Free Bunker 01 - Slipknot by Linda Greenlaw Page B

Lucy was fit to deliver.
    “I’m fine,” Lucy answered calmly as she smoothed her dress and pulled her dripping tangles behind her head, then let them plop onto her back, which was stippled with goose bumps. “Ahhh. First swim of the season. Quite refreshing. I need to shower and change before meeting Mrs. Cole.” As she sloshed past me, Lucy hesitated long enough to slit her eyes, clotted with damp makeup, and mouth something un-readable at me. She went up the ramp slowly and gracefully, with a seemingly forced nonchalance.
    I stepped over the puddle left by Lucy and called out, “Nice to have met you, Mrs. Hamilton. Sorry about your vase.”
    Lucy never turned around, but she threw her head back, said “Urn” to the sky, quickened her pace, and disappeared up the boardwalk.
    I climbed nimbly into the dinghy and took the rear seat, facing Blaine, who held the boat against the float while I got settled. Pushing off, Blaine placed the oars in their locks and pulled strongly and rhythmically toward the majestic dark-hulled sailboat. The size of the dinghy mandated a physical closeness that I found strangely warm and comfortable. With s l i p k n o t
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    each dipping of the oars, the dinghy rose up slightly, forged ahead, and settled back into a short glide before the next powerful stroke.
    I shook myself from the lazy state that so naturally lulls the one in the stern seat. Knowing that my time alone with Blaine would be brief, I initiated conversation with “Interesting hat,”
    referring to his cap. Its embroidered endorsement for the wind farm very much reminded me of the button pinned to the deceased. Seemingly relieved to have the stillness interrupted, Blaine apologized profusely for his wife’s lack of manners, excusing her actions with an explanation that led naturally to the questions I had come here hoping to ask. “Lucy is distraught over the death of Nick Dow. She hasn’t been acting at all normal—beside herself with grief, I suppose.”
    “They were friends?” I hoped for more.
    “Well, sort of.” Blaine lifted the starboard oar into the boat and tucked the glistening blade under the stern seat.
    One short backstroke with the other oar landed the dinghy gently against the side of Fairways . Blaine grabbed the edge of the three-runged ladder that hung over the rail and waited for me to climb aboard the large vessel. I did not budge. I sat waiting for more of an explanation. It eventually came. “Not friends, exactly,” he continued. “Lucy had taken Nick on as a project, like a community service. She accompanied him to A.A. meetings, delivered meals to his place, took calls from him at all hours . . . I suppose she’s feeling somewhat responsible for his death, since he was clearly fully intoxicated the evening of his accident.” Blaine motioned toward the ladder with his free hand and said, “After you.”

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    L i n d a G r e e n l a w
    One of my few assets was something innate that compelled others to open up to me. Wanting to hear more but not wanting to appear overly interested, I climbed over the rail and onto the deck of Fairways . Blaine followed. As he secured the dinghy to a cleat, I said, “That town meeting was my first look at Green Haven. I didn’t have a clue what was going on.”
    “You’re fortunate to not know. It was appalling, wasn’t it?” Blaine’s soft voice was lower than what I assumed was normal for him as he recounted the same sequence of events that I had heard from Audrey in the café earlier this morning and had witnessed myself last night. Of course, Blaine’s take on the episode was centered on Dow’s misbehavior and how his actions had riled the town to the breaking point. He did not make any mention of the contentious wind-power proposal and how this had disturbed an otherwise complacent community. So I supposed his recounting was, in part, a way of dismissing any responsibility he might otherwise have to face for the meeting’s