The Bay At Midnight Part 33

"They're not really friends," my father said, and I knew it was not the time to argue with him.

"Who else was there?" the officer asked. "Was there anyone else who might have heard your conversation with Mr. Walker?"

You up to no good, girl.

"George was there," I said. "Wanda's brother. Her other relatives were there, too, but they were down-" I pointed across the ca.n.a.l to the area where Salena and the men had been fis.h.i.+ng. "They weren't close enough to hear."

"But this George was," the officer said.

I nodded. Suddenly I realized where this was going.

"George wouldn't hurt anybody," I said.

"Why are you asking her about this...George?" My father said his name as though he was talking about an object and not a person.

"Mr. Walker claims that Mr. Lewis looked very interested when he heard Julie say that Isabel would be alone on the platform."

"Bruno's just trying to pin the blame on someone else," I said, but I could feel my heart sinking. I remembered George's occasional appreciative comments about my sister and the scary way he'd cut his eyes at my father the day he came over to drag me home.

"Well, that may be so," Officer Davis said. "Just the same, we need to talk to Mr. Lewis. Do you know how we can reach him?"

I shook my head. "I don't have a phone number or address or anything," I said. "But I think they live on South Street. And they'll be back across the ca.n.a.l in the morning, probably, if it's a nice day. But I know he didn't do it."

"You don't know that, Julie," my father scoffed. "You don't really know those people. You don't know what that boy's capable of doing."

"He's nice to me," I said, but that only enraged my father more.

"This is what happens when you disobey me," he said, and I supposed he was right.

I couldn't sleep at all that night. I went up to the attic early with Lucy, who was weepy and withdrawn, and I didn't bother going down again. I kept crying-we all did. I would think I was okay, that I'd gotten a grip on my emotions, and then all of a sudden, I'd be sobbing again.

I replayed the night before in my mind over and over again, examining my actions to see if I could have done something different and thus prevented my sister's death. I remembered looking out the attic window at the dark ca.n.a.l. If only I'd left the house earlier. Would that have made a difference? And what if I'd gone through with my idea of getting Ned to go with me? Then we would have been in his boat and been able to reach the platform safely, although we might have been too late.

Suddenly, I sat bolt upright in my bed. I remembered running over to the Chapmans' house, getting ready to knock on the screen door only to realize their entire house was dark. I remembered looking toward the ca.n.a.l and seeing the empty Adirondack chairs. And then I remembered the policemen questioning Ned that afternoon, and the way he had looked down at the sand when his father said they'd been watching a meteor shower together in the backyard. Had Mr. Chapman fabricated an alibi to save his son?

I pressed my hand to my mouth, a s.h.i.+ver running through my body.

Oh, Ned, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. Why? Why?

CHAPTER 39.

Julie.

1962.

I awakened the next morning with new resolve and a plan: I needed to do my own investigation. The facts I knew did not fit together. I would tell the police my suspicions about Ned, but not until I'd seen what other evidence I could gather. As heartsick as I was at the thought of George being my sister's killer, I was triply distressed to think it might have been Ned. I would be objective, though, as detached as I could possibly be from the outcome as I gathered my clues. awakened the next morning with new resolve and a plan: I needed to do my own investigation. The facts I knew did not fit together. I would tell the police my suspicions about Ned, but not until I'd seen what other evidence I could gather. As heartsick as I was at the thought of George being my sister's killer, I was triply distressed to think it might have been Ned. I would be objective, though, as detached as I could possibly be from the outcome as I gathered my clues.

I was relieved to have something to do that would both ease my sense of helplessness and also allow me to avoid my family. I left the house early and started walking toward the beach. What made no sense, I thought as I walked, was that Ned had told me to tell Isabel he couldn't meet her that night. Then why would he have thought he could find her on the platform? My question was answered only minutes later.

I was nearly to Mitzi's house when I noticed she was in her front yard was.h.i.+ng her parents' car. She tried to hide from me on the other side of the car, but she knew I'd already seen her. I saw her shoulders sag with resignation as she watched me approach.

"Hi, Mitzi," I said, walking up her short driveway.

"Hi, Julie." She stopped scrubbing the car with her soapy sponge. I almost felt sorry for her, she looked so uncomfortable. "Are you all right?" she asked. "How's your mother and grandmother?"

"Messed up," I said. "Did the police talk to you?"

"They called, but they just asked me what time Izzy left my house the night...the other night."

"What time did she leave?"

"Eleven-thirty." She wrung suds out of the sponge onto the driveway. Her hands were pudgy, like the rest of her. "She was going to...I know you know she always met Ned at midnight."

"Yeah," I said.

"He was so peeved at you for not giving Izzy that message that he couldn't come. Even though he could. Although he actually couldn't." She laughed, then sobered, remembering the seriousness of the conversation.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "What do you mean that he could, but then he couldn't?"

"He called her here at my house to tell her he might be able to meet her after all," Mitzi said. "That's when he found out you hadn't told her he couldn't. Izzy was peeved at you, too. Anyway, he said he might be able to, but he wasn't sure, but he'd try. He couldn't get away, though. Isn't it unreal? The one night he couldn't get out that colored boy was there? What c.r.a.ppy luck. You must just be-" She shook her head. "I bet you could just kill that guy if you could get your hands on him."

"Right," I said. It was easiest to agree with her, but my head was spinning. I had to think through all of this new information.

"They caught him, though," she said. "Well, I guess you know that."

"Caught who? George?"

"The colored boy. Right. I heard it on the radio before I came outside."

"What did they say?" I asked.

"Just that they found him and he says he's not guilty," Mitzi said.

"Maybe he's not," I said.

"Who else could have done it?" She tried to smooth her frizzy dark hair away from her face, but it sprang back again into a curly mess. I felt sorry for her having to deal with hair like that. "What I can't get over is that I was the third to the last person to see Izzy alive," she said, as though she had practiced the statement.

"What do you mean, the third to the last?" I asked.

"The...you know, the person who did it was number one," she said. "And Pam. Pam left here with her, like she always did, so she was number two."

Pam's house was between Mitzi's and the beach. That made sense.

"Ned'll probably start going with Pam now," Mitzi said.

It was years before I realized how tactless Mitzi Caruso had been with that statement. The boorishness of her words went right over my head. At that moment, I was only thinking about their content.

I left Mitzi's and continued walking to the beach, cataloging the clues I had so far in my mind. First, Ned's alibi appeared to be a lie, since I had not seen him with his father in their backyard. Second, Ned had told Isabel he might be able to meet her after all-something he had not mentioned to the police, as far as I knew. Third, his motive might have had something to do with his interest in Pam, but murdering Izzy to get her out of the way seemed extreme.

I walked past Pam Durant's house on the lagoon, thinking I would talk with her after I explored the beach. She would be less suspicious of me than she would be the police, so maybe she would open up to me more than she would to them.

The beach was completely empty. I thought there might still be policemen in the area, but maybe they had finished searching for clues. Most likely, they thought they had their killer now. I was growing more certain by the minute that they were wrong.

I headed for the patch of sea gra.s.s where my sister had been found. I looked for things washed onto the sh.o.r.e by the small, gentle waves. I found a Popsicle stick and a plastic cup, but I seemed to have lost interest in collecting any old thing I came across, and I didn't bother to pick them up.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked through the creepy tangles of seaweed. I sat down in the place where Isabel had been found, letting the water wash over my legs. I ran my hands through the tendrils of eel gra.s.s. There was nothing here. What had I been expecting?

I left the beach empty-handed and empty hearted and walked along the road leading to Pam's house. A dog barked when I knocked on the Durants' door. I could see through their house to the lagoon behind, just as I could see through my house to the ca.n.a.l.

Pam herself answered the door, her Doberman pinscher, the only dog I've ever been afraid of, at her side.

"Oh, Julie!" she said, pus.h.i.+ng open the door. "I'm so sorry. Come in." She hugged me, but I felt stiff inside and I kept one eye on her dog.

"I just wanted to talk to you," I said. The dog sniffed at the back of my hand.

Pam drew away from me, studying my face, but I studied hers harder. The whites of her eyes had the bluish tint of skim milk. No trace of red. No trace of tears.

"Let's go out back," she said.

"Are your parents here?" I asked, as we walked through the small living room.

"No one's here except me," she said.

She stopped at the door to the kitchen. "Can I get you some soda?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"I almost died myself when I heard," she said, pus.h.i.+ng open the screen door and stepping into her yard, which was covered with smooth, blond stones. I was glad she left the dog in the house. "I was the last person to see her alive," she said. At least Mitzi had been modest enough to say she was third to the last. Pam put herself right at the top.

We sat on the bulkhead, our feet dangling above the still lagoon water. Pam was so pretty. Her nearly white ponytail fell in a long spiral over her shoulder.

"I just can't believe she's gone," she said. "I've never known anyone who died before. It's so tragic."

"Do you know where Ned was the night Isabel was killed?" I asked, point-blank.

"He was home," she said, as though she knew this for a fact.

"He says he was watching a meteor shower with his father in their backyard," I said.

"That's probably what he was doing, then." Pam shrugged. "He wasn't allowed out, right? And you were supposed to tell that to Izzy, but you didn't."

"But then he called her at Mitzi's to say he could."

"He said he might might be able to. Not that he could for sure." She tilted her head to look at me. "You know Ned would never hurt Isabel, don't you?" be able to. Not that he could for sure." She tilted her head to look at me. "You know Ned would never hurt Isabel, don't you?"

"I'm just trying to figure some things out," I said.

"He was over here yesterday." Pam straightened her legs to look at her painted toes. "He's all torn up," she said. "He was really scared the cops thought it was him."

And you comforted him, I guess, I wanted to say. "Maybe it was," I said, instead. I wanted to say. "Maybe it was," I said, instead.

"What?" She lowered her legs again, frowning at me. "Oh Julie, don't be crazy," she said. "Ned was a She lowered her legs again, frowning at me. "Oh Julie, don't be crazy," she said. "Ned was a lifesaver. lifesaver. He would never kill anyone." He would never kill anyone."

I wasn't sure what else to ask. I was doing a poor job of keeping my misgivings about Ned to myself; Nancy Drew would have been far more clever at questioning Pam than I was being. We talked a while longer, and then I left her house with nothing to prove my hunch other than my own suspicions.

There was one more person that I needed to interview, and I was quite sure where I could find him. I walked to the shallows at the end of Sh.o.r.e Boulevard and along the path cut through the tall gra.s.s.

"Who's there?" Ethan asked as I rustled through the cattails. I heard the anxiety in his voice. I guessed we were all a little on edge.

"Me," I said.

I found him sitting at the water's edge, where he had set up a little marine research laboratory, complete with a small fish net and microscope and a booklet on sea creatures.

"What do you want?" he asked.

I sat down next to him, the damp sand cool beneath my thighs.

"Was Ned really home all night the night Isabel was killed?" I asked.

"How would I know?" He shook his head at me. "You really think you're Nancy Drew, don't you?"

"And you really think you're some sort of scientist." I reached out and knocked over his microscope with my hand and then felt instantly remorseful. With the exception of Lucy, he was the only person in the world weaker than me, and I guessed I just needed to take out my frustration on someone.

"Hey!" He lifted the microscope from the wet sand. "This is a precision instrument," he said, cradling it in his hands. "You might have ruined it. What's the matter with you?"

"I think your brother might have killed my sister," I said.

"You're full of soup," he said, pus.h.i.+ng his gla.s.ses higher up his nose. I hated when he did that. "The police already got that-" he nodded in the general direction of the opposite side of the ca.n.a.l "-that colored boy. If anybody's responsible for killing your sister, it's you, you, for letting him know Isabel was going to be alone on the beach that night." for letting him know Isabel was going to be alone on the beach that night."

"I didn't kill her," I said, my eyes burning.

"Well, my brother sure didn't, either. He was grounded."

"Ned probably just snuck out anyhow," I said. "That's what he usually did."

"You don't know what you're talking about." With tender care, Ethan set the microscope upright in the sand again. "How do you know what my brother usually does?"

"I know plenty," I said.

"If Ned did it, why would he be such a wreck right now? He's sitting around crying about your sister."

"Yeah, well, maybe he's crying 'cause he killed her and he-"