Free Shut Your Eyes Tight (Dave Gurney, No. 2): A Novel by John Verdon

other conversations, partly overwhelmed by the exuberance of Vivaldi.
    Hardwick pulled another folded sheet of paper from his pocket, opened it, and handed it to Gurney, who recognized the familiar format: the typed transcript of a recorded conversation.
    “Watch the video and listen to the sound track,” said Hardwick. “I’ll tell you when you can start following it on the transcript, in case you can’t make out the audio. The three speakers are Chief Luntz and his wife, Carol, both facing you, and Ashton, with his back to you.” The Luntzes were holding tall drinks topped with lime wedges. The chief was balancing a couple of canapés on thepalm of his free hand. Whatever Ashton was drinking he was holding in front of him, out of the fixed camera’s line of sight. The audible snippets of dialogue seemed thoroughly trite and came entirely from Mrs. Luntz.
    “Yes, yes … day for it … fortunate that the forecast, which was very … flowers … the time of year that makes living in the Catskills worthwhile … music, very different, perfect for the occasion … mosquito, not a single … altitude makes it impossible, thank God, because mosquitoes down on Long Island … ticks, no ticks at all, thank God … had Lyme disease, absolutely horrible … wrong diagnosis … nauseous, aching, absolutely in despair, wanted to kill herself, the pain …”
    As Gurney glanced sideways at Hardwick on the couch, a raised eyebrow questioning the point of all this, he heard the chief’s louder voice for the first time. “Carol, it’s no time to be talking about ticks. It’s a happy day—right, Doctor?”
    Hardwick pointed a forefinger at the top line of the typed page on Gurney’s lap.
    Gurney looked down at it, finding it a useful supplement to the hubbub on the sound track.
S COTT A SHTON:
Very happy, indeed, Chief.
C AROL L UNTZ:
I was just trying to say how perfect everything is today—no bugs, no rain, no problems at all. And what a lovely affair, the music, handsome men everywhere …
C HIEF L UNTZ:
How you doing with your Mexican genius?
S COTT A SHTON:
I wish I knew, Chief. Sometimes …
C AROL L UNTZ:
I heard there were some … strange … I don’t know, I don’t like repeating …
S COTT A SHTON:
Hector is going through some sort of emotional difficulty. His behavior has been different lately. I guess it’s been noticed. I’d be very interested in anything you’ve witnessed, anything that caught your attention.
C AROL L UNTZ:
Well, not witnessed by me, not directly, I only … rumors, but I try not to listen to rumors.
S COTT A SHTON:
Oh. Oh, just one second. Excuse me just one minute. Jillian seems to be waving at me.
    Hardwick pushed the “pause” button. “See?” he said. “On the far left side of the picture?” Frozen in the pause frame was Jillian, looking in Ashton’s direction, holding up the gold watch on her left wrist and pointing to it. Hardwick pushed “play” again, and the action resumed. As Ashton made his way across the lawn through a scattering of guests to Jillian, the Luntzes continued their conversation without him, most of which was clear enough to Gurney with only an occasional glance at the transcript.
C HIEF L UNTZ:
You planning to tell him about that business with Kiki Muller?
C AROL L UNTZ:
Don’t you think he has a right to know?
C HIEF L UNTZ:
You don’t even know how that rumor started.
C AROL L UNTZ:
I think it’s more than a rumor.
C HIEF L UNTZ:
Yeah, yeah, you think. You don’t know. You think.
C AROL L UNTZ:
If you had someone living in your house, eating your food, who was secretly screwing your neighbor’s wife, wouldn’t you want to know?
C HIEF L UNTZ:
What I’m saying is, you don’t know.
C AROL L UNTZ:
What do I need, pictures?
C HIEF L UNTZ:
Pictures would help.
C AROL L UNTZ:
Burt, you can be ridiculous all you want, but if some weirdo Mexican was living in our house and screwing Charley Maxon’s wife, what would you