The Cemetery Man and Other Darkside Tales
- Автор: Пронзини Билл
- Год: 2014
- Язык: английский
- Год: Perfect Crime Books
- ISBN: 978-1-935797-70-8
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Cemetery Man and Other Darkside Tales». Краткое содержание книги:
She said flatly, “I’m not going to talk about my marriage to you. I don’t know you.”
“We can fix that. I’m an easy guy to know.”
She moved ahead to the dresser, found underwear and socks, put them on the bed with the trousers and pullover. “You can change in here,” she said, and started for the doorway.
Tanner didn’t move.
“I said—”
“I heard you, Shea.”
“Mrs. Clifford.”
“Clifford,” he said. Then he smiled, the same wolfish lip-stretch he’d shown her in the kitchen. “Sure — Clifford. Your husband’s name wouldn’t be John, would it? John Clifford?”
She was silent.
“I’ll bet it is. John Clifford, Clifford Yacht Designs. One of the best marine architects in Miami. Fancy motor sailers and racing yawls.”
She still said nothing.
“House in Miami Beach, another on Salt Cay — this house. And you’re his latest wife. Which is it, number three or number four?”
Between her teeth she said, “Three.”
“He must be what, fifty now? And worth millions. Don’t tell me money’s not why you married him.”
“I won’t tell you anything.”
But his wealth wasn’t why she’d married him. He had been kind and attentive to her at first. And she’d been lonely after the bitter breakup with Neal. John had opened up a whole new, exciting world to her: travel to exotic places, sailing, the company of interesting and famous people. She hadn’t loved him, but she had been fond of him; and she’d convinced herself she would learn to love him in time. Instead, when he revealed his dark side to her, she had learned to hate him.
Tanner said, “Didn’t one of his other wives divorce him for knocking her around when he was drunk? Seems I remember reading something like that in the Miami papers a few years back. That why you’re unhappy, Shea? He knock you around when he’s drinking?”
Without answering, Shea pushed past him into the hallway. He didn’t try to stop her. In the kitchen again, she poured yet another cup of coffee and sat down with it. Even with her coat on and the furnace turned up, she was still cold. The heat from the mug failed to warm her hands.
She knew she ought to be afraid of Harry Tanner. But all she felt inside was a deep weariness. An image of Windflaw Point, the tiny beach with its treacherous undertow, flashed across the screen of her mind — and was gone again just as swiftly. Her courage, or maybe her cowardice, was gone too. She was no longer capable of walking out to the point, letting the sea have her. Not tonight and probably not ever again.
She sat listening to the wind clamor outside. It moaned in the twisted branches of the banyan tree; scraped palm fronds against the roof tiles. Through the open window jalousies she could smell ozone mixed with the sweet fragrances of white ginger blooms. The new storm would be here soon in all its fury.
The wind kept her from hearing Tanner reenter the kitchen. She sensed his presence, looked up, and saw him standing there with his eyes on her like probes. He’d put on all of John’s clothing and found a pair of Reeboks for his feet. In his left hand he held the waterproof belt that had been strapped around his waist.
“Shirt’s a little snug,” he said, “but a pretty good fit otherwise. Your husband’s got nice taste.”
Shea didn’t answer.
“In clothing, in houses, and in women.”
She sipped her coffee, not looking at him.
Tanner limped around the table and sat down across from her. When he laid the belt next to the bottle of rum, the pouch that bulged made a thunking sound. “Boats too,” he said. “I’ll bet he keeps his best designs for himself; he’s the kind that would. Am I right, Shea?”
“Yes.”
“How many boats does he own?”
“Two.”
“One’s bound to be big. Oceangoing yacht?” “Seventy-foot custom schooner.”
“What’s her name?”
“Moneybags.”
Tanner laughed. “Some sense of humor.”
“If you say so.”
“Where does he keep her? Here or Miami?”
“Miami.”
“She there now?”
“Yes.”
“And the other boat? That one berthed here?”
“The harbor at Merrywing.”
“What kind is she?”
“A sloop,” Shea said. “Carib Princess.”
“How big?”
“Thirty-two feet.”
“She been back and forth across the Stream?”
“Several times, in good weather.”
“With you at the helm?”
“No.”
“You ever take her out by yourself?”
“No. He wouldn’t allow it.”
“But you can handle her, right? You said you know boats. You can pilot that little sloop without any trouble?”
“Why do you want to know that? Why are you asking so many questions about John’s boats?”
“John’s boats, John’s houses, John’s third wife.” Tanner laughed again, just a bark this time. The wolfish smile pulled his mouth out of shape. “Are you afraid of me, Shea?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“Why? Should I be?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said.
“Then how come you lied to me?”
“Lied? About what?”
“Your husband. Old John Clifford.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You said he’d be home soon. But he won’t be. He’s not in town with friends, he’s not even on the island.”
She stared silently at the steam rising from her cup. Her fingers felt cramped, as if she might be losing circulation in them.
“Well, Shea? That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s the truth.”
“Where is he? Miami?”
She nodded.
“Went there on business and left you all by your lonesome.”
“It isn’t the first time.”
“Might be the last, though.” Tanner reached for the rum bottle, poured some of the dark liquid into his mug, drank, and then smacked his lips. “You want a shot of this?”
“No”
“Loosen you up a little.”
“I don’t need loosening up.”
“You might after I tell you the truth about Harry Tanner.”
“Does that mean you lied to me too?”
“I’m afraid so. But you fessed up and now it’s my turn.”
In the blackness outside the wind gusted sharply, banging a loose shutter somewhere at the front of the house. Rain began to pelt down with open-faucet suddenness.
“Listen to that,” Tanner said. “Sounds like we’re in for a big blow this time.”
“What did you lie about?”
“Well, let’s see. For starters, about how I came to be in the water tonight. My bugeye ketch didn’t sink in the squall. No, Wanderers tied up at a dock in Charlotte Amalie.”
She sat stiffly, waiting.
“Boat I was on didn’t sink, either,” Tanner said. “At least as far as I know it didn’t. I jumped overboard. Not long after the squall hit us.”
There was still nothing for her to say.
“If I hadn’t gone overboard, the two guys I was with would’ve shot me dead. They tried to shoot me in the water but the ketch was pitching like crazy and they couldn’t see me in the dark and the rain. I guess they figured I’d drown even with a life jacket on. Or the sharks or barracuda would get me.”
Still nothing.
“We had a disagreement over money. That’s what most things come down to these days — money. They thought I cheated them out of twenty thousand dollars down in Jamaica, and they were right, I did. They both put guns on me before I could do anything and I thought I was a dead man. The squall saved my bacon. Big swell almost broached us, knocked us all off our feet. I managed to scramble up the companionway and go over the side before they recovered.”