''
You mean he was sort of a born again Christian?'' Michael asked. He reclined now propped up on his elbow, one knee up and one leg extended.
Harold shook his head, ''No, not really like that. His journey was one of personal growth. He was the only man I ever knew who thought deeply about himself and his environment and continued to try and literally carve a place for himself that was self satisfying while being responsible to the world at large. He felt guilty about Louise. He felt he married her without giving thought to how they fit together in the universe, and that's why they didn't make it. Do you understand?''
Kathleen was all sympathy. ''I think so. Like when people marry too young and find out that there's no place for the captain of the football team and the head cheerleader in the real world.''
''
Exactly,'' Harold pushed his glasses up, smiling quite a lovely smile. ''That's exactly how Lionel felt, and that's why he took responsibility for Louise. He believed he had done her a disservice.'' He was excited now, warming to his subject. ''You see, Lionel believed everything was tied to nature. It was Louise's nature to desire material things. It was natural for her to be upset when she realized that Lionel had never valued the things money could buy. Her nature was unchangeable. His was at least refinable, if that makes sense.''
Harold knelt up, tired of leaning on the hard heels of his shoes.
''
Lionel was gentle, spiritual, kind, and respectful of all things and people that inhabited his world even if they sought to take advantage of him. He took pride in his job because he believed that he was using his God given talents to the best of his ability. He was taking care of his first wife and his second by honoring the commitment he made to Tysco. In short, Lionel Booker was a very proud man and I say he had every reason to be.''
''
And no reason to kill himself?''
Harold looked at Michael, surprised to hear him speak and looking almost peeved that his soliloquy had not been allowed a moment of respectful silence. When he spoke of Lionel his stature had seemed to grow, his shoulders had become broad with pride that he knew such a person. But Lionel was gone. Harold shrunk back, sitting on his heels once more.
''
No. No reason. He was upset about something that had happened at work. I might even go so far as to describe his behavior as distressed. He didn't confide in me except to say that life is full of disappointments and sometimes you just have to do what you can when you run into them.''
''
And you didn't take that to mean that he was resigned to solving his problem by taking his own life?'' Kathleen questioned him now.
''
No.'' Harold shook his head slowly, thinking hard about his answer because he knew it was important. ''I didn't. In fact, I don't believe it was Lionel's problem. The way he spoke, it was more like he was angry at other people. I don't think Lionel made a mistake. I think someone else did and he was taking it upon himself. At least that's the impression I had. He wasn't depressed. If anything he was energized.''
''
Did he say how he was going to do this or who else might be involved?'' Michael was sitting up again, offering Kathleen the chicken. She shook her head.
''
I'm sorry,'' he looked Kathleen's way. ''We weren't intimate in that way. I admired him. I don't think he knew how much. We ate lunch together, said good-morning and good-night, but I wasn't privy to all of Lionel's most private thoughts. Without Lionel opening the door, I would never have burdened him with mine.''
''
He must have been a very special man.'' Kathleen's voice was another note in the summer sounds. She waited for a car to pass through the parking lot behind them then leaned forward and put her hand on Harold's. ''I hate to ask this, Mr. Douglas, but I have to. If you weren't the best of friends, how do you know that Lionel might not have turned to drugs and killed himself?''
Harold turned a cold eye on Kathleen. ''I know because Lionel wasn't that kind of man. I would testify to that in court, my hand on the Bible. If no one else will speak for Lionel Booker, then I will. You see, Miss Cotter, people like Lionel and me, we realize very early that we are life's square pegs. That's why our senses are honed and our thought process is keen. From the time we are young, we know that we won't have many friends so we treasure the ones we do have. Lionel was a lucky man. He had Sarah and, though he probably didn't know it, he had me. I will speak out for Lionel Booker. I will be his character witness. And, if no one wants to hear about a man of principal, then I will simply keep my opinions to myself. Either way, Lionel will live on as an example to me.''
Kathleen sat silently, considering the grass. There were a few large blades that would have made marvelous whistles. Had she been a girl she might have plucked one up and whistled at tune. But she was a grown woman with a purpose and that purpose had suddenly taken a very personal turn. She wouldn't be swayed. Harold's feelings were not evidence.
''
You're very astute, Mr. Douglas. I appreciate your honesty and your insights. But the information I need has to be more concrete. Did Lionel ever tell you he was happy? Did he share with you any plans for the future in the last weeks of his life? That would be truly helpful if you could come up with some concrete evidence that Lionel felt he had a future.''
Her voice was hypnotic. The sea breeze took her words, spoken so gently, and spread them between the two men. Beside her she could almost feel Michael Crawford's mind turning as he tried to help her.
''
He talked about the farm he wanted to buy someday.''
''
Did he talk about that in the last few weeks?''
Harold hung his head. There was nothing more he could add and his word alone wasn't enough to convince anyone that Lionel Booker's intent was other than sinister.
Kathleen patted his hand. ''I wish I had a friend like you, Mr. Douglas.''
''
I'm surprised you don't, Miss Cotter,'' he answered with equal sincerity. Michael Crawford had no comment.
''
Well, if you can think of anything, I would appreciate hearing from you.'' She poked into her bag and pulled out a card. Harold took it reverently, tucking it safely away in a zippered change bag that hung from a clip around his belt loop.
''
I promise I'll call right away.'' He stood up. His knees were pocked with the pattern of the grass; one white sock had worked its way down around his ankle. Michael stood up and shook Harold's hand. He said all the things a boss would say to an employee, but he said them with impressive warmth.
''
I appreciate you coming all the way out here, Harold. I'll see you at work on Monday.
''
Sure thing. I was glad to do it for Lionel.'' Harold tugged at his blue shirt, bent and picked up his book. Before he left, though, he had another thought. ''Mr. Crawford? Has Lionel's desk been cleaned out?''
''
It has. I thought the same thing, Harold.''
''
Too bad. It might have helped to look at his desk to see if there was anything he held back,'' Harold suggested. ''Well, if there's anything else let me know.''
He gave a waist high wave with his 'good-bye'. Kathleen shaded her eyes to watch him go, only to call him back briefly.
''
Was there anyone at all who Lionel disliked, Harold? Or anyone at work who particularly disliked Lionel?''
Harold shook his head. ''Lionel gave everyone a fair shake even if they didn't reciprocate. No one ever really dislikes guys like us. They just don't pay us much mind.''
''
They don't know what they're missing, Harold.''
''
Thank you, Miss Cotter.''
With that he was gone. A mince and scurry and he was at his car. Kathleen watched him go. Michael Crawford watched her watch.
''
I'm sorry that wasn't much help.'' Michael was already sitting down, leaning back on that elbow again. Kathleen's legs were cramped. She stood a few seconds longer before joining him on the grass.
''
Not at all. It was very helpful to meet him. I think you can tell a lot about people from the company they keep.'' Kathleen finally picked up the beer and popped the top Michael had put back on. She took a sip, thinking while her taste buds adjusted to the cold, bitter taste. ''Lionel sounds very nice. Accommodating. Worried more about other people than himself. He was either one in a million or he was on drugs and that's why he was always on an even keel.''
''
Maybe, but I doubt it. It's hard to hide something like a habit especially if you're using heroine. It can be done, but it takes someone extremely controlled.''
''
You sound like you know something about it.''
''
Something,'' Michael crumpled the pretzel back and cleaned up the chicken bones. Kathleen handed him the napkin she'd been using. ''Have you talked to his wife?''
''
Same story from her. Lionel was this perfect guy, content in his own little world. But even she confirmed he was upset about something. She didn't give me any indication that it was anything earth shattering. Did you get that impression from Harold?''
''
Nope. It just sounded like Lionel had something to take care of. He was playing it close to the vest and that all seems very mysterious, but it sure didn't affect his performance. If the problem was something that drove him to suicide I'd assume someone would have seen some majorly out of character behavior. I'd say whatever had his feathers ruffled was in the context of normal, everyday living. No big problem there.''
''
Shows what you know.'' Kathleen nibbled on her last pretzel. ''Any good attorney can take a molehill and build a mountain faster than you can say 'I object'. And the insurance company's attorney is pretty good.'' Kathleen chuckled and waited for Michael to politely speculate that she could probably give as good as she got. He didn't. She stopped laughing and cleared her throat. ''Look, I appreciate you going to all this trouble. I didn't expect you to get quite so involved. I know it's been an imposition.''
Michael shook his head, ''Not really.''
''
You don't say much do you?'' Her legs were going to sleep. She re-crossed them, put the beer aside, and laid the unfinished pretzel on top. Michael took it all and put it into the trash bag and that went into the back pack. They made a great housekeeping team.
''
Sorry. It's a failing. I guess I like to watch and figure out what needs to be said then I say it.''
''
Smart thing to do as long as you don't lose your nerve when it comes time to say what you've been thinking.''
''
I've never lacked for nerve, but I must say I'm pretty darn careful about what I say and who I say it to.'' Michael stood up, towering over her. He hoisted the back pack and looked ten feet tall from where she sat. ''Do you have to be somewhere right now?''
''
Nope.
''
Feel like working anymore?''
''
Nope.''
''
Good.'' He held out his hand. She took it. Michael pulled Kathleen up. There were still the flutters, still the ridiculous awareness of the sheen of his hair, the feel of his hand in hers but now there was something more. The more didn't have an adjective to go with it.
He hoisted his bag and held her hand tighter. ''There's nothing like the open sea to clear the brain.''
''
You mean sailing?'' Kathleen choked. ''I've never seen the ocean before today. I don't know if I'm ready to bob around on it.''
''
Come on. What's it worth being alive if you do the same thing everyday? Come on,'' He tugged at her hand and grinned. ''We'll just go past the breakwater. Unless you've got something better to do? Someone waiting for you?''
''
No. No one waiting, nothing better to do.''Kathleen looked at the beautiful boat. She would like to sit on the deck chair, her face turned up to the late afternoon sun. She'd like to feel something other than the hard, unforgiving ground under her feet. She'd like to spend a minute more with Michael Crawford.
''
Okay. Why not?''
''
Good. Great.'' He gave her hand a squeeze, friendly and inviting. Kathleen thought no further than beyond the next minute. Lionel Booker was forgotten. Louise could leave a zillion messages. Gerry could hold down the fort without her. The day was hers - or theirs. But they hadn't cleared the grass before they were stopped.
''
Mr. Crawford. Miss Cotter'' Harold was back. He was leaning half out the window of his car. Kathleen walked back, to the white picket fence that ran the length of marina, separating it from the parking lot. Michael waited where he was, still close enough to hear. Harold was flushed, perspiration dotting his forehead and the bridge of his nose. The little car lacked air conditioning. ''I forgot something. I don't know if it's important, but Lionel was wearing a suit on the day he died. He never wore a suit. It was just something I thought was odd, him wearing a suit. That's all. Just odd.''
His car stuttered. He revved the motor and drove away again without a wave or a second look.
CHAPTER NINE
It was more beautiful than Kathleen could ever have imagined. The horizon was endless; the sea was stitched to the sky with the delicate, invisible thread of some brilliant cosmic seamstress. The blue of the water had changed from that of a robin's egg to the deep navy that can seem black in the endless reaches. Here and there white sails dotted the grand expanse, canvas billowing out to catch every last one of Mother Nature's breaths.
Michael hadn't bothered with his sails. Instead, they cut through the water powered by an unseen and almost silent motor. Their wake was pleasing to the eye, the slight rock and rise of the boat soothing to the soul and, when Michael Crawford cut the engine and sat beside her on the deck, he redefined the meaning of the words alone together.