DEATH BY HONEYMOON
Book
#1 in the
Caribbean Murder Series
Jaden Skye
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Jaden Skye
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Finally, there was nothing to fear. The wedding was over, he was hers, and their honeymoon so far was all she’d ever dreamt of. Lying beside him on a blanket on the white Caribbean sands, surrounded by the beauty of the turquoise waters, she exhaled.
Nothing could have prepared her for the unbelievable beauty of this place. The beach was surrounded by palm trees, winding roads and hidden birds. Some of them sang intermittently as the waves rolled up onto the shore. It had power to heal the upset she’d gone through. No one had been able to stop their wedding from happening, although his family had tried.
Clint moved closer. She could smell his suntan lotion, mixed with salt from the ocean. He took her slender hand and his rugged strength rose up through her, as she turned to him and smiled. It was a smile of contentment. Of Victory. Cindy had won. She’d fought hard for this marriage, and nothing could take it away.
As if reading her thoughts, Clint whispered in her ear, “We did it. We’re together now, forever. Everything else is in the past.”
Cindy took a deep breath. She’d always been afraid to believe in forever, but now she could. Her relationship with Clint was soothing her mind. Her own father had died when she was a little girl and it had been a long time before she’d been willing to trust life again. With Clint beside her, she could.
Cindy watched the sun glistening on the waves, rising faster and faster. High tide was coming in. The surf here was fed by swirling currents from the Atlantic Ocean, pouring into the cove. The sound of the waves, crashing on the rocks, startled her for a moment. This place was perfect for Clint. He was an avid surfer, craved the ocean, and required challenge. This beach was off the beaten course, wild, untamed, not the usual destination for travelers. It was famous for its wild surf.
“It will make our honeymoon even more thrilling,” he’d said, when he suggested this spot. There were milder turfs nearby, where she could surf as well. But Cindy wanted it to be the honeymoon of his dreams. It didn’t matter to her that most couples went to the comfortable West Side of Barbados, while they headed East to the rugged shore.
“Where did you say you were going?” the driver that picked them up from the airport had asked twice .
“El Barado Hotel,” Clint had repeated.
The driver had looked at them, skeptical. “You know where you’re going? You’re going to the real Barbados. You’re sure?”
“Very sure,” Clint grinned.
“Ok.” Then the car had sped away from the airport, turning off the main road.
Cindy was proud of Clint. He was so sure of everything. He wasn’t one to take old, tired familiar pathways. Cindy loved that about him. He reminded her of what was possible. She used to be strong and confident like that. His words brought her back to herself.
As their car had wound its way further and further, Cindy realized they were heading somewhere out of the ordinary. They wound through country lanes, past sugar cane farms and quaint villages made up of small single-story houses. There were food shacks along the roads and simple clapboard churches. It was clearly where the locals lived and worked.
Their car had driven quickly through the villages, and right up to the hotel. It seemed to be rushing, as if there weren’t a minute to lose.
“There it is,” the driver had pointed.
The hotel came into view, sprawled behind rocks, at the edge of the beach, looking out at the ocean. “Not too many people know about this place.”
The outside of the hotel was trimmed with wraparound plantation shutters, brass hanging lamps and hurricane lights. Clint had found out about it from some executives at his company, who were also rabid surfers, like him. They loved Clint. As a wedding present, the company offered to pay part of the expenses.
He was thrilled. Cindy and Clint had tipped the driver generously, as he’d brought their bags up to the front door.
Alex, a grinning local, hefty man in his fifties, greeted them.
“Welcome to the Island,” he’d said in a lilting tone. “We are happy to have you here. Our honeymoon guests are our favorites. Congratulations.”
Cindy felt warm inside as she’d entered. She’d looked through the large windows in the lobby, overlooking the ocean, and saw miles of rolling waves. She knew Clint would see that and have an overwhelming urge to surf.
Alex had patted Clint on the shoulder. “You a strong swimmer?” he’d asked.
Clint had grinned. A lifeguard when he was younger, that was his last concern. “It’s what I came here for. Don’t worry: I’m right where I belong.” He always said that when he came to the ocean.
There was a lot to do. Scuba diving, snorkeling, visiting the island’s indigenous turtles, photographing this incredible place.
They got a key and went right up to their room. It was open, airy, with salty breezes wafting in. There was a patio and a low-plank coffee table filled with seashells and sea urchins. Best of all, you could hear the waves, constantly crashing on the sand and rocks outside. They’d dropped their luggage, changed quickly and headed right down to the beach.
*
Day after day had been fantastic. They’d been snorkeling, swimming, dancing, having delicious dinners, and making love all night long. Laying here now on the sand with her new husband, Cindy felt as if she had been welcomed into a new phase of life. She put her head on Clint’s shoulder.
These days of happiness had wiped away the pressures and worries they’d grown so accustomed to the past several months. His family’s agitation and schemes drifted like smoke into the crystal blue sky. It hadn’t been easy. There had been one obstacle after another.
Now the time was passing quickly. They had only two days left. Cindy’s heart dropped at the thought of leaving.
“I don’t want this to ever end,” she’d said when they woke up that morning, before they got out of bed.
“It won’t end,” he’d answered softly. “We’ll remember this forever.”
“Do you promise?”
He’d laughed. “Of course.”
“Don’t promise something you can’t keep,” Cindy joked. She knew he was always good for his word.
“I promise,” he repeated.
For no reason at all, her heart dropped. “But everything ends--”
“Not necessarily,” he stroked her long, auburn hair, and kissed the freckles on her forehead. “We take our memories with us wherever we go.”
It never occurred to Cindy that there was any possibility that they wouldn’t actually leave the island in two days’ time.
Or that, four days later, she would still be on the island—and cradling her husband’s dead body in her arms.
Chapter 2
The day it happened was perfect. They woke up early to a cloudless day, nestled in each other’s arms. They showered together and went downstairs for breakfast, laughing. It seemed that the whole world was at peace that day. As they ate breakfast out on the Veranda, they were serenaded by a throng of birds, flying in and out of the branches of the trees that surrounded the hotel.
“It must be the amazing weather,” Clint had said, gazing at the water and sky. “Sky’s so blue, air’s so still, doesn’t even seem as if there could be a ripple in the ocean.” It was unusual weather for the island.
Over breakfast they talked about the souvenirs they were bringing home: huge, crusty sea shells, driftwood, throw cushions covered with tropical prints, photographs of whistling turtles, porpoises and flying fish . There was something for everyone.
As they lingered over coffee, Cindy knew the honeymoon was coming to an end. She began to think about going home, of the quaint, small starter home they’d bought back on Long Island, New York. It was in a cove, near the end of a long, private road. They both loved the house the minute they saw it and were ecstatic when their offer was accepted.
“Soon, we’ll be in our new home,” Cindy had said. “Only two more days.”
“There’s a lot we can still cram in today,” he said.
Clint planned their activities down to the minute, not wanting to waste a second. They were planning to go surfing together in the afternoon, and she’d made reservations for dinner at the hotel’s main restaurant, under the palm trees, for eight o’clock. It would be a special dinner, the anniversary of the night they’d met.
As they ate, other guests came down, milled around and sat at tables near them. They all smiled at each other casually, giving each other the privacy they wanted . Pedro, their favorite waiter, hummed a local song as he brought them a platter of croissants, eggs, fruits, coffee and mimosas. He took special care that Cindy had just what she wanted. In fact, he’d made a special desert for her, a torte. Just the kind she loved and had ordered every day. “But today’s is better,” he’d said. Cindy had smiled. These were good people.
Cindy had looked at Clint and felt how grateful and fortunate she was. From very soon after she met him, she’d known he was the man she wanted to live her life with. Tall, rugged, handsome and determined, he was the most honest and caring man she’d ever met.
After breakfast, they’d had a tranquil, long morning walk on the beach, he looking out at the horizon and trying to memorize the view, and she gathering the occasional seashell. They’d then headed back to the room to change for surfing.
And as they went upstairs, that’s when it hit her.
Cindy had suddenly began to feel woozy.
Probably from the sun, she’d thought, especially after those mimosas.
Then she had cramps.
They’ll probably pass, she’d told herself, and had gone into the bathroom, where it was cooler. But the cramps got worse.
Clint was changing into his surfing gear, and another wave of dizziness overcame her as she’d held her stomach in pain. She lay down on the bed, hoping for it to pass.
Clint came over, surprised to see her laying there.
“What’s going on?” he asked, concerned.
“I don’t know…just cramps, I think. I feel like I need to take a nap.”
“Now? In the middle of the afternoon?” he was surprised.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t feel like I can go. I probably just need to rest. But don’t let me stop you. I’ll nap for an hour and then meet you down at the beach. I promise.”
That seemed to cheer him. “Okay, but just for an hour,” he said. “I don’t want to be away from you for too long.”
Cindy wanted to reach up and hug him, but a wave of exhaustion overcame her. Helpless against it, she closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, she was asleep.
*
Cindy woke with a start. She knew it was late.
With a shock, she sat straight up in bed. The clock read 5 o’clock. She had slept for three hours.
She jumped out of bed, went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. She’d told Clint she’d be down on the beach in an hour. She was two hours late. He was probably down on the sand, waiting for her.
Feeling badly, she threw on her new shorts and a shirt, grabbed her key, and then flew down the wooden staircase to the lobby.
Alex, behind the main desk, smiled and waved at her as she appeared. During these days he seemed to have taken a special liking to Cindy and Clint. He’d brought them coffee in the morning and kept asking if there was anything they needed to make everything perfect.
“You need anything, miss?” he called out to her again.
“No, thank you, thank you,” Cindy said and rushed out of the hotel, down to the beach.
She hurried down the beach to the spot where she and Clint were supposed to meet, expecting to see him there, waiting for her. The sun was setting, and the temperature had dropped, and she realized that he must have been waiting for her for hours. He was probably disappointed. They’d only had two days left on the honeymoon, and she had promised to surf with him. She could already picture his expression of frustration.
She doubled her pace, taking off her sandals and carrying them, and as she turned the bend, she was surprised.
The beach was empty.
She stopped and looked around, in every direction. He had to be somewhere. Had he laid down on the sand, under a palm tree, maybe?
But she surveyed the trees closely, and there was no one. All of the hammocks were empty. Of course they were: it was getting dark and cold, and the wind was blowing them wildly.
Maybe Clint had taken a walk along the shore? She ran to the water’s edge, and looked up and down.
But there was no one in sight.
She took out her cell and checked it again. No new messages.
Her heart started to pound, as panic overcame her. She walked quickly down the shoreline, looking every which way.
She looked out at the ocean and noticed there was a strong sideways current. Maybe it had taken him along the beach, like it sometimes did, and he hadn’t even realized. That must be it.
She followed the current sideways, along the beach, increasing her pace with every step.
But still, nothing. The beach was oddly empty. Not one person was there.
A wave of fear suddenly washed over her, and she started to run, to sprint mindlessly down the beach, staring out at the water.
Out of breath, she finally stopped running, and took a deep, wet, salty breath. In the last few minutes the sky had suddenly darkened, and the wind had picked up, becoming much stronger, nearly knocking her off balance. The wind whipped her hair into her face and eyes. She struggled to pull it away.
“Clint!” she screamed, her voice quickly drowned out by the thunderous waves. “Where are you!?”
And then, as she looked up, she saw it. In the distance, something in the water.
She ran towards it, and as she got closer, she saw what it was.
Clint’s blue surfboard. Floating in the waves.
And Clint nowhere in sight.
Her hands got clammy and her heart pounded, as a wave of horror engulfed her. There was no way, there was absolutely no way, that Clint would have ever left his board.
The ferocious waves, rougher than usual, smashed into each other mercilessly, tossing his surfboard every which way.
A strange bird flew overhead, screeching.
And at that moment, Cindy knew in every bone of her body that her husband was dead .
Chapter 3
One week later
The days were a blur. Cindy had no idea how she’d managed to get back home. A thick fog descended over her, and she moved about as if in a dream. She moved slowly, her limbs frozen and numb. Everything seemed surreal. She was frozen in time, in a nightmare she couldn’t get out of.
From time to time the fog lifted and she heard herself sobbing.
This can’t be happening. It’s a dream. I’ll wake up and he’ll be here with me. Clint, you promised.
Then the fog returned and it was hard to remember anything.
During the first week at home, she mostly slept. She could hear the phone ringing off the hook—not just her cellphone, which she ignored, and finally shut off—but also the landline that Clint had installed in the house. It never seemed to stop. Her sister Ann had flown in from Wisconsin and was staying with her, and thankfully, she answered it for her.
In those first few days, Ann was her lifeline. An endless stream of visitors kept stopping by, and when Cindy refused to see them, Ann met them at the door and gently asked them to return another time.
Cindy’s mother had called the first day, to say how sorry she was, and to say that she couldn’t make it, that she had to keep running her art gallery, back home in Wisconsin. How typical of her, Cindy thought.
She tried to offer Cindy advice over the phone. “This will take time,” she murmured. “Be patient. Little by little, you’ll feel better.”
Her words did not comfort Cindy at all. Would she ever feel better? Cindy doubted it. How dare she feel better when Clint was dead?
Clint’s family, while they lived only a mile away, still hadn’t come to visit. Cindy hoped they never would.
Ann kept insisting that she come out of the bedroom and greet people, and on the one day that Cindy finally relented, Ann helped her get out of bed. Then she gently guided her down the stairs, into the living room, and onto the marine-blue suede couch in the living room that she and Clint had just purchased. Clint had loved it because it reminded him of the ocean. Now it reminded her of the waves that had beaten him so brutally. She would have to get rid of it, she thought in passing, as she sat on it and shivered.
The guests who came to offer condolences didn’t stay long. They seemed to be at a loss what to say. Many of them were the same guests who had been to their wedding a little over a week ago. Most were pale and ashen. They shook their heads in disbelief.
“He was so young,” Moira mentioned, tears in their eyes. She was an old college friend of Clint’s. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“He had everything ahead of him,” one of Clint’s mother’s friends kept repeating.
There was an assortment of people, friends, co-workers, neighbors from down the road who Cindy and Clint had barely met.
Finally, Cindy had had enough. Without warning, she flew out of the living room.
Ann grabbed her arm in the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked, mortified.
“I’ve had enough!” Cindy screamed, breaking into tears. “I don’t want to see anyone! I refuse!”
And with that, she’d stormed back up into her bedroom, leaving Ann to pick up the pieces—and hadn’t left since. That was days ago.
Cindy lay there now, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. For the millionth time, she struggled to remember, to try to recall the events of the past days.
When they’d finally found his body after two days, washed up on the rocks, inside of a cove, crumpled, his head snapped, beaten by the surf, she’d felt herself die with him.
She had been called immediately to identify the body.
“It’s not him,” she said at first.
The local police looked at her strangely.
“That’s not him,” she repeated. “Clint is alive. He was stronger than any wave.”
The police scratched a few words on a pad of paper.
“Does he look like him?” one of the cops asked quietly.
“It’s Clint’s body,” she started yelling. “But it’s not Clint. I know him. I love him. He would never have let this happen.”
*
There had been a full out search for him on the island when he didn’t show up at the hotel that night. Cindy remembered a wild rush of phone calls between the States and the island. Her family couldn’t get a flight. Two top executives at Clint’s firm got involved. There were calls to officials on the island. The firm was well connected and sent down people on a company jet to help with the search. Some of them suggested that she return home. This could take weeks, they said, even months. They would cover all bases.
Cindy refused to leave without Clint. She spent every moment staring at the ocean, praying. Even though she begged for Clint to be saved, deep within she knew it was too late.
She lost all track of time. It was as if lifetimes passed as she sat without moving, gazing at the sky.
But to everyone’s amazement, it was only two days until they found him, his body washed up on shore.
“A stroke of luck,” she heard one official say. A tall guy with a moustache and squinty eyes.
What kind of luck? Cindy wondered.
“Yeah,” the other official, a shorter, squat guy, agreed. “These kinds of searches can go on for years with nothing to show for it. Usually the ocean takes them out and under. Who finds a body here?”
They both shrugged and looked at each other. Cindy’s stomach clenched. She imagined Clint being taken out and under by the unforgiving ocean, dragged into oblivion, with nothing left behind. Should she consider herself lucky that they’d found his body?
The police had called someone from Clint’s firm in to identify the body as well. Henry Greerson. He’d been sent down by the firm to oversee everything and make sure Cindy was well cared for. Cindy had met him once or twice before. She never much liked him. He was a middle-aged guy in a button down suit who seemed cold and withdrawn around her. Clint had liked him, though. They’d worked together on several projects. Clint said he was a good man. Clint said that about everyone, or almost everyone. If he liked you, he loved you.
Greerson immediately identified the body. Soon after, the death was declared accidental. Strong turf, sudden riptide. These riptides happened all the time on the East Shore of Barbados.
Cindy remembered Greerson escorting her home on the plane, along with the remains. The two of them didn’t talk to each other. She had nothing to say, and neither did he. At least he respected her need for silence, and probably realized she was in shock.
*
Cindy spent the first days back mostly curled up in bed. Ann didn’t intrude. She only helped Cindy come out of the bedroom when guests appeared. Otherwise, she brought her food in on a tray, and put soft music on the CD player. Ann had always been the most wonderful older sister anyone could have ever wanted. Her husband, Frank, told her to stay as long as she was needed. They had a lovely marriage. It seemed that things always went smoothly in Ann’s life. Cindy never felt she could quite live up to her.
Cindy’s relationships with guys growing up was always short and fitful. She was always afraid they would leave, the way her father had. She had a few good friends, but became quite bookish, preferring her time alone, studying, doing research, gathering all kinds of information for papers she wrote, sketching and making collages. . Ann was always there, watching over her, worrying about Cindy all her years growing up.
When Cindy met Clint, everything seemed to change. She’d become happy, secure, confident. She left the house freely, went new places with him, laughed a lot, seemed like a different person. Her sister Ann told her she didn’t trust the relationship, though she didn’t know why. Now it was as if an old premonition of Ann’s had come true. It was clear how worried Ann was about what would become of Cindy now.
Slowly Cindy began to emerge from the bedroom. She felt claustrophobic in there, dreaming of Clint almost every day. In the dreams, he looked real, completely alive. He was standing on his surfboard, waving at her, trying to speak.
But she couldn’t make out what he was saying. The surf was too rough, too loud. It got in the way. She waved back, but couldn’t reach him. Then the wave pulled him back out and took him away.
She woke with a start every time.
“He’s trying to reach me,” Cindy kept telling her sister.
Ann didn’t say much in return.
“I know he is,” Cindy insisted. “In my dream, his mouth is open and he’s trying to talk. I can’t hear him.”
“They are just dreams,” Ann finally said, softly. “He’s gone, Cindy. It’s you who wants to see him again. Those are your wishes.”
Cindy was frustrated. Her dreams felt like more than wishes. She was going to say something else, but Ann interrupted, “It takes time for a person to absorb a shock like this. It takes time for it to feel real.”
Ann always had something sensible to say, but this time Cindy didn’t want to hear it. What happened to Clint wasn’t sensible—it didn’t make sense at all. She had seen Clint surf in much rougher waters than that. She couldn’t fathom how he could have drowned.
Cindy thought of all the plans she and Clint had had for the future. Just being in the house brought them all back. She looked at the photographs hanging on the walls and photos of the two of them together, smiling, laughing, holding hands . None of this seemed real. His clothes were still hanging in the closet, his books were in the bookcases. There were even a few old surfboards in the basement downstairs. It was as if nothing had ever happened, as if time stood still.
She thought of the family they’d been eager to start . She would never bear his children now. She would never have that part of him.
“He’s everywhere,” she said to Ann. “Just look around.”
“Little by little, you’ll have to begin to clear his things out,” Ann replied.
That shocked Cindy. “Never,” she breathed. “I’ll never throw him away.”
“No one’s saying you’re throwing him away. But little by little you’ll need to take his things down, clear out the closets.”
Suddenly Cindy wanted Ann to be gone. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain Cindy was going through. If she could, she never would speak like this.
“Look, I know it’s a terrible thing that happened,” Ann said, “I know you’re still in shock. These awful accidents happen, though. They’re no one’s fault.”
Cindy felt her blood turn cold. “Accident?”
Ann stared at her. “Of course. It was an accident.”
“Says who?” Cindy said.
“What are you talking about? The police in Barbados declared it an accident. Clint fell off the surfboard, it hit him on the head and snapped his neck.”
“No,” Cindy replied, “it didn’t happen like that.”
Ann’s face turned pale. “Yes it did. The bruises on his body are consistent with the report. A sudden riptide came in.”
“There was no riptide that afternoon. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day.”
“Cindy,” Ann spoke slowly, “Riptides come suddenly and then they’re gone.”
“It was NOT an accident,” Cindy intoned.
Ann stared back, shocked.
“According to who?” Ann said.
“Whose side are you on, Ann?” Cindy said, angry.
“Whose side? What are you talking about?”
“The police just wanted the case closed in the blink of an eye,” Cindy said methodically.
Ann got up from her chair and started walking back and forth slowly. Cindy could tell how agitated her sister felt.
Cindy got up, too, and started pacing beside her sister. “Clint was a top tier surfer,” Cindy continued. “He knew the ocean, he knew the waves. He’d surfed in much rougher waters. There was no reason for him to die.”
Ann stopped and looked Cindy straight in the eye.
“Look,” she said, “I know how tough this is for you. Don’t make it worse than it is. Don’t start imagining all kinds of things.”
“I’m not imagining anything,” Cindy said. “I’ve had plenty of time to think things over and nothing’s gelling for me. It doesn’t make sense.”
Ann began rubbing her hands up and down her sides. It was an old habit of hers. She did it when she was nervous and didn’t know what else to do.
“Cindy, I beg you, don’t go crazy,” she finally said. “I love you and I need you to be okay for me too.”
Cindy’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll never be okay,” she said, “and I’m not going crazy. It’s something I just know.”
“Let’s leave it at that for now,” Ann said softly. “It’s common to think all kinds of things when someone you love suddenly dies. Your problem is that you’ve been cooped up in here for days. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re not changing, not showering, not even going outside.”
“I don’t want to,” Cindy snapped back. “Let me be.”
“There are more people who want to come visit. You need to let them in. You need to see them.”
“I’m not ready!” Cindy yelled back.
“Well, there are some visitors that you have no choice about.”
Cindy looked at her coldly. “Who?” she finally asked.
“Clint’s family. They called. They’re coming over today, at 3 o’clock.”
“I’m not ready to see them,” Cindy said.
“They didn’t ask,” Ann said.
Cindy’s body clenched.
“Don’t worry,” Ann said, “They have to come. It’s a duty call. But I won’t let anything happen. I’ll be here. It will all be fine.”
If Cindy knew anything about Clint’s family, she knew that a visit from them, even in the best of times, would be anything but fine.
Chapter 4
Cindy dreaded seeing Clint’s family, but knew she had no choice. It’s a duty call, she kept reminding herself. We’re all in the same boat here.
Clint’s family had objected to Cindy from the first day he brought her home. She wasn’t tall enough, smart enough, rich enough for them. She wasn’t slim enough either. His mother told him that Cindy’s body would go to fat after they had a child and probably never recover. Cindy didn’t come from their area either, as she was raised in Wisconsin. Nothing was good enough for them.
Cindy realized that Clint’s mother would find anything she could to break up the relationship. But not only her—for any woman. His mother did all she could to cast every possible doubt. Clint had had two other long-term relationships before her, and Clint had told her that his mother had managed to poison them both.
Cindy had talked to Clint a lot about this . How could they buy this house only a mile away from his family? What would happen after they were married? How would his parents react when they had kids?
But he couldn’t really see any problem, and he made all kinds of excuses for his mother, and told Cindy not to look for the worst . His sister Marge was a different story. Clint’s relationship with Marge had always been rocky, although Marge and her mother were inseparable. Marge lived a few blocks away from her, and Marge couldn’t stand to see Clint and his mother so close .
Marge got married a year ago. The man she married, Ralph—dark, quiet and inscrutable—was a lawyer, from a poor family on the other side of town. He’d put himself through college and law school and was doing well now - well enough to be accepted by the family . But they had always hoped Marge would marry James Torton, a rich kid from the neighborhood. Marge would have married him, too, but he left her suddenly, for someone else. Marge said she would carry the scars from that the rest of her life.
Now Cindy was getting ready for their visit. She knew she should put on something nicer. But she just couldn’t bear to change. With Clint dead, she didn’t feel entitled to wear anything nice. She would just have to greet his family in the lounging pants she’d been wearing, with the same old sweat shirt. She knew that as soon as they came in they would look her over from head to toe, watch her every move. They would scoff at her clothing. And if something were out of order, they’d be talking about it for days. But she didn’t really care.
The family would also check the house to see that everything was exactly where it belonged. They were furious when Clint bought this place without consulting them . They said it didn’t suit him and was too far away, down this long, deserted road. Who in their right mind would buy a clapboard, starter house that looked like a beach home?
Clint didn’t seem to care what they thought of it, and just put his photos everywhere, even the ones they didn’t like. Cindy’s memorabilia were perched in full display on the white, wooden shelves—hand-painted porcelain ducks and birds. Clint’s mother didn’t like them either. What grown woman would display objects like that? And who had designed the living room decor? The couch had tropical, colored cushions on it, and there were plants that were much too large growing everywhere. It was clearly Cindy’s influence, her lack of taste. This was definitely not the life she’d envisioned for her son. His mother had no compunction about telling him so, either . How Cindy landed someone like Clint baffled her mind.
Cindy was uneasy at the thought of seeing the family now. She knew they were devastated and had no idea how to comfort them. Thank God Ann was still here. She would not have been able to face them alone. .
Ann was in the kitchen now preparing coffee and cake. Cindy scanned the living room quickly to make sure everything was in order. But no matter how much she tried to spruce it up, the room looked sad and tousled.
Cindy puffed the cushions on the sofa, and arranged them neatly. She had stacked the piles of gifts they’d received for the wedding in the corner. She’d forgotten all about them, hadn’t noticed the gifts since she’d returned. They stood there as an awful reminder of a life that could have been.
Now she quickly went over, lifted them a few at a time, and brought them into Clint’s study in the rear of the house. The last thing she wanted was to have the family looking the gifts over, asking for them to be opened or pushing her to send thank you cards. She would when she was ready. It was all way too much right now.
“How are you doing?” Ann called in from the kitchen.
Cindy could smell the delicious fragrance of coffee and homemade cookies wafting into the living room.
Ann walked out of the kitchen and looked Cindy over. Ann was wearing a casual pair of slacks and an old familiar, blue sweater. Her light brown hair was brushed neatly down around her moon-shaped faced face. Ann was deeply at home with herself. Whatever she wore, she looked lovely, ready for whatever circumstance presented itself. Cindy envied that. She often felt awkward, and Clint’s family intensified that. When they were around, she felt as if she never made the grade.
Ann looked her over in disapproval. “If you’re not going to change, will you at least just brush your gorgeous, tasseled hair.”
Cindy smiled. Ann always tried to make her feel beautiful . The doorbell rang, and Cindy and Ann looked at each other.
“Can you answer it?” Cindy asked.
Ann nodded, and headed for the door.
Cindy went to the bathroom, closed the door, and listened. The quiet, muted voices carried through. Cindy splashed cold water on her puffy cheeks, and took a deep breath.
Finally, she opened the door.
Clint’s family was already seated. His mother sat beside Clint’s father on the sofa. They sat at opposite ends and did not touch. His sister Marge sat next to her husband Ralph in the sand-colored chairs that faced the couch. Everyone was dressed in either navy blue or black. Ann sat facing the family on a thin wooden bench. It had a long paisley cushion on it. The room felt stultifying.
Ann quickly got up when Cindy entered and pulled over a comfortable chair for her. Cindy wondered how she would ever get along without Ann at her side. As she sat down, she felt every eye in the family boring through her . Marge started coughing and Clint’s mother put her head in her hands. It was a terrible moment for them all. Cindy wanted to say, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Would you like some coffee and cookies?” Ann asked, getting up to serve them.
“Not right now,” Clint’s father mumbled. He seemed much weaker and sounded distant and sad, as if this were all much more than he could bear.
“This is the worst possible thing that could happen for my father,” Marge blurted out. “He has to be careful of his heart and it’s been hurting terribly all week long. He’s on extra medication now,” and she looked at Cindy darkly, as though perhaps, she was to blame.
“I’m so sorry,” Cindy said.
“We thought you would take good care of Clint,” his mother lifted her head and stared at Cindy. There was not an ounce of sympathy in her. The entire family was wrapped only in their own grief. “We still can’t understand how something like this could have happened,” his mother persisted.
Cindy felt her heart start to pound and her lips get dry. What were they intimating? Fortunately, Ann came to the rescue.
“This was a horrible accident,” she said quietly. “If Cindy could have prevented it, she would have. She’s suffering, too.”
Ralph, Marge’s husband, cleared his throat when Ann said that. “We’re all suffering,” he said. “We recognize that.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Ann replied.
“We didn’t come here to argue,” Ralph stated, in his flat, orderly, dry tone.
What did you come here for? Cindy wanted to ask them, but held her tongue. She could feel the raw emotion not only in her, but everyone there. It could explode at any moment and wreak havoc in their lives. She had heard of things like that happening after a death—families fighting, wild accusations, even when the death was expected, even when it was natural. Cindy placed her hands on her lap and folded them together.
“None of us are clear about what exactly happened,” Ralph took the lead. It sounded as though he’d prepared his words to the letter.
In a swift moment, Cindy realized this was not a condolence call. The family wanted facts, information—they wanted someone to blame for this nightmare. Thankfully, Ann had some experience with these kinds of situations. Before she started her own consulting business, she was trained as a social worker and had worked in a hospital for a few years before her marriage .
Cindy looked at Ann, pleadingly. Do something, she wanted to say, fill the empty spaces, answer their questions, make all this go away.
Ann got the message.
“What would you like to know, Ralph?” she said.
“It’s not just me, of course, it’s the entire family,” Ralph answered carefully.
“Of course,” Ann replied professionally. “What questions can I answer for you?”
“I don’t want to hear from you,” Clint’s mother’s face flushed. “It’s Cindy I want to hear from. She’s the one who was there.”
“Cindy has already told everyone what happened,” Ann said.
“No she hasn’t. Not enough. I want to know more—much more.”
“I know how hard this is for you,” Ann said to Clint’s mother quietly.
“No, you don’t,” his mother hissed. “Nobody can know what it’s like for a mother to lose a son. Certainly not a new bride, who only knew him for a year. I knew him his whole life long. From the day he was born. I carried him inside me for nine months.”
Cindy felt woozy again, almost like fainting. “I’m so sorry,” she said to his mother.
His mother’s head flipped upwards, like a cat. “Sorry isn’t enough,” she said.
Ann got up and stood between Cindy and her. “Excuse me,” she interrupted, “but my sister is in pain as well. I hope you realize that.”
“I don’t realize anything,” Clint’s mother said. “I don’t know how in the world I could have lost a son. And I want answers from the last person who saw him alive.”
Cindy choked back the tears that were forming.
“We never felt good about this marriage,” Marge chimed in. “There were a lot of questions which were unanswered.”
“Like what?” Anne said.
Marge turned and looked to Ralph for help.
“Like why Clint, such a young man, would take out such a large insurance policy, just before a new marriage. It’s not par for the course.”
“I told Clint to tell you he was doing it,” Cindy said. She had enough, and stood up. “I never wanted the policy. I told him not to, but he said he wanted to protect me, in case anything ever happened. Clint was like that. Very protective.”
“You don’t have to tell us who Clint was,” Marge said.
“Then why do you have all these questions?” Cindy said.
“We’ve heard different stories about what happened on the island,” Clint’s father spoke up suddenly.
“From who?” Cindy asked.
“From different relatives.”
“Your relatives weren’t on the island,” Cindy said forcefully.
“But everyone’s looking into what happened,” his father continued, “they all have different opinions.”
Cindy felt ill. Clint’s family was suspicious of everything, and she’d known it before they married. Even Ann warned her about it, but she hadn’t paid a bit of attention . Now, for a quick moment, she was sorry . She didn’t want to ever have to see any of them again.
Marge stood up suddenly and smoothed her black rayon dress. “For starters,” she bristled, “you could tell us why in the world you chose to go to the East Coast of the island instead of the West? Everyone knows it’s dangerous.”
“We went for the surfing,” Cindy answered quickly. “Some friends of Clint’s recommended the place. I don’t have to tell you that Clint loved to surf.”
“He surfed his whole life and nothing happened,” Marge repeated bitterly.
“He surfed rougher places, and was a fantastic swimmer. He was a lifeguard for years. He knew the ocean inside and out.”
Cindy saw Clint’s father’s head bob up and down. She didn’t know if he was sobbing or if he’d fallen asleep. No one else seemed to notice. Marge did, though.
“You see how sick dad is?” she said. “And all this has made it worse.”
“I’m very sorry,” Cindy said again.
Now his mother stood up and walked right up to where Cindy was sitting.
“When was the last time you saw my son alive? What was the last thing you said to each other?” Her eyes were squinting as if a strong light shone on them.
Cindy tried to remind herself to say calm, that his family were all in horrible pain.
She shouldn’t take any of this personally. It was awful, though, to be forced to go back over that afternoon. But she wanted to give them whatever comfort she could.
“I last saw him in the afternoon. We were planning to go surfing together. It was about an hour or so after lunch. We went up to the room to change and I
suddenly began to have bad cramps. I got very tired. So, I lay down for a little nap instead. I planned to nap for about an hour and then go down and meet him on the beach.”
“And?” his mother was relentless.
“And I overslept. I woke three hours later.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” his mother said. “You suddenly had cramps from out of nowhere?”
“That’s what happened,” Cindy replied. “I jumped up, got out of bed and ran down to the beach to join him. He wasn’t there.”
“Where was he?” Ralph questioned.
“He wasn’t there,” Cindy repeated.
“Where do you think he was?” said Marge . “He was dead in the ocean.” She turned on Ralph, who flinched.
“The hour of death,” Ralph continued blankly, “was determined to be around five in the afternoon.”
A long, dark pall hung over the room.
“Where is all of this going?” Ann interrupted.
“When did Cindy get down to the beach?” Ralph asked.
“I got down at about 5:15 or so,” Cindy said.
“None of it makes sense.” his mother started ringing her hands again. “He died a few minutes before you arrived? How is it possible?”
“When I got down there the beach was empty,” Cindy repeated breathlessly. “I ran up and down. I couldn’t find him.”
“Were the two of you fighting? Was he sorry you ever got married?” The words poured out of Marge fitfully.
“That’s enough,” Ann said forcefully, and stood in front of Cindy to protect her from the onslaught. “This visit is over. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re way out of line.”
“Why else wouldn’t a bride go down to the beach with her husband when he’s surfing? Why else would she suddenly have cramps and sleep all afternoon?”
Marge was on a rampage.
“What are you intimating?” Ann asked.
“The facts lead to questions,” Ralph stood up. “We have to ask them. In honor of Clint’s memory, we have to know what really went on.”
Cindy felt herself choking. Was this horrible family accusing her of wrongdoing? From the start they wanted to disrupt the relationship - and even now, after his death?
“There were no witnesses to anything,” Ralph continued. “No one knew you were asleep in your room?”
“The man who ran the hotel, Alex, saw me leave when I ran out to the beach,” Cindy said.
“How convenient,” Marge replied.
“I beg your pardon,” Ann glared at her.
Cindy could barely hold her tongue. “I’ve thought about it myself,” Cindy continued. “Who’s really responsible? There are loopholes here, serious loopholes.” She stared right back at Ralph. “Don’t think I haven’t wondered exactly what happened myself.”
Ralph didn’t so much as blink an eye. Again a strange, dark silence descended over them all. Cindy suddenly looked over at the wall and saw the photograph of her and Clint, smiling together, arm in arm, leaning against their new, small boat they had docked here in the cove. They had been so happy in every way. How could anyone think otherwise? Could Clint see what was going on now? What would it take to make him realize? Wasn’t there something he could do to protect her now?
Cindy wished she had better answers to the questions they’d asked. She flashed back to the hotel room, to the moment she woke up that afternoon. She’d been disoriented. It was not like her to nap that long in the afternoon. And she didn’t usually have cramps. She and Clint had been together every minute of the honeymoon. She’d had no intention of abandoning him. That was the last thing in her heart or mind.
She was not going to share these facts with the family, though, or defend herself in any way. It would only make things worse. Clearly, they hated her and wanted to punish her for everything. They were looking for any detail that could pin her up against the wall.
Once again Ann interrupted the tense situation.
“I think this is enough for now,” she said. “Cindy looks exhausted and so does Clint’s father. “
“When?” his mother suddenly burst out, standing. “When will I know the truth!?”
Chapter 5
After they left, both Cindy and Ann breathed a sigh of relief at exactly the same moment.
“How could someone so wonderful have a family like that?” Cindy said, trembling.
“Sit down, I’ll bring you some tea,” Ann said.
Cindy couldn’t bring herself to sit on the sofa right where his parents had been sitting . “They’re terrifying,” she murmured.
“His family’s struggling with a terrible loss,” Ann said quietly.
“They’re blaming me,” Cindy felt her face grow red.
“Yes, they are,” Ann said without flinching, “Cindy, I really think you should come home.”
For a moment Cindy couldn’t understand what Ann was saying. “I am home,” she said.
“I mean, back to Wisconsin. You could move in with mother for awhile and I would be close by. I can’t stay here forever. Frank is being a darling, but he also needs me. Sooner or later, he’s going to tell me to come back.”
Cindy’s heart dropped at the thought of Ann leaving. In the back of her mind she knew this would be coming. Ann couldn’t stay here forever. She’d been here way longer already than she should have. Tears filled Cindy’s eyes.
“I can’t go back and live with mother,” Cindy said, forlorn. “It wouldn’t work, she wouldn’t be comfortable and neither would I. She needs her space.”
“Well, you can get your own apartment near us. For a year or so anyway. It will help you get back to yourself again. Most of your friends are back home, too. You’ve only been East for a year and a half.”
“This is my home now. And Clint’s.”
“He’s not here anymore.”
“But we bought it together. We picked it out, moved in, put the pictures on the walls. We started to plant the garden together. Clint’s things are all over. How can I just leave everything behind?”
Ann took Cindy’s hands. “Cindy, sweetheart,” she said softly, “Clint’s things are here. But he is not.”
The words didn’t sink in. Cindy couldn’t grasp them. Looking around, she felt as though he were everywhere.
“You need to be close to people who love you, who will take care of you for awhile. You’ve been through a tremendous ordeal,” Ann said.
“I have some new friends here,” Cindy said. She thought of a few friends from work that she had lunched with, and others she’d met at the local book club. Her life here was beginning to grow roots. Most of the time, of course, Cindy had spent with Clint.
“I mean, you need to be near family,” Ann said.
Cindy sat down on the sofa. Ann was more than a sister to her—she was a best friend. She wanted to go back and be close to her, but she also knew she couldn’t. This was her home and she couldn’t run from it. There was too much unfinished business, too many strands to be unraveled. She had wedding gifts to unpack and return. Thank you cards to write, letters to be answered. She had all of Clint’s clothing and possessions to look after. And she had a job she loved as a research assistant at a top newspaper in the city. Cindy always loved to find little known facts, investigate details in a story. And her boss said she could take as much time as she needed; whenever she was ready, the job was waiting for her. Little by little, she’d get ready. She’d learn how to stand on her own two feet and make sense of all that had gone on.
“What about Clint’s family?” Ann continued. “They’re strange. They’re dangerous. And they only live a mile away. I’m nervous leaving you here so close by.”
“They don’t have the key to the house,” Cindy said swiftly, a wave of anger rising.
“This is my home, and Clint was my husband, whether they liked it or not. I’m sorry, Ann, really I am, but there’s no way I can leave my home with Clint behind.”
Cindy stormed away into her room and threw herself down on the bed. This can’t be happening, she said to herself, over and over. Then she closed her eyes and pictured Clint, as if to bring him back to her. She remembered the two of them together at the wedding, kissing, holding hands, how beautiful everything had been. That is, until it came time for the speeches.
When it was Clint’s mother’s turn to say a few words, she stood up and spoke about Clint as a little boy, how wonderful he’d been then, and that she had no idea what happened when he grew up. Everyone had laughed, except Cindy. His mother said a few more words about Clint, the ladies’ man, then fluffed her hair and sat down. She didn’t say a word about Cindy. When it was Marge’s turn, she went on and on about what a wonderful catch Clint was. Again not a word about Cindy, or welcoming her into the family. Cindy’d had a sinking feeling right then, but just let it drift away . She wasn’t going to let them ruin her wedding. Soon she and Clint would be away from them all, the two of them alone together, on their honeymoon . He was hers now, and the family could never take him away. Or so she imagined.
Cindy’s mind drifted back again to the honeymoon. They’d both been so thrilled to be in Barbados, it seemed that everything there was welcoming them, the sky, sand, rolling waves . They’d laughed and joked about everything, explored all kinds of nooks and crannies, saw the flying fish, whistling turtles, coral reefs, chatted with locals and guests at the hotel. It was as if they were exactly where they belonged and nothing bad could ever happen to them. She remembered snorkeling with Clint in the warm, turquoise water, swimming among gorgeous, slippery, red, green and yellow fish. As they swam, their legs intertwined, it seemed as if they would never be apart.
“We were put on this earth just for each other,” Clint had whispered to her late one night as they danced at the hotel.
Cindy felt that way, too. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve this kind of happiness.
Now she began to go over and over each moment, looking for the reason why everything had gone so wrong. She felt helpless not knowing, as if she were just letting the ocean sweep Clint away. How could it? He was such a good person, had always reached out to help everybody. Why would this terrible thing happen to him? It didn’t make any sense. There had to be an explanation. Maybe someone wanted to murder him . She had to find out who.
She went over each day before the wedding carefully, again and again. Clint had been more stressed than usual the last few weeks leading up to the marriage. She hadn’t thought much of it then, knew it was normal for tensions to build before the big day. His family only added to the tension, had something to complain about every day. They were upset with everything about the wedding—the seating, the flowers, the band. There was nothing that felt right to them. And they blamed Cindy for all of it. Clint’s mother even had Ralph call and ask Clint if he really knew the woman he was marrying. After all, they’d only been together for a year.
“Why do they hate me so much?” Cindy’d asked frequently.
Clint refused to consider that question.
“My parents don’t hate anyone. They love you like I do. They’re just nervous about me.”
Cindy didn’t get it. She wondered more deeply now about the extent of their hatred. What kind of action might it have led them to take? Were there secrets she had no idea about? Had he been holding something back from her? And, now that he was gone, would she ever know?
She broke down sobbing. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, she murmured, he didn’t deserve it. Not Clint. And, with tears uncontrollably pouring down her face, she fell into a torn, fitful sleep. In which followed, day after day, night after night, a parade of restless nightmares.
Chapter 6
3 weeks later
Even though it was half past ten o’clock in the morning, Cindy was still sleeping . Oblivious to the world around her, she dreamt that it was early winter, the first snow falling, and that Clint was back. They were together, shoveling, making a path up to their home. They had on big fur hats and puffy gloves. Clint’s face was red, brushed by the cold wind. He said that after they finished shoveling, they could build a snowman in front of the house. Cindy was excited. She hadn’t built a snowman for years, and she’d find a funny hat to put on him, like the one Clint wore.
Laughing, they built a huge, fat snowman, with red buttons in his eyes.
But as soon as Cindy put its hat on, the snowman began to melt.
“It’s melting,” she yelled to Clint, who suddenly couldn’t hear her.
Desperate, she started to scoop up the melting snow, but then awoke abruptly .
Ann was in her bedroom, pulling open the curtains, letting in the light of day .
“It’s morning, wake up,” Ann said.
The light was too bright. Cindy threw her arm over her eyes. “Not yet. Close the curtains.”
“Time to get up,” Ann was moving briskly around the room, going from window to window. “Come on, it’s getting late. Visitors are coming. Today’s the day.”
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