Jaden Skye: Death by Honeymoon

“I couldn’t in the beginning.”

“Naturally.”

There was something off-putting about him. He had thin lips, hazel, piercing eyes and a sallow complexion, even though the days were warm and sun plentiful. She supposed he lived in the city and didn’t get much time outdoors.

“I want you to know that I represent everyone in the company when we tell you how sorry we are. Clint is a great loss. If there is anything we can do to help your transition, you must feel free to call on us.”

Cindy shivered. She did not feel she could call on this man for anything. As he sat down and made himself comfortable, she vaguely remembered that he had flown out to Barbados right after Clint’s death. He had been the other one to identify the body. She also remembered that Clint had spoken well of him.

Cindy saw Al looking at him carefully, too. Greerson seemed out of synch with the group that had gathered—too formal, smug, a bit intimidating.

Ann stood up. “Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mr. Greerson?” she asked.

“That would be lovely,” he replied.

Ann left to get the coffee and pastries and he turned to Cindy. “You have quite a wonderful sister,” he said.

“Yes,” she said softly, wondering how he knew Ann was her sister. “More than wonderful. In fact, I couldn’t have gotten along at all without her these past days.”

“How long is she staying?” Barbara piped up.

“Forever,” Cindy laughed.

Greerson looked surprised. “She’s moving here to be with you?”

Cindy was taken aback. How did he know Ann didn’t live nearby?

“Who knows,” Cindy replied jokingly. “Right now it feels like anything could happen. The world seems upside down.”

“Hell, this world is upside down,” Al said. “When a great guy like Clint is washed away, what can you count on anymore?”

“Terrible accidents make you feel that way,” Greerson agreed.

“I’m not so sure it was an accident,” Cindy suddenly said.

Greerson flinched, and so did the others.

“That’s a weird thing to say,” Al looked at her strangely.

“The more I think about it, the less sure I am about how Clint died,” Cindy spoke naturally, the words just pouring out. “It doesn’t add up. There are plenty of other things that could have happened.”

“Like what?” Greerson said.

You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone listened to Cindy intently. Ann walked back in the room with coffee, and stopped.

“I went online and looked up some facts,” Cindy continued. “There are assaults and murders on the Eastern Coast of Barbados regularly. There’s one case after another. The police are used to them. It’s part of the routine. Nothing much is done.”

Ann interrupted. She didn’t want Cindy to go on like this in front of others. “It’s easy to imagine all kinds of things when someone you love has suddenly died,” she said, to ease the tension that was building.

“I’m not imagining anything,” Cindy said, “I’m doing research.”

“Research on what?” Greerson pressed her.

“Cindy is a research assistant at a newspaper,” Anne said. “It comforts her to check all kinds of facts. Even when she was little, she enjoyed doing that. I remember her going through magazine after magazine, trying to find out this or that.” She smiled again, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but it did not lift.

“That’s a dangerous path to take,” Greerson said quickly. “Suspecting Clint’s death was a murder. Thinking like that can create a lot of distress, for you and everyone.”

“I totally agree,” Ann said.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang again.

“Now I see why you’re staying here for such a long time,” Greerson said to Ann. “You need to take care of your sister until she calms down and sees things clearly.”

Cindy detested this man on the spot. Who was he to come here and suggest she wasn’t seeing things clearly? What was it to him? What made him think he saw everything so clearly?

Ann went to the door and to everyone’s surprise, Tom Mallord, the pastor who had both married them and done the funeral service, came in. He and Clint had had a close relationship for many years. Clint thought the world of him. Mallord carried a little package, neatly wrapped in his hand.

“Hello, Cindy,” he said as he walked in, and handed her the package. “This is for you. It’s something I hope will help you through the days ahead.”

“Thank you so much,” Cindy replied, taking the package. She hardly knew him, but always enjoyed the time they’d had together.

Ann pulled out a chair for him and he sat down. Then she introduced Mallord to Greerson. He knew all the other guests in the room.

“You came at the perfect moment,” Greerson said. “We were just talking about the best way to view what happened to Clint.”

Mallord raised his eyebrows. “A big question,” he said.

Greerson looked at Cindy, as if expecting her to once again voice her fears . She said nothing.

“Cindy was just saying she’s not sure that Clint’s death was an accident.”

Once again the room grew steely quiet. Mallord listened intently without changing his expression.

“She’s been researching murders on the East Coast of Barbados,” Greerson went on derisively.

Cindy noticed Mallord looking at her thoughtfully.

“Sometimes the best thing,” Greerson went on, “is to see a therapist to clear your mind and bring you back to reality.”

Cindy felt little drops of perspiration forming over her forehead and chin. He was suggesting she go to therapy because she thought Clint’s death might not have been an accident? . Didn’t she have a right to put the pieces of the puzzle together in a way that made sense to her? Did that mean she was crazy?

She wondered what Mallord thought. He had a wonderful reputation, lived simply with his wife in a small house the parish provided, and spent long hours with his congregation.

“Do you agree with him?” Cindy asked Mallord pointedly.

He didn’t answer off the cuff, but paused, and finally said, “Therapy can be good when needed. So can prayer and contemplation. And time always has a way of showing us what has truly gone on.”

Cindy now saw why Clint had liked Tom so much.

“Just the way the ocean brings everything up to shore,” he continued, “the truth cannot help but be brought to light.”

Greerson had enough. He got up and brushed off his suit.

“Well, thanks for the sermon,” he said laughingly, “but I have a long trip back to the city tonight. There’s a lot of unfinished business to take care of. We have plenty to do to deal with Clint’s loss.”

Cindy felt oppressed by his presence in the room and was tremendously relieved that he was leaving . “Thank you for coming,” she said politely.

“It’s my pleasure,” he answered, looking directly at her. “And, as I said, don’t let stray thoughts drive you crazy. You are not alone with this. I’ll certainly be around.”

When he left it felt as if a dark cloud had lifted and the evening light could shine in.

Later that night, in bed, her head swimming, Cindy noticed the little package Tom Mallord gave her, sitting on the end table. It was beautifully wrapped, in gold paper. She reached over and opened it slowly.

Inside was a small Bible. Touched to the core, Cindy cradled it in her hands, remembering the wonderful funeral service Tom Mallord had conducted for Clint. The pews at the funeral service were filled to the brim, and a haunted silence filled the place. Tom Mallord spoke simply, saying no one could fathom the ultimate will of God, or really understand how something like this could happen. But we all could reach out to one another and offer kindness and solace. That much was in our grasp. Cindy’d felt comforted by his honesty.