Reading Up a Storm (6 page)

“Then what? Even you aren't going to live forever. Stuff happens to everyone. You could have been killed by that drunk.”

“No matter what happens, Stephanie,” Bertie said. “You will not be alone. You'll have me, for one.”

“And me,” I added. But I doubt Stephanie heard me.

“That's hardly the same. I'll have no one who looks like me, who shares my blood, my ancestry. Someone
who knows my history. It's time, Mom. I deserve to know.”

“We'll be off,” Bertie said.

“No,” Pat said. “Stay, please, Bertie. You too, Lucy. Stephanie's right. She does deserve to know. If she's sure she wants to. I have to confess that my brush with mortality has unnerved me too.”

Bertie and I exchanged glances. She gave me a nod, and we sank into the couch.

“You said it didn't matter,” Stephanie said, “and for a long time it didn't. We didn't need anyone else. But now, tonight, I guess I realized that it does matter.” Tears spilled out of her eyes. She did not move to wipe them away.

Pat closed her own eyes with a deep sigh. “I was still in high school when I met him. My family life wasn't pleasant. I was an only child and my parents were cold and distant people, much older than my friends' parents. I won't make excuses, except to say that like so many girls who only wanted someone to love them, I mistook an older man's passing fancy for true love. He was married, had a young son, but he swore he would leave his wife for me.” Pat laughed without humor. No one else said anything.

“Well, long story short, when I told him I was pregnant I expected him to be overjoyed at the news; instead he said he was leaving North Carolina. He'd accepted a job with an oil company and he was moving his family out of state.”

I threw a quick glance at Stephanie. Those gray eyes. Pat's eyes were dark brown. A horrible feeling began to crawl up my spine.

“I suspect he'd been offered the job and was going to turn it down, but when I dropped my bombshell, he saw the opportunity to get the heck out of town. He wanted to be as far away from me as he could get.”

“So he up and left,” Stephanie said. “Did he ever meet me? See pictures?”

Pat shook her head. “No. His loss, I've always said. Foolishly, I wrote to him when you were born, thinking he'd change his mind and come back to me. He replied, only once, telling me not to contact him again or I'd be hearing from his lawyers. He said things, horrible things, about me, casting doubt on your paternity.”

“How awful,” Bertie said.

“I was young, and so naive. I was devastated at his betrayal. His as well as my own family's. When I told my parents I was pregnant they said they never wanted anything to do with me again.”

Bertie shook her head. “They've missed so much.”

“He was from a well-known local family and I heard word of him now and again over the years. He lived in Alaska, they said, and he became a big-shot executive in his company, making a lot of money. Do you remember, dear, the time I broke my arm? You were around ten, and I was working as a waitress at the Ocean Side Hotel restaurant. It was the beginning of the summer, when I'd make most of the money I'd need to see us through the year. It was a bad break.” She glanced ruefully at the blanket over her legs, bulky in their casts. “I seem to make a habit of that. Anyway, I lost the whole season. I swallowed my pride and wrote to him, saying I was in desperate straits and needed financial help. I was so excited when I got a letter with an Alaska
postmark. It said, and how well I still remember, that if I needed money I could ask your real father, if I knew who he was. I am sorry, dear. For many years I never talked about him because I was ashamed, but then I came to realize that he simply wasn't good enough to be so much as a shadow in your life. Can you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive. I never figured he was some saint.” Stephanie appeared to have sobered up completely. “He never mattered to me all that much. You know that, Mom. But things are different now. I'm not entirely without legal resources, you know. There's such a thing as DNA testing these days. It's time he paid up.”

“Let it go, honey. What good can it do now?”

“Revenge,” Stephanie said, her voice as cold as the ocean waters flowing around Alaska. “Pure and simple. Revenge. What's his name?”

Pat hesitated.

“Mom. His name?”

“I heard that he'd divorced the wife he had when he was with me, and his second wife died some years ago. He recently retired, and has come back to the Outer Banks.”

“Is that so?” Stephanie asked. “Saved me a trip to Alaska. What's the name?”

“You won't do anything rash, will you, dear?”

“Have you ever known me to do a rash act in all my life?” Stephanie said.

A trace of a smile touched Pat's lips. “There was that time in seventh grade when you punched that boy who tried to put his hand up your shirt.”

“Even that wasn't rash,” Stephanie said. “He had a reputation, and I was ready for him.”

Pat let out a long sigh. Bertie and I sat immobile. Stephanie waited, saying nothing, just watching her mother. Finally, Pat said, “Will Williamson. I called him Willy. I said I was a stupid young girl.”

The name came as no surprise to me, but Stephanie's mouth dropped open. “What?”

Alarmed, Bertie got to her feet. “Do you know him?”

“A man by that name was at the library tonight,” I said, also standing up.

“I can't believe it,” Steph said. “He sat right there, next to me, making a fool of himself while some simpering girl who's probably no older than me giggled and fussed over him.”

“It's just a name,” Bertie said. “Might not be the same person.”

“Right age, recently back from Alaska. Oil company exec. It's him all right. Of all things.”

“You said you wouldn't do anything rash,” Pat said.

“And I won't.” Stephanie turned to Bertie and me. “Thanks for being here. Secrets are better when shared. I trust you'll keep this to yourselves.”

“Goes without saying,” Bertie said. I nodded.

“It's late, Pat,” Bertie said. “Can I help you get settled for the night?”

“I'll do it,” Stephanie said.

“Thank you for coming, Bertie,” Pat said. “It was fun to talk about the old days, wasn't it?”

“It was.”

“I'm going to open that bottle of wine in the back of the fridge,” Stephanie said, “and think long and hard
about good-old-dad. Nothing rash, right? Lucy, you want to stay for a drink?”

“Not for me. I have work tomorrow.”

We said our good nights. Bertie and Pat embraced for a long time. I wanted to give Stephanie a hug too, but a hard shell seemed to have settled over my friend. She had a heck of a lot to take in, I knew. The secret of her life had been uncovered, just like that.

I was worried about what she might
do.

After Butch had stormed out of Jake's last night, I thought he might have forgotten our plans for a morning hike. But I got up early anyway, and pulled on jeans, a loose sweater, and thick, practical boots. If Butch didn't come, I'd go by myself.

I pulled back the draperies and was pleased to see another clear, cloudless sky. The forecast was calling for rain in the afternoon, but that wouldn't interrupt our hike.

I love the marsh in the mornings. The sun is rising in the east, the birds are waking up and searching for breakfast, the turtles are looking for a sunny spot to spend the day, and even the plants seem to be eager to greet a new dawn.

Charles studied my preparations. He didn't look impressed as I laced up my boots. Hiking was not to Charles's taste, but I suspected that those birds out in the marsh were. I'd often find him sitting in the window, gazing longingly outside. I poured kibble into his bowl.
He jumped off the bed and strolled casually into the kitchen, fluffy tail high, as if to say he was only eating it to make me happy. I knew better.

When he'd dined to his heart's content, we went downstairs. Charles was a big cat. He was a Himalayan, with a dark brown and tan face, pointed ears, and thick tan fur. He spent his days among the books, resting on the shelves, greeting patrons, and accepting the adoring praise he considered his due. He was particularly loved by the children, and spent story time curled up on one little lap or another. I left him to check if any mice had gotten into the library during the night, and went outside.

I was locking the door behind me when I heard Butch's car turn into the parking lot. He soon joined me on the path leading to the marsh, also dressed for a good hike.

“Everything okay last night after I . . . uh, left?” he asked.

“We didn't stay much longer,” I said.

“I'm sorry about storming out. I know Stephanie has a job to do, and someone has to represent those creeps. They're entitled to a defense, but it gets my goat sometimes. Did she say anything about me? Was she mad at me?”

“She said she's used to it. Cops and defense attorneys are natural adversaries, I guess.”

He mumbled something noncommittal, then said, “She got home okay?”

“I drove her. I got the impression she's not used to drinking. She's having a difficult time looking after her mom. It's not nice to realize our parents won't be there for us forever.”

A flock of Canada geese passed overhead in the classic V formation, honking loudly, heading south for the winter. We walked along the boardwalk in comfortable silence.

The space inside my head was anything but comfortable. I was torn in all directions about my feelings for Butch. I liked him a lot. He was a great guy, kind, intelligent, funny. In any other circumstances, I could have fallen head over heels for him. I knew he liked me, and I suspected he was waiting for me to make the next move. Josie kept dropping not-very-subtle hints.

But in these circumstances there was Connor. Also kind, also intelligent and funny. Also, I thought, waiting for me to indicate my feelings.

How's that for irony? Most women in my position would be absolutely delighted to meet one guy like Butch or Connor. I had the attentions of two, and I didn't know what to do.

Never again would I want to be in the situation I found myself in over the summer, when I had mistakenly made a date with both of them for the same night. Not just a common or garden date either, but the grand opening of Jake's Seafood Bar with Butch and the Mayor's Summer Ball with Connor.

The whole thing had been hideously embarrassing for all concerned. So embarrassing that the three of us stepped away from one another for a while. The men continued to come to the library and to the book club, and we did things in a group with Josie or other friends, but no more casual flirting or talk of dates. If I wasn't careful, I knew, I'd end up without either of them.

But I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Least of all me.

“How long's Stephanie staying for?” Butch asked suddenly.

“Until her mom can manage on her own. She's doing some of her work remotely, and has taken leave from the rest. She has to be taking a big financial hit, and Pat doesn't have much.” I said nothing about what had been revealed last night. It was not my story to tell, and I was sworn to secrecy.

Sun sparkled on the marsh. The long grasses moved as small animals fled our approaching footsteps. Butch dug into his pocket and pulled out two granola bars. He handed one to me without a word. I accepted it, tore the wrapper off, tucked the trash away, and took a big bite. I'd have coffee and breakfast later before getting dressed for work.

“So,” Butch said, “you think Stephanie might come to book club next time?”

“She might,” I said. “She seemed to enjoy it. If you don't chase her away.”

“I'll try to be behave myself. Although I can't imagine a defense attorney being afraid of a little argument.”

The path wound through the long grasses of the marsh, heading for the warm shallow waters of the sound. A small boat dock sits at the edge where people can tie up their boats before taking a walk. The marsh is a popular spot, good for bird-watching and nature hikes, but this morning we were the only people in the area.

We were a few feet from the shoreline when I said, “Time to turn back.”

“Hold on a sec. I think there's a boat at the dock.”

“So?” I said. “Plenty of people tie up here to go for a walk or do some bird-watching.”

“Yeah,” Butch said, “but no one's around. Kids come out sometimes at night. Sometimes they get themselves into trouble. I want to check it out.”

“Be careful,” I said. I tiptoed behind him. Butch's broad back was so big, I couldn't see around him, but I made no move to see better. I figured that if a ten-foot-long alligator protested the interruption of his breakfast, he'd have Butch to contend with first. I had no doubt it would be a fair fight.

We were only a couple of feet from the water's edge when Butch stopped so abruptly I crashed into him. The impact was sorta like my Yaris coming into contact with a speeding freight train.

“What the . . . ?” I said.

“Whoa!” Butch stretched out his arms, holding me back.

“What is it?” I said, trying to peer around him despite my better instincts. “Is someone down there? Have they been doing something yucky?”

“Not yucky, no. Go back to the lighthouse, Lucy.”

“Why?” I can be stubborn sometimes.

“Because I said so.” The tone of his voice meant he was not kidding. If I didn't know better, I'd have said he'd gone into cop mode. Without another word to me, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched a button.

“This is Officer Butch Greenblatt with the Nags Head PD. I have a situation at the Bodie Island Lighthouse. I need officers, including a detective, and an ambulance.”

He
had
gone into cop mode.

I stepped off the path and peered over the edge. A small flat-topped open fishing boat with a two-stroke
outboard motor was tied up to the wooden pilings and bobbing gently in the calm waters of the sound. A large black crow, perched on the bow like the figurehead on a sailing ship of old, was telling me to go away.

A man lay in the bottom of the boat, a ball cap lying across his face as though he was taking a nap. I opened my mouth to ask him if he was okay. Nothing but a squeak came out as the cloud in my head cleared and I realized that this was a forever nap. The blade of a knife pierced the center of his chest. His arms were thrown out, and his gold Rolex caught the light of the morning sun. Most of his face was covered but, as well as the watch, I recognized the square chin, and short, stocky body of William Williamson.