I pretended not to hear her fiance whisper, “… and I’ve had enough of your Ice Queen bullshit.”
I pretended not to hear Beryl reply for my benefit, in a voice almost cheery, “Understandable. That’s fine, Elliot. I’ll give you a call later from work. Okay? Okay?”
Elliot snapped, “Okay!” as a Corvette beeped and taillights flashed. He slammed the door and revved the engine. Because I didn’t want to get run over, I waited until Elliot was accelerating toward the exit before continuing to my truck.
Beryl watched me approach. She leaned to take a remote key from her purse, eyes momentarily holding mine. Behind her, a convertible beeped and blinked, a Volvo, maybe. The engine started remotely. She could leave anytime she wanted.
“Dr. Ford? I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
I said, “Hear… what?” Then I noted the way her head lifted and tilted, so I amended, “Which is bullshit, and we both know it. Don’t apologize. I’m sorry you recognized me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It was just getting good.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“An attempt. It’s also the truth. You never eavesdrop?”
“Of course. But I at least try to be discreet.”
I pointed. “That’s my truck. It’s not like I was sneaking up.”
She said, “Ah, a truck… so I see,” looking at my old Chevy, emphasizing her distaste by making an effort to hide it. “I guess people don’t go into marine biology to get rich.”
“No. But when I start to get bitter, I remind myself how much I’ve saved on psychiatrists and expensive women. It keeps me grounded.”
Along with the keys, Beryl had taken a pack of gum from her purse. She held a piece between her teeth for an instant, letting me see it, then began to chew. “You must be a guy’s guy-you’d have to be to drive a vehicle like that. So let me ask you a guy’s question. Do you think Elliot believed me?”
“Can’t say. I didn’t hear enough.”
“Hmmm. That’s not very helpful.”
“Were you lying to him?”
“If I was, it wouldn’t be the first time. But it’s the first time Elliot didn’t pretend to believe me. I’ve never seen him so pissed off. And his questions-” She grimaced. “Was my lover older, younger, bigger, better-looking, was he better in bed? What is it with you men? You’re a scientist. At what age does a human male mature emotionally?”
I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask a human male a lot older than me. Sorry.”
Beryl raised her eyebrows, shielding a smile, then held out the pack of gum. I took a piece. Cinnamon.
I said, “You didn’t tell him what really happened on Saint Arc.”
“If I answer, does that mean we’re confidants?”
“We’re confidants whether you answer or not.”
“Okay. No, of course I didn’t tell him. Nothing incriminating, anyway. Why would I? Now it’s your turn. Did you hear what I said about Elliot and a friend of mine? Any of it?”
“Not as much as I wanted. But enough.”
“Hear any names?”
“Nope.”
“True?”
“True.”
I let her consider that, returning her stare before adding, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask who the friend was.”
“She’s still a friend. No need for the past tense. Elliot, on the other hand… well, maybe he’s right. I’m different since the island. Everything that’s happened has been so… shitty. Quite an awakening. But maybe some good will come of it yet. I just talked to Shay on the cell. She told me about the conversation you two had.”
I waited.
“It’s a good thing Elliot didn’t recognize you, Dr. Ford. Our guys think we made a pact with the devil, trusting you, not them. They can’t decide if you’re part of the drug mob, or a secret government assassin.”
I laughed, letting her know how ridiculous it was. “Shay has an imagination. She actually says things like that about me?”
Beryl replied, “Oh, she’s said a lot about you-more than you realize. Yes, that girl can get carried away.”
Was that a veiled cut? Shay, I suspected, was the girlfriend she’d caught with Elliot.
I let it go.
“No matter what your fiance thinks of me, trust shouldn’t be an issue. You have nothing to hide. Same with Shay and the other girls. Right?”
“Ah,” Beryl said, “the official story. I haven’t gotten used to it yet. The video doesn’t exist. The night on Saint Arc never happened. But you have the tape, Dr. Ford. You saw what went on in the swimming pool.”
“Wrong. If the tape was in my hands-and it isn’t-I wouldn’t watch it. And I didn’t.”
“Oh, please.” I received the tilted withdrawal, like a horse shying.
I put my hands out, palms up. Honest.
“You admit you enjoy eavesdropping.”
“That’s right. But there are lines I won’t cross.”
“You don’t strike me as the Boy Scout type, sorry.”
“I’m not. My lines have lots of curves and angles. What about yours?”
The woman had a gift for draping sarcasm in encouragement. Or vice versa. “I don’t discuss my boundaries in public. But I can tell you this- I’m trusting you, damn it-I’m way too curious to have that kind of willpower. Especially after seeing some of the clips from that tape-my God. I would’ve watched. I’d pretend like I hadn’t, but I would’ve watched from beginning to end.”
“Because you’re in it? Or because you’re not?”
“Make up any answer that pleases you. That night’s sort of foggy and dreamy, and maybe I want it to stay that way. I still don’t understand why we did what we did-I’m referring to the party we didn’t have, by the way. On the night that never happened. Elliot would’ve been shocked.”
“You’re a quick study.”
“Really? Then why did it take me so long to figure out that I’ve wasted the last two years of my life?” The woman checked her watch. “I don’t suppose you’re hungry?”
I had spoken to Beryl Woodward maybe a dozen times since Shay finished her master’s degree. She’d struck me as a one-dimensional mall diva. Too much money, a daddy’s-girl ego, and too attractive for life ever to require that she risk an encounter with reality.
Not now. But Beryl had never invited me to breakfast before.
She’d told Elliot she would call from work, so I asked, “Isn’t your boss expecting you?”
“I manage the spa at Naples-on-the-Bay Racquet Club. I’m the boss-which means I work twelve to fourteen hours a day. I’ll write myself a note.”
Ten minutes later, we were drinking coffee at First Watch on U.S. 41, six lanes of asphalt jammed with commuters hurrying into this new summer day.
8
Vance had used Merlin Starkey’s letter as a torch… Starkey’s letter along with unopened bills, and the envelope containing my lab results.
I found the remains on the kitchen floor a couple of minutes after walking into the house, hurrying to clean up the mess before my 10 a.m. meeting.
The front of the envelope was the color of burned toast, my name and address unreadable. The back had flamed through. Hold a match to tissue paper, results would be similar.
I opened the envelope to find out how much of the letter had survived. The paper began to crumble. A flake came off in my hand, and I saw the date. It was written in pen by Starkey.
I tried again, even though I knew it shouldn’t be rushed. A larger flake broke off. I read, “Howdy, Marion. If you’re reading this, I reckon it means I’m dead, which is a disappointment to me, being outlived by the kin of that snake Tucker Gatrell…”
The paper that remained was as delicate as ash. Was there a process to restore stationery after it had burned? Had to be. Somewhere at a museum, or some forensics lab, there was an expert who knew how to do it. Now was not the time to experiment.
9:35 a.m.
I had twenty-five minutes to clean up Varigono’s mess, finish a ream of unfinished paperwork, shower, and change. The place stunk of kerosene and smoke, and I hadn’t even touched the lab yet-which was okay, because I’d left it in pretty good shape. But the house was a disaster.
Impossible.