I was keeping two columns of figures in my head, Amy Metrano’s age when she disappeared, Hillary’s age when she entered the local picture. Four and a half and fivish. Could work.
“Was Randy as protective as Hanna?” I asked.
She pursed her thin lips. “Oh yes. More so, I believe. Poor man was desperately lost after Hanna died. And he worried so about Hillary. I am persuaded that’s why he married again so soon. He wanted to find another Hanna.”
“Was the second wife like Hanna?” I asked.
“Physically, very much so. As is Elizabeth.” Martha looked at me. “Would you call that kinky?”
“I would, yes.” My response seemed to please her.
“I always thought so, too. Poor Randy. You cannot judge a book by its cover.”
“Meaning,” I said, “that beyond their appearance, wives two and three were not like Hanna?”
“Precisely.”
The telephone rang before Martha got into her wind up.
“Excuse me, please.” She creaked to her feet and picked up the receiver. After hello, she did some listening. Then she told the caller, “It certainly wasn’t me, sir. But I can offer you Regina Szal or Maggie MacGowen. What’s your pleasure?”
I knew it was Mike returning my page. I had been standing beside Martha during most of this exchange. She seemed to be flirting a bit, so I waited. She was chuckling when she handed me the receiver.
“For you, dear,” she said, and mouthed, “Man.”
I put the receiver to my ear. “Mike?”
“I take it you’re not in trouble,” he said. “Who’s the old girl?”
“She lives next door to the Ramsdales.”
“Jesus Christ, Maggie,” he exploded. “What the hell are you up to?”
“Hi, honey,” I cooed. “Nice to hear your voice, too.”
He drew a noisy breath. “Sorry. But someday you’re going to get into a deeper hole than you can get yourself out of.”
“That’s why I keep your number in my pocket, cupcake.”
Finally, he laughed. “Okay. What’s up?”
“Are you still in Long Beach?”
“No. I’m home. Michael and I are watching the end of the ball game. Waiting for you.”
“I’m leaving in a few minutes.”
“Good. Who all have you talked to?”
“People at the yacht club, the next-door neighbor. Guido and I made some pictures. I showed them to Leslie Metrano.”
“And?”
“Rang no bells.”
“Seen any signs of the Ramsdales?”
“None.”
“If you do run into either of them, Maggie..
“Yes?”
“Stay away.”
“You’re as bossy as Lyle.”
“The thing is,” Mike went on, “if anyone hurt you, I’d have to kill him. So far, I’ve had a clean week and I want to keep it that way.”
“Bye, Mike,” I said.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you. I gotta go.”
“You gotta get home. We’re hungry.”
“Bye.” I hung up and went back to Regina and Martha.
“Everything all right, dear?” Martha asked.
“Fine. But I’m out of time. May I come back and talk with you again later? Maybe tomorrow?”
“Certainly.” She smiled sweetly. “I was wondering whether you knew when Hillary and Randy would be coming back.”
Regina pulled in a breath, getting ready to spill the big news. I grabbed her arm and squeezed and she seemed to get the message.
“It seems that everyone believes Hillary and Randy are somewhere in Europe together,” I said. “Do you know when they left? Or where they went?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know that. Randy moved out next door after an especially nasty fight, sometime last winter. Elizabeth told me he had gone abroad. And not long afterward, Hillary joined him.”
“When did she join him?”
She drew in a squeaky breath as she thought. “March? Yes, I think it was the middle of March. Hillary brought me some shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day, as she always does. And that was the last I saw her.”
“Did she say where her father had gone?”
“No. She did tell me she wasn’t getting along well with Elizabeth and wanted to be with her father. Apparently, Elizabeth sent her right along. I enjoy gossiping with you, dear, but you really should ask Elizabeth.”
“She isn’t home,” I said. “Any idea where she might be?”
“There was a policeman here earlier today, and he asked the same question of my housekeeper. We were trying to think. To be honest, I can’t quite remember. Since Randy left, Elizabeth seems to come and go rather irregularly. I don’t keep close tabs.
The boat has been gone for some time. A week perhaps. Maybe she’s gone off to Catalina.”
“If she comes back, will you call me?”
“That’s what the policeman said, too. Who should I call first, you or him?”
I put my arm around her thin shoulders and whispered into her ear, “The policeman and I can be reached at the same number.”
She brightened. “Oh! Oh, my. Yes, I certainly do wish to speak with you further. You must explain that to me.”
We said our goodbyes. Regina dispensed some hugs and promises of her own to Martha. Martha seemed fatigued suddenly, and I worried that we had overstayed. We left her in the living room and saw ourselves out.
“What a dear,” I said to Regina as we walked back toward the Zodiak.
“She is a dear. I’ve heard stories that she was quite a hell-raiser in her day.”
“I hope she was,” I said, chuckling at the image. It seemed fully consistent.
When I took a last look up at the Ramsdales’ house, I noticed that an upstairs window was open enough for the breeze off the water to ruffle the sheer curtains. Mike’s card was still stuck in the front door.
I was looking just about everywhere except where I was going. I walked right into the back of Regina. She had stopped dead on the walk.
“Sorry,” I said.
Regina turned a pale face to me and pointed to the Ramsdales’ dock, where we had left the Zodiak.
I saw nothing. No raft.
I ran, Regina close on my heels. Our feet clattered on the small wooden dock. We found the raft’s line attached to the stanchion and taut. When I leaned over the edge I could see the gray rubber of the raft bobbing just under the surface of the dark water. I knelt and began to haul it in. Even with Regina’s help, it was too heavy. And the effort was pointless. There was no hope of refloating the Zodiak. Ever.
Through the murky water I could see the long slashes that had reduced the thick rubber sides to ribbons.
Regina had green fire in her eyes again.
“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?” She was steamed.
“It means,” I said, “that we’re having dinner in Long Beach after all.”
CHAPTER 10
“I can swim,” I said.
“With your throat cut?” Mike lifted a rubber ribbon that had recently been part of the Zodiak raft. City lifeguard divers had brought the raft up onto the dock and circled the area with yellow crime-scene tape. A chunk of the sidewalk had also been cordoned off to make room for some floodlights.
Mike had called in the Long Beach police and given them some of the pertinent history. A couple of carloads of men in uniform were drifting around somewhere, ogling the local talent with more energy, I thought, than they were giving the investigation. I guess we hadn’t infected them with the serious implications of the sinking of a six-foot inflatable.
The lifeguards had jumped right on it, but only because the outboard motor had sunk and was leaking oil and gasoline into the waterway. Not that one more oil slick would alter that environment significantly. My impression was that they were having an awfully good time in the water, at time and a half.