“This is fine,” Jerry said quickly. “You think about what I said, Susan. Think and you’ll realize I could be right.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Susan’s taxi driver was waiting, leaning against the trunk of his car, eyes closed. Susan started toward him and then stopped. She was upset, and the thought of returning to Compass Bay was completely unappealing. Leaving her driver to continue his nap, she turned and walked toward the center of town.

Jerry and Kathleen, she remembered, had come to town for dinner their first night on the island. She wasn’t really hungry, but she was thirsty and nervous; stopping for a drink seemed like an excellent idea. The first restaurant she came to was a run-down bar-a surprisingly active bar considering the time of day-and she continued on to the next. THE COCONUT HUT: DINE IN PARADISE read the brilliantly painted sign above the door. Susan decided she could use a little paradise and went in.

The air-conditioning felt wonderful although she had walked less than a quarter mile, and when the hostess appeared, Susan was happy to be escorted to a small table in the back of the room.

“I don’t need a menu. I’ll just have a large lemonade and… and a glass of ice water,” she ordered. The hostess hurried off, and Susan picked up her purse. She probably had a pen, and she wanted to write down what Jerry had said while it was fresh in her mind. Frances Adams had said Jerry was depending on Susan for his release. He must have known she would, if possible, have come to see him. He must have planned what he would say. So why did his words make absolutely no sense?

June and Kathleen had only two things in common: They had both been Jerry’s wife, and they both were the mothers of two children by him. Period. They didn’t come from the same background. June had been brought up in the suburbs, attended an excellent women’s college, and married Jerry soon after graduation. Kathleen grew up in New York City, attended Hunter College, and fulfilled a childhood dream when she joined the police force. Being a suburban housewife had been a natural avocation for June; for Kathleen it was an ongoing struggle. June was domestic by nature and by training. Kathleen took good care of her family and her home because she cared about them, but she had had to learn to do it and it hadn’t been easy. Accustomed to meals on the run or takeout in New York City, Kathleen had been unfamiliar with many of the phrases common in cookbooks. It was only recently that Kathleen had managed to pull off large dinner parties with as much ease as June had the first month of her marriage.

Susan picked up the pen she had found in her purse and moved the paper place mat closer, continuing to think about Kathleen and June without writing a word. Of course, there were things about wives that only a husband would know, but Susan couldn’t imagine that Jerry had been referring to such private, personal things. They were both good mothers, but their style was different. Although Kathleen seemed more casual than June, she was just as concerned and involved. Like June, she served her time as class mother, but while June brought elaborately decorated cupcakes to class parties, Kathleen found a bakery that made delicious health food bars and passed them out to Emily’s and Alex’s classmates.

June had never seemed to need anything outside of her home and family. Kathleen had been eager to start her own security company as soon as her youngest was in nursery school. Kathleen loved her life, but sometimes Susan worried that it was too confining. Kathleen needed excitement. And June didn’t. June was… well, June was dull.

Susan was surprised. She had never thought of June that way. June had seemed perfectly happy to do what was expected, but nothing more, nothing surprising or fun. Susan hadn’t been looking for anything else when they had been friends. Busy with two young children, Susan was content to make it through the day without a crisis call from the school nurse or a torrent of sibling rivalry upsetting the balance of family life. But, if June had been alive when Chad and Chrissy were older and less demanding, would she and Susan have remained friends? As she had told Kathleen yesterday, Susan doubted it. Oh, they would have seen each other-their husbands’ relationship would have guaranteed that-but close friends? The type of friends she and Kathleen had become? Susan knew it wouldn’t have happened.

The waitress delivered a tall glass filled with ice cubes and bright yellow liquid. She had forgotten the water, but this looked so refreshing that Susan didn’t complain. She grabbed her drink and downed more than half in a few quick gulps. And gasped.

“There’s alcohol in there,” she protested, setting down the glass with a bang.

“Rum, triple sec, and Absolut Citron. Just like the sign says,” the waitress replied, nodding to the drinks menu posted on the wall. “Call me if you want another,” she added before slinking off toward the bar.

Susan blinked a few times and looked down at the glass. It was cold, it was refreshing, it was delicious. She picked it up again, finished it off, and looked in her purse for money. Appreciative of the mistake the waitress had made, she left a generous tip before heading to the bar to pay her bill.

“I had a lemonade,” she explained to the bartender.

“Looked like you needed it when you came in,” the bartender replied. He was young, tanned, and blond, and wouldn’t have looked out of place playing on Chad’s soccer team at Cornell.

“I guess I did,” Susan said, paying the reasonable bill.

“Say, don’t you have some connection to that man they say murdered his ex-wife that they’re holding over at the embassy offices?”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s a small island and murder’s big news. So, who are you? A relative?”

“I’m a friend. He didn’t murder anybody. And the woman who died was the sister of his dead wife, not his ex-wife.”

“Really? You know, he and that woman were in here the day she died.”

“No, I think he and his wife were here the night before Allison died.”

“I make a pretty good living being nice to the customers, lady, but I gotta tell you, you’re wrong. He was here with the dead woman. Belinda-that’s the woman who waited on you-works days. She had to be at her son’s school-some sort of play or something-so I was alone. I waited on them myself. There was a picture of the dead woman in the newspaper. I’m sure it was her here with him. If you know what I mean.”

Susan, who was familiar with the poor grammar habits of even the most well educated young people, nodded. “Did you overhear what they were saying? I’m not accusing you of eavesdropping or anything, but it could be important.”

“I eavesdrop all the time. That’s part of the reason I took this job. I’m a writer. Well,” he added modestly, “I want to be a writer. And, let’s face it, at twenty-two years old I don’t have a hell of a lot of life experience to write about. Came down here to get some. And if I can grab a piece of someone else’s life experience, it’s just fine with me.”

Susan’s spirits lifted-someone who could report on Jerry and Allison together. What a find! “So what did you hear?”

“Yeah, well, not a lot. There was a Lakers game on the radio and I sort of spent most of my time listening to that,” he explained sheepishly.

“Then did you notice anything about them? Did they appear happy? Sad? Angry with each other?” She added the last question reluctantly.

“All of the above,” he answered. “I watched them carefully. A man with a woman he wants to impress is likely to be a good tipper. Didn’t want to miss any signals.”

“So how did they seem happy and sad at the same time?”

“Not at the same time. It was sort of sequentially.”

“Do you remember the sequence? No, wait, first-did you notice if they came in together?”