Little Death by the Sea Read online

  John Newberry’s thick shock of white hair was trimmed neatly in a cap around his head. His eyes were cerulean blue and a pink flush was on his high cheeks. Last night’s schnapps and a generally happy disposition contributed to his good coloring. John Newberry was a man happy with his world. He never doubted the future, he never regretted the past. As a result, he thoroughly appreciated his present. He was a man with the incredible propensity to always feel in step with life. It showed, too, in his overall affect, in his relations with others, and in his nights of sound, dreamless sleep.

  Elspeth sat next to him at the long table. It was set with china and silver for a simple Friday morning breakfast for two. She poured his coffee from a large silver pot and then added a small amount of skim milk to it.

  He frowned. “Honestly, El, what could a speck of cream hurt?” He knew it was a waste of breath and his wife didn’t bother responding to him.

  “Did you see the headlines?” she asked.

  “Is that all you’re having?” John Newberry looked at the solitary melon slice on his wife’s plate.

  “The police say he confessed to it. There’s a picture of the man. He looks a little like Uncle Jim.”

  “Hmmm.” Her husband took a bite of his eggs and glanced at the newspaper story. “Who is he?”

  “They’re not terribly specific.” Elspeth sighed and poured her coffee. She took it black. “No names.”

  John wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed a large hand over her small one.

  “And how, exactly, does it affect us, my dear?” he said. “Whether the police have Elise’s killer or only someone claiming to be?”

  Elspeth withdrew her hand and picked up a spoon to carve open her melon slice.

  “It affects us, John, as long as we still have a daughter alive and living in Buckhead.”

  John Newberry looked at her with surprise. “You think Maggie is in danger?”

  “I know she still lives in the apartment where her sister was brutally murdered.” She looked at him coldly. “I know that the press have given reason to believe this confession is not authentic which would mean the maniac is still on the loose. Do I need to know much more?”

  “She’s living with that great big brute of a Frenchman, for pity’s sake!” he said, not hiding his exasperation. “His only full-time job is to look after our daughter. I should think that would—“

  “I’m not sure what I feel about Monsieur Laurent Dernier,” his wife said, returning to her melon.

  “You don’t? Well, then I think I can help you out.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Yes, I think I can set your mind at rest about that point at least. It is my belief that Laurent is the one stable, normal thing that our daughter has had in her life for a long time—“

  “And what do you call Brownie?” Elspeth pushed her fruit plate away and stared at him.

  “I’m not saying anything against Brownie. Personally, I always liked the boy. But he wasn’t right for our Maggie and I wouldn’t have liked to have seen them get together.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this. Brownie comes from the finest family—“

  “I’m not saying he doesn’t.”

  “He adores Maggie.” Elspeth looked around the room in agitation. “He...he has practically grown up with her...”

  “I’m not sure what kind of a recommendation that is. All I’m saying is the girl doesn’t love him and I don’t blame her. Nice chap, but I’ll pass on the son-in-law part, if you don’t mind.”

  “I cannot believe you are saying this,” she repeated. “And you’d rather have this...Laurent Dernier, instead, I suppose?”

  “I would.”

  “He doesn’t have a job! He barely speaks English—“

  “Maggie understands him. Come to that, you have no trouble understanding him either.”

  “I’m not against Laurent.” Elspeth stood up from the table, her gold bracelets jangling softly as she did so. “But I think to compare him to Brownie is preposterous.”

  “I quite agree,” John said quietly.

  “You know what I mean, John. I cannot understand that this is what you would want for your daughter. An unemployed foreigner. Yes, charming, even, handsome, but marriage material for Margaret? Honestly.” With that, she turned to make an elegant exit in complete possession of the last word.

  John Newberry replaced his napkin and finished his coffee. He grimaced and added more milk to the cup. Idly, he flipped the paper to the sports section and got up to find a small sausage on the quickly-cooling buffet table.

  3

  “They’re expecting us there around six, I think.” Maggie juggled the phone receiver against her chin and flipped through her work diary on her desk.

  “I will get the cadeau,” Laurent said on the other end of the phone line.

  “Cadeau? Oh, yeah, right, Nicole’s birthday present. That’d be great if you would, sweetheart. I’m not going to have time today.”

  “You have seen the paper this morning?”

  “I saw it. I think it’s crap, but I saw it.”

  “Peut-être we will not think about it for a few hours? Put it away for a little bit?”

  “Yeah, I’m not thinking about it. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Je t’aime, cherie. Est-ce que tu m’aime?”

  “With all my heart, you big mush,” Maggie said softly. “And you know it very, very well.”

  “Mais, bien sûr,” he said before hanging up.

  4

  Laurent smoothed his shaggy brown hair from his forehead and kept his eyes fixed on Nicole Newberry. She sat, stiffly, a starched white petticoat peeking from under her velvet tunic. Her hair, shiny and soft with a simple wave Elspeth had put in it, was caught up by a long blue velvet ribbon which draped down her back in a demure ponytail. Her eyes were flat and stared unseeingly at her mirror-bright black patent leather shoes.

  “Nicole is sex ans today, oui, ma petite?” Laurent sang softly to the little girl. He lifted her chin and smiled encouragingly at her. “A big girl now, is our Nicole.” She stared dully into his bright blue eyes.

  “She’s a little tired tonight, Laurent dear,” Elspeth said as she straightened the candles on the dining room table. Laurent and the child were seated in chairs lined against the far wall. The butler’s table with Nicole’s birthday cake, a sugar castle of icing and roses, was placed next to them, and Elspeth thought, suddenly, that it made a winsome picture. “A Kodak moment,” as her irreverent daughter would say. All the same, Elspeth wished she had a photograph of the scene. She even wished she were the kind of person who could snatch up a camera and capture the image herself.

  “We’ve been shopping today and visiting people and wrapping prezzies and helping Becka in the kitchen...all kinds of things, haven’t we, darling?” Elspeth didn’t look at Nicole when she spoke, just continued to straighten and re-position the immaculately set dining table of crystal and china. The table was set for five although Elspeth had been tempted to add another plate for the one person who would never show.

  “Oh, that is formidable,” Laurent murmured to the girl. “You have been getting many beautiful things today, yes?”

  Elspeth felt a budding annoyance with Laurent. She didn’t want the child picking up his crippled pronunciations although she knew that Maggie would say that should be the least of her worries. Nonetheless, she would have preferred the man to either speak French to Nicole—and she certainly disapproved of that at this point—or to keep communication to a minimum. She felt a pulse of guilt at this thought. Laurent was kind to the child, gave her, in fact, more attention than her own aunt. She sighed and looked at them both. Nothing was turning out the way she had planned.

  “Dad’s got the drinks and stuff in the library, Mother. Is that okay?” Maggie appeared through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, carrying a frosty highball glass.

  “That will be fine, dear,” she said.

  “How are you two doing?” Maggie walked ov
er and sat down next to Nicole. “Happy Birthday, darling.” The child continued to stare at Laurent.

  “Do you need any help, Mom?”

  “No, I think we’re about ready.” Elspeth stood back and surveyed the perfect table.

  The doorbell rang and Maggie put her drink down.

  “I’ll get it,” she said.

  Brownie stood on the other side of the Newberry threshold, dressed in a natty sports jacket and razor-pleated trousers.

  “Brownie—“

  “I can’t come in. I just stopped by to give you this to give to Nicole.” He pushed a stuffed giraffe into Maggie’s hands. “So tell her ‘happy birthday from Uncle Brownie’. That is, unless you’ve already told her I’ve died or something and, in that case, forget it.”

  “Don’t be an ass. Why don’t you come in and give it to her yourself?”

  “Can’t. Got someone waiting in the car. And this is for you.”

  Maggie tried not to look towards the darkened interior of Brownie’s BMW, its engine still running, parked in the circular drive.

  He pressed something cold and hard into her hand. “It’s what I told you I found in your—“

  “Oh, yeah, okay. What is it?” She looked at the strange, circular piece of jewelry for a minute.

  “You’re asking me? Look, I gotta run. Tell Nicole—“

  “It’s a scarf ring, is what it is,” Maggie said. “This looks like one of my Mother’s.”

  “Mystery solved. Great. Later, Mags.”

  He turned and hurried down the wide flagstone steps of the mansion’s verandah.

  “Yeah, Brownie, thanks. Thanks from Nicole too.”

  Maggie watched as he opened his car door, illuminating the car’s interior. The girl waiting for him was young and pretty.

  Maggie dropped the scarf ring into her purse on the foyer marble-top table and returned to the birthday gathering.

  “Who was it, darling?” Elspeth was still retouching the flawless place settings.

  “Just Brownie. He brought this for Nicole.” She waved the giraffe at Nicole and smiled. The child looked at it.

  Maggie took a quick sip of her drink and offered it to Laurent who shook his head.

  “She is very beautiful tonight, is she not, Maggie?” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” Maggie plucked at Nicole’s dress with her hand. “Very pretty, Nicole. Très jolie!” She turned to her mother. “What else did you get her?”

  “That would be telling, darling. We don’t want to spoil Nicole’s surprises.”

  A loud crash sounded from the other side of the swinging doors and, Elspeth sprang into action.

  “What is the woman doing?” she said as she hurried into the kitchen. Maggie noted the sense of satisfaction apparent in her mother’s voice.

  Maggie took another long drink and listened as the ice cubes fell musically back into the half-empty glass.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to do this.” She gestured to Nicole with her glass.

  “Your father said it would be all right,” Laurent said. He was watching Nicole closely, fondly. Maggie knew the child had become special to him in a way the Newberry family hadn’t expected. It was as if there was an already existing kinship between them—their both being French? Maggie wondered—that Laurent took care to fan and tend.

  “Yeah,” she said to him. “But Dad told you that without checking with my mother. She will freak.”

  “I don’t think so.” Laurent leaned back in his chair and Nicole dropped her eyes again to her knees. “In fact....” he stood up and placed his hands on his hips. “Now is a good time, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Oh, Laurent, are you sure?” Maggie couldn’t help grinning. This gift of Laurent’s really was a disastrous idea. “I think we should warn my mother first,” she repeated. She was finding herself interested, even eager, in an impish way, to see her mother’s reaction to Laurent’s surprise.

  “Your father is the man of the house, is he not? He is the Papa?”

  “Yes, yes, all that. But the Maman will freak, all the same.”

  “Pfut!” Laurent waved away her comment with his hand and gave Nicole a quick kiss on the top of her head.

  “Une moment, cherie,” he said to the child. “Oncle Laurent will be right back with a wonderful birthday present!” With that, he turned and exited the room. Nicole let out a long sigh that surprised Maggie.

  “Hard day, huh?” she said with a smile, reaching for the child’s small, cool hand.

  Elspeth returned with Maggie’s father in tow, a large drink in each of his hands.

  “Hello again, Daughter,” John Newberry said jovially. “Refresh that drink for you?”

  “John,” Elspeth said firmly, her eyebrows arched. She was all-business tonight, Maggie noticed. This was clearly to be another family occasion whipped into shape, marched out in front of the video cameras and Kodaks and made to form into a proper memory of the moment. Like the rest of the family, Maggie’s father had long ago learned not to resist Elspeth’s determination to manufacture life as it should be—life as it damned well would be. He just drank a little more.

  Elspeth looked at Maggie. “Where’s Laurent?” she asked.

  “He had to go get something. Well, our birthday present for Nicole, actually,” Maggie said cheerfully.

  “Ahhh, yes!” Her father set down one of the glasses and took a healthy sip from the other. “The famous birthday present. Meanwhile, tell us about your upcoming trip.”

  “Well...” Maggie hesitated briefly. She crossed her ankles and straightened out the neckline of her knit dress, it was a deep blue and, she knew, offset her dark hair nicely. “Laurent takes me to the airport tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’m supposed to be gone about a week, I guess. But if I find anything, I might stay longer.”

  “And Gerry doesn’t mind, dear?” Her mother moved an errant, silver fork on the dinner table to its proper place next to a plate.

  “Not really. He’s so wrapped up in his own plans to bolt the country that he really can’t be bothered. I mean, I think he’s sympathetic and all...” She shook her head. “but my not being here is way down his list of priorities.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” her father asked.

  “He’s going through a bad stage, Dad. He’s worried to death about his family’s safety with all the crime in town. This thing with Elise was actually the trigger.”

  “I can certainly understand that,” Elspeth said.

  “—and taking over the company was more... I don’t know ...stressful...than he thought it would be.”

  “And he’s moving out of the country as a result?” Her father sounded incredulous.

  Maggie nodded. “New Zealand,” she said. “In late November. About six weeks from now.”

  “How does his wife feel about all this? What’s her name?” Elspeth settled into the chair abandoned by Laurent. She took the girl’s hand in her own and held it on her knee.

  “Her name’s Darla. Not great. How would you feel? I mean, Darla’s not the one coming unglued. She doesn’t want to leave.”

  “Poor man. I don’t suppose he’d consider some kind of therapy?” Her father looked genuinely concerned and Maggie felt a sudden rush of love for him.

  “He thinks this is therapy, Dad,” she said. “He thinks it’s the epitome of mental health to be doing this.”

  “Poor lad.” He shook his head.

  Suddenly, Maggie’s mother gave a small shriek and jumped up, dropping Nicole’s hand. Maggie, sitting on the other side of Nicole, jumped up too, although she didn’t know why. Her first thought was, bizarrely, that her mother had seen a snake curled up under the child’s chair.

  “What is it? What is it?” Maggie moved away from Nicole, totally bewildered. “What’s happening?”

  “Nicole!” Elspeth took Nicole by her thin shoulders and forced the child to look at her. Only then did Maggie see the puddle of yellow pooling under Nicole’s antique wicker chair.

 
“Oh, dear,” Maggie said, looking at her father with dismay.

  “Nicole, honey, are you all right---?” her mother asked.

  Suddenly, Nicole jumped up and wrestled free of Elspeth’s grip.

  “Laissez-moi tranquille! Laissez-moi tranquille!” she shrieked, running from the room. Her voice, bleating and frantic, echoed through the house, room by room, until they heard the distant slamming of her bedroom door.

  Elspeth sat, twisted around in her chair facing Nicole’s exit route, her hands still in the air and her delicate mouth open in a caricature of astonishment.

  Maggie gaped at her mother and then her father and then at the little puddle of urine on the imported Moroccan tile beneath the child’s chair.

  She looked up in time to see Laurent walk through the doorway, the squirming little terrier puppy in his arms—its front paws bandaged and a worried glint still in its large dark eyes.

  “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” His brow puckered in confusion. What’s happening?

  “Well,” John Newberry said, picking up the other drink from the table and bringing it to his lips. “I believe we just had a breakthrough.”

  Maggie turned to face Laurent in the car as it sped through Buckhead.

  “Peeing on the floor and running away screaming ‘leave me alone!’ during your own birthday party? That’s progress?” she asked.

  Her mother had been joyous after the initial shock of Nicole’s behavior. So much so, in fact, that the arrival of Laurent with the scruffy little dog seemed to have gotten lost on her usual list of things-to-obsess-and-be-unhappy-about. She had sliced off a large piece of birthday cake, tucked a gaily packaged gift under her arm, and had disappeared upstairs to spend the rest of the evening with Nicole. And although she later admitted that Nicole hadn’t uttered another word, it was clear that Elspeth felt encouraged by the incident. She even instructed that the puppy be put in a box with a warm blanket and a bowl of food in the kitchen until Nicole was ready to receive him. Maggie was thunderstruck.

  She, Laurent and her father had retired to the library to eat cake and drink Wild Turkey for the rest of the evening.