Flyin' Solo, page 13
Silly to suspect her of having me mugged. ‘I’m afraid she may not be as understanding.’
‘No. I’ll tell her.’ Marcella laughed. ‘I’ll send her an email. Maybe she’ll take some of it out on somebody else before you get back to town.’
‘Great. Now I can feel good about ruining their day, too.’
My next call was to Captain Dave. ‘Would I be paranoid to wonder if somebody saw us and followed me?’
‘Probably,’ he said. ‘José was the only one in the yard when we were on the boat. He’s worked with me for years. And he was gone before we left the yard. As a general rule I don’t believe in coincidence, but I don’t see it. Unless it was whoever told you to look for it.’
‘Yeah, whoever that was. And now I’m not likely to find out.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Then he tried for a lighter tone. ‘If you’d asked me back to your place, this would never have happened, you know.’
‘Does that approach work for you? “I’m better than a mugging”?’ I could finally laugh about the whole thing.
‘Sometimes. Next time you’re in Miami you should keep that in mind.’
‘Next time.’
So much for my one-day beach vacation. I did go to the pool. I swam ten laps, then turned on my back and floated. I tried not to think. Nothing was making sense anyway. I just floated, rising and falling with the water as other people swam, jumped and played. The water simmered in the sun, almost too hot to be refreshing. I closed my eyes, trying to escape muggers and unpleasant wives and questions that didn’t have answers. I smelled cocoa butter, the smell of summer, then, later, something sweet, fruity, a spilled drink maybe.
I heard a woman say, ‘She’s not moving. You think she’s OK?’
I moved my hands, finning slightly so they’d know I hadn’t drowned.
I’d been doing what everyone asked me to do. Fly, Marcella, Erika, my mysterious note writer. Just tell me what you need, I’ll do it. And I had no idea what was going on. Had Fly been embezzling money from his company and from his wife’s? Had he been planning to leave the country? Who would have stopped him? All he had to do was call me, say, Campbell, I need a ticket to Grand Cayman, to Freeport, Nassau, to Bermuda, anywhere tropical with beaches and fruity drinks and, it goes without saying, banks with numbered accounts and bankers who don’t feel they have to tell the US government everybody’s business. And I’d have said, aisle or window? Of course, if he really was skipping the country with investors’ money – and Erika’s – somebody would have followed pretty soon.
It would be a lot easier to enjoy your margaritas without looking over your shoulder if nobody was looking for you.
Was Fly Young alive?
Had he staged his own death?
Had Fly figured a way to start his life over after all?
A bad storm, but not an unsurviveable storm. Not with a life raft, water, an extra life vest. A little blood on the boom to buy time. A little Polysporin to heal the cut. A new set of identification documents, a driver’s license, a passport, a little cash stashed away. Not for a man who knew what he was doing. And was prepared.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I was back in Nashville by six. I called Erika from the car on the way home, but an assistant told me she was in a meeting. I called Marcella’s number and found her still at work.
‘Yeah, we’re all working late. Erika’s here. She’s screaming at George and Al and the lawyers. She wants them to buy her out.’
‘Buy her out?’
‘Yeah, the way the company’s set up, if a partner dies, the remaining partners have first option on his share. She wants the money, and she wants it now. And now’s not a good time.’
‘I guess not.’
‘There’s no money to buy her out. Not that kind of cash anyway. And there’s no way the auditors and lawyers are going to allow that right now. Everything’s frozen except current operating funds.’
‘So what’s going to happen?’
‘I think Erika’s not going to get what she wants for once.’
‘That’s going to put her in a good mood when I talk to her.’
‘Yeah, well, I think it’s going to be a long, long time before Erika’s in a good mood.’
That wasn’t good news, but it was a reprieve. At least I didn’t have to talk to her immediately. Instead I could go pick up Sandy, my cat who would have missed me and be glad to lick my ankle.
I called MaryNell.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘You can eat supper with us, too. I want to hear everything.’
I stopped by Walgreen’s to make prints from the photos on my phone and my camera. I have a secret fear that Walgreen’s is part of a plot to take over the world. It started slowly, one here, one there, open twenty-four hours. Then another corner, another. Convenient, handy. Now there’s one on most every corner in town. How many drug stores do we need?
At MaryNell’s, I rang the bell, and Melissa opened the door. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Heard you were mugged. Cool! You OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I showed her the scabs on my elbow. ‘How’s Sandy?’
‘Fine. I’ve been teaching him tricks.’
I followed her to the kitchen.
‘Hey, you’re back! In one piece.’ The edge in MaryNell’s voice told me that after supper I’d have to listen to another lecture on putting myself in danger.
‘Hi. Hi, Julie.’
‘Hey, Miss Hale.’
‘Sit down. I’ll get you a glass of tea.’ MaryNell mothered.
‘Where’s Sandy?’
‘Around somewhere. Probably with Fluffy.’
Fluffy. What kind of name is that for a cat? I didn’t say that out loud, of course. ‘Where’s Roger?’
‘He’s at church.’
‘Mission meeting or something?’
MaryNell rolled her eyes. ‘Summer league church basketball. Record number of torn ACLs this season.’
I laughed. ‘Good, clean fun.’
‘Yeah. He won’t admit it’s harder every year. None of them will. It’s just these young kids, you know. They play rougher. The game’s changed.’
‘Speaking of young kids, we’re off.’ Melissa and Julie had finished eating. They carried dishes to the sink.
‘OK. Let me know or tell your dad if you’re going anywhere afterwards.’
‘Bye, Campbell,’ Melissa said.
Julie echoed. ‘Bye, Miss Hale. Thanks for supper, Mrs McLean.’
And they were gone.
MaryNell sat down across from me. She sliced a generous piece of quiche and put it on the plate she had set out for me. ‘Have some fruit.’ She offered the bowl of grapes and strawberries.
‘Thanks.’
‘Now. I want the whole story.’
I told her everything I knew.
She interrupted with questions about Captain Dave. ‘O line at Boston College? I like that. I mean, defensive linemen can be, well, animals, but offensive linemen are teddy bears. Like Bruce Matthews, used to be with the Titans? Or Keydrick Vincent, with Pittsburgh. Everybody needs an offensive line.’
‘I thought you were head cheerleader for the gun-totin’ Sam Davis.’
‘It never hurts to have a deep bench,’ MaryNell said.
‘One more football metaphor and I program your V-chip to block ESPN from your TV.’
‘OK, OK, so what happened when you talked to Erika?’
‘I haven’t yet. I’ve left messages. I’ll go by tomorrow and take the things I did get back with. I’m not looking forward to this. Want to go with me?’
‘Ah, no,’ she said decisively.
‘OK. Now I know the limits of our friendship.’
‘I kept your cat for you while you were out of town.’
‘I only have the cat because you dumped it on me.’
‘Yes, but now you love him.’
‘Well, if you’re not going to go with me to face Erika, I’ll just take my cat and go home.’
MaryNell laughed. ‘I’ll find him. He’s playing with Fluffy.’
I followed her through the dining room, into the great room, down the hall. We found them in Melissa’s room on a table in front of the window pretending to be Egyptian sphinxes. Sandy gave me a look, and I knew not to embarrass him by talking to him, asking him if he’d missed me, using the word ‘cute’. I lured him into his carrier and went home.
THIRTY-NINE
At home I checked my messages. Nothing from Sam. One from Erika Young returning my earlier call. Putting that one off wouldn’t help. I filled Sandy’s water bowl, put out a little food; he’d already eaten at MaryNell’s.
I called, and this time we connected.
‘I’d like to bring you the things from the boats,’ I told her.
‘Of course. I have meetings early. Everything is upside down. Can you come at one?’
‘One. Yes, I’ll see you then. Can you give me directions?’
‘Of course.’ Erika told me how to find her house, west on Harding Place into Belle Meade, right on Lynwood, then a couple more turns. ‘I’ll be working around back, by the pool. I’m sending the staff away so I can get some things done. So come on around back. There’s no handle on the front of the gate, but you can reach over it and open it from the inside.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll expect you at one, then.’
I might as well look through Fly’s things, I thought, as long as I had them. I unpacked my own bag, started a load of laundry, and settled down with Sandy beside me and the duffle of things I’d collected from the Manana and Captain Dave’s boat. There wasn’t much. I went through the pockets of the few clothes, flipped through the pages of the Bible and the other books, not even knowing what I was looking for. I opened the CD and DVD cases, looking behind the liners. Nothing. I flipped through the yellow pad. There, on the last page, was that number I’d seen earlier. Nothing else on the page, and it was written on the last page of an almost empty pad. You wouldn’t see it unless you were looking, unless you either knew it was there or were searching. 010914 664 3298723 9845. I had no idea what it was. It might be nothing, a phone number with extension, or it might be a password, although it seemed too long for that. I didn’t know, but I copied it.
I repacked the duffel. Not much there. Maybe Fly’s children or his mother would be glad to have his Bible. I put it all by the front door and followed Sandy’s example. I went to bed.
FORTY
The next morning I left for work before seven. I promised Sandy I’d be home early and play with him then. I picked up my Bahamas pictures at Walgreen’s and debated whether I had time for a ham waffle at Pancake Pantry, thin chunks of ham cooked right into the waffle, but I knew there’d be a list of calls waiting for me to return. I settled for coffee.
I was right. There was a list but, thank goodness, no crisis. I worked steadily until twelve fifteen and left, drove through Burger King for a Whopper Jr and Coke and ate lunch on my way to Fly and Erika Young’s Belle Meade mansion. That’s how the newspapers always describe homes in Belle Meade; they’re all Belle Meade mansions. When I pulled up in front of the Young house, I understood why. I parked in a gravel area off the circular drive and took a deep breath. Why, why had I agreed to bring this stuff back? And why couldn’t I have just dropped it off at the HealthwaRx office? And why did I think it was a good idea to eat a hamburger on the way over here? Please, God, don’t let me throw up all over her perfect driveway.
I looked for the gate. I could see the white, solid board fence that protected the back lawn. It was at least six-feet high. And it seemed to be growing as I watched. OK. Deep breath. I had to get this through-the-looking-glass feeling under control. To the left the fence seemed to stretch in an unbroken line. I walked toward the right. Just around the corner of the house, I saw the gate, solid boards painted white like the fence. An arbor arched over it supporting miniature coral roses. The gate, I saw, wasn’t as high as the rest of the fence.
Up close, I saw that I could stand on my toes and reach over the top. I felt and found the latch. If only I could see how it worked. I stretched, fumbled, moving whatever seemed to move. There! Something gave, and the gate moved toward me. I stepped back and opened it. I smoothed my long linen shirt, tried to look professional, not like I’d just been breaking and entering. It was hot, and I was feeling less and less fresh every minute. I picked up the duffel and box and stepped onto grass like I’d never seen off a country club green. Flagstones marked a path toward the terrace and the pool.
‘Erika? Mrs Young?’ I called out because I didn’t want to take her by surprise. No answer. I circled the side of the house and saw the landscaped pool, long, cool and blue, with a pool house beyond. I called again. ‘Mrs Young!’ I heard birds, a dog in the distance, nothing else.
At the back of the house, in the shade on the terrace between the house and the pool, there were lounge chairs and an outdoor table with chairs shaded by a blue sailcloth umbrella. An open laptop hummed quietly on the table. Papers fluttered in the slight breeze, too slight to relieve the oppressive heat.
If I lived here, I’d be in the pool today. Nothing else made sense outside on a day like today. I moved closer. Rocks and plants surrounded the pool so that water seemed to flow from a small woodland stream into it. Ferns fluttered. Water gurgled, and the filter hummed. I waved away a bee.
Maybe Erika had gone inside. I could sit at the table and wait.
I walked onto the terrace, looked back at the artificially natural pool and saw a woman floating. Long blonde hair. Erika was in the pool after all, and I couldn’t blame her.
But something was wrong. She wasn’t wearing a swimsuit but khaki shorts and a pink knit shirt. And she was floating, but face down, and nothing moved except her hair, eddying around her.
‘Erika!’ I screamed. ‘Help! Erika!’ I ran the few steps and splashed into the shallow, near end of the pool.
I reached her and rolled her over to see those blue eyes staring, open and lifeless. I screamed. Then I wanted to get away. I took a deep breath. What should I do first? I scrambled out of the pool, my clothes dripping, and looked around. A phone was on the table. I punched 911.
‘Metropolitan Police. What is your emergency?’
‘There’s been an accident! There’s a woman in the pool!’
The calm voice, a woman’s, replied, ‘Is she breathing, ma’am?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you know how long she’s been in the water?’
‘No! No! I just got here!’
‘Can you confirm your address, ma’am?’
‘Uh, uh …’ I tried to think, then recited the Youngs’ street address. ‘Belle Meade.’ I didn’t know the zip code.
‘OK, and what’s your name?’
‘There’s a woman in the pool! I think she’s dead!’
‘I’ve got somebody on the way. Now, what’s your name?’
‘I’m Campbell Hale, but it’s not my house.’
‘OK, Campbell. Why do you think the woman’s dead?’
‘She’s not moving! Her eyes are open, and I couldn’t feel a pulse! Should I try to do CPR?’
‘Are you trained in CPR, Campbell?’
I could hardly speak, and I couldn’t think. I’d had a CPR class ages ago, but I’d never tried it on anything except a dummy torso.
‘I think so. I mean, I had a course once. I think I can do it.’ The voice was working. I was a long way from calm, but I was beginning to come back from the edge of panic. ‘Can you tell me what to do?’
‘Sure. We’ll do this together, Campbell. First you need to get her face out of the water. Can you do that?’
In the distance I could hear the first sirens. Thank you, God.
‘I think so.’
I splashed back into the pool and over to Erika. I pulled her over to the side of the pool, to the steps where I could get her upper body out of the water and support her head.
‘Campbell, you there?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m here. OK. I’ve got her head out of the water.’
‘Can you get her out of the pool?’
‘I can try. The gate is latched. Should I go unlock it?’
‘No, you stay with the woman. Lean her head back. Make sure there’s nothing in her mouth.’
Step by step, as I balanced the phone against my shoulder, she walked me through the CPR procedure, reminding me of the lessons I hadn’t used in years. Breathe. Two. Three. Press. Press. It was hopeless. What was that song you were supposed to use to time the presses? I could tell it was hopeless, but I kept going. And kept going.
Then policemen were coming through the gate, the lighter blue Belle Meade uniform instead of Metro’s dark navy. I was so relieved to see them. Finally. Somebody to take charge, to handle this. I started to cry.
They saw Erika and started to run toward her. Then things happened so fast, it was all a blur. I could hear more sirens, then white-shirted emergency medical personnel were coming through the gate. I was pushed aside and stood there dripping and crying. Then a young Metro officer was standing in front of me with a metal clipboard.
‘Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you answer a few questions for me?’
I tried to focus on his face and nodded. My name. I could answer that, at least. I answered all his questions, my address and so on, stuttering and shaking, until he got to the ones that really mattered. What was I doing here, and what had I seen when I got here?
‘Are you OK, ma’am? Why don’t we step out to my car and sit down?’
The officer led me through the gate, and I saw television trucks with dish antennas. He held his clipboard up to shield my face. I saw other officers unrolling yellow police tape to mark a boundary. The officer opened a passenger side door for me and circled to the driver’s side, leaving my door open. At least he hadn’t caged me in the back.
‘I don’t want to make you too cold. I know it’s hot, but your clothes are wet, and you’ve had a shock. When you get ready I’ll turn some air conditioning on.’
I nodded and realized I was shivering.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘why don’t you tell me what happened?’
