Sidney Sheldon's the Tides of Memory Page 3
“For God’s sake, Billy, of course I give a damn. Do you think I’d be so angry if I didn’t care about you? I thought . . . I thought I’d lost you.”
And to Toni Gilletti’s own surprise, she burst into tears.
Billy Hamlin put his arms around her. “Hey,” he whispered gently. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry I scared you. Please don’t cry.”
“Toniiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Graydon Hammond’s wails were getting louder. Reluctantly, Toni extricated herself from Billy’s embrace.
“What is it Graydon, honey?” she said more gently. “What’s the matter?”
The little boy looked up at her, his bottom lip quivering.
“It’s Nicholas.”
“Nicholas? Nicholas Handemeyer?”
Graydon nodded.
“What about him?”
Graydon Hammond burst into tears.
“He swam away. When you were watching Billy. He swam away and he never came back.”
Chapter Three
It was a quarter of a mile back to Camp Williams from the beach, along a sandy path half overgrown with brambles. Toni’s legs were scratched raw as she ran, but she was oblivious to the pain and deaf to the plaintive cries of the children struggling to keep up.
“My God. What happened to you? Forget your clothes?”
Mary Lou Parker, pristine in her preppy uniform of khaki shorts, white-collared shirt, and dock siders, looked Toni up and down with distaste. That bikini was really too much, especially with kids around. Mary Lou couldn’t think what Charles Braemar Murphy saw in Toni Gilletti.
“Have you seen Nicholas? Nicholas Handemeyer?” Toni gasped. Belatedly Mary Louise clocked her distress and the muted sobbing of the children huddled behind her. They looked like they’d been to war. “Did he come back here?”
“No.”
Toni let out a wail.
“ I mean, I don’t know.” Mary Lou backtracked. “I haven’t seen him, but let me go ask the others.”
One by one the other counselors and Camp Williams faculty emerged from their various cabins. No one had seen Nicholas Handemeyer. But Toni shouldn’t panic.
He was bound to have gotten out of the water.
Little boys ran off sometimes.
He couldn’t be far.
A group of the boys, including Don Choate, who was a varsity swim star, set off for the beach to help the rescue efforts. Billy Hamlin and Charles Braemar Murphy had stayed to help the coast guard, while Toni took the children back to camp.
Toni stood uselessly, watching them go. Not sure what else to do, she escorted the other boys back to camp, got them changed into dry clothes, and prepared some food for them. Mary Lou Parker arrived to find Toni mindlessly chopping cucumbers and staring at the wall.
“I’ll take over here,” said Mary Lou kindly. She didn’t like Toni Gilletti, but everyone knew how fond Toni was of little Nicholas. You could see the misery in her eyes. “You go and clean up. I bet you he’ll be back by the time you’ve had a shower. He’s probably getting hungry by now.”
Walking back to her cabin, Toni tried to make herself believe what Mary Lou had said.
He’ll be back any minute.
He’s probably getting hungry.
Other thoughts, horrific thoughts, hovered ominously on the edge of her consciousness, clamoring to be let in. But Toni pushed them aside. First the kids in the rowboat. Then Billy. Now Nicholas. The afternoon had been one lone roller coaster of terror and relief. But it would end happily. It had to.
When Toni saw Nicholas she would hug him and kiss him and tell him how sorry she was for allowing herself to be distracted by Billy. Tomorrow they would catch crabs together and play possum. They would build entire sand cities. Toni would not be hungover, or tired, or thinking about her love life. She would be with the children, with Nicholas, one hundred percent present.
She stopped at the door to her cabin.
The boys emerged from the beach path one by one. They walked with their heads down, in silence. Toni watched them, numb, aware of nothing but the distant lapping of the waves ringing in her ears.
In later years, she would dream about their faces:
Charles Braemar Murphy, her lover up until that day, ashen white and ghostly.
Don Choate, his lips set tight, fists clenched as he walked.
And at the rear, Billy Hamlin, his eyes swollen from crying.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh went the tide.
The boy’s corpse hung limp in Billy’s arms.
Chapter Four
“So let’s get this straight. When did you first notice—first notice—that Nicholas was missing?”
Mrs. Martha Kramer cast her beady eyes from Toni Gilletti to Billy Hamlin. Both young people looked terrified. As well they might.
Martha Kramer had been running Camp Williams for twenty-two years now, first with her husband, John, and for the last nine years as a widow. Never, in all that time, had there been a single serious accident involving any of the boys in her care. Never. But now tragedy had struck. And it had struck on the watch of the carpenter’s son and the electronics’ millionaire’s daughter.
At only five feet tall, with perfectly coiffed gray hair and a pair of trademark pince-nez spectacles permanently suspended on a chain around her neck, Mrs. Kramer was considered a Kennebunkport institution. But her diminutive stature and soft-spoken, grandmotherly manner led many people to underestimate both her intellect and her business acumen. Camp Williams might sell itself as an old-fashioned, family-run retreat. But since her husband’s death, Mrs. Kramer had doubled the prices and started strictly vetting the boys she admitted, ensuring her reputation as the owner of the elite summer camp on the East Coast. Teenage labor was cheap, overheads were low. She’d even gotten a great deal on the carpentry for last year’s refurbishment project. Put simply, Mrs. Martha Kramer had been sitting on a cash cow. And these two irresponsible children had just slaughtered it.
“I told you, Mrs. Kramer. I had a concussion. Toni was looking after me. We thought all the kids were right there on the beach, until Graydon came over and said Nicholas was gone.”
Billy Hamlin, the boy, was doing all of the talking. The girl, Gilletti, normally a chatterbox of the worst order, was curiously mute. Perhaps it was shock? Or perhaps she was smart enough not to say anything that might incriminate her later. Something about her eyes made Mrs. Kramer uneasy. She’s thinking, the little minx. Weighing up her options.
Both Toni and Billy had gotten dressed since the beach, he in bell-bottoms and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, she in a floor-length skirt with tassels on the bottom and a turtleneck sweater that covered every inch of her skin. Again, the demure clothes were uncharacteristic of Walter Gilletti’s wayward daughter. Martha Kramer’s eyes narrowed still further.
“And you raised the alarm right away?”
“Of course. The coast guard was already at the scene. I stayed to help them, and Toni came back here, just in case . . .”
Billy Hamlin let the sentence trail off. He looked at Toni, who looked at the floor.
“Miss Gilletti? Have you nothing to say?”
“If I had something to say, I’d have said it, okay?” Roused from her stupor like a sun-drunk rattlesnake, Toni suddenly lashed out. “Billy’s told you what happened. Why do you keep hammering at us?”
“Hammering at you?” Martha Kramer drew herself up to her full five feet and glowered at the spoiled teenager in front of her. “Miss Gilletti, a child is dead. Drowned. Do you understand? The police are on their way, as is the boy’s family. They are going to hammer at you until they know exactly what happened, how it happened, and who was responsible.”
“No one was responsible,” Toni said quietly. “It was an accident.”
Mrs. Kramer raised an eyebrow. “Was it? Well, let us hope the police agree with you.”
Outside Mrs. Kramer’s office, Toni finally gave way to tears, collapsing into Billy’s arms.
“Tell me it’s a dream. A nightmare.
Tell me I’m going to wake up!”
“Shhh.” Billy hugged her. It felt so good to hold her. There was no more “poor Charles” now. He and Toni were in this together. “It’s like you said. It was an accident.”
“But poor Nicholas!” Toni wailed. “I can’t stop thinking how frightened he must have been. How desperate for me to hear him, to save him.”
“Don’t, Toni. Don’t torture yourself.”
“I mean, he must have called out for me, mustn’t he? He must have screamed for help. Oh God, I can’t bear it! What have I done? I should never have left him alone.”
Billy pushed the image of Nicholas Handemeyer’s corpse from his mind. The little boy was floating facedown when Billy found him, in a rocky cove only yards from the shore. Billy had tried the kiss of life and the paramedics had spent twenty straight minutes on the sand doing chest compressions, trying anything to revive him. It was all useless.
Toni said, “They’ll send me to prison for sure, you know.”
“Of course they won’t,” Billy said robustly.
“They will.” Toni wrung her hands. “I already have two counts on my record.”
“You do?”
“One for fraud and one for possession,” Toni explained. “Oh my God, what if they drug-test me? They will, won’t they? I still have all that coke in my system. And grass. Oh, Billy! They’ll lock me up and throw away the key!”
“Calm down. No one’s going to lock you up. I won’t let them.”
Billy was enjoying being the strong one. It felt good having Toni Gilletti lean on him. Need him. This was the way it was supposed to be. The two of them against the world. Charles Braemar Murphy wasn’t man enough for Toni. But he, Billy Hamlin, would step up to the plate.
As he stood stroking Toni’s hair, two Maine police squad cars pulled into the graveled area in front of the Camp Williams lobby. Three men emerged, two in uniform, one in a dark suit and wing-collared shirt. Mrs. Kramer bustled out to greet them, a grim look on her wizened, old woman’s face.
Pulling Toni closer, Billy caught a waft of her scent. A surge of animal longing pulsed through him. He whispered in her ear.
“They’re going to separate us. Compare our stories. Just stick to what you told Mrs. Kramer. It was an accident. And whatever you do, don’t mention drugs.”
Toni nodded miserably. She felt as if she might throw up at any minute. Mrs. Kramer was already leading the police toward them.
“Don’t worry,” said Billy. “You’re going to be just fine. Trust me.”
A couple of hours later, once the little boys were safely in their beds, the rest of the Camp Williams counselors sat around a large cafeteria-style table, comforting one another. They’d all seen the ambulance arrive and drive away with little Nicholas Handemeyer’s body. Some of the girls cried.
Mary Lou Parker asked, “What do you think will happen to Toni and Billy?”
Don Choate pushed a cold hot dog around his plate. “Nothing’ll happen. It was an accident.”
For a few moments they were all silent. Then someone said what everyone was thinking.
“Even so. One of them should have seen Nicholas leave the group. Someone should’ve been watching.”
“It was an accident!” Don shouted, slamming his fist down on the table so hard it shook. “It could have happened to any one of us.”
Don had helped carry Nicholas’s body back to camp. He was still only twenty, and obviously traumatized by the whole episode.
“We shouldn’t be throwing accusations around.”
“I’m not throwing accusations. I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t! Don’t say anything! What the hell do you know, man? You weren’t there.”
Sensing that the boys were about to come to blows, Charles Braemar Murphy put an arm around his friend and led him away. “It’s all right, Don. Come on. Let’s get some air.”
Once they’d gone, Anne Fielding, one of the quieter Wellesley girls, spoke up.
“It’s not all right, though, is it. The boy’s dead. He couldn’t have drowned in such shallow, calm water unless someone took their eye off the ball. For a long, long time.”
“I can see how Billy might have been distracted,” said one of the boys. “That bikini Toni was wearing was kind of an invitation.”
“This is Toni Gilletti we’re talking about,” Mary Lou Parker drawled bitchily. “You don’t need an invitation. It’s first come, first served.”
Everybody laughed.
“Shhh.” Anne Fielding interjected, her face pressed to the window. “They’re coming out.”
The door to the administrative offices opened. Inside, Toni and Billy had both spent the last three hours straight being interviewed by the police. Toni emerged first, leaning on one of the uniformed officers for support. Even from this distance, you could see how smitten the young cop was with her, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist and smiling comfortingly as he escorted her back to her cabin.
“Well, she doesn’t look like she’s in too much trouble,” Mary Lou Parker said caustically.
Moments later, Billy Hamlin came through the same door. Flanked by the plain-clothed detective on one side and the uniformed patrol officer on the other, he had his head down as he was marched toward the squad car. As he climbed into the backseat, the group in the cafeteria caught a glint of silver behind his back.
“They’ve cuffed him!” Anne Fielding gasped. “Oh my goodness. Do you think he’s under arrest?”
“Well, I don’t think they’re taking him to an S-and-M club,” one of the boys said drily.
The truth was, none of the boys at Camp Williams much liked Billy Hamlin. The carpenter’s son was too popular with the ladies for their liking. As for the girls, although they humored him because of his charm and good looks, they too regarded Billy as an outsider, a curiosity to be played with and enjoyed, but hardly an equal. For those with a keen ear for such things, the sound of ranks closing in the Camp Williams dining hall was deafening.
“What do you think you’re doing, gawking at the window like a gaggle of geese?” Martha Kramer’s authoritative voice rang out through the room like an air-raid siren. Everybody jumped.
“If I’m not mistaken, you all have to be at work tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kramer.”
“And it’s vital that camp routines continue as normal, for the other children’s sake.”
Only Mary Lou Parker dared to pipe up. “But, Mrs. Kramer, Billy Hamlin—”
“—won’t be helped by idle gossip.” The old woman cut her off. “I hope I don’t need to remind you that a child has died. This isn’t entertainment, Miss Parker. This is tragedy. Now I want you all back in your cabins. Lights out at eleven.”
Chapter Five
Toni Gilletti was surrounded by water. Seawater. It was pitch-black and cold, and her saturated clothes stuck cold and clammy to her skin, like seaweed. Gradually it dawned on her. I’m in a cave. The water was rising, slowly but surely, each wave higher than the last.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Blind, clawing at the walls, Toni groped desperately for an opening, a way out. How had she gotten in here in the first place? Had someone brought her here, to punish her? She couldn’t remember. But if there was a way in, there must be a way out. She had to find it, fast.
The water was at her shoulders.
Her ears.
HELP!
Toni’s scream echoed off the cave walls. Unheard. Unanswered.
Water was in her mouth, salty, choking. It flowed down into her lungs, robbing her of air, drowning her slowly. She couldn’t breathe!
Please, somebody help me!
“Miss Toni. Miss Toni! It’s all right.”
Toni sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Wild-eyed and terrified . . . her nightdress soaked with sweat. “Carmen?”
The Gillettis’ Spanish housekeeper nodded reassuringly. “Sí, Miss Toni. It’s okay. Only you are dreaming. It’s okay.”
She wasn’t drowning.
She wasn’t at Camp Williams.
She was in her own bedroom, at home in New Jersey.
But Carmen was wrong. Everything was not okay.
Billy Hamlin was going to be tried for murder.
The whole thing was ridiculous. So ridiculous that Toni had confidently expected to hear with each passing day that the charges were being dropped, that it was all a huge, horrible mistake. She’d had no chance to speak to Billy since his arrest, but she’d pieced together what had happened through the Camp Williams grapevine. Evidently Billy had told the cops that he had been in charge of Nicholas and the other boys when the accident happened, not Toni. He’d also admitted to having drugs in his system, presumably to deflect the heat from Toni, who he knew had prior convictions. That must have been what he meant when he told her he “wouldn’t let” the police throw the book at her.
At first Toni was so relieved, she felt overwhelmed with gratitude. No one had ever stuck their neck out like that for her before, certainly not a boy. Boys all wanted to sleep with her, but none of them actually cared, not like Billy did. But it wasn’t long before the romantic gesture turned hideously sour. The Handemeyer family, furious over the drug allegations and in desperate need of someone to blame for their son’s death, insisted on pressing charges. Nicholas’s father was a senator and one of the richest men in Maine. Senator Handemeyer wanted Billy Hamlin’s head on a pike, and he was powerful enough to force the D.A.’s hand. Soon Billy’s little white lie to protect Toni had become national news, and Toni’s relief turned to constant, gut-wrenching fear.
Parents all over America identified with the Handemeyer family’s grief. To lose a child was always horrific. But to lose an only son, at seven years old, and in such appalling circumstances; it was more than people could bear. And what did it say about modern society that a drug-addled teenager would be left in charge of a group of vulnerable children?