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?”
“They didn’t. She came in first. Sat right down where you were sitting this afternoon and ordered the same thing you did. One large lemonade.”
Susan wondered if Allison had known about her choice’s amazing alcohol content. “Did she seem happy or sad or anything like that?”
“She seemed just like lots of ladies that come in here-impatient. You know, she looked at her watch a lot, shook her foot, tapped on the table.”
“Like a woman waiting for a man who’s late.”
“Yup. You got it.”
“Did he keep her waiting for long?” Susan asked.
“Sure did. About half an hour. I thought she was gonna get up and leave when he walked in the door.”
“And did she seem glad to see him?”
“Seemed surprised that he’d finally shown up, if you ask me. I was surprised he did, tell you the truth. He didn’t look real happy to see her. He sat down and ordered a double Scotch. Not a real popular drink around here. Most people on the island, especially the tourists, stick to drinks with lots of rum and lots of sugar.”
“You must have delivered his drink.”
“Yes, and a second large lemonade for her,” he answered helpfully.
“And they talked? Yelled at each other? Laughed? What?”
“They just stared at each other and drank mostly. Every once in a while one of them would say something to the other, but mostly they just drank. It was a little weird. They made a point of meeting and then might as well have been alone.”
Susan wasn’t sure what to make of that. If Kathleen’s information was to be believed, Jerry and Allison had seen each other recently in New York City, so any awkwardness here wouldn’t stem from the time that had passed since they last met. On the other hand, they might have been worried about running into someone they knew. “Did you seat Allison?”
“No, she came in while I was busy with something else. I didn’t even see her. She probably seated herself.”
Susan turned and looked at the table. Allison had chosen to meet Jerry in a public place. She hadn’t been worried about being seen. Her choice of seat could have indicated that she actually wanted someone to witness their meeting. Susan realized that anyone believing Jerry was the murderer could use this against him. If Allison had suspected Jerry might cause her harm, she certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be alone with him. She frowned. She had come here to relax, and think, and get a drink. What she was getting was confused.
“You know,” the bartender broke into her thoughts. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ve been thinking and it’s like a little weird that they met here right before he killed her, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“ ’Cause he could have done it after they left here, right? Why wait until that night back at Compass Bay? Why not just off her here?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to be seen.”
“Hey, drag someone behind one of the buildings here and no one would be likely to see you. You know, that’s interesting,” he added, apparently intrigued by his own thoughts. “He could’ve killed her here and he didn’t. Why, I wonder.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a writer. I have a writer’s imagination. I can think of lots of reasons. You know what?” he asked, his face brightening. “I think I’ve just realized something. I think I’ve had an-an ep-an eppy-something. What is it people call it?”
“Do you mean an epiphany?” Susan asked.
“You got it! An epiphany! That’s what I just had. I’m not going to hang around here and wait to get old to have something to write about. I’m gonna write mystery novels. I’m gonna write about people killing people and getting away with it… until the last chapter.”
“Sounds like a mystery novel to me,” Susan agreed, starting toward the door.
The bartender may have found a new career, but she was more puzzled than ever.