Chapter Nine

Wendell and Teddy

Wendell was stowed away nicely now in a pile of supplies and white life jackets. He’d wriggled himself down deep as he could and had slept pretty well, he thought. When Teddy’d come on board, the small boy had jumped with nerves, then burrowed in fearfully and pulled the tarpaulin over his head before Teddy could see him. He would wait here as long as it took. He had all his supplies in his backpack. He knew it was Teddy who was writing those letters. He knew because he’d seen him take the letter paper from Mama’s nice desk. He put his ear against the soft cork and he tried to be comfortable, thinking of everything nice, put his thumb in his mouth, and rocked back and forth with the tide. There was an old man from the west. He wore a pale plum-colored vest …

Teddy sheeted the mainsail to get the boat moving. He wanted to be out of there and back before the winner’s celebration. The Dream Boat skimmed westerly toward Duffy’s Point—away from the regatta, away from the gullible.

He’d get rid of everything implicating him, just weigh it all down and dump it, then slip back into Twillyweed and retrieve the jewels that were rightfully his. Well, they were! Son of the eldest son. If that fat fucking thief Patsy Mooney hadn’t come across his hoard, things would have run along so smoothly. Ah, well. It was her own damned fault. Served her right, the bitch. He sniffed the air. Good wind. He smiled. The ex-husband had been a gift. Handy that Patsy was always moaning and groaning to him about how he’d hit her. Getting him to come to Sea Cliff had been a cinch. The timing was perfect. He’d been cutting it close, but it had all worked out. Served her right for making off with his stash. Nosy, fat bitch. It hadn’t bothered him a bit to put an end to her. He’d enjoyed it. Almost as much as he’d enjoyed getting rid of Noola. Teddy chuckled. Served her right, too, the old ninny, stupidly announcing there was a priceless lunar volvelle unrecognized for what it was down in that shabby rectory in Queens and no one to care for it! Lucky he’d been there at Noola’s with Daniel, delivering Paige’s care basket, when she’d come across that German priest’s obituary. What an old fool she’d been to think he’d trot right off to do her bidding so Morgan could see it safely wedged onto some museum shelf—never imagining it would appeal to the likes of him. But, no, she’d thought only her precious son, Morgan, would be smart enough to know what to do with a treasure of that magnitude. In her astonishment, she’d spoken too soon. Old fool. Still, he remembered the look of worry and realization that had sprung to her eyes when she realized what she’d said—and to whom she’d said it. She’d always been suspicious of him. All his life. Janet’s son, he’d heard her murmur once. Like she’d had a bad taste in her mouth. Her skepticism had been like a wall of disapproval he could never get past. Well, he’d gotten past it now, hadn’t he? He’d given her a real bad taste. Slipping the pills into her tea was so simple, so quick—even she hadn’t suspected he’d think of it.

And now, all he had to do was get rid of the remains of all his mischief, wait till the rest of them were at the race and then go in and walk off with what was, after all, rightfully his; he bobbed his head this way and that and his lips moved as he mused silently to himself. Then to hide it … where? Where should he hide it? Somewhere right under their noses, like the basement freezer. No, Mr. Piet might just happen to look there. He’d think of something. Wait till they found it missing! He could hardly wait to see their faces. He would stand there with them, pretending to share their outrage. They’d underestimated him for the last time. Not one of them would even think to suspect him. They were all too stupid.

Teddy smiled dreamily at the helm, relaxed and handsome. He laughed out loud and the laugh caught up in the wind, abandoned and hollow. Atop the hatch, in a lean holding cubby, a pair of fresh dove gray gloves rested neatly one on top of the other, palms down, all set to go.

Claire

It was now or never. I reached up and touched Morgan’s cheek, “Answer me this. Are you planning to marry Paige?”

He flinched. At last he said, “I’m waiting for her to tell me she wants out. It can’t be me who breaks the engagement. She’ll feel like I’m ruining her life. No, it has to be from her.”

So that was it. How very noble. I stood. “Fine.” I flung my hair mutinously over my shoulder. “Let me know when she’s done captivating you.”

I scrambled over the cockpit, but he got up and grabbed hold of me. He bent me backward and kissed me right there in the bright of day, holding my arms in his hands to keep me from falling. When he stopped kissing me, my head fell back and he looked down at me, saying, venomously, “Do you like it?”

My head lolled.

He squinted hard at me. “Aye. There’s your answer. Because you’re straight. Didn’t you ever notice that Paige—Don’t you get it? She’s not.”

“What?” I tried to stand and he set me on my feet again.

“She’s not straight, Paige. She’s gay. Paige is a lesbian.”

“What?”

He took a piece of my flying hair and locked it behind my ear. “Look. I wouldn’t ordinarily betray a confidence, but you have a right to know. Remember when Jenny Rose saved Radiance in the water? Well, Paige had just told her she’d decided to marry me. You know how Paige is; she thought if she did, she could save her brother, save Daniel, save Twillyweed. She was trying to do the right thing. But for all the wrong reasons. She’d told Radiance down at the dock because she knew she’d make a great fuss. She’s so emotional, Radiance. Melodramatic. And Paige told her very gently. But Radiance bolted off in a mad fit and took out the boat.

“But you gave her a ring—”

“The ring was her grandmother’s. She weaseled her way into that one and, God knows, I couldn’t humiliate her.” He looked past me. “The truth is she only ever loved Radiance. They love each other. And Radiance—she’s such an idiot—after she went out to sea, she jumped overboard! Don’t ask me why. To punish Paige, for all I know. Oh, maybe she made some halfhearted attempt to kill herself. Maybe she did. Although I can’t imagine why. More likely fury—and spite, knowing her. And then found herself in over her head.”

I stood there, a dodo. This could not be happening again. It was so absurd. It had to be true. “So”—I bit the bullet—“you’d go ahead with this marriage? Out of guilt?”

“She’ll dump me.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Ach, Radiance is twenty-one now. Paige is not a bad girl. She’ll come around on her own. She’s afraid—Paige is—afraid to admit who she is. But passion is stronger than propriety. She’ll come around.”

We neared the dock. Different people floated by and waved and Morgan waved back. I wasn’t as convinced as he seemed to be. Paige was as mercenary a female as I’d ever met. But he was cheerful again. He smiled and chose a hard peach and ate it as he leaned his head backward and let out a laugh. There was the buzz of activity and the readying for the finish. It looked like Seawanhaka was going to come in first from the tumult and celebration and cries of the onlookers. I spotted Jenny Rose, Mr. Piet, Radiance, and Paige all running toward the dock at once. I cleat hitched the line for Morgan and while he tied her up, I jumped to the dock and made my way through the throng toward the marina. It was strewn with tipsy partygoers and I had to zigzag through. I waved.

Paige called out, “Is Wendell with you?”

“No.”

“He climbed out the window.” She leaned against the tiers of piled canoes to catch her breath and gasped, “We can’t find him.”

Jenny Rose wailed, “Oh, my God! I wasn’t watching him! It’s my fault!” She fell against me.

Then Radiance, in front of everyone, turned around and grabbed Mr. Piet’s shoulder and flung him around to face her. “Non! C’est ta faute!” she cried. “It’s your fault! This is all your fault!”

“It’s not,” he said, grasping his chest.

“Oh, mon Dieu, it’s enough! Just admit it! I know you’re a thief! I found those moonstones in your room. I even put them in Jenny Rose’s pocket to save you from blame!”

“But why would you do such a thing?” He pulled himself free.

“Because I didn’t want you to go to jail again. But I’m finished protecting you! Tu comprends? Stealing is one thing … but murder!” She reared onto a piling and sank to the floor, sobbing. “I’m finished!”

“Radiance!” He fell to his knees “Believe me. I had nothing to do with any stones. I swear to you. On my mother’s grave, I swear to you!”

“Yes, you did! Teddy saw you. He saw you at Noola’s just before she died. He warned me.” Her shoulders slumped. “I only wanted to help you, Papa, but I can’t take it anymore!”

Mr. Piet took hold of her. “Teddy told you? And you believed him, chérie? You thought I would kill? Why would I kill Noola?”

Radiance looked at all of us. “For the jewels. For the money. Teddy even gave me the stones so I knew he wasn’t lying! He said—”

He put his arm around her. “But I don’t care about the money. I care about you! Why would Teddy tell you such a thing?”

I tried to think. The sun beat down and there was noise all around. Teddy. He would have been a child at Guardian Angel about the time of the abuse …

An older fellow who’d been canning bait came toward us. “That your little boy took off on the Dream Boat? That little guy wasn’t wearing no life vest! I yelled to the captain, but he paid me no mind.”

Jenny Rose lamented, “Wendell never trusted Teddy. He would never go off with him!”

The boy selling soft drinks on the dock piped up, “That was the Dream Boat just took off, all right!”

“He’d never go with him!” Jenny Rose protested.

Paige cried out and Mr. Piet took her hand. Jenny Rose, pale and frantic, came up behind them.

“Stay calm,” Jenny Rose said, trying to steady Paige. “I’m sure they’re just out for a sail.”

“Where would they go?” I asked.

“Anywhere, could be.” The old salt scratched his stubbled chin. The man’s wife came up behind him, a beautiful old blonde with skin loose and crumpled as an elephant’s hide. “That kid had no one watching him! They went west,” she said, pointing, “just around the point. Around Duffy’s Point. I seen ’em.”

Mr. Piet moved fast. He got up and ran down the dock to stop Morgan dropping anchor. He moved like an athlete, his small legs carrying his broad shoulders in a whiz of movement.

I ran after him.

“Be careful over there past buoy two!” the old man called. “That current’s mean!”

Mr. Piet jumped on board and as they pulled off so did I. If anything happened to Wendell, I’d take my share of blame. I was horrified to think how unfairly I’d judged Glinty—and to realize my prejudices were as conventional as my parents’. I hadn’t even thought yet of what might happen next, what danger Wendell might be in. I thought we’d just sail out and stop them. If I’d only known what would happen next … But Wendell was out there and we had to bring him back. I figured Morgan was reliving Daniel’s accident all those years ago. He’d rather die than let anything like that happen again. I shrugged into a life vest and the men rigged the jib and mainsail. We sailed out into the busy harbor and headed west, just as a fleet from Hempstead Yacht Club was making its way in. He was going too fast, too rash.

I shut my eyes, certain we would collide, but at the helm, Morgan maneuvered us through and we broke free, the sailors’ outraged curses cracking across the wind. The sun shone, blinding me as we flew across the water. I was so scared I didn’t realize the cold. We’d left Sea Cliff far behind. At last Morgan pulled around. “I’ve lost them!”

“We must have gone past them,” Mr. Piet shouted, scanning the shore.

“They can’t have gone in there. It’s a sink bog. Tide’s too low!” Morgan cried.

“There’s that old loading dock in there behind those weeping willows. He could be there.”

“No way. That place is condemned. Anyway, it’s way too shallow!” But we couldn’t see where else they could have gone.

“He’ll run her aground!” Mr. Piet raged. “I’ll kill him!”

“He can’t be there,” Morgan protested again. “It’s been locked up for years.”

Mr. Piet was peeling off his sweatshirt. “He shows the real estate, doesn’t he? He’ll have keys.”

Then, off in the dense grove of willow, practically hidden, something red moved. Silently, we watched, trying to make it out. There were the cheers off in the distance from the marina, but the slosh of the tide and the hurling wind was the only near sound. The red figure moved again.

“It’s Wendell,” I said, recognizing his jacket.

Morgan looked through binoculars. “It’s him all right, and it’s Teddy. He’s carrying Wendell.”

Mr. Piet reached down and took off his shoes.

“Take care,” Morgan warned, “that spot has been sinking for years. It’s shallow and if you step down, it’ll suck you up like quicksand.”

Before I knew what was happening, Mr. Piet dove soundlessly into the water and the back of his head appeared in there near the weeping willow.

“Stay here!” Morgan flung off his shoes and his shirt not a moment behind him. Within seconds he, too, swam through the shallow green water. “You can’t leave me here on my own!” I cried out to no one. Trembling, I tugged off my shoes, vest, and sweater and belly-flopped in. The water stung. Disoriented, I came to the surface. The wind was horrific and I lowered back in, dog-paddling toward land. It seemed to take forever. My legs, still dressed, were heavy and sluggish. Finally close, I stepped frantically for land and my foot sunk in muck to my knee. Remembering Morgan’s warning, I floundered with horror and fright and yanked myself out, trying to float and paddle my way in now without touching bottom, and without touching the cold air.

Teddy had slipped the boat into a tunnel of shade, camouflaged by draping willow. Where was he? And where were Morgan and Mr. Piet? They had to be in that hollowed lament of a building, the place half sunk in ruin. Skeletons of rusted girders squared off three floors of empty rooms that the wind gored through. condemned, its peeling signs warned. Backwater trees grew every which way from the moldy openings, its gates and rusty edges jagged. There was nothing but saplings and rubbish, rubber tires flung here and there. I climbed onto a pontoon of dry rotted plank and held on to a piling, then managed to get up on a cement aqueduct. I crept with tentative footfalls, edging along the side of a deep green pond. Chartreuse scum furred the top.

The wind died down, and it was quiet except for a profusion of birdsong. On another occasion, the remote beauty would have struck me. A duck had its head down, fishing underwater. But the duck stayed down, squirming, its tail wriggling in distress. It wasn’t fishing. I realized a turtle must be under the scum, pulling it down. I tried not to look, waiting until the duck was gone. It took so long. My heart beat fiercely. Where had Morgan and Mr. Piet gone? I couldn’t see them. Idiotically, I took out my phone. Of course it was soaked. I threw it at the turtle. And then I saw it. A heavy gate, camouflaged with branches, had been moved aside, and a gray cellar door gaped partway open.

I picked up a large stone and edged toward it, lifting the door the rest of the way open. It was dark down there. I sure as hell wasn’t going down those broken stairs. No way.

I hesitated. Why didn’t they call out? What had happened? The wet oozed up my socks and into my legs. The wind took up again in a frenzy, but the sun shone confidently and I was staying out here with it. On the landing a plastic bag of recent takeout was riddled with ants. I spotted something blue on the ground and bent toward it. A wet knapsack. It was Wendell’s. So now I knew I had to go in. I picked it up and fumbled through it. Cupcakes. A juice box. A flashlight. I put the flashlight in my pocket and made sure the door wouldn’t blow shut by pushing it all the way open. Shivering wildly, I moved down the steps. They continued down an old stairwell until all light was gone. I held my stone with two hands, edging down, trying not to slip. But the wooden structure was corrupted and weakened, and I didn’t trust the walls; pieces of it had already crumbled and fallen away.

Suddenly I heard a distant shout and something crashed and unloosed down in front of me, whacking out a terrible mushroom of dirt and dust. Someone must have fallen through the ceiling. I struggled to see around me. It looked like it once was a parking garage. I could barely make out a series of orange extension cords snaking down the steps and I followed them. I was belowground now. I continued down the stairs, reaching carefully to avoid some broken steps. There was the terrible smell of mildew.

Suddenly the wind rose up with a howl and blew the cellar door shut. I was trapped in darkness!

That was when I realized how wrong I’d been about Teddy. This was a hiding place. My throat closed and I feared for my life. How would we ever get out of here? Oh, God, I realized in panic, I’d never thought to drop the anchor. The Gnomon would have drifted to who knew where by now!

And then I caught a glimpse of light moving in front of me in the darkness. Someone was up ahead. I hesitated and turned to go back up to the door. Hearing a far-off voice, I stayed still. It was loud enough that I could make out every word.

“Wendell, Wendell,” Teddy was reprimanding, “did you hear that? You made me forget to close the door!” I could hear the exasperation in his voice. “The wind will blow us all to pieces! You never should have come along. Now what am I going to do with you?”

I pressed close against the wall on the landing, shielding myself with my arms—and a cold, wet hand fell on my head with a thunk. I would have screamed had fear not turned me to salt. I slid my hand in my pocket and took out the flashlight. Trembling, I turned it on and light shone onto Mr. Piet’s limp body, pressed, eyes closed, against the wall above me. He hung there as though he were hooked onto the wall. I got so scared the flashlight jumped out of my hands—cracking on the cement floor—and fell down the stairwell, down, down, making clanking noises all the way. I froze in pitch-black darkness.

There was a scuffling sound. Then Teddy’s chilling voice, “Who is it? Who’s there?”

Teddy’s limping footsteps came softly toward me, ascending in the dark, and I knew that Morgan had to be wounded. He’d never let Teddy carry Wendell off. … And where was he, hoisted against the wall like Mr. Piet or lying knocked out on the ground? If I moved, would I trip on him? I could hear Teddy coming slowly toward me, feeling his way step by step. I didn’t know which way to go. Every cell of my body wanted to rush in the opposite direction, but if I stayed pressed against the wall, he might not find me. I stayed put, locked in terror. Again his slow steps and dragging leg, the spine-chilling sound of his confidential, coddling voice drawing near, “I’m just going to have to put you in the closet now, because I have some things to do. The windstorm is tearing everything down. You understand that, don’t you, Wendell?”

I heard Wendell whimper.

And then, as if it pleased him, Teddy added in a tone of malevolence, “Time won’t keep you in there long.”

The hairs on my neck stood. I couldn’t let him close that door to the world up there. I had to get out.

And as he came closer his voice continued, ever so gentle, “It’s your fault I have to put you in there, you know” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Wendell answered with a stifled sob.

It came to me that Teddy didn’t know Mr. Piet and Morgan were here somewhere. Mr. Piet must have fallen when the steps above collapsed and landed like that, knocked unconscious. But where was Morgan? I could just make out a moving form. Teddy had Wendell in his arms like groceries. And then he muttered distractedly, “You never should have followed me, Wendell. You put me in a very difficult position. You know that, now, hmm? But you see I have my gloves. So it won’t be me who’s taking care of you, but the nice soft gloves, all right? You’re always such a good little boy.”

“All right,” the little boy answered, trying to buy Teddy’s goodwill with polite behavior.

My heart beat loud enough to hear. I thought I heard Teddy going away in the other direction and I felt a moment’s relief, but just then he yanked a chain and light from a stark bulb blared, revealing me.

We saw each other.

“Claire!” Teddy exclaimed in utter surprise. The jig was up. The blacks of his eyes became tight pins and I sensed a wolflike fury. “You know,” he said smoothly, without missing a beat, “I had the chance to get rid of you the other night.”

It struck me that he wore gloves.

I answered. “No, you were put off by my dog.”

We remained like that, in a face-off. Just then, a shrill sound pierced the murky corridor. It was Wendell, blowing like mad on a whistle, and it stunned Teddy for a moment. And at just that moment, out of nowhere, Morgan landed between us. He was wounded and blood trickled from his ear, but he grabbed Teddy. Wendell fell to the ground between them. Teddy, foiled, fought back. They struggled. I tried to get close enough to hit Teddy with the rock but they moved skittishly, twisting one way and then the other. I dragged Wendell out of the way by his paltry arm. To my horror, Teddy had Morgan in a headlock and was strangling him. Morgan couldn’t get loose of him.

I left Wendell huddled against the wall and crept up behind them. With all my might I clomped Teddy on the head with my rock. He fell forward and slumped to the ground. “Oh, my God, I killed him!” I cried.

“Don’t worry about him,” Morgan groaned. “Help Mr. Piet!”

We three scrambled together up the stairs to Mr. Piet and lifted him. Part of the wall came down with him and my right hand holding his back came away warm and wet. “Blood!” I cried. Morgan tore off his sweatshirt, ripped it in half with his teeth, wincing with pain as he did. He propped Mr. Piet’s body against me so he could wrap a tight tourniquet around his torso. Mr. Piet wasn’t big, but he was dense and heavy.

“Hold this here, Wendell,” Morgan instructed. Wendell, gritting his lips, pressed with all his might. Morgan brushed away as much dirt as he could and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” Morgan said and he fell back, hurt. It was his shoulder, dislocated. “We fell through the floor.” He groaned in pain. “The steps gave way.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Teddy sit up. He struggled to his feet, swayed, and suddenly he darted past us up the stairs. It all happened so fast.

Straining under Mr. Piet’s weight, I shrieked, “God help us, he’ll reach the top! He’ll lock us in, Morgan! We’ll never get out!”

Morgan struggled to get up then faltered and seemed about to faint. I floundered with Mr. Piet’s slumped form, most of him on top of me.

Teddy heaved open the cellar door and stood up at the top of the steps, menacing, the sun behind him, turning him into a hunched silhouette looking down at us.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Morgan gasped, fighting to stay conscious. “I’ll get you.”

“Not this time, Morgan,” Teddy sneered. He laughed. “You know they’ll never find you here.” He struggled to take hold of the storm cellar door and lower it over us. He hovered it there between open and shut, life and death, dangling it like a tease.

Morgan lunged upward but fell short, the effort causing him to writhe with pain. He staggered backward as though he’d been punched and collapsed, unconscious, all the way down what was left of the staircase. I tried to get out from under Mr. Piet.

Just then, from behind Teddy, a raised form—obliterated by the midday sun—silently came upon him, lifting him into the air and casting him down over the ledge and into the pond.

All was still. I’d struggled out from under Mr. Piet’s dead weight and lay on the stairs, gasping for breath. I could hear Wendell’s little throat rasping. I got up on all fours and then stood and made my way across the landing to Morgan. I stopped when I saw an open door. It was an office, or what used to be an office. There was electricity—a terrible smell … there was—I’ll never forget it—a preacher’s lectern, and on the face of it, a pair of gloves.

And then I saw it: the festering body of a half-naked girl in rubber snow boots on a futon. It was wrapped in a haggle of blankets on a plastic sheet. Her dead eyes were open as though she were watching us, her lifeless body chained by one foot to the wall. I tasted Mr. Piet’s blood on my hand as it met my shocked mouth. But no, oh, no. There on the welted mattress lay the body of Annabel Cupsand. The phosphorescent shimmer from the walls wobbled her greenish flesh. The protruding eyes blinked. Wait. Did they blink? I was sure they blinked. I moved closer. A scrawny hand reached out, stilted and grappling. Could it be she was alive?

“Mama!” Wendell screeched from behind me. “Mama!”

I couldn’t bear for him to see and I grabbed at him. But he broke free of me and ran and fell, tumbling, then got up and clung, weeping, to her.

I never thought I’d see Annabel Cupsand alive. Never. And now here she was, bound in shock, her long, frizzy red hair in filthy tangles, her white skin mottled.

“Go outside.” Morgan’s voice came from behind me. “Take the whistle. Flag someone down. Find a cell phone and call 911. Tell them we need three ambulances.”

I got to my feet and, shivering with more than cold, followed the wall and climbed up the crumbling stairs, my shoeless, mucky feet stepping gingerly over Mr. Piet’s unconscious body. I went on my knees, crabbing like an animal as fast as I could, avoiding the treacherous holes, reaching for the daylight, grasping hold of the heavy door. I thrust it all the way back so it could never close us in; the sound of Wendell’s voice echoed up from the damp behind me. That was all I could hear, little Wendell’s wailing “Mama! Mama!” through the shattered chambers like hurry-up dice rolling a long shot, insistent with hope.

Outside, I stood on the ledge and saw Teddy’s fallen cell phone at my feet. I stared at it. I picked it up. I punched in 911. The blinding sun was in my eyes. I looked down and squinted and saw a human shape there in the green muck of the pool. It was Teddy, sucked in and still, only half of his body sticking out. Speechless, I held the yammering voice of the operator in my hand.

A marigold dinghy was rowing out past the willow and heading toward Sea Cliff. I saw a slim back and a length of long yellow hair.

When they said the place was condemned, they weren’t kidding. There were so many police and firefighters at the scene within half an hour that it started to come down on itself and they had to pull half of them out. Then some avid news reporter made a jump from the loading dock to the factory grounds and missed and they had to waste time jimmying him out. It was a mess. You have to give it to those Coast Guard medics; they really know what they’re doing. Wendell stayed with me while the medical helicopter flew Annabel Cupsand and Mr. Piet off to the hospital, then a lady officer took Wendell with her in the police boat. They hoisted Teddy out. I was standing there waiting in an aluminum blanket. He was caked with mud, but as they brought him up, the green muck slipped away and one of his wide-open eyes looked directly into mine. Ice went through me, right through me. He would have let us stay down there in that dungeon. He would have left us there to die.

They started to load him onto a stretcher but then they lowered him into a body bag instead. The police helicopter was coming for him. I was still soaked and went to be close to Morgan, who had turned his back on the pool and Teddy’s exhumation—he told me later he didn’t go over to look at him because of no other reason than that he was Daniel’s son. He felt like he owed Daniel that.

I didn’t mention the dinghy. Let them all think the bastard had fallen. The sound of the chopper came close like a scene out of Afghanistan, curling and beating the wind.