Stranger in Paradise

“That’s what they tell me,” Jesse said. “Probably part of his charm.”

“Probably is,” Molly said. “It makes him sort of exciting.”

“Not if the contract’s on you,” Jesse said.

“No, but there’s something about how complete he is, how, what, interior, independent.”

“Power,” Jesse said.

“Yes,” Molly said. “He reeks of power.”

“I guess I better take more night courses,” Simpson said. “I don’t know what you people are talking about.”

“He’s a little like you, Jesse,” Molly said.

“Except that I just reek.”

“No. You have that same silent center. Nothing will make you turn aside. Nothing will make you back up. It’s…what do the shrinks call it…?”

“Autonomy,” Jesse said.

“Yes. Both of you are, like, autonomous,” Molly said. “Except maybe you have scruples.”

“Maybe he does, too,” Jesse said.

“For fantasy purposes,” Molly said, “I hope not.”

“Fantasy?” Simpson said. “Molly, how long you been married?”

“Fifteen years.”

“And you got how many kids?”

“Four.”

“And you are going to have sex fantasies about some Apache hit man?”

Molly smiled at Simpson.

“You better believe it,” Molly said.

3.

“I wish to have nothing to do with this,” Mrs. Snowdon said when Molly showed her a picture of Crow.

“Have you ever seen him before?” Molly said.

“No.”

They were in the vast Snowdon living room in the huge Snowdon house on Stiles Island. Mrs. Snowdon sat on her couch with her feet on the floor and her knees pressed together and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Suit stood across the room by the French doors to the patio. Molly sat on a hassock across from Mrs. Snowdon.

She looks too small for the gun belt, Suit thought. But she’s not.

“Was he here with other men when they looted the island,” Molly said, “and locked you and your husband up in the lavatory?”

“Late husband,” Mrs. Snowdon said.

Her blue steel hair was rigidly waved. She wore a black-and-red flowered dress and a red scarf, and a very large diamond-crusted wedding ring.

“Was this man in the picture one of the men?” Molly said.

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” Mrs. Snowdon said.

“Are you afraid?”

“My husband is deceased,” Ms. Snowdon said. “I am a woman alone.”

“The best way to ensure your safety is to give us reason to arrest him.”

“I will not even consider it,” Mrs. Snowdon said. “It was a moment in my life I decline to relive.”

“Has he threatened you?”

“Threatened? He’s here? In Paradise?”

“Yes.”

“My God, why don’t you arrest him?”

Standing by the door, Suitcase smiled without comment.

“If you’d help us,” Molly said.

“I’m not a policeman,” she said. “It’s your job to arrest him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Molly said. “But we’re not allowed to arrest anybody we feel like. At the moment our only hope would be that he could be charged with participating in a capital crime. Otherwise the statute of limitations applies.”

“He has to have killed someone?”

“Someone had to die in a criminal enterprise of which he was a member,” Molly said.

“Oh, God,” Mrs. Snowdon said. “Gobbledygook. A number of people were killed, weren’t they?”

“We have to be able to demonstrate this man’s involvement,” Molly said.

“Well, I’m not going to do your job for you,” Mrs. Snowdon said. “What kind of job is this for a young woman? Why aren’t you making a home for a husband and children?”

“I do that, too,” Molly said.

She and Mrs. Snowdon stared at each other silently. Molly looked at Suit. Suit shrugged.

“I don’t think you need to worry about him,” Molly said. “He doesn’t appear to have any interest in anyone from his last visit.”

Mrs. Snowdon sat rigidly and said nothing. Molly let out some breath and stood.

“Thanks for your time,” she said. “We can find our way out.”

Mrs. Snowdon didn’t speak, and they left her there, sitting in her iron silence.

4.

Jesse took Marcy Campbell to supper at the Gray Gull. It was June. They sat outside on the deck next to the harbor. It was still light and there was still activity in the harbor.

“Things not working well with your ex-wife?” Marcy said.

Marcy had platinum hair and wore skillful makeup. She was older than Jesse but still good-looking, and clearly sexual. Jesse knew that from experience. But he had also known it before he had the experience. Jesse always wondered how he could tell. He never did quite know, only that there were women who were insistently aware of their bodies, and of their sex. And somehow by posture or magic they communicated that awareness as insistently as they felt it. Marcy was the gold standard for such women.

“You think I only show up when there’s a problem with Jenn?”

“Yes,” Marcy said, and grinned at him. “Fortunately for me, it happens enough so that I see you a lot.”

“Course of true love,” Jesse said, “never did run smooth.”

“You and me? Or you and Jenn?”

“True love? Both.”

“Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so?” Marcy said.

“I love you, Marce, you know that.”

“Like a sister,” Marcy said.

“Not quite like a sister,” Jesse said.

“No,” Marcy said, “you’re right. Not like a sister.”

The waitress brought Marcy some white wine and Jesse an iced tea. Marcy looked at the tea.

“Off the booze again?”