green grows the lilac

“Looked just like her.”

     Merry was sniffing the lilacs. “Isn’t this the most heavenly thing you’ve ever smelled?” She looked at Bobby. “Have you told Kate? Or her brother?”

     “No, and I don’t know whether I should.”

    “I wouldn’t. Let’s see what happens when the cat is set amongst the pigeons. Maybe something will flutter loose. Not pigeons, but something more subterranean.”

    “You looked like you were having quite the confab with Kate’s brother.”

    “Well, I was. I found the scratches on his knuckles peculiar for a man, an actor, so concerned with his appearance. I read somewhere that Robert Redford used to examine his face in the mirror every day, fearful that he would have a pimple. And there were those scratches on his knuckles. And then there was the way he turned up. It seemed to me that he hadn’t told his sister that he was on the East Coast, or when, exactly, he was coming here. He seemed evasive.”

   “And, he wasn’t close with his father.”

   “No. He chose his mother’s side. Not that I blame him. Hard for the kids when loyalties are split like that. I didn’t get the feeling he would have killed over it, though.”

    “Somebody killed Dude!”

     There was barking outside. “Oh my, let’s see what the problem is now.” Merideth went to the door and watched as Young Earl used the old stile to get over the rock wall. Sister and Tucker were bounding across the lawn towards him, barking and wagging their tails in excitement. As he creaked down, Merideth saw Earl stoop and give the dogs something from his pocket.

     “Bobby, come out. You’ll see a sight I haven’t seen in fifty years.”

     Earl limped across the grass.  He must have a bad knee too, Merideth thought. He gave a sideways glance at Bobby.

     “This is Bobby Marshfield,” she said.

     “Taxi fellow.”  Earl reluctantly took the hand Bobby extended. “I thought you should know,” he said to Merideth. “Heard that noisy boat or one just like it the other night too. Odd. You said mention anything unusual. Thought I ought. I’ll be getting home now.”  He paused and looked at the white lilac next to her door. “Always liked that one. Can smell it all the way to my house if the wind is right.”  He turned and started walking away. The dogs followed him.

     “Thank you, Earl,” she called. “ You notice anything else, let me know.”

    “I don’t know,” she said to Bobby. “He’s hated me for fifty years. I’m not sure why he’s being helpful now. Or if he’s being helpful. Fishy. But the dogs like him. And it is a beautiful lilac. My grandfather planted it lo these many years ago.”

just rambling

“Have you been to the island before?”

    “No, never. That’s why I needed a cab! I know my hotel is close, but I don’t really know how to find it, and I didn’t want to wander around looking.”

    Bobby smiled.  “I shouldn’t take your money. It’s fifteen dollars for a two-block ride. How about you pay me ten more and I take you for a little tour?”

      “That sounds grand. An orientation drive.”

     “Do you want to drop your bags off first?”

    “No, I can’t really check in until two o’clock anyway.”

    “All right. We’ll loop around and wind up there.”  He glanced in the rear view mirror. An older woman. Grey hair. She took off the large sunglasses that hid much of her face and leaned back against the seat, gazing out at the ferry, which was already loading up again. Startling silver eyes. She seemed somewhat familiar. He pulled out of the waiting line and turned right. “This is really almost all there is of town. Water Street. I think we now boast three ice cream shops.” He rounded the left hand turn. “That’s the National on the left, the Surf on the right.”

   The woman looked right. “That’s the Surf?”

  “Junk shop on right. Liquor store on left. Here’s where the old Post Office was. It’s now a bagel shop. Closes at noon. And this is the only grocery store on the island. Some people call it Dean and DeLuca’s because of the prices. Real estate agency, in case you want to buy a house and stay for a while. Hardware store. The old hardware store used to be called Tiffany’s, but this one is not as bad. Harbor Pond on the right.”

    “Where is the cemetery?”

    “The cemetery,” he asked?

    “Yes. I heard there was a very old one. I’m interested in genealogy.”

    “I’ll show you,” he said.

     By the time he’d looped back around Beach Avenue to town and the Manisses, where she was staying, he had grown suspicious. Familiar grey eyes, interest in the graveyard and the Surf. Taken together, he was pretty sure.

    “Have you got a card? I’ll can you for all my transportation needs.” 

   He gave her a card, when he dropped her at the Manissees. She looked at it and then at him again. He down the Neck to see Merry.

the widow

The Surf Hotel lobby was a far cry from what it used to be under the old management. Kate vaguely recollected what the place looked like when Catherine bought it. Dark. Now it was bright and white, with vases of designer-designed flowers tastefully arranged. Hothouse flowers, out of season. The garden club would hardly approve. A discrete flat screen TV faced a chic furniture grouping. Art books were stacked on a coffee table. The rag rugs, jigsaw puzzles, checkerboards and pinochle scoreboards were nowhere to be found.

    Catherine was in her office, decorated in as tasteful and bland a style as Catherine herself. Beige and gold. The only color seemed to be in Catherine’s nose, which looked pink. There were crumpled Kleenexes on her otherwise pristine desk.

    “I saw Jerry,” said Kate. And then she wondered why.

    “He’s no help,” said Catherine. She stood up and took Kate’s hands.     “He doesn’t seem to get it. No idea how I feel. How you feel. He says he didn’t see you on the boat.”

    “I came yesterday and stayed with Bobby.” Everybody on the island probably knew that by now.

     Catherine made a slight moue of displeasure. “Your father didn’t care for him.”

     “I know, but I do. Anyway, I think I’ll stay here tonight if that’s okay.”

     “I saved your usual room.”

     “Yeah, next to Jerry’s!”

     “Do you want me to move you? Your brother’s across the hall.”

     “I can cope.”

    They discussed funeral arrangements.

     Catherine said she didn’t think she could give a speech.

     Kate said she would. She actually felt in charity with Catherine for maybe the first time ever. Except for the minister thing. Kate was only half Jewish, but her father had been a confirmed Jew. Well, a Bar Mitzvah-ed Jew.

     Catherine gave her a key to the room, and Kate went down to get Bobby’s bike, ride back to the shack and get her stuff.

    What the police hadn’t taken.

interlude

Kate was sitting outside the bagel shop feeding crumbs to the sparrows when Bobby passed by on his way to the boat. She waved, but he didn’t see her. She was stalling, she realized, but she was going to have to face her sooner or later. Might as well be now. She threw her coffee cup in the trash barrel, picked up Bobby’s bike and walked it slowly up the hill, past the liquor store and the antique store, to the Surf. She parked it in the bike rack and walked past the brilliant blue hydrangeas without seeing them, up the steps to the porch. She could see the ferry just coming in. As she walked through the door, a handsome man with gilt blond hair was coming out.

     “Finally,” he said. “My sexy niece!”

     “Jerry,” she said with distaste. She had forgotten about him. But she should have known he’d be here. He did not move aside to let her through the door, so she stepped back out onto the porch. “Catherine around?”

      “Yes,” he said. “And your room is right next to mine. I knew you’d be pleased. When did you get here? You weren’t on the first boat this morning, because I was, and I didn’t see you.”

     “I got here yesterday.”

     “Staying with the fuck buddy?”

     “Jerry, that’s crude. And rude. Let me past.”

     He stepped away from the door with a bow and gestured to the door. “Milady.”

    “Fuck you.”

    “I will make excuses for your language because you are grieving.”

smoking gun

She was just finishing some nasty yogurt and granola, somewhat ameliorated by the pleasant sight of a vase of early Japanese iris, when she heard Bobby’s van pull in. He must have already met the 8:00. And she didn’t even have her face on yet. Yesterday had been a long day. Or was it the day before? She was losing track.

      She opened her purse. At least she could put her lipstick on.

     He knocked on the back door and walked in, looking grim, she thought, though it was hard to tell through the beard.

     “What is it?” she asked. “Young Kate?”

     “No. Well, kind of. Better call Big Chief Joe and tell him to meet us at my place. I have a smoking gun.”

     “I’ll just be a minute,” said Merideth. She wasn’t going out of the house looking like she’d been dragged backwards through a bramble bush.

      The door to the outdoor shower was open. “We found it in here,” said Bobby. “I put it back kind of the way it was.”

    “We?” asked Joseph.

    “Me and Kate. It was her backpack. She stayed here last night.”

     Joseph raised his eyebrows. “Not with her stepmother? Where is she now?”

    “I don’t know. She must have gone to town. She took my bike.”

     “Don’t be looking down your nose like that, Joseph,” said Merideth. “You’d think you’d never heard of premarital sex before.”

     Joseph looked at Bobby. “Oh, are you getting married soon?”

    “Well, now that she’s an heiress. Unless she’s the one trying to pin this murder on me.”

      “So you’ve already handled the weapon.”

      “Well, yeah. Kate couldn’t find her backpack last night when I came in after the bars closed. Your guys who stake out the Yellow Kittens saw me head home, no doubt. We looked around outside and found a bunch of her clothes in the bushes over there. But we didn’t find the backpack until we came out this morning.”

     “So you picked the backpack up. And you opened it. Who opened it?”

     “Kate. She was hoping her dopp kit was in there with her shampoo so she could take a shower.”

      “This time of year?”

      “Seems warm to me. I shower outside most of the year. On demand hot water heater.”

       Joseph shuddered.

     Merideth was unfazed. She had endured plenty of cold winters with no hot water but what was heated up on the wood stove. And no other heat at all. Even the coals she used to pick up on the beach were hoarded for special occasions. Her son’s generation was soft.

      “She opened the backpack up, and inside was the gun, wrapped in one of my T-shirts.”

      “So her prints are on it.”

      “It slid out of the T-shirt and we both tried to grab it. Instinct. Then we wrapped the pistol up again like it was and put it back in the bag so you could see it.”

      “So both of your prints are on it.”

      “Probably. Neither one of us was wearing gloves!”

      Chief Winfield sighed. “So either one of you could have had the gun, planted the backpack, et cetera.”

      “Trying to pin it on the other?” asked Merideth. “She could have done it while you were working. You could have done it by parking up the road and walking back here, then going back to the van.”

       “She was awake when I got home. Said something woke her up, and she was afraid.”

       “She should be very afraid. Somebody murdered her father and planted him in my mother’s garden. And that lunatic, if it wasn’t her, is probably on the island.” Joseph looked at the backpack and took his phone out of his pocket. “This is not my field of expertise. But you moved the weapon already.” He snapped a few pictures with his phone and put it back in his pocket. He rootled around in the trunk of his car and found a plastic bag. Fabric probably didn’t take fingerprints anyway, but best to send this off island for the big boys to deal with. 

    “Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you call me first thing?”

     “Because he’s not a fool,” said Merideth. “He was probably wondering whether to throw the thing off Payne’s Dock!”

     “Well, I would have chosen Ballard’s,” said Bobby. “More likely to be guns down there. But we want to know what can be discovered from the thing, too. So we called you.”

    Joseph looked at his mother. “Have you figured anything out yet?”

     “We haven’t had a moment,” said Merideth. “Maybe after this ridiculous holiday weekend is over.” She pronounced it ovah. “Too many extraneous people around. I can’t hear myself think!”

      “This weapon is going to put some pressure on. And now they’ll know about Bobby’s relationship with the daughter of the deceased. They’ll find out that her father disapproved of him, and then you’ll both be suspect.”

    “Crime passionnal. Well, I’ve got to make the ten o’clock,” said Bobby. “Better go.”

    “What happened to her toiletries?” asked Merideth? “Toothbrush? Shampoo? Comb? Makeup, if she wears any? Medications?”

      “They were dumped out in the bushes.”

      “That makes no sense,” said Merideth. “If you were trying to throw suspicion on her you wouldn’t do that.  And no female would throw her own toiletry kit around!”

      “Unless she was being really tricky,” said Joseph. “I guess I better go to the station and seal this up and put it on a plane.” He put the plastic bag in the back seat of his car and put the phone to his ear as he drove off down the dirt track.

the garden plot thickens

   “Jerry, I’ve been frantic looking for you. Where have you been?”

    “My adored one. What’s up? Just got here on the 8:00 boat.” Catherine was sitting at her desk in the dormer, and the view of the sea made a perfect frame for her gilt hair. He bent over and kissed her quickly on the lips, giving her a hug.

     “I left you a message!”

     “Lost my phone. Got a new one.”

     “You’re always losing your phone!”

     “I’m not good with phones. I don’t like them.”

     “You’re always on the phone, though. I don’t know how you lose so many.”

    “Well, at least I’ve learned to get the throwaway kind. Think how pricey it would be if it was iPhones!”

    “Never mind the phone, Jerry! Malcolm is dead.” She turned away from him and looked at the ocean.

     “Sugar daddy leaves the picture. Heart?”

     “No! I’m in a mess, Jerry. He was killed!”

      “Accident?”

     “Not unless you can shoot yourself full of nails after you’re dead.” She burst into tears. 

     Jerry looked stunned. “What’s the issue? Now the honey pot is yours free and clear.”

     “You don’t understand.” She blew her nose and straightened the collar of her white, man-tailored shirt. “And they’re asking so many questions. How was our relationship. Why did we sleep in separate rooms. Who inherits. When did I last see him. Had he seemed troubled about anything. When did I last speak to him. What was I doing off island the night he died.  I had some trouble with that last question. And I couldn’t find you!”

     “Business came up.”

     “What was more important than me sitting on my ass in a hotel in Providence waiting for you when you said it was urgent that I get there right away! I couldn’t even take the plane, because it was socked in! I had to deal with all the old biddies on the boat.”

      “Business was more important, Kate. An entrepreneur has to be ready to rock when there’s an opportunity.’

      “You could have called.” She didn’t really want to know what kind of business he was in now. Always a salesman of some kind.

      “I didn’t have a phone. What did you say you were doing on the mainland?”

     “I said I had an early appointment with my haircutter.”

      “Did you?”

      “No, but I made one.”

      “Good.”

a little night music

“Check out this sunset.” Bobby stopped outside his door and gestured toward the west.

    “You could almost believe there was a goddess.”

    “Let’s drive over to the West Side and look.”

    A handful of boats were anchored out in New Harbor, with a few clustered around the docks. “I guess Block Island Boat Basin is open,” said Kate. Bobby slowed as they passed Payne’s Dock. A cigarette boat zipped across the water. The van bumped over Dory’s Cove Road when the sun was setting. There was still enough light to make it down the path to the beach. It was a rocky beach, and the triangular point of an offshore boulder pierced the colors that dyed the water.  Bobby had been painting tiny, exquisite watercolors of that rock for decades now. They watched in silence as the sunset bled out.

     “I have to work tonight. Probably won’t be much action, but after blowing off the afternoon, I better try to pick up some fares at the bars. Will you be okay?”

    “It’s been a long day, a long few days. I just want to be alone and sleep. Sleep forever. Because when I wake up I have to remember all over again.”

     He got out of the van at the shack to open the door for her. “You know where everything is,” he said. And he put his arms around her as he had been wanting to since he saw her get off the boat with her brother.

     She put down her backpack next to the ladder to the loft, climbed up, took off her jeans and dropped into Bobby’s bed. The wind had died down at dusk, and it was very quiet. She slept.

 She struggled out of a dream and lay still. What had awakened her? Was Bobby back? She checked her phone: 11:25. The bars didn’t close until 1:00. And Daddy was dead. And whoever had killed him was on the island. And was trying to pin the blame on Bobby. And she was all alone in the dark. In Bobby’s bed.

    She was too terrified to peek over the edge of the loft, let alone climb down the ladder to lock the door. Her heart was hammering so loudly she was afraid it would be heard. She tried not to breathe and looked up at the skylight and listened. For a long time. Nothing. Maybe the sound she had heard—hadn’t heard?—was from outside. Her heart calmed down, but she was afraid to go back to sleep. By 1:15 she was able to hear Bobby come in the door without freaking out. It helped that the old van had a distinctive engine sound.

    He turned on a low lamp. She looked over the edge and saw him unloading cash from his pockets, putting it in a beautiful seaglass-covered bowl.

    “Money?”

    “It was okay. Drunks either forget to tip or overtip because they have lost the ability to calculate.”

     “I’m sorry I lost your afternoon.”

    “No worries. It’s the bare beginning of season.” He walked outside to pee. The Art Shack had no septic system. The Incinolet electric toilet was functional, but it cost in electricity. Basically, it burned the shit up. Literally.  There was a kitchen sink—a buried hose brought water from the main house, and he brushed his teeth there. He took off everything but his underwear, folded his clothes and stowed them neatly. The shack was like a puzzle, and everything had its place.

    “Do you want to come down to brush your teeth? Or shall I turn off the light?”

      “I’ll come down.” She climbed down, and he went up. There was barely room for two people downstairs. At the bottom of the ladder, she looked for her backpack to get her toothbrush. It wasn’t there. “Bobby, did you see my backpack? I left it down here.”

     “No. Did you leave it in the back of the van?”

     “I brought it in. And I thought I heard something before. It woke me up.”

    Bobby climbed back down the ladder and put on his pants. No man wanted to face danger in boxer shorts. He took a flashlight off the shelf next to the door and went outside.

    It was not in the van. It took a while to find her clothing, most of it New York black. New Yorkers always had funeral clothes at the ready.

     “Your stuff is scattered in the bushes. Come outside and look.”

     Her things looked like they had been tossed by a high wind, or in a fit of rage. They untangled what they could from the brambles and brush and decided to look for the rest in the daylight.

     “I would like to find my toiletry bag, though. It has my toothbrush in it. And some emergency Xanex, which I could use right now.”

     “You can use my toothbrush,” said Bobby.

     They lay in his loft bed looking at the stars, listening to the distant shush of the waves. She turned away from him and curled up in a fetal position. After a while he turned on his side, too and wrapped an arm around her. He felt her skin grow hot and thought about the folkloric desire for sex after a brush with death. He didn’t feel it himself. He kept very still and slowed his breathing. Finally she slept, and so did he.