Nelson DeMille - Plum Island

"I'm a credit to my gender."

"Only your gender thinks so." She laughed.

Obviously she was having a better conversation than I was.

She switched subjects and said, "I heard you've been out to speak to the Suffolk DA's office a few times."

"Yeah. They're still trying to sort out what happened." I added, "I'm being as helpful as I can considering my head injury, which has caused selective amnesia."

"I heard. Is that why you forgot to call me?"

"No. I didn't forget."

"Well, then…" She let it go and asked me, "Have you been out to the North Fork since — "

"No. And I'll probably never go out there again. How about you?"

"I sort of fell in love with the place, and I bought a little weekend cottage in Cutchogue with a few acres, surrounded by a farm. Reminds me of my father's farm when I was a kid."

I started to reply, but decided not to. I wasn't sure where this was going, but I figured that Beth Penrose wasn't making a three- or four-hour commute every Wednesday night just to hear the master's words of wisdom, words that she'd already heard and partly rejected in September. Obviously Ms. Penrose was interested in more than three college credits. I, on the other hand, was just getting used to being unattached.

She said, "The local realtor told me your uncle's place was sold."

"Yeah. It sort of made me sad for some reason."

She nodded. "Well, you can come visit me in Cutchogue any weekend."

I looked at her and said, "But I should call first."

She replied, "I'm alone. How about you?"

"What did my ex-partner tell you?"

"He said you're alone."

"But not lonely."

"He just said you had no one special."

I didn't reply. I glanced at my watch.

She changed the subject and informed me, "My sources at the DA's office said it's going to trial. No plea bargaining. They want a Murder One conviction with the death penalty."

I nodded. I may not have mentioned this, but the eviscerated and scalped Fredric Tobin had survived. I was not too surprised because I knew I hadn't delivered a necessarily mortal wound. I'd avoided his arteries, avoided putting the blade in his heart or cutting his throat, like I probably should have. Subconsciously, I think, I couldn't commit murder, though if in my efforts to subdue him, he'd died of shock or loss of blood, that would have been okay, too. As it stood now, he was sitting in an isolation cell in the county jail, contemplating either a life behind bars with Bubba, or an electric jolt to his central nervous system. Or maybe a lethal injection. I wish the state would make up its mind. I'm in favor of Old Sparky for Fredric, and I would like to be one of the official witnesses to observe smoke coming out of his ears.

I'm not allowed to visit the little shit, but I made sure he had my home phone number. The little turd calls me every couple of weeks from the slammer. I remind him that his life of wine, women, song, Porsches, powerboats, and trips to France is over, and that someday soon, he will be taken out of his cell before dawn and executed. He, in turn, says he'll beat the rap, and I'd better be careful when he's out. What a monumental ego this prick has.

Beth said, "I visited Emma Whitestone's grave, John."

I didn't reply.

She said, "They buried her in this beautiful old cemetery among all these other Whitestone graves. Some go back three hundred years."

Again, I didn't reply.

Beth continued, "I only met her that one time, in your kitchen but I liked her, and I felt I wanted to leave some flowers on her grave. You should do the same."

I nodded. I should go to Whitestone Florist and say hello, and I should have gone to the funeral, but I didn't. Couldn't.

"Max asked about you."

"I'm sure he did. He thinks I'm sitting on twenty million dollars in gold and jewels."

"Are you?"

"Sure. That's why I'm here to supplement my disability pay."

"How's the lung?"

"Fine." I noticed that a few of my students had gotten restless and wandered out into the hall, heading for the rest rooms or taking a smoke. I said to Beth, "I should get back."

"Okay."

We walked slowly down the hall together. She said, "Do you think they'll ever find Captain Kidd's treasure?"

"No. I think paranoid Paul Stevens hid it so well that it will stay hidden another three hundred years."

"You're probably right. Too bad."

"Maybe not. Maybe it should stay wherever the hell it is."

"Are you superstitious?"

"I wasn't. Now I'm not so sure."

We got to the door of my classroom.

She said, "I discovered there's a swimming pool in this building. Do you ever use it?"

"Sometimes."

"I'll bring my swimsuit next week. Okay?"

"Okay…Beth?"

"Yes?"

"Well… is this going to be awkward?"

"No. But I expect an A in the course."

I smiled.

"I'll do whatever it takes."

"I can't be bribed."

"Wanna bet?"

A few students in the room were looking at us, smiling and whispering.

We went into the classroom, me to the front, Beth to the back.

I said to the class, "We have another homicide detective with us, Detective Beth Penrose from the Suffolk County PD. Detective Penrose's name may be familiar to you from a recent and ongoing murder case on Long Island's North Fork." I added, "I worked with her on that case, and we each learned something from the other's distinctive style and techniques. Also, she saved my life, so to repay her, I'm taking her out for drinks after class."

Everyone applauded.