I woke to the feel of something rough and wet on my face. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into Charles’s expressive blue orbs. “Geeze,” I said. “Go back to sleep, will you?” He lifted one paw and swatted my cheek.
“No,” I said. “I refuse to get up. It’s Sunday and I have the right to sleep in. I have an exciting day ahead of me and I need my beauty rest.” Unimpressed, he swatted me again. That was unlike Charles. He was usually content to wait for me to make getting-up noises. I rolled over, thinking of my date with Connor. A picnic on the beach. Could anything be more romantic?
The phone rang. I rolled back over. Charles smirked, and leaped off the bed. I answered the dratted phone.
“Morning, Lucy. I apologize for calling so early.” It was Connor. My heart moved and I snuggled deeper into the bed, feeling a nice warm glow in my chest.
“Not a problem,” I said. “I was up.”
“I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our picnic.”
A bucket of cold water drenched my nice warm glow. “Oh,” I said.
“I have to meet with Dorothy, my campaign manager. I don’t know when we’ll be finished. There have been some not-promising developments in the campaign this week.”
“You mean Doug Whiteside?”
“Yes, I do. Are you hearing anything more?”
I told him what I’d overheard in the library stacks yesterday.
“That’s what Dorothy says people are talking about. I want to confront these rumors head-on. Maybe even have the chief make a statement. Dorothy fears that doing so will only be adding fuel to the fire. Regardless, I have to be out there most of today, pressing the flesh, convincing voters that I’m not a cold-blooded killer.”
“I understand, Connor.” And I did understand. Totally. But I couldn’t help being disappointed.
“Thanks, Lucy. Can I call you tonight and let you know how it goes? Hopefully we can do something next week.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Enjoy your day.” He hung up.
I refrained from hurling the phone across the room. Blast that Bill Hill and his sneaky insinuations. If anyone had something to hide in this campaign, it would be Doug Whiteside.
Now that the prospect of more sleep had been ruined, I rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. Oh, great, a perfect sunny day. I would have been a lot happier if a snowstorm was bearing down on me.
There is only one thing a woman can do in the face of such profound disappointment.
Pay a visit to Josie’s Cozy Bakery.
* * *
“That was fun last night,” my cousin said to me.
“It was. I noticed your car was gone this morning. How was the ride home last night?”
“You mean other than when Stephanie told Butch he was deliberately taking up too much of her space, and he said, ‘Excuse me for living, but could you get your elbow out of my ribs’? It reminded me of when you and your brothers would visit and Dad would try to stuff all of us into the back of the van.”
“It’s too bad those two don’t like each other. Makes things awkward.”
“What time are you meeting Connor?” Josie asked. I’d told my friends last night about our plans for today.
I explained what had happened, and she pulled a face. “Can’t be helped I suppose. What are you up to today then?”
“Lucy, one extra-large latte,” Alison called, placing my drink on the counter. I shifted the paper bag containing a breakfast sandwich to the other hand and grabbed the cup. “I plan to do some politicking of my own. See you later.”
Before leaving home, I’d gone online and searched for the information I needed: the location of Doug Whiteside’s campaign office. I’d then spent an hour catching up on e-mail and Facebook posts with friends back in Boston, until I figured it would be time to find the office open.
I munched on my sandwich as I drove across town. I expected Doug’s campaign headquarters to be a hive of activity, but only one rusty car was parked outside when I pulled up. The office was located in an unattractive strip mall, next to a nail parlor. I had no trouble identifying it, because giant posters of a grinning Doug graced the windows. The smile was so fake, the teeth so white, I wondered if they’d been Photoshopped.
By contrast, Connor’s official pictures played down his extraordinary good looks and made him look older than he was. Maybe his team feared that older voters wouldn’t take such a young, handsome man seriously.
I pushed open the door and marched in. An elderly lady, dressed in a lilac twin-set and pearls, her blue-rinse hair crimped and tightly curled, was seated behind a desk. The office wasn’t big, one room with a door, now open, leading off into a small meeting room. Tables were covered in election signs and promotional handouts. Numerous boxes of those ubiquitous fridge magnets were piled high. The room was painted industrial beige, the carpet brown and worn thin in places. The only decoration was a banner pinned to the back wall that read in big letters, DOUG FOR NAGS HEAD.
“Help ya, honey?” the woman asked.
“Is Doug in?”
“Not yet. If you want to talk to him, why don’t you leave your number and I’ll tell him to call you. He always returns every phone call.”
“Okay. I’m here because I’m uh . . . interested in renting a space for my boat at a marina on Roanoke Island and I’m wondering if there are any taxes on that.”
“What?” She looked confused. As well she might. Even I didn’t know what I was talking about. On the drive over I’d decided that if fortune favors the brave, I’d have to be brave. In the cold light of day I didn’t believe Doug had killed Will to make Connor look bad. But Doug was perfectly happy to take advantage of the situation. I wanted to let him know that two could play at that game.
“I’m sure he doesn’t know,” the woman sniffed, “what folks get up to on Roanoke.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought Doug would know. He has a berth there, doesn’t he? At the marina near Wanchese, I was told.”
She started to shake her head (not a single strand of her hair moved) and then, like a bulb coming on, light flooded into her eyes. “That’s where that man was killed.”
“Someone was killed there?” I gasped. The police weren’t saying where exactly the murder took place—if they even knew. I wondered if this woman had inside information or was speculating based on the theft of the boat. But, I reminded myself, that wasn’t why I was here. “You don’t say. How awful. Was it near Doug’s slip?”
“Doug doesn’t have a boat slip.”
“Maybe it was Bill Hill I’d heard about then?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Really? I could have sworn. Oh, well, never mind.”
“What’d you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t. Thanks. I’ll pop in later.”
I attempted a hasty exit. So hasty, I almost bumped into Doug and Billy coming in. “Sorry,” I said.
“Not a problem. I run into voters all the time,” Doug chuckled. “But they’re rarely as pretty as you. Ha-ha.”
Ha-ha. Even Billy had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Oh,” Doug said. “It’s you again. Lucy from the library, right? Thanks for dropping in. Sorry I wasn’t around to greet you. Here to volunteer, are you? Billy, why don’t you get this young lady a coffee and show her to a table and a phone?”
“Another time,” I said, squeezing past them. In an almost empty parking lot, Doug had managed to park his Cadillac Escalade at such an angle that I could barely get my door open, and I had to suck my stomach in and wiggle myself into my own car.
Before I could get the engine started my phone rang. To my considerable surprise, it was Marlene. She didn’t bother with greetings. “Lucy, something absolutely dreadful has happened.”
“What? Are you okay? Do you need me to call the police?”
“The police have just been here. Can you come over? Right away?”
“Sure. But, why are you calling me, Marlene?”
“I . . .” Her voice broke. “I don’t have anyone else to ask, Lucy.”
“I’m in town now, so I can be there in a couple of minutes. Is it Mike? Have they arrested Mike?”
“Mike? Who cares about Mike? It’s much worse.” She hung up.
I switched the engine on and put my car into gear. Before driving away, I glanced up at Doug’s office. He was standing in the window, his real face next to the campaign picture giving him a strange double-headed appearance. Bill Hill was standing slightly behind him and looking over Doug’s shoulder. They were watching me, and neither of them was smiling.
* * *
There was little point in speculating as to what had happened at Marlene’s, but I couldn’t help myself from doing so anyway. The police had called on her, bringing upsetting news. She said they hadn’t arrested Mike, and obviously they hadn’t arrested Marlene if she was still at home, so what could it have been? Had they warned Marlene she was under suspicion? Were they calling off the investigation? Had they concluded that Will’s death had been suicide? It hadn’t looked like suicide to me, but what did I know? I’d had only a quick glance at the body—and one glance had been more than enough—so I might have missed important clues.
At Marlene’s house, no cars were in the parking area, but that meant nothing as the double garage doors were closed. I ran up the steps and pressed the bell. Marlene threw open the door almost immediately. She was again dressed in a bathing suit and the turquoise robe. Today her hair was undone and blond tresses curled around her shoulders. It made her look older and somewhat harder than the casual, cheerful ponytail she usually sported. Then again, her eyes were red and her face streaked with the tracks of tears. It wasn’t a look that would make anyone, other than a toddler, look young.
“What’s happened?” I said.
She threw her arms around me and sobbed. I hugged her back and tried to mumble words of comfort. Finally she pushed herself away. She dug a tattered tissue out of her pocket, blew her nose, and wiped at her eyes. “Come on in, and I’ll tell you. Oh, Lucy, it’s simply dreadful.”
We went upstairs. Mike was in the great room, pacing up and down in front of the glass wall. He wore jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt and held a glass half full of a smoky liquid. When I came in, he swallowed the drink in one gulp.
Marlene threw herself into a chair with a moan.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Mike said, heading to the bar for a refill.
“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” I said.
“It’s gone. All gone,” Marlene moaned.
“What’s gone?”
“Will’s money. He hasn’t got any.”
“What?”
“I went out to dinner last night and my credit card was refused. It was embarrassing enough to be sitting in Owens having dinner all by myself, never mind the smirk on the stuck-up waitress’s fat face when she brought my card back. Fortunately I had enough cash on me to pay the bill, although the look she gave me when I didn’t leave a tip was simply hideous. I called the bank this morning, and they said the card has been suspended until”—she gulped—“the outstanding interest charges are paid.”
Some crisis. I’d been dragged halfway across town in a panic so Marlene could tell me her credit card bill was overdue. “Pay the charges then.”
“I have nothing to pay it with! I don’t keep track of those things! Will pays my card off every month. That was our arrangement.”
I glanced at Mike. “What Marlene means,” he said, “is that Dad told her he was paying it off. It would seem he was lying to her. As well as to everyone else.”
Marlene grabbed a fresh tissue out of a box on the side table and blew her nose enthusiastically. Mike’s face twisted in disapproval.
“I still don’t understand,” I said.
“I don’t know why Marlene called you,” Mike said. “I don’t believe in washing a family’s dirty laundry in public. Then again, Marlene’s hardly family, are you?” His sneer was probably equal to the waitress’s when she realized she wasn’t going to get a tip from what had, no doubt, been a high-spending and high-demanding customer. Mike turned back to me with an attempt at a smile. “Regardless of Marlene’s histrionics, it was nice of you to come over, Lucy. As long as you’re here, you might as well know what’s happened. Your pal Detective Watson paid us a visit. He’d obtained a warrant to look into my dad’s bank accounts and did so yesterday. He found nothing.”
“Nothing wrong, you mean. That’s good isn’t it?” I figured it was standard procedure for the police to investigate a murdered person’s financial affairs. They’d be checking for unusual amounts of money going out that might mean blackmail or coming in that might mean up to no good.
“Nothing!” Marlene wailed. “No money. Nothing.”
“You mean . . .”
“Yup,” Mike said. “Dad was dead broke. Worse than dead broke, he was drowning in debt. That silly little car he said he’d bought Marlene—only a lease. The boat he wrecked, rented. This house that was supposedly paid up until the end of the year? Nope. I expect we’ll be evicted as soon as the rent check bounces.”
“Wow,” I said. “He had nothing?”
“Nothing but bad investments, loans coming due, and a couple of small GICs that are locked in. He was probably on the verge of cashing them in, and taking a big penalty for doing so.”
Marlene sat on the couch and wept. “He won ten thousand dollars in one night of poker in Vegas. Right after we met. He said I was his lucky charm.”
“He lost, the cops say, more than two hundred thousand in the week he was there,” Mike said.
“Wow,” I repeated.
“All this time,” Marlene moaned, “I thought he was playing computer games. I asked if I could play with him once—just to keep him company, like? He said he played to get rid of stress and wanted to be alone.”
“And you were too busy to push it?” Mike sneered. He nodded to the stacks of fashion and gossip magazines covering all the tables. “Too stupid and self-absorbed, more like.”
“You can’t talk to me like that,” she said. “I don’t interfere where I’m not wanted.”
“That,” he said, “I’m glad to hear.”
“Hold on,” I said. “I don’t understand. What’s his computer got to do with anything?”
“The cops searched the computer,” Mike said. “It seems that Dad was a regular visitor to almost every online gambling site in existence. His accounts show a couple of small wins here and there. And major losses everywhere else.”
“Isn’t gambling illegal in North Carolina?” I asked.
“Not online gambling, no. But even if it was, that’s hardly going to stop anyone,” Mike said. “They don’t call it the World Wide Web for nothing. As for retiring? Turns out that was a lie too, as the cops found out by placing a single phone call to the boss at his old company. Dad was fired. Told if he left quietly the company wouldn’t take him to court for embezzlement. Fired for cause, which means he got no pension and no benefits. Turns out dear old Dad’s gambling habit didn’t start when he hit Vegas.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked Marlene.
She peered at me through red eyes and wet lashes. “Look for a job, I guess.”
“You won’t find it easy around here. Tourist season’s ending. Jobs dry up for the winter.”
“Mike?” she said with a sniffle.
“Don’t ask me,” he said. “I’m not helping you out. I figure you’re not entirely blameless here, Marlene. You were happy enough spending Dad’s money without asking where he was getting it.”
“I don’t ask a man about his finances!”
“No. You only spend it.”
She opened her mouth to reply, and judging by the look on her face it wasn’t going to be a polite one. I was not getting into the middle of this. Time for me to take my leave and let these two have at it without me as witness. “Guess I’ll be going,” I said. Tough on Marlene, but she wouldn’t be any worse off than she’d been before she met Will. Mike probably had expectations of his dad, but he wouldn’t be the first heir to find the vaults empty when the will was read.
“Don’t go, Lucy,” Marlene said. “I don’t want to be alone. Please.”
Mike finished his drink and slammed the glass onto the table. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m outta here.”
“Are you going home?” I asked.
“No. The cops haven’t released Dad’s body yet, but when they do I’ll have to make the arrangements.” He gave Marlene a poisonous look. “No one else to do it, is there? Might as well enjoy this house while we can. I can’t order you to leave, Marlene, but stay the heck out of my way. I’ll have to call my mom. Might as well make her mad at Dad one last time.” He headed up the stairs.
When he was gone, Marlene dabbed at her eyes and said, “Drink?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on. There’s some Prosecco in the fridge, the last bottle of the case Will bought. I might as well drink it while I have it.”
“No, thanks, but you go ahead.”
“You’ll stay for a while, though, right?”
I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be involved in this woman’s life. But she looked so sad and so lonely that I gave in and said I’d keep her company for a while.
I couldn’t help but reflect on the irony. Instead of enjoying the day with Connor—a delicious picnic spread out on a blanket on a deserted beach, walking on the wet sand (holding hands?), splashing in the surf, spreading sunscreen on each other’s backs—I was spending my Sunday sitting on Marlene’s lounge chair watching her drink and listening to her bemoan her lot in life.
It was hot, and the sun beat relentlessly down on the deck. I struggled to put up an umbrella to sit under, although Marlene seemed happy to stretch out in the sun. I refused yet another entreaty to have a glass of wine, but eventually I was persuaded to try on a bathing suit. I went to the guest bathroom (huge open rain shower, stone countertops, and ceramic tiles in desert colors of tan and ochre with matching towels) and Marlene brought me a stack of bathing suits. “How many of these do you have?” I asked. Even my mom, who has plenty of money and the drive to spend it, vacations with only two suits. Three if she’s feeling indulgent. Maybe four if it’s a long vacation.
“A bunch,” Marlene replied.
Some of the bathing suits still had price tags attached. I dug through skimpy bikinis and one-pieces that were more lace than solid fabric, and found a tankini in dark blue with a sedate red stripe. The top was far too large for me and I had to wiggle unhappily into the bottom. But it would do, as long as we weren’t going out in public.
Back outside, Marlene was in the pool. I leaned on the railing and watched as she did laps with a powerful crawl before flipping onto her back to float with her face to the sun and her eyes closed.
“As much as I don’t like her, I can’t help feeling sorry for her, just a little bit,” said a voice behind me. Mike put his hands on the railing. “Dad did lie to her.”
“Did he make any promises to her, about the future, I mean?”
“Marriage? I don’t know. If he did, and she believed him, she’s even stupider than I thought she was.”
I didn’t think Marlene was stupid. Naive perhaps, too quick to trust. Then again, maybe not. She was no worse off than she was before Will Williamson walked into that restaurant in Vegas. If she sold some of her jewelry, returned the unworn bathing suits, she could hop on a bus to Nevada. Maybe she could even get her job back, and return to her old life with a couple of months of high living to brag to her coworkers about.
“What are you going to do?” I asked Mike.
“I’ve taken time off from my job to take care of Dad’s affairs. Soon as things are sorted, I’ll go back to Raleigh and continue as I always have.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a manager at a branch of Great Eastern Bank.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
He laughed. “It’s not. Not nice, I mean, dull as dirt actually, but it pays the bills. Which is more than my father could say. Speaking of nice, it was kind of you to come when Marlene called. I’m sure you had plans for the day.”
“My plans were canceled.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
I turned and looked at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re here.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Look, Lucy, I’m sorry you had to witness that scene earlier. It wasn’t my idea to drag you into my dad’s mess, but I’m glad you came. Maybe we can get to know each other better. Without certain other people interfering. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“What?”
“I’m asking you out to dinner. Unlike Marlene, my dad didn’t pay my credit card bills. Don’t worry. I won’t be inviting her to join us.”
The hot sun beat down on my head. I tugged at the edge of my too-tight tankini bottoms. “No,” I said. “I mean, no, thank you. I’m . . . busy.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Uh . . .” This was awkward. I didn’t want to be rude, and Mike seemed like a nice enough guy. Nothing had been said between Connor and me, but even if Connor didn’t declare his intentions, I had decided he was the man for me. “I’m seeing someone.”
Mike studied my face. Those gray eyes. Stephanie’s half brother. So far she hadn’t indicated that she wanted to meet him. I wondered if I should arrange to introduce them. “It’s just a dinner,” he said.
I hoped Stephanie’d be pleased. I hoped Mike would want to get to know her. Stephanie wouldn’t have to worry about being all alone in the world when her mom died. “Do you have children?”
He blinked. “I’m not married, if you’re asking.”
“I was just wondering. About kids, I mean.”
“I don’t have any children. Not yet. I’m divorced, have been for some time. Does that mean you’ll say yes and have dinner with me?”
“Sorry, but no.”
“Lucy, come on in. The water’s heavenly,” Marlene called.
“Be right down! Are you coming?” I asked Mike.
“No, thanks. I’ll stay up here and watch.”
I swam with Marlene for a while, and it was heavenly. Not as nice as a day at the beach, though.
We were toweling off on the deck when Marlene said, “I’m starving. I think we have some chips and salsa in the cupboard. Want some?”
“Not for me. Thanks. I need to get home,” I said.
“Why?”
Because I want to. “I’m sure you have things to do.”
She pouted and dropped into a lounge chair. “I’ve nothing to do but sit here until I get thrown out like last week’s garbage. We’re almost out of wine. Mike, be a sweetie and go to the store, will you?”
“No,” he said. “The bank of Williamson, all branches, is closed, Marlene. Permanently. I’m getting a beer. Want one, Lucy?”
“No, thanks.”
Once he’d gone into the house I said to Marlene, “Did Detective Watson tell you anything more about the night Will died?”
She shook her head. “Watson doesn’t tell anyone anything. He just asks questions. I don’t think he’s at all competent. He’s running around in circles if you ask me. It’s the same questions every time.”
“He’s hoping you’ll remember something important,” I said, wondering why I was defending Sam Watson.
“Whatever. I like it here, on the Outer Banks, I mean. I’d like to stay for a while. If you hear of any jobs, let me know, will you?”
“Sure. Do you have any guesses as to who might have phoned Will that night? Who he might have been going out to meet?”
She lowered her sunglasses. “Lucy, these questions are getting tedious. I don’t know and I said I don’t know. I told Watson to trace the call. They can do that, can’t they? He said the phone was a throwaway, meaning no record of the owner. I think that’s suspicious—don’t you?”
“It might be.” Then again, not everyone who bought a burner phone was planning to use it for criminal purposes. Some people didn’t like their phone conversations to be traceable. Or so I’ve been told.
I went in search of my clothes and dressed quickly. When I came out, Marlene was lying back in her lounge chair, stretched out in the sun with her head back and her sunglasses in place. She’d refreshed her glass. The empty bottle of Prosecco had fallen over and was rolling back and forth across the table. Mike was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m off,” I said. Then I added, against my better judgment, “Give me a call if you need anything.” Why was I getting involved in these people’s lives?
“I’ll do that,” she said. “I still have the car. It hardly uses any gas at all, but it’s almost empty. I shoulda filled up when I had the chance. Don’t know what I’m going to do then.”
I let myself out.