“Be careful, Jenny, don’t fall!”
Pete Tower grabbed my arm as I stumbled. The pressure of his hand had not been enough to push me over the edge; it was my own overwrought nerves that propelled me away from that hand and too near the dropoff. I let him pull me back, to safety, my heart beating like a piston, my lungs trying to find some air.
“Gee, I’m sorry,” he said, his round face pink with embarrassment. “I thought you heard me. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Are you okay?”
“Sure, Pete. Don’t know . . . what got into . . . me.”
“I saw you walk over here,” he said, releasing me. “That’s my car over there, that station wagon. But you seemed lost in thought, and you looked kinda, well, sad, so I didn’t know whether to interrupt you.”
“That was you in the station wagon? Just you?” He nodded, as if it was perfectly normal to find him on lover’s leap by himself in the middle of the week. He said, “I was going over some of our financial records, trying to figure out what to do next.”
He seemed to find something very interesting to peer at over my shoulder in the bay. “Uh, Jenny, I’m kind of glad I ran into you like this. I want to thank you.”
I looked at him in amazement. “What for?”
“You know when you were at our house yesterday?”
“Oh, Pete, listen, I owe you both an apology.”
“No.” For once, Pete Tower looked strong, decisive. “Hear me out, Jenny. See, I overheard what you and Betty were saying, and I knew what you were talking about. Heck, Jenny, I’ve always known my wife’s a drunk.”
I didn’t know what to say. My hands hung at my sides, despite the urge I felt to pat him comfortingly. But Pete bore too much of a resemblance to a chubby rabbit who, if touched, might startle and run.
“I’ve always known, it,” he was saying, “but I never had the courage to do anything about it. But, Jenny, she tried to kill herself last night!”
“Oh, Pete.”
“It was terrible, I was so scared! She said she’d rather die than stop drinking, and she ran into the bathroom and when I followed her she’d already emptied the whole medicine cabinet in her lap. And I didn’t know what to do, Jenny! So I called that suicide center real quick to get their help. And there was the nicest young fellow, Frank Dickens. I’ll never forget him; he talked to me, and then I got her to talk to him, and well, we lived through it this time.”
“I’m so glad.” And so guilty.
“So, you see, I thought I needed her . . .” He flopped his pudgy hands helplessly at his sides. “But she’s the one who needs me, Jenny.”
“I think so, too.”
“So she’s going to go to one of those places where you dry out, just as soon as I can get her into it. I want her to be well again, like she was when we were young.”
“I know you do.”
“And so, well, thank you.”
“Pete, please. You heard me, you know I didn’t confront her out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t deserve for you to he so nice to me.”
“We’ve all got our problems, Jenny.” He looked at me so sympathetically, I felt teary. “Listen, I’m sorry about them kicking you off the committee. I told Betty, I said, we better think this through., it’s not Jenny’s fault that her dad . . .”
“Thank you. But I doubt that Betty will . . .”
“Betty will do what I tell her to do,” her husband said sturdily, and then he grinned sheepishly, “At least until she’s well enough to talk back to me. If we’re lucky, maybe this time next year, everything will be okay with us again.”
“What about the café, Pete?” I gestured toward the bay.
“Oh that,” he said dismissively. “That’s why I was up here today. Couldn’t think about this at El Biggo Taco; couldn’t work on it at home because it would make Betty feel bad. So I came up here to kind of, well, look over the lay of the land. See, Betty’s always been the one who wanted that French café. Me, I’m happy selling tacos.” He looked down at his black suit and starched white shirt as if aware of how ridiculous he looked. Those outfits, I thought, must be Betty’s idea. Pete was saying. “But the taco stands pretty much run themselves these days, you know, and I was starting to spend more time at home with Betty . . .”
“I see.” Finally, I understood Betty’s desperation to keep that café perking right along. She wanted to keep her husband busy on the other side of town, away from her secret.
“Yeah,” he was saying, “thought I’d come up here and try to get a handle on what to do with that property, without running into Goose or anybody who’d start asking questions.” The glance he threw his prime piece of real estate on the bay was not in the least wistful. He looked back at me, with unexpectedly shrewd eyes. “I don’t expect I’ll have any trouble finding me a buyer, do you?”
“I don’t expect so.”
“I’ll put Ted on it tomorrow.”
“Pete, it’s none of my business, but what was Betty doing up here the night she was arrested on that DWI?”
His open face clouded. “Didn’t you notice, Jenny? There’s a liquor store right there where you turn off the highway. I guess she’s been coming up here for years, so nobody would see her at the stores out in our neighborhood.”
“I suppose she’d come on down here and park and have a drink or two?”
“Betty?” He looked shocked. “She wouldn’t park here without me! We have some mighty nice memories of this place, from when we were in high school together.” He realized the implications of Ms words, turned red, then grinned. Bravely, he said, “Was it still a lovers’ lane when you were in school?”
“Yes, but that only lasted another couple of years after I graduated. I guess this place hit its peak in popularity a few years before my time. Then Lobster really began to let it go to seed.”
“Sad,” Pete said lugubriously. He would have felt a good deal happier had he known that his words went a long way toward reassuring me that his wife was not Lobster’s spied-upon party. Even if the old man had fixed his telescope upon Betty, it was unlikely he would have been able to identify her.
“I hope happier days are ahead,” I said then, “for both of you.”
“You’re a nice girl, Jenny.” He said it so kindly, I overlooked the chauvinism, “I hope, well, that things work out okay for you, even if your father did . . .”
“My father didn’t.”
“Okay. Well, thanks again.” Pete smiled nervously, then made his escape with a wave of one pudgy hand. “See you!”
“Good-bye,” I said gently, and then I thought of something. “Pete!”
He stopped and looked back at me.
“What was the name of that young man at the suicide center who helped you last night?”
“Frank Dickens. Never forget that name.”
“But I thought they never gave out their last names. How’d you know his?”
“Oh, I asked for him special,” Pete told me. “I know somebody else who called the suicide center one time. I remembered . . . that person . . . talking about how great they are, and I called . . . that person . . . to find out who . . . that person . . . talked to.”
“Really? Who is that person?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say, Jenny. I mean, it’s private.”
“I wouldn’t ask,” I lied, “but I have a cousin who needs help like that, and I’d feel better about recommending Frank Dickens if I knew somebody else he’d helped. If I guess a name, would you shake your head, or nod?”
“Well, I guess that would be okay.”
I guessed a name. He nodded.
“Suicidal,” I said. “And just happened to tell you about it?”
“Yes, you know we’re not close friends, really, but I guess there was a need to tell somebody. It’s tough, you know, and maybe there was a sense that I’d understand.”
“Yes, well, I’ll have my cousin call Frank Dickens.” The same cousin who was thinking of bidding for majority ownership of the First.
I watched Pete pull away in his red station wagon. He waved as he rounded the cul-de-sac, and I continued to watch until his brake lights flared at the corner by the liquor store. Then I returned to my own car.
Time to call Jack Fenton.
The banker came on the line immediately.
“Jennifer.” His voice was old and cold with shock and sadness but he didn’t waste time indulging his feelings. “I have obtained, basically, the information you need. I don’t know if it’s sufficient to warrant an arrest—your detective friend will have to make that determination—but I do know it’s highly suggestive.” He paused. “Oh my.”
“I know, Jack.”
“Well.” He forced himself to be brisk. “We have a checking account in . . . that name, but it has been inactive since the second week of February, two years back.”
“Has anyone inquired about it?”
“Who?”
“The person you would expect to ask about it. I am loath to use the name over this phone, Jennifer, I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes. What was . . . that person . . . told at that time?”
“That most of the funds in the account had been drawn out earlier in the week, and there was no further activity.”
“Have there been subsequent inquiries?”
“Yes, from the same person.”
“And?”
“Evidently, our people have reported no activity.”
“What about the trust?”
“Well,” Jack said, “you were right, of course, there certainly is a trust fund, but we don’t have it. You were also right to assume that I might know where it’s held. I do. It’s in Delaware, and it’s a large one, worth quite a lot of money.”
“It would have to be.”
“Yes,” he said sadly. “So it would.”
“Did you find out anything more about it, Jack?”
“Yes. I phoned an acquaintance of mine in that trust department and I asked a few questions. I’m sorry to report that every answer seemed to lead to other questions.”
“Yes. And?”
“The trust still exists, of course, and it’s still paying out regularly to the same person. But the trust received instructions some time ago . . .”
“Excuse me. When?”
“In March of that year.”
“Yes, it would be March.”
“The trust received instructions to deposit the quarterly checks directly into an account at a bank in Atlanta.”
“This can all be done through the mail, Jack?”
“If the signatures are right, yes.”
“I see.”
“Wait, I’m not through. Once I had that information, Jennifer, I took it one step further and called that Atlanta bank. After all these years, I do have a few contacts across the country. I know more bankers than anybody in his right mind would ever care to know in a lifetime.” He laughed shortly, then coughed. “At any rate, I asked, my friend . . . uh, the president . . . to simply check the account to see if any withdrawals had been made since it was opened.”
“And they have not,” I guessed. “Only deposits.”
“Correct. It’s an interest-bearing money market account, by the way, with check-writing privileges that have never been used.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so. If the checks from the trust were deposited in this bank, eventually we would notice that no checks were being written on the account. Considering the, uh, circumstances, someone here would most likely call it to my attention, and then the fat would be in the fire. So it had to be another bank, another city.”
“Isn’t the Atlanta bank curious?”
“Not at all. The account is being used, you see, if only for deposits, and they merely assume it’s being used as an investment rather than for check-writing purposes.”
“One last question: has anybody besides you asked that trust department in Delaware about the activity of the trust?”
“Oh yes, but they don’t personally know the people involved, so they won’t give out that information. And, when they received the instructions about where to deposit the checks, they also received strict instructions about maintaining the confidentiality of the account.”
“Well,” I said.
“Jennifer, you know that all of this could be interpreted in a perfectly innocent manner?”
“Yes. That is the intention. It’s meant to look innocent. But we don’t believe that, do we, Jack?”
“No,” he said reluctantly, “we are not so naive.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
“These are errands I would rather not have run.”
“Would you rather it were never discovered?”
“No!” His voice instantly repined its vigor. “We are dealing with something despicable here and it must be brought to a stop. What will you do with this information, Jenny?”
“Take it to the police.”
“Still, there’s the question of the body.”
“Oh,” I said grimly, “I have an answer to that, as well.”
“Oh my.” Clearly, he was distressed. “Oh my. How is your father, dear?”
“All right, I hope.”
“Good. Well, good luck, my dear.”
“Bye, Jack.”
I put down the phone long enough to look up another number. Thanks to Pete Tower and Jack Fenton, I now had enough ammunition to fire the final, fatal round.
“Hello?” said a familiar voice. How could a killer—one who had tried again only the night before—carry on with daily life so casually, so confidently?
“Hi, it’s Jenny Cain.”
“Jenny?” There was unmistakable shock in the voice, but it was quickly converted into hearty surprise. “Jenny! What can I do for you?”
“There’s something I think the committee—and you in particular—ought to know, and since I’m no longer a member, I thought I’d pass the information along to you.”
“That’s decent of you. What’s up?”
“Do you know the Towers are not going through with their café at the harbor?”
“No. No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I just heard about it from Pete today. You haven’t seen him today, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, he told me they’re canceling all construction . . .”
“What!”
“And they’re draining the pound, dumping the architectural plans and putting the whole thing on the market.”
“You’re kidding! When are they going to do all this?”
“All I know is they’re going to raise the gate on the pound tomorrow and let it drain so it will be ready for dredging; and they left orders for Goose to stop construction today.”
“Why, Jenny? Why are they doing this?”
“I wish I knew. But I think the committee ought to know because of the importance that each element of the project has to the whole.”
There was a bitter laugh. “Where have I heard that before? Well, maybe I’ll give Pete a call, see if he won’t slow things down until we get a better idea of what’s going on.”
“I think you’re too late,” I said quickly. “They were leaving town right after I saw Pete. He left all his instructions with his secretary; she’s supposed to be making the calls today to bring everything to a complete standstill. Except the draining and dredging, of course.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. I waited, my heart beating in my ears. “I think they must have gone crazy. Well, we’ll just have to wait until they get back, I guess. But thanks, Jenny, I’ll be sure to pass this on to the others. How’s your father?”
“How kind of you to ask.” I fought to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “To tell you the truth, I had a little accident last night that prevented me from seeing him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you all right?”
Yes, you son of a bitch. “Yes, I’m fine. No damage.”
“Good. I guess your father is keeping away from Liberty Harbor these days, huh?”
Why the emphasis on my father? “Yes.”
“You know, the vigilantes have disbanded, now that he is, uh . . . although I’ll tell you there’s been some talk of calling them out again, since he is, so to speak, on the loose.”
You capital-B Bastard. “Oh?” I said.
“But right now, there aren’t any guards at the harbor at all. Do you know if the police are watching the place?”
Ah-ha. “No, they are not.”
“Not?”
“Not.”
“Well, thanks again, Jenny. God bless, and all that.”
“Nice talking to you.” Go to hell, and all that.
I hung up, gently. Then I placed two more quick calls to ask two big favors. Then I called the police station, but Geof still wasn’t in.
“This is Jenny Cain,” I said. “Has there been any word about my father?”
“Let me check.” There was a murmur of voices, then, “No, I guess not, sorry. Any message for Detective Bushfield?”
This time, I left explicit instructions as to where Geof could find me, and when, and why.
Then I walked down the street to The Buoy for a crab sandwich and a beer. I didn’t have to wait long for Geof to show up. At the table for two that I’d taken at the rear of the restaurant, he listened to me for fifteen minutes, questioned me for half an hour, listened for another five minutes, then argued with me for an hour.
Finally, he stood and looked down at me.
“All right.” His face was lined with fatigue and worry. “You’re right. We’ll do it your way.”
I reached for his hand. In that noisy, bustling place, we were immobile for a long moment, holding onto each other.
Then he left. I ordered a cup of coffee and settled in for a long wait until dark.