We had invited the Jorgensens to dinner, and I was glad Eddie had worn himself out swimming. After dinner and his bath, he was eager to go to sleep. Jack was taking responsibility for the meal, so I set up the dining room table and got the living room in order before they came.
They arrived with a bottle of red wine that they had brought from their mainland home. If I know little about cooking, I know less about wine, but Jack, who has been learning, was very impressed. He and Al discussed the merits of opening the bottle and “letting it breathe” while I put Jack’s great shrimp appetizer on the table. He had decided we would eat in stages, that he wouldn’t begin to grill the meat till we had finished the first course.
We ate in a leisurely fashion and talked a lot. The Jorgensens had heard that the county sheriff’s department had questioned people living all around the Buckley house, a standard procedure after a homicide. The houses were fairly close together and the police hoped that someone had seen or heard something that might lead them to a suspect. But this was Fire Island and yesterday had been Labor Day and the party was on and the ocean was warm. One neighbor had seen Ken Buckley jogging toward his house, but the neighbor had been on his way to the beach and hadn’t been wearing a watch so he couldn’t pinpoint the time.
“So it sounds as if they have nothing,” Marti said.
“No one heard a shot?” I asked.
“Doesn’t seem so.”
“I guess the killer could have been waiting in the house,” I said. “Eve Buckley said she’d been in and out all day, preparing for the party. I suppose she had to deliver the food and help set it up. Do you know if the Buckley children were on the island?”
“I think they left for college last week,” Marti said. “They were here for a while earlier in the summer and got bored. I’m afraid it’s what happens when they get to be teenagers. It isn’t fun anymore dipping in the ocean and being with your parents.”
Having spent half my adolescence in a convent, it wasn’t anything I could vouch for firsthand. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Buckleys left their door unlocked.”
“Lots of folks do,” Al said. “Especially when you’re running back and forth all day. It’s really a very safe community. Or it was until yesterday.”
We talked some more and then we went outside, where Jack’s grill was ready to go. Marti started to talk to him about his marinade and I went over to Al, who was standing facing the ocean. Off to our right sunset was ending with a trace of reds and oranges and pinks.
“You see it every day of your life and you never get tired of it,” Al said. He was a big man who smoked a cigar after dinner and enjoyed stretching out on the sand, but rarely went into the water.
“It looks better somehow over the ocean. Nothing gets in the way.”
“Marti said you wanted to talk to me. Shall we walk on the beach?”
“Let’s.”
We both took off the sandals we were wearing and left them on the deck. Marti seemed to understand what was going on and she stayed with Jack. I could hear her voice as we walked away.
“I’m interested in Ken Buckley’s murder,” I began. “Part of the reason is that I saw a girl from the Kleins’ house leaving the area with soot on her face. She was covering herself with a fireman’s turnout coat and later she denied having spoken to me.”
“So Marti said. Suspicious behavior. And a blow to your credibility.”
“Yes.”
“And you’d like to ask me what I was alluding to the other night when Marti stopped me from blabbing.”
“If you wouldn’t mind telling me.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Al said. We passed a couple walking in the opposite direction and Al exchanged hellos with them. “Buckley became involved with the daughter of a friend of mine a couple of years ago. She was old enough to do as she pleased, but her parents were pretty shaken up by it.”
“Because he was older and married and everyone in the community knew him?”
“Those are three good reasons. I don’t think they wanted him involved with her under any circumstances, even if he had been a single man, but to have a philandering fool taking up with their daughter was more than they could handle.”
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t pretty. First the inevitable happened.” He paused.
“She got pregnant,” I said.
“Not surprisingly. The summer was over by then and everyone had gone home. There was a major confrontation between my friend and Ken. I have to tell you, it took a while to set up. Ken is very adept at avoiding confrontations, especially when he’s living miles away from his accuser. He makes appointments and doesn’t show. My friend had to threaten to camp on his doorstep before Ken finally kept an appointment.”
“It sounds dreadful.”
“It was. There was never any question of Ken leaving Eve and marrying the girl. I don’t think anyone wanted that. By that time the girl wanted to be done with him. What my friend wanted was for Ken to own up and pay up.”
“And did he?”
“He owned up. And he paid a little something, not as much as they agreed to.”
“Then the girl had an abortion.”
“It was the only way.”
I didn’t argue. “And the father still carries a grudge.”
“Do you blame him?”
“I don’t. I’m just thinking about where grudges lead.”
“Not to murder, at least not in this case. My friend sold his house in Blue Harbor and moved to another town on Fire Island. He’d been planning to do it anyway and this gave him the impetus. His daughter is now happily married and it’s all behind them.”
It sounded like a neat wrapping-up of a sordid affair. “When did this happen?” I asked.
“Oh, must be four years by now. Maybe five. I haven’t kept track.”
“Do you know the Buckleys, Al?”
“I know a lot of people. We’re certainly not friends.”
“I understand that. I just wondered if you had any insight on why Eve has stayed with Ken all these years.”
“The simplest answer is, she got something from the marriage. They have two nice kids, a beautiful house somewhere, and Ken made a lot of money. Maybe those are three reasons.”
“Maybe.”
We both stopped walking at the same moment. We had left Blue Harbor and crossed into the beach of the next town. We turned away from where the sun had set and started walking back.
“There’s something else,” Al said. “I heard Eve and Ken had decided to try to turn their marriage around.”
“You mean Ken had decided.”
“And Eve agreed to work on it. There was someone he was interested in at the beginning of the summer, a young, dark-haired lawyer. Good-looking woman. There are several stories making the rounds, but the one I heard was that he told her he was going back to his wife and she left Fire Island and hasn’t been seen since.”
I didn’t think a dark-haired lawyer in her thirties could be mistaken for Tina Frisch. But before I could say anything, Al stopped and looked up at the dune. An almost invisible figure sat up there, the tip of a cigarette glowing.
“Evening, Chief,” Al called.
“Who’s that?” a familiar voice called back.
“Al Jorgensen. Walking with Chris Brooks.”
“Nice to see you. Have a good evening, folks.”
We waved and sent our greetings and then I said, “Is that Chief La Coste?”
“One and the same. He sits out there every night, smokes a cigarette—or two—and contemplates the eternal verities.”
I smiled. I had seen the glow on the dune one night last week when I took a stroll along the beach.
“We were talking about the beautiful young lawyer,” Al said.
“And that Ken had gone back to his wife. Then someone shoots him. It doesn’t sound as though his wife did it.”
“His wife? You didn’t think Eve could have done this, did you?”
“I think she’s one of many possible suspects. I’ve never come across so many people with a motive to kill one man. It doesn’t mean they all had murder in their hearts, but it wouldn’t surprise me if at least one of them did. What do you think, Al? We know Ken was shot. Who’s your favorite to be the killer?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I assumed someone had gotten off the ferry looking for an empty house to rob.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to rob a house. First you park your car in Bay Shore, then you get on a ferry, then you find the right house. And if you’re spotted, where do you go? You’re on an island.”
Al laughed. “I guess that shows why I’m in industry and not in the business of catching crooks.”
Ahead of us I could see Jack and Marti on the deck next to the grill. “I hope you’re hungry,” I said to Al. “Our main course should be just about ready.” I waved and Marti waved back. I thanked Al for telling me what he knew and then I set it all aside for the rest of the evening.
“Did he tell you the name of his friend?” Jack asked, after I had related Al’s story much later that evening.
“He didn’t give a hint. Never even used his first name. It was ‘my friend’ over and over. I’m sure we can find out, if it comes to that. He certainly had a motive, but at this point, it’s kind of weak. His daughter is happily married and she’s put this all behind her. Do you wait five years to get even?”
“Who knows what people do?” Jack said. “In my experience, the most amazing things have happened. Human nature is pretty unpredictable.”
“I think I’ll sleep on it,” I said, feeling completely done in.
“I’ll call the Blue Harbor chief cop tomorrow and see if anything’s turned up.”
“Sounds good,” I said. I was already half asleep.
The traffic pattern, if you could call it that, tended to move toward the beach most of the day and then away from it toward dinnertime. People walked in bare feet and sandals, in sneakers and rubber flip-flops, alone, in groups, in couples. Since school was starting in New York and all the suburbs, the only children walking past our kitchen window on Wednesday morning were small ones and the crowds were much thinner than the week before Labor Day.
Jack went off to talk to the officer face-to-face, rather than on the phone. When Eddie fell asleep, I wheeled him outside on the deck and took a book for myself. It was too sunny on the beach side so we sat on the side facing the street, which was west.
A few doors down across the street, I could just see the ramp to the Kleins’ house through the pines, who came and who went. There was one young man who was an early riser, often heading for the beach while we were having breakfast, a shirt covering his chest and much of his trunks. I had seen him go by earlier carrying snorkeling equipment. Now he climbed up the dune, his bare feet covered with sand, his shirt wringing wet.
“Hi,” he called.
“Good morning,” I answered. “See anything interesting under the water?”
“Some shells. Not a lot. But the water’s great. Have a good day.” He waved as he passed.
I watched him go down the street, his gear dripping. As he got to the house, a woman coming from the direction of Main Street also approached. He bounded up the ramp to the front door as she made her way more slowly. There was something familiar about her and I stood and walked to the deck railing to get a better look. She was in her forties, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt. As she turned to go up the ramp to the Kleins’ house, I recognized Eve Buckley.
I was absolutely certain she had told me she did not know Tina Frisch. It was possible she was visiting someone else in the house, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence. Perhaps she had decided to question Tina herself.
I moved my chair so I could see the ramp to the Kleins’ house without turning. No one went in or out for a long time. Then the young man I had spoken to came out and headed for the bay. That was where the food and liquor stores were. I noticed he was wearing sneakers now and had put on dry clothes. Ten minutes passed and no one entered or left the house. Then I caught sight of Jack. I waved and he waved back and picked up his pace. He came up the ramp near the kitchen door, which was near where I was sitting.
“Before you say anything,” I said, leaning over for a quick kiss and then returning to my vigil, “Eve Buckley has been inside Tina’s house for about fifteen minutes.”
“That’s interesting.”
“I want to see what happens when she comes out. I may just follow her, run into her by accident, and see if she’ll tell me what she was doing there.”
“Take the bike. You can catch up to her faster.”
“Good idea.”
Just as I said it, both Tina and Eve came down the ramp of the Kleins’ house. “There they are,” I said.
“Doesn’t look like they’re enemies.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
The two women stood talking for a minute as a bicyclist rang a warning bell and scooted by. Then they put their arms around each other and hugged.
“Even more interesting,” Jack said.
Eve then walked slowly back toward Main Street.
“You going?”
“I don’t know. What’s Tina doing? She didn’t go back in the house.”
Tina had walked around the side of the house where I could not see her. When she appeared a minute later, she had a bicycle with her.
“I’m going,” I said, and I hopped on the bike and coasted down the ramp.
Tina wasn’t going very fast. The street was wood and there were occasional people on foot that had to be dodged. For a little while I thought she might be on her way to the stores at the bay, but then she took a right turn. I was confident she had no idea she was being followed. I rarely see people on bikes looking back, and here she had no traffic to worry about. I took the same turn. She was about a block ahead of me. At the next corner, she turned left, back toward the bay. She made one last turn, this time to the right, and I began to have misgivings. I had come this way myself. I followed her, slowing down in case she stopped. When she turned up a ramp, I stopped so she would not see me if she looked back.
I started pedaling slowly down the street, pausing to check the house where her bicycle was propped up next to the door. She had gone to visit Chief La Coste.