‘The floor will do.’
‘I got a mess o’ clams and a bluefish needs eating. I’d boil up a lobster, only I’m sick to the hind teeth of the damned things.’
Hendrik cooked up the clam chowder on the kerosene stove, and they ate it off their knees, watching the sun slip behind the bluffs on the western shore of the bay.
‘Heard you had a run-in with Charlie Walsh,’ said Hendrik.
‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t want to talk about it?’
Conrad shrugged. ‘Just bad history going back a ways.’
‘That’s good of you to say. But I heard what he done with them earrings off of that girl you found. He’s rotten like a pumpkin hit by a frost then melted in a harvest sun.’
Conrad smiled.
‘I knew the girl, you know,’ continued Hendrik, reaching for his beer. ‘From the yacht club, when I was working bar last summer.’
On returning from the war, Hendrik had taken a job at the Devon Yacht Club that first season to raise some cash to replace his neglected lobster pots. It was very likely he had met Lillian during his stint at Devon.
In fact, Conrad had been banking on it.
‘Fine-looking and funny with it, always quipping,’ said Hendrik. ‘Had a smile could tear the insides out of a bear.’
It was Conrad’s cue, the reason he had come here, but he felt her hair clip in his pocket, pressing against his thigh, and he found he was unable to speak. He looked to change the subject, anything to regain his composure.
‘Hendrik, I need a charter boat for this Saturday. There’s a party wants to go tuna fishing.’
‘Tuna fishing, huh?’
‘Best if it’s someone who works out of Montauk Yacht Club.’
‘Rich folk, eh?’
‘Money no object.’
Hendrik thought about it for a moment then came up with a name.
They talked about the old times until the moon was high overhead. They skirted around the subject of the war, dipping their toes in from time to time, but never taking the plunge. That was the way of it, though. Only the ones who hadn’t been through the real meat-grinder liked to go over their adventures.
Moving inside, Hendrik insisted that Conrad take the cot while he bunked down on the floor. Lying there in the darkness on his back, Conrad toyed with how best to tackle the subject. There was only one way—front-on.
‘There’s something I got to talk to you about, Hendrik.’
‘I didn’t want to ask.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I ain’t seen you in months, and you don’t need me to find you a charter boat.’
‘Last year,’ said Conrad, ‘at the Devon Yacht Club, were you working the night of the first dinner dance?’
‘Sure I was. It was a big do, all hands on deck.’
‘Was Lillian Wallace there?’
It was a moment before Hendrik replied. ‘Yeah.’
‘You remember who she was with?’
This time, the silence lasted longer.
‘There was a whole gang of them,’ said Hendrik.
‘Her brother?’
‘Sure. And her sister. They was always there together.’
‘What about her fiance, Justin Penrose?’
Conrad heard a match strike. Light from the kerosene lamp flooded the shack. Hendrik was looking at him intently, his eyes demanding an explanation.
‘I can’t,’ said Conrad. ‘Not yet.’
Hendrik nodded. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Who she left with. And when.’
Twenty
Hollis had never been assaulted by a goose before.
‘Eugene!’ snapped Mary, hurrying over from the house.
Either Eugene was deaf, or Mary estimated her authority over the big bird far too highly; possibly both. Hollis
