The Art of Death by Margarite St. John Page B

think?”
    “Kimmie, look at me. Did you put this man up to it?”
    Kimmie looked up in shock. “I don’t even know who the man is! What’s his name?”
    “He didn’t say, but let’s call him Ahab. Captain Ahab.”
    “I don’t know anybody named Ahab. Never heard the name before.”
    Madeleine looked exasperated. “I know that. I said I made the name up. . . . Well, I didn’t really make it up. Did you ever read Moby Dick ?”
    “Moby What?”
    “ Moby Dick . It’s a novel I read in summer class after I graduated from the Art Institute before I went to Quantico. It’s about a ship captain named Ahab who’s a tyrant and is bent on revenge against a whale that bit his leg off.”
    At Kimmie’s uncomprehending look, Madeleine sighed. “Never mind. It’s not important. But maybe you’d recognize the man if I told you more about him. He’s about five nine, a little on the stocky side, sunburned face, stony gray eyes, furrowed forehead, white hair, little whiskery tufts on his cheeks. Speaks in a monotone, looks obsessed with something. Dressed in a double-breasted blue blazer with big brass buttons, loose white duck trousers. The blazer hides a big gut. He’s hard to miss.”
    Kimmie shook her head. “You only met him once and you remember all that?”
    “No. As it turned out, Captain Ahab wasn’t done with me at the art gallery. The next day, at the awards ceremony in the hotel, he was sitting in the back row. After I answered a question about how Nicole’s skull got cracked, he shot to his feet with a demented look and began asking something. He didn’t even have a reason to be in the room so far as I know. So what was he doing there?”
    Kimmie shrugged and shook her head in bewilderment. “Don’t ask me. What was his question?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What? You forgot?”
    “No. I heard him speak but before I could make sense of anything, I fainted.”
    “You fainted? Oh, Mattie, that’s awful.”
    “Yes, it’s awful. The moment of my triumph was absolutely ruined.”
    With dismay, Kimmie shifted her gaze from her friend’s accusatory eyes and studied the waffle the waitress had just set on the table. Her appetite had fled. The first forkful, smothered though it was in butter and syrup, turned to dust in her mouth.
    Mattie busied herself pushing a plain egg white omelette around her plate. “You and Captain Ahab are suffering from the same delusion. You think I did something to Nicole that caused her to drown.”
    “No, no, I don’t. I told you, I just see fighting sometimes, like a movie running in slow motion. Sometimes I hear screams. Maybe they’re just flashbacks, false memories, the way Dr. Beltrami claims. I swear I don’t know what any of it means.”
    Madeleine scoffed. “You told Anthony you’re going to reveal those flashbacks and false memories to the whole world.”
    “Well . . . .” Kimmie picked up a piece of bacon and bit off the end.
    “Did you threaten that or not?”
    Kimmie suddenly found her coffee cup of great interest. “I guess you could say that.” Finally, she found the courage to lift her eyes to Mattie’s face. To her astonishment, Mattie looked more sympathetic than angry. “But I wouldn’t really tell anybody else, honest. I’m just trying to get him to apologize to me for the . . . well, you know for what . . . for what he did all those years ago.”
    “If Captain Ahab contacts you, you’re going to be tempted to hear what he has to say.” Madeleine reached across the table and took Kimmie’s hand, massaging it as if comforting someone who was very sick. “Trust me, don’t do it. He’ll just confuse you. Or he’ll accuse both of us of something we didn’t do.”
    “Not if he knows the truth.”
    Madeleine pulled away. “He doesn’t know the truth any more than you do. I’m telling you, don’t listen to the man.”
    “Why do you think Captain Ahab would contact me?”
    “He knows who was at the Dunes that Fourth of July from