Doublecrossed, p.16
Doublecrossed, page 16
“Yeah. Do you want to freshen up a little?”
“Last chance?”
Alex gave me a sour look. “Just answer me ‘yes’ or ‘no’ if that isn’t too much trouble. We won’t be leaving until dark.”
“Okay.”
My brother walked me into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I washed with a cloth and combed my hair, observing the bruises on my face and removing the Band-Aids on my chin. The cut was healing, but it still looked nasty. When I came out, Alex was standing there, lost in thought.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
He escorted me to the chair. Alex pieced together strands of laundry line to re-use, swearing because his bandaged hand hurt.
“What’s with the extra rope over there?” I asked him.
“Just a precaution. The way you squirm out of things, I don’t want to take any chances.”
I surmised from this that I was joining them for a sail. The very immediate future, therefore, posed no threat. “What kind of boat?”
My brother chewed on his lip for a minute. “Sailboat. An O’Day ′32.”
“Nice.”
“You like sailboats.”
“Up to now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MARNIE ARRIVED with a good head of steam. She set her handbag, several boxes, and a large envelope on the counter, and marched into the living room as if she were treading the stage of a dramatic production. “They would only let me cash $17,500! Some lunatic reason like the check hadn’t entirely cleared. Can you believe it? I tried, really I did. They told me I could speak with the manager, but I didn’t want to complain for obvious reasons.”
“That’s okay, Marnie.” Alex embraced her. “You did the best you could.”
This mollified her somewhat. “That isn’t much money.”
“No, but maybe we can withdraw the rest from another branch when we’re driving to meet your car buyer. And, besides, we’ve done very well with the coins and everything else.”
She separated from Alex. “Any risk the stuff will be found at customs? In our luggage?”
“I doubt it, but if they do, the certificates of sale and authenticity are in the name of Alex Wyatt—no sex mentioned. Did that to match Alex’s name on the brokerage checks. That’s also the name on my passport.”
“Wow! That’s clever,” she replied.
I thought so too. A fascinating psychological transference by my twin.
“Are you bringing that rope to the boat?” She pointed toward the kitchen counter.
Alex gave her a meaningful glance.
“Oh, yeah, right. And I bought a tarp like you wanted.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all. This was one voyage I would be delighted to skip.
Marnie faced me and gestured to her right foot. “Hey, Alex. Good work. The shoes are a perfect fit. It’s our turn to be twins.”
She was wearing the Nikes I’d given her. Since I wanted nothing to do with Marnie, this made me realize how far we’d fallen from the time when I loved sharing everything with her. I felt sadness mix with disgust, adding to the unpleasant atmosphere in the room. I forced myself to exhale slowly, to relax the tightness in my body, and then observed Marnie walk into the bedroom and return with an overnight bag, which she brought to her car. I assumed Alex had kyboshed the second suitcase and allowed Marnie the large yellow suitcase plus one carry-on for the flight. When she finished clearing her unpacked clothes from the table, Marnie and my brother began playing cards and drinking coffee in the dining room. They seemed to be killing time, which was fine so long as they weren’t killing me.
I asked to have my watch replaced. Marnie laughed and said I didn’t need it, but Alex replied it was 6:20 p.m. The question roused them to prepare dinner. I noticed both had forsaken alcohol—no small thing for Marnie. After eating and trips to the bathroom for everyone, Alex carried a red and white cooler in from the garage, and the two of them placed sandwiches, soda, leftover fried chicken, and ice inside, then inserted some cleaning supplies in a paper bag. When he went to the bedroom, Marnie added a six-pack of beer to the cooler and toted it to her car.
Alex returned, put on his green slicker, and grabbed his carryall bag. “Okay, no need to wait. A cold front is coming in. The weather will keep everyone away.”
As we walked into the garage, I could hear the wind outside. The air was also cooler. Alex snatched my red rain slicker from a hook on the door, presumably for me, but Marnie took it from his hand.
“I’m going to wear that. I packed my new raincoat. Here, she can wear this.” She handed him a ratty blue parka of hers that had been hanging in the garage for months.
Using a matt knife, Alex cut off the duct tape around my hands and helped me with the jacket, pulling up the zipper and tying its hood below my chin. “I don’t want anyone to recognize you on the way.” From his carryall, he removed a roll of tape, applied several strips to my wrists, placed the roll in the left large slash pocket of his coat and the knife in his trousers’ pocket, and tossed his carryall, the nylon rope, and a tarp in the trunk with two bags of garbage. Then he nudged me into the passenger seat and fastened my seatbelt.
“Do you have everything you need in your car, Marnie?” he called to her.
She wasn’t happy. “I guess so. It’s a shame to leave so much behind.”
My brother made no comment. “Okay, we’re set. Just follow and stay close.”
Alex joined me in the sedan, opened the garage door with the remote, and eased into the drive. I turned to see Marnie exit in her Solara, and the garage door shut behind her.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as we made a left onto the main road.
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
The evening sky was overcast, wind pinning back the leaves. A few sprinkles began to fall, enough to smear the dirt on the windshield.
“Not great sailing weather,” I commented.
“No, but it’ll do.”
The rain, as long as it didn’t turn into a squall, would probably suit my brother’s purposes. It would reduce the number of boaters on a Thursday night and would certainly reduce visibility. The thought of being on a sailboat in foul weather was not a pleasant one; the thought of dying under those circumstances was even less pleasant.
“How did you get the boat?”
“Through an agency, using your ID. The day I was dressed like you.”
“I see. How long is it rented for?”
“Long enough.”
My brother was in no mood to provide any useful information, so I tried to recall times we had spent together, happy moments when we were young, that might invoke a positive sentiment in him. Unless I had some opportunity on the boat, psychological manipulation was my only weapon.
“Do you remember when you visited for five weeks, and we took the Blue Jay class?”
He thought for a minute, negotiating a winding curve. “Yeah, sure. The summer when we were ten. We had to participate in a regatta. During a storm.”
“Yeah. Mom bought us yellow oilskins because it was raining so hard.”
He laughed. “They were adult size. Way too big.”
“Yeah. I had to roll the sleeves to the elbows.”
“That was one brutal afternoon. Really cold and windy. Every time the boat heeled, water poured over the side. We had to keep bailing while we were sailing.”
“Didn’t we compete against the Shrewsbury club?”
He nodded.
“You were a captain and won the race.” I knew this would please him.
My brother grinned. “Yeah, I did, but it was close. During the last fifteen minutes, I tacked sharply going around a marker and cut off the lead boat.”
“I was crewing in mine. My hands were raw from holding the main sheet.”
“I guess I had the easier job with the tiller. Your boat came in third.”
For some reason, I was flattered that he remembered. “Yeah, which wasn’t too bad because there were twelve boats.”
“Thirteen,” he corrected. “We had a lot of fun that visit.”
“I asked Mom to buy a sailboat, but she refused. At least I had friends with Turnabouts and Comets and could go out with them. I was even allowed to skipper a thirty-six-foot Columbia a few times. I’ll probably get skin cancer from all the sunburns.” As soon as I said this, my brother glanced at me, and I stared back, struck silent.
Alex turned off the small road onto a highway. Marnie’s red car was reflected in the side mirror, following about a hundred feet back, an easy task since my brother was driving exactly at the speed limit. The rain began to fall harder, and the wind frisked the trees. It would be an early autumn, I thought, perhaps not a pretty one. Except for the recent storm, the weather had been dry during most of the summer, with unrelenting heat until tonight’s sudden drop in temperature. Though it was a relief to be out of the house and driving around, everything of beauty made me sad, since it seemed my days, if not my hours, were numbered.
I glanced at my brother’s strong, angular hands on the steering wheel. His thumb was long and dominant compared to his other fingers, in similar proportion to my hand. His profile was like seeing the side of one’s face that one never sees in a mirror. I looked at Alex and saw that side of myself.
The windshield wipers were touching the car’s window frame on every leftward swipe, a steady beat that was both rhythmic and irritating. When the rain thinned, the wipers scraped, sending an arcing streak across the glass like a downturned smile. Lights from oncoming cars flared now and then, summer shore traffic on the move, restlessly traveling between apartment rentals, the casinos down south, boats, and beaches. We turned onto the Garden State Parkway and headed north.
I looked back at Marnie, wondering what she was thinking and whether my brother’s promises had reassured her. What was the old saying? “It takes one to know one.” She was shrewd and smart, even dulled by drink, and had to be suspicious of Alex because it was evident that he would fare better alone. Did Marnie have her own plan? Setting him up as the fall guy and figuring a way to take all the money, diamonds, and coins? If her ruse with me had been convincing down to the last intimate detail, why couldn’t she fool Alex too? I reminded myself Alex had the gun, most of the cash, the passports and papers, and, ostensibly, so far as I knew, the upper hand.
“Are you really going to take Marnie with you?” I asked.
“What do you think?” He was fencing with me, showing a trace of a smile.
“I don’t think so. I’ve been trying to see it from your perspective. If she goes, she’ll slow you down and will be a nuisance or worse. And she’s expensive. The money is the most convincing reason not to bring her. Marnie spends a lot on clothes, food, wine, and would insist on staying at decent hotels. You would be broke in no time, even in Greece or somewhere cheap to live.”
He tipped his head toward me. “Points well taken. But does it matter to you what happens?”
“Meaning I won’t be around to care?”
“That’s not exactly what I said,” he replied, tossing me a warning glance.
“Are you asking me whether I’m still in love with Marnie?”
My brother nodded. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“That’s easy. The answer is an emphatic no. Don’t get me wrong, we had a great time before everything unraveled. She seemed nearly perfect: intelligent, attractive, ready to try new things. A good cook, enjoyed going to restaurants, watching old movies, dancing, and playing tennis. I could go on and on. To tell the truth, I’m still confused about everything that’s happened.”
“Marnie is a very fine actress. She missed her calling.”
“She’s going to miss more than that it seems, isn’t she?”
Alex shook his head. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Sis.”
“You’ll have to excuse my curiosity, but my curiosity is about all I have at the moment.”
“Well, sometimes life takes unexpected turns—not necessarily good ones. You haven’t learned that lesson as thoroughly as I have.”
“No, maybe not. Still, I lost my entire family and my home when I was twenty-two.” As I said this, I felt vaguely guilty, though I didn’t know why. It wasn’t because my life had been easier than my brother’s.
“Not my fault,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure what he meant but was disinclined to ask. “To be honest, Alex, I haven’t been very happy. I know my experiences don’t compare with yours, but both of us have been on our own and lonely.”
His expression darkened; his eyes became hooded and remote. “You have no idea how I feel or what I’ve had to deal with.”
“No, I guess I don’t.”
He glanced at me to see if I was being sarcastic or honest. “I’ve needed to do things to survive. I don’t want to talk about them, but you get my drift.”
I had no response, so I closed my eyes until the car swerved to leave the Parkway. Though I missed seeing the exit sign, the preponderance of fishing and bait shops, boat trailer sales, and other nautical stores confirmed we were close to Sandy Hook Bay, on its west or southwest corner. I knew the area fairly well—where the marine channels were, how the peninsula of Sandy Hook pointed a seven-mile finger into its center, the way the ocean poured around the Hook. It was a fine sailing location, a terminal moraine formed by one of the southernmost glaciers, with access to several New Jersey rivers, to New York City, the ports of Newark and Elizabeth, and the open Atlantic. Alex would have many choices for whatever he had in mind.
We came upon a small four-lane highway and then almost immediately entered a typical New Jersey shore town with some modern stores but more that were old. As we passed by one, it looked as if its display hadn’t been dusted or changed since the fifties: the man and woman mannequins, with their limbs awkwardly flexed, sported swimsuits faded by the sun. Every few blocks there was a tavern, usually a brick building with small, high windows fogged by years of smoke and decorated with neon beer signs. The main street still had diagonal parking, a vestige of simpler times.
My brother kept driving, clearly knowledgeable about his route. At one point, Marnie missed a stoplight, so he pulled the car against the curb, swearing at her under his breath. When the light changed, he resumed his twenty-five-m.p.h. speed, though I could see it maddened him to go so slow. He was tapping his fingers on the top of the steering wheel and sighing with frustration when a drunk fisherman in navy waders attempted to cross the street and changed his mind halfway. A look of murderous impatience flashed on Alex’s face, a look that reminded me how dangerous Alex was.
Finally, we drove down a long, low hill flanked by beach grass. The car bumped over a short wooden bridge and onto a flat area cut away from the dunes and surfaced with yellow gravel. Puddles formed in deep holes so that large splashes of dirty water washed over the front of the car as we passed. The parking lot was edged by a line of horizontal telephone poles around which chicory and Queen Anne’s lace grew. Alex stopped in a space nearest the marina. Before he turned off the ignition, I noted the time on the car’s clock: 8:50. The trip had taken an hour. Marnie parked to our left. She looked at us through the silver, rain-spotted windows. Her eyes appeared apprehensive, but perhaps I was misreading her.
My brother came around the sedan and opened my door. As he leaned over to release my seatbelt, I noticed the bulge of the Smith & Wesson revolver in his right slash pocket. “Let’s go, Sis.”
Alex popped open the trunk, grabbed the garbage bags, and threw them in a nearby dumpster. Returning to the car, he lifted out the carryall, the coil of rope, and the tarp, which he tucked over my hands to hide the tape. Marnie approached, lugging the cooler and the paper bag containing cleaning supplies. Her red knapsack was slung over her shoulder. Her hair was frizzing in the wet drizzle and falling into her eyes, much to her annoyance.
“Help me with this damned thing,” she told my brother.
He locked his car, took one of the cooler’s handles, and together we headed toward the docks.
I shivered. The temperature had fallen and was unusually chilly. “Nice night for a cruise,” I remarked.
“Well, no fair-weather sailors we,” Alex replied.
Despite the cool air, I was sweating in the confines of the jacket as I trudged along, dodging puddles, and glancing nervously at the white-capped water, which was being blasted by wind and slanting rain. Around the corner of the parking area were several docks attached to a new steel bulkhead. Unfortunately, on this heavy weather night, not a soul was around, though there were over thirty boats tied up, ranging in size from small outboards to a decaying wooden yacht. By a ten-foot-square building, an ice machine whirred under an overhead light. Two soda dispensers flanked it, alongside a green mesh trash container full of empty cans. The place was bleak, pressed under a low purplish sky. At the end of the two docks, water was splashing, wetting the dark gray planks. The jingle of stays and rigging filled the air above the moan of the wind.
My brother unlocked a tall gate stenciled with a sign: “Private: Boat Owners Only.” He led us to the middle of the pier, where an O’Day sailboat rocked briskly in its partial enclosure. The hull was white, the deck sand-colored. Though the boat was older, it appeared to be in fine shape.
I stood above the O’Day. The cold rain dripped down my face and beat against my pants, which were becoming soaked. The wooden dock quaked, buffeted by a northwest wind and the driving waves. Alex and Marnie dropped the cooler. He set down his carryall and the rope before descending the sailboat’s ladder and stepping onto the top of the stern cabin. He then moved forward to unsnap the cockpit cover. Once the cover was stowed, he returned to help us.
“Come on, hurry up,” he said crossly to Marnie.
She handed him the bag and rope, which he placed on the cockpit deck, and the cooler, which he set near the hatch leading to the main cabin. I gave him the tarp. He inserted it into a storage box.
“I hope you’re going to untie me,” I said.
“No, you’ll just have to trust us. Marnie, hold her shoulders while I help her.”
