Domestic Disturbance

The dispatcher took the call just as Henry was finishing his lunch. “Henry, you and Timpson want to take this one? It’s a 10-16 up at the Bontemps place; the old Bontemps place. Might be a 10-50PD, too. Evidently someone heard glass break. I don’t think you need to pull the prowler; Marlene said no one’s hurt.” Joe Timpson turned to Henry and said, “Ah, our friend Dicky must be in town. I thought I noticed they were out of beer at the mercantile.” He smiled, shook his head and got up from his desk. “Let’s head out. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

Henry and Joe got on their bikes and sped out toward the Bontemps place. In the 5 minutes it took them to get there, they didn’t have much time to talk. Henry learned only that Dick Grund was a bit of a frat boy who seemed his entire life to be in one or another form of trouble. “Rich kid saved only by his money and his mama. Man was she ever a bitch when she was alive,” said Timpson. “His wife, Margaret? She’s alright. Heavy drinker. Had a party girl rep on the island when she was young. Kinda sad, really.”

They arrived at the home and could hear a woman inside, yelling. From time to time there was a bang. The cook was standing at the top of the stairs, just inside the screened-front porch, waiting for them. Her arms were folded across her chest and she seemed more annoyed that worried.

“Hi Marlene,” said Timpson. “This here’s officer Botner, Marlene. He’s the new Lieutenant.”

“Joe. Officer Botner,” Marlene said flatly, and nodded once to each of them. “Figured if I didn’t call you, the neighbors would, and I don’t want nothin’ to come of this. Just quiet ‘em down, please.” Her tone was matter-of-factly as she led them through the house to the backyard.

Henry walked through the house and caught a glimpse of how the other half lived. The porch sported a collection Brown-Jordan furniture and custom made cushions above which were positioned tiny aearated water misters to keep cool whomever was sitting underneath them. Hand-carved mahogany banisters with copper topped finials framed antique kilim runners that had been secured at each step with brass holders. Someone had taken care to polish each one. The floors were in-laid walnut and they were topped with beautiful Turkish carpets. The wainscoting gave way to wallpaper that had traces of silk woven in it. There were bowls of pot pourri at the entrance and in the hallway leading to the kitchen that made everything smell like cinnamon and apples.

The kitchen was designed for large parties and entertaining. Not one of those Johnny-come-lately numbers with barstools around a center aisle so that guests could share in the fun of hors d’oeuvres making, this kitchen was for the hired help only, with a utilitarian service sink and pantry area so waiters could move quickly between it and the formal dining room without disturbing the flow of the kitchen staff. The disturbance appeared to have interrupted the preparation of dinner, which, judging from the settings on the dining room table, included some number of guests. They made their way to the back porch where the Grunds were waiting.

“Dick, Margaret. Everything OK?” asked Joe, his question clearly directed at Margaret. From the looks of her, she had been drinking. Or something. Henry let Joe take the lead on this one; he was clearly familiar with the family. Henry, however, knew the story without knowing the details. It wasn’t one unique to the island.

“Yeah, Joe, everything’s OK,” said Dick, smiling a little, shaking his head as if he were waving off his wife. “My wife here’s just started a little early, that’s all. The heat just got to her.”

“Fuck you. This isn’t about my drinking, it’s about your fucking, you asshole. You Bastard!” She had been crying and started tearing up again. She sat down on the white porch swing and began to sob. “If daddy were here, you would be dead. Dead.”

“Is anyone hurt here? Margaret, you’re not hurt, are you? Dick, why don’t you talk to the Lieutenant in the kitchen,” said Joe. He then turned to Henry. “Henry, this is Dick Grund. Dick, the Lieutenant.” Joe sat down next to Margaret on the swing. Henry heard him ask if he could get her anything, which made Henry think this wasn’t his first visit?

“Why don’t we go this way, Mr. Grund,” said Henry, leading his host back into the house and away from his wife. “Give us a chance to talk.” Once inside, Dick passed the kitchen and headed for the family room, where he hit the liquor cabinet, which contained an impressive array of single malt scotches. Dick went for the vodka.

“I don’t suppose I could interest you in one,” he said, smiling. “Please, call me Dick,” he said, dropping some ice cubes into a glass and following it with some Grey Goose and grapefruit juice. “Grapefruit juice by itself, maybe?” Dick offered. He was a gracious host, thought, Henry, especially given the circumstances under which he was offering drinks.

“No thanks. I’m on Zocor. Can’t do grapefruit juice, but I wouldn’t mind a little water,” said Henry, who was still sweating from the speedy bike ride out to the place. Besides, the time it took to get him a drink would distance him further from the altercation. Henry knew that if he could calm the waters, he was more likely to get a story. “Tell me, would you be related Grund Optical?” asked Henry.

“My Grandad,” said Dick. “He founded the company and I took it over from my dad a few years back.” Dick walked over to Henry and handed him his ice water, then took a sip of his own cocktail. “They built the place, but we’re really going places now. About 2 years ago I outsourced a lot of the operations to Canada and Mexico. Things are really taking off, now. We’ve been able to extend our brand on the consumer side without worrying about our industrial clientele. And the layoffs saved us a bundle in pensions. Damn unions forced us to do it. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I’m the Grund of Grund Optical.” He sat down in one of the leather chairs that faced the flat screen television. “How’s that water workin’ for you?”

“Thanks, just fine,” said Henry. “You want to tell me what the ruckus is about?”

Dick Grund sniffed, chuckled, and took a sip of his drink, “Nothing, really. You married?” He leaned back and put his feet on the coffee table.

“14 years, yessir.”

“Well, you know how women get. On the rag, somethin’, I don’t know. She just gets crazy sometimes. You know how it is.”

“Well, sir, seemed to me like a little more than just ‘how women get,’ I think. Perhaps you want to tell me what happened.”

“Seriously, I mean it was really nothing,” he said, shaking his head and taking another sip of his drink. She got all bent out of shape because of a little thing she found in my suitcase. It was nothing.”

“You want to tell me about it?” Henry was not going to let him off the hook. He watched Dick’s body language for some sign of trepidation, dishonesty, anything that would give away what was really going on. Nothing. He wasn’t answering questions directly, but neither was he nervous, or hiding anything. It was the body language of the privileged few who are afraid of nothing. It comes from extreme wealth or poverty, when you know – for various reasons – that nothing can hurt you.

“Oh, well, I mean, you’ve been married 14 years. Same ol’ thing, really. The wife’s not really interested in, well, you know what I mean. She’s about as frigid as a deep freeze.” Dick took a long drink and drained the glass, then got up to make himself another. “Anyway, a man can’t live on Greyhounds alone,” he said, shaking his glass so that the ice clinked against it. “Know what I mean?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, sir.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Dick, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Well, anyway, I never bring it home, of course. That wouldn’t be right, but on the occasional business trip to Chicago or Milwaukee, well, listen, I don’t encourage this stuff. But it happens to the best of us, right? Sitting in the bar with a bunch of guys and they just flock to you.”

“Yessir.” In fact, Henry had never had this problem. He wasn’t a bad looking guy and there had certainly been odd call or two where the perp had tried to come on to him, but no, he had not regularly been approached by women in bars simply looking to get laid.

“So anyway, this little blonde thing . . .” he stopped talking for a moment. Henry watched him savor the moment as men will when they recall women in their lives. Then he started up again after a heavy sigh. “Well, she apparently put her panties in my bag before I left. A little keepsake, I guess.” Margaret found them and went haywire.

“Well, sir, women are liable to do that when they find out their husbands are having affairs,” said Henry, draining the last of his water.

“Affairs? Shit, I’m 55. I don’t have time for affairs. This was pure, unadulterated, amazing sex. Man, was it sex! If I remember the girl’s name tomorrow, it will be a miracle,” he said. He motioned to the back porch. “She wasn’t supposed to know, of course, but what the hell; these things happen. Anyway, she won’t sleep with me, and like I said, man can’t live on greyhounds alone.” He raised his glass and gave Henry a wink. ‘How ‘bout some more water?”

“No thanks, sir, I’m fine. Have you thought about counseling?” Henry asked. Back in Detroit, they had started a domestic violence deterrence program that had stemmed the tide of certain forms of spousal abuse. He was in the habit of offering counseling as an option.

“Counseling won’t solve my particular medical problem, officer, but thanks for asking.”

“Sir?”

“Well, the remnants of a misspent youth have caught up with me, I’m afraid.” Dick smiled at Henry. “Hepatitis B. Damndest thing, actually. All the crap I’ve put into my body and all the women I’ve slept with; you’d think I would have contracted it that way, but it was on a little detour from college.” He pushed up the leg to his linen shorts to reveal a tattoo of a small sailboat. “Note to self: don’t get tattoos in Papua New Guinea.”

“Bad needles?”

“You got it. Anyway, my wife’s not so keen on sleeping with me anymore, especially without a glove.”

Well, is there anything more that you’d like me to know?”

“More? You mean like why I’m married to a woman who breaks her own windows when I come home?”

“No sir, I mean anything else you want to tell me about this afternoon’s events. It must have gotten pretty loud for your housekeeper to call the police.”

“Marlene? She’d call the police if Margaret had a hangnail. If you haven’t figured it out, she doesn’t like me very much, even after all these years.”

“Why is that, sir?” Henry sized up Marlene as one of those no-nonsense Midwestern salt-of-the-earth type women. He might have instinctively guessed that anything akin to excess would strike her as offensive. His current confession probably wouldn’t have helped his reputation in her eyes.

“Well, Marlene’s been with Peg since Peg was around 10 years old. I don’t think anyone would have been good enough for her little girl, but well, Marlene never did like our family. Anyway, I love my wife, despite what she or Marlene may think, which is one of the reasons I tolerate her little blow-ups. Marlene’s threats to call the police, which she sometimes makes good on, are part of the package.” He smiled and took a sip of his second greyhound. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. And I would never hurt my wife. At least not intentionally. I’m genuinely sorry I didn’t find those panties first.”

“OK, Mr – uh, that is, Dick,” said Henry, getting up from his chair. “I guess we’re through here. I’m going to take a few minutes to talk to my partner and make sure everything is kosher. If there’s any abuse by either of you, well, then by Michigan law, I will have to formally separate you two even if neither of you wants that. But I’m sure we can work this out. Will you excuse me?”

Henry walked out to see his partner, who was finishing up with Margaret. From the pile of wet tissues piled up between them on the porch swing, there had been a good deal more crying out here than in the family room. Joe excused himself and met Henry in the kitchen. “Whaddaya got?” he whispered to Henry.

“Looks like our friend Dick likes the ladies. Says the wife found some panties from a one night stand he had. Seems pretty flip about it, but it doesn’t sound like there was any abuse. You?”

“Yeah, I got about that. My version had a little more fireworks, and there’s probably some stuff I can fill you in on, but I say we’re pretty much done here. We should probably talk to the cook on the way out, just find out any details those two left out.”

“Anything to the 10-50?” asked Henry, remembering that there was a property tag on the call.

“I think it’s just the window there,” Joe said, pointing to the kitchen glass that had been shattered, evidently by a rolling pin. “I’m pretty sure she was aiming for his head, but let’s just put down she threw it at nothing,” said Joe. “Lotta history, here with this one. She doesn’t need anything written down.”

The two officers walked back out to the porch one last time and said goodbye to their host. By this time, Mrs. Grund had regained her composure and was even smiling a bit. She apologized for bringing them out on such a hot day; they in turn reassured her that it was their job and as long as she was OK, they’d take their leave.

On the way out, they stopped briefly to talk to Marlene, who had stationed herself on the porch. She had grabbed a colander of Michigan blueberries and was painstakingly removing the stem from each one and depositing the detritus into a paper bag. She was the first to speak.

“You gentlemen done?” she asked, not taking her eyes from her work.

“Well, pretty much,” Joe said. “But we wanted to know if you had any thoughts on how it all started.”

“hmph,” said Marlene, the sound of disgust in her tone. “Happened the way it always happens. Poor thing sits up here lonely all Summer long, waiting for him to come home. When he finally does, she’s so nervous she drinks herself into silliness, and he always manages to do something stupid.”

“Were you in the kitchen when the window got broken?” asked Joe.

“No, Miiga and I moved out as soon as they moved it. Started in the bedroom, she went through his suitcase, poor dear, just to tidy things up herself, so Miiga -- that’s the housekeeper -- could help me with the dinner. We have guests tonight,” she said. Henry’s ear perked up.

“Miiga Small?” he asked. “She works here?”

“Yes. And her mother before her. Worked with both of them. She keeps the house, I cook.” She cast a suspicious eye on Henry. “Why?”

“Oh, we met once, that’s all. Just a nice coincidence” This was probably neither the time, the place, nor the person to describe their little back porch rendezvous. Since the afternoon where he first saw her there, they had made it a regular meeting place, more or less.

“Well, Miiga is not involved in this. She stays out of Mr. Grund’s way when he’s here and I sent her to her quarters when the whole mess started. She doesn’t even really know Mr. Grund. Not at all, so there’s no reason to talk to her.”

“I think it’s fine that we just talk to you, Ms. . . . Ms. .,”

“Marlene is fine. You don’t need to call me Ms. I work for a living.”

The officers took their leave and headed down the front steps back to their bikes. A neighbor next door looked out of her window briefly and then went back to her own business. When they left, the house was quiet.

“They must have been at it pretty loudly for Marlene to call the cops,” said Henry, wondering whether he should bring up that he was at the Grund home the next time he saw his lunch companion.

“Not necessarily. What passes for loud here isn’t the same as in Detroit,” said Joe. “At least not until the boat races. Then all bets are off. But during the rest of the season, a little crash or a loud voice can send several neighbors to the phone.” They climbed on their bicycles and headed off the property, deciding on a circuitous patrol route to get back to the station house; might as well do the rounds, since they were this far out. Henry radioed their 20 back to the station and said they’d check back after a round about the island.

The men moved slowly this time, since they weren’t hurrying to get to a call. It gave them a chance to talk.

“So, what was the deal with Marlene and the housekeeper?” asked Henry. “It was as if she was trying to shelter her.

“Yeah, that was a little strange, but probably nothing. You say you know her? The housekeeper, that is?”

“Barely. My first night on the island, I ran smack into her and knocked her down. About a week ago, I happened to run into her again – not literally – but anyway, it gave me a chance to apologize. We had a nice chat,” said Henry. He neglected to mention that they had been meeting several times a week at the library for lunch. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but he thought it best – at least for now – to keep this bit of information to himself.

“Oh, well, there’s probably a story behind it,” said Joe. “Seems like there’s a story behind everything funny or strange that happens on this island. Thing is, I’ve only been here 15 years. Haven’t heard about that one yet. Maybe the housekeeper is the illegitimate daughter of the cook, you know, like that movie ‘Gosford Place’,” said Joe.

“’Gosford Park’, I think you mean. Could be, but Marlene made it a point of saying that the housekeeper’s mother worked with her before she did. Anyway, 15 years on the island seems like a long time to me,” said Henry. “I mean, you must be an old timer.”

“Not in Mackinac years I’m not. I mean, we’ve got the rookies, sure, but as for really understanding what goes on around here, well, cops are always the last ones to know. Shit, the locals cover up more stuff than we’ll ever learn about. Cap’s got some time under his belt. He knows stuff.”

“That secretive, huh?” said Henry.

“You have no idea. I swear sometimes I think as cops we don’t know a tenth of what’s going on in this place. I get this feeling sometimes, like we’re the village idiots and everyone is laughing at us.”

Henry felt like laughing at them at times, too. “But you know something about the Grunds,” said Henry.

“Oh, well, yeah, but it’s not real juicy stuff. Sort of boring, probably, to someone like you from Detroit. But you know, small town gossipy stuff I know. And Margaret, I mean she’s a Grund now, but folks think of her as a Bontemps girl. That’s her maiden name. Old money family.”

Most of what Joe knew he got second hand from the Captain, who had been on the island for 32 years. The Captain was not one to gossip, but there were some things a small town cop had to reveal to his fellow officers in order for them to understand his reasonings for treating certain people and certain situations the way he did.

Margaret had grown up on this island, in the very house from whence they had come. Though it was before Joe’s time, she had evidently been quite the party girl in her teens, managing to get in trouble even on the tiny island. But the Bontemps were gentile people and the captain usually just got Margaret out of the bar where she was causing trouble and quietly escorted her home. One summer she didn’t show with the rest of the family, and the captain found out that she was in a rehab program for coke addicts. That was the first time she’d gone to rehab.

“I take it from her comment that her father’s dead,” said Henry.

“Yeah, I’m not sure there’s any story there, but then again, I wasn’t around. Died in the early 80’s, before my time. Heart attack, I think. I know he was a doctor because there’s a picture of him in the clinic with a dedication. Apparently, he used to volunteer his time down there.”

“I thought the family was in the insurance industry,” said Henry, who had noticed some plaques over the mantle in the family room where he shared a drink with Dick Grund.

“I think they are, or were, or something. But I know Margaret’s dad was a doctor. Beyond that, you’ll have to ask the captain.”

Joe told Henry that the Bontemps had to send Margaret back into rehab for another drying out, this time for painkillers. 1989 or 90, Joe thought it might be. He was on the force at that point, and he recalled the captain telling him to swing by the Bontemps home a little more often than usual, because Mrs. Bontemps was without her husband now, and without her daughter.

“That’s where she met Dick, at some posh rehab center in Minnesota.”

Margaret and Dick might have known each other in passing on the island, said Joe, but it wasn’t until they were getting sober that they got together.

“Seems like an awfully small island for people not to know each other,” said Henry, unable to imaging how one could avoid even those people who you never wanted to see.

“Yeah, seems like it,” replied Joe. “I sure wish we could avoid Mrs. Havers sometimes but she always seems to find us.” But you’d be amazed at how people travel in different circles and never see one another. I mean, if they didn’t travel in the same social circles, it’s completely plausible that they didn’t know each other.”

Henry wondered how the idle rich divided their social circles. They both owned mansions, they both were solid Michigan families. It just didn’t fit that there was no interaction. All these years of being a cop told him that the families either did know each other, or there was something keeping them apart. A feud, some sort of Romeo and Juliet thing, something.

“I guess. Just seems odd, that’s all.” That was Henry’s final word on it. It wasn’t that exciting, really. Back in Detroit he wouldn’t have given them a second thought, but here on Fantasy Island he had to keep his brain from succumbing to atrophy. It helped to suss out the details of things, however insignificant. The thought that there were shady dealings all around him kept him from falling asleep from the tedium of domestic disputes, small-time break-ins (which usually ended up being the result of an over-zealous cat), and calls about drunks. Lame disputes. No blood, no ‘40s’ lying on the floor. No crying babies and guys in muscle t-shirt shouting “stupid cunt” or “bitch” as they were tucked into the police car.

“Well, I know that the Bontemps are a super old family on the island. Like super old. And I’m not sure the Grunds have been around as long. Maybe that’s it,” said Joe. “People really take their old families seriously here. Bluebloods, you know. And I never met Dr. Bontemps, but I sure knew Mrs. Grund. Not much to like there. She was a real piece of work. Bitch, if you ask me. Treated us like crap. And I know the captain thought Dick was just a troublemaking party boy.”

More than the basics, Henry would have to find out on his own. Joe had taught Henry the trick of looking in the log books and files for more information if he was really interested. Though there were very few arrests made on the island, there were lots of reports written up and if one had patience and the desire, a man could practically create a family history from the police records.

The Mackinanders were proud of their island and though they had little control over its inhabitants, the older families scrutinized carefully those who owned property there. The owners typically fell into two camps, Joe explained; those that bought for love and those that bought for money. It was largely rumored that the Grunds had bought their place merely for the prestige, value of having a summer home on the island, and not for love of the island, a personal affront to the older families. And although Dick Sr. was an affable enough guy, it didn’t help that his wife and only son seemed to rub people the wrong way.

“I guess I knew them all,” said Joe. “She was one of those snooty old bitches who wouldn’t throw a crumb to a starving man if she thought she could save it for her own dinner. She didn’t talk to anyone who wasn’t upper-crusty. And she was forever throwing money after Dick Jr., to save him from getting in trouble with us.’

“What do you mean?” asked Henry.

“Oh, you know. Like he’d take a party prank too far and end up burning bleach into some guy’s yard. To keep the owners quiet, Mrs. Grund would pay for a whole new landscaping job.”

“I see,” said Henry.

“Or, once we heard that he crashed his motor boat into the deck of the French Outpost, you know that restaurant down there near the high school? They used to be right on the water down off Main Street. Completely destroyed it, and just about took out some customers, too. Drunk as a skunk, just laughing and carrying on like it was all a game. I think the Captain was actually pretty disappointed that the owners didn’t press charges, but we heard that Mrs. Grund had softened the blow with a little donation to the family. The cap tries to be neutral, but we all know he’s not particular about Dick.”

Henry got the picture. When Dick was younger, he was loud and careless and stupid and self-absorbed. Joe told a few more stories that amounted to wads of cash being quietly slipped into a neighbor’s hand to keep quiet about this or that transgression. Rumor held that his mother had bought his diploma from Northern Michigan University; the Grund Science Wing at the school was built as an incentive to graduate him.

There were certainly those who quite liked Dick Grund, said Joe. He was known for his drunken behavior and his insensitivity to anyone but himself, which in turn made him daring and exciting at times. His eccentricity allowed him to have lots of grown-up toys and his wealth made it perfectly OK to destroy them. Though as a whole, Michiganders do not like excess for excess sake, in the playground of the privileged, there are plenty who will go along for the ride if invited. Now that he was grown up, the same kids who shied away from him 20 years ago, were only to happy to attend his all-out summer bashes, or to meet him at the Jockey Club for a bourbon tasting.

His mother, most suggested, had orchestrated his entire life. Joe said rumor had it that she had even sent him to the same rehab clinic as Margaret Bontemps as a strategic move, though it was uncleaer if the move was designed to get the two together or simply have a little blackmail opportunity for a rainy day. “She was evil like that,” said Joe. “But actually, down at the station, we all thought it was Mrs. Grund’s way of trading up in social status.

When Dick Sr. died, said Joe, talk was the old boy hoped that his son would have to good sense to elevate his COO to the level of president, otherwise Dick Jr. would run the business into the ground.

“Then, when Mrs. Grund died a few yars back,” said Joe, “Well, he had no one to save him from himself; no one to save him from his wife. You wouldn’t believe the crazy parties he’s had since she kicked off. It’s everybody’s guess that if a divorce isn’t in the works, it will be soon.

“He’s got charisma, though.” said Joe. “I mean, he’s what, 50-something and he’s still a good lookin’ guy. And there he was today, cops in his house, and he was just as charming as they come and cool as a cucumber.”

“Well, he doesn’t sound like the nicest guy on the planet, or the brightest, but I guess I’m jaded having worked on the Detroit force all these years,” said Henry. “He sounds fairly within the realm of normal to me. Rich guy with a drinking problem and an overbearing, social climbing mom. Got in a little trouble, inherited a wife and a business, kind of selfish, but you know, really just a guy who cheats on his wife. I wouldn’t want him dating my daughter if I had one, and I don’t think I’d let him run my company, but I’d accept an invitation to one of his parties. Did you see that liquor cabinet?”

“Yeah, that was pretty sweet. I suppose you’re right,” said Joe. “I think it’s more the idea that Mackinanders like to have about their inhabitants, I guess. You know, that they’re the wealthy salt of the earth. And I don’t know, Cap says he’s just not a good guy, so maybe I just take a lot of stock in that. The captain is not one to throw out those kind of comments lightly.”

“So, is this about as dramatic as it gets on the island?” asked Henry, this being his first real problem call.

“I’d like to tell you it gets better, but this is about it. I mean, there are hotel thefts to investigate and stuff like that, but you know, it’s mostly alcohol and the occasional neighbor dispute. Sometimes we do a drug bust, pot usually, or coke once in a blue,” said Joe. “And then during the boat races, there are plenty of fights, and more calls from the locals about people on their private property, but I’m afraid, this is about as wild as it gets.” Joe thought about it for a moment. “Well, when Hollywood comes, you know, to film or something, it gets pretty wild. And there’s lots of overtime, so that’s good. They’re not drinkers, particularly, but they work strange hours so anything can happen.”


The two men made the rounds, stopping by various businesses to check in, be neighborly, and otherwise make their presence known on the island. By the time they got back to the station, it was 4:00pm. Henry volunteered to file the paperwork. It would give him an excuse to go into the file room, do a little research.


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