I drove back to the lighthouse to take Fluffy for the promised walk. I’d seen no signs of a weak bladder last night. I didn’t know if that was true or if Evangeline was trying to mess with my head. Which would be exactly like her.
Traffic was heavy going out of town as people headed for the beaches of the National Seashore or the towns of Rodanthe and Buxton. I tapped the steering wheel impatiently and thought about all the people swirling around this case. Leon Lions was a strange one. Around Evangeline he acted like the school nerd in the presence of the head cheerleader. He basked in her presence as if he were a sun worshiper at the beach.
Had they once had a relationship? If not, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to.
Was it possible Evangeline’s visit to Nags Head had not been entirely to stop my engagement to Connor? Had she had another reason for coming? Such as to see an old lover?
Maybe even a current lover?
Probably not. If Leon was her lover, past or present, she had more common sense than to bring him out in public in the days immediately following the mysterious death of her husband.
I came to an impatient halt, watching a long line of rear lights glowing red ahead of me. I briefly considered telling Sam Watson about Leon but decided not to. What could I say—that Evangeline had run into an old friend and they’d had lunch together?
Which brought me to thinking about her and James Dalrymple. Again, what on earth could I say to Watson? That Evangeline had appeared to recognize a man, but he didn’t react to her, and then she denied knowing him?
Hardly grounds for an arrest. If my report did lead to an arrest, it would be of me for wasting police time.
At last the traffic broke through whatever the holdup was, and I sped out of town on Highway 12.
A substantial number of cars were parked outside the library when I arrived, and more followed me down the long driveway between the tall red pines. Schools were on break, and Ronald had a full schedule of children’s activities planned. I noticed that many of the kids, as well as their parents, were wearing high boots.
“What’s on the program for today?” I asked Janelle Washington as we walked up the path to the library together. Her twins, Charlotte and Emily, had run on ahead, hair ribbons flying, rubber boots slapping the ground, squealing with excitement.
“Ronald’s invited an expert in marsh wildlife to lead an expedition. The girls are so excited; they’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
I eyed her long-sleeved shirt, the heavy khaki pants tucked into pink-and-purple rubber boots. “You’re going too?”
“Oh yes. The marsh isn’t usually a place you’d find a girl from Manhattan wandering around in, but Ronald needs parent volunteers to keep an eye on the kids. I can only hope we don’t come across anything that doesn’t have legs.” She shuddered. “Or Ronald will have more to worry about than the kids.”
Inside the library, we were greeted by a cacophony of voices of excited children and equally excited parents. I waved to my aunt Ellen, who as a member of the Friends of the Library was staffing the circulation desk, and headed for the stairs before anyone could stop me.
“Lucy! Lucy!”
I stopped. I swore only to myself, plastered on a smile, and turned. “Mrs. Peterson, good morning. What can I do for you?”
Mrs. Peterson, library supporter, literacy advocate, mother of five daughters, and all-around nuisance, was also helping with today’s expedition. Although she might have mistaken the Bodie Island marsh for some unexplored jungle, dressed as she was in a multipocketed jacket, pith helmet, khaki pants, and hiking boots that showed no sign of ever having been worn. An orange whistle hung from a thick rope around her neck. “I’m so glad I caught you. Ellen said it’s your day off.” She dismissed that trifle with a wave of her hand. “But I know you never mind chatting to me.”
I continued to smile. I minded very much. When I moved, I would not miss being waylaid by eager patrons as I was attempting to enjoy my personal time.
“About book club. Charity’s enrolled in several summer sports camps, and she insists she hasn’t had time to read The Hound of the Baskervilles. Although, I have to point out, in the interest of honestly, she did get through that massive science fiction thing she took out last week. She says she’s seen the episode of the Sherlock series called ‘The Hounds of Baskerville.’ Is that sufficient preparation for the meeting, do you think?”
I stifled a sigh. Mrs. Peterson meant well, and she only wanted the best for her daughters, but she was convinced that the best meant what she wanted the girls to be interested in, not what they were interested in. Charity was a bright girl, and she was more than welcome in our book club, but if a fifteen-year-old would rather read modern science fiction than the choice of her mother’s book club, that was fine with me. “The meeting’s tomorrow night, Mrs. Peterson. It’s too late for Charity to read the original, in any event. I hope part of the discussion gets into modern adaptations of the original novel, and Charity’s contribution will be welcome.”
“If you say so, Lucy.”
“What did you think of it?”
“Me? I uh … I thought it was … maybe a bit longer than it needed to be.”
“It’s not long compared to other novels of the era.”
“If you say so. I don’t see Ronald yet, but it must be time to go.” She bustled away. Mrs. Peterson rarely read the club’s selection. She came to our book club because she thought her daughters should be reading classic literature. I worried she’d turn them off reading for life.
And wouldn’t that be a tragedy.
I climbed the stairs. Eager little wildlife adventurers rushed past me as not-so-eager parents yelled after them not to run on the stairs.
“Have fun!” I called to Ronald as he came out of the children’s library.
The door to Charlene’s third-floor office was cracked open, and I decided to stick my head in and say hi. She was bent over her computer, typing away. Her ever-present earbuds clung to her ears as she worked to the music she loved so much. I tapped lightly, and she didn’t react. I knocked harder.
She just about leapt out of her chair. She spun around so quickly she knocked her elbow into her bookcase. Her office isn’t very large. “Lucy,” she snapped. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?” She hit the power button on her computer monitor, and the screen went black.
“Sorry. I wasn’t sneaking up. I wanted to say hi and ask how things are going with your visiting professors.”
“They’re going fine. I’m busy; is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, I guess not.” I backed away. Charlene rolled across the few inches of floor and slammed the door in my face.
I closed my iPad with a sigh. I’d been looking at properties for sale that Connor and I might be interested in, and I was mightily discouraged. Not much was available that I liked and that fell within our price range.
I could always move into the house Connor was renting. That had been suggested, but, as nice as it was, it was Connor’s house. We wanted a place that would be our house from the beginning.
I looked around the Lighthouse Aerie—the curving whitewashed walls, the colorful cushions, the bright watercolors of Outer Banks scenes, the single tall window with the comfortable window seat and great view.
The bed taking up most of the available space, the two chairs around the tiny table in the kitchen that wasn’t even a kitchen but more a nook in which one could throw together a quick meal.
Not exactly a great home for a newly engaged couple.
The phone rang, and to my surprise, it was Detective Watson, and he wanted to speak to me. “In person.”
“What about?”
“Why don’t we discuss that when we meet? I could use a walk in the marsh, get my head cleared. Ten minutes?”
“Sure.” I hung up before I remembered that this morning the marsh wasn’t going to be any sort of head-clearing place—not with Ronald, his pack of children, and all the helpers.
“Feel like a walk?” I asked Fluffy.
She seemed to recognize the word and jumped to her feet, ears up, tail swinging, entire rear end wagging. I’d tried a few simple commands on her—sit, stay. She’d responded, so she clearly had some training.
I got the pink leash off the coat hook, snapped it onto her pink collar, and picked her up. Charles was downstairs, hard at work in the library. I hoped Charles wouldn’t realize that the dog didn’t have to work but spent the day lazing around, snoozing, going for walks (outside!), and keeping me company.
Charles on strike would not be a pleasant cat to live with.
I hadn’t made up my mind about whether to take Charles to live with Connor and me. Charles was the library cat. He’d been the library cat before I arrived, and he’d simply followed me upstairs one day after closing and made himself at home.
Would he miss me when I was gone?
Would he want to live in a house, even if I brought him to work every day?
I glanced at Charlene’s closed door when I passed. That incident earlier bothered me, a lot. It had been totally out of character for her. Charlene was a warm, friendly person. She was passionate about her work and always delighted in sharing that passion with anyone who showed an interest. She loved her music and wanted everyone else to love it too. That people fled when she tried to press her musical selections on them made her only try all the harder.
No one ever minded. Not too much, anyway, because everyone loved her.
Something was up with Charlene, and I feared I knew what it was. If she was falling in love with James under the nose of his wife, that could not possibly end well.
What about James himself? Did he return Charlene’s feelings? Was he having fun stringing her along, or did he simply not realize what was happening with her?
The latter was possible. He was quiet but generally friendly to everyone. Had Charlene mistaken that friendliness for something more personal?
What a mess.
Again, that led me to wonder what had caused Evangeline to react so strongly to James. He’d said he’d not previously been to America since he was a child. Was that true? If he was a cad, cheating on his wife, giving Charlene false hope, what else might he be capable of?
Fluffy was sniffing a patch of grass and I was reminding myself that I’d not be thanked for interfering in Charlene’s love life when Watson drove up. He’d come in his own car, and he’d come on his own.
Fluffy and I met him at the top of the path.
“Is this Mrs. Lewiston’s dog?” he said, bending over to let her sniff his hand. “Looks like it.”
“Her name’s Fluffy, and I’m looking after her while Evangeline’s at the Ocean Side, from which Fluffy has been evicted for misbehaving.”
Watson straightened up. “That’s nice of you, Lucy.”
“No, it’s not. I was given absolutely no choice in the matter.”
“You could have taken her to a kennel.”
“Now that you mention it …” I grinned at him. “Maybe not. I’m growing rather fond of the little thing. Fortunately, she’s small enough to fit in my apartment. Thank heavens Evangeline doesn’t have a Saint Bernard.”
Watson chuckled. “Let’s walk.” He pointed to the boardwalk. “There seems to be a lot of people over there. What’s going on?”
“Ronald has a marsh wildlife expert visiting, and they’ve taken the kids out. We can go the other way.”
“Let’s,” he said.
I fell into step beside him and we walked down the lane, which took us southwest toward the path to Blossie Creek, which opens onto Roanoke Sound. Fluffy trotted happily at my side. Watson walked with his hands thrust into his pockets, his gait slow and casual, appearing to be enjoying the feel of the warm sun on his head and the salty wind on his skin. He was, I thought, appreciating the chance to be outside in the fresh air, taking a moment to relax, even if the reason he was here had to do with murder most foul. Two yellow-and-black butterflies fluttered past his face, and he smiled as he watched them go. A flock of ducks took off from the calm waters of the creek, wings flapping, calling loudly to each other to keep up.
“Evangeline Lewiston,” Watson said, when the ducks had passed and all was quiet once again. “Tell me about her.”
I sucked in a breath. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just tell me, Lucy. You’ve known her a long time.”
“Her husband—her late husband—and my dad are law partners. Their fathers founded the firm. I’ve known her for a long time, my entire life, but I know next to nothing, apart from what’s obvious to everyone, about her. She was one of those people who was simply around when I was growing up. You should ask my mom about her, not me. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to anyone in my parents’ crowd. What kid does?”
“Fair enough. I have spoken to your mother, but she neatly brushed aside my questions about Evangeline’s personality and other aspects of her life. She claims they were wives of partners, not friends.”
“Mom’s good at that. I bet you were out the door before you realized she hadn’t actually answered your questions.”
“And here I thought I was a good interrogator. In my years with the NYPD, I dealt with some of the toughest people in the world, but I fear I’ve met my match in your mother.”
“My mother was an eighteen-year-old girl named Susan Wyatt from a North Carolina fishing family who’d barely finished high school when she married my dad. Which means she married his blueblood family, his father’s law firm, his mother’s social circle, and generations of expectations. She swam with sharks far sharper than any you’ve had to deal with, Detective. She not only survived but thrived. Evangeline would have been one of those circling sharks, just waiting for her to fail. Friends is a nebulous term. An outside observer would think Mom and Evangeline are friends, but they only spent time together as required by their husbands’ positions. They never liked each other. Even now, Mom’s stayed on in Nags Head out of a sense of duty, not any bonds of friendship.”
“That’s why I’m talking to you, Lucy. You observe things. You’d be surprised at how rare that can be. You know people.”
Fluffy stopped to sniff at yet another patch of grass, and I gave the leash a tug. I considered letting her run free, but I didn’t know if she’d stay close or come when I called, and I didn’t want to risk it. If I lost Fluffy, Evangeline’s wrath would be terrible to behold. “You’re thinking Evangeline killed her husband.”
“Not necessarily. She can’t account for her time between roughly eight and nine thirty on Monday night, and that means I can’t dismiss the possibility. You’ve told me before you and your mother came to the Outer Banks regularly over the years.”
“Mom brought the kids here every summer to visit her sister. I remember those summers as some of the best times in my life.” I thought of Connor and picnics at the beach and smiled to myself. “Until now.”
“Did Evangeline ever come with you?”
“No. Definitely not. Mom wasn’t trying to reconnect with her sister or even give her kids a great vacation. Coming here was her escape, a few weeks away from the pressures of that life—keeping up with the country club circuit, the constant disapproval of Dad’s partners’ wives, not to mention her own in-laws, always waiting for her to slip and display the slightest trace of working-class southern habits.” I didn’t mention that in the latter years of my childhood, Mom had been escaping from her own husband and a lonely, failing marriage.
Two people approached us, large binoculars and cameras with long lenses hanging around their necks and bulging backpacks slung over their shoulders. They nodded politely and paid no mind to Fluffy, who was dancing on her hind legs in greeting.
“Did you ever run into Evangeline on any of those visits?” Watson asked. “Have you seen her since you moved here?”
“No and no. Why are you asking me that? She told me she’s never been to Nags Head. Isn’t that true?”
“It would seem she’s not been entirely truthful with either you or me. She originally told me the same—she’d never been here before—but a minor amount of digging proved that to be a lie.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Isn’t it? She got a speeding ticket in Duck three years ago. Five years ago her purse was stolen from a restaurant in Manteo, and the theft was reported to the police. When people lie to me, Lucy, I have to ask why they would do that.”
“Have you asked her?”
“I did. She bluffed, badly, and said she thought I meant had she ever been to Nags Head specifically, not the general area. She then admitted she’s come to the Outer Banks on occasion. For short, spontaneous getaways, in her words. Always on her own. Would you say she’s the sort of woman to vacation alone?”
“No, I wouldn’t. My mom needs what she calls her ‘me time.’ She’ll check into a spa for a weekend or even go to New York City on her own for shopping and to see a play, but Evangeline’s the sort of woman who’s not comfortable in her own company. I could be wrong, Detective, but that’s my impression.”
“It’s because I trust your impressions that I’m asking you, Lucy. I’ve got people going through records with a fine-toothed comb. I intend to find evidence she’s been to Nags Head itself. And if I do, when I do, I want to know why she’s lying.”
“Do you know a man named Leon Lions?”
“Never heard of him, and that’s not an easy name to forget. Why?”
“He lives in Kill Devil Hills, and he and Evangeline are old friends. Apparently they met years ago when he lived in Boston. He’s been to the hotel to see her. They had lunch together yesterday and breakfast today and are meeting for lunch later.”
“What are you saying, Lucy? How much of a friend of hers is this guy?” Watson’s face rarely showed any emotion or reaction, and it didn’t now. But his voice lifted slightly, and I knew I was telling him something he didn’t know. I was strangely pleased. “On his part, he wants to be very friendly, and that’s quite obvious. On hers, I can’t say if she regards him as an old acquaintance or if there’s something more. She called him this morning, immediately after you left her, to invite him to join her for breakfast, and he walked through the door so soon he had to have been circling the block. So soon that you passed him on your way out. You held the door for him.”
“What’s he look like?”
I tried to describe Leon Lions, but the words I used were mostly “average” and “normal.” Not particularly helpful. I finished with “bald.”
“I’ll see if I can find anything out about him.”
“Has Evangeline ever been to England?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“She had a strange reaction when meeting one of Charlene’s visiting researchers from Oxford University. Like she recognized him and was surprised to see him. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know her. I thought it was odd, that’s all. I wasn’t going to mention it to you, except …”
“Except that ‘it has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important’?”
“Sherlock Holmes?” I asked.
“A suitable quote for every occasion. What’s this researcher’s name?”
“James Dalrymple. He’s in his midthirties, so highly unlikely to be a former lover of hers.”
“Never assume, Lucy.”
“Stranger things have happened. He told me he was born in Nags Head but his mother took him to the UK, where she’s from, when his father died, and he hasn’t been back since his American grandparents died when he was a child. If that’s true—and you should be able to find out easily enough—if Evangeline knows him, she has to have gone to the UK. Then again, a heck of a lot of Americans go to England, so I don’t suppose that means much.”
We hadn’t reached the water’s edge yet, but Watson said, “Shall we turn back?” and we did so. “You asked me earlier if we found Rich Lewiston’s passport on him or in his car. That was a good question, Lucy, and as I said, we did not. Evangeline told me they keep their passports in a safe in the house, and I had Boston police look for it. They found both his and hers. The suitcase in his car contained clothes for a day, maybe two. He hadn’t cleared out his bank accounts, made any transfers to overseas accounts, or even had an excess of cash on him.”
“So he wasn’t planning to skip the country, with or without his wife and son.”
“Without going into details, I’ll tell you we have forensic accountants going through his personal accounts as well as those of his firm’s financial records which he had control over, and what you told me about his monetary situation seems to have been correct.”
“Meaning he had debts.”
“More than he could reasonably pay while still maintaining his lifestyle, not to mention his personal and professional reputation. Those debts, by the way, at least the ones I’ve been told about so far, are to banks, credit card companies, and reputable credit agencies. Not organized crime.”
“Too bad.”
“Why’s that too bad?”
“Because if the mob offed him, then Ricky and Evangeline didn’t, and I don’t have reason to be involved and I can go back to planning my wedding, which I haven’t even started doing yet, and finding a house to buy, which I have started and isn’t going well.”
“Things aren’t easy for a young couple starting out today.”
“No, and Connor and I are in a better position than many.”
“I want to show you something we did find in Rich Lewiston’s possession.” Watson took a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. “This is a good-quality photocopy. Tell me if it means anything to you.”
He handed it to me. I studied it carefully, trying to think like Sherlock Holmes. The paper was white and plain, with a crease in the middle, indicating it had been folded in half. It contained nothing but a single line of text. The print appeared to be from a computer, the typeface Times New Roman 12.
We have to talk. Jakes Seafood Bar in Nags Head. 9 o’clck.
The letter writer had spelled clock wrong, which indicated the sender must have been in a hurry. Even if they couldn’t spell the word, the spell checker would have put a red line under it, and anyone paying attention would have corrected it before printing the note. I pointed that out to Watson and added, “If they had spell checker turned on, that is.”
“It’s possible not to?”
“Yes.”
Watson grinned at me. A rare occurrence. It made him look almost handsome. Human, even. “I knew there was a reason I wanted to show you this. No one else told me that. My desktop computer was set up for me, and I’ve never dared go into the settings. I’m afraid of breaking something. Same as the one at home. CeeCee fixes it if there are any problems. I assumed spell check was always on. Never assume, Sam,” he added to himself. “First rule of policing.”
“Other than that,” I said, “this doesn’t tell me much. We now know why Rich was at Jake’s when he was, but we still don’t know why he was in the Outer Banks in the first place. The note isn’t signed, meaning Rich must have known who it came from. Or he thought he knew, but it was someone other than the person who sent it.”
“Could his wife or son have sent it?”
“I wouldn’t have thought they’d have such a formal relationship, but I can’t say for sure. Why not phone or text? Did you find his phone?”
“It was on him. He’d received no calls or texts since Friday afternoon that hadn’t come from clients of his or people he worked with. Nothing from Evangeline or Ricky. I haven’t shown this note to anyone else, not yet. Please don’t mention it.”
“I won’t.”
Now that Watson was in what passed for him as a chatty mood, I asked, “When I saw him, it looked as though he’d been stabbed. Was that what he died of?”
“He was knifed in the back, yes. We’re searching for the weapon, but I’ve little doubt it’s at the bottom of the Sound or the ocean by now.”
“Not many people carry knives around with them. Certainly not the sort of people Rich Lewiston was acquainted with.”
“Which means the murder was an act of malice aforethought. The killer arranged to meet Rich at Jake’s with the intention of killing him. By the way, Jake has done an inventory of his steak and cooking knives, and all are accounted for.”
We arrived back at the parking lot and went to Watson’s car. Fluffy sniffed the tires.
Detective Watson got in his car and drove away.
About the last thing in the world I felt like doing today was having lunch with Mom and Evangeline. Yes, I wanted to have some mother-daughter time, but not with Evangeline tagging along. Not to mention Ricky and Leon Lions and Stephen Livingstone and whoever else might be invited to participate in the cheerful outing.
Connor called as I was considering joining Ronald and the gang in the marsh. Since I’ve come to live in the library, I’ve spent a lot of time exploring the wetlands, but I hadn’t gotten to know as much as I should about the flora and fauna and the other creatures who are my neighbors.
“I got a call from Lisa,” Connor said, referring to our realtor. “She has word of a house that’s coming onto the market today, and she can arrange a showing for us tomorrow evening, if you’d like.”
“Book club’s tomorrow.”
“Oh, sorry, I forgot. I can ask her if we can see it around lunchtime instead. How’s that sound?”
“That should work. Let me know the address and time and I can meet you there. What did she say about the house?”
“It’s in an up-and-coming area and needs a tiny bit of work.”
“Did she actually use that word? Tiny?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s hope.” We’d agreed we didn’t want a house that needed a lot of renovations or repairs, but if the price was low enough, we’d consider it. My home-maintenance skills stop at changing a lightbulb, but Connor’s dad was a carpenter and Connor grew up helping him out, so he could do a lot of the work if needed, himself or with his dad’s help.
A friend of mine in college maintained that the most important thing in choosing a life partner is that you love each other. The second most important is that he be handy. Although, as she pointed out one evening when we were celebrating the end of exams, love doesn’t always last, but handyman skills never expire.
“While I’ve got you on the phone,” Connor said, “I ran into Butch a few minutes ago in the parking lot, and he said he and Steph are going to the Dockside Lounge Bar to have a bite and listen to the band tonight and asked if we’d like to join them.”
“Sounds like fun. I would.”
“I’ll swing by at seven.”
The call had scarcely disconnected before my phone buzzed to announce a text.
Mom: Lunch at Owens. 1:00
Me: I’d rather not
Mom: Lunch at Owens. 1:00
Me:
Mom: Please?
Me: Ok
I let myself into the Lighthouse Aerie at three. Finally, at last, I could have some time to myself.
Lunch had been uneventful. Evangeline had been surprisingly quiet and Ricky on edge. Mom tried to make polite conversation about the delights of summer on the Outer Banks, and Leon Lions joined in with his praises. Evangeline said she’d never been here before and was finding it very nice, and Leon suggested that, in that case, she might want to come more in the future.
Did that mean she hadn’t visited Leon the times she’d been here, or was he in on her attempt to lie about it?
I threw her a look, and she avoided my eyes.
Eventually Mom and Evangeline began talking about plans for the country club’s Christmas ball. Leon turned to Ricky, seated on one side of him, to ask if Ricky wanted him to act as a tour guide and show him all the sights, while Stephen Livingstone, on the other side of Ricky, tried to get the lowdown on the gossip from Richardson Lewiston.
I enjoyed my chowder and plotted my escape.
“Book club.” Evangeline’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts. “I suppose that would be something to do, if we’re still here tomorrow.”
“What?” I said.
“Suzanne tells me your library book club meets tomorrow evening.”
“Uh, yes.”
“You’re reading The Hound of the Baskervilles. I love that story, although it’s been many years since I read it.”
Something was up: earlier Evangeline had been highly dismissive of Sherlock Holmes.
“Ricky and I would like to attend, if we may,” she said.
“We would?” Ricky said.
“Yes. We would.”
“You’d be welcome,” I said.
“You have nothing to do this evening,” Evangeline said to Ricky. “You can download the book and read it tonight.”
“Don’t assume I have nothing to do, Mom.”
“Do you?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“That’s settled, then.” She tapped her lips with her napkin.
“Maybe this’ll all be over by tomorrow and you can take Rich home,” Mom said.
“I hope so,” Evangeline said. “But, if that is not the case, we’ll attend the meeting of this book club.”
The waiter brought the bill, and Leon snatched it directly out of his hand. He smiled at Evangeline and said, “Lunch is on me.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Suzanne, I feel a headache coming on. I hope you and Lucy don’t mind if I bow out of our visit to the outlet shops.”
I refrained from leaping to my feet and performing a victory dance.
“Not at all,” Mom said. “I’d enjoy a quiet afternoon myself. It’s been a stressful few days.”
We all got to our feet.
“Ricky and I’ll drop you off at the hotel,” Leon said to Evangeline, “and then carry on to the Wright Brothers.”
“What’s the scoop on Melissa in human resources?” Stephen said to Ricky. “I heard her cousin got taken on, even though he was bottom of his class in law school.”
Not interested in the scoop on Melissa in human resources or her relatives, I hurried Mom out of the restaurant and to my car.
“Thank you for coming,” she said to me when we were on our way. “I’m grateful for your support, Lucy, while I’m supporting Evangeline.”
“Is she doing okay?”
“No, she’s not. I suggested she’d be more comfortable at home. She can wait for news there and come back when the police are ready to release Rich’s body. She refused. She wants to be near him. She said they’d never been close in life but it’s her duty to be with him in death.”
“That’s sad. Did you believe her?” I thought of Leon, so eager to please.
My mother gave me a smile. “I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Mom, I have to ask this. Do you think it’s possible Evangeline killed Rich? She can’t account for her time when he died.”
My mother gave me the credit of taking my question seriously. She thought for several minutes. “No. I do not. If she wanted to, she would have had more than enough opportunities to do it in Boston, in a less dramatic fashion. She’s intelligent enough to know she’d need an alibi. That she doesn’t have so much as the shards of one indicates to me she did not arrange that unfortunate circumstance.”
“She might have acted without thinking. Impulsively. Seen him at Jake’s, been angry that he’d followed her, they got into an argument, and …”
“I doubt she’s committed an impulsive act in her entire life. Evangeline thinks things through before acting. Besides, as far as I know, she’s not in the habit of carrying a knife in her purse. The purse she carried Monday night wasn’t much larger than necessary to hold her phone and credit card.”
I didn’t mention that even a small knife can do the job, if it’s sharp enough. “Yes, I noticed that.” I’d also noticed that there hadn’t appeared to be any blood on her jacket. The police had taken it away for forensic analysis. If they’d found anything of significance, they’d have questioned Evangeline about it. And not in a polite interview in her hotel room.
“What’s your impression of Leon Lions?” I asked.
“He’s clearly in love with Evangeline, and I assume you noticed that also, thus the question.”
“Hard not to.”
“Quite. He’s probably been in love with her for a long time. I don’t know if the feelings are returned. Evangeline can be a closed book, when she wants to be. They met when he lived in Boston, many years ago. He might have continued to see Evangeline over the years, I don’t know. A surprising number of Boston people seem to be in Nags Head these days. The death of Evangeline’s husband has clearly given our Mr. Lions an opening to make his move. Is it possible, do you think, he’s responsible for that?”
“You mean, might he have killed Rich? Anything’s possible.” I remembered Watson telling me that Evangeline had visited the Outer Banks, despite her saying she hadn’t. Why would she lie? Surely, lying had to mean she’d been here to do something she didn’t want anyone to know about. “He is, by the way, on the police radar for reasons you mention.”
“You told Detective Watson.”
“I did.”
“You’re full of surprises, Lucy,” my mother said. “I’m beginning to realize that.”
It was nice to get thoughts of Rich and Evangeline Lewiston out of my head. After dropping Mom off, I’d returned to the library and managed to sneak up the stairs unnoticed. I curled up in the window seat with Fluffy’s chin resting on my lap and finished The Hound of the Baskervilles.
I wasn’t entirely happy—okay, I wasn’t at all happy—about Ricky and Evangeline coming to my book club tomorrow night, but I could hardly tell them to stay away.
I was ready for my date with Connor at the appointed time, and we met Butch and Steph in town. To my delight, they’d managed to get Jake and Josie to join us, and we had a fun evening. The band was popular and the place was crowded, but we managed to snag a table close to the wide windows, thrown open to the night. Beyond the line of lights cast by the houses and hotels lining the shore, lights twinkled from boats in the harbor. The moon hung high in the sky, and I could hear the low mummer of the sea rushing to shore. We drank beer, ate chicken wings and hush puppies, listed to some great music, and talked about our lives and our friends.
I laughed at something Butch said as I started to get to my feet to go to the ladies’ room. At that moment, the crowd in front of the bar separated, and I caught a quick glimpse of a woman who looked very much like Charlene coming through the door. The same tall, thin frame, the same short brown hair. She was not dressed, however, in Charlene’s usual library uniform of neat skirt suit or well-tailored trousers and blouse but a short, tight, colorful dress above strappy high-heeled sandals. The waiter stopped at our table to ask if we wanted anything more, and when he’d moved on, Charlene, or whoever the woman was, had gone. I scanned the crowd but saw no sign of her.
“You okay, Lucy?” Steph asked.
“What?”
“You look like you’ve seen something.”
Connor’s head popped up, and he glanced around. “Not that blasted Ricky again, I hope.”
“No. Not Ricky. His mother has him sitting in his room at the hotel preparing for tomorrow’s book club. I’m fine. I thought I saw someone I wouldn’t have expected to see here, that’s all. I guess I was wrong.”
It might not have been Charlene, I said to myself, and she might not have left because she spotted my friends and me. Then again, the man standing next to her had looked very much like James Dalrymple.
“I have to take the dog out,” I told Connor as we walked up the path to the lighthouse after our evening with our friends. The night was warm and clear and the big white moon was rising in the sky. High above us, the lighthouse flashed its pattern: steady, reliable, and comfortable in a changing world.
“How’s he working out?” Connor asked.
“You mean having a dog? It’s a she, and it’s working out fine having her here, but that’s only because I live where I work, so I can pop up and take her out a couple of times a day.”
I unlocked the door, and we stepped inside. Charles was beside us immediately, winding himself around Connor’s legs, purring happily.
“I don’t usually get such an effusive greeting,” Connor said. “Charles knows I don’t ever feed him.”
“Charles is attempting to remind you who’s the number-one animal around here. He and Fluffy seem to have come to a tentative truce. I was worried I’d have to take sides. Do you want to come on the walk with us?”
“Sure. I’ll wait for you down here.”
I ran upstairs for Fluffy. When we got back, I found Connor sitting in the wingback chair with Charles on his lap and a book in his hand. He held up the book. The Hound of the Baskervilles.
“Found this on the returns cart, which reminds me, I won’t make book club tomorrow. I had to reschedule the budget meeting so I can see that house with you, and somehow it turned into a dinner meeting.”
He put Charles on the floor and stood up. He bent over and held his hand out to Fluffy to let the little dog sniff at it. Acquaintance made, Fluffy ran for the door, pulling me—at the other end of her leash—after her.
We stepped into the fresh night air. “One good thing about having a dog,” I said, “is it forces you to get outside regularly and go for a walk.”
Overhead, the thousand-watt bulb flashed, illuminating the ground in front of us. Connor took my free hand and we walked slowly toward the boardwalk, letting the moon and the occasional flash of light guide us.
We hadn’t gone far before the light went into its dormancy and a bank of clouds slipped across the face of the moon.
At that moment, up ahead, a light flashed once in the distance before being extinguished.
I stopped walking abruptly. Fluffy tugged at her end of the leash. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah, I did. Someone’s out there.”
“There aren’t any cars in the parking lot.”
“They might have come by boat.”
“Maybe.” I was suddenly very cold. The darkness that moments ago had seemed so peaceful pressed on me. Last year, in the days leading up to Halloween, I’d seen mysterious lights moving in the marsh. Those lights had been faint, colored, drifting. Almost, I’d thought, beckoning me. Corpse candles, the ancients called them, luring the living to their doom. I’d fled and never experienced anything like that again, and I’d pushed the incident aside as a natural phenomenon I’d misinterpreted due to all the talk of the night when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest.
This wasn’t the same. This light was steady, white, powerful. Electric.
“Is something wrong, Lucy?” Connor said.
“I … I don’t know. I don’t like that light. There it is again.” A series of flashes this time. A long, a short, a short, two longs. “Do you know Morse code?”
“I learned it as a Boy Scout but have almost completely forgotten.” He peered into the darkness. “You don’t think someone’s signaling, do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s nothing but random flashes, Lucy. If it bothers you, do you want to go over and check out what’s going on?”
“No!”
He dropped my hand. “I’ll go. You can take the dog back inside.”
I grabbed his hand and clung to it. “No!”
“The dog isn’t reacting.”
I glanced down. Fluffy sat at my feet, scratching behind her ear. “They might be too far away for her to smell anything. And the wind’s blowing in the wrong direction for their scent to carry to us.”
“It’s nothing to worry about, Lucy. People are in the marsh. Lots of people visit the marsh.”
“In the daytime or at twilight or sunrise. Not in the middle of the night. And they don’t come at night without a car. Let’s go back inside. I’m cold.”
“Okay.”
I tugged at the leash, and Fluffy stopped scratching her ear. She stood up, looked around her, and let out one loud bark. Connor hesitated and then came with us. I almost dragged both of them after me. When we reached the safety of the lighthouse, I glanced behind me. All was dark once again.