Reading Up a Storm (18 page)

“Impossible for us to know, unless Aunt Ellen and her friends remember something.”

“You said Will has a son?” Grace said. “What about him? He might have killed his dad, not wanting Will to joyfully discover that he had a long-lost daughter and cut her in on the inheritance.”

I shook my head. “Timing doesn't work. Will didn't know Steph was his daughter. You were sitting right next to each other at book club, and he didn't even blink.”

“
Bored disengagement
is the phrase that comes to mind,” Steph said.

“The only person who knew, until Wednesday night, was Pat,” Josie said. “Besides, if the son did know, and was the type to think that way, he'd be more likely to kill Stephanie, an intrusive stranger, than his father, wouldn't you think?”

We nodded.

“I have a brother,” Stephanie said. “Imagine that.”

“What I'd like to know,” Grace said, “is how Will got into that boat. Someone must have lured him down to the marina at night. He wouldn't go with just anyone.”

“As Detective Watson won't tell me what clues he's coming up with,” I said, “we simply don't know. He might have been killed anywhere, and the body dumped into the boat. I'd like to know how the killer got away after tying up the boat. He wouldn't have walked back to town, so did he have an accomplice? Either someone in on the killing, or who he called after the fact? Hey, I've just remembered something.”

They looked at me, eyes wide with interest. Even Charles's ears stood to attention.

“What?” Stephanie said. It almost broke my heart to hear the hope in her voice.

“Boats. Who knows boats better than the coast guard? Marlene told me Will threatened to sue the coast guard guys who rescued them the night of the storm. Not just Ralph Harper but all of them.”

“He really was a piece of work,” Grace said. “I'd say no loss to anyone, if we didn't have friends involved.”

“Is it possible that Ralph and the coast guard made a mistake?” I asked. “The sort of mistake a man like Will would delight in jumping on? And did one of the guys, or all of them, decide to take Will out of the picture before he could lay a complaint?”

“That's ridiculous,” Josie said.

“No more ridiculous than some of the other things we've heard,” Grace said. “Blue sky, remember. Anything's on the table.”

“Josie,” I said. “Aaron volunteers with the coast guard, right?”

She nodded. Aaron was her younger brother.

“Could you ask him to find out who, in addition to Ralph, rescued Will that night? Maybe one of us can go around and ask a few discreet questions.”

“Questions like, ‘Did you murder Will Williamson so you wouldn't be arrested for negligence?'” Josie said.

“Put like that, it does sound rather silly,” I said. “But if we have the names maybe all I need to do is place another word in Watson's ear. I told him what happened between Will and Ralph, but I don't know what happened about that.”

“Can't hurt,” Josie said. “Sure, Aaron'll be glad to help. He's making noises about becoming a police officer.”

Stephanie groaned.

“Yeah,” Josie said, “you and my dad both.”

“I've nothing against the police,” Grace said. “I wouldn't mind getting to know Butch Greenblatt better. But I think his mind is elsewhere these days.” She gave me a look. I busied myself gathering up the empty ice cream bowls (Charles had already washed them).

“Butch?” Stephanie said. “Surely you don't mean Lucy's interested in that big lug? Lucy has enough common sense to stay well away from the likes of him. Cops are relationship poison. Particularly the big handsome macho ones. They're on far too much of a power trip.”

“Butch isn't like that,” Josie said.

“I don't intend to find out,” Stephanie said.

“Butch is so much like his older brother,” Josie said. “Neither he nor Jake have anything to prove to anyone.
And, speaking of Jake”—Josie checked her watch—“he said to be ready at quarter after. It's almost that late now.”

Reluctantly, my friends got to their feet. They helped me carry the last of the dishes and glasses into the kitchen, and Charles and I went down with them to lock up.

Grace stuck her head out the door. “I don't see Louise Jane's car. Drat, I was hoping to make rustling noises in the grass and moan.” She did a terrible imitation of a tormented ghost and we laughed.

Headlights swept down the driveway.

“Looks like Jake's got someone with him,” I said. The car pulled up and two men got out.

Beside me I heard Stephanie let out a soft grunt I took for disapproval.

Jake and Butch. Jake was shorter and slighter than his younger brother but the resemblance between them was unmistakable. They might have been twins.

Extremely good-looking twins.

Josie ran up to Jake and they greeted with a kiss. “Did y'all have fun?” he said when they separated.

“Sure did,” Grace said. “Hi, Butch.”

“Hi.” Butch gave me a smile. He ignored Stephanie, which seemed to suit her, as she ignored him. They stood in the center of the parking lot like two blocks of ice. These people were two of my best friends and they hated each other. I wished I could do something to convince each of them that the other was a nice person.

But I suspected that the differences between them ran too deep.

Josie leaped into the front passenger seat of the car, leaving Butch, Grace, and Stephanie to get in the back.
Jake drove a Honda Accord. If not for the look on Butch and Stephanie's faces, I might have laughed. Grace got into the back first and didn't move from beside the window. Stephanie crawled into the middle seat, and Butch was forced to squeeze his six-foot-five, two hundred pound frame between the door and a steaming Stephanie.

I could already tell that for my friends, it was going to be a long ride home.

I woke to the feel of something rough and wet on my face. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into Charles's expressive blue orbs. “Geeze,” I said. “Go back to sleep, will you?” He lifted one paw and swatted my cheek.

“No,” I said. “I refuse to get up. It's Sunday and I have the right to sleep in. I have an exciting day ahead of me and I need my beauty rest.” Unimpressed, he swatted me again. That was unlike Charles. He was usually content to wait for me to make getting-up noises. I rolled over, thinking of my date with Connor. A picnic on the beach. Could anything be more romantic?

The phone rang. I rolled back over. Charles smirked, and leaped off the bed. I answered the dratted phone.

“Morning, Lucy. I apologize for calling so early.” It was Connor. My heart moved and I snuggled deeper into the bed, feeling a nice warm glow in my chest.

“Not a problem,” I said. “I was up.”

“I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel our picnic.”

A bucket of cold water drenched my nice warm glow. “Oh,” I said.

“I have to meet with Dorothy, my campaign manager. I don't know when we'll be finished. There have been some not-promising developments in the campaign this week.”

“You mean Doug Whiteside?”

“Yes, I do. Are you hearing anything more?”

I told him what I'd overheard in the library stacks yesterday.

“That's what Dorothy says people are talking about. I want to confront these rumors head-on. Maybe even have the chief make a statement. Dorothy fears that doing so will only be adding fuel to the fire. Regardless, I have to be out there most of today, pressing the flesh, convincing voters that I'm not a cold-blooded killer.”

“I understand, Connor.” And I did understand. Totally. But I couldn't help being disappointed.

“Thanks, Lucy. Can I call you tonight and let you know how it goes? Hopefully we can do something next week.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Enjoy your day.” He hung up.

I refrained from hurling the phone across the room. Blast that Bill Hill and his sneaky insinuations. If anyone had something to hide in this campaign, it would be Doug Whiteside.

Now that the prospect of more sleep had been ruined, I rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. Oh, great, a perfect sunny day. I would have been a lot happier if a snowstorm was bearing down on me.

There is only one thing a woman can do in the face of such profound disappointment.

Pay a visit to Josie's Cozy Bakery.

*   *   *

“That was fun last night,” my cousin said to me.

“It was. I noticed your car was gone this morning. How was the ride home last night?”

“You mean other than when Stephanie told Butch he was deliberately taking up too much of her space, and he said, ‘Excuse me for living, but could you get your elbow out of my ribs'? It reminded me of when you and your brothers would visit and Dad would try to stuff all of us into the back of the van.”

“It's too bad those two don't like each other. Makes things awkward.”

“What time are you meeting Connor?” Josie asked. I'd told my friends last night about our plans for today.

I explained what had happened, and she pulled a face. “Can't be helped I suppose. What are you up to today then?”

“Lucy, one extra-large latte,” Alison called, placing my drink on the counter. I shifted the paper bag containing a breakfast sandwich to the other hand and grabbed the cup. “I plan to do some politicking of my own. See you later.”

Before leaving home, I'd gone online and searched for the information I needed: the location of Doug Whiteside's campaign office. I'd then spent an hour catching up on e-mail and Facebook posts with friends back in Boston, until I figured it would be time to find the office open.

I munched on my sandwich as I drove across town. I expected Doug's campaign headquarters to be a hive
of activity, but only one rusty car was parked outside when I pulled up. The office was located in an unattractive strip mall, next to a nail parlor. I had no trouble identifying it, because giant posters of a grinning Doug graced the windows. The smile was so fake, the teeth so white, I wondered if they'd been Photoshopped.

By contrast, Connor's official pictures played down his extraordinary good looks and made him look older than he was. Maybe his team feared that older voters wouldn't take such a young, handsome man seriously.

I pushed open the door and marched in. An elderly lady, dressed in a lilac twin-set and pearls, her blue-rinse hair crimped and tightly curled, was seated behind a desk. The office wasn't big, one room with a door, now open, leading off into a small meeting room. Tables were covered in election signs and promotional handouts. Numerous boxes of those ubiquitous fridge magnets were piled high. The room was painted industrial beige, the carpet brown and worn thin in places. The only decoration was a banner pinned to the back wall that read in big letters, D
OUG
FOR N
AGS
H
EAD
.

“Help ya, honey?” the woman asked.

“Is Doug in?”

“Not yet. If you want to talk to him, why don't you leave your number and I'll tell him to call you. He always returns every phone call.”

“Okay. I'm here because I'm uh . . . interested in renting a space for my boat at a marina on Roanoke Island and I'm wondering if there are any taxes on that.”

“What?” She looked confused. As well she might. Even I didn't know what I was talking about. On the drive over I'd decided that if fortune favors the brave,
I'd have to be brave. In the cold light of day I didn't believe Doug had killed Will to make Connor look bad. But Doug was perfectly happy to take advantage of the situation. I wanted to let him know that two could play at that game.

“I'm sure he doesn't know,” the woman sniffed, “what folks get up to on Roanoke.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought Doug would know. He has a berth there, doesn't he? At the marina near Wanchese, I was told.”

She started to shake her head (not a single strand of her hair moved) and then, like a bulb coming on, light flooded into her eyes. “That's where that man was killed.”

“Someone was killed there?” I gasped. The police weren't saying where exactly the murder took place—if they even knew. I wondered if this woman had inside information or was speculating based on the theft of the boat. But, I reminded myself, that wasn't why I was here. “You don't say. How awful. Was it near Doug's slip?”

“Doug doesn't have a boat slip.”

“Maybe it was Bill Hill I'd heard about then?”

“Don't think so.”

“Really? I could have sworn. Oh, well, never mind.”

“What'd you say your name was again?”

“I didn't. Thanks. I'll pop in later.”

I attempted a hasty exit. So hasty, I almost bumped into Doug and Billy coming in. “Sorry,” I said.

“Not a problem. I run into voters all the time,” Doug chuckled. “But they're rarely as pretty as you. Ha-ha.”

Ha-ha.
Even Billy had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Oh,” Doug said. “It's you again. Lucy from the library,
right? Thanks for dropping in. Sorry I wasn't around to greet you. Here to volunteer, are you? Billy, why don't you get this young lady a coffee and show her to a table and a phone?”

“Another time,” I said, squeezing past them. In an almost empty parking lot, Doug had managed to park his Cadillac Escalade at such an angle that I could barely get my door open, and I had to suck my stomach in and wiggle myself into my own car.

Before I could get the engine started my phone rang. To my considerable surprise, it was Marlene. She didn't bother with greetings. “Lucy, something absolutely dreadful has happened.”

“What? Are you okay? Do you need me to call the police?”

“The police have just been here. Can you come over? Right away?”

“Sure. But, why are you calling me, Marlene?”

“I . . .” Her voice broke. “I don't have anyone else to ask, Lucy.”

“I'm in town now, so I can be there in a couple of minutes. Is it Mike? Have they arrested Mike?”

“Mike? Who cares about Mike? It's much worse.” She hung up.

I switched the engine on and put my car into gear. Before driving away, I glanced up at Doug's office. He was standing in the window, his real face next to the campaign picture giving him a strange double-headed appearance. Bill Hill was standing slightly behind him and looking over Doug's shoulder. They were watching me, and neither of them was smiling.

*   *   *

There was little point in speculating as to what had happened at Marlene's, but I couldn't help myself from doing so anyway. The police had called on her, bringing upsetting news. She said they hadn't arrested Mike, and obviously they hadn't arrested Marlene if she was still at home, so what could it have been? Had they warned Marlene she was under suspicion? Were they calling off the investigation? Had they concluded that Will's death had been suicide? It hadn't looked like suicide to me, but what did I know? I'd had only a quick glance at the body—and one glance had been more than enough—so I might have missed important clues.

At Marlene's house, no cars were in the parking area, but that meant nothing as the double garage doors were closed. I ran up the steps and pressed the bell. Marlene threw open the door almost immediately. She was again dressed in a bathing suit and the turquoise robe. Today her hair was undone and blond tresses curled around her shoulders. It made her look older and somewhat harder than the casual, cheerful ponytail she usually sported. Then again, her eyes were red and her face streaked with the tracks of tears. It wasn't a look that would make anyone, other than a toddler, look young.

“What's happened?” I said.

She threw her arms around me and sobbed. I hugged her back and tried to mumble words of comfort. Finally she pushed herself away. She dug a tattered tissue out of her pocket, blew her nose, and wiped at her eyes. “Come on in, and I'll tell you. Oh, Lucy, it's simply dreadful.”

We went upstairs. Mike was in the great room, pacing up and down in front of the glass wall. He wore jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt and held a glass half full of a smoky liquid. When I came in, he swallowed the drink in one gulp.

Marlene threw herself into a chair with a moan.

“Don't be such a drama queen,” Mike said, heading to the bar for a refill.

“Is someone going to tell me what's going on?” I said.

“It's gone. All gone,” Marlene moaned.

“What's gone?”

“Will's money. He hasn't got any.”

“What?”

“I went out to dinner last night and my credit card was refused. It was embarrassing enough to be sitting in Owens having dinner all by myself, never mind the smirk on the stuck-up waitress's fat face when she brought my card back. Fortunately I had enough cash on me to pay the bill, although the look she gave me when I didn't leave a tip was simply hideous. I called the bank this morning, and they said the card has been suspended until”—she gulped—“the outstanding interest charges are paid.”

Some crisis.
I'd been dragged halfway across town in a panic so Marlene could tell me her credit card bill was overdue. “Pay the charges then.”

“I have nothing to pay it with! I don't keep track of those things! Will pays my card off every month. That was our arrangement.”

I glanced at Mike. “What Marlene means,” he said, “is that Dad told her he was paying it off. It would seem he was lying to her. As well as to everyone else.”

Marlene grabbed a fresh tissue out of a box on the side table and blew her nose enthusiastically. Mike's face twisted in disapproval.

“I still don't understand,” I said.

“I don't know why Marlene called you,” Mike said. “I don't believe in washing a family's dirty laundry in public. Then again, Marlene's hardly family, are you?” His sneer was probably equal to the waitress's when she realized she wasn't going to get a tip from what had, no doubt, been a high-spending and high-demanding customer. Mike turned back to me with an attempt at a smile. “Regardless of Marlene's histrionics, it was nice of you to come over, Lucy. As long as you're here, you might as well know what's happened. Your pal Detective Watson paid us a visit. He'd obtained a warrant to look into my dad's bank accounts and did so yesterday. He found nothing.”

“Nothing wrong, you mean. That's good isn't it?” I figured it was standard procedure for the police to investigate a murdered person's financial affairs. They'd be checking for unusual amounts of money going out that might mean blackmail or coming in that might mean up to no good.

“Nothing!” Marlene wailed. “No money. Nothing.”

“You mean . . .”

“Yup,” Mike said. “Dad was dead broke. Worse than dead broke, he was drowning in debt. That silly little car he said he'd bought Marlene—only a lease. The boat he wrecked, rented. This house that was supposedly paid up until the end of the year? Nope. I expect we'll be evicted as soon as the rent check bounces.”

“Wow,” I said. “He had nothing?”

“Nothing but bad investments, loans coming due,
and a couple of small GICs that are locked in. He was probably on the verge of cashing them in, and taking a big penalty for doing so.”

Marlene sat on the couch and wept. “He won ten thousand dollars in one night of poker in Vegas. Right after we met. He said I was his lucky charm.”

“He lost, the cops say, more than two hundred thousand in the week he was there,” Mike said.

“Wow,” I repeated.

“All this time,” Marlene moaned, “I thought he was playing computer games. I asked if I could play with him once—just to keep him company, like? He said he played to get rid of stress and wanted to be alone.”