Chapter 6 #2
Ms. Sommers stared at me for a long moment, her expression sharp and amused before she smoothed it away into her usual, sunshiny self.
“Gwen had texted me about those awful pap shots just before I saw you sitting here. I was on my way past to go meet her and saw you in the window, thought I’d stop in to tell you.
.. Well, to commiserate I suppose. And to thank you for finding Gerald. ”
“Thank me?”
She fumbled her tea, a small splash of it hitting the back of her hand.
“Oh, the thought of him just being in that boat alone until we came back,” she fretted, tears welling.
“No one would’ve thought to look for him and, well.
..” She sniffed wetly. “We may have butted heads but the thought of that is just so much! We haven’t been as close as we used to be, not for years now, but we weren’t strangers.
And him just drinking alone like that. Oh, I wish he’d let us know things were hard! ”
Two glasses. Spilled scotch. Shouting voices.
.. Damn it, don’t do this, Damien... “He wasn’t alone,” I said slowly, cautiously.
“He’d had someone over before I got there.
I thought it was one of you two, really, you or Ms. Terhune.
The people in the boat next door heard people, um, talking on board before I stopped by. ”
Ms. Sommers face was frozen in something like shock, eyes suddenly dry. “I’m sorry. What?”
“The authorities are still sure it’s an accident,” I rushed to add, “but he wasn’t drinking alone. He had company earlier. Before me.”
Mechanically, she took another sip of her tea, staring at the sidewalk through the plate glass window. “Well then. I’m... glad is the wrong word. Relieved, I suppose. Relieved he wasn’t drowning sorrows on his own.”
But he was fighting with someone. Or someone was fighting with him. “At least.”
“And don’t you go feeling guilty, Damien! Even if you’d shown up a bit earlier, there was nothing you could’ve done,” she said suddenly, eyes bright as she dabbed them with that hankie. “I don’t want you thinking that!”
“I... I wasn’t?”
“Good!” She reached out and patted my hand, her palm weirdly moist in a way that made me think lotion rather than sweat or tears. Ick. “Good boy.”
The sharp jangle of the bell and a waft of street smells mingling with the smell of mentholated tobacco jerked my attention away from the icky touch. Gwendolyn Terhune, manicure fresh and expression sour, stood in the open doorway.
“There’s no smoking indoors,” Belinda said sternly, peering over the rim of her lensless glasses.
Ms. Terhune stared at her for a long moment, then glanced at the half-smoked cigarette between her own fingers. “I’m not indoors, darling. I just have the door open.”
“No smoking indoors,” Belinda repeated, holding out an empty to go cup and shaking it in Ms. Terhune’s direction.
Ms. Sommers muttered something under her breath, sinking in on herself just a little as Ms. Terhune’s smile finally bloomed, sharp and not at all kind. “Of course, darling.” She took a long, lung-punishing drag from the cigarette and flicked it out into the street.
“No littering,” Belinda chimed. “That’ll get you a hundred dollar fine.”
“Belinda,” I cut in, standing abruptly. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Belinda’s incredulous stare was no match for the wattage of Ms. Terhune’s beaming smile. “Damien, dear boy! Are you stalking me? I feel like you might be!”
“I stopped in for tea,” I said. No one in here cared that I really stumbled in to have a crisis. “Maybe you’re stalking me?”
Ms. Terhune guffawed. Ms. Sommers tittered politely, folding and refolding her hankie as she darted a fretful glance between me and Ms. Terhune.
“That’d be the day,” Ms. Terhune said, her famously throaty voice grating in its volume.
“Besides, I don’t think you need another stalker in your life, if those pictures are anything to go by. ”
“Oh god,” I muttered, sinking back into my seat. “Some people need hobbies.”
Ms. Terhune’s assessing gaze was enough to make me squirm. “Do they now?”
“Damien mentioned that Gerald wasn’t alone,” Ms. Sommers blurted, that hanky twisted into a thin rope of damp fabric. “Isn’t that odd, Gwen?”
Ms. Terhune’s expression fell, then froze into something near shock. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Er, it’s just... Ms. Sommers—”
“Call me Pamela, dear.”
“Pamela,” I nodded. “She was worried Tubbs had been drinking on his own and, well, he hadn’t. At least I don’t think so.”
Ms. Terhune looked as if she wanted to sit.
I rose, offering her my chair, but she waved me off with a new resolve, straightening her spine and her shocked face in one smooth transition.
“Gerald did like to find himself younger company in his travels,” she said with a disdainful sniff.
“Probably that girl he’d been sniffing around since we got here. ”
A mouse-squeak came from Pamela. “That girl’s barely in her twenties! I think you’re wrong, Gwen!”
“When did that ever stop him?” she shot back.
“For that matter, when did it ever stop them?” She slid a sly glance my way.
“You know how it is with that sort, don’t you Damien?
They come in all sexes, genders, shapes, sizes, ages, always begging for a shot at the big time and not caring how they do it. ”
My stomach executed a slow, twisting roll that sent bitter bile up the back of my throat. “That’s a lot of things I don’t want to think about right now. Or ever.”
Ms. Terhune chuckled. “I bet.”
Pamela had all but chewed her pale blush lipstick off, that twist of fabric in her hands practically a knot as she stared at Ms. Terhune.
“Gerald died alone,” she whispered. “He was by himself...That’s what the police think, isn’t it?
Nobody was there with him. He wasn’t... struggling.
Or, or pleading... He was alone and no one heard his last words or, or, or. ..”
There was a strong beat of silence, heavy with something that felt like confusion. “That’s right,” Ms. Terhune finally soothed, leaning in to loop one arm around Pamela’s shoulders. “He did. And it was a shock to everyone. Even Damien.”
They both looked at me with twin, owlish expressions.
While Ms. Terhune’s was wide-eyed and perfect, Pamela’s was watery and scared.
I slowly nodded. “It was definitely a shock. Um, did Heath maybe give any idea about who Tubbs might’ve been with?
Maybe they, I don’t know, could tell you his last words or something?
” I extemporized, wincing inwardly at my blabbing.
But my brain was running on two tracks—one, the socially polite and professionally chill path that told me to give condolences and make the right noises, and two, the path that was me careening downhill with no brakes towards the panicky idea that maybe Tubbs’ death wasn’t an accident.
And, admittedly, I’d low key been on that path all weekend but now I was picking up speed and heading for the huge barricade with the sign that said This is a really bad idea, Damien! in huge red letters and flashing lights.
Ms. Terhune blinked first, breaking free from the parliament of owls impression.
“I don’t know if that would be much comfort for anyone, dear,” she said faintly, lifting her hand to adjust the fine silver chain around her neck and bumping her bag in the process, sending the contents spilling across the floor. “Oh, damn it!”
“Let me help,” I said, reaching for a tube of lipstick and her silver lighter that had tumbled out of the bag. She let me put them back in the open zipper compartment before snatching her purse back and closing it with a determined scowl. “Okay...”
“It’s fine. I’ve got it.”
The door opened to admit a cluster of customers, mostly tourists, and a familiar flash of bright color caught my eye.
The goth server from the cocktail party was trailing in after the group, smiling at her phone as she texted with record breaking speed.
Ms. Terhune and Pamela whispered together, closing me out, while the small group massed at the counter and Belinda frowned at, well, everyone.
Ms. Terhune broke out of their huddle of two and flashed a bright smile my way, one I recognized as a professional we’re done here smile.
“Well, Damien, we must dash. The Regatta Committee is expecting us in about half an hour and, well...” she shrugged one thin shoulder, the motion awkward like she had never been casual a day in her life, “it’s for Gerald so we mustn’t be late. ”
Pamela’s smile was more tremulous, hesitant. “Will you be attending? It’s just a small speech about how Gerald loved the sea. And Beth.”
Ms. Terhune patted her on the arm, already guiding her to the door. “Oh, you know Damien and Gerald hated one another! Let him sit this one out.”
“I don’t think he hated me that much if he wanted me to be in that movie,” I muttered.
Pamela stumbled, craning her neck ‘round to look at me, but Ms. Terhune just hissed a not very polite laugh and frog-marched Pamela towards the door.
“Damien,” Belinda called. “Help!”
Hastily, I grabbed my tea and moved behind the counter to help Belinda with the influx of customers.
It took just a few minutes to get everyone sorted and orders rung up, including several boxes of house blend teas and a set of pretty tea mugs made by Bull from the china shop next door.
Belinda was the one who rung out the goth lady, despite my machinations to get in front of her.
Finally, the shop was empty save for me and Belinda, who was leaning against the counter with her eyes closed and breathing deeply.
“I hate tourist season,” she muttered. “Why don’t they just stay in Kennebunk and Ogunquit? ”
In my best news reel announcer voice, I boomed, “Because Lester Cove is a city on the move, a city of fascination, a city of excitement!”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked dryly, ducking her chin to hide a smile when I laughed.