Death By Drowning (3 page)

4

The next four weeks I busted my butt movin’ and groovin’ to Jake’s unconventional methods of physical therapy. He bought baseball gloves for us and I would catch the ball, or try to, sitting in my wheelchair stationed squarely in the little park down the end of our street. I had to wear a catcher’s mask in case . . . well, I fumbled quite a bit. After several days, kids were joining us for our impromptu workout, leaving their computer games behind.

That particular therapy was accompanied by the game of throwing a shiny penny in the pool. This was Jake’s idea of fun. He’d throw in a penny. I was to fall off my float, dive and get the penny. Nine out of ten times I couldn’t get the coin, but Jake said that was okay. The therapy was in the struggle to get the penny. What can I say. His methods seemed to be working and I wasn’t bored.

When I had regained enough strength, Jake rented a fishing boat and plunged me into the sea attached to a floating harness contraption he had fashioned. If I drifted too far from the boat, Jake would tug on the rope attached to the harness and drag me closer. If I did well, Jake would venture into deeper water the next day.

“Keep treading. Keep moving those legs!” he yelled encouragingly, while munching on thick roast beef sandwiches and slurping cold beer. Once he pulled me out of the sea with one hand when a shark got a little too close, then proceeded to drop me back in when it lost interest and departed. I called Jake some pretty horrible names. He just motioned for me to continue treading while adjusting his Cardinals baseball cap against the blazing sun.

Franklin would either join me snorkeling in the salty water or stay onboard fishing with Jake. Time came when Jake told me to pull myself on board. It took twenty-five minutes and lots of profanity-laced grunts before I managed to haul myself up and flop onto the deck of the boat like a hooked fish. It took me another fifteen minutes struggling to stand while Jake and Franklin sat watching me, trading baseball statistics. That was the day I took my first step since the accident. That was the day I knew I was going to make it back into the land of the living.

News of my recovery made its way back to Lexington. Detective Goetz and the city’s attorney, along with Shaneika Mary Todd, my criminal lawyer, came to Key West to take my deposition regarding my lawsuit against the city. Goetz was all business as Shaneika watched over him like a sparrow hawk hovering over prey. By that time, my memory had recovered for the most part and I gave a sound statement with only a few lapses. The city’s attorney kept asking the same questions over and over again until I complained of numbing weariness.

“You’ve got some pretty smooth explanations,” said the city’s attorney, his voice sounding like a repeating rifle.

“What do ’ou want me to do? Learn how to stutter,” I seethed.

After that, their visit ended shortly, professional and somewhat disappointingly surreal. Goetz acted as though he didn’t know me. I was relieved when they left.

Eventually Franklin had to go back to Lexington, but not before many tears were shed by us both, not that Franklin would ever admit it to anyone. But we would see each other soon. After all, there was only one month left to go on the lease at the Key West house.

*

It was one of those rare cloudy days in Key West when Jake and I got back to the house. The sky was an unbroken canopy of wooly gray clouds. A smoky black line edging the horizon threatened a severe thunderstorm.

I had discovered a shop specializing in Haitian paintings and had purchased three for a song. It was all I could do to climb out of the cab with my new cane, one that Franklin had procured from an antique store while Jake carried my precious paintings, when I spied my Farmers’ Market friend, Irene Meckler, sitting on the porch steps holding an overnight bag.

“For goodness sake, Irene,” I called. “What are ’ou doing here?”

Irene rushed over, enveloping me in a warm hug. “I was just about to give up on you,” she said smiling. “I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

“Well, come on in. Are ’ou staying in a hotel?” I asked, spying her bag.

“You are going to think this forward of me, but I want to stay with you, Josiah.”

“All right. This is Jake. He is . . . uhmm, my handyman.”

Irene gave Jake the once over. “How handy is he, Josiah?” she asked rakishly.

Jake blushed and picked up Irene’s bag after readjusting the paintings under his arms. “I’m her caretaker, so to speak. A physician’s assistant.” He grinned at me. “I make sure Mrs. Reynolds gets her medicine on time and doesn’t drown in the pool – so I guess that is a type of handyman.” He pointed some high-tech thingamabob which caused the front door to swing open.

“He will show ’ou to the guest bedroom and I will see ’ou at dinner. Sorry, dear, but I’m pooped. I need to rest now. We’ll talk after dinner.” We both waited silently as Jake went inside the house and returned a few minutes later, telling us we could enter.

“Handyman, huh,” muttered Irene, following me inside the house.

“My casa, su casa,” I said, ignoring her comment.

“Thank you, honey,” said Irene gratefully. “I know this here’s an inconvenience but I need . . .”

“No apologies, Irene. Just need a nap and then ’ou’ll have my undivided attention.”

Irene nodded and followed Jake down the hallway oohing and ahhing. She was right to make over the house. It was a darn beautiful house; light and airy inside while the outside exhibited exquisite landscaping with just the right amount of seediness to make it fit in with Key West.

I was in the middle of a long nap when Jake woke me. The sky looked very menacing and he wanted to eat before it rained. It took me a while to dress, as I now had to do that myself. I stepped outside barefoot. Shoes were too much of a bother. Dinner was served on the patio, and the three of us sat down to grilled yellowtail snapper topped with a cold cucumber dill sauce and fresh salad greens dressed with warm honey. Dessert was fresh raspberries over a bed of juicy sliced pears. Of course, my food had been pureed. My gums were still very tender. Jake and Irene had wine while I sipped water spiked with lime juice. Jake put a maraschino cherry in my glass to dress it up.

Irene teased Jake that she would marry him if he would take charge of the household cooking.

“Why marry me then?” asked Jake. “Just hire me on as a cook.”

“’Cause that way, I would have a lifelong interest in you,” kidded Irene, laughing. Underneath the teasing, I thought Irene might be serious.

Jake cleared off the table. While he was in the kitchen, Irene leaned over and asked, “What is Jake?”

“Hey, Jake,” I yelled over my shoulder. “What are ’ou?”

“Choctaw,” replied Jake, poking his head out the kitchen door.

“’Ur people hunt in Kentucky back in the day?”

“Not unless there was a famine. Mostly Shawnee, Cherokees, some Wyandots hunted in Kentucky.”

“I guess no one of ’ur ilk is named after Andrew Jackson.”

“Nope, we pretty much hate his guts. Well, ladies, I am begging off for the night. See you in the morning.”

Irene leaned over and whispered, “I hope we didn’t embarrass him.”

“Why should he be embarrassed about being a Choctaw? I don’t get embarrassed if people ask me if I’m Scandinavian. I like talking about my ancestors. I’m sure he does too.”

“Well, you know, the Indian Removal Act, the Trail of Tears. The fact that so many of them died during that winter.”

“’Ou and I had nothing to do with that. I refuse to feel guilty about something that happened almost two hundred years ago. Should I feel guilty about what the Vikings did? Besides, every dog has his day and the Choctaws are making a killing with their casinos. Let’s drop the subject, okay?”

“Why does he carry a gun with him?”

“Does he?” I replied.

“You know damn well he does. You can see it underneath his shirt. What’s going on here? I think he is more than just a nurse’s aide. Are you in trouble again, honey? I thought everything was over and done with.”

Coming to my rescue, Baby lumbered over and placed his massive head in Irene’s lap. “Josiah, get this monster off me. He’s slobbering all over my skirt.”

“Baby, lie down. Go on now. Lie down. Good boy. Good boy,” I said.

Baby licked his jaws and the top of his nose before sneezing on Irene. As he shook his head, a long strand of thick, sticky drool fell on Irene’s canvas shoes before he lumbered off to find Jake. Pursing her lips with considerable restraint, Irene said nothing as she glanced at her stained shoes.

I turned towards Irene. “Okay, let’s have it. How did ’ou know where I was?”

“Everyone knows where you are,” replied Irene, pushing up her glasses a nose so thin at the ridge it looked like it could cut paper. “You can’t keep a secret like that in a small town like Lexington very long.”

Seeing the confused look on my face, she said, “Matt has been sending out your mail from the Keene post office thinking he was being real sneaky. Well, golly, Josiah, Keene’s only got one building – the store that attaches onto the post office. Don’t you think someone that looks like Matt would be noticed? Women started driving by all hours of the day hoping they could catch a glimpse of him. It’s not every day you see someone that looks like Antonio Banderas in the flesh. To make a long story short, Miriam, the peach lady, lives in Keene and just went in one day while he was there and looked over his shoulder, so to speak. All the packages were addressed here in Key West. Then the funny little guy that got shot with you came back to town with a tan. When he wouldn’t tell anyone where he had been, we all assumed he was with you. So – here I be.”

“Victor Mature.”

“Huh?”

“Matt looks like Victor Mature.” I took a sip of my lime drink. “Okay, I’ve got the how. Now, let’s hear the why.”

Irene bowed her head. “I feel bad asking you since you’re still recuperating, but I’ve got no one else to turn to.”

I reached over and clutched Irene’s hand. “My daughter told me that ’ou came or called every day that I was in the hospital, and that ’ou cooked for her. A person can’t have too many friends like that, Irene. If there is something that I can do for ’ou, I will try.”

Irene lifted her glasses and wiped the tears away that threatened to spill down her pinched features. “It’s my sister’s boy – Jamie. You’ve met him?”

“Once or twice.”

“He’s dead, Josiah. Drowned in the river.”

“I’m so sorry, Irene. When did this happen?”

“Over two weeks ago. They say he drowned, but there’s something that just ain’t right about his death. He was on the river late at night. My sister has no explanation for what he was doing on the water after midnight. And the coroner said there was gasoline residue on his clothes.”

I remained still while Irene caught her breath.

“To make matters worse, that same night, the Golden Sun Vineyard caught on fire. Someone torched fire to their vines . . .”

“So ’ou think that Jamie set fire to the vineyard, and as he was making his escape, he had an accident and drowned?” I interrupted.

Irene shrugged.

I paused. It took me longer now to collect my swirling thoughts and make sense of them. I know it was unsettling for people to sit together in silence. It’s considered rude, but since the accident, my mind was a machine slow in the processing of information. Irene waited patiently.

“This Golden Sun Vineyard . . . isn’t this the winery that claims that they have discovered the heritage grape that served as Thomas Jefferson’s table wine and was the site of the first commercial winery in the United States?”

“Yes,” replied Irene peevishly, “but we all know that my sister’s vineyard, the Silver Creek Vineyard, was the first in the United States.

“Now don’t get huffy, Irene,” I said, “but I read in the paper that the Golden Sun Vineyard can prove their claims with journals, old deeds and letters. Did those claims worry your sister? Be honest.”

“It worried her a touch. People would think that she was lying all those years.”

“She based her claims on oral history and legend which, unfortunately, is sometimes inaccurate. But if that is all ’ou’ve got to go on, no one can fault her for making those claims.” My left hand began to twitch which it now does when I am tired. “Still, I don’t see how I can help, Irene.”

“You know people, Josiah. You have resources that my sister and me don’t. You know how the system works after what you went through with Richard Pidgeon’s death. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you could just look into it when you get back home, I’d be much obliged. I’m a-tellin’ you, Josiah, something in my bones tells me that boy was murdered.”

Observing Irene’s fervor, I nodded, but privately I didn’t know what I could do. I could barely walk. Coming to my rescue, Jake poked his head out from his bedroom and called, “Boss Lady, time for bed.”

I looked apologetically at Irene. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow, Irene. I’m very tired. I’m still building up my strength.”

“Of course. Do you need help?”

“Nope, this is part of my therapy. I now have to get ready for bed on my own. Jake has a monitor in my room, so if I fall, he can hear me.” I tugged on the muumuu. “And everything is kept together with velcro. Jake’s idea. I have to work my way up to buttons and zippers.”

Whatever thoughts Irene had as she watched me limp to my bedroom, she kept to herself.

I awoke around two in the morning to catch Irene sitting in the same patio chair. A storm had cut loose and was raining heavy sheets of silvery droplets. Irene’s silhouette played against the reflection of the pool on the property’s pink stucco wall. Streaks of bright lightning illuminated her calmly smoking, while watching the night sky from the protection of the covered patio.

Sighing, I pushed Baby over to the side of the bed, away from my spine. He didn’t even flinch. All the bedroom doors opened on to the patio. I heard Jake get up from his bed, peep in my door and then check on Irene. They spoke and then he went back to his room. His mattress squeaked as he climbed back in bed. Within minutes an occasional snore sounded from his room. It seemed that only the women were beset by worries.