Blood Rubies (6 page)

I smiled. “I guess it wasn't all about Heather and Jason after all,” I whispered to the breeze.

Ray was a big man, and muscular, like a boxer, completely bald, with brown eyes and a crooked nose. I felt a sweet intimacy between them, picking it up solely from their body language since I couldn't hear their words. They weren't touching, but I got the sense they might at any moment. One camera was positioned ahead of them and rolled backward on some kind of wheeled platform, another loomed large on the side, standing on metal legs near the top of the dunes, and a third sat on a tractor rolling in from the rear. Timothy walked slowly alongside, as Ana and Ray did a good job of ignoring everything but one another.

Jason and Heather sat in director's chairs positioned under a canvas roof alongside the couple who'd shared their table at the Blue Dolphin. Jason was reading on a tablet, shielding the display with his forearm. Heather was staring dreamily or moodily, I couldn't tell which, out over the ocean. The other couple held hands and were talking quietly, their heads nearly touching.

“Cut!” Timothy called. “Ana, Ray, you're both fabulous.” He turned toward the cluster of director's chairs. “Jason? Chuck? Let's get a quick shot of you two.”

Jason left his tablet on his chair and slipped his phone into his pocket. Chuck shook out his pant legs before joining him. The two men walked toward Timothy.

Timothy got them positioned ten feet from the water. “You know what to do, right? You're going to walk along the beach talking about the wedding, then Chuck, you'll stop to congratulate Jason. Do it earnestly. Shake his hand. Tell him what a great gal Heather is. Make it look natural and spontaneous. Then continue walking down the beach, talking.” The cameras rolled into place, and one of the crew told Timothy they were ready. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Chuck said, looking embarrassed.

“Sure,” Jason said, looking bored.

“Keep your energy up, both of you! This is an exciting moment. Men's friendship.”

“Got it,” Jason said, smiling a little.

“Good, good. Let's do it!” He gave a thumbs-up to each cameraman, received one in return, then looked back at Jason and Chuck. “Rolling! Action!”

“The weather's perfect for a wedding,” Chuck said. “You must be living right to get an early spring this far north.”

“Always, my friend. Always.”

Chuck stopped, and when Jason turned to face him, he held out his hand.

“Heather's a great girl, Jason,” Chuck said.

The two men shook.

“Really, pal. Big-time congrats.” Chuck grasped Jason's elbow with his left hand, a touching tribute.

“Thanks, Chuck. I'm lucky as hell, and I know it.”

The two men resumed their stroll, chatting about mutual friends who were coming to the wedding. I stood and watched, rapt, for several minutes, then headed back to work.

*   *   *

I arrived at Ana's cottage at the same time as she did, five minutes before our scheduled five-thirty appointment. The clouds had thickened, and the temperature had dropped. I pulled up behind her in the driveway and got out. An east wind, the coldest kind, swirled up stray leaves and blew my hair every which way.

I called hello.

She smiled. “You're right on time.” She stepped out of her car holding a big bouquet of yellow and white tulips, the cellophane wrap rustling in the breeze.

“Beautiful flowers.”

“I love tulips,” she said. Her eyes went to a white SUV with Massachusetts plates parked off to the side. “That must be my dad's car, although … Never mind. Let's go inside before we freeze to death.”

“Can you believe the change? It was just all sunny and warm—now this.”

We walked along the side path. “You know what they say about New Hampshire,” Ana said. “If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes.”

“I've always wondered about that,” I said. “Lots of places say the same thing.”

“Funny, isn't it? We all think our world is unique.” We climbed the porch steps and entered the living room. “Dad?” She raised her voice. “Dad? Where are you?” She turned to me and made a “beats me” face. “He'll turn up, I'm sure. Let me get some lights on. You know the cloud cover is thick when it's this dark in here. Looks like rain's a-comin'.” She flipped a wall switch, and an overhead crystal chandelier lit up. “Come on in and—” She stopped short. “Oh, my God!” She dropped the tulips and pressed her fingers against her lips.

Startled, I followed her gaze. Jason lay on the hearth, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. His head rested in a puddle of shiny dark red liquid. Spiderweb-shaped rivulets ran along and between the stones and into the cracks and crevices of the old oak-plank floor. Bits of glass and colored metal were strewn on him, over the stones, in the liquid mess, and across the floor.

I hurried toward him. “Call nine-one-one.”

“That's blood,” Ana whispered.

I dropped to my knees and slid my hands under his head gingerly, seeking out the wound. His skull was dented.

“He must have fallen and hit his head,” she said, dazed. “The floor was just waxed.”

I rolled him onto his side to see if he was still bleeding, to see if I could do something to stop the flow. As I turned him over, his right arm flung sideways, landing lifelessly on the wood floor. The indentation in his head was deep. No blood was oozing. I rolled him back and began chest compressions. Maybe I wasn't too late.

“Ana. Go. Call nine-one-one.”

She ran to the kitchen.

Compress, release. Compress, release. As I worked, dread took hold of me. Compress, release. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ana standing by the kitchen island clutching a portable phone to her chest. Compress, release. His eyes were glassy, unseeing. He was dead. I knew it, but I didn't stop. I didn't want it to be true. I winked away an unexpected tear and glanced at Ana. Her eyes were also moist.

“The ambulance is on the way,” she said. “I know CPR. I can spot you.”

I heard a faint siren, a double whirr, a distant noise. “Okay.”

“One of Heather's aunts is hosting a cocktail party tonight. I can't believe this. I just can't believe this is happening.”

Compress, release. Compress, release. We stayed like that, me trying to bring a dead man back to life, Ana watching, for what seemed like hours. The sirens grew louder.

“Do you want me to take over?”

“I'm okay. How long has it been?”

She looked at her watch. “Four minutes.”

Compress, release. The sirens exploded into a nearby blare, then help was here, two men moving swiftly, with confidence. I fell aside, stiff from squatting, my wrists throbbing. I crawled to a wall and stayed there, huddled in a ball, tears burning in my eyes for a man I'd tried and failed to save. After a minute, I stood up and rested against a window frame. I watched the paramedics work for a moment longer, then walked outside onto the porch. Leaning heavily on the railing, I stared out toward the horizon. The air was thick and smelled like rain. Waves thundered into shore, raging against the boulders a hundred feet below the precipice that marked the edge of Ana's property. Branches from the stand of birch that lined the property to the south swayed and rubbed, making a whooshing sound. Ana joined me.

“They've called the police. Routine, he said.”

“It's so shocking.”

“I texted my dad. If he's in town already, he can drive me to see Heather. I don't want to go alone.”

“I can take you.”

“Thanks.” She gulped back tears. “I put the tulips in water. It's awful to worry about flowers at a time like this, but I couldn't just leave them there. I couldn't let them die.”

“Of course not.”

We faced the ocean, waiting, watching, worrying. A gust of wind chilled me and I shivered.

“It's cold,” I said.

“It's going to rain.”

The sky to the east was nearly black. “Yes, and soon.”

We stood silently for a few seconds; then Ana asked, “Did you see the debris? It's the Spring Egg, isn't it?”

“Oh, God, Ana, I hope not.”

“I can't think about it right now. Not with Jason just—”

I looked down at my bloody hands. “Life. It's so hard.” I took in a breath and rolled my shoulders, willing the tension to ease. “Why was he here?”

“To drop off a check. For the wedding desserts.”

“How did he get in?”

“I keep a key in a make-believe rock in the garden. I told him to use it if I wasn't home.”

“Do you know what time he was supposed to arrive?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the mist-shrouded ocean.

“No. We left it loose. Why?”

“Because I don't think he tripped and fell. I think someone killed him.”

She turned to face me, to look into my eyes. “Oh, God.”

*   *   *

Police Chief Ellis Hunter mounted the porch steps. He was tall, with regular features that came together well. He had brown hair cut shorter than was fashionable and gray eyes that had seen it all. A jagged dark red scar ran from the corner of his right eye to midway down his cheek. I'd never asked him about it.

Ellis and I were friends, and had been since he'd moved here four years earlier, shortly after his wife, a dancer, had died from lung cancer. He'd retired from the New York City police force to take the police chief job here. He wanted, he said, not joking one bit, to see if Norman Rockwell had it right about small towns. He was dating my landlady, neighbor, and best friend Zoë, and we often hung out as couples.

Today, he wore a glen plaid sport coat and brown slacks. His tie was honey brown with teeny blue dots. He introduced himself to Ana, confirming that she owned the cottage and that she was the person who'd placed the 911 call.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“More or less.”

“How about you, Josie? You okay?”

I shrugged.

He turned around, taking in the ocean view. His eyes came back to Ana. “Do you know what happened?”

“No.”

Detective Claire Brownley rounded the corner. She was a little older than me, with crow-black hair cut short and sapphire blue eyes. Her skin was so fair it was almost translucent. She rarely smiled. She missed nothing. She nodded at me, one up-and-down motion, then wiggled her fingers, beckoning Ellis. She said something I couldn't hear, opened her notebook, and pointed to something near the bottom of the page. He read for a moment, then said something only she could hear. They climbed the steps to rejoin us.

Ellis introduced her to Ana and took another look at the detective's notebook. “The white SUV is registered to a Jason Ferris with a Boston address. Do you know him?”

“That's him … the dead man. I thought it was my dad's rental.” Ana's eyes filled and she blinked a few times. “Jason was in Rocky Point for his wedding. His fiancée, Heather, is my friend. A good friend. I need to tell her what's happened. She's at the Three Crows on Market Street, for a party in their honor. The party was called for six.” She glanced at her bangle watch. “Now.”

“I offered to drive her,” I said.

“We'll take her,” he told me. He glanced at Ana, then at me. When he spoke, his eyes moved back and forth between us. “Obviously, I have several questions for you. First, though, I need to go inside and talk to the paramedics. The medical examiner and crime scene technicians will be here shortly.” He pointed to a cluster of four Adirondack rocking chairs at the end of the porch near a trellis thick with tangled wisteria vines. “Why don't you get settled there. I'll be with you shortly.”

“Heather must be wondering where he is,” Ana said.

“We'll go soon. Just hang tight for a minute.”

Ellis and Detective Brownley went inside. Neither Ana nor I moved from where we stood. The crashing waves seemed louder, angrier. Evergreen branches swooshed and swished in the now-steady wind. I looked out to sea. The cloud cover was dense. Lines of windswept white-riffled waves rode into shore on the diagonal. Two minutes later, Ellis and Detective Brownley reappeared.

Ellis spoke to Ana. “Detective Brownley is going to take you to the party.” He turned toward me. “If you're all right with following me to the station, Josie, we can get going on your statement.”

“I need to wash my hands.” I raised my blood-smeared hands. “I did CPR.”

Ellis met my eyes, understanding resonating in his. “Sorry, but the house is off-limits for now.”

I swallowed hard and looked down at the gray wood floor. “I can't wait.”

“You two go on ahead,” Ellis said to the detective.

“There's an outside faucet around the side,” Ana said, “near the—”

She broke off as a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and bushy eyebrows came around the corner, walking briskly, a stack of folded-up newspapers and magazines tucked under his arm. He looked about sixty. He wore khakis, a black flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and casual tie-up shoes.

Ana shouted, “Dad!” and ran to hug him, a big one, filled with love and caring. He hugged her with his left arm, then, after a few seconds, dropped the publications so he could use both. I felt a stab of envy. My dad died a decade ago, but I still missed him every day. Ana stepped back.

“I was so worried. Where have you been?”

“Why were you worried, hon? I was at the library catching up on my reading.” He picked up the magazines and newspapers. Jason's newsletter was on the top, his photo smiling out into the world. I recognized the paper on the bottom,
The Wall Street Journal.
Stefan noticed me and Ellis and the detective. He looked at Ana. “Why is there an ambulance here? Are you all right? What's going on?”

“Oh, Dad! It's awful. Jason is dead.”

“Mr. Yartsin?” Ellis asked, stepping forward.