Sand Sharks (8 page)

“I don’t know that the world’s ready for another Kezzie Knott,” Mother had laughed.

Will still plays the angles whenever he can get away with it. I wondered how things were going up in Virginia and if he was
on his way back yet. I also wondered if Dwight had made an inventory of whatever Will had loaded onto his truck. Not my worry
though. Dwight’s known my brother longer than I have and he’s well aware that Will’s moral compass is a few degrees off true
north.

But thinking of them only reminded me that Dwight still hadn’t called.

I put the scallop back in the tank and watched it jet away, then stepped into a waiting elevator and mashed the button for
my floor. As the doors were closing, I saw a cute little girl dart across the terra-cotta tiles to the touching tank. She
was trailed by a smaller boy and the bearded man I’d seen Jeffreys talking to at the restaurant last night. There was something
teasingly familiar about the man, but I couldn’t think where, if ever, we’d met before.

Up in the room, the telephone on the desk was flashing its message light. The first message was from Chelsea Ann at 9:45.
Her breakfast meeting had ended early and if I hadn’t had breakfast yet, come on down. The second, at 10:12, was from a local
newspaper reporter who hoped to catch me around the hotel before he left. The third was Detective Gary Edwards only fifteen
minutes earlier, asking me to return his call.

Too late for breakfast and no, I didn’t want to talk to a reporter. Nor did I particularly want to talk to Detective Edwards.
How about I went to the beach instead and pretended I didn’t get his message?

“
You’re an officer of the court,
” scolded the preacher,
“and it behooves you to cooperate.
”

“
Besides,
” said the pragmatist, guiding my fingers to the dial pad, “
you know you want to hear what’s happening with his investigation.
”

So I called his number and learned that he was in the hotel, too, in one of the small conference rooms off the main ballroom,
and would I join him for a cup of coffee?

Thinking I might still get in some pool time before lunch, I changed into my red swimsuit, topped it with a jungle print skirt
and matching shirt, and made sure I had sunscreen in my raffia tote bag before heading out.

Down in the lobby, I ran into Chelsea Ann, who was drifting back from breakfast with the Sunday paper under her arm. She wore
a peach-colored knit shirt that flattered her golden hair, gold hoop earrings, and a short white skirt that showed off her
long tanned legs.

“You were up and out early,” she said. “Or were you in the shower when I called?”

“I had breakfast with Reid and his friend over in Wilmington,” I said. When I told her that I was on my way to meet with Detective
Edwards, she immediately invited herself to come with me.

“Only let’s duck into the ladies’ room first and let me put on fresh lipstick.”

Why was I not surprised?

Edwards on the other hand
was
surprised. Pleasantly, if I could judge by his big smile when he saw my friend as we came down the hall to where he stood
in the doorway. “I see you got my message after all.”

“Message?” Chelsea Ann said.

“That I wanted to see you again.”

She wasn’t quite twinkling at him, but a mischievous smile curved her lips as her big green eyes met his. “In your official
capacity, Detective Edwards?”

“Of course, Your Honor.” He tried for deadpan and missed by a nautical mile.

“Should I come back later?” I asked with mock irritation.

He laughed and ushered us into the conference room. It was small and windowless but vivid seascapes brightened the sand-colored
walls, the chairs were upholstered in a flame pattern of aquamarine, yellow, and coral, and the long rectangular table was
bleached oak.

There was a coffee station just outside the door and Edwards made sure we were both well supplied before we sat down across
from him. Instead of asking us to repeat last night’s account of finding the body, he gave us each a sheet of paper printed
with blank round circles meant to represent the porch tables at Jonah’s.

“We’re trying to get a snapshot of the evening,” he said, “so if you would, try to remember as many people as you can and
write down where they were seated. Also the approximate time as closely as you can where Jeffreys was the last time you saw
him.”

“Does this mean you don’t think it was a random act of violence?” I asked.

“Well, robbery doesn’t seem to be a motive,” said Edwards. “His wallet was in his pocket with over two hundred dollars in
cash and a credit card in every slot. His car keys were on the ground next to the driver’s side.”

“Like someone came up from behind him with that dog leash as he was about to unlock his car?”

“That’s what it looks like. The parking lot isn’t brightly lit. Lots of deep shadows under those trees, but still enough to
recognize faces, so we don’t think this was a stranger killing. Whoever did it had to know it was Jeffreys.”

I soon saw that the diagram did not include the restaurant next door. I briefly considered not mentioning it. What the hell
though? Reid couldn’t have had anything to do with the murder and Bill Hasselberger might not have been the only one at their
table with a reason to hate Jeffreys. So I drew a right angle to indicate the adjoining porch and wrote in the names of the
four lawyers I had recognized.

“I saw Jeffreys twice with a man at this table,” I said, touching a circle that was somewhat removed from the area we had
occupied. “Did you know him, Chelsea Ann?”

She looked up from her own diagram and frowned. “Describe him.”

“Late forties, early fifties. Dark hair, a little longer than most. Short beard, bushy mustache. Had a little girl and a smaller
boy with him.”

“Oh, yeah. I saw them when they came in. Don’t know him though.”

“You say Jeffreys went up to him twice?” asked Edwards.

I nodded. “The first time he was by himself. A little later, I saw him introducing Judge Blankenthorpe.”

“Really?” Edwards leafed through several sheets of paper that were already covered with scribbled names. “That’s odd. You’re
sure that’s the table?”

“Pretty sure,” I said and Chelsea Ann agreed.

He pulled one from the sheaf and laid it on the table between us. It carried Judge Cynthia Blankenthorpe’s name and today’s
date. The circle in question was blank.

“Wonder why she didn’t list him?”

Not cohabitation but consent makes a marriage.

—Ulpian (ca. AD 170–228)

B
y the time Chelsea Ann and I finished comparing diagrams and prodding each other’s memory, we had managed to name nineteen
judges and their spouses plus several attorneys that we’d seen the night before. “What about Judge Henshaw?” Edwards asked.

Chelsea Ann wrinkled her nicely arched brows. “Who?”

“I don’t know him and you probably don’t either,” I said. “He’s finishing out Judge Dunlap’s term.”

“Never met him,” she agreed.

“Steve Shaber said he didn’t see him either.”

We also agreed that Pete Jeffreys had been seated two tables away from ours, yet neither of us had noticed when he left.

“Judge Blankenthorpe drove over with him,” I said. “What does she say?”

“That he called for the check and before it came, he got up and left the table. She says she thought he was going to the restroom,
but he never came back. She wound up paying his share of the tab and hitched a ride back here with—” He paused to decipher
his notes. “With Judge Fitzhume and his wife. Do you know if they’re staying here at the SandCastle?”

“They are,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, that bearded man may be, too. I saw him and the two children out in the lobby
about a half-hour ago.”

We finished up and signed our sheets, during which time Chelsea Ann and Edwards seemed to find it necessary to exchange phone
numbers.

“Just in case you remember something,” he said, “or I think of something else I need to ask you.”

Like whether or not she was in a relationship? Or whether she would go out with him after this investigation was over? I was
the one who had found Jeffreys’s body and he didn’t bother to ask for
my
number. On the other hand, he
was
a detective and had probably detected that Chelsea Ann’s left hand was free of rings.

As we walked back down the hall, I reached over and brushed her cheek.

“What?” she said, pausing to look into a nearby mirror. “Something on my face?”

“Just getting rid of the little yellow feathers,” I told her.

She grinned. “Am I looking like the cat that ate the canary?”

“And washed it down with cream,” I said.

“So? I’m forty-one years old. Don’t I have a right?”

“Absolutely. And speaking for every woman who’s going to turn thirty-nine this summer, we do appreciate what a role model
you are for the rest of us.”

She smoothed her blonde curls complacently. “Thank you, thank you.”

“C’mon, ol’ lady,” I said. “Let’s go find you a rocking chair.”

We put on our sunglasses and went out onto the terrace where indeed there was a long row of high-backed white wooden rockers.
We dragged two of them down to the far end where we would be in the shade and out of the way of casual passersby. With a nice
wind coming off the ocean, the air was hot but not oppressively muggy. The terrace overlooked the pool area with its many
coral-colored umbrellas and coral lounge chairs, yet it was high enough to let us see over the umbrellas to the beach where
gentle waves chased and were chased by squealing toddlers. A group of small boys worked at building an ambitious sand castle
almost as tall as they were.

Maybe I should have let Cal come with me instead of going to Virginia, I thought. Maybe a few days of one-onone without Dwight
to complicate things would have let us work out our relationship and reinforce the ground rules.

I sighed and leaned back in the chair.

Unfortunately, Chelsea Ann heard my sigh. “How’s being a stepmother working out?”

“Great,” I said, rummaging in my tote for sunscreen. “In fact I was just thinking how much Cal would love this.”

“And you and Dwight are really okay?”

“Sure.” I slipped off my shirt and smoothed sunscreen on my face, arms, and shoulders. “We’re fine.”

“So what was last night about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember getting maudlin about that couple in the corner when we left?”

I shook my head.

“You wanted to go over and give them your blessings.”

I flushed. “Must have been the tequila.”

“And that’s another thing. I’ve never seen you so completely hammered.”

“Dwight and I are just fine,” I said again, unhappily aware that he still hadn’t called. I offered my sunscreen and asked,
“But what’s with Rosemary and Dave?”

The diversion worked. She took the bottle with tightened lips. “I could throttle my stupid sister!”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“I think he’s trying to shaft her and she’s just going to stand there and let it happen.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t know that he had an affair with one of the paralegals in his old law office?”

“No. When?”

“January.”

“January this year?”

“That’s when she found out about it. God knows how long it’d been going on.” She dabbed lotion on her nose and smoothed more
on her arms. “Wasn’t the first time he’d cheated on her either, but she wouldn’t listen to me or anyone else. She was sure
that his flirting was just a automatic habit and nothing to take seriously.”

“She was wrong,” I said.

“He’s hit on you, too?”

“At your birthday party last year.” Although Dave had made light of it when he saw how outraged I was on Rosemary’s behalf,
I knew, as any woman knows, that he would have had his hand up my skirt with the least bit of encouragement.

“This last time, he was just a little too careless and Rosie heard about it at school.”

I knew that Rosemary had named her older daughter after herself but I hadn’t seen the child in two or three years. “She’s
what now? Thirteen? Fourteen?”

“Sixteen, and the girl who told her is the niece of one of Dave’s former law partners. Rosie came straight home and threw
up all afternoon. Seeing Rosie like that really shook her up. She made Rosie promise not to say anything to Dave till she
could confront him herself, then she made a few phone calls and learned that it was true.”

She capped the sunscreen bottle and handed it back to me. “When he wouldn’t move out, she applied for a divorce from bed and
board. You didn’t hear about it? It was all over the courthouse in Durham.”

I reminded her that Durham’s almost fifty miles from Dobbs and unless the details are particularly salacious, rumors about
a colleague’s personal life don’t always travel outside that judge’s district.

All the same, a “divorce from bed and board” constitutes a public and legal separation under North Carolina law. Rosemary
would have had to prove that Dave had committed adultery, but that shouldn’t have been hard. If they stayed separated for
a year, the divorce would be almost automatic.

“So what are they both doing here this weekend?” I asked.

“She asked if she could come down with me. Said we could have a girly weekend. Said Dave had told her he was going to skip
the summer conference.”

“But he’s here and she still stayed?”

“I told you I want to wring her neck. You heard her last night. She lied to me. She knew he was going to be here, but he sweet-talked
her into coming anyhow. He’s spent the last two months courting her like they were teenagers. Flowers, funny cards, presents.
He’s convinced their daughters that it was a one-time aberration and they’re ready to forgive him. You remember how Rosemary
took on Mom’s care when she broke her hip after Christmas?”

I nodded.