Reading Up a Storm (12 page)

Even Marlene hadn't connected the dots between the mysterious lights and the death of Will. Maybe I did read too many mystery novels. I'd like to think it was a common mugging gone wrong, but that was unlikely. Will's expensive watch hadn't been taken, and Watson had said Will still had his phone and wallet on him.

“You said Will has a son. Have you called him?”

“Yeah. He's on his way. I thought you were him at the door.”

As if summoned by her very words, the doorbell rang. Marlene jumped up and hurried to answer it. I struggled to my feet. My glass was empty. With a regretful glance at the bottle, I put it down on the table.

When Marlene returned, she was followed by a man dressed in an ironed blue shirt, open at the collar, and pressed gray slacks. He crossed the room in a few quick steps and came out onto the balcony, hand outstretched. “Hi, I'm Mike Williamson. Marlene didn't tell me she
had company.” He was around my age, good-looking, with thick black curls, a strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and gray eyes. Those eyes again. There could be no doubt that this was Will's son. Stephanie's half brother.

I accepted his handshake. His grip was strong, and he held my hand for a moment longer than was polite. At first I thought I'd seen him someplace before, but I decided it was the resemblance to his father. “I'm Lucy,” I said, pulling my hand back, feeling my cheeks flush.

“Great to meet you, Lucy. You're not leaving on my account, I hope.” He turned to Marlene. “Tell her to stay, Mar.”

I studied the interaction between Marlene and Mike. They seemed friendly enough. I remembered that Mike's mom and Will were divorced and that Will's second wife had died. No reason the young man should have anything against his father's girlfriend, who was the same age as Mike.

“I'll get another bottle,” Marlene said. She skipped into the house as I tried to say, “No more for me.”

Mike kept his eyes fixed on my face, and the edges of his mouth curled up. A dimple appeared in his right cheek. I shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. Poor old Dad. My folks split up when I was in grade school. After that, my mom moved back to Raleigh and took me with her, so I didn't see my dad much. He and I weren't close, but it's still a shock.” He took a breath. “It's nice that Marlene's friends are here to support her.”

“I don't know that Marlene needs much in the way of support,” I said.

She came out carrying a bottle of Prosecco and a fresh glass for Mike. “I thought bubbly would be nice,” she said. I didn't think Italian sparkling wine was entirely appropriate, but who was I to object? Once she'd served Mike, she made a move to refill my glass. I stopped her. “I've had enough. Thanks. I'm driving.”

“Come on,” Marlene said. “Let's have a toast to poor Will.”

“Not for me.”

She gave me a pout of disappointment but didn't press it. “More for the rest of us. To Will. He was a good sport.” She lifted her glass in a toast and then drank deeply, as did Mike.

When they'd finished, she asked him, “Have you spoken to the police yet?”

“Just on the phone. I've got an appointment at the station at six with the detective in charge of the case. Better go light on this for now.” He gestured to his wineglass.

“So, Lucy,” Mike said as we all took seats. Rather than laying myself out on the lounge chair, I perched on the edge, my feet on the floor. I had been getting far too comfortable. “Do you live here or are you on holiday?”

“Lucy works at the library,” Marlene said.

Mike's eyebrows lifted. “A librarian. You sure don't look it.”

I didn't bother to ask him what a librarian looked like. “Marlene and I've been wondering who might have had it in for your dad. Be mad enough to kill him, I mean. Do you have any ideas? The police will want to know.”

Mike shrugged. “I didn't know him well, as I said. He and Marlene stopped off at my place for a couple of days on their way here. First time I've seen him in years. He
might have had a ton of enemies, but I wouldn't know about it.”

I got to my feet. “Well, I'd better be off. Thanks for the wine, Marlene.”

She leaped up and gave me a hearty hug. “It was so great of you to come over. Let's go out for a drink one night soon. Dinner, maybe. I bet you know all the fun places.”

“Sure. We can do that.”

“Great idea,” Mike said, although I hadn't noticed him being invited. “I'd like to get to know Lucy better.”

“How long are you planning to be here?” I asked.

“I might not leave,” he said, giving me a meaningful look. “Not if I have something to stay for.”

I blushed and stumbled on the top step.

“Have you booked a hotel yet?” Marlene said.

“Hotel? Oh no, Mar, I'm not spending money on a hotel. This place will suit me fine.”

“You can't . . .”

“Sure I can,” he said. “It's plenty big enough for two. I don't imagine you'll be staying much longer anyway, now that the bank account's been
closed.”

So things weren't quite as friendly between Michael and Marlene as first impressions indicated. I wished I'd thought to ask her if Will had recently changed his will, although that might have been
waaay
too nosy, even for me. He could have left his money to anyone he wanted, from a new girlfriend to a shelter for homeless cats, but if he didn't have a will, or hadn't changed it recently, then chances were that everything he had would go to Mike.

And, judging by his last comment, Mike was not inclined to share with Marlene.

I wondered how Mike would feel if he found out he had to share his inheritance with Stephanie. He probably wouldn't be overjoyed, although he might like to discover he had a long-lost sister. Most of my only-child friends said they wished they had siblings. I, on the other hand, often wished I didn't have three older brothers.

I glanced at my watch. Five thirty. Mike said he had
an appointment with the police at six, so there was no point in my going around to talk to Sam Watson. I wanted to call Bertie, but I didn't want to sit in their driveway while Marlene and Mike peeked out the windows, wondering what I was up to, so I drove around the corner and parked there.

“Any news?” I asked my boss when she answered the phone.

“Pat called a few minutes ago. Stephanie's at home.”

I let out a long sigh. “Thank heavens. Did she say what happened?”

“The police are interested in Stephanie's whereabouts last night after you and I left around eleven. Stephanie has no alibi, but as Amos pointed out to Detective Watson, that means nothing. It was the middle of the night. Most people who don't have a bed partner, and even a good many of those who do, don't have alibis for the early hours.”

“Good point.”

“Pat didn't say it right out, but she implied that the police are trying to find someone who saw Stephanie or her car on the streets after we left.”

“They're wasting their time,” I said. “Besides, Steph's car was left behind at Jake's when I drove her home.”

“Yes, but Pat's car's drivable. Easy enough for her to take that one. Sam Watson told Stephanie not to leave Dare County. Amos countered that she's a respected member of the legal profession employed by a prominent firm in Raleigh. Her home and all her contacts are in this state, so Watson said okay, but she's not to leave North Carolina.”

“I guess that's better.”

“Marginally.”

“Do you need me back at work?” I asked.

“No. Do you have something in mind?”

“If an incident from Will's wayward youth has reared its ugly head,” I said firmly, “I know precisely where to go to find out about it.”

“See you tomorrow then,” Bertie said, hanging up.

Aunt Ellen and Uncle Amos own a beautiful little house set back from the beach. They moved out of the big rambling home in which they raised their family and entertained my brothers and me and bought this small one that's delightfully perfect, although surrounded by giant rental homes like Will and Marlene's. When I drove up, I was pleased to see Uncle Amos's car in the driveway.

My aunt answered the door and enveloped me in a big hug. “What brings you here, honey? Not that it's not always a joy to see you.”

“Not a joyful visit, I'm afraid. I want to talk to you about the Will Williamson situation.”

“Now, Lucy, you know I can't say much about that.” Amos stood at the top of the stairs. “Stephanie has retained me, so I am bound by client privilege.”

“I know that,” I said. “It's Aunt Ellen I'm here to see.”

“Me? Good heavens, what do I know about any of this?”

“Perhaps more than you are aware.” As we spoke we instinctively walked up the stairs. Like Marlene's house, the main floor was completely open. It was a good deal smaller and decorated with a personal touch that bordered on the chaotic, but the view was every bit as good as Marlene's. A pile of vegetables sat on the
granite countertop, waiting to be chopped, and a pot of water bubbled on the stove. “Oh, I'm sorry. I've interrupted your dinner preparations.”

“Take a seat, honey,” Ellen said. “I can cook and talk at the same time.”

“She can even chew gum and walk,” Amos said, and I laughed, comfortable in this home, among these people.

Without asking what I wanted, my aunt put the kettle on, and I smiled to myself.

While Aunt Ellen prepared pasta sauce and Uncle Amos listened without interrupting, I explained about the mysterious lights. Aunt Ellen looked doubtful, but Amos's ears almost visibly pricked up. “That is interesting. Stephanie said nothing to me or Watson about it.”

“That's because I seem to be the only person who thinks it relevant.”

“I think it highly relevant,” he said. “Now, tell us what you want Ellen to do?”

“We can't go to Alaska, digging into Will's past,” I said. “But I'm thinking that doesn't matter. There's got to be a reason he was killed so soon after returning to the Outer Banks. It's entirely possible someone remembered an old grudge.”

Ellen and Amos exchanged glances.

“He's about your age, Aunt Ellen. Did you know him back when?”

She nodded slowly. “He was at school same time I was, although a few years ahead.”

“Do you remember anything about him?”

“I didn't remember him at all until I read about his death in the paper. The article mentioned his age and said he'd lived here for many years. I dug out the old yearbooks and looked him up. He was a fine-looking young man.”

“We know he married, but he had an affair with Pat Stanton, and he ran out on her as soon as she got pregnant. It's entirely possible other women or girls were in the same situation and never forgave him. Maybe even a husband or boyfriend wanting revenge after all these years.”
Revenge.
Someone had said that word recently.

Stephanie. Stephanie had said it was time to get revenge on William Williamson.

I shoved the thought aside.

“You've thought of something,” Amos said.

“Nothing!”

He gave me a look that must have turned many a fresh-faced young prosecutor to quivering jelly. “If you say so.”

“I see what you're getting at, honey.” Aunt Ellen poured spaghetti noodles into the boiling stockpot. “I'll ask around. I'm still in touch with plenty of people from my long-ago youth. Time to get the gossip mill in gear.”

“That,” Uncle Amos said, “will not be difficult.”

“Now,” Ellen said. “You'll stay for dinner, Lucy.”

It was not a question, but I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I have another call to make.”

“Where?” Amos asked.

“You probably don't wanna know.”

*   *   *

I drove the few blocks to the police station. The sun was setting over the sound and the sky was streaked with soft shades of gray and pink. I was hoping Watson would be finished with Mike, but if he wasn't I would wait.

“I'm sorry,” said the officer behind the reception desk. “Detective Watson has left for the day. Do you want to see someone else?”

“No,” I said. “I'll come back tomorrow.”

“Lucy, what brings you here?” Butch crossed the room. He'd changed out of the clothes he'd worn to go hiking (was that only twelve hours ago?) and was wearing his uniform.

“I have some information for Detective Watson, but they tell me he's not here.”

“Can I help you?”

I hesitated.

“Let's grab a drink and maybe a bite to eat and you can tell me.”

“Aren't you working?”

“I'm just coming off shift. Your timing's excellent. How about the fishing pier?”

“Sure. I'll meet you there.”

“Great,” he said. “Give me ten minutes to change.”

I knew I should have refused. I didn't want to encourage Butch, but I needed to run my ideas past someone.

I reached the restaurant first. I checked my phone, hoping I'd missed a beep to tell me I had an incoming call or text from Connor. Nothing. I swallowed my disappointment and went inside. The restaurant was almost full, but I was shown to a couple of brightly colored stools pulled up to the long counter overlooking the beach. I
hopped onto a yellow seat and put my purse on the blue stool next to me to save Butch's spot. My drowsiness of earlier had passed, but I didn't want to risk having another drink. I ordered a glass of tea. I knew better than to ask for hot tea in any restaurant in the South. It was dark now, the ocean a black void. Surf pounded the shore in waves of white foam and the lights from the bar illuminated a narrow stretch of pale sand. In the shadows below the deck, a couple sat close together, murmuring softly.

Butch soon arrived, getting appreciative glances from a group of college-age women seated nearby. As usual, he seemed oblivious to their admiration. He ordered a beer. “Want anything to eat, Lucy?”

“No, I had something already,” I lied. I was starving, but eating dinner together would seem too much as though we were on a date.

“How's Stephanie?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess. Despite being manhandled by the police.”

“I doubt very much she was manhandled,” Butch said.

“Sorry. I was being defensive.”

His beer arrived, and he sipped it as he looked out to sea. “I hear she was released.”

“Of course she was released. She didn't kill that man. Watson's clutching at straws.”

“He's being thorough. Have you seen her?”

“Seen who?”

“Stephanie.”

“Not this afternoon.”

“I guess she's called in some high-powered legal help. That lot always helps their own.”

“She's retained my uncle Amos in case she needs him.”

“Really? That's good news.”

“You think so?”

He shifted in his seat. Drank more beer. Didn't look at me. “Sure. Amos is a straight shooter. He'll do a good job of representing her. If . . . uh . . . he has to.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going around to her place tonight?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I thought you might need me to go along.”

“Why would you think that?”

He shrugged his big shoulders. Judging by the number of beer bottles and wineglasses on their table, the young women seated near us were well on their way to vacation nirvana. One of them caught my eye and gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up with one hand while pointing at Butch with the other. Her friends collapsed into giggles.

“What are you looking at?” Butch said, twisting in his seat.

The girls squealed and buried their heads in their hands.

“That lot's gonna be trouble for some poor cop tonight,” he said to me.

I was maybe ten years older than them. They made me feel as though I should have a walker and hearing aid ready at hand. “I spoke to Marlene earlier.”

“Who?”

“Will's girlfriend. Remember, she was at book club?”

“Oh, yeah. Her. What about her?”

“She told me Will went around regularly making enemies of people and threatening to sue them. We saw that ourselves, didn't we, with Ralph? She had another story I found interesting.” I related the tale of the supermarket cart versus car incident. “The police were called, so the name of the other guy must be on file. Maybe he offed Will?”

“Because his eggs got broken?”

When he put it like that, it did sound pretty ridiculous. “You never know,” I said weakly.

“That's true enough. I learned my first week on this job not to assume something's too minor for some idiot to go totally nuts over. It's worth looking up.”

“Thanks. What happened at the marina, by the way? I heard something about Will's car being located and a boat stolen. Is that true?”

“Yup. His Navigator was found parked on the street near a marina in Wanchese. A small boat was stolen from there last night. The very boat we found Williamson in this morning.”

The image of Will's body flashed before my eyes. I swallowed.

Butch touched my arm. “You okay, Lucy?” His warm hazel eyes were full of concern.

I shook the memory away and tried to smile. “I'm good. What happens now?”

“Fingerprint techs and forensics have gone over the vehicle and the boat with a fine-tooth comb. If there's something to be found, it'll be found. Williamson's prints are all over the car, as you would expect, and
Marlene's too. Plenty of others, which is natural enough as the SUV has a lot of miles on it. We have to locate the boat owners to eliminate their prints, but they're out of town and the marina doesn't have cell numbers for them. We can't find anyone who saw Williamson on Roanoke Island last night or observed someone take that boat.”

“Have you wondered how the killer got back to wherever he'd come from? Someone had to have been with Williamson either before or after he was dead to pilot that boat and tie it to the dock. Where did they go after that? It's a heck of a long walk back to town on a very dark and lonely road.”

His eyes twinkled. “Don't tell Watson I said so, but you're good at thinking these things through, Lucy. One of our working theories is that the murder was so carefully planned and premeditated the killer had a vehicle concealed close by to use to get away from the scene. The other is that the killer had an accomplice, someone they phoned to pick them up after the deed, shall we say, was done.”

“That would be a risk, wouldn't it? A parked car, an isolated location, late at night. If a police patrol came by they'd make a note of it.”

“Murdering a man's a risk, Lucy. Everything else is secondary to that. It's often those minor details that help us catch the guy. Right now, Watson's biggest question is why Williamson would have been at a marina, and that one in particular, late at night, and decide to go for a boat ride.”