The Island of Dangerous Dreams (10 page)

It took all of us to get Benita back in control. I think it was Aldo’s suggestion that we put her to bed and leave her alone to rest that stopped the wild tears.

“No!” Benita practically hung on Aunt Madelyn. “You can’t leave me alone!”

“Then let’s all go downstairs,” Madelyn said as she tried to break Benita’s grip. “You can lie on one of the sofas, Benita.”

We managed to make it downstairs and deposited Benita on a sofa in the living room near one of the open veranda doors. For some reason—probably because Benita was being such a nuisance—I kept thinking of that line from
Hamlet
, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

The breeze carried the clean fragrance of sea salt and I breathed it in gratefully. We pulled chairs into a circle around Benita’s sofa the way covered wagons once circled to protect themselves from the enemy outside. Except in this case
there was no enemy outside. If we had an enemy, it had to be someone inside the circle.

I think we were all in shock. No one said a word as Kurt held out a wallet in one hand, some cards in another. “I tried to tell you when we were upstairs. The dead man wasn’t Norton,” he said. “What I mean is, the man we knew as Norton Lindsay wasn’t Norton Lindsay, according to his driver’s license and credit cards.”

He paused and Aunt Madelyn said, “Well, go on. If he wasn’t Norton, who was he?”

Kurt had the strangest expression on his face as he said, “Franklin Granakee.”

“I can’t believe that!” Madelyn gasped.

Kurt shrugged. “Have you ever met Granakee? Or seen a photo of him? Do you know what he looks like?”

“He doesn’t allow himself to be photographed. Everyone knows that.”

Kurt shoved the driver’s license at her. As she studied the ID photo on it, her eyes widened. “Well,” she said. She handed it back to Kurt, once more in command. “Could this be faked?”

“Why should it be?”

“Well, because—well, I have no idea.” She didn’t give up but looked at Kurt accusingly. “I distinctly remember Justin saying that you had thoroughly investigated every one of us.”

“I did.”

“Then why didn’t you discover Norton’s true identity?”

Kurt slumped back into his chair, looking both embarrassed and angry. “Why are you grilling
me?” he snapped. “I check credentials all the way to the source. If the source is credible but is covering up, it’s not my fault.”

“Do you know who Mr. Malcolm represents?” I asked, but Aldo interrupted, so no one paid any attention to me.

As he reached for the cards and license to examine them, he said, “Mr. Granakee must have enjoyed posing at times as his own agent. It probably gave him greater freedom than if he had appeared as himself.”

Benita spoke up, struggling among the pile of pillows to support herself on her elbows. “I can’t believe it! Why should Franklin Granakee have wanted to pretend to be someone else? If we’d only known who he was, he would have been lionized!”

“I guess that’s the reason,” Madelyn said.

“But why did he die?” I asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? He was murdered to get the artifact!” Benita’s voice shook. Her eyes narrowed as she zeroed in on Madelyn. “We’ll be killed off, one at a time! Whoever is hiding the artifact must give it up! Now!”

I shuddered and gripped the arms of my chair. I hadn’t thought that someone would be killed because of what I had done. I felt sick, and the room became blurry. I’d get the artifact. I’d do it now. I squirmed to the edge of my chair, trying to make the dizziness go away before I got up. I’d hand the artifact over to the murderer. But which one in this room was the murderer?

Madelyn’s cool, firm voice kept me in my chair.
“Calm down, Benita. We haven’t got time for another case of hysterics. If we’re going to reach correct solutions, we must think logically. I can’t believe that Granakee was killed for the artifact. There was no reason for anyone to think he had the artifact. He showed no more sign of knowing its location than any of the rest of us.”

“You may think that, but did his killer?” Benita’s eyes were so wide and unblinking that it made my eyes itch to watch her.

Kurt broke in. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer Madelyn’s question, and you’re way off the track. I told you he was dead. I didn’t say anything about murder. He was just lying in bed like he died in his sleep. He was a nervous type. Maybe he had a heart attack.”

“One more question,” Madelyn said to Kurt, and I gave her points for reasoning more clearly than the rest of us. “Had Franklin Granakee’s room been ransacked?”

“No,” he said, frowning as he tried to remember. “Everything seemed to be in order. Granakee’s clothes were folded and laid on a chair. His slacks, where I found the wallet, were draped over the back of the chair.”

Aldo nodded toward the wallet, which had been laid on the coffee table. “Nothing seems to have been taken from his wallet.”

“Of course not!” Benita rose indignantly, then flopped again. “None of us would stoop to thievery!”

“I think we should see the room,” I said. They just stared at me, so I added, “Kurt is the only one
who’s been in there, and we’re just taking his word for everything.”

It didn’t take them long to digest that. Almost together they got up and went upstairs. I trailed behind them. “Don’t disturb anything,” I called. “The police—”

“That’s enough,” Madelyn said firmly, so I kept my mouth closed and my eyes wide open.

Kurt had pulled the sheet up over Norton—Granakee’s face. Aldo pulled it down to study the body, but I turned away. I’d give the police what help I could, but I didn’t want to look at another dead body. For a few moments I just stood back against the wall, hugging my arms and shivering. I didn’t want to be in this room any more than the others did, but we had to do what was right, like it or not. We didn’t have a choice.

“He’s just lying on his back, head on his pillow,” Aldo said. In my peripheral vision I could see him pull up the sheet again. I let out a long sigh of relief.

Kurt had gone out on the veranda. Benita was still on the landing. Madelyn and Aldo, murmuring something to each other, left the room to join Benita. For the first time I had a chance to get a good look at the contents of the room. Nothing looked suspicious or out of place, until I noticed two small white feathers on the floor next to the head of the bed. Another feather lay near the open door.

Holding my breath, terrified of coming so close to the body, I stepped to the side of the bed and slid my fingers over and under the part of the
pillow that wasn’t covered by the sheet. The underside of the pillow, near its edge, was torn. I lifted the pillow slip to get a better look. There were two small slits in the casing, from which other feathers were poking. One of the feathers fell to the floor as I examined the slits.

“Aunt Madelyn,” I called, and she came to my side quickly. I guess I’d sounded as frantic as I felt. “Look at this,” I said. “The pillow is ripped as though somebody’s fingernails tore at it. It’s like the pillow was over his face and he struggled and—”

Kurt stepped up beside me. “Some of the pillows are a little worn. See—the material is thin. There’s a slit in my pillow too.”

I straightened and faced him. “Could we see it?”

“Sure,” he said easily. “Right now? Come on.”

Madelyn put a hand on my arm. “Dramatic imaginings and wild accusations won’t help.”

“But—”

“Come downstairs,” she said. “We’ll all be more comfortable continuing the conversation there.”

When we were all seated Madelyn was the first to speak. She said, “Again we are faced with the question of accidental death against murder. We don’t know the answer.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Benita moaned.

“Control yourself, Benita,” Aldo snapped.

“Let’s be logical about this,” Aunt Madelyn said. “Mr. Granakee’s death could possibly have been from a heart attack. But it’s necessary that we address the question of murder.
If
he was murdered,
could it have been for a reason unrelated to the possession of the artifact?”

“Like what?” Kurt asked.

“He said he had seen Justin plug in the cord to the lamp. Maybe he saw something else. Or maybe someone thought that he had, and killed him for that reason.”

A thought wiggled through my mind and darted out of it like the tiny yellow and blue fish that had sped under me in the cove. I tried to grab the thought, but I couldn’t. Yet I knew in some way it was important.

Aldo shifted in his chair. “This is all guesswork. I think we should go back to facts. Maybe there is something else that Benita heard last night, some clue that might lead us to a greater knowledge of what happened to Franklin Granakee.”

“No!” Benita screeched. “Nothing! I swear it!”

“But if you could be of help—”

“Don’t push her,” I said. “She really doesn’t know anything else. My veranda doors were open, and she was frightened, so she came into my room to talk to me. She told me she heard Norton—uh—Mr. Granakee cough.”

Benita groaned and pulled a pillow against her mouth.

“That’s all she heard,” I said. “I talked her out of being scared, and she went back to her own room to bed. That’s it.”

“There still may be something else, something she was unaware of at the time. If she thought hard about it—”

“Then she can tell the police when they get
here.” I stood and shoved my chair out of the circle. “In case anyone’s forgotten, someone in this house could be a murderer. Do you think that whoever it is will help us solve the crime?”

“Where are you going?” Madelyn asked.

“To get my camera,” I said.

Kurt stood too. “No,” he told me. “Let me take the photos. You’ve already found out that it’s a disagreeable job. Where is your camera? I’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and gave a loud sigh of relief. “The camera is on my chest of drawers,” I answered, ignoring Benita’s muffled sob. I moved toward the veranda. “I’m going to walk on the beach for a while and try to think.”

“I should come with you,” Madelyn said, but Benita tugged her down.

“I really do want to be by myself for a little while,” I told her. “Besides, I think it would work out better if you and Benita stayed together.”

I trotted down to the beach. I had swum toward the west. I’d walk toward the east. The hot sand filtered in and out of my sandals, and occasionally I kicked at a large seed pod that had fallen from one of the trees or jumped over a fallen branch or piece of washed-up driftwood. I tried to capture the thought that had eluded me, going over and over the conversation, but nothing helped.

I was well out of sight of the house when I got that weird, prickly feeling again and knew that someone was watching. I stopped and looked back along the beach, but no one had followed me. I walked a little farther, all my senses as taut as a
guitar string ready to pop. The unseen eyes were still on me, and I could hear the quiet rustling of grasses and the not-so-quiet snap of a stepped-upon twig.

I whirled to face the sound and picked up a short chunk of bleached driftwood that lay near my feet “Who are you?” I yelled. “Kurt? Ellison? Get out of there and stop spying on me!”

“Will you shut up?” someone hissed, and a face poked out of the bushes.

I was so surprised that I dropped my weapon. I was looking at a sun-bleached, sunburned guy who was probably not much older than I. He jumped out of the underbrush onto the sand, and I quickly scooped up the driftwood stick again, holding it high. He wore only torn cutoffs and ragged-looking deck shoes.

“Hey,” he said, holding both palms up in a peace sign. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” I asked as I lowered the driftwood.

He looked down the empty beach in the direction from which I’d come and seemed satisfied. He sat on a large chunk of driftwood and said, “My name’s Pete Michaels.”

“What are you doing on this island?”

“Lying offshore.”

“You’re what?”

“I anchored my sailboat in a cove, girl.”

“I’ve got a name,” I said, “and it isn’t ‘girl.’ It’s Andrea Ryan.”

“I bet that everyone calls you Andy,” he said.

I studied him carefully. Surely he wouldn’t have
had the reason or the opportunity to have murdered Judge Arlington-Hughes or Norton—uh—Franklin Granakee. I didn’t think I had to be afraid of him.

It was a delayed reaction, a real Three Stooges double take. I suddenly dropped the driftwood and gasped, “Pete! You have a boat!”

“I knew it would thrill you, once the idea sank in,” he said.

“No! You don’t understand! We need a boat to get off this island!”

“What happened to the one you came in?”

“It won’t be back until late tomorrow afternoon.”

“And you’ve got a heavy date tonight back in the States. Sorry. My boat’s out of commission.”

I dropped down on the driftwood next to him and rested my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. He leaned over, looking up into my face. “Won’t I do?” he asked. “You could tuck a flower in your hair, and I could hum something out of tune, and we could dance.”

I had to smile. Pete was a nut, but I liked his sense of humor. I wished that Rick could loosen up like this once in a while. I pushed Rick out of my mind, sat up, and said, “There are a lot of blanks to fill in. Why don’t you go first? Tell me how you happen to be on this island.”

“Okay,” Pete said. “It’s a short, sad story. I was looking for a place to anchor and trying to beat some threatening squalls that were moving my way, and what do you know, the wire from the wheel to the rudder snapped, and I didn’t have a
spare to replace it, so …” He broke off. “I told you, this is a sad story. Could you look a little more sympathetic?”

“Can you still sail your boat?”

“Not with any accuracy.”

“Then I am sorry,” I said. “You don’t know how sorry. Where’s your sailboat now?”

“I managed to make it into a cove, pulled up the centerboard, and anchored it. It was dark by then, so I went to sleep.”

“That’s all? You just went to sleep?”

He shrugged. “What else? There weren’t any good movies playing. Oh. Maybe I should mention that I’m not a morning person, so daylight kind of passed me by for a few hours. Next step was to scout around. At first I thought I was on a deserted island, but late in the afternoon I cut across to the north side and came across a house. Yeah! I said to myself. Maybe somebody there had a wire I could borrow. That’s when I heard a motor and saw your boat pull up.”