ANGELICA
Merlot. Their waiter had cleared the plates two hours ago and filled their third round of drinks, and Roland had not yet run out of tales with which to regale her. Bobby, Jason, and Fritz had been inseparable, sunup to sundown all summer long, and the return to school and the city at the end of the year was considered a great tragedy. Jason alone stayed at the lake, since his father worked for the cruise line, and the other boys counted him lucky.
Angelica set down her wine and leaned back in the luxurious, leather-trimmed captain’s chair. She let her eyes rove over the paneled wood, the dim wall sconces, and time-darkened mirrors. Like Roland himself, Anthony’s exuded the feeling of old money and the kind of grace, luxury, and etiquette one would have expected in the days of Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant. What better place for time travel than a place like this, frozen in time?
Her eyes were finally out of tears—this time from laughing. She’d never thought she’d be able to laugh about her husband’s past. But Roland had managed to keep the evening light, every memory a treasure. His love for these boys and this lake was palpable. Overwhelming.
Bobby had been the gregarious one, often leading the children on their wildest of adventures. Jason had been a capable first mate and Fritz their loyal crew. She could see it so clearly now, how the quiet but loyal boy Fritz had later developed into the calm, considerate man Will.
But what had happened in between? How had the metamorphosis happened? All night, Roland had carefully avoided any mention of the ring. His son’s death. The night Fritz and Jason had run away.
Angelica breathed deeply. She had come here for hard truths. She couldn’t put them off forever. The time was now.
“Roland,” she said, meeting his clear blue eyes, letting him know she was taking the conversation down a notch. She dipped her chin. “It was your pier, wasn’t it?”
He stared at her, jaw loose, hands fidgeting with his wine glass, eyes darting away almost imperceptibly, as if seeking to avoid this part of the story. They had spoken all night of youth and vigor. Of course, he didn’t want to speak of her husband’s murder, just three weeks ago.
Angelica shook her head. “You don’t need to deny it. I already saw it in the papers. Will’s body was left at the end of your pier.”
Roland released his breath and nodded. “Yes. That’s true.”
“Were you the one who found him?”
He shook his head. “No. It was one of the mail jumpers.” He had already explained how Jason’s father, Tommy Thomlin, drove the locally-famous Lake Geneva Mailboat. “She fell in, and…” He turned up his hands. “There he was.”
Angelica didn’t blink. Didn’t waiver. There was time for tears, and there was time for truth. This was a time for truth. She forced her breath to remain steady. “Why? Why would he be left at your pier?”
Roland laid his linen napkin on the table and stroked the hem. “Until we know who killed him, I doubt we’ll know why he was left where he was.”
“Are there no theories? Do you have no theories?”
“Well, there was a theory, but it now has some rather obvious holes in it. And now there’s a new one.” Roland grinned, acknowledging the amorphous nature of the case.
“What was the first theory?” She didn’t care if it had been disproved. She needed to know everything. She didn’t just need to know who her husband was and how he could have betrayed her. She needed to know who had killed him and why. Who had shattered the bubble of her perfect life. Who had slapped her awake and plunged her into cold water.
“The first theory is that Fritz was killed by my neighbor, Charles Hart.”
Angelica frowned, searching her memory. “I’ve read his name. Where do I know his name?”
“He murdered Jason Thomlin, days after your husband was killed. Charles kidnapped Jason and then shot him. But Jason fought back. Charles died that night, as well.”
Angelica nodded, the facts resurfacing from the many articles she had digested over the past four days. She had placed more emphasis on learning anything related to her husband and hadn’t yet addressed the murder of his accomplice Jason. “And why would your neighbor want Jason and Will dead?”
Perhaps her eyes were tricked by the dim lighting, but she thought Roland blushed. “Well… Charles and I… We knew each other for years. Decades. He, ah…” Roland hesitated. “Well, he was married, but they were never precisely…”
Angelica narrowed her eyes. “You had an affair with his wife?” She didn’t mean to be unfeeling. She just wanted the truth.
Roland blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wh—? No.”
“He had an affair with yours?”
Roland stirred in his seat, frowning. “No, no, not at all.”
Angelica mentally flipped through the remaining possibilities. Landing on one, she smiled knowingly. “He was gay.”
Roland slouched and looked down, curling up inside himself. “Yes.” He drummed his thumbs on the base of his wine glass.
Angelica raised an eyebrow and grinned. “He liked you?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t like him?”
He sat up a little straighter, a flustered bird ruffling its feathers. “Well, no.”
Angelica thought she believed him. His neighbor’s sexual orientation genuinely seemed to trouble him. She shook her head. Roland was from such another era. “So, why would he kill Jason and Will?”
Roland shifted in his seat, continuing to appear uncomfortable. “Perhaps I railed against Jason and Fritz one too many times…”
She frowned. “What do you mean?” Despite what they had done, Roland claimed to be full of nothing but love toward the boys. After listening to dozens of his tales, she truly believed it.
He couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. “At one time, I may have felt that they… er… had some hand in turning Bobby astray.”
Her frown only deepened. “You said Bobby led the shenanigans.”
“Burgling banks isn’t exactly shenanigans.”
“They named the ring after him. The Markham Ring.” She wasn’t sure why she was defending her husband. The man had lied to her. Maybe she was only clinging tenaciously to truth. There was no way, knowing what she knew, that Jason and Will had been the ring leaders.
Roland leaned back, raising his palms. “I only mean to say…” He drew in his breath and clenched his hands helplessly, then tilted his head and tried again. “You have children, Angelica.”
She pictured her boys, Kaydon and Mason. If anyone accused them of a crime, wouldn’t she defend them to her last breath? Hadn’t she defended Will, until it was obvious she couldn’t?
“I lost Bobby seventeen years ago and was as blindsided by the truth as you. I had dinner with them the night before they tried to rob the Grand Bank of Geneva. The next morning, the police told me they had shot him.” He shrugged. “Anger needs an out, and Jason and Fritz had made themselves convenient scapegoats. They had fled. They would never even know how much blame I laid at their feet.”
Angelica nodded. Perhaps she could understand. “And what do you believe now?”
He sighed and collapsed his hands on the table in front of him. “I believe it becomes harder to fight the truth. Which means I’m not sure how I…” He lifted his eyes to stare across the room, and to Angelica’s surprise, they glistened. “I thought I raised him well.” The hopelessness hung in every word.
She let it soak in and again thought of her boys. How would she feel if, after the countless hours of love and devotion she’d poured into them, they turned their backs on everything she had taught them? Would it be easier to blame someone else than to face the fear that you had failed your own child?
She didn’t want Roland to spin off into despair. Questions like these—did they ever have answers? “Charles clearly believed Fritz and Jason were more culpable than Bobby.”
Roland laughed softly and stared at his hands. “Yes, I suppose he must have.”
“And that’s why he avenged your son’s death?”
Roland shrugged. “So the theory goes. Now that he’s gone, we can never really know. But why else would he have killed Jason?” He lifted a finger. “Keep in mind—while he has been officially accused of Jason’s murder, he’s not been accused of Fritz’s.” He shrugged. “Granted, I’m sure the police have more information than gets into the press, but if he were guilty, wouldn’t they have said? Rather, by all accounts, they appear to still be looking.”
Angelica nodded. It seemed cosmically unfair that Jason’s murder should be solved while her husband’s was left a blank page. Was anyone even investigating? It had been so long since she’d heard anything from the police…
She pushed on. “You said this theory has holes in it. That there’s a second theory. What is it?”
“That there was a fourth member of the Markham Ring.”
Angelica frowned. “A fourth member?”
Roland nodded. “Charles wasn’t alone the night he murdered Jason. There was a witness to the crime, and according to her, there was an accomplice. A man who took part in Jason’s murder. A man who got away.”
“They haven’t caught him yet?”
“No. I’m not sure they so much as have a clue as to his identity.”
“But he was working with Charles.”
“Clearly.”
“Then there were five members. Charles was in on it.”
“At the very least, Charles had to have been aware of what he was doing and who he was dealing with.”
“Why do they believe there were more members of the ring? Why didn’t Charles maybe have a friend helping him with his revenge pact? A hired gun, even?”
“Because the violence didn’t end with Charles’ death. A week later, Jason’s father was shot.”
Angelica sat up straighter. “Tommy Thomlin, the boat captain?”
“He survived,” Roland assured her. “But I haven’t heard he was able to identify the villain.”
Angelica shook her head. “But why go after Jason’s father?”
Roland shrugged. “Because he thought Tommy knew something? You must admit, it’s the best theory available so far.”
Angelica narrowed her eyes. “And why would this fourth member leave my husband’s body at the end of your pier?” A thought clicked into place and her eyes widened. “As a warning? Roland, you aren’t in danger, are you?”
Roland looked away, rolling his head as if annoyed. “Oh, the police insist I am.”
“And?”
“And it’s been three weeks. Yet here I am.”
It was a fair point. Still, Angelica wasn’t sure if Roland was being brazen or just naive. After all, Tommy Thomlin had been shot.
Roland lifted his glass. “Angelica, this conversation has grown too morbid. You’ll never be able to sleep tonight. Let’s change the subject. Come, now. What else do you want to know about Lake Geneva?”
Reluctantly, Angelica picked up her glass and sipped her wine. She’d let Roland ramble about days gone by. She would smile. She would laugh. She would treasure every memory. But in the back of her mind, she would turn over everything Roland had told her about her husband’s death. She couldn’t tolerate the vacuum of answers. She wouldn’t let Will’s murder go unsolved.