The Groaning Board

THE
AFTERMATH, SITTING LIKE A tableau
on the deck of the Bread Pudding, with the sky exploding overhead and
glasses clinking and conversation going on on other boats. All as if nothing
untoward had happened. No corpse in the water below. No death for Micklynn.
    Wetzon took inventory.
    A. T. Barron, her face immobile, eyes
blank, no tears in evidence: “What are we going to do?” she said for the third
time, her lipless mouth barely moving.
    Ellen Moore, the ingenue, in her
cut-down, extra-short jeans and tight white tee shirt: her breast was stained
with water and God knew what else, where she’d clung to Mick-lynn’s body. She
sat cross-legged on the deck, sobbing. Crocodile tears?
    Hem Barron, who’d made several
whispered calls on his cell phone, now nervously picked lint from his
immaculate white ducks. He kept sneaking looks at Ellen. Or was it her bosom?
    Minnie Wu Barron, her hair hanging
limp, wore a fresh pair of purple drawstring pants and a sleeveless blouse. She
was frowning, her thick-lidded eyes half closed. “Ten shows are in the can. If we’re
renewed, A.T. will do it.” She seemed singularly unaffected by Micklynn’s
death.
    A.T. stared at Min. “Are you out of
your mind? I don’t care about the show. What about the business?”
    “You can run the business,” Hem said.
“There’s nothing to it. The recipes are set; the products are already being
manufactured. Nothing’s standing in our way for an IPO now.“
    “Oh, Hem, shut up,” Laura Lee
snapped, not even trying to hide her exasperation. “The woman has just died,
for god-sakes.”
    “Go for it, Laura Lee,” Wetzon said.
    “Oh, please!” Smith was barefoot,
having been told that one didn’t hit the deck with heels. “Micklynn was a drunk
and she probably toppled over the side and drowned.“
    “Smith,” Wetzon said, “you have no
charity.”
    “I am not a charitable institution,”
was her tart response. Near the entrance to the pier Wetzon could see the
lights and the men moving around and around, with Micklynn’s body probably
still lying on the ground. And in the sky above them, the shower of the
fireworks continued, hearts and weeping willows in amber. Happy Fourth of July.
    “Micklynn’s been depressed,” A.T.
said. “She’s been drinking steadily all day.”
    “Every day,” Smith said.
    “Good thing the cooking was
finished,” Minnie said. “Oh, great.” Hem smacked his head. “We’ve got all that
food sitting in the galley. Let’s get cracking. A.T.?”
    “We probably shouldn’t touch
anything,” Wetzon offered.
    “Why the hell not?” Hem got up,
heading for the galley. “Come on, Ellen. Let’s get some food out here. I’m
starved.“
    “Because it’s all related to her
death,” Wetzon said. “Was anyone else working on the food with her?”
    “I tried to help but she wouldn’t let
me,” Ellen said. “Then I saw her throwing up over the side this afternoon. I
went to get her some club soda.” A look of anguish passed over her face. “Todd
was on the dock. I stopped to talk to him. Micklynn wouldn’t let him on the
boat.”
    “Why? What did she have against him?”
Wetzon asked. “Micklynn had arbitrary fixations,” A.T. said. “Todd happened to
be one of them.”
    “Is Todd here now?” Wetzon hadn’t
seen him. Or had she? Unless... unless... Could he have been the tall, thin
woman with the long hair she’d seen leaving the area when she and Smith
arrived? At a distance could she have mistaken Todd for a woman?
    “He left just before Xenia screamed. Didn’t you see him?” Wetzon shook her head. “No. Did you, Smith?”
    “No. Is he the one with the long hair
and the earrings that I saw you with at Hem’s party?”
    “Yes,” Ellen said. “Micklynn was gone
when I came back with the club soda, so I figured she was feeling better.”
    “You didn’t check?”
    “No. It’s all my fault.” She started
to cry again.
    “Found it!” Hem held up a bottle of
Chivas. “Anyone want something stronger than wine?” He found some plastic cups
and filled one after another with a finger of scotch, passing each on without
asking if anyone wanted any.
    Laura Lee said, “I’m starving. I hope
this won’t take long”
    “It won’t.” Silvestri, followed by a
red-haired woman in khakis and a chocolate linen jacket, came onto the deck.
“I’m Lieutenant Silvestri, this is Detective Mulcahy. We’ll want to talk to
each of you separately for a short time, then we’ll