Perfect Family (18 page)

“You can't bolt when things get uncomfortable.”

“Randy has nothing new. I already know that.”

“You don't know that. Anyway, that's not why you're here,” Ruth said.

“Sure it is.”

“You're here to be with your family while everybody is hurting so bad. Don't you get it? You have to participate. You have to be present.” She hesitated. “And not just with your family but with me, too.”

W
hat the hell was that supposed to mean?
“I think I was pretty present out there in the water.”

“You have a way of cutting out, William. There's always an emotional back door for you. Sometimes you just have to stick around and feel the discomfort.”

“What I feel about Pony, for your information? One hell of a lot more than discomfort, and a hell of a lot more than they do,” he said.

“Oh, really?” Ruth's gaze was cool and steady.

“Yes.”

“They need you here,” she said. “And you need them.” She looked at her watch. “Anyway, it's too late to drive back. Tinker's been working on dinner. I promised to help her. And I'm a guest. I can't just cut out.”

“You're with me,” he said.

“I am not
just
with you, William Carteret. I have a presence here, too.” She stood up and faced him. “You asked me to move in with you, remember? This is the reason I won't.”

He was a hair away from saying something he would regret. The words were swimming to the surface. The ones that would end this thing flat.
You thought I
meant
that?
But he didn't. He kept his mouth shut. He went for the next level. “You want your guy to sit in the Wizard's Chair. Is that it? It all goes back to that?”

“Damn straight,” she said.

He changed without saying another word and went downstairs. He wanted a drink. “William!” Tinker shouted from the kitchen. “Where's that little girlfriend of yours?”

Both sisters were in the kitchen. Tinker had changed into a big scary shirt of shiny red material and black tights—presumably, he figured, to look thinner. Her hair was pulled up in a bushy ponytail at the top of her head that didn't look half bad, but her skin was white and uniform and her eyes were dark, as if Mira had done the makeup. Maybe Tinker was three sheets to the wind. One or two, anyway, but the way she was going at it, number three was coming. She filled her glass to the top with red wine. Mira lifted a glass to him, smiled, and took a big sip. “Cheers,” she said.

“Randy's coming for dinner.” Tinker tightened her ponytail. She turned to Mira. “How do I look?”

“Never better,” Mira said, crossing her eyes at William out of Tinker's view and mouthing the question,
How do I look?

He wondered where Keith was but decided not to ask. He was glad the guy wasn't around.

“Put me to work,” Ruth said, squeezing past William. She grabbed an apron and tied it behind her, the whole time ignoring
William. He poured his wine and went outside. Screw it. His sisters would know there was trouble in paradise. They had radar for that stuff. Ruth could be explaining the whole argument to them right then. No. She wouldn't do that. They'd want to know, but she wouldn't tell.

His father was down at the water, pulling the boats higher up the beach for the night. “Hey, Dad,” he called, and bolted down the lawn to the water. He took the bow end of a canoe from his father, hauled it up onto the grass, and turned it upside down. The fight with Ruth had given him energy. Fights always did. A fight to him was like a look at the open road. He could call it quits, leave the whole thing behind. He pulled the rowboat up, lifted the side, and turned that over, too. He stashed the oars underneath. He kept working, feeling that his father must be watching, careful to do everything right or the old man would correct him. But when he looked up, his father was sitting awkwardly on the sand, staring out at the lake. He was in the exact spot where William had taken over, as if he'd fallen. “Dad?” William said.

His father made a
Carry on
gesture.

“You okay?”

“Of course,” his father said, but his eyes glistened with tears, and William had an urge to do something. Sit beside him, put an arm around his shoulders. Instead, he cleared his throat and hoisted another canoe. He was afraid of what his father would do if he made an effort toward him—shrug him off, show annoyance. Comfort was not something they held out to one another in the Carteret family.

 

Randy arrived at about six, and they all sat on the porch at two tables pushed together and covered with an oilcloth, the slick part rubbed away in spots, its beige weave showing through a pattern of faded green and white plaid with cherry clusters. Tinker, Mira, and Ruth brought out the food. Tinker's color was high, her voice loud. She had a voice that carried anyway, but it was louder tonight; it spelled trouble. She made a big fuss over Randy, insisting that he sit beside
her at the table, making sure he got enough to eat. William tried to catch Mark's eye, but Mark looked away.

William's father sat at the head with his back to the railing. He bowed his head, said grace, and they all passed the platters of food without saying much. The dishes were chipped, handed down over the years. Tinker refilled her glass of wine to the top. It was surreal to see Keith Brink sitting where Pony was supposed to be. William felt his anger—was it anger? Whatever, it was loose, rolling around like a steady river looking for an outlet. Keith was an easy target, but it wasn't the guy's fault. He was just trying to get along.

William had caught sight of Ruth a few times in the kitchen with Mira and Tinker as they got dinner ready. Ruth had been laughing with them, leaning in while Tinker stirred something on the stove. It was as if she'd crossed over into their camp. He'd felt monumentally alone. They'd had an uncomfortable half hour in the bedroom after that, avoiding each other as they changed clothes. But now, sitting beside her, he reached out for her hand under the table. She squeezed it. His lifeline.

After the food was cleared, his father tapped his glass with a knife. He gave the old Chamber of Commerce introduction for Randy. A little background, his years on the force, for Christ's sake, his promotions, as if they hadn't all known Randy Martine since he was a kid. As if they didn't know Randy was the one who'd sailed a rock through the library window that time. “Officer Martine,” William's father said, “has been kind enough to come and tell us what he's learned.”

And it was nothing. Randy ran through the time line, if you could even call it that, starting with William's departure between five and five-thirty. Dennis Junior saw Pony immediately after that. She was swimming, watching the child. A man arrived on the property at some point between six and seven, Dennis thought. Death was between six-thirty and nine. They couldn't pinpoint it any closer, unfortunately, because of the water temperature. “Angela was swimming in the nude,” Randy said, consulting his notes. “The man
apparently taunted her. He picked up the child. It seems she did what she had to do. She revealed her body to the man, presumably to lure him away from the child. The man followed her to the raft. Dennis did not see her after this. It's possible she drowned then. Or she could have drowned after he left. It's possible the man went into the house. Dennis wasn't sure, but according to Mr. Carteret, nothing was missing.”

“Except that picture,” William said. “Not to beat a dead horse, but Pony did show me a picture of Mom and a boyfriend or something when she was young. And I never did find it.”

“Boyfriend?” Mira asked.

“I know of no such picture.” His father shook his head dismissively. “I would have seen such a picture.”

“I saw it that day, Dad,” William said.

“What did the boy look like?” Mira asked.

“I don't know, Mira,” William said. “Just a kid. A guy. Why?”

“Just wondered.” Mira got up and started clearing the plates. Ruth got up to help. Randy waited for them to come back before he continued. The police had virtually nothing. There were no tire tracks, no unaccounted-for footprints. From Denny's account, the man was somebody Pony knew but not well. It was possible he was a stranger. Someone who'd come down their road. It wasn't altogether clear if the man had been aggressive toward Pony or not. Randy went down the list of people he'd contacted. Old boyfriends, friends. None of them was of interest to the police.

“Are you saying you think somebody killed her? That it was a murder?” Mira said.

“We know she drowned because her hair caught. Why she was down there in the first place is, as all of you know, at issue. Had someone pursued her? We don't have that answer.”

His father cleared his throat. “And until we do, anything we might come up with is speculation. Am I correct?”

“Denny Bell is scared of something,” William said.

“Officer Martine?” his father said. “Is that correct? We can be
sure of what we know and delay speculation until we have something more concrete?”

“Dad, somebody might have done this to her,” William said.

“Why would anyone ever want to hurt Pony, though?” Mira asked. “Everybody loved her.”

“That's one way to look at it, Mr. Carteret,” Randy said.

His father nodded and folded his hands on the table. “We can certainly keep an open mind. But until there's something more concrete, unless someone can add to what Officer Martine has said, we have to believe Pony's death was an accident.”

“What if the guy was Andrew's father?” Mira said.

“Mira, please,” his father said.

“Whoever he was, the guy just
left
her there—” Mira said.

His father shut his eyes and said nothing.

“We don't
know
that,” Tinker said. “Right, Randy? Right, Daddy? We don't know the guy had anything to do with it. For all we know, he was a tourist who took a wrong turn. It was eight before Anita heard Andrew, so it sounds like Pony was still alive after the guy left. Think about it. If Pony died at six-thirty or seven, Andrew wasn't going to wait until eight to start screaming.”

“Unless Anita didn't hear him till then,” William said with another quick glance in his father's direction. They were doing exactly what he'd told them not to do.

“I'd like to play devil's advocate here,” Keith said.

“I'd like you not to.” William was offended at how much this guy butted in.

“He can talk if he wants,” Mira said.

“Tell William what you told us,” Tinker said.

Keith raised his hands and shook his head. “I spoke out of turn. I was mistaken.”

“I think Pony was trying to unlatch the anchor chain,” Mira said. “Not checking it but actually trying to undo it.”

“She couldn't possibly,” Tinker snapped.

“I didn't say she
could
. I said she was trying. If there was a scary
guy there. Unhook it, let the guy drift out, and swim underwater back to shore.”

“If there really
was
a guy there, and that's a big if, she had other options,” Tinker said.

“Like?”

“Like screaming bloody murder, for one thing.” Tinker's ponytail sagged off to one side. Her eyes glistened dangerously.

Mira turned to William. “I wish you could remember what the guy looked like in that picture Pony had.”

“I'm not finished.” Tinker raised herself up. “Nobody else is going to say it, so I will. What was she doing swimming naked like that in the first place, okay? With Andrew right there on the shore? In broad daylight. And drinking again. I hate to say this, but—”

“Then don't,” William said.

“Mira opened the door, William. One theory is as good as another if it fits. I'm just stepping inside. It was a chain of events; it was a
continuum
, and dammit, Pony set it in motion. I mean, God, all this discussion makes her sound like she was this complete helpless little victim when—”

“When she was asking for it?” William asked.

“Yes.” Tinker made the same come-hither gesture Pony had made, her great body swaying obscenely in her red shirt. “I mean, come on!” She looked around the table. “She was
always
asking for trouble. Right, Mark?”

Mark opened his hands. “Leave me out of this.”

“I can't believe it. Why am I the only one who thinks this?”

“Because you were always jealous,” Mira said quietly.

William checked his father again, expecting the old man to put an end to it. He was surprised to see his father not paying attention; he sat staring at the middle distance on the table, his hands folded carefully in front of him.

“Jealous?” Tinker exploded. “Her mess of a life? With a bastard child? My God! How could anybody be jealous of that?”

“While you're still ahead, shut up,” William said.

“Pony the goddess, Pony the great. Even now. Now, when we're supposedly trying to understand what happened to her, everybody goes tiptoeing around what we know is true. Daddy, you, too.”

William wanted to belt her one. Mark tried to get her to sit down, but she shoved him off.

Randy got to his feet and edged between the chairs.

“You're not leaving!” Tinker said. “You can't leave.”

“Mr. Carteret, sir.” Randy leaned over and extended a hand. William's father took it. Randy couldn't wait to get away. Tinker followed him down the steps all the way to his patrol car and then leaned way in the window like she was trying to kiss him. Mark had his back to the action.

A wailing started overhead, and Ruth excused herself to escape. She came back inside with Andrew just as Tinker was headed across the lawn. Andrew was fresh from sleep and looking from one face to the next, full of delight. When Andrew saw Tinker, he lifted his hands to her. “Mama,” he said.