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I DROVE OUT TO DEERWOOD where John Thompson’s widow now lived alone in a five-thousand-square-foot brick home with six bedrooms and five baths. Hopefully with one less person in the house, she’d finally have enough space.
Before I made it into Michelle Thompson’s neighborhood I stopped at the gated entrance. A guard stepped out of a small brick building and pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as he approached my car. He held a clipboard in his hand. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said as he walked around toward the rear of my car. I watched him in the rearview as he looked down at my license plate, then appeared to write down the number. He walked over and stood outside my window. “Who’re you here to see?”
I looked up. “Michelle Thompson, she lives at—”
“I know where she lives...” He looked down at the clipboard, flipped up a sheet of paper. “What’s your name?”
“Henry Walsh.”
He ran his finger down the paper on the clipboard. “She expecting you?”
I paused a moment. “No, not exactly.”
“Oh, okay. Well then I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to let you in. Not unless your name is on this list.” He looked down at me over his glasses. “And it’s not.”
I looked at the name tag on his uniform. “Can’t you call her and ask if she’ll see me...Mickey?”
“I can call her, but maybe you should go ahead and tell me why you’re here. I’ll relay that to Mrs. Thompson. I don’t know how well you know her, but she’s had a difficult tragedy she’s dealing with right now, and—”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m a private investigator. It’s about Mr. Thompson.”
“You have an ID I can take a look at?”
I nodded and lifted myself up from my seat to take my license from my pocket. I handed him my laminated Florida State Private Investigator’s license.
“So you’re investigating what exactly?”
I looked up at Mickey. “Like I said, it’s about her husband’s death. You can tell her Angela Thompson sent me.”
Mickey kept his stare on me for a moment. “Mr. Thompson’s ex-wife?”
I nodded as he turned and walked back to the brick building and closed the door behind him.
I watched the door of the building until it finally opened a few moments later. Mickey stepped out and walked toward me with slow, bow-legged steps. He waved me on and opened the gate. As I drove forward, he pointed straight ahead. “First right, second left. Down the far end of Summer Ridge Drive. Two story brick home, right on the course. There’s a creek just off the driveway, goes behind their property. Seen a gator or two in there so you might want to park close to the house.”
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I PULLED IN THE DRIVEWAY of seven-one-eight-six Summer Ridge Drive and parked behind a white BMW parked in the shade in front of one of the garage doors. A small sticker on the back window said Deerwood Country Club.
The irrigation system was running, spraying water onto most of the walkway that led to the front door. I tried to time it, jumping across the small puddles on top of the concrete walk.
I rang the doorbell, looked down at my wet Sperrys and waited. I listened for someone on the other side of the door but nobody came. I knocked. The door opened and a short woman, fairly attractive and a bit on the heavy side stood in the doorway. She was much younger than I’d expected. At least for a woman married to a sixty-year-old man.
She put a smile on her face, although I got the feeling it was a bit forced. “You’re the private investigator?”
I nodded. “Henry Walsh.”
She tilted her head, cocked it back a bit and said, “Mickey said Angela sent you?”
“She did.”
She stepped back from the door and welcomed me into her home.
The house was much bigger than it looked from the outside. The foyer was as tall and wide as a basketball court.
Michelle walked ahead and looked back at me from over her shoulder. “I wish Angela had called to tell me about you.”
She continued down the hall and into the kitchen. The ceiling was open with exposed beams at least twenty feet from the floor.
“To be honest, Angela’s never liked me very much. So I’m not surprised she hired you without even talking to me first.”
“You don’t get along?”
Michelle walked toward the refrigerator. “With a wife in the middle of us you’d think there wouldn’t be so much hostility.” Michelle shrugged. “I always thought maybe Angela didn’t like me because of our age difference. John always said, Angela treated him more like her child.” She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a glass pitcher. She held it up toward me. “Would you like some tea?”
I stood across from her, on the other side of the island, and gave her a somewhat lazy nod with a slight shrug. “Sure.”
She poured two glasses and slid one across to me. “Now, Angela and John’s second wife, I can understand why they never got along.”
“Yeah?”
She sipped her iced tea and made an exaggerated mmmm sound as she held it up in front of her and looked at it from the side. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Her eyes went high on her head as she watched and waited for my answer.
I hadn’t taken a sip, but nodded anyway. She seemed to be passionate about her iced tea.
Michelle said, “Angela never liked Theresa. I...I mean, well...they were actually friends before John and, well—” She looked down into her glass then broke out a big smile and stared back at me, as if she’d forgotten what she was saying.
I sipped the tea, and had to admit to myself it actually was pretty good. “Did you know Angela before you married John?”
She shook her head. “No. And I never really got to know her after, either. He didn’t think it would be a good idea that I got to their office, so I’d actually never been. And the one time we had a party, John invited Angela but she didn’t show up.”
“You’ve never been to John’s office?”
She shook her head.
I took another sip of the iced tea and held up the glass to inspect what was inside. “You made this from scratch?”
She nodded with enthusiasm. “My granddaddy taught me how to make it. Let it soak up the hot Florida sun all day. It really does make a difference.” Her eyes widened as she spun around, slipped on an oven mitt and stepped toward the oven. She reached inside and pulled out a sheet of cookies. “This is my nana’s cookie recipe.” She smiled and left the sheet pan on top of the stove. “As soon as they cool down, you can try a few...take some home with you.”
The kitchen filled with the sweet smell of fresh baked cookies.
Her eyes went across the room to a big, round clock hung high up on the wall high. “Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, but I have a tennis match I have to leave for in five minutes.”
I put my glass down on top of the island. “Mind if I come back later?”
She nodded. “If you can call me first, it’ll be easier.” She pulled a piece of paper out of a drawer, wrote her number on it and handed it to me. “Here’s my number.” Then she bent down and pulled open a drawer. She took out a plastic container then stepped toward the stove, used a spatula to put some cookies inside. She handed me the container. “Be careful, they’re still hot.”
I looked down at the phone number. “I’ll call you later this afternoon?”
She walked ahead of me down the hall and stood in the foyer with her hand on the doorknob. She pulled the door open and stood out of the way. “It was nice to meet you.”
I started to walk past her, then stopped just outside the door. “What about John’s second wife? Do you know her?”
She nodded. “Yes, I worked for Theresa. I was her son’s nanny.”
“Her son?”
Michelle nodded. “Nate.”
“Is John his father?”
“He was Nate’s stepdad.”
“Oh, I didn’t...” I stopped and thought how foolish I felt for having to ask...simple details I should’ve already had on my own. “Do they still live around here?”
Michelle gave me a funny look. The permanent smile she kept on her face disappeared. “Theresa passed away a few years ago.” Her eyes moved to the floor. “It was very tragic.”
I waited for her to look up at me again, then turned and started back for my car. “I’ll call you again, hopefully we can talk more about your husband.”
I felt ashamed, and somewhat embarrassed, for having to ask John’s widow for such basic details about John’s second wife and a stepson I hadn’t even heard of.
As an investigator, I clearly had a lot to learn.