Valerie Wolzien - Death in a Beach Chair

“I have no idea. But he wasn’t upset. I mean, he knew perfectly well what he was saying. And he probably knew we were only going to have a short time together. It must have meant something.” Kathleen picked up her cards and placed them in a neat stack. “Maybe Jed will be able to tell us more.”

“Where is Jed?” Susan looked around as though expecting to discover her husband nearby.

“He’s still at the embassy offices. They’re trying to find a lawyer to represent Jerry. The lawyers he called in Hancock all suggested he find someone familiar with the laws-and customs-on the island.”

“Have they actually charged Jerry with the murder?”

“Not officially. The term they’re using is assisting with the investigation of the untimely death of Allison McAllister. But apparently there aren’t a lot of laws on the books here to protect the rights of suspects. They can hold Jerry pretty much as long as they want. Ms. Adams agreed that a lawyer familiar with the island’s laws and court system, such as it is, should be hired. She suggested two names-expatriates who are practicing here-and they should be talking with Jerry right now. Jed offered to help us out. He’s contacting our bank at home to have money transferred here so we can give the lawyer a retainer. He said to tell you that he’ll be back as soon as possible.” Kathleen picked up her pile of cards and tucked them in the pocket of her linen slacks. “So what have you learned this morning?”

“I’ve been talking to people,” Susan said, realizing again that she was going to be uncomfortable discussing Allison and Jerry with Kathleen. “To tell the truth, they’ve been talking to me. Allison’s been here for a few weeks and she spent time chatting with other guests. They’ve been seeking me out and-and telling me about her. In fact,” she continued, suddenly inspired, “why don’t we go get some lunch and see who else wants to talk to us?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat something. But even if you just have some iced tea, we’ll learn more in the restaurant than we will sitting here alone.”

“I suppose. But these people don’t know us. They might think Jerry actually did kill Allison.”

“They might, but that’s not important now. What’s important is that we know Jerry didn’t do it. And it’s more than likely that a guest-or someone on the staff here-did.”

“You know, I hadn’t considered the possibility that someone on the staff killed her.”

“I think it’s unlikely. I spoke with James and he said it’s against the rules for staff to fraternize with guests and that everyone here wants to keep their jobs. If there’s no connection to Allison, why would one of them kill her?”

“Perhaps someone who works here is a psychotic killer and Allison just happened to be the next victim.”

“I suppose that’s possible.” Susan spoke slowly. “Allison was here alone.”

“But she and Jerry had a connection. So Jerry’s the only suspect.”

“Unless we can find someone else she had a connection to. She might even have been here to see someone else.”

“That’s true,” Kathleen agreed. “But isn’t it possible that the killer thought he or she was killing someone else, that Allison’s death was a case of mistaken identity? Doesn’t one woman lying on a lounge in the dark look pretty much like another?”

To Susan, this sounded less like a serious possibility than wishful thinking on Kathleen’s part, but she had two tasks here: to find out who had killed Allison McAllister and to keep Kathleen’s spirits up. “It’s possible. Let’s go get that lunch and check out the other women here, see who might resemble Allison under those circumstances.”

“That’s a great idea!” Kathleen stood up, and Susan had to hurry to keep up so they arrived at the restaurant together. “We’d like a table for lunch,” Kathleen told the hostess who was seating guests.

“Of course, Mrs. Gordon. Would you like your usual spot overlooking the water, or would you prefer something a little more… ah, a little more private?”

“A table overlooking the water,” Kathleen stated firmly.

Susan smiled. For the moment, at least, Kathleen was all right. “My husband might be joining us. So perhaps we could have a table for three?” she asked.

“Naturally.”

If Madonna or Hugh Grant had arrived for lunch, they would have been seated at the table Susan and Kathleen were led to. Set right next to the seawall, it offered a stunning view of the horizon, while allowing other diners an unobstructed view of its occupants. Susan glanced across the table at Kathleen, now studying the menu the hostess had offered her. “We seem to be attracting a lot of attention,” she said quietly.

“Not surprising,” Kathleen responded without looking up. “Do you see anyone who resembles Allison?”

Susan scanned the room. “I suppose… one or two. The young woman here on her honeymoon is tall and thin and has long hair. From behind, I suppose, someone might confuse the two of them.”

“I don’t think I know who you’re talking about.” Kathleen put down her menu and looked around.

“The good-looking couple sitting at that small table by the bar,” Susan said.

Kathleen glanced in the direction Susan indicated and raised her eyebrows. “Allison was good-looking, but not that good-looking.”

“Of course not. That girl-young woman,” Susan corrected herself. “She’s about twenty years younger than Allison. But they both have long blond hair and they’re both tall and thin. From behind… in the dark… it’s possible they might be mistaken for each other.”

“You could say that about the groom, too,” Kathleen pointed out. “He’s also tall with long hair.”

“He is, isn’t he? On the other hand, if we’re looking for a lone woman-or man-lying on a chaise lounge, we can probably eliminate them both. I don’t remember seeing one without the other, do you?”

“True.” Kathleen looked out at the room again. “You know what’s interesting about being stared at? When you stare back, everyone looks away.”

“So who else is tall with long hair?” Susan asked, getting back to their search. “There are three women at the table to our right-I think they’re here together-and all three of them have long hair. And if they’re not tall, at least none is incredibly short.”

“But they weren’t even around when the murder happened. They just checked in this morning. They were busy at the front desk when I was on my way to see Jerry. And I don’t see anyone else who could be mistaken for Allison.”

“Except…”

“Except who?”

“You. You’re tall and you have long hair.”

Kathleen offered her friend a rueful smile. “But the only people I know here are you and Jed and Jerry, and I don’t believe any of you would kill me.”

“So I suppose we can eliminate the mistaken-identity theory,” Susan said. “Which means we have to find the connection between Allison and someone other than Jerry.”

“Let’s order our lunch and eat quickly,” Kathleen said. “Sounds like we have a lot of people to meet and a lot of questions to ask.”

Lunch turned out to be more successful than Susan had anticipated. The bread basket arrived along with a note from someone named Rose Anderson, who wished to speak with Kathleen “concerning a matter of some importance.” Susan and Kathleen were still discussing that rather stilted statement when their main courses-seared swordfish Caesar salad for Kathleen; conch chowder with cornmeal croutons for Susan-arrived. The note that accompanied this course suggested that the women meet for drinks at four P.M. with the writer and her husband, who wanted to help in “this unfortunate situation.” That note was signed “Peggy and Frank from Connecticut.”