Our Fathers (Conner Beach Crime Series) Read online

  "That looks nice."

  "How about this one?"

  She replaced the green dress with one of a coppery sheen. As she switched the dresses, he noticed that she was wearing very little.

  "I like what you're wearing now."

  "Of course you do. But it might get chilly when the sun goes down. I thought, for dinner out, something more would be appropriate. So which?"

  He wanted to say, "They both look good," but knew that would be the wrong answer. She wanted him to decide.

  "If you want to be dressy, I'd go with the green. On you it looks, I don't know, kind of elegant."

  "You think so?" She sounded doubtful, but turned and went back into the bedroom. Watching her from behind, he didn't care much what she put on. From the bedroom she called, "You're not wearing those clothes, are you?"

  He looked at what he had on — cords only a little worn at the knees, sneakers and a sport shirt. It wasn't exactly new, but it was decent. What was wrong with what he had on?

  "No," he answered, "of course not."

  CHAPTER 5

  There was no sidewalk on the beach side of the street, so they walked along the edge of the road. It was only four houses up and there was no traffic anyway. The only cars on the street were three parked in front of the house almost across from Matt's. One was a van. A tanned, sandy-haired man in cutoffs and a red and white striped T-shirt climbed out of the side door. He reached back in and lifted out two cases of beer, the twelve-ounce size. He nodded when he saw them, smiled and went up the steps and into the house.

  Terry said, "Looks like it's party time."

  Matt was in the kitchen when they arrived. He saw them coming up the front walk, and met them on the porch. He took Kelly's hand, looked at her politely but closely, while Terry did the introductions. She returned his inspection, frankly appraising him.

  He said, "I think Terry's right — you're probably just what he needs."

  She smiled broadly, almost laughing. "Damned right!"

  He ushered them through the door. "I have just a little more to do in the kitchen. Terry, you know where things are. Get yourselves some drinks. I'll be right with you."

  He came in as Terry was pouring a shot of Jameson's over ice, and took them to the rear of the house, to the porch overlooking the beach. "I thought we could have our drinks out here. It's a beautiful evening."

  They sat in rocking chairs looking out over the dunes to the beach, the slate blue sea, the almost cloudless sky. There was a small breeze, just enough to stir the wind chimes but, so different from just a few days earlier, there was no bite to it.

  "I love those bamboo chimes," said Kelly. "They have a softer sound than the metal ones."

  "Yes, they're very relaxing, aren't they? A friend in Japan gave them to me."

  Terry noticed that Matt had not made a drink for himself. "We're not holding up dinner, are we?"

  "No, not at all. We'll have wine with dinner, and I intend to have something after. I'm afraid I've had to pace myself lately."

  Kelly saw the opening. "Terry said you were sick. I hope it's nothing serious."

  The way she said it was a question. He said, "Nothing that can't be handled."

  The question still hung there in the way she looked at him. He went on, "I had an operation recently — on my back. I came here to recuperate. Sometimes I get impatient and try to do too much, too quickly, that's all. Luckily, Terry was there the last time."

  "But don't you have family somewhere? Someone you could stay with?"

  "Oh, yes. I have a brother and sister. They live here . . . well, in Wilford actually. It's not as if I'm bedridden. I don't need care. Besides, I've lived alone most of my life. I'm fairly self-sufficient."

  "Yes, but . . ."

  Terry said, "You have to understand. Kelly doesn't have a family — she belongs to a tribe. I still haven't got all her brothers and sisters straight. You could populate a good-sized village with her cousins. And everyone is involved with everyone else."

  Kelly gave him what was supposed to be her mean look. "What you're saying is, there's no privacy. Oh, I'll remember that one."

  "What I'm saying is, nobody is alone, even when they want to be."

  "Well, it's better than being an only child."

  Matt broke in saying, "You're lucky to have that. I wish our family had been more like that."

  "But you have a brother and sister."

  "Yes, but we never had the closeness. It was hardly a family at all."

  No one knew quite what to say. He added, "I left home just after high school. I never saw any of them again until just last week."

  Kelly reached her hand to his arm. "How awful."

  "No, not really. All things considered, it was probably better that way. How about you? In such a large family, you must have at least one black sheep straying off."

  She smiled wickedly, took a sip of her G and T. "Now you're talking about my ex-husband."

  "I see. Not a graceful separation?"

  "Oh, it was. In fact, most of our marriage was a graceful separation. We'd gotten good at it. At least he had. The man had an endless store of excuses for being somewhere else for days at a time."

  Terry said, "Well, at least you got the beach house out of it."

  "Ah, the beach house. Now, that's a perfect example of the way the man thought. Do you know how we got that house? We were up to our ears in debt, behind in all the payments. Then his father died and left him a batch of money. Not a fortune, but enough to get us out of hock and still have some left. And I thought, 'Ah ha! We pay everything off and get out of debt.' I was being very responsible at the time — God knows, someone had to. But Charlie was never big on paying bills. To him it was a waste of good money. Anyway, he bought the beach house instead. He was going to fix it up, then resell it and make a killing. The truth is, that's what the guy who sold it to him did. Charlie paid too much, then didn't have any money left to do any fixing up. Of course, there was also the extra insurance and taxes on the place. And we were still in debt. He tried to sell it, but he couldn't even get what he'd paid."

  She finished the drink and sat turning the glass in her hand. "I don't think I was ever what Charlie wanted. Things had been bad between us for quite a while, but I think it was the house that finally did us in. He finally suggested I take it instead of alimony. I wasn't going to ask for alimony — I knew him better than that. At that point I just wanted out. But he insisted." Her voice dropped quite low, and she almost whispered, "He got rid of his two great disappointments all at once."

  Terry reached over and took her hand. "The man was obviously deranged."

  "Without a doubt," said Matt.

  She smiled a little. "Thank you both." She brightened even more, adding, "As a matter of fact, I agree."

  The conversation went on to lighter things. She asked about dinner, saying she was sorry to hear there wouldn't be any sushi.

  "Well, I wasn't sure you'd like it. Many people don't. I think it's just the idea of it being raw. They hear that word and automatically turn off."

  "But they miss the experience of trying something new. I'll have to get you-know-who to try it sometime."

  Terry said, "Hey, I've tried it."

  She looked skeptical.

  "I have!"

  "And?"

  He shrugged. "It was okay. It would have been better if they'd passed it over the fire a few times."

  "You're hopeless."

  Matt said, "We're having sukiyaki tonight. We won't tell him what's in it."

  Terry tried not to look worried. "Is it cooked?"

  "Mostly."

  "Great."

  "Speaking of which. If you're about ready?"

  They stood and started into the house. Terry noticed that Matt had stopped, was standing very still. At first he was afraid it was another of those things that had put him on his knees on the beach. Then he saw there was no pain on his face. He was looking out at the beach with a puzzled, amused expression. Terry
followed the look and saw a woman. She had passed the house and was walking north along the water's edge. She was tall and, even walking in the sand, moved with a distinctive, graceful sway. She wore calf length slacks and a loose blouse. On her head was a wide straw hat that tied under the chin so that, from this angle, it was impossible to see her face, even in profile. A pair of sandals dangled from the fingers of her left hand. She held this hand away from her side, palm outward, swinging the sandals rhythmically as she walked. A very feminine gesture. Though he couldn't have said why, Terry had the distinct impression of an attractive, sophisticated woman. Without seeing her face, he would have bet that it was close to beautiful. He glanced at Matt, who was still watching.

  "Friend of yours?"

  The answer came slowly. "Probably not. She reminds me of someone I used to know." He turned away, saying, "Dinner's waiting. Let's get to it." But as they went in, Terry saw him turn to catch a last glimpse of the woman. He had the impression that Matt would have liked to go down the steps and out to the beach, to follow that seductive figure with the swinging sandals.

  Kelly wanted to walk back along the beach. Darkness had fallen, a new moon had just begun to rise from the sea, and she had gone out on the porch to watch it. Inside, Matt stopped Terry as he was about to join her. He tried to keep it light, but there was a seriousness in his expression he couldn't hide. He started by saying, "I'm going to ask a favor. Not now, but in a few days. It's not really much, but it would mean a great deal to me."

  Terry, always cautious, asked, "What kind of favor?"

  "I'm afraid I can't tell you right now. Of course, you can always refuse. I'll understand. It's not a matter of life or death. I think you might find it fun."

  "Well sure, if there's something I can do to help."

  "There is, but there's no need to commit just yet. In the meantime . . ." He held out his hand. When Terry took it, somewhat embarrassed, he said, "Goodbye."

  "Goodbye? Are you leaving then?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so." As if it were an afterthought he added, "Some doctors want to see me again. What can I do?"

  "Well, we'll see you again, won't we?"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so somber. After all, I still have that favor to ask."

  As they walked out onto the beach, Kelly looked back. Matt was standing on the porch watching them, the light from the house making him only a silhouette. She waved and they went on down to the water's edge.

  The moon was fully clear of the horizon now, breaking through a low-lying bank of clouds. When they came opposite Kelly's house, they stopped before going in, just stood there looking. Kelly took his arm, resting her head against him. She asked, "What are you thinking about?"

  "Him."

  She had expected something better. He was full of good food, good wine, two cups of freshly ground Colombian coffee and probably more Drambuie than he needed. Standing close to him, alone with him, with the sand under their feet, the moon shining on the surf, she had definitely expected better.

  "Him? You mean Matt?"

  "Yeah. I can't figure him out. I never know what he's going to say. What do you think of him?"

  "I like him. He's a gentleman. If he were out here with me, he sure wouldn't be talking about you. But I know what you mean. He seems honest enough. So why did he lie about that operation?"

  "What made you think he was lying?"

  "Terry, you only have to look at him. He's a big-boned man with wide shoulders. He should weigh thirty pounds more than he does."

  "Yes, but if he really had an operation, something serious, wouldn't you expect that?"

  "Why? Hospital food has a bad reputation but it can't be that bad. And if he's recuperating, why doesn't he eat? All through dinner he poured wine, he told amusing stories, he listened attentively. He was the perfect host. But he didn't eat. I don't think he had three bites. He's horribly underweight, he's weak, and he doesn't eat. That's some way to recover."

  "Well, he has secrets. No law says he has to share them with us." She felt him step behind her, his arms coming around her, pulling her back to him. "How about you, lady? You have any secrets you'd like to share?"

  "Me? What secrets would I have?"

  He leaned down and kissed her neck. "Everyone should have at least one secret. I'll tell you one." He kissed her ear, then whispered into it.

  She smiled and said, "That's no secret."

  Now this, she thought, was a bit better. About damned time that moonlight kicked in.

  Terry woke in the dark, wondering what had roused him. He was usually a very sound sleeper. He lay still, listening, but could hear nothing in the house. One window in the room was open, and outside he heard the night breeze moving past the corners and eaves and beyond that, the repetitive smash and roar of the surf. Somewhere, very faintly, he caught snatches of a distant music and once, as the breeze slackened, he thought he heard a woman laughing. He decided the party across from Matt's must still be going strong.

  Sitting up, he could see the dunes. They looked misty and indistinct in the moonlight, the sea oats that crowned their ridges a shadowy blur. The breeze had turned chilly. He lay down again, snuggled against Kelly, pulling the covers over his shoulders. He wondered what was wrong with Matt. Unlike Kelly, he didn't wonder why Matt had kept it to himself. He understood that. He was simply a man who had had to depend upon himself most of his life. He would be uncomfortable telling his problems to someone else. Still, there was a problem, probably a big one, and he wondered what it was. Once, during dinner, he had seen him suddenly stiffen, holding his breath, and he had known it was the pain again. It had lasted for only a few seconds. Matt had tried to smile and relax, but it had taken a while for the paleness to leave his face.

  He also wondered about the favor. What was that all about?

  He didn't get very far with his thoughts. The soft sounds of the breeze and rhythm of the surf joined with the warmth of Kelly, and he slept.

  CHAPTER 6

  Kelly was gone by ten o'clock. She put her bag in the little blue Miata, kissed him in a way to make him remember, and roared off, leaving a silence and emptiness behind her. She had promised to be back for the weekend. Meanwhile, the place seemed suddenly deserted. Gone five minutes and he missed her.

  He knew, however, that if he was going to get anything done, it had to be that way. He was already late getting started. He had done no work at all since she arrived. He also knew he wouldn't do any the next time she came down. A season and a time for all things.

  He worked well past his usual quitting time, rewarding himself with a late lunch. He spent another hour or so going over everything he had written so far. There were parts he could feel good about, others that seemed hopeless. Reading one page would make him feel that he might actually make a go of this. Then the next would bring an inward groan — how could he write such crap? What just yesterday had seemed clever, was today only cute. Who the hell wanted to write cute? He crossed out and revised, then was unhappy with the revisions. He finally threw the whole thing on the table, picked up his jacket, and grumbled his way out to the beach. He needed the air, the sea, the change — something.

  He turned left and walked north, past the big white house with the blue roof, toward the far off pier.

  The beautiful sky of yesterday was gone, replaced by a thin overcast that allowed only a diffused brightness. It was neither a sunny day nor a truly cloudy one, as if it couldn't make up its mind. It made him nervous. He had enough indecision in his life without the weather joining in.

  He walked briskly, trying to work off the discontent that had seized him. He picked up stones and shells, flinging them back into the water, asking himself just what his problem was. Wasn't this what he wanted to do? Wasn't this why he was here? So what did he expect — that everything he wrote would be good the first time through? Didn't he think he'd have to learn, just like everyone else?

  Of course he knew. How many times had he told himself those very things? Maybe
that's part of the problem, he thought. Maybe you ought to just get on with it. And stop having these stupid conversations with yourself.

  On the way back he was less self-absorbed. This time, as he was passing Matt's place, he stopped, puzzled. Hadn't Matt said he was leaving? The door was open. Not wide open, but not closed, either. He thought back to last night, trying to remember just what Matt had said. Goodbye. And then something about seeing some doctors again. He hadn't actually said when he was going, but if it wasn't today, why the goodbye?

  On an impulse he turned and took the path through the dunes to the house. As he went up the steps, he could see through the window one corner of the desk and the brass lamp on its edge. That's odd, he thought. It was overcast, but still quite bright. When he had been in the house that first time, there had been no need for lights. But now the lamp was on.

  He knocked on the open door. "Matt, you still here?"

  There was no answer. He began to feel edgy. Maybe Kelly was right about how sick he was. He called again, louder this time, and listened. There was no sound from the house. Nothing moved. He opened the door wider and almost stepped in. He saw Matt lying on the floor, bright green eyes staring at the ceiling from a dead, contorted face. And he saw the blood. Blood on his chest, on his face, on his hands and arms. He seemed to be covered in it.

  Without thinking, he found himself at the rail of the porch, leaning and retching. His mind at that moment was as turbulent as his stomach, emotions and sights and bits of disconnected thought scrambled together. He felt cold and sweaty, and retched some more.

  When it was over he felt horrible, but his mind started functioning again. It avoided thinking of what he had seen, concentrating on what he had to do. He straightened up, hurrying around by the side porch to the street side of the house. He had to call the police, but he wouldn't go into the house again. He had decided to go back to his own place, when he saw the man in the red and white striped shirt, sitting on the porch across the street. He went across to him, almost running.