A Month at the Shore (30 page)

What was it like, to have responsibility for a man's life? Ken had never even baby-sat, let alone had complete responsibility for the crew of a square-rigger. The grief had to be crushing.

He tossed Creasey a stern line and
the
yardhand
a bow line to hold the boat temporarily. Then he flipped the secured fenders over the port side, which he knew would be driven into his slip by the raw southeast wind that had come up and was still rising.

Rain soon,
he thought as he scanned the dull gray sky.

He turned the key to the sloop's auxiliary engine. After a slow start, the diesel knocked to life and thumped solidly, a heartbeat in a winged angel. Ken was glad to hear it: no mechanic, he considered it a minor miracle whenever the engine awoke from its winter sleep, stretched, yawned, and began moving again.

"Okay, you can cast off; I'll take her around now," he told Creasey and the yardhand.

The men unfastened the lines, coiled them loosely, and tossed them back on deck as Ken put the sloop smartly in reverse, compensating for the adverse wind. He backed all the way out from between the two rows of slips, turned into the Sound, and then threw the boat into forward gear, heading for the same berth that had been in his family since the marina was built half a century earlier.

It took some smart maneuvering, but Ken knew the boat and he knew the slip. He didn't really need anyone to catch the lines—but he'd
got
a
damn
good paint job on the hull this year, and he wasn't taking any chances. Hell, everyone knew that bankers were conservative folk.

As he approached, he was surprised to see Billy Benwith weighing down one end of the narrow float as he tried to squeeze his big body out of the way of the two men arriving. Ken acknowledged Billy with a distracted nod and threw the boat into neutral and then reverse and back to neutral again, gauging the wind speed and direction well enough so that the boat made a painless soft landing. The men tied up the
Eliza
, Ken thanked them for working late, and they knocked off for the day.

Not Billy. He carried his bulk forward a little sheepishly and said, "They told me you were launchin' tonight. Is this an okay time?"

"For—?"

"Because I've got something, y'know, to tell you. I was gonna tell Laura, but then I thought, she's such a delicate lady. And this isn't delicate, what I have to say. You been giving me work, just like the Shores. For years and years." He took a deep breath after his long speech and said, "So—can I tell you now?"

"Sure. Now's good," Ken said, baffled by what he was hearing. Billy was known around town as the gentle giant, but just then, he had Ken's hairs standing on end. "C'mon aboard," he said.

Billy grabbed the stanchions on either side of the
sloop's
gate and hauled himself up. The
Eliza
angled sharply to take his weight, then righted herself as well as she could, which wasn't completely: Ken felt the boat take on a slight starboard list as Billy settled opposite him on the cockpit seat.

"What's up?" Ken asked, even though in the back of his mind, he was thinking that he should first take the time to rig a forward spring line. The wind really was picking up.

Billy always looked a little ill at ease when he talked to anyone, but his manner just then went far beyond his usual awkward shyness: the man looked genuinely scared. "It's okay, Billy," Ken found himself saying. "Whatever it is, we can make it right again."

"I don't know," said Billy disconsolately. "I don't know."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure anything happened. But it could've. Maybe. You know those bones?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, I think I know how they got there."

God Almighty.
"Okay," Ken said, nodding calmly. "Tell me how you think they got there."

Billy seemed eager to spill it all out, frowning as he concentrated on what he had to say. "Well, I was doing deliveries for Shore Gardens," he began. "We were real busy with graduations and weddings and all. And back then, the flower arrangements were usually done in the greenhouse. You remember?"

"Not exactly, but that's all right; go ahead."

"Mr. Shore used to keep Laura and Rinnie working in the store because of handling money and all, which nobody else ever got to do but them. The flower arrangers, they were just people he hired around busy season—usually from Easter to weddings. And also before Christmas, 'course."

"Sure. That makes sense," said Ken, wondering where Billy was taking this. "Spring through June is a busy time, and so is Christmas."

"But Christmas season, that's only a coupla weeks. But it would be too cold to heat the greenhouse in December, so then they used to make do in the shop. But it was really crowded when everyone was jammed in there like that. They had to make do."

"Yes. I understand. So what then? What about the flower arrangers?"

Billy looked a little huddled, rubbing his bare, massive arms briskly in the chill wind. He stared at his reflection in the brass ship's bell that was mounted on the bulkhead as he said, "There was this one girl
... she was younger than the usual. Prettier. The prettiest of all. Prettier than—promise you won't tell?"

"Promise."

"Prettier even than Laura. You remember?"

"Ah
... can't say that I do," Ken admitted. He was becoming more baffled by the second. "What was her name?"

"Sylvia. Her name was Sylvia. I don't know her other name." He sighed. His brow twitched in the effort to focus. "No, I don't know it. If I ever knew it."

Sylvia again. Ken said carefully, "Well, this Sylvia—she must have been really good-looking, because she sure seems to have made an impression. When did she work at Shore Gardens?"

"She worked there when I worked there," Billy said, blinking at the question.

"No, I mean, how long ago was that? Do you remember?"

"Yes," Billy said, nodding eagerly. "I had my driver's license. Laura and me both. We practiced in the same car in Driver's Ed. We were in the same grade—well, me because I was held back. And on driving too. I didn't like that part!"

Ken felt obligated to apologize for his lack of knowledge. "I was going to school in western Mass by then," he said, "so I guess I kind of lost touch with everyone."

Billy nodded again and gave Ken a look, as if he were taking it personally.
You went K through 8 with us, and then you ditched us for a fancy high school. What, we weren't good enough for you?

Or maybe that was just Ken, projecting. He said, "So you were delivering flowers for Shore Gardens, and a very pretty girl named Sylvia was doing the arrangements. Did she work in the greenhouse or in the shop?"

"For sure, the greenhouse! She started work during Founders Week. I said
,
when I got my driver's license—right?
Everyone
knows the driver's test is in May."

Except Ken. "Right, right. Sorry. And then what?"

Suddenly Billy seemed not to want to continue, after all. He said to Ken, "Would it be okay if I rang the bell?"

"Uh
... sure, go ahead," Ken said, wondering at the wild shift in subject matter.

Billy carefully took hold of the macramé lanyard attached to the clapper of the brass bell and gave it a timid rap against the strike.

"Ooh! It's loud," he said with a startled giggle.

Ken made himself smile. "That's so other boats can hear you in the fog."

"Yeah. It wouldn't help if no one could hear; they wouldn't know where you were," said Billy. "Then what would be the point?"

"Exactly," said Ken, nodding.

"It's Snack," Billy blurted. "Sylvia had a
big
fight with Snack. They were screamin' at each other, just screamin'. I didn't even go into the greenhouse, that's how mad they sounded. They were just screamin' at the top of their lungs."

That's all this was about? Thank God. "Ah, so you heard an argument between Snack and this girl Sylvia. And because of that, you think—?"

"
It could be Sylvia they found. 
He could've done it. I wish he didn't," Billy said miserably, "but he could've."

Relieved that Billy's big news came down to overhearing an argument between Snack and a girl, Ken was nonetheless thrown into a quandary. The news about the exceptional length of time that the bones had been in the compost pile wasn't common knowledge yet—but on the other hand, Billy could do a lot of damage spreading his story around. Ken understood how small towns worked. The simplest event could be twisted into something unrecognizable within the space of a single conversation over a picket fence.

That was unacceptable. "Billy," he said, "you have absolutely nothing to worry about; I have great news for you. But first: can you keep a secret?"

"I think so," said Billy. He looked as if he'd never been asked to do it before.

"It won't be forever. Just temporarily."

Billy looked excited, relieved, and curious, in that order. "What's the secret?"

"I've already been told that the bones were in the compost pile for much, much longer than when you're talking about," Ken explained. "The bones are not Sylvia's, Billy. You don't have to worry about that. Okay?"

Now came really happy nodding of his big, shaggy head.
"Okay!"
Billy said. He looked ready to hug Ken.

And Ken was just about ready to hug him back. What profound relief to know there wasn't anything to Billy's fears. Ken was jumpier about the investigation than he'd realized.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," he said, smacking his hands together. "How about a Coke?"

"Yeah, that would—oh. But
... then what were they doing, dragging it into the compost pile?"

"Who?"

Billy cringed visibly, as if his teacher had asked him to name the capital of Baluchistan.

"If Snack didn't do anything, then I guess I don't know. I always figured it musta been Snack."

"Dragging what?"

"I
... don't know. Something heavy?"

"When, for God's sake?" Ken snapped.

"That's what I been trying to say: after the fight."

"Right after it?"

"Not
right
after it. Later that day. Maybe about eight o'clock? It was really foggy, and practically dark, I don't care if it was June or not. I was late because I was driving real slow, because I just got my license. I got it the same
time as Laura. We were in the same grade, because I was held—"

"Yes, yes. Do you remember what the person looked like that you saw dragging something heavy into the compost pile?"

"Not hardly. It was really, really thick out. I drove the van up to the greenhouse like I always did, so I could just load up the next day and go. So I wasn't
real
close to the compost pile. And then a song came on that I liked a lot—'I Dream of You.' You know it?"

"Yeah, sure," Ken said, lying through gritted teeth.
Don't rush him.

Billy went on, even more earnestly. "Anyway, I waited until the song was over, and then I guess I fell asleep in the van. Not real asleep, just nap asleep. I almost forgot about that part. Maybe that's why I wasn't so sure of what I saw when I woke up. Maybe I was still dreaming, even. Or maybe just sleepy."

The furrows on the broad expanse of his brow were deep. He was trying so hard to get it right. "But, no, it
wasn
't
because I was sleepy; I think it was mostly the fog."

Ken felt as if he were in a free fall into hell. "I can see why you had a hard time," he said reassuringly. "Around here, you can cut a June fog with a knife. But try to remember: was it a big person? Small person? Tall person? Short person? A man? A woman?"

To every question, Billy shook his head. "They were too hunched over. All I know is, they were having a hard time dragging—well, not Sylvia, so I don't know what it was. Maybe a bag of manure or something?"

He sighed heavily and said, "I remember I was thinking of going over to help, but—
"
He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I think maybe I was afraid someone would tell on me."

"Tell what?" Ken asked, surprised.

Up came the massive shoulders in a sorrowful shrug. "I don't know. But it didn't look right. It made me feel funny to see it. I guess I was afraid."

His pale green eyes looked watery and full of contrition, so much so that Ken began to be suspicious of what it was that Billy was actually sorry for.

Nonetheless, he said to him, "You don't have to be afraid, Billy. You've told me what you saw, so now you don't have to worry. You did the right thing by coming to me and getting it off your chest. All that worrying, and see? It was for nothing. Because it couldn't be Sylvia."

In his mind Ken was thinking, shit, shit, shit. What if there
was
something to all of this?