Dear Irene (18 page)

“What a terrific dress!” Rachel said, then added more softly, “Frank’s looking at us like we might disappear. I get the idea he’d like to go home and take that dress off you. Why are you looking at your watch? Am I boring you already?”

Noting that it was already 8:14, I told her my plan. We started laughing, and I saw both Pete and Frank look up in dismay. I noticed a couple of women had moved over toward them, trying to start conversations. Our boys were acting distracted but tried to be courteous.

“Well,” Rachel said, “I won’t have time to talk to you tonight, then. But Lydia tells me you’ll join us tomorrow?”

“Yes, looking forward to it. We decided to put off going up to the mountains, and we’ll see his family on the day after Christmas.”

“Bene.
We’ll see you tomorrow. Now, quit wasting time.”

“Don’t worry, this hasn’t been a waste of time. This works better than standing next to him.” A glance at my watch told me it was time to go in for the kill: 8:24. Rachel crooked a finger at Pete, and he made his way over as I made my way back. Frank put a possessive arm around me, but continued to give polite attention to a redhead who was still doing her best to converse with him. I leaned over and spoke softly into his ear. “Frank,” I said in my huskiest whisper, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

We thanked Bredloe and were on our way home by 8:27.

P
ETE CALLED AT
10:30. I couldn’t make much of Frank’s end of the conversation, but the result was that he got out of bed and put on jeans and a sweater; not the type of clothes he wears when he’s going out on a case. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I’ve got to go over to Pete’s for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no, he’s fine. Rachel’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” He was acting fidgety.

“Well, fine. I’m so glad everyone is fine. Want me to go with you?”

“No, no. I’ll be right back,” he said, scurrying out the front door.

I decided this was a perfect opportunity. The minute I heard Frank drive away, I called Jack and warned him I was coming over for the dog. I put on jeans and a sweatshirt, then closed the bedroom door on Cody. He doesn’t like being locked in rooms, but once he figured out there was a dog in the house, he’d appreciate the sanctuary.

Before Jack would part with the mutt, I had to tell him that the dog would be right next door and that he was free to come over and see it any time. The dog was easygoing about it all, walking along on the leash with the kind of manners that said someone must have taken some time to work with him. I brought him into the living room and brushed his coat. He was calm and well-behaved. He even put up with the indignity of having a ribbon tied around his collar. After all, he was a Christmas present.

I was amused to see his ears perk up when Frank’s car pulled up in the driveway. I heard Frank opening the door, and suddenly the dog bolted and went bounding down the hallway. I ran after him, heard Frank swearing, and came outside to see my intended lying flat on his ass in the front yard.

“Quick! They ran toward the beach!” he shouted as he scrambled to his feet. I wasn’t sure who “they” were, but I closed the front door and caught up with Frank as he made his way down the steps to the shore. In the moonlight I could see two large dogs cavorting and chasing each other along the beach.

“Where’d that other dog come from?” I panted.

“I don’t know, I could swear it came out of the house—” He suddenly stopped running. “Irene?”

I stopped too. “Oh, no. You got a dog for me for Christmas.”

“Yes, that’s why I went over to Pete’s. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but she was tearing up Pete’s yard.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, guess what I got you for Christmas?”

“Does it have four legs and a mean tackle?”

“He seemed well-mannered until you opened the door. Jack was keeping him until I could come over and get him tonight. Jack helped me pick him out.”

“Jack? But Jack knew I was getting a dog for you.”

Suddenly I remembered Jack’s amusement at my saying that if Frank didn’t like the dog, I would just keep the dog for myself.

“I think Jack figures he’ll take your dog if you don’t want him.”

“No way.”

We watched them run part way into the cold water and come tearing out again. Great. Two wet, sandy dogs. Remembering that Frank’s dog — that is, the one I was giving him — had such good leash behavior, I whistled as loud as I could. Sure enough, the pair came galloping toward us, tails wagging, and getting us as wet and sandy as they were when they reached us. We each grabbed a collar, and I got my first close look at my Christmas present.

She had long black fur, and seemed to be some kind of Labrador retriever mix. She had a white patch on her chest; floppy ears, and big soulful eyes. She was about the same size as Frank’s dog. She gave me a friendly nuzzle and reached out a paw for a shake. “Happy to meet you. What did you say your name was?”

“She doesn’t have one yet. I’m not familiar with the names of all of Tennessee Williams’s characters.”

“Well, he doesn’t have one yet either, since I’m not willing to call him all those things you said when you first met him.”

“Too bad. But I guess the neighbors wouldn’t enjoy hearing you shout that from the front porch every time you called for him.”

We made it back to the house and carried the dogs into the bathroom. They weren’t light, but we didn’t want them tracking sandy paw prints all over the house. We cleaned them up in the tub, rinsed it out, then made them sit outside of it while we got into the shower. While I lathered up his back, I thanked Frank for the present.

“Think you’ll want to keep her?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“Yeah, having two big dogs and Cody will be a handful, but let’s try it, okay?”

They started barking. In the confined space of the bathroom, it sounded like we had them on a boom box in an echo chamber.

We got out, dried off, and put on clean jeans and sweatshirts while pandemonium reigned. Telling them to be quiet was useless. We let them out, and they both went charging for the front door, barking. “Oh no, you don’t,” Frank said, going after them. “You two are going out to the backyard for a while.” But when he reached the front door, he stood stock still for a moment, then yanked open the door for them. They went charging out again, still barking, while Frank grabbed his gun.

“Frank, what the hell are you doing?”

“Stay inside and lock the doors!” he shouted over his shoulder, following the dogs. “Call 911 and tell them to roll a unit!” I heard the dogs quieting down and hurried toward the open door, but stopped cold about three feet away from it.

On the floor, just inside the doorway, was a bright red envelope with a computer label on it.

Dear Cassandra,
You must tell them that I have no quarrel with Alcyone. It is Ceyx who was to be punished. Poor Alcyone, still unaware. But it is done. Poseidon will bring him to you. Soon my work will be complete. Then we can be together, my beloved.
You see that I always know where you are, and who you are with. This does not concern me now. You will set these others aside in favor of me when you realize how powerful I truly am.
Your beloved,
Thanatos

Frank had carefully opened the letter, trying not to disturb any fingerprints that might be on the envelope. In addition to the letter, the envelope contained a small, shiny, odd-shaped key. A number was stamped into it.

“Lockbox key,” Frank said. “Probably show up on the Board of Realtors ‘lost and stolen’ list. I guess he wanted to let you know how he got into the house on Sleeping Oak.”

A helicopter passed overhead, searching for signs of the person who had hand-delivered this latest message. The dogs must have heard him skulking around the front door before he pushed the envelope through the mail slot. Frank never saw him; he was gone by the time Frank let the dogs out.

Jack came over, having heard the commotion. He sat down in the living room and read the letter without touching it. Frank and I were sitting on the couch, both feeling dejected. The dogs mirrored our mood, lying side by side with their heads on their paws. I distracted myself by lighting a fire in the fireplace, and checking on Cody, who had heard the barking and retreated to a closet shelf. I couldn’t seem to get warm. Frank put an arm around me, but still I was shivering.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that he’s telling you he’s already killed his third victim,” Jack said.

I nodded. Frank said, “I know Poseidon is the god of the sea. Tell me about Alcyone and Ceyx.”

“He’s probably basing the letter on Ovid’s version of their story,” Jack began. “Ceyx was a king. He and his wife, Alcyone, were very devoted to one another. Ceyx planned a long sea voyage to visit an oracle.”

“His wife didn’t want him to go,” I said, remembering the story. “Alcyone had a sense of foreboding about it, and begged him to stay home, or to take her with him. He was reluctant to be separated from her, but didn’t want to endanger her. He promised to return as quickly as possible and began his voyage.”

“He should have listened to her,” Jack said. “The very first night, the ship was caught in a heavy storm. All hands were lost. Ceyx was grateful that his wife would not share his fate, and died saying Alcyone’s name over and over.

“But Alcyone, not knowing what had happened, passed her days weaving a new robe for him, and thinking of how happy she would be when they were reunited. She prayed to the gods for his safety, and they took pity on her.”

“She prayed to Hera, the goddess of marriage, right?” I asked.

“Yes, but Ovid, being Roman, called her Juno. Juno was moved to intervene. She called on Morpheus to help her.”

“The god of dreams?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Morpheus could assume any form or shape. He changed himself into the shape of Ceyx — Ceyx as he appeared drowned. Weeping, he stood by Alcyone’s bed, and told her — in Ceyx’s voice — that he was her husband’s ghost, and asked her to mourn for him.”

“Alcyone cried out to him in her sleep,” Jack said, “and suddenly awakened, feeling certain that Ceyx was dead. She went to the shore at dawn, and as she watched in agony, saw Ceyx’s body floating toward her. She ran into the water, and suddenly, instead of sinking, she was flying over the sea. The gods changed Alcyone and Ceyx into birds — kingfishers — and they’re always seen flying or riding the waves together.”

“The term ‘halcyon days’ comes from their story,” I said. “According to the legend, for seven days in winter, the days when the kingfishers nest, the gods forbid storms to break, and the sea is peaceful.”

Frank reread the letter. “Nothing peaceful here.”

“He’s drowned someone,” I said. “A man, this time.”

“I’m afraid that’s what it looks like,” Jack agreed.

Frank got up and made some phone calls. When he was done, I called the
Express;
they contacted John Walters, who had just gone home for the night. One of the nightside reporters called me back and told me John expected me to come in the next morning, and took a story from me over the phone. Another story on the Thayer murder was already planned for the front page. The staffers in Design were unhappy about seeing their day’s work on the A section completely rearranged, but John didn’t want to delay the story of the third letter.

W
E TOOK THE DOGS
out and watched the activity on the beach from the top of the stairway at the end of our street. We could see searchlights from boat patrols out on the water; more lights as jeeps and foot patrols searched the beach, pier, and marina. I wondered, with a chill, if Thanatos was watching it all with glee. I moved closer to Frank.

We went home after an hour or so, both of us feeling worn down. I tried to get Cody to come out of the closet and got clawed for my efforts. The dogs gave up scratching at the bedroom door. I tried not to make too much of the fact that Frank checked his gun before we crawled into bed. I don’t know what time it was when we finally managed to fall asleep.

The phone rang at dawn. An unidentified man’s body had washed ashore.

We dragged ourselves out of bed. Frank tried to talk me into staying home, knowing something about what bodies look like when the ocean has had a little time with them. I reminded him that even though I didn’t always like to talk about corpses, I’d seen my share of gruesome sights in my years of reporting. That probably didn’t sway him as much as my admission that I didn’t want to be left alone in the house.

We walked in silence to the end of the street and took the stairs down to the sand. A police department jeep met us there, and drove us to an area on the beach which had already been cordoned off and shielded from the stares of curious early morning joggers.

The trick in these situations is to not identify the object on the sand as another human being. The trick, I told myself, is to distance yourself, observe, and not think about this waterlogged casing as a person, and certainly not anything at all like yourself. If you start to think about who it might have been or about your own vulnerability to death, you’ll probably pass out or get sick or both.

So I used the trick. I noted the fancy yachting shoes and the Rolex and the neatly trimmed hair. Absolutely refused to let my glance settle for more than a brief moment on what was once the face. The thing on the beach wasn’t in as awful a condition as “floaters” usually are, leading the county coroner, Dr. Carlos Hernandez, to say the body probably hadn’t been in the water more than a few hours.

T
HAT
S
UNDAY
’
S EDITION
of the paper was printed before the body was found, but a story on the third letter and an interpretation of its meaning ran on the front page. The
Express
got phone calls all morning from women who were frantic about their missing husbands, but it wasn’t until about nine o’clock that I picked up the one that I knew was Alcyone.