Summerkill (12 page)

“You’re a Hudson Heights enthusiast, then.”

“Not really. I’m too uneasy about hanging around at the edges of high places to enjoy those views. Golf bores me silly, and
my social life doesn’t run to country clubs. None of which keeps me from considering it a quality project. And a legitimate
use of the land. They satisfied every objection people raised.”

“Well, who knows? Twenty years down the line it may start looking like it’s supposed to be there.”

“Give it ten. Even the crotchety native human eye is very forgiving. Want another beer? I do.”

“Sure.” He reached over and opened the cooler. “Yesterday morning, when I asked why you didn’t get along with Ryan, you implied
he was a man who cut financial corners. Was he doing something illegal?”

“Not that I know of. Dishonest, sometimes, or at least mean-spirited. I’ll give you an example. I would spec out a landscaping
project, the contract price would be figured, the contract signed. Then Ryan would start making cheaper substitutions on some
of the materials—the ones not spelled out in detail in the final agreement. He had no intention of passing the savings along
to the client. And there were a lot of other things—he was always coming up with some new wrinkle on saving money. The man
was fixated.”

“I doubt you were the only one he ticked off around there. The good words the rest of the staff scrambled to say about him
did not ring with sincerity.”

“Ryan had a weakness for picky little economies that save a dollar on the surface and inspire ten dollars’ worth of alienation.
Also, he was one of those people who has to know everything about everything. After hours he’d go through people’s wastebaskets.
When he found something that didn’t meet his disposal criteria, it’d be on that person’s desk the next morning, topped by
a memo sheet with a big question mark and his initials. Generally speaking, he must’ve been easier to stomach for the one
giving the orders.”

“Which means Clete Donnelly, according to several people. Naturally the Etlingers didn’t put it that way, but Clete did force
him on them, though, right?”

“Nobody out and out said so. That was the general impression.”

“Who functioned as their business manager before?”

“Well, officially Rodney was the treasurer. He signed the checks. The thing is, Rodney’s specialty is promotion and public
relations. He wasn’t into anything I would describe as central financial management. Each of the other principals had their
own area and pretty much did their own thing: Eleanor with the nursery business, Kate with the store, Willem with the landscaping.”

“It sounds to me like Willem was the one who had the most to lose, the way Ryan was muscling in.”

“You must be assuming that Willem wants to run the Garden Center some day. He wouldn’t know how and isn’t interested in learning.
Willem’s purely a designer—nobody’s ever managed to nudge him much beyond that, though his folks keep trying. Besides, he
was in Marysville night before last. Spur of the moment stayover. He called Kate, I assume. He called me.”

“About what time?”

“Nine-ish. I hadn’t been home long.”

“The timing might be doable.” We both let that one hang. “How does Kate take to calls like that, I wonder? Willem appeared
to be in some measure of family disgrace today.”

Which meant either they were very rattled indeed or this man sitting on my porch was acutely observant. “That happens once
in a while. They get over it. How well do you know him?”

I could almost watch the censoring. “He was five years behind me in school, a year behind my sister. I asked her once, is
this kid a queer, the way he’s always hanging out with the girls? It took her a long time to stop laughing.”

“There a lot more to Willem than a penis,” I snapped.

He flashed me a what-did-I-say look. “How many sore subjects do you come with?” he asked mildly.

“I can make you a list.”

“I may request one. Anyhow, getting back to Ryan Jessup, there’s one thing that keeps coming up odd. Whether the Garden Center
people viewed him as a valuable employee or the colleague they loved to hate, none of them seems to have done anything with
him beyond the work environment. We asked some of the Elks and got Ryan who? Oh, yeah, that guy. Apparently he was good about
pitching in on projects, but nobody could remember much about him beyond that. Ditto with the Rotary people. This man didn’t
have family in the area unless you count the Donnellys, and he doesn’t seem to have been tight with any of them, in the personal
sense. How about girlfriends, boyfriends, friend-friends?”

“Got me there.”

“There must be more you can tell me about this guy. Think. Did anything happen recently that was different or unusual or out
of character?”

Maybe, I admitted to myself, startled. Something I’d stored in my head, somewhere, but I didn’t feel close to dredging it
up. A private recovery project, then. “I keep thinking about him being at Stewarts before he came out here that night,” I
said evasively. “That’s a pathetic place to have your last meal.”

He looked at me hard—marking the evasion, perhaps? “I don’t think he came out here,” he said finally. “He was brought. There
was nothing in the treads of his sneakers to indicate he’d walked along your driveway.”

“You’re suggesting somebody abducted him from the Stewarts’ parking lot?” I asked, trying to visualize such a scene in that
brightly lit area at a time when it normally saw a lot of in-and-out traffic.

“I hope we wouldn’t still be looking for anybody that inept. The way it probably happened is there were at least two people
involved, and they either followed him home from Stewarts or waited till he showed up at his apartment. It’s on the second
floor; the side yard where the outside stairs are is unlit, and there’s a row of tall spruce trees screening it off from the
next house. He had a trauma to the back of his head, which they tried to pass off as him hitting it on that rock when he fell.
But the wound doesn’t quite conform. Most likely they sapped him and put him in his car. One of them drove it out to the Berkmeiers’
pasture lane, the other or others followed in another vehicle. They carried him over here, laid him out, and proceeded to
make use of your pruner. After which they went back to the second car and drove off.”

“You’ve learned a lot for a couple of days’ work,” I said, impressed.

“Not nearly enough. Most murders that get solved, there’d already be somebody behind bars.”

A
re you taking calls from anybody named Etlinger?” I looked at my watch—it was a few minutes short of midnight. “Depends,”
I said, settling comfortably onto the sofa. Willem’s fun as a disembodied voice. Also when you add the body. Hard to capture,
though, in more ways than one. A souvenir snapshot doesn’t cut it—he only works in motion. Stilled and silent, he’s nothing
special: a man of less than average height, ultraslim, curly light-brown hair you’d suspect was permed (it’s not), sharp features.
Plug in the animation, you’ve got your center of attention. Some men don’t take to him much, but they all notice when he’s
around. Heterosexual women? Maybe a few are immune.

Ten minutes into that first interview I hadn’t the remotest doubt I wanted to sleep with him, though I did have many reservations
that this could or should happen. I have never been tempted to marry, nor do I have much respect for the institution, per
se, or a great deal of faith in the exclusivity it’s supposed to guarantee. My parents were married, which didn’t stop my
father from heading west on his Harley with a new girlfriend before I turned two. My mother’s second marriage has endured,
but it never had the trappings of a love match. Before the wedding, even, Ma made no bones about going for the financial security;
what Jon Keegan wanted from the arrangement he probably didn’t talk about.

Vicky’s union with Gina’s father was a short-lived formality, and she and Jason’s father didn’t bother with documentation.
We both talk as if her marriage to Estevan Gutierrez, the younger boys’ father, would have endured; it makes a warmer story
that way. They did have some serious problems. Pete and Janey continue to delight in one another; beyond them, there aren’t
many officially knotted pairs I look on with envy. Being part of a really good long-term couple seems beyond the reach of
most people.

I have usually sidestepped entanglements with married men, partly as a moral stance regarding their official status but more,
I have to admit, to avoid potential messiness. So I held out against Willem’s moves until I learned how regular his infidelities
had been and currently were, and beyond that, how little official difference they were apt to make. It’s hard for me to see
why this marriage should endure, why Kate continues to settle for what he has to offer. But on the surface, at least, they
function well together, and they’re both devoted to their young daughters. Maybe they consider that enough? Maybe one or the
other feels stuck?

Anyhow, I took the plunge. It got scary there, for a while. What hooks women on Willem is he’s one of those rare people open
to experiencing undiluted joy, and he can take you there with him. You want to lock in on that, hoard for yourself. He’ll
tell you up front that’s not going to happen, but even believing him you still keep wishing. After my first season with Etlingers’
I gave serious thought to pulling the hell out of there. I didn’t, though, and gradually grew comfortable with the role he
could play in my life, mine in his. I’ve never grown comfortable around Kate, though—surely I must owe her something.

Vicky says it’s a matter of settling for less, but I can’t see it. Not until I was almost nineteen did I begin to think maybe
there were some activities involving the male sex organ that could be fun. Never have I been what I could call “in love,”
even with Willem, and not once have I daydreamed of living with him. My few forays into such arrangements have been stressful
and brief. I just can’t hack it—I crave my own space too much. My longest relationships have been with men who value breathing
room as much as I do. In that kind of setup you almost surely drift apart eventually. I’m still friends with a couple of them,
though.

Vicky’s usually had a main man in her life, or one on the horizon. She feels there’s something missing otherwise. To me, a
man on the side is just fine, and I haven’t much minded the dry spells between them. In Willem I may have found my ideal man
on the side: caring but not demanding, around but not hovering. A treasure, Mariah once pronounced him, and I do see her point.

“Depends on what?” he broke into my musings, tired of waiting.

“World-class repentance,” I decreed. “That message you left last night—you sounded half-convinced I was a long-handled-pruner
murderer.”

“I was not! But you know how they get when they absolutely believe something.”

“This morning I was treated to a vivid glimpse of how your father gets.”

“Dad says he was actually afraid of you there for a few minutes.”

“If that’s how he carries on when he’s actually afraid, he should take basic survival lessons.”

“He probably should. And of course he’s feeling awfully sheepish—about accusing you.”

“Bullshit. He wouldn’t know how.”

Willem laughed. “Well, anyhow, you can consider yourself un-ejected from the premises.”

“I prefer ejected.”

“Val, come on. Dad was just being … excessive. When you consider the information they were getting fed—”

“He was obnoxiously excessive. And they chose their information feed—not a one of them bothered to check with me. It’s past
time I’m out of there.”

“But with Ryan gone I’ll be able to find something decent for you. There’s that Reeves garden we looked at over on the river,
there’s—”

“Willem, let it go.”

“Ah, but … Look, Mother would like to talk with you tomorrow. At least hear what she has to say?”

“There’s really no point, but okay, if we can make it in the morning. Vicky and I are going up to Speculator after her lunch
shift, to spend the night and part of Sunday there.”

“Speculator?”

“Where the boys went for the week.”

“Oh, right. I wish I could get away for a couple of days.”

“You just did, remember? I hear that hasn’t gone over well.”

“Does it ever? But hell, I’m not about to start considering physical expression of perfectly normal human affection a major
crime.”

“You don’t have to sell me on it—I’d never marry you in the first place. Speaking of the woman who
was
that foolish, how did Kate learn the names of my mother and her husband, and their version of what happened twenty-five years
ago?”

“From this afternoon’s
Record
, I assume, the same as I did.”

“Guess again. She was the source for that story.”

“How could she be? All you told me was your mother remarried and it turned into a bad situation. You made a point of not
mentioning names. I didn’t even realize this all happened in Albany.”

“You weren’t supposed to. No way could have you resisted trying to put us back together. Nonetheless, Kate damn well did get
those alleged details from somebody. Big Daddy, maybe? Ask her—I’m curious.” He wouldn’t, I knew. “Oh, and who was it told
you about the vandalism at Hudson Heights on Tuesday?”

“Somebody phoned it in—Emma’s message was on my desk when I got back from lunch. Kyle or Matt or Thurman, I imagine. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Oh, right. God, you’re starting to sound like Baxter.”

“Giving you a hard time, is he?”

“All of us. ‘Where were you at ten o’clock Wednesday night? How about midnight? Who were you with? Did you and Ryan Jessup
have any problems? No? Well, somebody was telling me—’”

“You did clear yourself about Marysville?”

“Well … I mean I can if I absolutely have to. She didn’t like the sound of last name and phone number—we both knew it was
a one-time thing, and it’s not like her husband would be thrilled. Anyway, how many people can prove where they were in the
middle of the night? Or never had any differences with somebody? I think Baxter’s carrying a grudge because of what happened
with his ex-wife.”