Valerie Wolzien - Death in a Beach Chair

“I eavesdrop all the time. That’s part of the reason I took this job. I’m a writer. Well,” he added modestly, “I want to be a writer. And, let’s face it, at twenty-two years old I don’t have a hell of a lot of life experience to write about. Came down here to get some. And if I can grab a piece of someone else’s life experience, it’s just fine with me.”

Susan’s spirits lifted-someone who could report on Jerry and Allison together. What a find! “So what did you hear?”

“Yeah, well, not a lot. There was a Lakers game on the radio and I sort of spent most of my time listening to that,” he explained sheepishly.

“Then did you notice anything about them? Did they appear happy? Sad? Angry with each other?” She added the last question reluctantly.

“All of the above,” he answered. “I watched them carefully. A man with a woman he wants to impress is likely to be a good tipper. Didn’t want to miss any signals.”

“So how did they seem happy and sad at the same time?”

“Not at the same time. It was sort of sequentially.”

“Do you remember the sequence? No, wait, first-did you notice if they came in together?”

“They didn’t. She came in first. Sat right down where you were sitting this afternoon and ordered the same thing you did. One large lemonade.”

Susan wondered if Allison had known about her choice’s amazing alcohol content. “Did she seem happy or sad or anything like that?”

“She seemed just like lots of ladies that come in here-impatient. You know, she looked at her watch a lot, shook her foot, tapped on the table.”

“Like a woman waiting for a man who’s late.”

“Yup. You got it.”

“Did he keep her waiting for long?” Susan asked.

“Sure did. About half an hour. I thought she was gonna get up and leave when he walked in the door.”

“And did she seem glad to see him?”

“Seemed surprised that he’d finally shown up, if you ask me. I was surprised he did, tell you the truth. He didn’t look real happy to see her. He sat down and ordered a double Scotch. Not a real popular drink around here. Most people on the island, especially the tourists, stick to drinks with lots of rum and lots of sugar.”

“You must have delivered his drink.”

“Yes, and a second large lemonade for her,” he answered helpfully.

“And they talked? Yelled at each other? Laughed? What?”

“They just stared at each other and drank mostly. Every once in a while one of them would say something to the other, but mostly they just drank. It was a little weird. They made a point of meeting and then might as well have been alone.”

Susan wasn’t sure what to make of that. If Kathleen’s information was to be believed, Jerry and Allison had seen each other recently in New York City, so any awkwardness here wouldn’t stem from the time that had passed since they last met. On the other hand, they might have been worried about running into someone they knew. “Did you seat Allison?”

“No, she came in while I was busy with something else. I didn’t even see her. She probably seated herself.”

Susan turned and looked at the table. Allison had chosen to meet Jerry in a public place. She hadn’t been worried about being seen. Her choice of seat could have indicated that she actually wanted someone to witness their meeting. Susan realized that anyone believing Jerry was the murderer could use this against him. If Allison had suspected Jerry might cause her harm, she certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be alone with him. She frowned. She had come here to relax, and think, and get a drink. What she was getting was confused.

“You know,” the bartender broke into her thoughts. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ve been thinking and it’s like a little weird that they met here right before he killed her, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“ ’Cause he could have done it after they left here, right? Why wait until that night back at Compass Bay? Why not just off her here?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be seen.”

“Hey, drag someone behind one of the buildings here and no one would be likely to see you. You know, that’s interesting,” he added, apparently intrigued by his own thoughts. “He could’ve killed her here and he didn’t. Why, I wonder.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a writer. I have a writer’s imagination. I can think of lots of reasons. You know what?” he asked, his face brightening. “I think I’ve just realized something. I think I’ve had an-an ep-an eppy-something. What is it people call it?”

“Do you mean an epiphany?” Susan asked.

“You got it! An epiphany! That’s what I just had. I’m not going to hang around here and wait to get old to have something to write about. I’m gonna write mystery novels. I’m gonna write about people killing people and getting away with it… until the last chapter.”

“Sounds like a mystery novel to me,” Susan agreed, starting toward the door.

The bartender may have found a new career, but she was more puzzled than ever.

Susan had a lot to think about on the ride back to Compass Bay. She made two decisions. First, she would tell Kathleen what her conversation with the bartender had revealed. She wanted to know if Jerry had said anything about his meeting with Allison to his wife. And, second, she would not mention Jerry’s insistence on the similarity between his two wives to Kathleen. It could only hurt her.

But she couldn’t find Kathleen. Jed, enjoying a late lunch poolside, reported not seeing her all morning, but offered to buy them both lunch when she appeared. That way, he explained, yawning, Susan could tell them both about her visit with Jerry. Susan just smiled and walked off. Kathleen wasn’t in her cottage or on the beach. Susan thought for a moment that she had discovered her stretched out on a lounge by the bar, but that sunbather turned out to be male.

Susan exchanged greetings with the other guests, but didn’t ask about her friend, not wanting to increase the attention their group was already receiving. She was ready to give up and rejoin her husband, when she noticed something unusual lying next to one of the kayaks turned upside down beside the dock.

Once Susan realized what she was seeing, she abandoned her reluctance to draw more attention to their group. She forgot everything in her overwhelming urgency to get help. She screamed, and within minutes help had arrived-if everyone in the resort, staff and guests, could be called help.

Kathleen was unconscious, sprawled on the beach, half-hidden behind a lightweight plastic kayak. Susan, trying to control her own panic, couldn’t see anything obviously wrong-no blood, no bullet holes, no scarves wrapped tightly around her neck-but she was relieved when the female half of the honeymooners identified herself as a doctor and took over the examination.

“Does this woman have diabetes or any sort of condition that might cause her to pass out?” the young woman asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Susan assured her.

“No, I see now.” The doctor gently cradled Kathleen’s head in her bejeweled hand. “She has quite a large egg here. She must have slipped and fallen and hit her head on the stone wall.”

Kathleen began to regain consciousness. Susan was slightly amazed to hear her friend say “What happened to me?” just like actors returning to consciousness in movies and on TV. “You fell and hit your head,” Susan said, speaking up before anyone else could.

Kathleen looked up at her friend. “My head does hurt. I-can someone help me back to my cottage? This sand isn’t very comfortable.”

“You shouldn’t stand up right away,” the doctor insisted, firmly pushing Kathleen’s shoulders back into the sand.