Castle Cay Page 6

  DANIEL PATRICK O’HARA

  Julie stood for a moment, then turned and hurried away, fumbling in her bag for the rental car key. Still dabbing at her eyes, she climbed into the Malibu and left the cemetery.

  It was difficult to drive, hard to collect herself. Thankfully, she remembered a restaurant she’d passed on her way there. She pulled into a slot in front of it, relieved to see that the lunch crowd had apparently gone.

  Julie went directly to the restroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She reapplied her lipstick and patted a bit of makeup under her eyes. Feeling more presentable, she bought a large coffee and a USA Today paper, and looked around for a booth with some privacy.

  Her intention had been to distract herself with the newspaper, but the past had hold of her heart and it wouldn’t let go. The printed page blurred before Julie’s eyes as she recalled her zombie-like mental state after Dan’s death. It had persisted for months and very nearly destroyed her.

  At the inquest, the Bahamian coroner had said:

  “Daniel O’Hara accidentally drowned after suffering a head injury consistent with a fall, thought to have been caused by a slip on the guano-covered rocks in the cave he was exploring.”

  •

  But Julie knew different. She didn’t get to Dan fast enough to save him. The guilt she felt made it impossible to face people, to accept sympathy. She had run away.

  Money had not been an issue. She was the beneficiary on Dan’s life insurance policy and it was a sizeable amount. When fall came, she had enrolled at the University of Florida in Gainesville.

  Julie hadn’t made new friends; she didn’t want any. Because of Marc Solomon’s unwavering loyalty and persistence, Julie had maintained a half-hearted relationship with him, mostly by phone.

  But fate had a nasty surprise for her friend, Marc. The summer after Julie had moved to Florida, Marc’s mother died of a heart attack on Castle Cay. Marc, who was alone with her when it happened, was devastated. It was John Drum, Julie recalled, who coordinated efforts with Milton Solomon to have Miriam’s body taken back to Boston, not Marc.

  Deep in denial, Marc had refused to attend the funeral. Julie had understood. She knew that Marc had long felt rejected by both his father and his brother. For him, losing Miriam was like losing his entire family. He had stayed, instead, on Castle Cay. For three weeks, Marc painted through his grief. And when he left there, it was forever.

  Julie took another sip of her coffee, thinking back to 1994.

  In the months that followed Miriam’s death, Marc had returned to school in Brookline, more passionate about his art than ever. For Julie, however, the time had dragged by…interminable, unbearable. She could see little reason to continue on…with anything.

  During a break in their schedules, Marc had come to Gainesville to visit her. Julie had been withdrawn, quiet. In truth, there was only one thing she longed to say to him…Goodbye.

  Marc had guessed what she was thinking:

  “Suicide is selfish, Julie! Would Dan have ever done something like that? Would he have left you like that?”

  “No…but he’s gone.”

  “Well, I’m not!” said Marc, tears filling his eyes. “It would break my heart, Julie. Promise me, right now, that you won’t ever do that!”

  She couldn’t bear the frightened look on his face. She hugged him tightly to her. “It’s all right, Marc. I won’t. I promise.”

  “Solemn promise?”

  “Solemn Promise.”

  Julie stood and put a tip on the table, leaving her unfinished coffee and paper behind. She was ready for Marc’s wake now.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 22

  Skirting limo drivers and furtive smokers, Julie climbed the stairs of the stately Woodland Memorial Funeral Home. She found Marc’s room, the main salon. It was filled to capacity with roses and mourners.

  Pete and Joan were already there. They were standing with a small group, talking quietly. Julie signed the guest book, and nodded to them, indicating that she was going to see Marc. On her way to the casket through the center of the room, she noticed the Solomons were seated on the left, near the front. She would go there, afterward.

  It wasn’t as horrifying as Julie had feared. The lifeless body didn’t look like Marc. In truth, it wasn’t him. Marc was in God’s hands now. Julie closed her eyes and knelt beside the coffin. Tears welled, but quickly dissipated, as intense anger trumped grief. At that moment, Julie made her last and most solemn promise to her friend.

  I know you didn’t do this, Marc. I won’t let them say you did, my dear friend. Someone else did this…and I’m going to find them. I’m going to make them pay.

  Julie rose, and walked over to the family. Marc’s brother, Avram, rose to greet her. He was darkly handsome and taller than she’d remembered.

  “Avram, I’m so sorry about Marc.”

  “Julie. Thank you for coming all the way from Florida,” he said, holding her hand in both of his. “That was nice of you. It would have meant a lot to Marc.”

  Nice of me? Surely he knows how close we were? And he’s holding my hand in both of his, a politician’s grip.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, “I was just down to see them. Marc mentioned that he’d been talking with you recently?”

  “Yes…just some business matters…on the phone”.

  He hesitated and added the bit about the phone; the corners of his mouth are drawn down, too, a negative expression.

  “He looked well to me, Avram. How was he when you talked to him?”

  “He seemed fine, Julie.” He brushed some hair off his brow. “I guess that’s why this whole thing has been such a terrible blow.”

  He touched his forehead. He’s looking in my eyes, but not blinking. His face doesn’t match his words. For whatever reason, he’s lying.

  “Yes. An awful shock,” she said.

  It was obvious to Julie that Avram wasn’t grieving. Of course, there was a simple explanation for that. He and Marc didn’t get along. Avram could simply be happy to be rid of Marc. It would be natural for him to try to hide that in this circumstance.

  Is that what I’m picking up? But the handshake was an over-the-top attempt to appear genuine. I’d like to know if he visited Key West recently.

  She moved along the reception line to Marc’s father, who was seated next to Avram. The man was a shell of himself, no longer recognizable as the dominant person who had once been her employer.

  “Hello, Milton,” she said, shaking his hand. “You may not remember me; I’m Julie O’Hara. I used to work at the dealership. Marc was a dear friend. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Hello, Julie,” he said. “Of course I remember you. I went to your wedding.” A deep melancholy overtook him. “Marc never got married; he never had children.”

  Her heart went out to him in his grief, and she attempted to cheer him with a positive thought.

  “There are a lot of young people here. Are they nieces and nephews?”

  “They’re all Castles, not Solomons. Unless Avram gets married, there won’t be any more Solomons.”

  “Castles?”

  “Miriam’s family,” he said.

  “Oh. Yes, of course.”

  Julie didn’t recall Marc ever mentioning his mother’s maiden name. Suddenly, Castle Cay came to mind and she realized that it must have belonged to Miriam. She had always thought the name came from the towering ridge.

  Who owns it now? Did she leave it to Marc?

  Giving the old man’s hand a gentle squeeze, she said. “Take care, Milton.”

  Julie turned and crossed the room to join Pete and Joan. “Hi. Have either of you seen David Harris?”

  “I just met him, Julie. He’s over there,” said Pete, nodding to an area not far from them.

  It was easy to spot David with his collar-length light blond hair. He had the same slim build as Mark. As usual, he was dressed perfectly for the occasion. He was standing in a group with
Susan Dwyer, Marc’s agent and co-owner of the Sandpiper Gallery in Key West. Julie asked the Soldanos to excuse her and went over to see him.

  David saw her approaching. He turned and came toward her with his arms outstretched. His eyes were red, his face streaked with tears.

  “Oh, Julie, what am I going to do? How can I live without him?”

  She hugged him tightly, tears coming to her own eyes. “I’m so sorry, David. I don’t know what to say; I hate that he’s gone, too.”

  “I know it was hard for him to bear sometimes,” said David, “but he said he’d learned to live with it.”

  Julie knew he was speaking of Marc’s illness, AIDS, the specter of which threatened all the gay community, including David, himself. Nevertheless, as much empathy as she had for him, Julie remembered her promise to Marc.

  “I tried to call you several times, David.”

  “I’m sorry, Julie. I couldn’t handle all the press and the crank calls; I just stopped answering the phone. I didn’t even check the messages after awhile.”

  “You were together the night before?”

  “Yes, we had dinner with friends, Susan and Rolly. They left around ten-thirty.”

  “How was Marc that night?”

  “He was fine, just tired. After they went home, we said goodnight and he went to his room. You know we have our own rooms now.”

  Julie noticed that David had momentarily slipped into the present tense, as grieving people often do.

  “I never got up during the night,” he said. “I usually do, but we finished off a whole decanter of wine and I slept right through ‘til eight the next morning. That’s when I went in. That’s when I saw him.” He closed his eyes. “Oh God, I can’t bear this!”

  He normally gets up during the night, but not that night?

  Julie hugged him and silently asked herself if he was being more dramatic than usual. She held him at arms length and looked in his eyes. “David. Do you know what the Florida papers are saying? What they’ve been implying?”

  “Of course I do!” he said. “All the questions they asked me? But, Julie, I had nothing to do with it!” He began to cry again. “Oh, how could Marc do this?”

  “David. Maybe he didn’t do it. You said you were sleeping very soundly. Does anyone else have a key to the house?”

  “No. No one,” he said, blowing his nose, a picture of misery. “Just Marc and I.” Julie knew how hard it was to fake sadness. She decided that David’s demeanor was wholly consistent with the sensitive, emotional person she knew him to be.

  “For now, we may just have to accept that he’s gone and leave the rest for later,” she said. “I’m concerned about you, though, David; about all this notoriety. I have a friend who’s worked with an attorney, Jake Goldman. His office is in the Keys. He said he’d represent you if you need him. Do you know who he is?”

  “I think I’ve heard of him,” said David, unconsciously raising his hand, biting a nail. “I’ve been wondering if I should get a lawyer. Would it look bad, do you think?”

  Julie could see that David was anxious, but she also noted that he displayed no signs of manipulation or deception.

  It was a relief.

  “Forget about that,” she said, concerned for him. “It’s a good idea for you to protect yourself, even if it’s just to put someone between you and the press.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Another thing, David; I was thinking that, if you don’t mind, I’d like to come to Key West to stay with you for a little while. Would that be all right?”

  “Oh, heavens, yes…thank you, Julie. I’m so glad you’re coming!”

  He looked as lost as an abandoned puppy. Julie squeezed his hand, and smiled. “I’ll see you soon,” she said and kissed his cheek before leaving him.

  •

  Pete and Joan were talking to some friends from Solomon Chrysler when she returned.

  “Julie. It’s so nice to see you after all this time. Sorry it has to be for this,” said a petite, gray haired woman.

  It took Julie a moment to recognize Laura Bennett. “Hello, Laura,” she said. “Yes. It’s horrible.”

  “Seems like we just see each other at funerals,” said Laura. Realizing her faux pas at once, she put her hand to her mouth and said, “Oh, my. I’m so sorry, Julie! I didn’t mean to bring up the past.”

  “It’s okay, Laura,” she said, taking her hand. “It was a long time ago.”

  After a little more visiting, they said their goodbyes and left for their individual cars. As Julie climbed into the Malibu and pulled in behind Pete and Joan to head back to their house, she reflected on several things she had learned at the wake. But she was bone-weary, and there was still a burial tomorrow. So, for tonight, she decided, there would be no more questions.

  •

  Everyone was in a somber mood the next morning. Even Paul and Pete, Jr. were quiet. Julie tried to talk to them a bit about school, but she mostly got one-word answers. Ah, well, she thought, I’m actually a stranger to these boys.

  Julie drove Pete and Joan in the Malibu, and they joined the cortege at the funeral home. As they slowly moved out in the long line of cars, she regretted that she hadn’t spoken with any of the Castle family.

  “I never met any of Miriam’s side of the family, the Castles. Do you know them? Did either of you speak to any of them?”

  “Yeah,” said Pete. “Miriam’s younger brother, Matt, was there.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Julie, who remembered Marc speaking of his ‘Uncle Matt’.

  “I talked to him,” said Pete. “He was all broken up; they were close. He said Marc had called him and they’d talked just recently. Matt’s partner, Tom Connor, was with him, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. Tom’s a real nice guy; never married, so no kids. He was like an uncle to Marc, too.”

  “Yes, that’s right. He was at Marc’s Newbury Street show,” said Joan, nodding. “I saw Matt’s wife at the wake, Julie. She was there with the older children. We said ‘hi’, but we didn’t actually talk.”

  Those were the nieces and nephews Milton Solomon referred to, thought Julie.

  Finally, they arrived at the gravesite and took their places around the casket. The service was more difficult to bear than Julie had expected. She tried hard not to cry, but, in the end, she couldn’t help herself.

  Only two other people were crying unabashedly, she noticed. One was David Harris. Julie didn’t recognize the other person, an older man. The same man had appeared stricken at the wake the day before. She recalled that the Castle family had seemed to surround him. Now that she thought about it…they seemed to be comforting him.

  He looks a lot like Marc.

  She glanced from the man to Pete, a questioning look on her face.

  Pete leaned over and whispered. “Tom Connor, Matt Castle’s law partner.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 23

  Joan had prepared a light and easy Italian dinner, and now the three of them sat in the living room before the fireplace, finishing their wine while the boys played a video game in the den.

  Julie was mulling over Joan’s earlier account of her job as payroll manager at Solomon Chrysler, especially Avram’s nasty, unwarranted rebuke to a perfectly sensible suggestion. Not that Pete didn’t deserve it, but the timing of his promotion to GM in Lynn was bothering Julie, because it had also removed Joan from the payroll department.

  “Joannie, I was wondering…while you were there, was anything else going on at the Boston dealership that struck you as odd?”

  “No, not that I can think of,” said Joan. “Avram was just so arrogant, you know?”

  “I can think of somethin’,” said Pete. “Milton Solomon was a sharp car dealer. He was a negotiator. He came up from sales, you know? Avram, on the other hand, doesn’t know his ass from his elbow when it comes to this business. He’s a friggin’ bean counter, and a lousy one!”

  “Pete, quiet down…the boys will hear you,
” said Joan.

  “Okay. Sorry,” said Pete, lowering his voice. “It just burns me that Avram makes all the decisions.”

  “What happened to Milton Solomon?” asked Julie.

  “He comes in every once in a while, but Avram’s in charge. The ol’ man thinks Avram’s a genius. What a joke! Avram does the stupidest things I’ve ever seen! I don’t know about the other two stores, but there’s barely any profit in mine because of that…jerk. Our costs for advertising, uniforms, wiper rags, floor mats, parts, paint…you name it…is sky high! And I can’t do a thing about it; it’s all handled by Avram in the Boston store.”

  “How long has that been going on?”

  “For years,” said Pete. “Not that he isn’t rollin’ in dough. And he likes to throw it around, too. Women, gamblin’, a goddamn Jaguar! That’s right. He doesn’t even drive one of our cars.

  “He isn’t foolin’ me with all his society connections and charity shit. We’ve expanded from one store to three, and I can’t see where the money came from to do it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were washin’ more than cars.”

  Pete leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Joan unconsciously rubbed the back of her neck.

  Julie knew at once that they’d had this conversation many times. Pete was clearly conflicted about his job, and Joan was stressed to the max, afraid he might quit.

  “Well, I’ve got some thoughts on all of this that I want to look into,” said Julie. “As much as I appreciate the hospitality, you guys, it’s probably best if I leave here in the morning and spend tomorrow night in Boston. I’m planning to call Conner, Castle & Mann and make an appointment to see Marc’s uncle. And, believe me, I’ve got some questions for Avram, too, before I leave.”

  •

  Julie arose early the next morning, so she could say goodbye to the boys and Pete before they left for the day. She had expected to have breakfast with them. Wrong. It was strictly grab n’ go in the Soldano household on weekdays.