Authors: Maureen McMahon
* * * * *
King Kong was waiting in the entrance hall when everyone
straggled back from the burial. He was a typical feline in that he came and
went as he saw fit and displayed little loyalty to anyone. After Leo’s death,
he disappeared. This wasn’t surprising, since he often embarked on personal
business that sometimes kept him away for days. He always returned, however,
not much the worse for wear, refusing to give any hint as to where he’d been or
what he’d been up to.
Such was the case now. He sat watching us with aloof
dignity, his thick black fur almost blending with the black marble floor. His
eyes were slitted into yellow-gold chips and his huge, fluffy tail curled
around him with just the tip twitching at some inner annoyance.
Alicia drew in her breath and clutched Grant’s sleeve. “Lord,
I forgot about the cat!”
I glanced at her curiously.
“Poor old Kong.” David smiled in sympathy, squatted and
stretched out a hand.
Kong gave him a lazy perusal, then stood, stretched, blinked
twice and turned his back. He sauntered down the hall and disappeared in the
direction of the kitchen without a backward glance. David smiled ruefully and
stood up.
“Don’t bother with him,” Colin snorted. “Leo’s the only one
he paid any attention to. Cats are too stupid to appreciate anything.”
“I wonder if he knows,” Alicia mused.
Grant looked at her and his eyes glittered. “Oh, he knows
all right. He’s probably the only one who does know exactly what happened that
night by the pool.”
The words gave a hollow echo in the large room and I
shivered. “I’m going up to change,” I announced. “There’ll be more reporters on
their way, not to mention friends and associates. I think Grant should brief us
all on what he’s told them already, so we can get our stories straight.”
Grant nodded agreement, approving of my apparent cool logic.
We all agreed to meet in twenty minutes and I escaped just in time, shutting my
door solidly and giving in to an unreasonable fear that flowed through me like
lava.
A strange sensation had enveloped me. I felt it the minute
we stepped into the entrance hall and it remained even after Kong disappeared.
To describe it exactly was impossible but it was a feeling akin to being
watched from the shadows by covert eyes.
I moved to the closet and pushed the hangers this way and
that, aware my hands were trembling. Abandoning that, I fumbled in my drawer
for a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself. I tried to
pinpoint a logical reason for my disquiet and finally settled on the lame
excuse that the memorial service and funeral shook me up more than I realized.
Having accepted this, I crushed out the half-smoked cigarette disgustedly. So
much for my resolve to kick the habit!
Turning once more to the closet, I chose soft tan slacks, a
cream crêpe blouse with full-length draping sleeves and comfortably low brown
shoes. For ornament, I clasped a thin gold chain with a floating heart around
my neck.
I brushed my hair and studied my pale face, not impressed by
the dark smudges beneath my eyes and the anxious tightness about my mouth. Yes,
certainly I was in a worse state than I realized and despite my
self-assurances, it took all my courage to descend the stairs some minutes
later. I let my eyes scour every inch of the foyer but the feeling was gone. I
breathed more easily, and almost convinced that the eerie feeling must have
been a product of my vivid imagination, hurried off to join the others.
* * * * *
The official reading of the will took place the next day,
and despite the fact that everyone already knew its contents, emotions were
high. Grant paced like a caged lion, Colin sat, splay-legged, cracking his
knuckles nervously, while Alicia fidgeted with her bangles. David wasn’t
present. I decided it was time I quit leaning on him and faced the music alone.
I listened impassively, keeping my face blank, all too aware of the furtive
looks cast in my direction by all eyes.
The officiating attorney was Henry Legget of Garth, Garth
and Legget. He wore cut-down bifocals and eyed Grant and me over the tops of
them.
“There will be a ten-day period from this date in which to
file for contest of this document but should the will be accepted, stipulations
must be complied with before the end of the month. Is this understood?”
I gave a wooden nod and Grant shot him a look that made the
little man cough nervously.
“Well, then,” he said, tidying his papers and placing them
in his briefcase, “are there any questions? No? Fine.” He snapped the case
shut. “I’ll show myself out.”
No one spoke for some moments. I think we were all too
dazed. Finally, Alicia announced she needed a drink and scurried off to the
library. Colin and Grant eyed me, perhaps hopeful I’d announce some decision.
Instead, I excused myself and, after grabbing a copy of the will from the desk,
escaped before anyone could question me.
David was waiting for my call. He said he’d be happy to see
me but he’d be working at the marina all day. In the end, we agreed to have
lunch together. It was already after ten but there would be enough time to stop
off at the law offices in Manistee before meeting him. I didn’t intend to leave
any stone unturned.
There was a definite chill in the air when I left the house.
I was grateful for the warmth of my white cardigan. I realized with a twinge
that it would be winter in less than two months, which meant long periods of
time cooped up indoors. I hoped, if indeed this marriage to Grant was
inevitable, he’d at least have the courtesy to move into the Dirkston penthouse
in Chicago. Such an arrangement would certainly be more practical. Not only
would he be closer to the company offices during this critical time but it
would also help to ease the embarrassment of our situation.
My little red Mazda zipped down the drive and I turned north
at the main road. I felt relieved to be away from the tense atmosphere at
Beacon. It would be nice to keep on driving and never look back. I thought of
Kong and the easy assurance with which he rejected everyone. I wished I had the
confidence and audacity to do the same.
The drive to Manistee took only fifteen minutes. It was a
relatively small town, about the same size as Ludington, with its own small
commercial port but fewer curiosity shops for tourists and more supermarkets
and chain stores for locals. Quaint, attractive restaurants dotted the harborside
and main streets, while a number of old centennial homes, refurbished as
bed-and-breakfasts, displayed a unique blend of austere Puritan lines set off
by frivolous rococo ornamentation.
Despite its prime location, Manistee didn’t seem to rely on
sun worshipers and sports enthusiasts as did many of the other coastal towns.
It thrived on its commercial enterprises and kept to itself as much as
possible. I decided to take Leo’s will to a law firm there, where I’d be less
likely to run into anyone directly associated with Beacon.
I certainly wasn’t going to trust Grant’s word on the
futility of contesting it. For all I knew, Grant arranged this whole ridiculous
affair just to get his hands on Leo’s money and the corporate assets. It was
quite clear to me that he would stand to gain the most from this marriage,
acquiring the power to influence the running of Dirkston Enterprises, as well
as virtual control of Leo’s private fortunes. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to
find he was the one who suggested the idea to Leo in the first place.
It didn’t take long to present my questions to the attorney.
If he was surprised at the demands set down in the will, he didn’t show it. In
the end, he merely agreed to study the document at length and call me as soon
as possible. I thanked him, feeling no more comforted than when I arrived and
returned to my car to begin the return journey.
The sun broke through a scattering of gauzy cirrus clouds
and dropped warmth across the tree-lined pavement. I guided the car
absentmindedly, enjoying the peace and quiet. I passed Beacon’s shadowed drive
and continued on toward Ludington.
It was minutes later that I saw him. I don’t know where he
came from but suddenly, in the middle of the road was a man. He didn’t move,
merely stood as though waiting for the car to reach him. His face was
indistinguishable, his clothing dappled by the rapidly moving clouds overhead.
He seemed to shimmer like a mirage and I blinked, half-expecting him to
disappear.
His appearance was so unexpected I gasped and slammed my
foot on the brake. The tires squealed plaintively and the automobile veered to
the right and onto the shoulder of the road. My heart pounded furiously and I
threw open the door to confront him. But when I looked, he was gone.
I stood by the side of the car and scanned the shrubs and
forest on either side. Shadows danced through the woodland recesses and a brisk
wind whipped my hair. There was no sign of anyone. Climbing back into the car,
I locked the doors and sat for a while, waiting for my hands to steady. The
road stretched ahead, a gray ribbon that cut the forest in half.
I began to wonder if I’d seen anything after all or merely
conjured the image in my mind. I couldn’t have described the figure that had
loomed so suddenly. I couldn’t even be sure now if it was a man or a woman.
Perhaps a deer? It was highly unlikely. Deer were often seen along this stretch
of highway but very rarely at midday.
I put the car in gear and with one last furtive glance
around, continued on my way. I was troubled. Something about the figure in the
road was unsettlingly familiar. A flash of déjà vu, yet inexplicably different.
I made a mental note to ask David if there were any campers in the woods near
Beacon or Spindrift.
* * * * *
Ludington was small in comparison to the better known
Michigan cities of Detroit, Lansing, Grand Rapids and Ann Arbor, yet larger
than many other coastal towns such as Pentwater, Montague or Whitehall. Many of
these little villages were all but deserted during the winter months, catering primarily
to summer visitors looking for sun, sand and water. A large percentage of the
population lived permanently elsewhere, maintaining holiday homes near the lake
which they shut up during the winter.
Ludington, a commercial port for vessels trading the Great
Lakes, maintained a less transient populace. This was home to me and I felt
secure in the familiarity, enjoying the continual summer stream of cars
sporting out-of-state license plates with urban faces pressed against the
windows, visitors who seemed to be viewing nature for the first time.
Colin and David’s marina was situated just north of the main
street. A tee intersection took my car along the lake road abutting sandy white
beaches dotted with playground equipment, tall lifeguard chairs and brick
barbecues. About a mile further, rounding the bend that would take me out of
the city, was the irregular oak sign announcing Blue Fin Marina. Dangling
beneath this sign on heavy chains, smaller signs read Charter Fishing, Pleasure
Craft and Canoe Rental, C. Dirkston, D. Lancaster. I turned the car down the
short gravel drive and parked in front of a white, weatherboard building
labeled “Office”. David appeared at once, smiling a greeting as he opened my
door.
“I thought you’d never get here!”
I looked at my watch. “David, I’m a half-hour early.”
He chuckled. “I know, I know. It’s just been so slow this
morning. Only one group of canoes and a few bookings for next summer.”
“It’s usually quiet this time of year, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” He nodded agreeably. “Where would you like to
go for lunch?”
“I thought you were working all day. Who’s going to mind the
store?”
“Colin’s on his way. He can take over for an hour or so.”
Colin arrived before we had time to go inside, roaring down
the drive and making twin furrows in the gravel as he skidded to a halt. I
noted with a twinge of annoyance that he drove Leo’s silver Maserati, which
seemed somewhat presumptuous of him so soon after the funeral but I didn’t
mention it. I didn’t want to start any arguments.
“Hello, Suzanna. If I’d known you were coming here, I’d have
gotten a lift with you.”
“I had other errands to do.”
Ignoring his curious look, I turned to David. “Shall we get
a couple of sub sandwiches and go down to the beach?”
“Good idea. Just give us a minute and I’ll be right with
you.”
He and Colin disappeared into the office and I leaned idly
against the car, breathing deeply of the clear, crisp air sweeping in off the
lake.
“Got a light, Miz Dirkston?”
The voice was so unexpected that I jumped, dropping my purse
so its contents spilled onto the ground. Mike Kensington smiled at me, his eyes
slitted against the sun, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. I stooped to pick
up my scattered belongings, chiding myself for being so nervous, yet irritated
at him for sneaking up on me.
He didn’t bother to help but waited until I stood up.
“About that light?” he persisted.
“Sorry, Mike, I’m trying to quit,” I said, though I knew he’d
seen my lighter and cigarettes among the litter in the gravel. He shrugged and
put the cigarette back in its pack, relocating it to a pocket of his blue
windbreaker.
He wasn’t an unattractive man. Average in height with black,
rumpled hair, his gray-blue eyes were overshadowed by generous black brows and
his face, lined from constant squinting, was tanned hickory. He sported an
impressive moustache and sideburns, peppered with gray.
“Sorry to hear about Mr. Dirkston. I was pretty shocked
myself. Flew him to Chicago just a couple of days before it happened. I never
would’ve guessed that…” He stopped, noting my expression. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said stiffly. Then, feeling guilty for being
unreasonable, I added, “It was a shock to all of us.”