Heart of Stone (29 page)

“You're most unhelpful,” I said, taking the loupe and the slide from him.

I held the slide up to the late-afternoon light shining through the windshield. I stared at the picture long and hard. The colors were beautiful, and I congratulated myself on a fine job framing and focusing the shot. This was a photo of Karl Merkleson's outline. The sun flooded over the rocks. Fadge was right; it was a nice, sunny morning. Too nice a day to die.

“Your friend is a remarkable fellow,” said Max, taking the first sip of his first cocktail of the evening. “Excellent idea of his to whip up this Tom Collins. Tall and refreshing.”

Fadge was sitting on the chair opposite Max, poring over the
Racing Form
, unaware he was being praised. He was planning to call his bookie with his picks for the next day's races. Or maybe he was considering an early-morning dash to Saratoga in his dented car. It was only about an hour's drive. The horses were Fadge's day job, after all. The ice cream store was a sideline that provided seed money for his terrible gambling habit.

“What's in the news today, Ronald?” asked Max.

“Sorry?” said Fadge, interrupted from his study.

“I asked what was making headlines today? What news from Berlin? How many home runs for Roger Maris? Tell me what's in the funny pages.”

Fadge looked at me, perplexed. I shook my head, a signal for him to ignore Max.

“Tomorrow's the Sanford Handicap at Saratoga,” he said. “I'm leaning toward Brunette Downs. She's only carrying a hundred and ten pounds.”

“Seems like a load to me,” said Max. “I slow down when saddled with anything heavier than my lunch.”

Fadge looked to me again, silently begging for assistance, but all I could manage was an I-told-you-so roll of the eyes.

“Shall we listen to the Yarrow report?” asked Lena, rising to switch on the radio. Fadge seemed relieved, until the announcer said that the escapee had been spotted three times in or around Prospector Lake in the past twenty-four hours. A report was to follow at seven. Fadge was white.

“Perhaps it's time for some music,” I said.

CBC was broadcasting Berlioz, for whom I'd never really cared. I invited Fadge to join me on the porch for a drink instead. I wasn't sure if he was afraid of Donald Yarrow showing up uninvited in our compound or if he knew there was a squadron of mosquitoes lying in wait to siphon his sweet blood out by the gallon, but Fadge didn't want to chance it. He suggested we stay inside with Lena and Max. Then there was a knock on the cabin door. I answered to find Isaac standing before me.

“Ellie,” he said. “I really wish you had a telephone here. Every time I need to speak to you, I have to hightail it over here in person.”

I offered a vague smile. “And I wouldn't know what that feels like.”

“You're right,” he said. “Sorry. I know you've braved the elements and all manner of danger on foot through the woods to visit Arcadia.”

Just when I'd decided to write him off, when I found him to be insufferable, Isaac always managed to redeem himself in my eyes, at least to a degree. He seemed to care for me, lacked the flaws that one usually encountered in bachelors. He didn't smell, didn't embarrass, didn't snore. He was fit, smart, talented, and cultured. And he had a smile to beat the band. But questions about his character caused me fits. He'd betrayed two of his best friends by sleeping with their girls. Paint me old-fashioned, but that was something I believed friends didn't do to each other. I remembered my own experience in this arena. I'd had a dangerous fling with Stitch Ferguson, who'd been on the rebound from my friend Jackie Rennart. I was sure they'd broken up when I embarked on my ill-timed and ill-advised affair. Stitch promised me they had parted ways. But in the end, I discovered that Stitch had lied. He broke my heart and forever ruined my friendship with Jackie. And he'd taught me to doubt the integrity of the men I frequented.

Why was I tarring Isaac with Stitch's brush? It wasn't the same. Isaac hadn't led me on, had his way with me, only to break it off with the announcement that he'd been carrying on with his old flame all along and was going to marry her, would I like to attend the wedding, by the way? What a fool I'd been. Was I punishing Isaac for another's duplicity? No, it wasn't the same. And yet my antennae were up. The warning signs were there. Did Isaac want anything from me besides a summer fling? I didn't care in principle. But in practice I did. I wanted him. But I wasn't sure if he deserved my desire. I wasn't sure I could trust him. And that was what vexed me.

“Come in,” I said. “I want to introduce you to my friend.”

Isaac entered and surveyed the room. He said hello to Lena and Max, of course. Then he turned to the big side of beef that answered to the name Fadge Fiorello.

“Isaac, this is my friend Fadge,” I said.

“How do you do?” asked Isaac.

“I do fine,” said Fadge. They didn't like each other; I could tell right off the bat. But why should they? At the risk of overstating the case, I feared they saw each other as rivals for my affections.

Isaac whispered that he wanted to have a word with me in private. I felt Fadge's eyes on me. Our relationship was friendly, not romantic. Still, I knew he was carrying a torch for me, and I hated to flaunt my boyfriends in front of him.

“I'll just be a minute,” I said, excusing myself. Then, trying to prove that my word was good, I asked Fadge to be a darling and pour me another drink.

“You really need to ask your aunt to get a telephone up here,” said Isaac once we were outside.

“Okay,” I said, a little out of sorts with him. “Anything else?”

“Come on, Ellie. What's happened? What have I done to upset you?”

I thought about it. There were many things. Little things. And some not-so-little things. Besides the virtual parade of women through his bedroom, there was the mean-spirited taunting of his old friend Simon. Sure he'd said they all enjoyed the teasing, that it was part of their usual games, but I found that it grew sour after a while, especially given what I knew about Simon's health. I wondered again if Isaac knew about his friend's disease, and I almost asked him then and there. But I held back. I wasn't risking a major emotional discussion on the cabin porch while my dearest friend, Fadge, sat stewing inside. And what else had Isaac done to estrange himself from my good graces? He'd flirted shamelessly with Audrey Silber, and perhaps done worse. That stung my pride as well as my affections. I did care for this man, after all. I was perhaps throwing up shields to protect myself, magnifying small doubts and suspicions to hold him at bay. Or was I truly over the brief infatuation?

“There's one thing,” I said, determined not to show my hand.

“Tell me, and I'll fix it. I swear,” he said, almost pleading. I liked that.

“Why did you assume that I knew nothing about the music you all were playing?” Isaac's face fell. “And why did you find it so hard to believe that I'd investigated a couple of murders in my work as a reporter?”

“Well,” he began but quickly stalled. He tried again. “It's unusual these days that young people know about music,” he said, dipping his spade into the ground and removing the first shovelful of dirt. “I just thought you'd probably be like most girls and like rock and roll. You know, like Audrey.” The spade pushed deeper into the dirt. “And how many girls investigate murders? Or have jobs on newspapers? Not many, I'd guess.” The hole was growing, and I decided to stop the carnage.

“Perhaps you've said enough. Let's leave it.”

“Will you come tonight?”

“I have a guest. I can't abandon him.”

“Your aunt and Max are here,” he said. “He'll be fine.”

I sighed. “Let me rephrase that. I don't
want
to abandon him.”

Isaac gave it some thought then apologized. “Where are my manners? Please let me invite your friend as well. We'd love to have him with us. All four of you should join us for dinner.”

I laughed. “Isaac, it's almost seven. You can't invite people to dinner like that. Don't you think we've already started preparing our supper here?”

He shook his head, looked away, and apologized again. “I'm being selfish. But it's because I want you to come, Ellie. Please reconsider. Maybe you and your friend could come over after your supper. It'll be fun. He'll have a great time.”

“I've got to go,” I said. “I'll check with Fadge. If he's game, I'll see you later.”

Isaac drew a sigh of relief. I smiled despite myself. Damn it, he still had something of a hold on me. I just wasn't sure if it was slipping or about to get stronger.

I let myself back inside the cabin and saw Lena, Max, and Fadge sitting forward in their seats, hanging on every word coming from the radio. Well, Max had sunk too far into the cushions of his armchair to make any real effort to lean forward, but his attention was fixed on the Philco.

“The young couple stated that they saw their car being stolen as they emerged from the lake after a swim. Though the car was a distance away, they described the thief as a slight man in his forties, dressed in baggy clothing. Prospector Lake chief of police, Ralph Terwilliger, told reporters that there is no credible evidence to indicate that the car thief was, in fact, Donald Yarrow, who escaped one week ago from Comstock prison in Washington County. Chief Terwilliger urged residents and visitors to remain vigilant in case Yarrow was in the area, but cautioned against overreaction.”

“Did you hear that, Ellie?” asked Aunt Lena, nearly breathless. “Yarrow stole a car from Frenchman's Creek Beach. Just at the southern end of the village.”

“He's been spotted everywhere from here to Canada to Mexico,” I said. “Max had him in Cozumel just yesterday.”

Max frowned and sipped his Tom Collins pensively. “Airplanes, my dear,” he mumbled half to himself.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fadge and I drove over to Arcadia Lodge at nine thirty. I'd convinced him to come along, if only to protect me from marauding escaped murderers. And I told him there would be booze aplenty and a couple of pretty girls.

The Arcadians had just finished their dinner and were relaxing with drinks in the Great Lodge. To my dismay, I spotted that contagion, Nelson Blanchard, drooling over Audrey Silber on one of the sofas. She didn't seem to mind his attentions, but, in her defense, perhaps she didn't fully grasp the depravity of his intentions. Miriam and Rachel were sitting together in silence, Miriam staring at the floor, Rachel watching her father, who was crossing the room, unsteady on his cane. Once he'd found a seat, she relaxed and turned back to Miriam. She still didn't say anything, and Miriam continued her contemplation of the floorboards.

I dragged Fadge over to Jakob Eisenstadt to introduce him. I wanted to visit the bar, of course, but propriety dictated that ceremony be respected. Once we'd exchanged pleasantries with the senior host, we made our way to the drinks table. I was pouring myself a whiskey as Fadge surveyed the room.

“Who's that talking to your friend over there?” he asked, indicating Isaac across the room.

I followed his gaze and saw Lucia Blanchard, leaning over Isaac from behind as he sat in an armchair, talking to David and Ruth. She was drunk, it seemed, close to falling out of her silk blouse. In Isaac's defense, he was ignoring her even as she endeavored to park her derrière on his shoulder like some kind of bosomy epaulette.

“That's the wife-swapping wife,” I said, and Fadge's face lit up.

He watched her intently, never taking his eyes off her as he spoke. “Do you know you're selfish sometimes, El?” he said. “Did you ever stop to consider that I might like to meet interesting new people and have dinner on my vacation?”

“Pervert,” I said. “Come on. I'll introduce you.”

Nelson Blanchard had a better nose than a bloodhound. He appeared behind me just as I said hello to the group surrounding Isaac.