Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Spring, 2006

Deputy Tomkins' directions were perfect, and brought Ted to a handsome wood-shingled house at the end of a dirt road on the largely empty East side of the lake. Most of it was set aside many years ago as state park, and the few houses dotting the mountainside antedated the state's purchase.

An older woman in a dress was hanging wash on a line. She smiled at him when he got out of his car.

"I'm Barbara Cress. You must be Mr. Jellinek. My husband is out on the deck. Just let me finish these last few items, and I'll take you in and get you lunch."

"Thank you, but I really didn't want to put you to any trouble."

"No trouble at all. You know, we have a dryer, but I always like the way clothes smell when they have been on the line. Here we go, please come in." She let him in through the door. They walked through a family room dominated by an impressive array of mounted fish, mostly pike.

"Someone here is a very good fisherman."

"That's Pete. He's very proud of his catch over the years." They walked through sliding glass doors onto a deck that overlooked the lake. Pete Cress was sitting at the patio table sorting through a tackle box.

"Dear, Mr. Jellinek is here." Pete looked up. He had a heavily lined face and white hair, but Ted saw a sharpness in his eyes when he stood up. His handshake was firm, and his hands rough and calloused.

"Have a seat, Mr. Jellinek."

"Please, call me Ted."

"Then call me Pete."

"I'll get lunch," said Mrs. Cress, heading back inside. Ted sat down, and Pete pushed the tackle box aside.

"So what magazine are you from? Some girl from People came by here once. And an assistant producer from 60 Minutes. Reporters from the weekly in Mohawk Falls and the daily in Albany."

"I work for a financial publication but I'm actually here on behalf of Penelope Tolford. I'm writing an authorized biography of Maxwell Tolford, so I'm taking a fresh look into William Zelnick's death. I've spoken to a number of people who were there then, some of whom are also my friends, and it would help me if you could shed any light on the accident."

Pete was leaning on the table throughout Ted's short speech, looking intently at him. When Ted had finished, he sat back in his chair, but kept looking at him.

"Jellinek, right? I remember you. You were there that evening. You worked at Twelve Pines. You were tooling around in Maxwell Tolford's car with your girlfriend."

"You have a good memory."

"When I retired I took the records of the case with me, and I've pored over them so many times I have every name memorized. You and I met that night, briefly, in fact. You know, Ted, most reporters come around here looking for evidence of a cover up. They believe William Zelnick died because of gross negligence, or he was on drugs, or you were all on drugs, and Tolford money covered it up. But that's not why you're here is it?"

Ted was saved from immediately answering by the arrival of Mrs. Cress, carrying a tray with two plates of chicken salad sandwiches, pickles, and tall glasses of ice tea.

"This looks delicious," said Ted. "Thank you. By the way, Deputy Tomkins highly recommended your chicken salad."

"Ohh, Norm. He's always been such a nice boy. Are you two warm enough out here? Springs here are cool. Pete, I'm going to the mall with Myra. We'll be back before dinner."

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"You're from the family, and you're here right after Maxwell Tolford's death. You're different."

"I—we—just want to find out what happened," said Ted, feeling his control of the interview slipping away.

"Uh-huh. Who've you spoken with?"

"Oh, ah, well, the Tolford girls of course. Some of the other employees. William's girlfriend."

"Yeah, Denise Reddy. She left before I could get to her, and by the time we found her the case was labeled accidental death and closed. I wish I could've spoken with her. By the way, I found out second-hand that she was quite a character. 'Punk' as they say—torn clothes and so on. Was William like that?"

"No. More a would-be hippie, I’d say, if I had to classify him."

"Because his tee-shirt was torn. It looked almost intentional—I don't think that the fall could've accounted for it. So I wondered if he wore deliberately torn clothing."

Ted shook his head. "He wasn't a fashion plate, but he didn't dress like that."

Pete shrugged. "Another mystery. And you know what else I never figured out? That phone call that Penelope Tolford received that sent you chasing those guests in Mohawk Falls. You know, Ted, for 20 years I wanted you in that chair to ask you: Did you make that call yourself just to go joyriding in Maxwell Tolford's Land Rover with your girlfriend?"

Ted laughed. "Sorry you had to wait so long. You could've called me; I'm listed. But no. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to you." Pete looked skeptical. "It's been 20 years. Why would I lie at this point?"

"Then tell me what happened."

"Is this going to be a two-way conversation, Pete?" Pete smiled, nodded, and took another bite of sandwich. So did Ted. "Your wife makes great chicken salad. Anyway, it was simple. We were all by the beach, like most nights. William was playing. Then Penelope came down."

"She wasn't down before?"

"No. She only came down occasionally. I thought she decided to join us, but she came over to me and told me some guests were stranded in Mohawk Falls, and could I pick them up. Apparently, they had called Mohawk Falls local police, who called the local village police, who called Twelve Pines."

"Maxwell Tolford was out of town, of course. Did you wonder why she didn't just go herself?"

"I figured she knew that I was dying to get behind the wheel of that new Land Rover. And there was likely a good tip in it. I guess she could've called Stanislaus, but he had gone home long ago, and she probably didn't want to bother him for something like that. So I grabbed Mary-Lou and we took off. When we got to where we were supposed to meet the guests, at some diner, they weren't there. And no one like that had been there all evening. We figured it was a joke or something, shrugged, and came back."

"Not directly back."

Ted smiled. "We may have made a detour or two."

"Uh-huh." He took another bite of sandwich. "Okay, let me tell you what I know about that phone call. We confirmed Penelope received a phone call from the local Village police. And we confirmed that they received a phone call from local police in Mohawk Falls. Mohawk Falls received a call from a man who said he was at a payphone outside Blue Star Diner off Main Street. He said his car had broken down, and could they get him in touch with Twelve Pines, get someone to pick up him and his wife. A quiet, elderly couple, who in fact never left their cabin all evening."

"It always seemed so involved to me," said Ted. "Why not call the local Village police directly? Or for that matter, why not call the resort? Just get the number from information."

"That's one clue. Here's another." Pete ticked them off on his fingers. "Didn't you ever notice, Ted, that the resort's phone number was listed on the cabin key tags? Anyone actually lost would've just called the resort directly. The whole thing was a crock. The next clue: Maybe it was someone whose voice Penelope would recognize, and that's why they needed to go through an intermediary. Two, in fact. Next clue, someone knew the resort roster. They knew the name of that couple, even knew they usually turned in early, so there was little danger Penelope or anyone could say, 'Oh no, it can't be the Prestons, we just saw them on the beach.'"

Ted reflected on this for a moment. "Penelope's theory was that it was some classmates of hers, pulling a practical joke while in Mohawk Falls."

"Who said anything about Mohawk Falls?"

"But the phone outside the diner…" Ted's voice trailed off. Pete looked like a cat who got the canary. "You know where the call came from," he said slowly. "And it wasn't Mohawk Falls."

"From the Hall payphone," said Pete. "It was traced, but unfortunately, not recorded because it didn't go through the emergency system. So where does that leave us? You guys locked it up at 6:00. Who knew where the key was hidden? You guys. Stanislaus. The Tolford sisters. Do you see why I thought you had faked the whole thing? And if it wasn't you, who was it? Who left during the evening while you were at the beach?"

Ted's head spun. He thought of the crowd of teens, coming and going. Where was everyone that night?

"I couldn't possibly remember."

"I could tell you the exact time the call was made."

"After 20 years, do you think I could remember the very minute person A left the group for the 10 minutes to make a call?"

"I suppose not." He looked disappointed. "Well, we could rule out William himself. Wasn't he playing all evening, until it rained?"

"William said he got dry singing so long. He had to have something—beer or bottled water—nearby. And that meant trips to the Hall bathroom. It could've been him. It could've been any of us."

Pete reasoned it out. "Unless we assume it was just sheer nastiness, and why should it be, someone did it for a reason. To get rid of you? Could they have reasoned so far that Penelope would give you the job because you wanted to drive the Land Rover? Did you talk about it a lot?" Ted shook his head.

"I mentioned it once or twice, just to Penelope. Maybe dropped a hint to Maxwell when he was around. But it wasn't like I was always talking about it."

"So it might be simplest to assume someone wanted to get rid of Penelope for an hour or so. Why?" Ted shook his head. "What about William himself? Did you discover anything about him?" Pete fixed him with a look.

"You're not going to get sick on me, are you? The girl from People turned green when I started in on the details."

"I'll be fine."

"Okay then." Pete finished his sandwich and took a long drink of iced tea. "William went over the cliff backwards. He landed on his back, on the sharp rocks right below the cliff. He probably died instantly. His head split open." Ted struggled to get the image out of his mind.

"Yes, the reports I read said 'backward.' But that doesn’t make any sense." Pete nodded.

"Exactly. Now, if he was standing on the edge and looking out, someone might've come behind and pushed him. Or he could've slipped. But why was he standing backwards at the edge? And there's more. He didn’t just tumble back to start with. The ground at the edge was soft and crumbly, made more so by the damp weather. It just fell out from under him. We found dirt from the cliff under his fingernails—he tried grabbing on his way down, but then he hit a rock outcropping and that's where he tumbled straight back."

"Why stand like that?"

"Good question. And I have one for you, Ted, and you're not stupid, so I know you've thought this one out. Why was he there at all?"

"Well, maybe you don't know about the cabins—" said Ted, uneasily.

"Oh for God's sake, son, the whole damn county knew about those cabins. So let's say William took a girl there. Even the cabin closest to the cliff edge was a good 100 feet away. And it was drizzling. They'd be inside if he was with a girl. What was he doing there?"

"I don't know. I've thought about that for years. There was no reason for him to be at the edge. Yes, he might have been with Denise. Could she have gotten him from the cabin to the cliff?"

"Think about it, Ted. He was probably 100 pounds heavier than she was—I managed to get a description of her. Do you think she could've manhandled him out of the cabin to the cliff edge? The autopsy showed no likely pre-fall injuries, no drugs in his system, and about two beer's worth of alcohol."

"We're talking about rocky ground with scrubby plants. In the rain. Not a romantic spot when there's a bed in an empty house. No reason to be on the bluff with a girl."

"Well that's as far as I got. An accident. That's what it was ruled. That's when the case was closed. And yet, what was he doing there, backwards, on the cliff edge in the rain?" Ted imagined William standing there, a damp shock of hair over an eye. What was his expression before he fell, before the ground gave way? Who was he looking at? Was he clutching his guitar? His guitar…

"Pete, he was never without his guitar. If he was with a girl, I'll lay any odds he had his guitar with him." Pete pursed his lips.

"Wait here a sec." He got up and went into the house. He came back a few minutes later with a worn manila envelope. He pulled out some pages. "Records of the case. Here we go…a list of personal effects. Yeah, one guitar, in a guitar case."

"But where was it?"

"Let's see…doesn't really say. But probably in the staff cabin. I'd have remembered if it was in the three empty cabins. We gave them a search, and we certainly didn't turn up a guitar. Anyway, it doesn't seem it was with him when he died."

If he was there with a girl, he'd have his guitar. When Denise saw him walking along the path, she didn't say if he had his guitar. If her memories could even be trusted. And if he had it, who would've carried it back after his death to the staff cabin? Something else that didn't make sense.

Denise had also seen Matthew following later.

"What did you make of Matthew? He found William's body."

"I thought you'd get to that. You know what Matthew told us? That he had a 'bad feeling' about William getting lost and hurt, in the dark, in the rain. It seemed so stupid, but we couldn't shake him. He had perfect opportunity—"

"—but no motive and no sign of a fight," finished Ted.

"Unless you could provide a motive?" suggested Pete.

Ted shook his head. "Not at all. I mean, they weren’t best friends, but there certainly no motive I could ever see."

"Matthew was a very strong guy, an athlete in perfect condition. But even he couldn’t have wrestled William over the edge without any sign of injury. So we're left with someone who somehow got William to a place no one should be, and someone, for some reason, really wanted to get Penelope off the property that night." He sighed. "You filled in some gaps for me, but I'm still lost on this one."

"Pete," said Ted after a moment. "You can throw me out of here, but I have to ask. Did someone tell you to stop any investigation?" He braced himself for an outburst, but Pete only smiled sadly.

"No. We simply didn't have anything to justify pursuing it, nothing more than a few loose ends, and we needed more than that to charge a local kid for the death of a New Yorker. It was decided he wandered off the path after having a couple of beers, end of story. And that was that. Very quietly I asked a few questions, did a little snooping later on, but nothing came up, and I had to leave it." He looked out over the lake.

"One last question, just between us, I won't even share it with the Tolford family. Was there any sense that pressure had been brought to bear from Maxwell Tolford to close this quickly?"

"No Ted," he said, looking back at him. "His name never came up. If he did anything, he did it so subtly I missed it altogether."

Ted leaned back, and they didn't talk for a while.

"Who else will you be talking to?" asked Pete.

"Anyone else who was there that night, the other employees."

"Maybe they'll tell you something they wouldn't tell me. Then or now."

"Maybe."

"And what will you do with that information?"

Ted smiled. "Of course, if I find evidence of a crime, like any good citizen, I'll report it to the proper authorities."

"I guess I'll have to accept that," said Pete, with a laugh. "But boy, I'd sure love to put this one to bed."

Ted stood up. "Thanks for your time, and thanks for lunch. One way or another you'll hear from me." He pulled out his business card. "I'm most easily reachable by cell phone."

Pete showed him out through the living room. "Good luck with your book. I hope you work okay with Penelope. She was a tough girl. I bet she's a tough woman."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I found her and her sister by the cliff, watching the rescue efforts. It had stopped raining by then, but it still was hardly pleasant there. I told her they could go back to their house, but she looked and me and said no, she was running things with her father away, and she'd stay. We questioned the other kids in the Hall, where we set up a temporary incident room, and she came along—she and her sister."

"I always thought you told them they had to come down."

Pete shook his head. "Not at all. We didn't make anyone come. We just asked a few of them to answer a few questions. It was clear right away, there had been a party going on. Penelope insisted on coming to the Hall. And Ariadne insisted on following. Penelope was a tough kid."

"Well, you're right. She became a tough woman. Thanks again, Pete."

Ted drove back along the dirt road and eventually to Amherst Street. If Pete worried that the details of William's death would upset him, it wasn't necessary. He wasn't thinking about the dead boy in the lake anymore. He was thinking about a shadowy figure in a dark Hall, making a prank phone call.



Summer, 1986

It was quiet outside as Mary-Lou half slept against Ted. The rain had stopped and he could hear her breathing softly. He absently stroked her hair.

“I knew this would happen if I came to this cabin with a smooth-talking college man,” she said, and sighed.

“Are you sorry?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No. But Ted,” she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Just don’t tell anyone. I mean, don’t talk to the other guys…”

“You mean brag? I wouldn’t ever.”

“I know. I mean, talk about it, like Vic and Laurie. I wouldn't like that.”

“Never, my love,” he said. Reassured, she snuggled down again.

“I hate to look and see what time it is,” she said. Ted groped for his watch on the night table, held it near the lantern, and read it aloud. “Oh no. My mother is going to have a fit. I told her we’d all be hanging out in the Hall for a bit. She’s going to kill me.”

And they heard a door creak open at the next cabin, and low voices carrying in the night air. Ted and Mary-Lou looked at each other and laughed.

“Vic and Laurie,” they said unison. It was time for everyone to be sneaking back to their own beds.

“Well, your mother may be upset, but if she figures out what happened, it will be me she’ll want to kill.”

“Oh no. She’ll leave that to my brothers.”

“Tim and Tom—the football team stalwarts?”

She propped herself up on an elbow. “Yes. But their football days are behind them. Didn’t you wonder why I wear a Marine Corps cap? They’re both in the Marines. I’m short, cute and smart. They’re tall, strong and short-tempered. That’s why Dad made them enlist right out of high school. They think I’m the most precious thing in the world, and if they found out what you did to me tonight…they'd take you apart.” She giggled.

“Another reason to keep my mouth shut,” he said dryly. And she laughed again.

“I wish I could stay longer. But I really do have to go.” She sat up, clutching the blanket to her neck. “Where are my clothes?” Ted reached for the light, but she touched his arm. “No, I like the light like just like this.” So they hunted around for items of clothing scattered at the foot of the bed and floor.

“Your treat was so lovely, Ted. Let me help you clean up.”

“No, I’ll take care of it, and walk you to your car.”

“Okay. I just want to fix myself up in the bathroom. I have to be reasonably presentable when I walk in the door.”

After she went into the bathroom, Ted scraped the fruit remnants into one of the plastic bags. There was a little champagne left, but it was warm and flat now, and he poured it down the kitchen sink. He carried the tape deck and lantern to the living room. They put on their ponchos—even though it had stopped raining the trees were dripping. Ted blew out the lantern, and they walked into the night, shining their flashlights on the path. There were only a couple of lights on in the cabins.

He saw her to her car, and gave her a long lingering kiss.

"You're delicious," he said.

He watched the car disappear up the hill, and stood in the small pool of his flashlight’s illumination, watching where she had been along the dark road.

Ted walked back to the path, and received a jolt at seeing a figure standing just a few yards away, the face hidden in a sweatshirt hood. He stopped so fast he almost stumbled.