Jake sat down at one of the chairs and rested his head against the hard wood table. Sheryl walked out from behind the closet and then she looked up slowly. She spoke in a softer voice.
“Why can’t you bear to look at the beautiful images, Mr. Novak?”
Jake looked up. Her accent seemed washed out. It was somewhere under the tablecloth, for a second at least. Gary walked across the room, his chest puffed out.
“I cannot speak of it.” He sat down and let his cane drop. “I don’t talk about my work. The images, they are a part of me. A secret part.”
“Sheryl,” Jake said. “Don’t mind him. I’m trying to learn more about things at Sunset Cove. Everyday things.”
She ignored him and walked over to Gary. He had his eyes closed. She stayed a foot away.
“Why can’t you talk about your work?”
“Words. They are blunt tools.”
“They are?”
“Like using a baguette to hammer a nail.”
She didn’t flinch, so he continued.
“Can you describe an open beach? A last birthday? Only my photographs can do that.”
“Sheryl,” Jake said. “Who will be playing bridge tonight?”
“Ech.” Her accent returned. “Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”
“What?”
“Rude, inconsiderate. You really are a reporter.”
She turned back to Gary and her face softened.
“I was a nurse. I always found it hard to talk about my work.”
Gary opened his eyes wide.
“We see the things that other people look away from.”
They both looked at Jake.
“What?” he said. “I see things too. I am a reporter.”
“Well,” Sheryl said, “you think you see things.”
“I do.”
“Did you see the soul of the city?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Exactly, my reporter friend.”
“I don’t talk about it.”
Jake bit his lip. Sheryl wasn’t even looking at him. She was watching Gary, her eyes sparkling. He started again.
“When I photograph a setting sun, it is poetry. But only because the night is drawing near.”
Jake sat down and put his face in his hands as Sheryl leaned toward Gary.
“Do you photograph the beach?”
She was close. The frizz of her gray hair almost touched his.
“The beach? I see it constantly. Waves. Sand. Birds. Waves.”
Jake sat up.
“Gary, you said ‘waves’ twice.”
They both shook their heads at him, their hair almost becoming entangled. Gary looked in Sheryl’s eyes.
“In fact, a friend of mine just passed away. She took a long walk on the beach and then…”
He turned his head down toward the floor. Then he looked up at Jake so Sheryl couldn’t see. He winked. Or tried to. It looked like he was wincing. But Jake knew what it was supposed to be. Sheryl sounded cleaner and calmer.
“Mr. Novak, you knew Charlotte Ward?”
“I did. Jacob and I both knew her.”
“I’m sorry. I miss her.” She coughed.
“Do you?”
“I’m used to it.” The accent was back. She sat up straight and took the edge of the aqua tablecloth in her hands. She rubbed it against her eyes and the corners turned darker.
“No,” Gary said. “You don’t have to be saying that.”
She looked up. Stood up. Then she sat down again.
“It’s fine.”
“I just wish there were a way,” Gary said. “A way that I could find out what she was thinking that last night.”
“I can help you.” Her voice hardened a little. “I know the last man to see her.”
“I photographed her, you know.”
“The last man,” she said, “was Abram Samuels.”
Jake wrote it in his notebook and interrupted.
“When did Abram Samuels see her?”
Sheryl rolled her eyes.
“Excuse me, reporter, we were having a conversation.”
Gary nodded his head gently.
“Sheryl, please.”
“Abram saw Charlotte at dinner that night. From 4:30 to 5:00, right before her death. Then he probably went on one of his night walks.”
“Night walks?”
“You see him every night. He walks the sidewalk trail before going to sleep.”
“Gary, I’ve got to run. I’m going to find him.”
“Jacob, wait!”
He ran up the stairs. When Gary tried to follow, Sheryl took his cane and moved it across the room. She smiled at him, showing her teeth.
“You have to stay a little longer and tell me more about your passions.”
He shouted from his chair.
“Get my cane! Please!”
“Gary, a struggling artist like you could use a little rest.”
As he went out the door he looked back. Gary was staring at his cane and Sheryl was leaning forward, her chin resting on her hands, waiting to hear more.
CHAPTER 21
It was dark out already, but Jake knew where he was going. A few women passed as they walked to the common building. He waved and started walking faster down the hill. The wind blew the palm tree leaves around in circles, and he could hear the water crashing on the beach. The first day he’d seen Abram Samuels and his red-brimmed hat, he’d been walking out of Building B. Jake bet that he lived in the building too.
He went down the hill and made sure he had his notebook with him. He almost felt cold in the t-shirt he was wearing. It clung to him in the wind and stuck against his stomach. He glanced at the open page of his notebook-only “Charlotte Ward” was written there. Then he looked down the hill. It couldn’t be happening, not again. But he’d seen it all before-the door to Building B was open.
He started running. It didn’t make sense that something would happen again, this soon. It couldn’t have happened. And with Charlotte already gone, who else could anyone want? Unless someone wanted to find Abram. The door was swinging in the wind. He could see it flashing underneath the lights that lit the path. He ran to the door and jumped into the hallway.
“Jake? What are you doing?”
Mel had a camera in her hands and was standing in front of Charlotte’s room. Jake rubbed his hands on his knees and pushed back his hair. He tucked in his shirt, hoping she wouldn’t notice his exhaustion.
“Oh, Mel. Hi. I was just coming down this way.”
She walked closer toward him and he stood still, breathing heavily. Her hair was down and ran to her collarbone. She was wearing a dress with blue flowers, and when she got closer she smelled like them too. She twisted the lens cap on her camera.
“You look like you were in a hurry.”
“Uh, I was.”
“I can tell.”
“Do I look that tired?”
“A little,” she said and started laughing. “Actually, a lot.”
“Sorry. I ran down here. I saw the door open and I just got worried.”
“Worried? About what?”
She looked him in the eye. Even in the soft light of the hallway, her eyes were bright. Mel was still holding the camera, and he looked down the hallway at Charlotte’s room.
“What were you doing here?”
“Oh, I was taking pictures. Charlotte’s daughter-sorry, designee-is coming down soon. And usually they resell. So…”
She gestured to the camera and shrugged her shoulders. The flowers were an even brighter blue against her tan arms.
“I see. The process happens quickly.”
“It does. Lots of paperwork.”
They stood there for a moment. He put his notebook in his back pocket and made sure not to let her see the page with Charlotte’s name. It had happened a little too quickly. Before either of them said anything, a middle aged man appeared next to Jake.
“Oh,” Mel said. “Hi Javier.”
The man walked forward. He was wearing a light blue jumpsuit that looked too tight at the chest and too big at the legs, like they’d come from separate uniforms. Jake moved to the side and Mel introduced them.
“Javier, this is Jake.”
The man nodded and walked past. He had a paint can in his hand.
“What’s he doing?”