The Weekenders (15 page)

“You couldn't hit the ball with a steam iron today,” Roo said gleefully. “I think you probably left that club at home in Edenton. Billy, I think your mama maybe has old-timer's disease.”

“I know I had that club last week. I know I did,” Evelyn insisted.

“We didn't play last week because it rained, which you would remember if you weren't getting senile,” Roo said.

“I'm not the one who lost her cell phone and her car keys—twice—last week,” Evelyn said.

“Maybe it fell out of your bag when you hit a bump,” Billy said as the cart rolled slowly along the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott glance nervously at his watch. “Mama, put the pedal to the metal, will you? Scott's got a flight to catch.”

“Plenty of time,” Evelyn said calmly, maintaining her speed.

“Uh, actually, I think we're cutting it kind of close,” Scott said.

Evelyn plucked her cell phone from the cup holder on the dashboard and tapped a number.

“I'll just call Annie Milas and ask her to hold the boat until we get there,” she announced grandly.

 

17

Nate Milas sat in a swivel chair in the
Carolina Queen
's pilothouse, fidgeting, looking out at the bay and back at the disappearing Southpoint ferry dock. He checked e-mails, chatted with the pilot, then finally gave up.

“You want anything from the concession?” he asked, pausing in the door.

“I'm good.”

The midafternoon ferry was only half full. Later in the day, though, Nate knew, the boat would be at capacity with weekenders coming and going from the island. He spotted Riley and her daughter sitting on a bench on the port side of the boat. The girl was intent, reading something on her smartphone, while Riley leafed halfheartedly through a copy of
People.

His presence on the ferry was no accident; he'd seen her name on the manifest earlier in the day. He leaned up against the rail, letting the salt spray mist his face. After a few moments, he saw the girl stand and head toward the concession stand. This was his chance.

He stood awkwardly before her. “Uh, Riley?”

She looked up, and Nate was struck by how sad she looked. Her eyes were red-rimmed, with dark bags underneath, and she wore no makeup, her hair bunched together in a careless ponytail.

“Hi,” she said.

“Okay if I sit down?”

She shrugged, so he took the seat her daughter had just vacated.

“Hey, uh, I heard about Wendell.”

“You and everybody else in the state.”

“I'm sorry. It must have been a terrible shock.”

Riley nodded, her eyes downcast.

He could feel the whole encounter going south again. Damn it, why couldn't he even speak an intelligible sentence to this woman?

He cleared his throat. “Look. I know you don't like me, but…”

“Like you?” She raised an eyebrow. “I don't even think about you.”

Nate's face flushed. “Okay, then, I'll stop bothering you.…” He jumped to his feet.

“Oh, God.” Riley reached out and grabbed his hand. “Shit. That was so rude of me.” She looked up at him, contrite, pleading.

“You were just trying to be nice, and I was a jerk. I'm sorry. Really. Don't go.”

“It's okay,” Nate said. “I get it. You're upset.”

“That's no excuse. Come on, sit down. Please?” She patted the bench. “Maggy isn't too happy with me right now. I could use the company.”

He did as she asked.

“Why is she mad at you?”

“It's complicated. Everything with a twelve-year-old girl is complicated, and, with Maggy, it's slightly more complicated, because she has diabetes and I never know if she's being difficult because of her age or her blood sugar. Also, we've just come from viewing Wendell's body at the hospital. Up until that moment—when we saw him, she didn't actually believe he was really dead. I guess I didn't either. I mean, intellectually, I knew it had to be true. But emotionally? It didn't hit either of us until that moment. This is real. Wendell is dead. Now all we have is each other. And the thing is, Maggy was a total daddy's girl.”

“Must have been tough,” Nate said. “Seeing the body and all.”

“It was. But you've been through this, with your dad. You must know what it's like.”

He shrugged. “It's not really the same thing. My dad was seventy-eight, and he'd had a good, long life. It hasn't been easy, but my mom and I are coping. She's actually coping surprisingly well.”

“And you're not? A big tough guy like you?”

“Like you said, it doesn't seem real. Losing a parent, I guess it makes you realize none of us is gonna be immortal. I've had some changes in my personal life recently, and now, without Dad, I feel sort of unanchored. If that makes sense.”

“Unanchored. Is that a pun?” She laughed at her own joke, and it reminded him of the old Riley, a sunny, confident girl with an open face and a sweet, carefree manner. Damn Wendell Griggs for taking that girl away.

“Not an intentional one. I'm not really all that clever.”

“How are you unanchored?”

“Like you said, it's a long story. Right now, I'm kind of between gigs. I've sold my business, and my house in California, and I'm trying to figure out what my next move will be.”

“I thought you were running the ferry business.”

“Not really. I've made some small suggestions about updates and marketing, but my mom is clearly the brains of this outfit.”

“Annie doesn't teach school anymore?”

“This was her last year. She'd been thinking about retiring anyway, but with Dad gone, this seemed like the time to go ahead and hang it up.”

“Will you stay on the island?”

How should he answer that question? Should he tell her what he'd been contemplating? No. The timing could not be worse for something like this.

“I'm not sure yet. For now, I bought an old duck-hunting camp, and I'm fixing that up for a temporary headquarters. How about you? Will you stay on the island for the rest of the summer, or go back home to Raleigh?”

Riley made a wry face. “I've sold the house in Raleigh. Thanks to the very viable island gossip mill, I'm sure you've already heard that I'm currently homeless.”

“I did hear something about that.”

“Maggy and I are staying at the Shutters with Mama. I can't find out anything about this foreclosure thing until Tuesday, when the courthouse opens again.”

“I hope you get things straightened out,” Nate said. He meant that, even though, from his personal knowledge of her situation, he doubted that would happen.

“When will you have Wendell's service?”

“That'll depend on the autopsy,” Riley said. She bit her lip. “The sheriff … seems to think Wendell's death wasn't an accident. That he was killed. And there are all these horrible rumors floating around. Some television reporter in Raleigh left a voice mail on my phone. About an FBI investigation into Wendell's finances.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, appalled that she'd just spilled out the latest chapter in her ongoing shit show of a life.

“Oh, damn. I shouldn't have said anything about that. I'm a mess. Please don't repeat what I just told you. Not to anybody.” She was crying again, despising herself for being such a blubbering baby.

He felt an involuntary chill go down his spine. “I'm sorry,” he said again and, after a moment's hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand over hers.

“If there's anything I can do, I wish you'd let me know. Anything at all.”

“Mom?”

Maggy Griggs stood before Riley and Nate Milas with a foil-wrapped sandwich in her hand and a look of undisguised wrath on her face.

“Hey.” Riley's single-syllable greeting to her daughter contained a mixture of guilt, surprise, resentment, and wariness.

Nate took a step sideways, feeling the withering heat of the girl's glowering disapproval.

“Anyway,” he said, after an awkward pause. “I better get back up top. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help out.”

Maggy plopped down on the bench and eventually began sucking so noisily on the straw in her drink, Riley caught herself grinding her back molars in acute annoyance.

The minutes ticked by. The bay was calm and soon they caught sight of Big Belle silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky.

“What did that jerk want?” Maggy demanded.

“Nate? He just wanted to offer his condolences.”

“How do you know him?” Maggy demanded.

“He grew up on the island, but he moved away after college. His father was Captain Joe, you remember him. Anyway, Nate and I have known each other since we were your age. He just wanted to offer his condolences,” Riley said. “His father died recently, so he knows what it's like—to lose a loved one.”

“So … somebody hit his dad on the head and pushed him into the water and left him like that too?”

Riley closed her eyes and waited a moment before replying calmly. “No. I believe his father died of a heart attack.”

“So he doesn't
really
know what it's like to have somebody in his family get murdered, does he?”

Their eyes met. Maggy's were unblinking. Riley felt her right eyelid twitch rapidly. “Do you enjoy being difficult?”

“Why is that difficult? You said that guy knew what it was like to lose somebody he loved, and I was just pointing out that he probably has no idea what it's like to have your father killed, like I just did. Plus, he's an asshole. He took Shane's phone away, just because he was playing some music.”

“Maggy, I swear…”

The girl jumped up and headed for the bow, leaving her mother twitching and cursing under her breath.

*   *   *

The cluster of departing passengers stood aside to allow the arriving passengers access to the Belle Isle ferry entry ramp.

“Riley!” She looked up to see Scott standing among the waiting passengers, a leather tote slung across his shoulder.

He gave her a brief hug. “How did it go at the hospital? Was it unspeakable?”

She gave a wry smile. “It was … unpleasant. Did you see Maggy come off the ferry just now?”

“She went streaking past me when she saw Billy standing by your mother's golf cart.”

“Of course.” Riley tugged at Scott's bag. “You're leaving today? Already?”

“Yes.” He sighed loudly. “There are so many moving parts to this steak house install, something's bound to go wrong unless I get there a day early to sort everything out.”

“Will you be back later in the week?”

“It depends on how work's going,” Scott said. “And I'm sorry about that. But you know I'll be thinking of you and Maggy, right? Have you set the date?”

“Not yet. Billy will let you know as soon as I do.”

The ferry sounded the five-minute warning horn.

Riley felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ed Godchaux standing beside her with a briefcase dangling from one hand.

“You're leaving today?”

“Duty calls,” Ed said. He looked over at Scott. “You, too? We could have driven back to Raleigh together if I'd known that.”

“Except I'm driving over to Charlotte to catch a flight to Vegas tonight,” Scott said.

Ed turned back to Riley. He pointed toward the parking lot. “Parrish is right there. I think the two of you deserve a cocktail.”

“You don't know how desperately I need one right now,” Riley said. “Will you be back next weekend?”

“Always,” Ed said.

“For sure,” Scott assured her.

After the men left to board the ferry, she joined Billy and Parrish in the parking lot, a few yards away from where Evelyn, Roo, and Maggy waited in the golf cart. The ferry
tooted
again, and the water around the big engine frothed as it slowly backed away from its berth with the weekenders ensconced on the upper deck.

Parrish used her hand as a makeshift sunshade and sighed audibly. “I hate Sunday nights. That ferry horn gets me every time.”

“I know what you mean,” Riley said. “When we were little, I'd get so sad, seeing Daddy packing up to leave on the Sunday night ferry. And then, after Wendell became a weekender like Daddy, I used to dread Sundays. Maggy would get herself all worked up and beg Wendell not to go. I mean, yeah, I missed him during the week, but mostly I dreaded the fact that I'd be a single mom for the next five days.”

“And I can remember those same Sunday nights when we were kids,” Billy chimed in. “But I guess I had a different reaction. I can remember thinking, ‘Okay, he's gone. I can slouch and sleep late and not pretend to care about baseball or fishing or any of that he-man crap.' It was a relief, really.”

Parrish gave him a sympathetic smile. “I think fathers are always harder on their sons.”

“Especially when their sons would really prefer to be whipping up a cake in their Easy-Bake Oven,” Billy said. “Now, though, yeah, Sunday nights are sad, because it means Scott's leaving. Which is why I usually start the day with a Bloody Mary breakfast.”

“Bebo!” Maggy called from the golf cart. “Mom! Let's go.”

“Coming.” Billy loped off in the direction of the golf cart.

Parrish linked an arm around Riley's waist as they crossed the parking lot. “Was it awful?”

“It was … surreal,” Riley said, searching for the right words that could sum up the past few hours.

“How was Maggy?”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Upset, of course, when she saw Wendell. Then, after we left the hospital, she accused me of being glad he was dead.”

“No way.”

“She's so angry it's scary. And most of it's directed at me. I don't know what to say to her, Parrish. I can't lie about the state of our marriage. And I can't tell her the truth about what was going on with Wendell, because I don't know the truth. Get this—she made me promise to find out who killed him.”