So things weren’t quite as friendly between Michael and Marlene as first impressions indicated. I wished I’d thought to ask her if Will had recently changed his will, although that might have been waaay too nosy, even for me. He could have left his money to anyone he wanted, from a new girlfriend to a shelter for homeless cats, but if he didn’t have a will, or hadn’t changed it recently, then chances were that everything he had would go to Mike.
And, judging by his last comment, Mike was not inclined to share with Marlene.
I wondered how Mike would feel if he found out he had to share his inheritance with Stephanie. He probably wouldn’t be overjoyed, although he might like to discover he had a long-lost sister. Most of my only-child friends said they wished they had siblings. I, on the other hand, often wished I didn’t have three older brothers.
I glanced at my watch. Five thirty. Mike said he had an appointment with the police at six, so there was no point in my going around to talk to Sam Watson. I wanted to call Bertie, but I didn’t want to sit in their driveway while Marlene and Mike peeked out the windows, wondering what I was up to, so I drove around the corner and parked there.
“Any news?” I asked my boss when she answered the phone.
“Pat called a few minutes ago. Stephanie’s at home.”
I let out a long sigh. “Thank heavens. Did she say what happened?”
“The police are interested in Stephanie’s whereabouts last night after you and I left around eleven. Stephanie has no alibi, but as Amos pointed out to Detective Watson, that means nothing. It was the middle of the night. Most people who don’t have a bed partner, and even a good many of those who do, don’t have alibis for the early hours.”
“Good point.”
“Pat didn’t say it right out, but she implied that the police are trying to find someone who saw Stephanie or her car on the streets after we left.”
“They’re wasting their time,” I said. “Besides, Steph’s car was left behind at Jake’s when I drove her home.”
“Yes, but Pat’s car’s drivable. Easy enough for her to take that one. Sam Watson told Stephanie not to leave Dare County. Amos countered that she’s a respected member of the legal profession employed by a prominent firm in Raleigh. Her home and all her contacts are in this state, so Watson said okay, but she’s not to leave North Carolina.”
“I guess that’s better.”
“Marginally.”
“Do you need me back at work?” I asked.
“No. Do you have something in mind?”
“If an incident from Will’s wayward youth has reared its ugly head,” I said firmly, “I know precisely where to go to find out about it.”
“See you tomorrow then,” Bertie said, hanging up.
Aunt Ellen and Uncle Amos own a beautiful little house set back from the beach. They moved out of the big rambling home in which they raised their family and entertained my brothers and me and bought this small one that’s delightfully perfect, although surrounded by giant rental homes like Will and Marlene’s. When I drove up, I was pleased to see Uncle Amos’s car in the driveway.
My aunt answered the door and enveloped me in a big hug. “What brings you here, honey? Not that it’s not always a joy to see you.”
“Not a joyful visit, I’m afraid. I want to talk to you about the Will Williamson situation.”
“Now, Lucy, you know I can’t say much about that.” Amos stood at the top of the stairs. “Stephanie has retained me, so I am bound by client privilege.”
“I know that,” I said. “It’s Aunt Ellen I’m here to see.”
“Me? Good heavens, what do I know about any of this?”
“Perhaps more than you are aware.” As we spoke we instinctively walked up the stairs. Like Marlene’s house, the main floor was completely open. It was a good deal smaller and decorated with a personal touch that bordered on the chaotic, but the view was every bit as good as Marlene’s. A pile of vegetables sat on the granite countertop, waiting to be chopped, and a pot of water bubbled on the stove. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve interrupted your dinner preparations.”
“Take a seat, honey,” Ellen said. “I can cook and talk at the same time.”
“She can even chew gum and walk,” Amos said, and I laughed, comfortable in this home, among these people.
Without asking what I wanted, my aunt put the kettle on, and I smiled to myself.
While Aunt Ellen prepared pasta sauce and Uncle Amos listened without interrupting, I explained about the mysterious lights. Aunt Ellen looked doubtful, but Amos’s ears almost visibly pricked up. “That is interesting. Stephanie said nothing to me or Watson about it.”
“That’s because I seem to be the only person who thinks it relevant.”
“I think it highly relevant,” he said. “Now, tell us what you want Ellen to do?”
“We can’t go to Alaska, digging into Will’s past,” I said. “But I’m thinking that doesn’t matter. There’s got to be a reason he was killed so soon after returning to the Outer Banks. It’s entirely possible someone remembered an old grudge.”
Ellen and Amos exchanged glances.
“He’s about your age, Aunt Ellen. Did you know him back when?”
She nodded slowly. “He was at school same time I was, although a few years ahead.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
“I didn’t remember him at all until I read about his death in the paper. The article mentioned his age and said he’d lived here for many years. I dug out the old yearbooks and looked him up. He was a fine-looking young man.”
“We know he married, but he had an affair with Pat Stanton, and he ran out on her as soon as she got pregnant. It’s entirely possible other women or girls were in the same situation and never forgave him. Maybe even a husband or boyfriend wanting revenge after all these years.” Revenge. Someone had said that word recently.
Stephanie. Stephanie had said it was time to get revenge on William Williamson.
I shoved the thought aside.
“You’ve thought of something,” Amos said.
“Nothing!”
He gave me a look that must have turned many a fresh-faced young prosecutor to quivering jelly. “If you say so.”
“I see what you’re getting at, honey.” Aunt Ellen poured spaghetti noodles into the boiling stockpot. “I’ll ask around. I’m still in touch with plenty of people from my long-ago youth. Time to get the gossip mill in gear.”
“That,” Uncle Amos said, “will not be difficult.”
“Now,” Ellen said. “You’ll stay for dinner, Lucy.”
It was not a question, but I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I have another call to make.”
“Where?” Amos asked.
“You probably don’t wanna know.”
* * *
I drove the few blocks to the police station. The sun was setting over the sound and the sky was streaked with soft shades of gray and pink. I was hoping Watson would be finished with Mike, but if he wasn’t I would wait.
“I’m sorry,” said the officer behind the reception desk. “Detective Watson has left for the day. Do you want to see someone else?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Lucy, what brings you here?” Butch crossed the room. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d worn to go hiking (was that only twelve hours ago?) and was wearing his uniform.
“I have some information for Detective Watson, but they tell me he’s not here.”
“Can I help you?”
I hesitated.
“Let’s grab a drink and maybe a bite to eat and you can tell me.”
“Aren’t you working?”
“I’m just coming off shift. Your timing’s excellent. How about the fishing pier?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”
“Great,” he said. “Give me ten minutes to change.”
I knew I should have refused. I didn’t want to encourage Butch, but I needed to run my ideas past someone.
I reached the restaurant first. I checked my phone, hoping I’d missed a beep to tell me I had an incoming call or text from Connor. Nothing. I swallowed my disappointment and went inside. The restaurant was almost full, but I was shown to a couple of brightly colored stools pulled up to the long counter overlooking the beach. I hopped onto a yellow seat and put my purse on the blue stool next to me to save Butch’s spot. My drowsiness of earlier had passed, but I didn’t want to risk having another drink. I ordered a glass of tea. I knew better than to ask for hot tea in any restaurant in the South. It was dark now, the ocean a black void. Surf pounded the shore in waves of white foam and the lights from the bar illuminated a narrow stretch of pale sand. In the shadows below the deck, a couple sat close together, murmuring softly.
Butch soon arrived, getting appreciative glances from a group of college-age women seated nearby. As usual, he seemed oblivious to their admiration. He ordered a beer. “Want anything to eat, Lucy?”
“No, I had something already,” I lied. I was starving, but eating dinner together would seem too much as though we were on a date.
“How’s Stephanie?” he asked.
“Okay, I guess. Despite being manhandled by the police.”
“I doubt very much she was manhandled,” Butch said.
“Sorry. I was being defensive.”
His beer arrived, and he sipped it as he looked out to sea. “I hear she was released.”
“Of course she was released. She didn’t kill that man. Watson’s clutching at straws.”
“He’s being thorough. Have you seen her?”
“Seen who?”
“Stephanie.”
“Not this afternoon.”
“I guess she’s called in some high-powered legal help. That lot always helps their own.”
“She’s retained my uncle Amos in case she needs him.”
“Really? That’s good news.”
“You think so?”
He shifted in his seat. Drank more beer. Didn’t look at me. “Sure. Amos is a straight shooter. He’ll do a good job of representing her. If . . . uh . . . he has to.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going around to her place tonight?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I thought you might need me to go along.”
“Why would you think that?”
He shrugged his big shoulders. Judging by the number of beer bottles and wineglasses on their table, the young women seated near us were well on their way to vacation nirvana. One of them caught my eye and gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up with one hand while pointing at Butch with the other. Her friends collapsed into giggles.
“What are you looking at?” Butch said, twisting in his seat.
The girls squealed and buried their heads in their hands.
“That lot’s gonna be trouble for some poor cop tonight,” he said to me.
I was maybe ten years older than them. They made me feel as though I should have a walker and hearing aid ready at hand. “I spoke to Marlene earlier.”
“Who?”
“Will’s girlfriend. Remember, she was at book club?”
“Oh, yeah. Her. What about her?”
“She told me Will went around regularly making enemies of people and threatening to sue them. We saw that ourselves, didn’t we, with Ralph? She had another story I found interesting.” I related the tale of the supermarket cart versus car incident. “The police were called, so the name of the other guy must be on file. Maybe he offed Will?”
“Because his eggs got broken?”
When he put it like that, it did sound pretty ridiculous. “You never know,” I said weakly.
“That’s true enough. I learned my first week on this job not to assume something’s too minor for some idiot to go totally nuts over. It’s worth looking up.”
“Thanks. What happened at the marina, by the way? I heard something about Will’s car being located and a boat stolen. Is that true?”
“Yup. His Navigator was found parked on the street near a marina in Wanchese. A small boat was stolen from there last night. The very boat we found Williamson in this morning.”
The image of Will’s body flashed before my eyes. I swallowed.
Butch touched my arm. “You okay, Lucy?” His warm hazel eyes were full of concern.
I shook the memory away and tried to smile. “I’m good. What happens now?”
“Fingerprint techs and forensics have gone over the vehicle and the boat with a fine-tooth comb. If there’s something to be found, it’ll be found. Williamson’s prints are all over the car, as you would expect, and Marlene’s too. Plenty of others, which is natural enough as the SUV has a lot of miles on it. We have to locate the boat owners to eliminate their prints, but they’re out of town and the marina doesn’t have cell numbers for them. We can’t find anyone who saw Williamson on Roanoke Island last night or observed someone take that boat.”
“Have you wondered how the killer got back to wherever he’d come from? Someone had to have been with Williamson either before or after he was dead to pilot that boat and tie it to the dock. Where did they go after that? It’s a heck of a long walk back to town on a very dark and lonely road.”
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t tell Watson I said so, but you’re good at thinking these things through, Lucy. One of our working theories is that the murder was so carefully planned and premeditated the killer had a vehicle concealed close by to use to get away from the scene. The other is that the killer had an accomplice, someone they phoned to pick them up after the deed, shall we say, was done.”
“That would be a risk, wouldn’t it? A parked car, an isolated location, late at night. If a police patrol came by they’d make a note of it.”
“Murdering a man’s a risk, Lucy. Everything else is secondary to that. It’s often those minor details that help us catch the guy. Right now, Watson’s biggest question is why Williamson would have been at a marina, and that one in particular, late at night, and decide to go for a boat ride.”
“Maybe he had some business to conduct concerning his boat that got wrecked on Monday.”
“What sort of insurance adjuster meets a client in the middle of the night? Even that doesn’t wash. The boat Williamson rented—and destroyed—was out of a marina in Kill Devil Hills.”
“Rented? That boat was rented? Marlene told me he bought it right after they got here. She’s hoping to get the insurance money.”
Butch grinned. “He wouldn’t be the first guy to want a woman to think he’s a big-time spender. I wouldn’t read much into that, Lucy. He probably wanted to be sure he’d enjoy boating before taking the plunge and buying. An antique motorboat of that size is a heck of a big investment, not to mention the cost of insurance and maintenance.”
“My head’s spinning.” I hopped off the stool. “I’m going home. It’s been one heck of a day.”
He drained his bottle. “Yeah, that it has. If you talk to Stephanie, say hi for me, will you?”
“Okay.”
The Croatan Highway runs through the towns of Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills, and Nags Head. It ends at Whalebone Junction, where the majority of the traffic veers right to cross the bridge to Roanoke Island and points west. To the south, Highway 12 travels along what’s at places barely more than a strip of sand in the Cape Hatteras National Seashore. In the daytime, the road’s busy with tourists, but at night it’s quiet. I always loved leaving the bright lights and heavy traffic of Nags Head behind me and heading into the dark. I loved it even more when the light of the lighthouse came into view, a glowing beacon against the dark. The parking lot was empty when I arrived at the library. My colleagues had gone home for the day, and the police vehicles were no longer at the edges of the marsh.
I parked my car and walked slowly up the path. I took a few moments to breathe in the fresh sea air and admire the quiet of the night, before letting myself in. As expected, Charles waited to greet me. He leaped up onto the cart of books to be reshelved, and I gave the top of his head a good scratch. He purred and rubbed against my hand.
“Tough day,” I said out loud. “I’m glad it’s over.” I love the library at all times, but never more than at night, when I’m here alone. The quiet, the peace, the soft lights, the rows of books, all of them full of wonders. If there’s a place that speaks louder of civilization than a library at night, I don’t know of it.
Charles leaped down and swatted at my ankles with an impatient meow. The benefits of civilization are sometimes lost on Charles. Until he hears the sound of the can opener, that is.
I made my way up the curving iron stairs to my lighthouse aerie, where I busied myself with the usual end of the day chores. I fed Charles, put on my pajamas and a thick fluffy robe, heated up a microwavable pasta dinner (sparing a thought for Aunt Ellen’s justifiably famous spaghetti sauce), and sat down to eat.
Only then did I allow myself to recall the events of the day. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced I was on the right track. Either Will had made himself an enemy in the month he’d been back on the Outer Banks, or someone had been holding a grudge for an awful long time. I imagined Aunt Ellen, burning up the phone lines, getting the old-timers’ gossip mill swinging into overtime.
I’d learned a few interesting things from Butch, but my friend wasn’t a detective and all he’d be likely to know would be station gossip. I wished I could talk to Sam Watson, get some updates on the case. We could meet for a drink, kick back, and try out our various theories on each other. As if! I had his home number because CeeCee was in my book club, but the man himself was highly unlikely to take my call, and even more unlikely to answer my questions.
I washed up my few dishes and settled into the window seat to read. After about a half hour, when I had scarcely turned the page, I picked up the phone.
“Stephanie, it’s Lucy. Do you have time to talk?”
“If I must.” Her voice was cool, the words clipped.
“I know you’re mad at me for telling Watson what you learned last night, but you have to understand that I didn’t want to. I didn’t see that I had any choice. You’re a lawyer; you must realize that I can’t withhold evidence in a murder case.”
“The fact that Will Williamson had an affair with my mother a long time ago is not evidence in his murder.”
“You know that. I know that. Sam Watson does not. Sorry to bother you, Steph. I wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and if I can do anything to help, all you have to do is ask. Good night.” I reached for the button to end the call.
“Wait,” she said. “Don’t go.”
“I’m here.”
She took a deep breath. “I apologize, Lucy. I needed someone to be mad at, and you were a convenient target. I can’t be mad at my mom, can I? I want to be mad at Will Williamson, but somehow I can’t even manage that. He was my father and, to my surprise, I’m still finding that means something. The person I should be mad at is me. I said you and Bertie could stay and hear what Mom had to say because I wanted your support. If I’d known what was going to happen I would never have put you in the position of having to break a confidence. Do you accept my apology?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. “If we could see the future, we’d all do a lot of things differently.”
“True enough. Thanks for calling Amos. I’ve heard of him, of course. He’s almost legendary in the legal profession. I’m honored that he’s going to represent me if I need it.”
“Did Watson say anything about any theories they might have? Any evidence?”
“He’s a smart one—I’ll give him that. He doesn’t let anything slip that he doesn’t intend to. I have no idea what he’s thinking. He tried to get me to say that I’d gone out last night after Mom went to bed. But, because I hadn’t, I didn’t confess to it. Oh, that friend of yours was there for a while.”
“What friend?”
“The big cop.”
“Butch?”
“Do you think he’s been trying to dig up the dirt on me?”
“Gosh, no. Butch doesn’t deal in dirt. He’s a great guy.”
“If you say so. What’s the story with him and you anyway?”
“No story. We’re friends.”
“Yeah, I figured that. Just thought I’d check. Is he married or anything?”
“No.”
“Probably has a string of girlfriends though.”
“Not that I know of. Why are you asking so much about Butch?”
“No reason. I guess I like to know who I’m dealing with, is all. It’s the lawyer in me. I could go for your Connor, you know, but I don’t want to step on your toes.”
“Connor! He’s not mine.”
“No? You can’t tell me you don’t wish he was. It’s written all over your face, Lucy, when you look at him.”
“Aaaahh,” was all I could say. Stephanie could tell I was in love with Connor before even I knew. Was it that obvious to everyone else?
Was it that obvious to Connor? He’d never said anything. Maybe because he didn’t . . . uh . . . return the sentiment. I wanted to die.
Stephanie laughed. “I feel a lot better having someone to talk to. Thanks for calling, Lucy.”
“You’ll let me know if anything happens, or you need any help?”
“I will. Let’s go out for dinner one night soon. You can invite Connor.” She laughed again and hung up.
I put down the phone, feeling a lot better. I was glad I’d called my friend. I was glad we were friends again. I liked the idea of inviting Connor to join us for dinner; maybe we could ask Josie and Grace too. A fun night out with a group of friends.
I probably shouldn’t invite Butch though. No telling what sort of argument he and Steph might get into.
I went back to my book and got a few pages read before the phone rang. My heart sped into overdrive when I saw the name of the caller on the display. Connor. “Hello.”
“Hi, Lucy. It’s Connor.”
“Oh, Connor. Hi.” Yes, I can sound completely inane at times.
“I know it’s late, and I hope I’m not bothering you. I tried your cell, but it’s out of range so that means you’re at the library, right?”
“Yes.” I glanced at my cell phone. No bars at all tonight.
“I know you had a tough day, so I wanted to check in, ask if you’re okay.”
“I’m . . . okay. I’ve been talking to Stephanie. Watson let her go.”
“I heard she’d been brought in for questioning. But she wasn’t charged, was she?”
“No, thank heavens for that. Connor, you’re the one who knows . . . knew Will the best. Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”
“I didn’t know him at all, Lucy. We’d only met a couple of times, and only briefly.”
“You said he’d been a friend of your dad in their youth. Do you think maybe your dad might remember something about him? Perhaps he can think of someone who’s been carrying a grudge all these years.”
“Lucy, you’re not getting involved in the police investigation, are you?”
“Me? Perish the thought.”
“A nonanswer, if I’ve ever heard one. But I get your point. I can ask my dad, sure. There isn’t much he’d rather do than talk about the good old days.”
“Thanks, Connor.”
“If Dad does know something, I’m taking it straight to Sam. Not to you. You shouldn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Because . . . because I don’t think I could bear it, if anything happened to you. Good night, Lucy.”
“Good night, Connor.” We hung up. I held the phone for a long time, as his last sentence tumbled over and over itself in my mind. Charles crawled onto my lap, and presented himself for a belly scratch.