Isolation (17 page)

Faye re-read the passage about Cally's Elias one more time, then she did it again. The second reading gave her another question for Magda, who had gotten used to Faye's weird texts years before. She typed a particularly random question into her phone and sent it to Magda:

Still can't sleep. Were there any popular homeopathic remedies imported from India in that same time period, the late 19th century? Were any of them named “jowl mooker”? Or something like that. I don't know a word of Hindi or Sanskrit, so you could tell me it was another word for hog jowls and I would believe you. I would also start getting hungry for hog jowls, which I do believe is happening right about now. Hope you're sleeping well.

Magda might bark at her for bothering her with weirdo questions, but Faye knew it was an act. Her best friend and former professor lived for weirdo questions.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sometime during the night, Faye had figured out how to curl herself into a ball that fit comfortably between the wooden arms of her rocking chair. Almost comfortably.

She hadn't slept. Sometimes she'd surfed the web on her phone. Sometimes she'd made notes on Cally's reminiscences and how they might relate to Elias Croft. Sometimes she'd just studied the porch ceiling over her head. She knew it was blue because she'd painted it that color, but everything outside the circle of her flashlight was rendered in shades of gray. The luminescent screen of her phone was so out-of-place that she sometimes flicked it off, just to let her eyes rest.

Water sounds reached her ears. The sound of water slapping the bottom of her dock told her drowsy brain that the tide was high and the seas were rough. Wind on her face told her that the rough seas were driven by a storm far away. She didn't have to think about these things. She just knew, just as she knew that a faraway buzz, growing louder, was a boat coming her way.

Her eyelids slid open and shut a few more times before she could rouse herself enough to check her phone for the time. It wasn't seven yet. Even Gerry's workaholic remediation crew wasn't dedicated enough to get out here this early. Who was out there and why were they coming at this hour?

Faye hated unannounced guests, which was fine, because she never got them. The only good explanation for the coming boat that Faye's sleep-addled brain could manage was a surprise party. Her birthday was weeks away and so was Joe's. Michael's was months away. So was Amande's, and she wasn't even home. She had no idea when Sly's birthday was, and she had no idea if he had friends who might throw him a party. If he did, they were in Oklahoma.

She shook off fatigue and stood up. From this angle, she had a better line-of-sight to the dock. It was still obscured by trees, but she could see water glinting through their leaves. When the unidentified boat pulled alongside her dock, she could see the movement of more than one person as they secured it and walked her way. Unseen strangers made her think of Liz and Emma, and she wished very much not to be alone.

Faye was on a porch that stood a story above the ground. Joe was below her, surrounded by the thick masonry walls of an above-ground basement. She could scream her loudest and he would never hear her. Fortunately, she had a cell phone in her pocket.

She dialed his number and prayed he hadn't silenced his ringer. Rewarded by the rumble of his sleepy voice, she said, “Somebody's here. More than one somebody. Come up here on the porch now, and bring your dad.”

***

Faye and Joe had been sent back into their own house. They sat downstairs in their living room, surrounded by four cold thick walls lit by a single window. When they'd converted the basement of the big old plantation house into living quarters that they could afford to heat and cool, they'd cozied up this room with yellow paint and shelves of books. Somehow, being ordered to wait downstairs by people who had taken over their own front porch had caused “cozy” to quickly shift into “claustrophobic.” Michael was still asleep and neither of them was hungry, so they'd had nothing to do but sit and wait.

Sheriff Rainey and Deputy Steinberg had asked straight out to talk to Joe's father alone. Sly had given a quiet nod of assent, so Faye and Joe had backed away. They'd left him on the porch standing in a wary position, legs flexed and both arms slightly extended as if to ward off an attack.

Joe sat across from Faye, looking afraid, and she couldn't think of anything comforting to say. She had just put her hand on his knee and held it there while he covered it with his own.

Neither of them asked the obvious questions, “What do they want with Sly? They were just here yesterday. What's changed since then?”

Joe managed to sit still for three minutes, tops, then he hopped up and said, “Dad's gonna need some coffee when this is over. I'll go make some.”

Faye felt the same need to do something useful, but what would it be? Maybe she should go fetch a carton of cigarettes and a lighter so that she and Joe could meet Sly at the door with both caffeine and nicotine for comfort?

No, that was going too far. Michael and Amande deserved a grandfather who wasn't crippled by emphysema or dead of cancer.

As it turned out, she wouldn't have had time to find the cigarettes. Sly was downstairs before the coffee had brewed. He sank into the soft cushions of the easy chair that Joe had just left and asked, “Do you know who Delia Scarsdale is?”

“Yeah. She and a man named Oscar Croft are here on vacation. They've been around for weeks. You haven't met them?”

“Nope.”

Remembering the photo of Sly chasing Michael toward the back door of Liz's restaurant while Oscar and Delia approached from the parking lot out front, she said, “You probably saw them one of those times when you and Joe were eating breakfast at Liz's. Older guy? Young woman, long blonde hair?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I spent most of my time joshing with Liz while she slung hash. If Delia and what's-his-face was there, I might not have noticed. Anyways, the sheriff wants to know what I was doing last night when somebody broke into her bedroom and attacked her. Delia, I mean. It was Delia that got attacked.”

“Was she hurt? What happened?”

“I don't know.” Sly fumbled in his pocket and came out with an empty pack of cigarettes. The defeated slump in his shoulders made Faye almost sorry that she hadn't brought him some.

“What did the sheriff say to you? Does he have any idea who did it?”

“They showed me a belt the guy left behind and they asked if it was mine.”

The intruder had taken off his belt. This didn't sound good.

“They don't think it was you, do they?”

“They came straight here, so they must think it was me. I told them hell, no, it wasn't my belt, because I was wearing the only one I owned. Then I didn't tell them no more.”

“They're already out here talking to you, right after it happened? Sly, you need to get a lawyer.”

Sly shook his head. “I might've told 'em I was gonna call my lawyer, but I didn't mean it. I had a lawyer once, and he didn't do me a damn bit of good. How could he? That time, I did the crime. This time, I didn't. And I can't afford a lawyer anyway. I believe I'll take my chances.”

“You didn't give them an alibi?”

“I was in bed. By myself. Asleep. What kind of alibi am I gonna give?”

“I have one for you.”

And Faye was out the door, brushing past her husband, who was standing in the door with a brimming cup of coffee in his hand.

***

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Faye told herself to move fast, because she needed to talk to Sheriff Rainey right this minute, before Sly solidified in his mind as the most likely suspect. She dialed Sheriff Mike's number as she ran. He was retired, so he didn't officially know anything about current criminal activity in Micco County. In reality, he knew everything.

The tone of Sheriff Mike's voice told her that the crime hanging over Sly's head was disturbing him. This was significant. Sheriff Mike had seen almost everything in his long career.

“Yeah, I heard about what happened to the nice tour guide lady.” Sheriff Mike's voice was quiet. “Bad thing. It was a real bad thing.”

Faye was running and breathing hard, but she could gasp out short sentences. “Was she hurt?”

“She's okay, but it could've gone another way. Somebody busted in her window. Ripped the bedspread off her bed before she was good and awake. Wrapped it around her head so she ain't gonna be able to identify anybody on sight. Tried to use the sheets to tie her to the bedposts, but she got away long enough to open the bedroom door and make some noise. The bastard went out the window before Oscar came running.”

Faye tried to shake the image of Delia, sprawled across her own bed while a man she couldn't see removed his belt. “When did this happen?”

“It ain't been long. Sometime in the wee hours, a long time after midnight.”

“That's what I thought. Thanks, Mike.”

Her feet pounded the dock's wooden boards as she turned off her phone. Sheriff Rainey and his deputy were already in their boat, pulling away, but they looked up when she bellowed, “Wait!”

Sheriff Rainey idled the motor and reached out an arm to keep the boat from banging into the dock. The water was rough and it wasn't easy for him to keep his grip, but he hung on and waited for Faye to speak. She leaned forward, hands on her knees, and held up a hand while she tried to catch her breath.

“I know where he was. Sly. I know where he was. I can give him an alibi for last night. It wasn't Sly who tried to hurt Delia.”

The sheriff said, “I'm listening.”

If they figured out she'd talked to Sheriff Mike, he'd never give her insider information again, so she couldn't let them know that she knew the timing of the attack. She had to act like she was guessing.

“It can't have been long since Delia was attacked. My father-in-law is under the impression that you came straight here. Even taking into account that you had to respond to her call and question her and look for evidence, I'm still thinking that the attack came well after midnight, right?”

The sheriff gave her a look that could only be described as a non-response.

Her breath came ragged as she pointed to the white-painted walls of Joyeuse, clearly visible through the trees. “I've been sitting on the porch of that house since midnight, right after my husband came to bed. I didn't see Sly come or go. I didn't hear any boat come or go, not until I heard you coming this morning.”

“What about before you got out there?”

So they were going to try to keep her guessing about when the crime happened. Sheriff Mike had told her that Delia was attacked long after she walked onto that porch, but she could play that game.

“I'm sure my husband was with him till bedtime. They like to stay up and play cards. Come in and ask Joe. Between the two of us, I think we can vouch for Sly's whereabouts for the whole night.”

Gerry Steinberg spoke up for the first time. “Meaning no disrespect, but I have to point out that we're talking about your husband's father. I understand that you want to protect him, but this evidence isn't all that compelling. All you're telling me is that Mr. Mantooth's family is willing to say, ‘Coincidentally, we didn't sleep a wink. We can vouch for him.'”

Faye locked eyes with Gerry as she pulled her phone out of her hip pocket. She opened the thread of texts that had passed between her and Magda and handed the phone to him. Beautifully and clearly time-stamped, those texts proved where she'd been and when.

“See? At 1:32 am, I sent a text to Magda that began, ‘Can't sleep, so I'm sitting on my front porch worrying…' At 2:14 am, I followed it with, ‘Still can't sleep. Were there any popular homeopathic remedies imported from India in that same time period, the late 19th century?'”

She took the phone back and opened up her record of outgoing calls. “Oh, look. At 6:47 am, I called Joe's phone, which is pretty decent evidence that we weren't sitting together in the house when you got here. See?” She held it out just long enough for them to confirm what she said, then jerked it back. “My testimony that I was still sitting on the porch, saw you coming, and called Joe to come outside jives with this phone call just fine. It explains why all three of us were waiting on the porch to meet you, doesn't it?”

Sheriff Rainey tried to speak, but she said, “Wait. I'm not finished. I don't like even a suggestion that I'm a liar. Look here.” She held out the phone again. “Here's an outgoing phone call to Emma at 12:07 am. After her break-in, I promised myself I'd call her every night at bedtime, just to make sure she was okay. And here I'd already failed, just two nights later, because I went to sleep right after supper. She didn't answer when I called at midnight to apologize, so I'm guessing she was asleep. If you hurry to her house and check her phone before she deletes my message, you can hear me say I'm sitting on my porch and thinking of her.”

“Are you finished?” asked the sheriff.

“No.” She tapped the Notes icon on her phone. “For the rest of the night, I sat in that chair and made notes about my great-great-grandmother's oral history and Liz's murder and Emma's break-in.”

She showed the men her phone's screen again then pulled the phone back and scrolled through her notes with her thumb.

“Here they are, all of them time-stamped. Two forty-nine. Three-oh-two. Three-sixteen. And so on. You can try to say I saw Sly come and go and I'm lying about it. You can try to say that I spent all night faking this paper trail…a paper trail that I didn't know I was going to need unless I was conspiring with Sly to help him break into Delia's room. But do those things sound logical at all?”

She looked up from the phone's screen. “Oh, let's just say what we mean. Sly told me that you found a man's belt in her room. You can say that I was conspiring with my father-in-law so he could have an alibi for raping somebody. But to say those things, you will first have to clearly say that you think I'm a liar.”

The men's gazes drifted down away from her eyes, but just for a second. They were professionals. They got over it.

Gerry said, “Well, strictly speaking, that phone is not a paper trail.”

“No, it's not. It's an electronic trail,” the sheriff pointed out.

If the phone hadn't been so expensive, Faye would have thrown it at them.

“We're sorry if we insulted you,” the sheriff said, “but we're paid to be skeptical. Your testimony and Joe's…and your phone's…support an alibi for your father-in-law. But the alibi isn't iron-clad. He could have slipped past you, coming and going, while you were making those notes. He could have hidden a boat on the far side of the island, slipping out the back door. If he did that, you wouldn't see him go from where you were sitting on the front porch.”