Tidal Kin Page 4

  A second beer eased her into a review of her due diligence subfile where all the transaction background documents were kept. She was horrified to find that her memory had played tricks on her. Contained in her file was the same agreement attached to the Complaint. “Oh hell!” She shuffled forward to paragraph twenty-one and found to her astonishment an integration clause, a boilerplate acknowledgement that the agreement was the complete and final accord between the parties. What she did not find in the agreement was a right of first refusal, even after a page-by-page, word-by-word review of her document. What were Dohnan and the Temple brothers up to?

  Next she came to a “Memo to the File” that explained the purpose behind the sale of Mary’s interest in Red River Resort. Long before Norma was involved, Mary had purchased the Red River interest, amounting to a fifty-one percent ownership, at a time when the resort was on the brink of bankruptcy and selling cheap. Her plan had been to eventually buy the rest of it for a song and achieve economies of scale by operating both her Inn at Cockle Cove and Red River Resort under one management. Later, when she needed cash to renovate the inn without incurring additional debt, she considered herself fortunate the other partners were willing to buy her out of the resort.

  Norma put down the memo. “I don’t get it.” Her phone rang. She hated getting calls at night and wasn’t going to answer, but relented. The caller spoke for some time. “Who is this?” When he spoke again she stood. “You should be talking to the police.” She could barely hear him, which made her raise her own voice. “I can’t meet you now.”

  At the caller’s next word, Norma closed her eyes.

  “Where do I meet you?”

  8

  From the moment she stuck her head in to wake Laney, Gran seemed distracted. Laney didn’t know if it was because Gran was worried about her mom and Mr. Crawford or about Aunt Norma, an early riser who always stopped by for coffee but hadn’t that morning. Gran had on her sleeveless purple blouse with the mandarin collar, which she always wore when she had something important to do.

  “I can do that, Gran.”

  “I know, hon.” She was picking up Laney’s scattered clothes off the floor. “I just feel like doing it.” Gran smiled at her with tired eyes. “What would you like to wear? How about the spaghetti-string sundress we bought in Boston? Sets off your golden locks.”

  Laney agreed with the choice, but would wait to dress until Gran left. She got up to make her bed. “Gran. How does Mom know Mr. Crawford? How would she know anyone here?”

  Gran didn’t answer and Laney wondered if she’d heard. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to her for Laney to sit down. “Your granddad and I used to come to the Cape all the time and bring your mother, starting when she was a baby. She loved to play in the woods and explore the marsh and the beach.” Gran laughed. “She’d drag home anything she found—even a torpedo once. Good thing it was just the casing. After your granddad died, we came up here one last time.” Gran turned away to smooth wrinkles in the bedspread.

  “Why’d you stop coming?”

  “Oh, well, your mother decided all of a sudden, it was just too bo-o-or-r-r-ring. It surprised me though. I always thought she was happy here, with her ‘summer friends’ as she called them. Maybe Mr. Crawford was a summer friend.” She leaned over and kissed the top of Laney’s head. “And then, before long, a beautiful baby was born and her name was...?”

  “Me?”

  “No, her name was Laney, silly. Anyway, you better hurry up. We need to be ready when your mom and Mr. Crawford arrive.”

  Laney found it hard to recognize her mother in her elegant green dress. The material was shantung, Gran called it. Her mother’s pearl studs looked like little knots. She’d probably had red hair all along, but when had it ever looked so soft and wavy?

  The ride to Red River Resort was quiet. She and Gran led the way in Gran’s car, even though Laney would have preferred to ride with her mom in Mr. Crawford’s Porsche. As they mounted the hotel steps to the veranda, Mr. Crawford whispered something to her mom, who shrugged, removed a wad of gum from her mouth and dropped it in a flower bed.

  Gran leaned over and said in Laney’s ear, “Now there goes the last trace of evidence this really is your mom.” Laney smiled, even though she knew it wasn’t quite nice. It reminded her of something Aunt Norma would say and she wished she had come with them.

  The blast of air conditioning as the lobby doors opened made Laney glad Gran had insisted she bring a sweater. A whiff of sausage from the dining room reminded her how hungry she was. The maître d’ greeted Mr. Crawford with a solemn nod, then led them into a vast dining room, sun-filled, with a panoramic view of the harbor and distant sail boats on Nantucket Sound.

  There was drama everywhere, imposing white columns, fountains spurting blue water, and waiters dressed in black and white, rushing back and forth. The table settings dazzled with crystal glasses, polished silver, and thick white table cloths reaching all the way to the floor. Guests were seated by the windows for the view, but Laney’s attention was drawn to the long buffet table in the center of the room. Her eyes widened at the ice sculpture shaped like a whale, surrounded by mounds of strawberries and pineapple. There were hunks of cheeses, frosted pastries, and copper hoods raised to present eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. The array almost made her forget the purpose of the “breakfast meeting to set a course for Laney,” as Mr. Crawford had called it.

  “Sit next to Kenny, honey. May as well get used to him. He’s going to be your dad.”

  “That’s premature, Gin.”

  “Not so very, Mother.” Gin wiggled her ring finger at Gran, which now had a large twinkling stone on it.

  Laney’s spirits sank as she thought of Mr. Crawford as her dad. He didn’t fit her image of a father. She imagined someone who would cheer her up when she was sad by cracking jokes so dumb she’d have to laugh. And he’d help her become more athletic. Mr. Crawford looked like a celebrity and he wore cologne. He probably didn’t know any dumb jokes and she didn’t think he’d welcome a sweaty hug after practicing push-ups and pull-ups with her. Why couldn’t Mom just move in with Gran?

  The several forks and spoons by her plate confused Laney. She watched Gran for guidance, but Gran only shifted her knife back and forth as Mr. Crawford went on about property taxes.

  Her mom’s eyes roamed the room and when they reached the windows she blurted, “Look, Kenny, out there.” She grabbed Mr. Crawford’s chin and turned it. “A schooner. We need one of those. Wouldn’t I look sexy in a bikini on that deck?”

  Mr. Crawford didn’t answer. His attention was caught by someone at the dining room entrance. Laney followed his gaze. Her heart thumped. Sandal Man stood next to the maître d’.

  “Anne. May I call you Anne?” Mr. Crawford smiled at Gran. “We want to say how much we appreciate your watching after Laney while Gin was ill.”

  “Watching after?” Gran’s tone was sharp, her face puckered up with new wrinkles. “I wasn’t babysitting for an evening, Mr. Crawford. I’ve been raising my granddaughter for almost five years now.”

  Her eye on the dining room entrance, Laney sank low in her chair.

  “Everyone knows you’re a hero, Mother, saved the day and all that. But that’s old news. Just look at me. Look at us.” She placed her left hand over Mr. Crawford’s.

  Laney continued to sink.

  The waiter arrived and explained how the buffet worked. He may have interrupted their argument, but not their angry thoughts, or they would have noticed Laney slipping beneath the table when they left for the buffet.

  The waiter was refilling water glasses when they returned. Gran said, “My granddaughter must have gone to the ladies’ room. She’ll have orange juice please. Oh, pardon me.”

  Laney could tell someone had approached the table.

  “You’re looking well, Ken. And who are your lovely breakfast companions?”

  Sandal Man. She recognized his voice. Had he seen
her? Is that why he was here? She tried to hear their conversation but her panic shut down her senses.

  At last she heard Mr. Crawford speak and realized Sandal Man and her Gran had left the table.

  “When your mother gets back, let me handle her, Gin. And by the way, you should have gotten up, not your mother, to look for Laney in the ladies’ room. Optics, Gin, optics. We talked about that.”

  Laney would try to remember to look up “optics,” but her immediate problem was how to resurface without drawing attention, especially Sandal Man’s. He could be seated anywhere. She was pretty certain there weren’t any empty tables by the windows when he’d arrived. If she could just remain facing the windows with her back to the room. She rose quickly and grabbed her napkin from her seat as she sat down.

  “What the hell?” Her mom was startled and almost tipped over her juice.

  “I dropped my napkin and couldn’t find it.” Laney held it up as proof.

  “Like hell you did.” Her mom started to get mad, then laughed. “Can’t say I blame you. I used to hide from Gran, too.” Her mom winked at her, then looked at Mr. Crawford. He nodded.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Gran returned to the table and scolded Laney for making her search, but her heart wasn’t in it. When the waiter brought her orange juice and asked Laney if she was ready for the buffet, she whispered to Gran she had a stomach-ache and wasn’t hungry. She didn’t dare go to the buffet table and make herself visible to the room. To Laney’s surprise, Gran let her stay seated, drink the juice, and eat the bread and rolls by her plate.

  “What Gin is trying to say, Anne—”

  “Let me get this straight, Mr. Crawford. You’re trying to translate for me what my daughter is saying. I really think....”

  Laney never heard what Gran thought. Her eyes locked on Sandal Man. She closed them instantly, but not before seeing surprise and recognition in his.

  “What do you have to say about it, baby? You want to live with Kenny and me, don’t you?”

  Laney couldn’t bear it another moment: her mother’s sugary voice, Gran’s outrage, the smell of Mr. Crawford’s cologne, and most of all, her fear of Sandal Man. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I want to go home.”

  “You see!” Her mom thrust her arm across the table as if to say, “Voila!”

  Gran pushed back her chair. “That’s not what she means. Come on, Laney. Let’s get you home.”

  Inside the car, Laney’s silent tears turned into loud sobbing. Gran held her, saying, “You don’t have to go anywhere, you’re staying with me,” until the sobbing wound down to an occasional shudder. The only sounds on the drive home were Laney’s hiccups and the faint strains of classical music on the radio. At last the burden of holding onto her secret was too heavy. Laney opened her mouth to speak, but Gran cut her off.

  “I want to do the right thing by you, Laney. If I thought your mom was able to take care of you, I would let you go.”

  Even with her other worries, Laney wondered if Gran meant what she said. What did it matter? She didn’t know what she wanted, other than not to be so afraid.

  9

  “You okay back there?”

  Norma made a croaking sound, somewhere between a groan of pain and a warning for Coigne to mind his own business. She cradled her right arm, which had been twisted so far up her back she was amazed it hadn’t dislocated. A glance in the cruiser’s side mirror showed her a bloodied nose so frightening she closed her swollen eyes.

  Coigne started the cruiser. “You going to tell me what happened? And don’t say you just fell down.”

  “Of course I won’t tell you I fell down. I’m not one of your domestic abuse victims.”

  “I wouldn’t say you were anyone’s victim.”

  Coigne sounded like he admired her. She wasn’t sure why. She’d done everything she could to annoy him.

  “Just give me the headlines, Norma. We’ll get the details when you’re feeling better.”

  “Fine. I got a call around 9:00 last night. Guy said he had important information for me. I met him right where you found me, and as you can see, that was a mistake.”

  Coigne had stumbled on her that morning, as he was out early at the crime scene and getting a feel for the neighborhood. He’d tried to call an ambulance for her.

  “Don’t get carried away, Coigne,” she’d said. “Just drive me home. I’ve got a dog to let out.”

  They compromised on a trip to the Urgicenter for an x-ray. He’d eased her into the back seat and strapped her in a seat belt.

  Coigne sped down Route 28 and turned onto an unnamed road leading to the Urgicenter. Everyone thought it odd that a town would overlook naming the road where emergency medical services were provided. Norma’s explanation was that, like everything else on the Cape, conservation was behind it. What was being conserved was emergency medical services.

  “You know who it was who called you? You recognize the voice?”

  “Nope.”

  They pulled into the parking lot. It was crowded for 8:00 a.m., but not for Fourth of July weekend. Norma tried to open her door with her left arm reaching across her body but had trouble.

  “Sit still. I’ll get it.”

  They made it to the entrance and Coigne held open the door. “It just doesn’t sound like you, Norma, going out to meet a stranger at night. How did he get you to meet him?”

  She knew what Coigne was up to. Officer Friendly was back and looking for information. He’d stick with her, opening doors and acting concerned, until he got what he wanted. T’was ever thus. She wasn’t going to tell him the caller had used Laney’s name to lure her to the meet. Instinctively she knew to keep Laney out of it. Still, if Coigne hadn’t come along when he did, she’d still be stuck head first in a hydrangea bush. For all her bravado now, she’d been terrified last night. Her attacker had instructed her to meet him just a few blocks from home. He approached from behind. Without a sound, he whipped her around, punched her face three times, and tossed her away like a sack of dirty laundry. By the time her self-defense lessons clicked in, her nostrils were full of dirt. Next thing she knew, it was morning and Coigne was rolling her over. She guessed she owed Coigne something.

  “I had the impression the caller had information about yesterday’s drowning. That’s why I met him.”

  “Why’d you think that?”

  “Because he said so.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “He said not to call the police.”

  The wall-to-wall carpeting in the waiting room smelled new. People sat or leaned against the walls and to Norma, they all looked hung over.

  Registration took forever, resulting in her barely making it to the ladies’ room in time. There, she took care of business, blotted her face with a wet paper towel, and took a good look in the mirror. Her nose looked bad. She’d probably leave the Urgicenter with a white bandage pyramid in the middle of her face. She rejoined Coigne and he gave her a cup of coffee from the vending machine.

  “Here. I brought some cream and sugar too.”

  Norma let him doctor her drink, but before she could take a sip they called her down the hall for an examination and x-ray. When she returned, the coffee was stone cold but she drank it anyway. An hour later she complained to a passing nurse, “How long does it take to read an x-ray? I’ve been here hours.”

  “The doctor will be with you soon.”

  “That’s what you said before.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, with a friendly wave as she kept moving.

  The news was good, nothing broken. She came away with a few stitches, a sling, a prescription, and a throbbing headache. She wanted to sleep for a week.

  Coigne’s questions continued right up to her front door. It was unlocked, just as she’d left it, but something was wrong. “Bark?” She rushed in. “Where are you, boy? Bark? Barclay!”

  Coigne followed her in and stopped dead. “Ho-ly shit!”

  The cottage
was torn apart—curtains yanked from the windows, books swept off shelves, files emptied onto the floor. In the kitchen, the refrigerator door was propped open by a vegetable bin pulled out of its track and juice from a broken pickle jar converged with spilled milk.

  Norma was blind to the wanton destruction. She found Bark by the back door, lying on his side. Deep grooves on the doorframe showed how hard he’d tried to escape. Norma ran her hand down his flank, still warm, but still. She placed her finger in the hole in his head, the source of the red pool his black fur was soaking in. From far away she heard Coigne on his phone.

  Norma hadn’t cried since she was a girl. She wouldn’t now.

  Coigne called from the living room. “Got the crime scene guys coming. Forensics. You there, Norma?”

  He found her lying beside Bark, humming softly in his ear.

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry, Norma.”

  She sat up. “You should be. If we’d come here first like I wanted to he might still be alive.”

  Coigne paused, then left her alone and only returned when she opened the back door. He explained that she couldn’t move the dog or bury him until the bullet was removed. He got on his phone again, supplementing his earlier report with details about Bark.

  Norma walked to the edge of her yard. Down the bluff the tide was receding. She thought of all the years she and Bark had walked to the beach at the beginning and end of each day for their silent, companionable stroll, as necessary to one as the other. The pounding surf made her think of the dead man who’d rolled in with it just yesterday. He and Bark had died for the same reason. They were impediments to someone’s plans.

  “Norma?” Coigne had followed her outside.

  She didn’t answer. She was too busy connecting dots. The intruder was a killer, of her dog, certainly, and maybe of the dead man. That killer knew Laney’s name.

  10