I let out the breath I’d been holding and nodded. “It seems likely. But I still don’t get what Gina wanted from me.”
“Gina said your husband had been murdered.”
“When did Gina tell you about Jimmy?”
Eric shrugged. “Soon after she came down. Maybe a month ago.”
That would make it just before she started coming into the Sunset. She’d come into the Sunset because I was there, because of the way Jimmy died. Making friends with me was something she planned.
“Gina told me the woman murdered on the beach came down here every year and that she had a friend working here,” he said. “Was that friend you?”
“No.” That would be Julian, but that wasn’t any of this guy’s business. “Did Gina think I knew Bunny Lehre?”
“Yes.” Eric leaned forward. Our faces were only a foot apart. “Tell me about Gina and the day she died.”
“I have no idea why she went back out to the beach house, do you?”
He sat back on the chair. “No.” His voice was full of hesitation, as though he really felt he should be saying yes.
“Give a guess.”
Instead of answering he asked a question of his own, “Do you know if she had a gun?” He read my surprise. “Sam’s gun was missing. I looked for it but it wasn’t in her house.”
“You think Gina had it?”
He nodded. “She must have taken it with her when she left Sam’s house in North Carolina.”
“And she was going to use it to shoot the guy who murdered Sam?”
He nodded. “Yes. She wanted to avenge Sam. She had herself convinced that she had to do something, not as a violent act of rage but as a civic duty to prevent more deaths.” He read my reaction. “Extreme, I know, but that’s what Sam’s death did to her.”
“So she was going to be his executioner?”
“I tried to talk her out of it.”
“But you didn’t call the police and get them to stop her?”
“What could I tell them? What did I really know?” Still I felt he’d been negligent, leaving her on her own and showing up way too late.
“Don’t think too harshly of Gina.”
“Who am I to judge her? Only, she drew me into it. Why? If she was going out to kill someone, why did she want me along? To witness it? That doesn’t make sense. And then she left me in the car and ran.”
Two women entered the dining room pushing trolleys loaded with plates, goblets and silverware. They hung back when they saw us and then went quietly about their business of laying the tables around us.
I lowered my voice, “Who did Gina think murdered her sister? What’s his name?”
His eyes did a shift. “She wouldn’t tell me.” His forefinger rubbed a circle on the table, around and around. “At first she was afraid of accusing the wrong person. Later I think she was trying to protect me. Didn’t want the police to think I had anything to do with his death if she decided to act. She said what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.”
“Did she choose that particular house on the beach or just rent what was available?”
“She really wanted that house. I think in some way she thought it was connected to Sam’s killer.”
My nightmares about the little beach house got a whole lot more real. “Is there anyone else Gina might have talked to up north? A friend? Anyone that might have another piece of the puzzle?”
With a shake of his head he denied it. “There’s just us…was just us.” His mouth worked silently and then he said, “I loved Gina…Sam too, but with Gina…well there was always something extra.” He looked into the past while I waited.
“Our mothers were sisters. As kids the three of us spent every Christmas together and every summer at a cottage up on Lake Michigan. None of us had any children. I suppose we would have drifted apart if we had been parents and made other connections but it never happened. We still went on the occasional holiday together and spent every Christmas in Aspen.”
His face slumped into sadness. “Her proper name was Regina.” He lifted his eyes to me. “Did you know that? But she liked to be called just Gina.” He smiled. “Regina was too…” he lifted his shoulders then let them fall. “I don’t know, just too something for her, royal maybe.” His arms dropped down between his splayed knees. “I’m alone now.” It was a bald statement of fact, not a bid for sympathy, as if he was saying he was at an end.
I looked away, out towards the gulf and the sun.
One of the servers said, “Excuse me,” and sat down a plate on a gold charger in front of me. Its surface was covered with painted monkeys and palm trees. Matched with the bright orange bird of paradise flower arrangements in the center of the table, the party would have a real tropical theme. But paradise had something dark and evil festering in it.
“You must go to the police,” I said when the woman moved off. “Detective Styles is in charge. Gina didn’t have much faith in him but I know he never gives up and he’s smart. He’ll know the right questions to ask. If Gina could find this guy, he can too.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll do that.” He got abruptly to his feet. “But first I needed to find you and hear about Gina.” I rose with him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more.” “It’s good to talk about her.” He straightened the chair to the table, neat and tidy and final.
“Why are you driving Sam’s car?” I asked.
“I flew from Illinois to North Carolina. I picked up Sam’s car and drove the rest of the way.” He moved towards the door and I followed.
He had a key to Samantha’s house. He could have let him self in and killed her. But of course he didn’t need a key. Sam would have let him in, fulfilling the profile of her murderer. On the front steps he held out his hand. “Why did you look for Sam’s gun?” I asked.
Eric Schievner lowered his hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Travis.” The charm had been replaced by steel.
Even before the car slipped around the first bend and was hidden by the dense vegetation, questions were piling up in my head. Why had he come to see me before he had gone to the police? Surely the first thing he would want to do would be to claim Gina’s body. Gina and Eric Schievner had been in close touch so she must have given him some clues about the murderer, which would help the police find him. I stopped dead at the entrance. I hadn’t asked the name of the private detective. I also hadn’t asked Eric Schievner where I could get in touch with him.
“Shit.” It must be the foreign food slowing down my brain. It worked better on burgers and fries.
Then the big question jumped up and bit my behind. Was he going to finish what Gina started? He was looking for Sam’s gun. Maybe he knew as much as Gina did about the murder; he hadn’t asked about anyone in particular but he’d definitely been pumping me for information. My bet was he knew everything there was about the murderer except where to find him and where to find Gina’s gun. I had to talk to Styles.
He wasn’t in. I left a message. I wonder if we’d connected sooner if things would have worked out differently, if three fewer people would have died.