Summer People by Aaron Stander Page B

my great-grandparents built around the turn of the century. But he wanted something that reflected us, the house we were going to grow old in together, and before it was finished he wanted a divorce.” She paused, pulled a cigarette from a pack and lit it. “What can I help you with?”
    “Now that the body has been recovered and identified, we need to know who to contact regarding its disposition.”
    “You should probably notify his brother Sidney, Sidney Bussey. He lives in Kenilworth and has an office in Evanston. I imagine he’ll take care of things.”
    “Are there any children?”
    “We had one, died in infancy. No other children.”
    “At this time,” said Ray, “we believe Mr. Bussey was on the boat alone. Would you know if there might have been other people on the boat?” He sensed her immediate tension after he asked the question.
    “For a while he kept an air-head on the boat. He went public with the little bitch before the divorce was final. But I haven’t seen her this summer. For the last two summers I seemed to run into them every time I was in the village. If she was on board, so much the better. God got them both. I don’t know why he had to keep the boat here after the divorce. I think he did it just to spite me. When he was a high school boy he used to spend his summers around here. But then his parents bought a place in Harbor Springs—I don’t know why he didn’t go back there. He’s more the Harbor Springs type. And that boat—we had a smaller one before the divorce. He bought it to just to show me what he was doing with our money. He knew that I’d notice that the biggest boat in the harbor was his.”
    “I don’t quite follow you.” Ray was surprised at the direction the conversation was going.
    “Arthur always had a need to show his money, if you know what I mean. His family always gave the appearance that they were well to do, but it was only after we were married that I found out how close to the edge they were. He made his fortune with my family’s money. And I have to admit we did well by him.”
    “What type of business was Mr. Bussey in?”
    “Investments, all types. We were married when we were seniors at Northwestern, and then he got his M.B.A. at Chicago while I taught elementary school in Winnetka. After he got out of school my father lent him enough money to get started. He was a real promoter and had the knack of buying up vacant land a year or two before the urban sprawl moved in that direction. Then he moved into developing malls. I knew he was leveraged to the hilt, and that a lot of his business was little better than gambling, but he always seemed to pull it off. I was always amazed that he could get banks to lend him money. I remember asking him if he ever thought about the people who sometimes lost their life savings when some of these schemes collapsed. He said there was no problem, the government would take care of them—and I guess we’re all paying now.”
    “You said you were divorced three years ago.”
    “Three years last May. He wasn’t as difficult as I thought he would be. But then, I had the best law firm in Chicago, old family friends. The only thing he wanted to haggle over was the Bears’ tickets.”
    “Bears’ tickets?” repeated Ray with a restrained, quizzical smile.
    “Bears, Chicago Bears, four season tickets on the fifty-yard line thirty rows up. They had been in my family since the thirties. I made damn sure he wasn’t going to get to sit there, sit there with his bimbo, where my grandfather and father once sat. I told my lawyer to tell him to go to hell.”
    “I know this has to be unpleasant, but might I call on you again if I need further help?” Ray asked.
    “Yes, certainly. I’ll be here until October.”
    “Thank you for your assistance and the coffee.” Ray rose and shook her hand. “I can find my way out.” He paused at the door, looked out at the lake. He could make out the silhouette of a distant ore