedroom. I had a full day tomorrow and needed all the rest I could get.
Jeremy
THE NEXT MORNING, I checked the tide tables. Over the weeks I’d been with Jeremy, I’d learned quite a bit about a seaman’s life and knew that, in many ways, it was ruled by the tides. From what I could gather from the charts, Jeremy wouldn’t be going out early today so this might be my chance to catch him at home. Also, it was a holiday, and I thought he might just take the day off.
I ate a quick breakfast, downed two cups of strong coffee, and hopped on my bike. Jeremy lived about a mile away on one of the inland roads and, in no time, I was approaching his house.
It was a modest structure, a salt box with freshly painted white clapboard siding. At the end of the driveway sat a carport surrounded by stacks of lobster traps in need of repair. Propped up against some of them were numerous bright, shiny buoys, painted with Jeremy’s colors.
I left my bike beside the mailbox at the foot of the drive and approached the house. The front door was open and I peered through the screen to see if anyone was inside. The place looked empty and, when I knocked, no one answered.
Sure he was home, I left the front porch and headed around to the back where I found him kneeling near the carport, applying a fresh coat of paint to one of his buoys. He looked up when I approached.
“Hi,” I said, hesitantly. “I think we need to talk.”
He turned his attention back to the buoy. “What’s there to talk about?”
“You don’t understand. What you saw … that wasn’t what was happening.”
“Oh really, then what was it? It looked pretty plain to me. I was away, not expected till the next day and you had an itch that needed to be scratched. So, you took care of it.”
“No, that’s not it. Nothing happened. I was drugged … date-rape pills. Alistair, I mean Dr. Redbone, tried to take advantage, but I said no.”
I could see his shoulders tense as I spoke, his eyes glued to the buoy in front of him. Finally, he looked at me.
“Drugged? Why would anyone want to drug you? And, anyway, that doesn’t seem to be Redbone’s style. I’ve seen him around here before. He charms the ladies. He doesn’t need to use drugs to get what he wants.”
“Please, Jeremy,” I pleaded. “You have to believe me. I was drugged. And, it had to be Dr. Redbone. You see, we were once…”
I let my voice trail off, not able to say the words.
Jeremy stared at me. “You were once what?” he asked. “Involved? Is that it? Or maybe still involved. Which is it, Katy?”
I stared down at my feet, not knowing what to say.
He sat still for a moment, then stood and walked toward me, stopping when we were only about a foot apart. He gazed down at me, eyes cold and hard as flint. The tension was unbearable.
Finally, he sighed. “Don’t get yourself all worked up about it, Katy. It was probably for the best anyway. Glad I found out before I got myself in too deep. When I saw you…”
His voice broke and he quickly averted his eyes.
“Jeremy, please. Believe me. There’s nothing between Redbone and me. That was over after I met you. And, I was drugged. I would never have let Redbone touch me. You’re the only one I want. I care for you. I love you.”
Those three little words … words that had been on the tip of my tongue for the past couple of weeks, finally escaped.
Sadly, he shook his head and I could see tears welling in his eyes. He wiped his hands on his jeans as if removing something very unpleasant, then turned away.
“I’ve got to finish up here,” he said softly. “I have to catch the tide. If you have anything else to say, say it and be done.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I’d do anything to turn back the clock … anything.”
He sat down on the ground and picked up his paint brush, avoiding my eyes. Then he went back to work as if I wasn’t even there.
Slowly, I turned away and, with tears blinding my sight, made my way down the drive, got on my bike, and pedaled away.
I spent the rest of the day by myself, wallowing in self-pity. That evening, I thought about going to the beach to watch the fireworks, but the spirit didn’t move me. And, in addition, I was afraid I might see Jeremy there, possibly with another woman. My father called to make sure I was okay and, after we hung up, I decided to go to bed.
For a while, I lay awake, listening to the sound of the Independence Day celebration that was going on not too far away. I should have been there with Jeremy, but instead, I was alone. Tears crept down my cheeks and I hugged my pillow to my breast as I tried to understand how everything that had been so right had gone so terribly wrong.
On Hettie’s Couch
THE NEXT DAY, I tried to pull myself together for my first session with Hettie. I brushed out my hair and put on some blush and braced myself for what I expected would be a difficult hour.
I wasn’t disappointed. Hettie started right off asking me to describe my dreams, most particularly the nightmares I had told her about. I was unable to make myself describe the horrible chirping creature, as if talking about it would, somehow, give it life and make it real. Instead, I dredged up some old innocuous nightmares about botched operations and other medical stuff. After fifty-five minutes of this, I felt drained and was glad when she finally said the session was over.
“I think we made progress, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah, I feel better,” I lied.
“Treating a relative is tricky,” she added thoughtfully, “but I do think we’re headed in the right direction.”
She pulled out her tablet and opened her calendar. “I’m busy the next couple of days, but can see you again on Thursday. Same time?”
“Sure. That works for me.”
“Good. And, in the meantime, I want you to write down any dreams you might have … no matter how trivial they may seem. Keep a notebook and pen by your bed so you can jot them down when they’re fresh in your mind.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.”
She stood. “You’re going sailing with your dad this afternoon?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, have a good time. And, tell Ham to let me know if anything needs to be fixed on the sloop. It’s her maiden voyage this year.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Good. See you Thursday.”
After lunch, I met my father down at the Stormview pier. The sloop, named The Misbegotten, was tied up at the end, waiting for us.
We sailed for a while, without talking, tacking our way around the island. The breeze was brisk, but the sun was hot … a perfect day to be out on the water.
After about an hour, my father handed me the tiller. “You steer. I’m going to put up the spinnaker.”
It was a beautiful sight to see the multi-colored sail billow out and carry us along. We could relax now that we were running with the wind.
“Dad,” I finally said. “Tell me about Mom … about her and this Sloane guy.”
My father took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess I’ve
avoided the subject long enough. Where to begin?”
He thought for a moment, then turned toward me. “I thought we had a very happy marriage … at least I was happy. Your mother was a complex woman, full of ideals and dreams. She was never happy with the way I chose to live, the career I pursued. She wanted me to give it all up, become a family doctor in some forgotten place, up the Mendocino coast or down in San Luis Obispo … taking care of the needy. And, she, at the same time, could pursue her art … her poetry. She wanted to live a more Bohemian lifestyle, something that didn’t fit in with my goals and aspirations. That’s why I thought the island would be good for her. Get her away from having to be a faculty wife. That’s why I insisted the two of you spend the summers here.”
“I always wondered about that … why you wanted us gone all summer. I didn’t think that it was because you wanted Mom to be happy.”
He grinned, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “That’s how I rationalized what I did … told myself I did it for her. But, if I’m going to be brutally honest, I did it for myself, too, for my career. With you both gone over the summer months, I was free to spend as much time as I liked in the lab or the office. Writing papers, garnering fame. That’s how I spent the month of July … driven by the need to aggrandize myself. But, by the time August rolled around, I always found I missed the two of you and couldn’t wait to join you here.”
“But what about this Sloane guy? How did you become friends with him?”
“He lived here year-round. He was a cool guy, very artistic, but also very masculine. He loved sailing and I guess that’s why we hit it off. I met him at an island function … you know, one of those benefit pot-lucks or something like that. Your mom liked to go to them. I could have cared less, but I always went along to please her. We met Sloane at one of them. He became, I thought, a good friend.”
“When did you suspect he was something more than that to Mom?”
“I didn’t. No, honey, I didn’t have a clue. It was Raoul who let the cat out of the bag.”
I bit my bottom lip. Raoul again. That man seemed to have his fingers in a whole lot of pies.
“How did he tell you? And, why?”
“It was that last year … the day before she died. Raoul had been traveling in China, I think, and stopped off in L.A. on his way home. We went to dinner before he caught the red-eye to New York. He’d been drinking on the flight over and had had a couple more before our meal. Somehow he let it slip.”
“And, what did you do?”
“I pretended it was no big deal … like I’d already known and approved. I was trying to save face, but, inside, I was devastated. After dropping Raoul at the airport, I went home and called her. It was very late, your time. You answered the phone.”
I was quiet for a moment, remembering. “Yeah. You asked me where Mom was and I told you she’d gone out on a night walk.”
“That’s right. A ‘night walk.’ I asked you what that meant and you told me ‘When Mommy can’t sleep, she goes for a night walk.’ That made me angry because I knew she was probably with Sloane.”
“And, you told me to have her call you as soon as she got home, right?”
“Yes, I did.”
“She wasn’t gone long, I remember. And, I told her to call you when she crawled back into bed. She asked me why, was something wrong, and I told her I didn’t know but that you sounded mad.”
“I thought I hid my feelings. Guess I didn’t do a very good job of it.”
“She tucked me back into bed and told me to go to sleep. Then she left the room, closing the door behind her. That’s all I know.”
He sighed. “Well, she called me. We had words. I threatened divorce. She dared me to do it, then hung up. That’s the last time I spoke with her. Next thing I knew, the police were calling, telling me she’d committed suicide.”
We were both silent for a minute, staring at the beautifully colored spinnaker as it drew us along.
“I never told you everything,” I said. “About finding her, did I? You never let me.”
My father shook his head. “No, I didn’t want you to ever have to relive that again. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe what’s happening to you now is a direct result of my ignorance.”
“Can I tell you now?”
He nodded. “Go on.”
I took a deep breath. I’d never spoken in detail about that day to anyone.
“We woke up early and Mom made breakfast. She seemed agitated … restless … so we went for a walk. We got back to the carriage house around ten and she made me a snack and told me to take it into the bedroom to eat while she made some calls. I remember she closed the door so I couldn’t overhear.
“About an hour later, she came into the room and put on a sweater. ‘I’m going up to the big house for a while, chicken,’ she said. ‘You stay here and read. I’ll be back in time for lunch.’
“I remember that, while she tried to make her voice sound playful, there was an undercurrent of anger in it and I wondered if I’d done something to make her mad. In any case, she left and I waited for her to return. When she didn’t come back for lunch, I started to get worried. I was hungry and didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to do anything wrong, but it was getting late and I didn’t know where she was.
“So, finally, I disobeyed and took the path to Stormview. No one was on the porch, so I tried the front door. It was open and I walked inside. I called out for Aunt Hettie and Mom but no one answered. I checked all the rooms on the first floor, then went up to the second, but it was deserted. That left only the tower room and I had never been up there alone before.
“I called up to the landing for Mom but there was no answer. A little frightened, I climbed the staircase. The door to the tower room was ajar when I got there, which surprised me since it was always kept locked.”
I took a deep breath at this point and my father reached over and took my hand. “Go on,” he said. “Get it out.”
I nodded. “I could hear the sound of the ceiling fan moving, but the light wasn’t on, so I reached inside for the switch. When the light came on, I could see her hanging from the fan, moving slowly ‘round and ‘round, her feet bare, head bowed, her neck broken.”
“Sweetheart,” my father said softly. “That can’t be right. The fan wasn’t on. If it had been, they would have documented it in the police report. You must be mistaken.”
“No, I’m not,” I replied adamantly. “It was on and turned up to its highest speed. I know it. It was horrible enough to see Mom that way … hanging there, lifeless … but the horror was increased a thousand times by that ceiling fan … watching her go ‘round and ‘round. There’s no way I could be mistaken about that. And, I remember, after the initial shock of seeing her, I turned off the fan and tried to get her down. That’s why it was off when the police arrived.”
My father was about to speak but, at that moment, we began to approach the island. Without a word, he handed me the tiller and went forward to take down the sail. We didn’t speak again until we had arrived at the pier.
He tied up the craft and then lent me his hand as I stepped onto the dock. Slowly, we walked back toward the manor house.
Finally, he spoke.
“If what you say is true, and the ceiling fan was on high speed, it would have been near to impossible for Cassie to kill herself that way. And it doesn’t make sense either. The rope tied to the fan would have been spinning rapidly. Why in God’s name would she leave the fan on if she were determined to die. No, it makes no sense at all.”
“I know. I never really put it all together until now. I never wanted to think about it so, I put it out of my mind. But it’s true. If she hung herself from that fan, it couldn’t have been operating when she did it. Either someone killed her and tried to make it look like suicide or someone discovered her before I did and turned the fan on.”
My father nodded, his face stern. “For someone to do that … disrespect her that way.”
We walked on
in silence until we came to the spot where the path forked.
“Let’s keep this under our hats for now, Kate,” he said. “I need time to digest this. Okay? No sense getting everyone’s panties in a bunch until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Sure, Dad.”
I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek and then, with a sad smile, he turned away and headed toward Stormview.
I took a shower to wash the salt spray from my skin and hair, then donned my robe. It was nearing six p.m. and I was hungry.
I was rummaging through the refrigerator, trying to decide what to cook, when there was a knock on the front door.
“Now, who could that be?” I asked myself as I opened the door. To my surprise, one of Stormview’s sous-chefs stood on the porch, a tray full of covered dishes balanced on one hand.
“Missus wanted to make sure you got a good meal tonight, Miss Kate,” he said.
“Wow,” I responded, opening the door wider and allowing him to come inside.
He placed the tray carefully on the dining table, then pulled a bottle of white wine from the backpack he wore.
“May I open for you?” he asked.
“Sure, why not. And, thank the Missus for me.”
“No problem. When you’re done, just leave the dishes outside. I’ll pick them up in the morning.”
He opened and poured the wine then, with a nod and a smile, took his leave.
Once he was gone, I checked the contents of the various dishes: Maine scallops sautéed in wine and butter, a Caesar salad, asparagus with Hollandaise, and a small chocolate mousse topped with whipped cream. Gazing at the feast laid out before me, I thought maybe I’d died and gone to heaven.
Needless to say, after a long day both on Hettie’s couch and on the water, I was famished and made short work of the food in front of me. When I could eat no more, I put the leftovers away, rinsed the plates, and put them outside on the stoop.
Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 1) Page 13