“I’d better get going myself,” Felps said, glancing at his watch. “Early day tomorrow. But it was very nice meeting you.”
“You, too.”
Interesting, she thought after he’d left. He could be the greatest guy in the world, but . . . I don’t think I like him.
It was just more attorney cynicism, but what did it matter? When she looked back into the dining room to see if Ernie was still there, all she caught a glimpse of was his back as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Was she suddenly obsessed with him? Had returning here sparked some until-recently-dormant middle-aged biological clock? We weren’t even high school sweethearts, she reminded herself. He wanted to be but I didn’t. Was some fossil of regret inching out of her soul?
Ridiculous, she dismissed the thought. Even in her darkest and most personal hours, she knew she’d found total happiness—as well as sexual satisfaction—with Byron. When she’d called him on her cell phone just before the services, simply hearing his voice had sparked a few sexual wires. Her nipples had hardened even as she related her very dull goings-on thus far. I don’t know what this Ernie thing is, but it’s stupid and nonsensical, so I’m going to put it out of my mind, she determined.
“Howdy, Patricia. My condolences, a’ course. Sorry it took me so long to welcome ya back to town.”
Another startlement as she’d been musing. It was Chief Sutter who’d approached her. She’d always thought of him as a clichéd country-bumpkin-type chief, complete with the suspenders and big belly, but she’d always remembered him as a considerate man who very much cared about the residents he was employed to protect. She remembered how gentle, how caring he’d been in the aftermath of the rape, as well as the delicacy with which he’d handled her during the grueling but necessary questioning.
She smiled warmly, shaking his hand. “Chief Sutter. I’m happy to see you. In fact, I waved yesterday when I was coming into town.”
He winked. “The Qwik-Mart. Yeah, Trey ‘n’ I caught a glimpse of ya in that shiny new car of yours. Judy’s always tellin’ me how well things are going for you ‘n’ your husband up in D.C. We’re all so happy for ya.”
It was just small talk, but Patricia appreciated it, and it truly was good to see him. “Thanks, Chief, and I hope things are going well for you, too.” She quickly glanced around. “Where is your deputy, by the way? I know I saw him at the service.”
“He had to go back out on patrol, but he sends his condolences as well.” Suddenly something like concern touched the chief’s face, and she noticed that he was holding a dark plastic bag with some official-looking seal on it. “But if I could trouble ya for just a minute? Could you take this and see that Judy gets it when the time is right?” He held up the bag. “It’s from the country police lab, and they’re done with it now.”
“What is it?”
“Dwayne’s personal effects, stuff he had on him when his body was found. They released it me today, but it ain’t really appropriate to give it to Judy just yet.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Just his wedding band, watch, wallet ‘n’ all.”
Patricia opened the bag and looked inside. “Did the crime lab find anything in the way of evidence?”
“Unfortunately, no. And there’s some cash in there too, just so ya know. A goodly amount.”
Watch, wallet, gold wedding band? Patricia thought, thinking it odd. She opened the wallet, saw some cash, but also noted five hundred-dollar bills in the bottom of the bag. “That’s strange, isn’t it, Chief?”
“You mean that whoever killed him didn’t take his valuables and the cash? Yes, it is. A’ course, anyone’s first guess is that Dwayne was murdered, ya know, on account . . .”
“On account of him losing his head, sure,” she finished.
“Right. But, uh, the cause of the decapitation itself was officially labeled as ‘undetermined.’ In other words, the coroner wasn’t convinced it was a murder. Could’ve been a fluke accident, who knows?”
Patricia withheld an overt frown. Instead she asked, “Is it true that no one ever found . . .”
“Dwayne’s head? Yeah, that is true, I’m afraid.”
Patricia doubted it was an accident, but the point wasn’t worth belaboring. Oh, well. An “undetermined” decapitation. “I’ll put this in a safe place, Chief,” she assured him, “and show it to Judy when the time is right.”
“Thanks much, Patricia. And thanks for comin’ all this way. It means an awful lot to Judy.” He shook her hand again. “But I’d best get along now. I’m sure I’ll be seein’ ya again before you leave.”
“I hope so, Chief. Good-bye for now.”
Chief Sutter wended off through the crowd. I guess I’ll put this in the den, Patricia concluded of the bag, but in her mind it kept occurring to her that the only thing stranger than the notion of the decapitation’s being an accident was Chief Sutter’s sudden uneasiness when talking about it at all.
Like something bothered him more than the obvious facts. Dwayne’s death was indeed a mystery, but . . .
It’s almost like the chief knows more than he’s telling, she thought. she looked into the living room and was content to see Judy on the couch, surrounded by friends. She’s getting drunk again, but she’s more than entitled to do that today. Then she slipped off down the hall and switched on the light in the small den that Judy used for an office.
The room seemed sterile with its wall of file cabinets. Company records, I’m sure. On the wall over the desk hung Judy’s very first incorporation certificate and her business license that had been changed over since their parents’ deaths.
A picture on the other wall left her morose—a shot of her father, long ago, hauling bushels of crabs off a small trawler. I’ll bet that was taken before I was born. Her father, though spry and muscular in the photo, still had the same cold, humorless look in his eyes she’d always known him for.
Then something else on the wall—an old poster—utterly depressed her.
COME JOIN US ALL!
THE FIRST ANNUAL AGAN’S POINT CRAB FESTIVAL!
MONDAY SEPTEMBER 6.
NOON TIL EIGHT AT BOWEN’S FIELD!
Patricia turned away, a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach. Bowen’s Field, my God . . .
And suddenly that everlasting look in her father’s eyes seemed more accusory and disgusted than cold.
Next thing she knew she was standing in a daze. The images in her mind began to tumble backward, pulling at her. . . .
She’d been thinking about it all day at school. It didn’t seem like her. She didn’t know why. Skinny-dipping?
It was a big deal back in eleventh grade, and Agan’s Point and some other nearby towns hosted a number of suitable ponds and small lakes. Patricia was constantly being invited by her friends, yet the invitations had never threatened her sexually because it was only her circle of female friends always asking her to go. Boys went too sometimes, but from what she’d heard nothing much ever went on. Safety in numbers. She supposed it was all harmless and normal. It was something sixteen-year-olds did on Saturday nights.
But Patricia never went.
She wasn’t inhibited, nor self-conscious about her body. If anything she felt the opposite. Not only had good grades allowed her to skip a grade, it seemed that her body had all but skipped adolescence and hastened toward womanhood faster than the others’. Many times, in the showers after gym class, she felt certain some of the other girls spied her naked body and full bare bosom with strained envy. It was fine with her. “What are you afraid of?” one girl had asked in objection. “Patti, in Agan’s Point we skinny-dip every weekend, so don’t be a prude. If I had your body, I’d show it off every chance I could!″