Early on Monday, I took Buddy for a long walk on the beach. He wasn’t a big fan of the water even though he clearly had some Labrador retriever in his DNA and usually Labs love a good swim. He did like to walk on the sand and sniff at the treasures we found along the way. I walked closest to the waves and liked the numbing feeling of the cold water on my feet. I wanted to be numb, not to feel today, the day I had been dreading for months. I needed this time to myself. I needed this beach, this scene, to fortify me for today. It was the anniversary of Rob’s death.
Anniversary seemed like the ultimate misnomer. There would be no more anniversaries, no more celebrations of us. It was really a statement, a marker that “we” didn’t exist anymore. All of the firsts—the holidays, the birthdays, and the milestones without him—had happened and they were all painful cycles of anticipation, disappointment, sadness, and steps forward. Now, on this final first, I knew the drill, the plan for the day. I would get through it and push forward, no matter how imperfectly and awkwardly, no matter how impossible it seemed. Meredith, Nicholas, and I had scheduled a video call for tonight and had planned to share our favorite Rob stories, ones that would help us celebrate the wonderful, patient, smart, and loyal man he was. I just needed to get through the rest of the day until then, hold it together for a dozen or so more hours.
When I got to the store, Helen was sitting on the front steps waiting for me. “So, book club tomorrow? Did I hear you say something about a pie?” she greeted me.
“Good news travels fast, doesn’t it?” I smiled as I searched my bag for the store keys.
“Miss Lucy is supposedly trying a new recipe—well, at least that’s what she told some of the ladies—so we are ready to take you up on your offer! Very kind of you, Carr, thank you,” she said. “I also wanted to let you know that the tourism board is coming to the island today. I think there are a dozen or so travel writers, event planners, and people like that who will be touring around today. I think Suzanne put Books & Brew on the tour. Did anyone reach out to you?”
“No, I didn’t know anything about that, but I will be ready. Thanks for the heads up. This is exactly the kind of grassroots marketing I can use. How great for Mongin Island!” I said.
“It’s terrible timing, if you ask me, what with a murder here? It couldn’t be worse! I just hope Suzanne keeps them moving and no one decides to make this the focal point of the visit. Which, by the way: I know you know what happened. So, what can you tell me?”
“Helen, I really don’t know much. I just happened to be—”
“If you ask me, I think Missy is hiding something,” she interrupted. “She spent the last few weeks telling Suzanne that Carl was going to propose to her and how she hoped he would sell the lighthouse and move back to Maine with her, where there are real lighthouses. I mean, have you heard of anything so ridiculous? He wasn’t a lighthouse keeper! He was a real estate agent who lived in a house with a big light in it. Ridiculous! Carl Tibbons living and operating a lighthouse? He made millions over the years through all the development on this island selling properties. Carl would never move.”
“Millions? He was that successful?”
“Okay, well, maybe not millions, but a lot of money definitely.” She stood up and continued, “In fact, he sold some properties several times over through the highs and lows here. Carl was often the agent on both sides of the sale, so he had done very well for himself. I know for a fact that he also did some trades, you know, swapping one piece of land for another. Shoot, he even swapped a lot way down by the county dock for a full house on Old Port Passage Way. That man would do anything for a deal. Don’t get me wrong, he worked hard, he hustled for his success. He had the gift of gab, that’s for sure and maybe he just told Missy what she wanted to hear—but I think she knows a lot more about this than she is saying. She definitely saw a future for them and I guess Carl did not.”
I was now very curious about Missy. “It seemed like Carl lived kind of modestly. I mean his house was nice, but not extravagant. Do you think Missy knew how well he had done in real estate? He certainly didn’t seem to be showy or anything. Would she know this if she hadn’t been on the island long?”
“She’s been here long enough to know this, if this is the kind of thing that is important to you,” Helen said, leaving no doubt that she was going to tell me more of her Missy theory. As I opened the shop, Helen sat in a club chair and told me about the interactions with Missy she and other book club ladies had over the last month or so, which all seemed to point to a very different person than the Missy I met. Helen’s lengthy list of examples of Missy’s relationship goals, long term plans, and wish list of expensive gift ideas were describing a side of Missy I had not observed.
My head was filled with so many different things—Rob, my kids, Carl, Governor’s Point, Paul, and antique books. I didn’t have the capacity to absorb all these seemingly unrelated stories.
Finally, I cut her off. “I have to say, Helen, I didn’t see this side of Missy. Granted, we were talking under very different and strange circumstances. I don’t know what to think. I had the unfortunate task of telling her about Carl and then, of course, she was already rattled because she found us wandering around Carl’s house. Maybe if I had met her under different circumstances, on a different day, maybe I would have picked up on some of these same things you’re saying, but I didn’t get any of this from her.”
“Well, something doesn’t add up to me, that’s what I do know.” Helen stood up and said, “I will leave you to your work. Tripp said you were expecting a large delivery on the barge today and the travel group is on the 10 a.m. ferry, so they could likely be here before lunch, or maybe even right after, depending on the route Suzanne decides to take. Looking forward to pie tomorrow at the book club! We will see you here and I guess we will grab the table on the Trading Floor. I am going to head over to The Tin Drum now. I wonder if they know to expect a crowd of influencers. You know how it is at that shop. They’re iron artists. They might be in the middle of some custom work there and have all the tools out—not exactly welcoming! I love Suzanne but I had hoped she would have told all our retailers to put out the welcome mat for this group. I mean, if she wants to serve as our rep for the County Tourism Committee, she needs to take things more seriously. She should be a better communicator!” She continued with her tsk, tsking as she climbed into her cart.
“Wow, that was a lot,” I thought as I watched her drive away. Helen’s suspicions, the stories, and the pictures they painted weighed on me, so I recorded these details in my notebook and decided to update Julie. Helen raised a good point. What if there was more to Missy’s reactions than I first thought?
Tripp and I were soon diving into our new inventory. We worked in silent harmony, each person knowing exactly what to do, and just doing it. We were two hands on a keyboard. It was so easy to work with Tripp; I made a mental note to thank him when we were done. We were on such a roll that I hated to break the workflow.
But as Helen predicted, the tourism group arrived before lunch and their excited voices immediately filled the store. They were a lively group, interested in learning about my road to becoming a retailer, my connection to the island, and how I would contribute to the overall Mongin Island experience. My story was easy to tell: I loved this place and although independent bookstores faced pressure from online retailers, this store was different because it was becoming part of the community. Happily, this was a place people were coming to meet their friends, catch up on the day, and maybe buy or trade a book.
Even better, business was brisk! The group essentially bought out the entire section of Mongin Island books, including a new book of poetry I had unpacked moments before their arrival.
Julie walked through the door just as I was saying goodbye to the group. They posed for a picture on the front porch, filling up the rockers, and were bantering about what hashtags they would use in their social media posts. With smiles and waves, they were off to the next stop. A few other customers were sitting around the shop, so Julie and I found a quiet space in my office to talk privately. Julie’s team had been collecting evidence at Governor’s Point and Carl’s house. They had spoken to Missy and were in contact with Theresa, so I shared Helen’s feedback.
“Interesting, definitely a twist,” Julie said, as I warmed up her tea. “What was your vibe about Missy? We are checking into her story about dating Carl and seeing what else we can find out about her, but it is an interesting theory about her wanting to move away with Carl. All this feedback seems to suggest that Missy has a lot of emotion and energy invested in Carl. Very interesting.”
“I am not sure how much I am believing Helen’s gossip,” I said. “I want to talk to Missy again with a clearer head. Saturday, I mean, it was just too much going on for someone like me who doesn’t do this all day. I told her we would stay in touch.”
“Before you do, let’s go over the list of things we collected. I want you to have some context and understand where I think this is headed.” She gave me an inventory list of items the team had collected. Among these was Carl’s laptop. Julie said the lock-screen password was written on a sticky note on the corner of the machine, next to the mousepad. “Why bother even having a password?” Julie gave me a look. “Certainly makes our job easy, but—”
“I guess anyone with access to Carl’s house could also have had access to his files. On second thought, not just his house, right? This laptop could have traveled with him, too,” I said, half to Julie and half to myself. Would Carl have taken it to real estate showings, open houses, and customer meetings? “Could you tell if his files were password protected?”
“We didn’t get there yet, but I am bringing it back to the mainland for us to examine more closely. Sheriff Oxley is trying to get us some forensic accounting help. Our main resource has been out sick for the last week and his backup is involved in that big case in the news, the one with the lawyer from the city who hired someone to kill his family. I don’t think anyone is going to be able to start on this until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“I’m no forensic expert, that’s for sure, but I have done a lot of financial analysis for my clients,” I said.
Julie was smiling.
“You were going to ask me already, weren’t you?”
“Well, I did come here today thinking—you know, maybe I can get a little more help from you?”
“I definitely can look into this,” I said, “but I know you need to maintain a record of all of this, right? Anything you might find that you’d want to use in court will have to be verified. You don’t want people tampering with the laptop.”
“Chain of custody, right. We’ve got to be careful.”
“Hmm, can someone on your team provide me access to the files on his computer in a data room? That’s what we use at my firm. That’s a way to maintain the integrity of the data. We’re always conscious of being sued about sensitive records, so we use a data vault so no opposing counsel can claim we manipulated data.”
“Data vault, okay.” Now Julie was making a note. “I knew you had the skills. Email me the specs of what you want so our IT guys can set this up for you. We do use some software like what you’re describing. I will get this set up—and send you the login. Your help would be amazing. I am still going to see what forensic accounting help Sheriff Oxley can find, but in full transparency, Carr, I just don’t think this case is going to be a big priority for Oxley.”
“I’m happy to help. This is something I can do and I can likely do it pretty quickly.”
“I’m glad you understand how urgent this is. People aren’t going to rest, thinking there is a killer on the loose. It’s bad for tourism too, I know. Small community like this, everyone is aware of what is happening. It’s not good.” Julie’s smile was gone.
Julie finished reviewing the evidence cataloged so far and agreed to provide an updated list by tomorrow. Talking theory, Julie seemed to think Carl had been at home, was called away, and somehow got to Governor’s Point, where he was hit on the head with a rock and ultimately was pushed into the pool.
“That can’t be it,” I said. “I mean that can’t be the whole story. We think Carl left the lighthouse on Thursday. If he drove to Governor’s Point, then where is his cart? It wasn’t there and Missy feels reasonably confident that he did drive away then. I mean, his cart isn’t at his house and his cart isn’t at Governor’s Point. So where is his cart? That’s what we need to find. On an island this size, we should be able to find something like that, right? And find it quickly?”
“Ha, well, you would think so, but so many of these golf carts look identical. When you talk to Missy, see if she can remember anything particular about Carl’s cart. Did Carl have a bumper sticker or something, anything unique on his? Did you see that cart with the Georgia Bulldog on the hood? Now, only if we could get that lucky with Carl’s! Instead, I bet we are looking for an off-white four-seater!”
Sadly, I had to agree. Julie essentially described my cart—and at least half of the other ones on the island. No wonder there were frequently cases of mistaken identities, with people driving off in the wrong cart, especially because many keys fit multiple carts. Same manufacturer, often the same key.
“One more thing, Carr. It looks like Carl traveled recently, right? Seems like he was meeting with someone in New York, Newport, Rhode Island, and someplace out by the Outer Banks. From what I can tell, it seems like it may be the same person or people in all of those places. You know anything about this?”
“No, nothing specific,” I replied. “He told me about travel. That’s how I ended up with Buddy. He said he needed to be flexible around someone else’s schedule and needed help with Buddy’s care.”
“Well, one common name showing up in all these places is Evan Weisman. Mean anything to you?”
“Unfortunately, no, but I will keep my eyes open when I get into Carl’s files.”
“Tripp, are you okay if I scoot out for a little bit?” I asked as Julie and I walked to the front of the store. “I have a few things I need to do. I know I am leaving you with a few more boxes to unload, so don’t worry if you can’t get to them. Just do what you can—and the rest will wait. I will be in the store early tomorrow and can finish whatever we don’t get to today.”
I continued talking as I walked out the door and called “Thanks! See you soon!” to him and whoever else was listening. I didn’t give him a chance to ask any questions, which I hoped would stop people from pumping him for details he did not have.
As I drove, I organized my thoughts, trying to categorize facts versus theories. Following the music coming from the back of Missy’s house, I found her sitting on her deck, a book on her lap but her eyes looking off into the distance.
“Missy, hey, how are you today? I wanted to catch up with you. Do you have a minute?”
Her eyes focused on me but she did not seem to really see me for a minute or so. “Carr, sorry, sure, yes, sit down here.” She waved to the selection of deck chairs scattered around in no particular way. “I was a thousand miles away.”
There were quite a few things I wanted to ask Missy, but if I learned anything from time on Mongin Island, it was that some conversations were like a Georgia-milled carpet, all rolled up. When installing that carpet, you start in one corner of the room and you better only unroll a little at a time. If you moved too fast, you would end up in a big mess. So, I took a deep breath, settled into my chair, and waited for Missy. We covered the easy things, the weather, the tourists and day-trippers heading to the beach, and then she asked about the investigation. I felt the tug of that carpet, the pull of the next section ready to be moved into place.
“Julie told me that they collected a lot of things from Carl’s house,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Things like his computer, some files, and what looks like his pocket calendar where a lot of appointments and notes were kept. Her team is going through all that they collected from here and from Governor’s Point.”
“I don’t know much about what he kept in that pocket diary. I think he mostly wrote things in it when he was out and about, like if someone asked him to call them later or mentioned a tip, or something. You know you can’t always get wireless here—you have to face the ocean to get a good signal. I don’t think he kept his laptop with him unless he was at an appointment, but I don't know, I really never paid that much attention to it.” She answered simply and I believed her.
“Did you ever use his laptop? Do you know how he organized his files?”
“Of course I didn’t,” she snapped. “Why would I need his computer?”
“You know, if you were together and wanted to look up something, or print something, check your email, whatever, a million reasons. So, you didn’t ever use it?”
“No, never, I never touched it. Not one time. We didn’t have that kind of a relationship.” She shook her head and stood up. I wondered about the “kind of relationship” you needed to use someone else’s computer but, in the meantime, her statement opened the door for me to explore her perspective on the kind of relationship they did have. “So, you weren’t very close then?” I ventured, wondering if she was about to walk into her house and not finish this conversation.
Missy eyed me up and down. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “I told you that we were seeing each other and then he started seeing Theresa. Does that sound like we were very close? I mean, he dropped me over his dog. Remember? Doesn’t exactly sound like I was the love of his life, right? No, we weren’t very close.”
“I know it’s painful, Missy. And I’m sorry to bring up something you might find a little humiliating.” We sat with that statement in the air between us for a few minutes. “You’re essentially telling me how Carl felt, but what about how you felt? Did you see a future for the two of you? You lived right next to each other, you must have spent a lot of time together.”
I realized I was playing with the charms on my bracelet. Each one of them meant something. Friendship, good wishes, appreciation. My Atlanta book club friends gave me this bracelet when I moved and I very rarely took it off because it reminded me of some very happy times we shared. My left hand was mindlessly twirling the charms around the band. If Missy noticed this, she would have seen that this conversation was difficult for me too.
“What are you saying? You’re saying I was a fool? I already know that,” she said, eventually. She sat down again, but this time in a different chair. She chose a seat closer to me, so our crossed legs were practically touching.
“No! I am just asking—” I started, shifting in my seat.
“No, okay? No, I didn’t think we would be together forever, but I didn’t think it would end like this.” Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and I could see the color rise through her neck and onto her face. “I really hadn’t thought that much about anything. We were just getting to really know each other.” She looked over my shoulder, her line of sight focused right on Carl’s house.
“I heard from some folks that you were hoping to move back to Maine and were thinking that maybe Carl would head there with you. Why do you think people are saying this, Missy?”
Her gaze turned quickly back to me, and her blue eyes seemed especially bright. Missy threw her head back and laughed.
“What is happening right now?” I asked her as she gathered herself.
Still smiling, she said, “Oh, Carr, if you could see your face. I’m sorry I startled you just now, but for real, I haven’t laughed like that in, I can’t tell you how long. This is really one of the funniest things I have heard in so long.”
She wiped tears from her eyes and looked at me and decided to tell me more. “Carl is a real estate agent. I mean, Carl was a real estate agent. There would be no way he would have moved from here. Move to Maine? In the snow and cold, away from the Lowcountry? Absolutely no way, never. For heaven’s sake, I don’t know if I want to move back there, and I lived in the Northeast all my life! But us moving there together? That would never happen and it certainly would not happen because of me. And, by the way, I don’t even know that I would have wanted that to happen. My divorce was just finalized a year ago, I’m not sure I even wanted a long-term thing with Carl, or with anyone right now.”
She was gathering enthusiasm. “Carr, you do know he wasn’t a real lighthouse keeper, right? You know he just lived in this house and occasionally worked in the museum? This lighthouse has a functional light, but all you have to do is flip a switch to turn it on. It’s more of a courtesy than anything else. I mean, Carl could have never been a lighthouse keeper in a real, working lighthouse. You know this, right? So according to your source, I was going to bamboozle Carl into moving, away from an area he loved, to do a job he could never do? That’s the story?”
She wasn’t angry anymore. Missy seemed genuinely amused by this.
Talk about imposter syndrome. I felt completely ridiculous. Everything she said was something I logically knew, and yet, I had been swayed by the island gossip. It was the classic island rookie mistake and I fell for it. It was so maddening. I knew better than this. How many stories did we believe on our first trips to Mongin Island? We used to fall for all the “experts” who were so willing to share island tidbits with us, only for us to find out later those people often knew a small portion of the truth and built narratives around their own version of a story. What was I doing? I was running around, completely distracted. If I was going to help Julie, I needed to be better than this.
I met Missy’s eyes directly. I was never one to shy away from a difficult conversation. To some, this meant I had an edge, but I always thought it was just much more efficient to speak plainly.
I told Missy, “When you put it that way, it does sound silly, doesn’t it? You don’t owe me an explanation. I know you don’t. But we both want the same things, right? We both want to know what happened to Carl and if someone did something to him, we want to know who it was, do you agree?”
“Of course, yes. I want to know those things but I guess I didn’t think of myself as any kind of suspect until I heard your word-on-the-street nonsense. Honestly, I did not know he was missing until I saw you. I am ashamed to say that I was so angry with him for the way we broke up and how fast he moved on, I just worked myself up with that story, that he was with Theresa. At the time, that made sense but now, looking at it, it sounds kind of stupid, saying it out loud. It was just too soon after my divorce to be cast aside again. God, that’s so shameful and selfish.”
She leaned forward. “Listen, Carr,” she said, “I know you’re trying to help Deputy Julie. Would it help you to see the inside of Carl’s house? I still have a spare key. I locked it up after the detectives went through it. You never know if people will stop by if they think the house is empty. Morbid curiosity.”
“Or if some people will just wander right in, right?” I tried to lighten the mood.
“Hmm, I heard that can happen.” She smiled and went into her house to get the key.