Reading Up a Storm (19 page)

“And you were too busy to push it?” Mike sneered. He nodded to the stacks of fashion and gossip magazines covering all the tables. “Too stupid and self-absorbed, more like.”

“You can't talk to me like that,” she said. “I don't interfere where I'm not wanted.”

“That,” he said, “I'm glad to hear.”

“Hold on,” I said. “I don't understand. What's his computer got to do with anything?”

“The cops searched the computer,” Mike said. “It seems that Dad was a regular visitor to almost every online gambling site in existence. His accounts show a couple of small wins here and there. And major losses everywhere else.”

“Isn't gambling illegal in North Carolina?” I asked.

“Not online gambling, no. But even if it was, that's hardly going to stop anyone,” Mike said. “They don't call it the World Wide Web for nothing. As for retiring? Turns out that was a lie too, as the cops found out by placing a
single phone call to the boss at his old company. Dad was fired. Told if he left quietly the company wouldn't take him to court for embezzlement. Fired for cause, which means he got no pension and no benefits. Turns out dear old Dad's gambling habit didn't start when he hit Vegas.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked Marlene.

She peered at me through red eyes and wet lashes. “Look for a job, I guess.”

“You won't find it easy around here. Tourist season's ending. Jobs dry up for the winter.”

“Mike?” she said with a sniffle.

“Don't ask me,” he said. “I'm not helping you out. I figure you're not entirely blameless here, Marlene. You were happy enough spending Dad's money without asking where he was getting it.”

“I don't ask a man about his finances!”

“No. You only spend it.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and judging by the look on her face it wasn't going to be a polite one. I was not getting into the middle of this. Time for me to take my leave and let these two have at it without me as witness. “Guess I'll be going,” I said. Tough on Marlene, but she wouldn't be any worse off than she'd been before she met Will. Mike probably had expectations of his dad, but he wouldn't be the first heir to find the vaults empty when the will was read.

“Don't go, Lucy,” Marlene said. “I don't want to be alone. Please.”

Mike finished his drink and slammed the glass onto the table. “Don't leave on my account. I'm outta here.”

“Are you going home?” I asked.

“No. The cops haven't released Dad's body yet, but
when they do I'll have to make the arrangements.” He gave Marlene a poisonous look. “No one else to do it, is there? Might as well enjoy this house while we can. I can't order you to leave, Marlene, but stay the heck out of my way. I'll have to call my mom. Might as well make her mad at Dad one last time.” He headed up the stairs.

When he was gone, Marlene dabbed at her eyes and said, “Drink?”

“I don't think so.”

“Oh, come on. There's some Prosecco in the fridge, the last bottle of the case Will bought. I might as well drink it while I have it.”

“No, thanks, but you go ahead.”

“You'll stay for a while, though, right?”

I wanted to go home. I didn't want to be involved in this woman's life. But she looked so sad and so lonely that I gave in and said I'd keep her company for a while.

I couldn't help but reflect on the irony. Instead of enjoying the day with Connor—a delicious picnic spread out on a blanket on a deserted beach, walking on the wet sand (holding hands?), splashing in the surf, spreading sunscreen on each other's backs—I was spending my Sunday sitting on Marlene's lounge chair watching her drink and listening to her bemoan her lot in life.

It was hot, and the sun beat relentlessly down on the deck. I struggled to put up an umbrella to sit under, although Marlene seemed happy to stretch out in the sun. I refused yet another entreaty to have a glass of wine, but eventually I was persuaded to try on a bathing suit. I went to the guest bathroom (huge open rain shower, stone
countertops, and ceramic tiles in desert colors of tan and ochre with matching towels) and Marlene brought me a stack of bathing suits. “How many of these do you have?” I asked. Even my mom, who has plenty of money and the drive to spend it, vacations with only two suits. Three if she's feeling indulgent. Maybe four if it's a long vacation.

“A bunch,” Marlene replied.

Some of the bathing suits still had price tags attached. I dug through skimpy bikinis and one-pieces that were more lace than solid fabric, and found a tankini in dark blue with a sedate red stripe. The top was far too large for me and I had to wiggle unhappily into the bottom. But it would do, as long as we weren't going out in public.

Back outside, Marlene was in the pool. I leaned on the railing and watched as she did laps with a powerful crawl before flipping onto her back to float with her face to the sun and her eyes closed.

“As much as I don't like her, I can't help feeling sorry for her, just a little bit,” said a voice behind me. Mike put his hands on the railing. “Dad did lie to her.”

“Did he make any promises to her, about the future, I mean?”

“Marriage? I don't know. If he did, and she believed him, she's even stupider than I thought she was.”

I didn't think Marlene was stupid. Naive perhaps, too quick to trust. Then again, maybe not. She was no worse off than she was before Will Williamson walked into that restaurant in Vegas. If she sold some of her jewelry, returned the unworn bathing suits, she could hop on a bus to Nevada. Maybe she could even get her job back,
and return to her old life with a couple of months of high living to brag to her coworkers about.

“What are you going to do?” I asked Mike.

“I've taken time off from my job to take care of Dad's affairs. Soon as things are sorted, I'll go back to Raleigh and continue as I always have.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm a manager at a branch of Great Eastern Bank.”

“That's nice,” I said.

He laughed. “It's not. Not nice, I mean, dull as dirt actually, but it pays the bills. Which is more than my father could say. Speaking of nice, it was kind of you to come when Marlene called. I'm sure you had plans for the day.”

“My plans were canceled.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

I turned and looked at him. “Why?”

“Because you're here.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Look, Lucy, I'm sorry you had to witness that scene earlier. It wasn't my idea to drag you into my dad's mess, but I'm glad you came. Maybe we can get to know each other better. Without certain
other people
interfering. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“What?”

“I'm asking you out to dinner. Unlike Marlene, my dad didn't pay my credit card bills. Don't worry. I won't be inviting her to join us.”

The hot sun beat down on my head. I tugged at the edge of my too-tight tankini bottoms. “No,” I said. “I mean, no, thank you. I'm . . . busy.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Uh . . .” This was awkward. I didn't want to be rude,
and Mike seemed like a nice enough guy. Nothing had been said between Connor and me, but even if Connor didn't declare his intentions, I had decided he was the man for me. “I'm seeing someone.”

Mike studied my face. Those gray eyes. Stephanie's half brother. So far she hadn't indicated that she wanted to meet him. I wondered if I should arrange to introduce them. “It's just a dinner,” he said.

I hoped Stephanie'd be pleased. I hoped Mike would want to get to know her. Stephanie wouldn't have to worry about being all alone in the world when her mom died. “Do you have children?”

He blinked. “I'm not married, if you're asking.”

“I was just wondering. About kids, I mean.”

“I don't have any children. Not yet. I'm divorced, have been for some time. Does that mean you'll say yes and have dinner with me?”

“Sorry, but no.”

“Lucy, come on in. The water's heavenly,” Marlene called.

“Be right down! Are you coming?” I asked Mike.

“No, thanks. I'll stay up here and watch.”

I swam with Marlene for a while, and it was heavenly. Not as nice as a day at the beach, though.

We were toweling off on the deck when Marlene said, “I'm starving. I think we have some chips and salsa in the cupboard. Want some?”

“Not for me. Thanks. I need to get home,” I said.

“Why?”

Because I want to.
“I'm sure you have things to do.”

She pouted and dropped into a lounge chair. “I've nothing to do but sit here until I get thrown out like last
week's garbage. We're almost out of wine. Mike, be a sweetie and go to the store, will you?”

“No,” he said. “The bank of Williamson, all branches, is closed, Marlene. Permanently. I'm getting a beer. Want one, Lucy?”

“No, thanks.”

Once he'd gone into the house I said to Marlene, “Did Detective Watson tell you anything more about the night Will died?”

She shook her head. “Watson doesn't
tell
anyone anything. He just asks questions. I don't think he's at all competent. He's running around in circles if you ask me. It's the same questions every time.”

“He's hoping you'll remember something important,” I said, wondering why I was defending Sam Watson.

“Whatever. I like it here, on the Outer Banks, I mean. I'd like to stay for a while. If you hear of any jobs, let me know, will you?”

“Sure. Do you have any guesses as to who might have phoned Will that night? Who he might have been going out to meet?”

She lowered her sunglasses. “Lucy, these questions are getting tedious. I don't know and I said I don't know. I told Watson to trace the call. They can do that, can't they? He said the phone was a throwaway, meaning no record of the owner. I think that's suspicious—don't you?”

“It might be.” Then again, not everyone who bought a burner phone was planning to use it for criminal purposes. Some people didn't like their phone conversations to be traceable. Or so I've been told.

I went in search of my clothes and dressed quickly. When I came out, Marlene was lying back in her lounge
chair, stretched out in the sun with her head back and her sunglasses in place. She'd refreshed her glass. The empty bottle of Prosecco had fallen over and was rolling back and forth across the table. Mike was nowhere to be seen.

“I'm off,” I said. Then I added, against my better judgment, “Give me a call if you need anything.” Why was I getting involved in these people's lives?

“I'll do that,” she said. “I still have the car. It hardly uses any gas at all, but it's almost empty. I shoulda filled up when I had the chance. Don't know what I'm going to do then.”

I let myself
out.

If Will Williamson was, as his son had said, dead broke, that changed everything. Financial doom might have been a hurricane on his horizon but, like people who throw hurricane parties instead of heading inland to safer ground, Will seemed to have continued to live the high life, spending money like water. Money he didn't have. He must have been in a total panic underneath, realizing that sooner rather than later his day of reckoning would arrive. One bounced check or refused credit card and the whole edifice would come tumbling down. What might he have done to delay that day?

He'd dropped two hundred thousand dollars (an almost unbelievable sum) in a week in Las Vegas. Had he borrowed to maintain his gambling habit as well as his lifestyle?

Had he borrowed from the wrong people?

He'd been gambling online, we knew that. Marlene had said he regularly went out at night without her. She thought he was drinking, but might he have been
gambling? There are no casinos or hotel lobby slot machines on the Outer Banks. All forms of gambling are illegal in North Carolina, but I figured that minor detail wouldn't stop serious gamblers. Was he out at night in a modern equivalent of a speakeasy, gambling with money he didn't have?

Watson must have reached the same conclusion, and he would now be looking for loan sharks or mob enforcers, leaving my friend alone. I headed for Pat's house to give her and Stephanie the good news.

Unfortunately, Watson was also there and, even more unfortunately, he wasn't inclined to see things my way. He was walking down the path, heading toward his car, when I drove up.
Curses,
I thought as he spotted me the minute I turned the corner, lowered his sunglasses, and waited. As long as he was here I might as well give him the benefit of my deductions, in case he hadn't reached the same conclusions as I had.

“Every penny of Williamson's money, or lack thereof, is accounted for, Lucy,” he said to me when I'd finished blathering about illegal gambling parlors, the Vegas mob, and hit men. I might have even speculated that they'd stolen the boat with the intention of taking Will out in the Sound and fitting him with a pair of “cement overshoes” when they'd been interrupted for some unknown reason. “Men with solid reputations, blue-chip investments, and adequate means don't have to frequent loan sharks. You've been watching too much TV.”

“I never watch police shows on TV,” I said. “Too unrealistic. I prefer novels.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Besides,” I went on, “Will didn't have a good
reputation or blue-chip investments; that's my point. He'd been fired from his job and thus didn't even have an income.”

“Not that it's any of your business, Lucy,” he said, “but for some reason I find myself telling you things my wiser nature tells me not to. Will Williamson had been a moderately wealthy man, a high-level executive in a solid oil company, with property and investments. Then, about five years ago, he developed a gambling habit that very quickly spiraled out of control. He's not the first to fall prey to online gambling and he won't be the last. It's a curse. His was the same old story I've heard a thousand times. He began losing, a little here, a little there. Then more and more. Initially he could afford the losses, but not for long. He had to sell stock he'd been given as part of his compensation package at a bad time in the market. He lost the lot. So he sold more and lost even more and entered the downward spiral. He began taking bribes and kickbacks. He wasn't a particularly clever crook, the desperate ones never are, and when his bosses found out they fired him. They didn't do him any favors, far as I'm concerned, by not laying charges or making the firing public. Williamson told everyone he'd had enough of Alaska and had taken a generous retirement package. He owned a vacation home as well as a nice house in Anchorage. He sold those, taking the first offers he got and thus another financial hit, and headed for Vegas. He lost almost all of it there. Everything he lived on for the last couple of months was debt. He had a fistful of credit cards, and ran them all up to the max. Same with a line of credit. His debts were enormous, but all aboveboard and easily traceable. If
he went to the mob, they turned him down.” Watson laughed. “They have more sense than many banks I could name.”

The front door of the house opened, and Stephanie came out. “Everything okay here, Lucy? Is this man harassing you?”

Watson rolled his eyes. “Just exchanging pleasantries, Ms. Stanton. Now, Lucy, if you have no more wild theories to share with me, I have real police work to do.”

“Officious jerk” was Stephanie's comment. But she wisely waited until Watson was in his car and disappearing down the street.

“He told you Will Williamson had no money?”

“Yeah. He implied that I was angry when I realized I wouldn't be getting a big bequest. First I supposedly killed him for my inheritance, and then I supposedly killed him because I wasn't going to get anything. All this about a man I didn't even know. Watson's fishing.” Stephanie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What brings you here anyway?”

“I thought the revelation of the state of his finances would break the whole case open, but Watson doesn't seem to think it makes a bit of difference. Everything okay here?”

Stephanie touched my arm. “Other than still being under suspicion of murder, you mean? We're as okay as can be. I was on the phone earlier with Amos. I find his small one-man practice fascinating. Do you know, his secretary called me “honey,” put me through right away, and I didn't hear the sound of billable minutes being counted as we talked? Amazing.”

“Not all lawyers fit the sharklike stereotype,” I said.

“So I'm beginning to realize. Why don't you come in and say hi to Mom. Do you have time for a glass of tea?”

“Sure.”

Pat Stanton was seated in her lounger, her feet up and her legs covered by a blanket, a pile of books from the library stacked on the side table beside her. More books and magazines were scattered on the floor. I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. She had that musty smell of an invalid confined to the indoors, her face was pasty, and her skin was lined with deep marks of worry. On top of the pain she must be in all the time, and the frustration of not being mobile, she had Stephanie's troubles to worry about.

I took a seat while Steph went for the drinks. “What'cha reading?” I asked.

“Reading?” She waved her hand at the side table. “Some silly thing that isn't keeping my attention. Oh, Lucy, I'm so tired of being stuck in this house.” She burst into tears. “More than anything, I just want to go for a lovely long walk on the beach.”

I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. Strong, capable Pat Stanton, a mighty force of strength and reliability, was crying. I jumped up and went to her. I crouched in front of her chair and took her hands. “It's all going to be okay. We know Steph didn't kill anyone, and Watson will figure out who did soon. And then everything will get back to normal.” I tried to smile. It wasn't easy.

“Normal? I wonder what that even means. Will's dead. Things will not be normal for him, not ever again.”

“Did Watson tell you what he learned about Will's finances?”

“Oh, yes. The stupid fool. I was surprised to hear about the gambling, but I suppose a man changes over thirty years. Will was never one to lose control. He knew what he wanted and was determined to get it. I wasn't surprised, though, to hear that he kept spending money he didn't have. Appearances were important to Will.” She wiped away a tear. “My poor dear Will. For all his faults, he didn't deserve to die. I loved him once, Lucy. No matter what happened over the years, I haven't forgotten that.” Her face was etched with pain. More pain, I realized, of lost love and forgotten youth, than from her injuries. She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and blew her nose. “Where is that tea?” She raised her voice. “Stephanie?”

“Hold your horses, Mom,” came a shout from the kitchen. “I'll be right there.”

I got up off the floor and took my seat on the couch as Stephanie came through with a tray balancing three glasses, an ice-filled pitcher, and a plate of store-bought cookies.

“I was telling Lucy,” Pat said, “that if I wasn't stuck in this house or that hated wheelchair, I'd be out pounding the pavement myself trying to clear your good name.” She gave me a smile, but the smile was forced and her eyes glistened with tears.

With a shock, I realized that this was the first time I'd seen anyone showing any emotion at all over the death of Will Williamson.

Poor Will, indeed. What a sad legacy: the only one who shed a tear for him was a woman he'd wronged so badly so long ago.

*   *   *

I was dead beat when I got home. It's more tiring, I think, dealing with other people's emotions than it must be to walk headfirst into a hurricane.

I hadn't eaten since the breakfast sandwich in my car, so I fixed myself a bowl of mushroom soup and sat at my small table with
The List
—the list of suspects my friends and I had drawn up last night. Charles curled up in the window alcove to bask in the sun.

I studied the list as I sipped my soup. Things had changed since last night. Watson might not think the revelations about Will's finances were important (or he might and he wasn't telling me what was on his mind) but I was convinced they had to be.

Doug Whiteside. I'd wanted to believe Doug capable of killing Will, but had dismissed him as a suspect because it was a stretch to think he'd killed Will in order to frame Connor. But now? Had Will promised Doug a big campaign contribution? Had Doug already spent money he hadn't received? If he had he'd look like a fool and a mighty bad money manager to boot, when Will turned around and said, “You're outta luck. Sorry.” Even if Doug hadn't spent the money, he might have been furious at being tricked. Doug had a ready-made accomplice, someone to pick him up from the marsh after tying up the boat: Billy. That was a thought. I added Bill Hill to the bottom of the list. Maybe I had things backward, and it was Billy who'd killed Will, either to frame Connor or because he was worried about the threat to Doug's chances of winning the election.
As the campaign manager, Billy would know everything about the candidate's finances, particularly who was donating what. And who was not.

I made a second column on the page and headed it
LIGHTS
. I was convinced, although no one else was, that the mysterious lights the night of the storm were an attempt to kill Will. I put a determined tick beside Doug's name. Doug had lived on the Outer Banks his entire life. My mom and Aunt Ellen had known his sister in high school. He'd know these waters as well as his way around a boat. I knew absolutely nothing about Bill Hill. Tomorrow, I'd see whether he'd have been capable of manning a boat, but for now, I put a tentative tick by his name.

Ralph Harper. I put a big X beside his name in the new column. Ralph may have been mad enough to kill Will
after
the storm, but he would have had no reason to set the lights that caused Will to wreck his boat.

Marlene. Marlene certainly hadn't set the lights so she also got an X in that column. As for motive, she was on the list because I'd wondered if she got rid of Will, hoping to keep his money for herself. That might still be the case, as she appeared to be totally blindsided by the news that he didn't have any. Was it possible that had all been an act? Had she known he'd lost all his money? She had nothing to gain by killing Will if he was broke, but she would have been furious. Angry enough to kill? I'd seen her when Watson broke the news of Will's death, and I'd swear she was surprised. But what did I know about Marlene? Nothing, other than what she chose to tell me. Of all people, Marlene was best positioned to talk Will into a late visit to a marina. We had only her word that he went out alone that fateful night.

I ran my eyes down the list. I finished my soup, washed up my bowl, then headed for the phone. On the other end, the phone was picked up and a posh English accent rattled off the last four digits of a phone number.

“Theodore? Hi, it's Lucy.”

“Lucy? To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Have you heard the news? About Will Williamson's financial situation, I mean?”

Theodore's sniff was enough to tell me that he had. “I was due to go around to the house a short while ago for one last desperate attempt to resume negotiations. I was preparing to leave when I got a call from Will's son telling me not to bother. Marlene has no money to purchase my books, or anything else. Will Williamson, it turns out, didn't have so much as two shillings to rub together. His estate is, shall we say, as dead as he is.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Miffed, if you must know, Lucy. Highly miffed. I have to once again begin the entire tedious process of finding a buyer for the Christies. Oh well, can't be helped. Why are you ringing?”

“No reason. Bye.” I hung up. I put a tick, a small one, but still a tick, beside Theodore's name. It was possible that he found out Will was going to renege on their deal. Will probably hadn't intended to buy the books in the first place. What had Pat said about him? Appearances were important to Will. He couldn't just tell Teddy he wasn't interested in buying a bunch of old books after Marlene had gushed over them; he had to put on a show of being a big spender. Teddy, like Doug, was a lifetime Banker. He'd know the shoreline and the old stories of the wreckers. It was difficult to imagine the nautically
challenged Theodore out in a boat at night by himself, particularly with a dead body in the bottom. Difficult, but not impossible. Who knows what people can do when they believe they have to.

My next call was to Ellen and Amos's house.

“Lucy, honey,” my aunt said. “I'm glad you called. I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you, but I don't have anything to report about Will's past. I've been asking around, and either folks have forgotten him or don't have much to say. He didn't have many friends in school, and what friends he did have lost touch as soon as he left Nags Head. He married a local girl and they had a baby, but once they moved away, no one seemed to have spared him another thought. No one said that they'd ever heard he'd so much as come back for a visit. The only interesting thing I learned isn't news to us: there'd been talk that he was cheating on his wife. Some folks said they knew it was Pat, and that they'd guessed Pat's baby was Will's although she never said—but the way they talked about it, it was more like folks remembering something they'd forgotten all about than gossip they'd cherished all these years.”