Rose Marie is trying something a little different, serializing a book she has written — "The Evil Men Do." Each month she will be sharing a chapter with you. As the months go by, you will be able to go back and re-read previous chapters if you wish to. This book is presented here exactly as she has written it. We welcome your thoughts on both the book itself and the process we are trying. So — jump in!

If you missed previous chapters, they can be read here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

The Evil Men Do — Chapter Ten

            When Stu woke up the next morning, he stretched each limb and moved his head from side to side, making sure everything worked. When he’d established, with relief, that everything did, he got up.  The cat, asleep on a chair, stretched and jumped to the floor, padding ahead of him to the kitchen. He fed it, let it out and phoned Janet. “I’m running a little late,” he told her.

“How late? You sound funny. You have a cold?”
“I’m fine. I need to go down to city hall first is all. I’ll tell you why when I pick you up.”
“Don’t forget about not parking in front of the house.”

No, he wouldn’t forget that Per hated him, hated his father, the whole family by now, no doubt.  Hate travels.
He thought about making breakfast but needed more than the usual toast and coffee so decided to go out to eat. Stu’s prescription for whatever ailed him was the same as Mrs. Boyle’s, food. Mrs. Boyle would be proud of him. He wished she’d come back. He missed her.

His date with Janet in mind, he dressed carefully in his best jeans, a plain T-shirt and an outsize cordoroy shirt, like a jacket, over it all. Then, slipping into a pair of docksiders, he left the house. First stop, Anthony’s. Anthony lived in a shack behind the restaurant. Consequently, the restaurant was almost always open for business, including mornings. Sometimes early fishermen came in for breakfast, but today Stu was the only customer. Anthony stood with his elbows on the counter, glumly staring into a mug of coffee. Was it Stu’s imagination, or did Anthony look surprised to see him?  “Hey, compa’.  Since when are you up this early?”

Was that the reason for Anthony’s surprise, or was it more sinister? “I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Hey, what I been telling you? Talk to me, Stu. What does that new leaf you’re turning over mean? To me, that is? You here to tell me all of a sudden you’re willing to buy me out after all? You wanna buy Anthony’s?  I’m warning you, I won’t let it go for nothing. You were singing a different song last night. Something happen to make you change your mind?”

Anthony was hinting that he knew what had happened the night before. He never could keep a secret. When he thought he’d accomplished something, he had to brag about it. Stu didn’t like it. Anthony had always been high-spirited—that was what they called it—had he always been this violent? “Not so fast,” Stu said. “You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion. I haven’t changed my mind about anything I said last night. I meant every word. I only came in for breakfast. You still make breakfast, don’t you?”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Funny thing happed last night—two guys on motorcycles jumped me.”  Stu waited a beat.  “You know anything about it?”
“Me? ‘Course not.  How could I?”
“You sic them on me?”
“No!” he exploded. “When you came in, I thought you looked a little, what should I say, under the weather, that’s all. Where’d it happen?”
“Right outside my house. Luckily, the police happened by before they could do any major damage. They drive by as often as they can now. Not often enough, according to them.”
Anthony clicked his tongue. “They get anything, those guys?”
“My wallet. I didn’t have much in it.”
“Lot of these hopheads around. They need cash all the time to support their habit.” The words rolled off Anthony’s tongue like a prepared statement. “So what’ll it be?”

Stu put in his order. “I’m not convinced they were just after my wallet. Like the cops said, they could have asked for it, and I’d have given it to them. There were two of them and one of me. I don’t like those odds.”
“What else was it?”

“I was thinking somebody might have set them on me because of my stand at the meeting last night.”
Anthony snorted. “Excuse me for saying so, but you have some inflated idea of your own importance. You can’t stop progress. Nobody can. May take a little longer, but that’s all. Our side’ll win in the end.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.  Anthony looked away first, turning to the grill with his back to Stu.
After breakfast, Stu headed down to the town hall and when he was through there phoned Janet.  “I’ll be there in a few minutes, that okay?”
“You bringing lunch?”
“We’ll stop at the deli.”

Remembering that she didn’t want Per to see him, he parked down the road from the house and waited outside, a compromise. If he looked, Per could still see the car, and if he did he’d know who it was, or if he didn’t know but asked Janet who she was going out with she’d tell him yet he didn’t have to voice his approval or speak to him. Stu didn’t want to argue about the past, not now, not yet.  Someday they’d work it out, the past which still ached, that neither of them had got over, but not now.  He’d be content just to be with her.
“You all right?” she asked after getting into the car.
“Sure, why?”
“You have a cut on your lip, and your cheek’s bruised. You look like you’ve been in a fight.”
“I was, sort of.”  He told her about it, leaving out his suspicion that Anthony had persuaded a couple of his friends to go after him. “Tell me about Per. How’s he doing?”
“Physically, he’s improving. He can get around a little now. He’s getting over losing the marina, too. I never thought I’d see that happen. It’s all he’s ever done. In a way, the stroke made it easier for him. He knows he probably would have lost it anyway if he couldn’t do the work, though I know he’d fight to keep it.”
“I’m surprised he’s come to terms with it,” Stu said. “I figured he’d never get over blaming my father. I wonder if they talked. They used to be friends. A long time ago, when we lived on the island. What do you think? My father ever come to see him?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it.”
“Ask him sometime.”

She glanced at him. “Why, you think he knows something? You think your father offered him some kind of, I don’t know, rationale for what he was going to do?”
“Could be.”
“He forgave Prudhomme, I’m saying,” she said. “Not you.”
“I don’t expect him to.” Somewhere along the way she had lost her former somnolent look. He had counted on her staying the same, a traditional kind of girl who still wanted to get married and have children, a stay-at-home, mothering kind of girl. “So you like working in a wallpaper store?”
“Stop looking down your nose.”
“Believe me,” he said. “That’s the last thing I’d do.”

first it was just a job, but then the owners expanded, and they decided to carry a line of wallpaper. They put me in charge. Customers come in asking for advice, and, Stu, it’s the strangest thing, but I’m really good at picking out wallpaper. Carl said the customers are pleased. I’m thinking of going to school and studying interior decoration. Carl said they’ll even pay for it.”
“Carl White?” Stu remembered a boy by this name who worked in his father’s paint store.  “He’s still here?”
“Yes, he didn’t go to college. He’s smart, but he likes working in the store. Someday, he’ll own it. He plans to expand even more, offer a line of floor coverings and a whole interior decoration service.  I hope I’m still there when that happens.”

“Lucky Carl,” Stu said.
“I bet he’d think you’re the lucky one. Who wouldn’t?”
“Things have changed.”
“Because of your father?”
“Partly. I realize I never knew him,” Stu said, “and, sorry to say, it didn’t bother me like it should have. I was living in my own little world, see, and I didn’t know what else was going on, didn’t want to know. Somebody killed him, Janet, and since I didn’t know what was going on, I don’t know why, and I don’t know who, but I have the feeling it was because of something that happened in the past. I mean to find out what.”
She looked down. “I hope eventually you’ll accept that he committed suicide. I know it must be hard.”
“He didn’t.”
“Have you told the police?”
“They don’t see any reason to reopen the case.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.”

She fell silent, changed the subject. “Carl’s not a bit like you.”
“Why bring him up?” Stu didn’t care for the change of subject.
“Just saying. He’s so easy-going. What I said before, about envying you, he doesn’t. Wouldn’t. He likes his life the way it is.”
“I envy him,” Stu said, “because he gets to see you every day.”
“Not so fast,” she said.
“You two date?”
She nodded. “Carl doesn’t push, though.”
“Don’t say it. Another way he’s not like me.” He didn’t wait for her to confirm it, pulled over and parked the car. “There’s the deli. Let’s stop and get lunch.”

The deli had been there forever. Supermarkets had crept up around it but presented no real competition. Nothing was farther from the supermarkets than the deli with its fresh meats—roasted turkey, baked ham, rare roast beef—and salads, cole slaw, cucumber, mustard potato. “Nothing with mayonnaise,” she said. “We don’t have a cooler, and there won’t be any shade.” “More like there won’t be sun,” he said, squinting at the clouds. It keeps threatening to rain.”  He wanted to tell her about his quest to discover his father’s killer but feared scaring her away. Who wouldn’t be scared away after learning what skeletons his closet harbored.

“You want to risk it? We could drive out to Sag Harbor and have a picnic.”
“It’s been threatening to rain for days. Why should today be the day?” He nearly replied, because the gods want to keep us apart. They selected turkey and hard rolls and passed up the mustard potato salad in favor of one made with vinegar, and their actions seemed familiar since they had in fact bought picnic food here before. “Don’t forget sweet pickles,” she said.
“I almost did,” Stu said, although his hand had been on the pickle jar before she reminded him. She was the only one who favored sweet pickles. He hadn’t forgotten. He paid, and they drove to the pier, where Stu’s catboat was docked.
“Looks familiar,” she said. “Is it the same one?”
He nodded. “I thought about getting a bigger boat, and now I’m glad I didn’t.”  He waited for her to ask why, but she didn’t. “You can use it if you want.”

“Thanks. I may take you up on that.”
“Not to go sailing with Carl, though.”
“What makes you think I’d go sailing with Carl?”
“Well, you go out with him, don’t you?”
“Not to worry,” she said. “I won’t take him sailing on your boat.”
When they reached the middle of the cove, he threw out the anchor. Janet had been looking down at the water and frowned. “Ugh, a jellyfish. Two”  She pointed. “Three. You never used to see them here. I guess we won’t be swimming. Too bad.”
“We’ve been having those red tides lately.”
“Red algae,” she said.
“They call it a red tide because it turns the water red,” he said, knowing she already knew that but unable to stop himself. “The warm water the lighting company pours into the sound causes the algae to grow.”
“They’re ruining the Sound.”

“I attended a meeting last night. I thought I’d see you there too.”
“The meeting on protecting the environment.” He nodded. “I thought about going. Don’t tell me you’re involved in that.”
“Why does that surprise you? I live on the marsh.”
“Even so. You’ve never been the type to get involved.”
“Well, I am now.”
“Then I really am surprised.”
“I told you, I’ve changed.”
“It’s out of character, all right,” she said. “Don’t blame me for wondering how long it will last before you go back to what you really are.”
“What am I really?”
“A rich kid.”

He wanted to tell her he probably wasn’t rich anymore, but she pointed, said, “Look, jellyfish. Yuck, the water’s full of them.”
“They go wherever the tide pushes them,” he said.
“I like the way it sounds, going where the tide takes you, but it isn’t true.”
“Oh, no?”
“They propel themselves through the water.” She trailed a hand in the dark water. “What’s the difference anyway? Half the time when you make plans they don’t work out.”

He didn’t want to ask her what she meant, afraid it had to do with him. “Ironic, Prudhomme’s death bringing us together,” he said.  “If I thought you could find meanings in events, this would be one.”
“Who says we’re together?”
“It’s a start.” He waited for her to deny it, and when denial didn’t come felt unaccountably happy.

She looked up at the sky. “Looks like we may finally be getting that storm,” she said, changing the subject. “Too bad, but the Sound’s a sewer anyway so maybe it’s for the best.”
“A sewer?”
“Long Island Sound. That’s what people are saying.”
“They’ll clean it up,” he said.
“Who’s they?”
“Us, I mean.  People are changing their minds about letting industry do what they want.”
“Some people,” she said. “Your father had plans for the marsh. Did you know that?” 
“He changed his mind. His business partner talked him out of it.” Stu realized how unlikely that sounded.

She shook her head.  “I wonder if Per knew. It was something else he held against your father.”
“If they talked, my father must have told him.” The ugly little thought recurred. If it weren’t for Mathiesen’s stroke he might have found a way to murder Prudhomme, against whom he already had a grudge, and whose death would have prevented the marsh’s developoment. “When did Per have his stroke?”

She guessed what he was thinking. “What, now he’s a suspect?”
“Of course not,” he lied, surprised that she could read his mind. “Just wondered.”
“In case you’re more than just wondering, it happened a year ago. I came home as soon as it happened. So he couldn’t have done it. I guess you’d like to blame him.  It’d be so easy.”

Ignoring her words, he asked, “would you have come home if he didn’t have the stroke?”
She bent down and trailed her hand in the water. Cloudy and dark when viewed from above, it was transparent in her hand. “Some day.  What difference does it make?  He did have the stroke so I  came home sooner rather than later.”
Time to change the subject again. “Did you know there are mountain peaks under the ocean?  Valleys?  A whole secret kingdom down there with its own climates and currents and its own inhabitants, from micro specimens to whales.  I don’t know why we send men to the moon when there’s so much to learn from the oceans.”

She seemed happy to change the subject. “It’s a wonder to me life can exist in the deep sea at all—it’s so dark and cold, and there’s the pressure of all that water.” She still wouldn’t look at him.  “People remind me of fish. You think that’s normal?”
“Sure. Remember Mr. Petrullo?”
She smiled and nodded. Your homeroom teacher.”

“A jellyfish, harmless on the surface but with a stinger. My father’s secretary is a starfish, patient and still. You think, how can it open an oyster shell—you’ve opened oyster shells so you know how hard it is. But it wears the oyster down till the shell opens a little and then, boom.” What was he thinking? Rose was no murderer. Was she? “What kind of fish am I?” he asked.
“A dolphin.”
“I’m flattered. Most of my family are sharks.” Except for George, he added to himself. George was more like a pilotfish.
“You didn’t tell me what you were doing at City Hall,” she said.
“Oh. I wanted to check up on Anthony’s. See if he really owns it.”  Stu had been hoping to find out that Anthony’s was heavily mortgaged, or someone else owned it.
“And does he?”

‘Yes. Let’s eat before it rains.” They unwrapped the food and made sandwiches. Janet asked what progress he’d made in his investigation of Prudhomme’s death. He noticed that she didn’t say, his murder.
“Not much,” he admitted. “He’s as much of a mystery as he always was. I have a lot to learn and nobody to learn it from.”
“The rest of your family can’t help you?”
“Won’t,” Stu said. “He was going away, Janet. Opting out. Going off to the Fiji Islands or somewhere to paint. Like Gaughin.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Surprised the hell out of me, for sure.”
“Was he sick?”

“He wasn’t sick. There was no reason.” No reason Stu knew, he meant. Prudhomme didn’t make snap decisions. Stu hoped all he had to do was wait and eventually everything would be clear. 
“You think he had regrets about some of the decisions he made?” she asked.
Decisions, she meant, that appeared ruthless on the surface but reflected a man ready to sacrifice anything to attain his goal and requiring no less of the others around him. “I have no idea,” said Stu.

The wind picked up, and they felt the first raindrops. Wordlessly, they packed up the lunch and set sail for the return trip. By the time they reached dock the water had become choppy and the drizzle had turned into a downpour. They found a new little bar near the marina and went in for a drink.  Western fever had set in here, and the lounge had succumbed without a struggle. They stayed long enough for a drink and a dance. Stu noticed that she danced differently from before, no longer followed his lead. Stu found himself jealous of Carl and his neat paint and wallpaper store. “How about dinner?”
She shook her head. “I have to make something for Per. He’s used to eating early.”
We could bring him something and go out after.”
“Not tonight. I have to work tomorrow.” With Carl White, thought Stu. His jealousy was unreasonable in the circumstances, but he couldn’t help it.

He drove her home and when they arrived at her house she slipped out of the car quickly. “I don’t want to upset Per so it’s better if he doesn’t see you.”
“Does it upset him when you go out with Carl?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“But it would upset him to see us together.”
“Can you blame him?”
“You said he doesn’t hate Prudhomme anymore.”
“We’re not talking about Prudhomme,” she said. “We’re talking about you.”

He watched her run up the steps into the house and pulled away, feeling like a poor imitation of himself, and arrived home before dark, the rain lighter now, a ray of late sunlight appearing across the marsh.

Check Next Month's Issue for Chapter 11