Authors: James W. Ziskin
“It looks right to me. KMM.”
“But his initials are CMM,” I said, and the Arcadians murmured agreement.
“That's right,” said Isaac. “Why would Karl use his old initials on a new kit?”
“And there's one more thing,” I said. “Charles Morton had a very expensive leather toiletry bag in his valise at the Sans Souci Cabins.”
“So?” asked Terwilliger.
“So why did he have this second, brand-new Dopp kit?”
“What do you make of the two bathroom kits?” Fadge asked me after we'd returned to Cedar Haven around one. We were having a nightcap in my cabin.
“First,” I said, “let's remember that Karl Merkleson was traveling with just one suitcase.” Fadge nodded agreement. “So I ask myself why he had two Dopp kits but only one valise.”
“And what's your explanation?”
I took a sip of my drink. “I think he arrived here with only one Dopp kit. The one I found tonight was new. You could smell it, see it.”
“So why did he buy a second one when he got here?”
“He didn't,” I said, and Fadge scowled at me. “Someone gave it to him.”
“How do you figure?”
“I don't believe you can get your hands on leather goods like that around here,” I said. “And even if he had managed to find one nearby, he wouldn't have had the time to have the kit monogrammed. And finally he knew his own name. Whoever bought the kit and had it inscribed was sending a tender nostalgic message to him, hence his original initials.”
“So obviously it had to be one of the gang at Arcadia Lodge.”
“It would seem so.”
Fadge mulled it over. “Isaac? Or that other guy, Simon? You said they were once great friends. Maybe this was his way to needle him.”
“I don't think so,” I said. “Simon wouldn't give him anything. And Isaac and he weren't that close.”
“Then who do you think?”
“Miriam. Simon's wife. She and Karl had a torrid affair many years ago, I'm almost certain. Isaac was very cagey about why Karl and Simon had their falling out. It just never clicked for me. The intensity of the hatred didn't add up. I think it was Miriam who came between them.”
“Not sure I'm convinced,” he said.
“There's more. Isaac told me that Miriam had run into Karl accidentally in Los Angeles about four years ago. It's a pretty big town.”
“But still possible,” said Fadge.
“And then Gayle Morton told me she was worried enough about her husband meeting up with an old flame here on Prospector Lake that she jumped on a plane and flew across the country to stop it.”
“Could have been any number of women here.”
“I suppose you're right,” I said. “Any number of women named Miriam.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FRIDAY, AUGUST 25, 1961
The close of summer is a melancholy time. The weather, the best of the season, with magical sunrises and sunsets, makes the farewell all the more bitter. The Adirondacks are particularly difficult to leave; I'd forgotten just how much.
The evenings hinted at the impending fall, which would bring crisp air and exploding colors. It would all end in a few weeks in a blizzard of falling leaves. I had just one night left with Aunt Lena and Cousin Max. They were packing their things for a Saturday noon departure. I had agreed to stay on one more day and close up Cedar Haven.
Friday morning Isaac arrived bright and early and sat down to coffee in the kitchen. He invited all four of us, including Fadge, for a party that evening at Arcadia Lodge to celebrate and watch the lunar eclipse.
“It's our last night together,” I said, motioning to the old folks. “We were planning to watch the moon here.”
Isaac deflated.
“There's an eclipse tonight?” asked Fadge, who, I realized, lived under a rock.
“Absolutely,” said Isaac, pushing the sale hard.
“Only a ninety-nine percent eclipse,” I said.
“Read it in the paper this morning. Ninety-eight point six, to be exact,” added Max. “I, for one, feel a little cheated.”
“I wouldn't mind a night off from cooking,” said Lena. “And the view of the moon isn't going to be good from here.”
“Will there be music, young man?” asked Max. Isaac shrugged and said there was always music at Arcadia. “Good,” he continued. “I'm itching to guess the musical selections. I nearly did last time, but Ellie beat me to it.”
“You didn't have the faintest idea,” said Lena.
“Jealousy doesn't become you, my dear. It's petty. You should correct that immediately.”
“Then it's settled?” asked Isaac, practically chirping. “You'll come?”
“It's supposed to rain tonight,” I said. “Hard. There may be nothing to see.”
“Scattered thunderstorms, my dear,” said Max, the font of all information.
“We're hoping the storms will pass in time for us to have a nice show,” said Isaac. “What do you say?”
I glanced at Fadge, who was probably dreading a reprise of the previous night's matchmaking. I wasn't sure if he would push away from a helping of Lucia Blanchard, but as long as her husband was on the menu, he was on a diet.
“Come on, Fadge,” said Isaac, slapping the big guy on the back. “I promise to run interference with Nelson Blanchard. Besides, he's got a thing for Ellie and Audrey Silber. You'll be safe. And we're on higher ground so we'll have a better view of the eclipse.”
I doubted Fadge wanted to go, but he had an excuse all ready anyway. He said he was leaving for New Holland after breakfast. That was news to me.
“I hate to leave you up here with that murderer on the loose,” he said. “But I have to get back to the store.”
“Don't worry about me. But I wish you'd stay one more night.”
“Then that settles it,” said Isaac, beaming. “You're all coming.”
I was outnumbered. Max and Lena wanted to attend the last great Bacchanalia of summer, and Fadge was leaving. And if I was honest with myself, I, too, wanted to be there.
Isaac wondered why I wasn't happy. I said nothing, but the truth was that I didn't appreciate his going around the end to box me into a corner. What if I hadn't wanted to go? What if I hadn't been in his thrall? What if I actually could have said no to his crooked little smile and green eyes with brown specks? He annoyed me, and I knew I couldn't trust him. But I also wanted him, the sexy math teacher. And I didn't want to want him, which was a different argument altogether, and not one I had any hope of winning.
“Next time, ask
me
,” I said, giving him a playful shove. “A girl likes to feel special after all.”
Isaac promised he would. Then, claiming he had preparations to attend to for that evening, he excused himself. The rest of us lingered over our coffee, chatting about the eclipse and the coming storm. I asked Fadge if he really needed to leave, but he was focused on something outside.
“You've got visitors,” he said.
We all directed our attention to the kitchen window and the big Cadillac chugging thick, gray exhaust into the fresh morning air. Without consulting the owner's manual, I could only guess at the model year, but it looked like a 1950 or '51 white Fleetwood four-door. It had certainly seen many, many better days. The driver switched off the ignition, but the motor sputtered and coughed for at least ten seconds before finally giving up the ghost and falling still.
I stepped through the kitchen door and crossed the compound to investigate. The Cadillac's hood ornament was a cross. That was the first clue. The second was the blue paint on the doors reading, “Tommy Grierson Crusade: Bear Me Swift Away.”
The driver's side door opened with a rusty groan, and the tall man unfolded himself from his seat and rose before me. He yanked straight the lapels of his white coat then smoothed his shock of silvery hair with two careful hands.
“Reverend Grierson,” I said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Miss Stone,” he said, taking a few steps toward me. “May the Lord bless you and keep you.”
I didn't know what the proper response was to that greeting, so I said, “Likewise, I'm sure.” Stupid.
“I've come to make amends with you,” he said. “For my unchristian behavior.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“After much prayer and meditation, and having received counsel from God, I have realized my error.”
“I don't understand.”
“Emily is in the car,” he said. “You said you wanted to speak to her.”
I knew a little beach nearby that I had used to explore with Elijah when we were children. The water was clear, the bottom smooth and squishy between our toes, and no one in the world knew where we were. Sometimes I visited the beach by myself, especially when I was feeling blue or when I wanted to be alone.
Now, I thought the isolation might help Emily open up to me, so I left Reverend Grierson in the company of two Jewish atheists and a lapsed Catholic.
Emily and I walked in silence for a short while then pushed through the last of the trees. Prospector Lake appeared before us. The water was a dark blue that stretched out like a carpet before the Green Mountains on the eastern side. I drew a deep breath and closed my eyes, taking a moment for some reflection of my own. I could see Elijah splashing into the lake, his baggy swim trunks wrinkled from the previous day's swim, his tanned shoulders flexing and rotating, his wiry arms and kicking feet powering him through the water. He was a natural swimmer. At the end of a long day in the lake, my mother would examine his feet looking for webbed toes.
“Pruney, but not a frogman yet,” she would say.
She always performed the check with mock seriousness, usually fooling Elijah for several beats before he realized it was the same old joke again.
I was lost in the memory. In moments like that, I felt fluid in time. As if I could travel back and relive the past, just as it had happened then. It was as if Elijah were actually there before me and I were a child again. Such beautiful instants rarely occurred, but when they did, I almost believed his sudden death was the daydream, not my recollections of him. Of course he was still alive. What a terrible nightmare.
“Miss? Hello?” a voice summoned me back to the present.
Emily. I opened my eyes and beheld the lake and the shore where I'd frolicked with my brother so many years earlier. It was an idyll. I marveled at the physical beauty and the emotional hold the lake had on me. And, yes, I realized that the daydream was not reality. Elijah was indeed dead and gone.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I said, quietly closing the lid on my memories. “To see how you're doing.”
She gave a halfhearted shrug and said she was okay.
“I also wanted to ask you about Jerry,” I continued. “I wondered if you could tell me about him and that other man who died.”
“I don't know anything about him,” she said.
“You knew Jerry. What can possibly explain why he was atop the cliff that day? And why he was with that man?”
Emily shook her head in bewilderment. “I don't know. We left each other a couple of minutes after seven.”
“And did he tell you where he was going when you two parted?”
“He said he was heading back to Orpheus like always. He had a lesson after breakfast and didn't want to miss it. He was preparing for his final summer concert at camp and wanted to be ready.”
I took a few steps down the beach and picked up a flat pebble. I crouched down and threw it sidearm into the lake. It skipped twice. I'd never had a strong throwing arm. Elijah could skip rocks seven or eight jumps.
“Why are you asking me questions?” said Emily. “It was just an accident, wasn't it?”
“Of course it was,” I said, wishing I could accept that. Every time I began to think that my doubts were explainable or unfounded, a new tentacle sprouted from the mystery in the form of another loose end. I wanted to cut off every last one of those tentacles and forget the whole story. But here was a new question.