I don’t know how much time passed before I staggered to my feet and almost crawled up the stairs. I let myself into my apartment and immediately phoned Butch. I related what had happened, although I didn’t really know what had happened. A car had chased me down the highway, hitting my Yaris several times, apparently trying to force me off the highway. I skidded off the road, another vehicle arrived, and my pursuer drove away. That was all. Butch was working and said he’d file a report for me. He also said he was coming to the lighthouse right now to have a look at my car. There would be damage to my bumper that they might be able to match to the car that had hit me.
“Thanks, Butch,” I said.
“You don’t need to come downstairs,” he said. “I can tell by your voice you’re shook up. Make yourself a hot sweet drink and go to bed.”
And that is exactly what I did.
* * *
I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. I kept seeing the lights of that sedan getting closer and closer, feeling the jolt as it hit me, again and again, and saw that animal leaping into the road. The men’s truck had suffered no damage so they hadn’t hit the deer, and for that I was very thankful.
After an hour of tossing and turning I switched on my light, got up, and went to the kitchen. The List was on the counter where I’d left it.
At first, I’d assumed some lunatic saw a woman alone in a small car and decided to have some fun. But the more I thought about it, I began to realize he might have been after me specifically. When I’d left the lighthouse for dinner with Stephanie and Pat, a beige sedan had followed me into town. I’d paid it no attention, so hadn’t noticed if it stayed behind me all the way to Pat’s house.
Was it possible he’d waited outside for me to leave, and then followed me to the highway?
The only reason I could think of why someone would target me personally had to be to stop me from asking questions about the death of Will Williamson.
I’d decided earlier that I was wasting my time and achieving nothing. Perhaps I was getting a lot closer to the truth about what happened than I realized.
I studied The List, running over the events of the past few days. This morning, I’d openly asked Ralph Harper about his whereabouts the night of Will’s death. I’d moved him up on the list, but now I struck a solid black line through his name. Maybe I’m naive, but I didn’t believe anyone with eyes that soft and gentle would try to harm me. It was still possible that Ralph might have killed Will because of some notion of an insult to the power of the sea, but if tonight’s incident was related to the death of Will, and I was convinced it had to be, then Ralph was off the list.
Who else then?
I’d gone to Doug Whiteside’s campaign office, and Doug and Billy had seen me there. The receptionist would have told them I was inquiring about the marina. Bill’s wife, Jill, might have told him about the strange phone call from the library. I hadn’t given her my name, but it would have taken no genius to figure out that it was me calling.
I’d asked Marlene about the phone call Will supposedly got the night he died.
I’d phoned Theodore, asking if he knew Will had turned out to be broke. But no—as with Ralph, I would not believe Teddy would do anything to harm me.
I’d followed Louise Jane through the marsh. Could she have known I was there all along, and was she only pretending to be on the phone talking about spells and paranormal events? No, not Louise Jane. I scratched her name out with a firm, solid line. If she’d known I was spying on her she would have dragged me out of the undergrowth and put me in my place with a withering remark. I studied the list again. What was I missing?
I was woken by the ringing of the phone. I blinked and tried to stretch. My neck was as stiff as Louise Jane’s smile when she pretended to be friendly to me, and I found myself twisted into a very awkward position. I was sitting at the kitchen table. I’d fallen asleep with my head resting on The List. I fumbled for the phone and groaned out a “Hello?”
“Lucy. Butch told me what happened to you last night. Are you okay?”
“Detective Watson, is that you?” I recognized his voice, but I certainly didn’t recognize the concern in it. “I’m fine, although a bit stiff and my neck hurts. Gosh, what time is it?”
“Ten after eight. We found the car that hit you.”
“Great! Are you sure? Who was it?”
“It was located in a dark corner of a shopping center lot. The damage to the front bumper matches yours, thus we have no doubt it’s the right car. The vehicle had been stolen sometime yesterday. The owner is an elderly lady who didn’t even know it was missing until an officer knocked on her door.”
Clearly it had been too much to hope for that my pursuer had calmly gone home and parked his car in his own driveway, front bumper facing the street. “I was hoping the car would lead you to him.”
“Lucy, I have to tell you that this is the first I’ve heard of anyone chasing lone women down the highway at night, or otherwise causing that sort of trouble. I have to conclude that it might have something to do with the Williamson case.”
“I’ve been thinking that too. It seems to me that . . .”
“Lucy, stay away. I know you’ve been poking around and asking questions, and I know you’re trying to help your friend. In other circumstances, I might find that admirable. But in a matter of a murder investigation, I do not. You’ve made someone mad at you, and you’re not equipped to handle it. Stop acting on your own, Lucy.”
“Okay,” I said in a very low voice.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
“I’m done being the Lone Ranger,” I said.
“Glad to hear it. I promise when I have something to reveal I’ll tell you about it. How’s that?”
“That’s good. Bye.”
He hung up.
I ached. My upper back, shoulders, and neck were nothing but a ball of tight muscles and pain. I would have been sore this morning anyway, after the way I’d clenched the steering wheel and the jolts my spine had taken, but falling asleep with my head on the table hadn’t helped much. I got to my feet, moving very slowly. I stood under a hot, steaming shower for a long time.
I couldn’t face food this morning (although Charles had no such qualms) and huddled over a cup of coffee, looking out the window and watching the sun rise in the sky.
“Lucy, what on earth happened to your car?” Ronald said the moment he came through the front door. I was walking down the stairs, moving carefully so as not to send any shock waves into my neck.
“I was rear-ended,” I said. “I haven’t even looked at it yet. Is it bad?”
“Pretty bad, yeah,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You obviously are not.” Bertie had arrived with Ronald. “You’re walking like an eighty-year-old woman.”
“A touch of whiplash, I think.”
“My office, now,” Bertie ordered. “Ronald, you can open up. But first make Lucy a cup of my special tea, will you please?”
Bertie ordered me to sit in the visitor’s chair in her office and take off the sweater I’d put on over my blouse. She came up behind me and laid her warm palms on my shoulders. “Tell me if it hurts.”
It didn’t hurt. It so much didn’t hurt that I felt myself falling asleep as her strong, capable fingers kneaded my neck and shoulders.
I heard the door open and Ronald slip in. He handed Bertie a cup and she gave it to me. I cradled it in my hands, enjoying the warmth, if not the scent. “Drink it all,” she ordered.
It was a lukewarm watery green liquid that tasted as dreadful as it smelled. I did as ordered.
“Did the police charge the person who hit your car?” she asked.
“Ummmm. No, it was a hit-and-run. Stolen car. Ummmm.”
“I don’t think you’ve damaged anything,” she said. “You just need to keep that area warm and relaxed and you’ll be as good as new in no time.”
“Ummmmm.”
“Oh, to be young,” she said, “and so resilient.” She slipped my sweater over my shoulders and tucked the throw she kept behind her desk around me. “You rest for a while, honey. Come out when you’re ready.”
When I woke, the clock over Bertie’s desk said it was almost noon. I’d slept the morning away, while Bertie stayed out of her own office and my coworkers did my work for me.
I tossed off the throw and moved my shoulders. I felt almost normal. What on earth was in that tea?
Bertie was sitting behind the circulation desk when I came out. She smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Much. Thank you. I’m sorry I slept for so long.”
“You needed it.” She got to her feet. “Stephanie called for you about half an hour ago. I said you were indisposed.”
Shoot. I was supposed to call Mike Williamson and arrange a meeting with Steph. I’d totally forgotten about it. Bertie went to her office and I took her place at the desk. A couple of patrons were chatting by the magazine rack, and I heard the murmur of voices from the cookbook shelves. No one needed my attention at the moment, so I made the call.
“Hi, Marlene. Lucy here.”
“Lucy! How nice to hear from you. Are you coming over for a swim? I found another case of wine in the garage.”
“I’m working today.” Must be nice, I thought, to simply assume a person could drop everything and rush over for a swim and a glass of wine in the middle of the day.
“Come after work then,” she said.
I didn’t bother to reply. I wasn’t calling to set up a social engagement. “I need to speak to Mike, but I don’t have his number. Is he there?”
“No. He went to the bank. Some details of Will’s estate. Not that there is any estate. The owner of this house called this morning and left a message. There’s some problem with the rent, she said. I didn’t call her back, but it won’t be long before I’m out on the street. Hey! I’ve just had the best idea ever! Do you have a roommate?”
I ignored the question. “What’s Mike’s number?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t needed to call him since he’s been here. When I phoned to tell him that Will had died, I called his house in Raleigh.”
“Will you ask him to contact me soon as he gets in?”
“Why?”
“Please, Marlene.”
“Oh, all right. As long as you promise to think about the roommate thing.”
“I promise.” I wasn’t lying. I had thought about it. I thought that even if I had the room, which I don’t, about the last person I’d want to live with was Marlene. When the final bottle of Prosecco ran out, I could guess who’d be expected to buy more.
I phoned Stephanie and told her I hadn’t been able to talk to Mike, but I’d let her know when I did, and then lowered my head and concentrated on doing my job.
Shortly before four, a steady stream of cars and vans began pulling into the parking lot, disgorging preteens for their book club. Almost everyone who’d come into the library this afternoon had stopped at the desk to ask me what had happened to my car and inquire if I’d been hurt. I hadn’t gone outside to check out the Yaris. I was afraid of what I’d find. I hadn’t noticed anything loose or any strange noises when I’d driven home last night after the near-crash, but I hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the condition of my vehicle.
The preteens had run upstairs and their parents were either standing around gossiping or looking for books for themselves, when Mike Williamson strolled in. He spotted me behind the desk and gave me a wink and a big grin. “Marlene told me you wanted to talk to me, so I figured this would be a good chance to see where you work. Busy place.”
I thought Charles had gone upstairs with the kids, since he loves nothing more than story time, but he leaped onto the desk. The hair along his back stood on end. He arched his spine and hissed at Mike.
Mike drew back and lifted his hands. The grin had disappeared. “Geeze, a cat. I can’t stand cats.” He made a shooing gesture toward Charles. Charles showed him his sharp teeth.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s usually very friendly.”
“Let me take him, Lucy,” one of the parents said. “My daughter’s allergic to cats, so I can’t have one. I have to get my fix with this guy every chance I get.” She scooped Charles up and carried him off, cooing soothingly. The look on his face indicated that he did not want to be soothed.
“I do want to talk to you,” I said to Mike, “but it isn’t something we can discuss in public.”
The grin returned, and he leaned across the desk. He lowered his voice. “Let’s go someplace private then. You can skip off early. No place more private than the beach. Unless you want to show me where you live?”
I sucked in a breath. My skin crawled and the hair at the back of my neck was standing as high as Charles’s had. And not just from Mike’s slightly slimy insinuations, or from the cat’s reaction to him. The minute Mike walked through the door, I realized that I had seen Will Williamson’s son before. Every time Mike and I had met, he’d been wearing long pants. Today, perhaps with the idea of luring me to the beach, he was in a short-sleeved T-shirt and board shorts that came to his midthighs. His thin legs, accented by knobby knees, looked like two saplings with burls in the middle. They were also excessively hairy.
Mike Williamson had been on Coquina Beach the afternoon before the big storm hit. He’d been alone, studying the shoreline with binoculars. He’d stared at me as I walked past, making me so uncomfortable I left the beach early. A few hours later, Will and Marlene’s boat had been led onto the shore by false lights.
He’d been here all along, before his father was killed.
I’d briefly considered that Mike might have been responsible for his father’s death, not wanting to share his inheritance with Stephanie. But I’d dismissed that because Mike wouldn’t have known he had a long-lost sister. Besides, I thought Mike had been in Raleigh at the time of Will’s death. Marlene had phoned him at home the next morning to break the news. But Raleigh was only a three-hour drive from Nags Head—easy to make it back under the cover of night after having killed a man.
“Something the matter?” he said now.
I blinked and shook my head. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I can’t exactly sneak out, Mike. My boss would notice and she’s a real dragon. We close at seven tonight. Why don’t you come around at eight, once everyone has left, and we can . . . talk.” I tried to sound seductive. I failed.
But he didn’t seem to think so. He grinned even wider. “Eight o’clock it is. Nothing like a walk on the beach in the dark.” He gave me an exaggerated wink and an unattractive leer and left.
I dropped back into my chair. Good heavens. What had I done?
“My son said you ran into a bit of trouble last night, Lucy.”
“What? I mean oh, hi, Mrs. O’Reilly. Yeah, a deer ran into the road in front of me. I didn’t hit it, thank goodness. It was great of Ray and his friends to help me out.”
“He phoned me this morning and told me to look in on you. He wants to be sure you’re okay.”
“You can see that I am.”
She put a stack of hardcovers on the desk. “In that case can you recommend something for my husband? He’s started to get interested in the origins of the First World War.”
“Has he read The War that Ended Peace by Margaret MacMillan? It’s excellent.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me get it for you. It was returned earlier and I didn’t see it go out again.” I went to the history shelf, found the thick book, and brought it back. Mrs. O’Reilly thanked me and left.
At five, the kids came clattering downstairs, and a lineup formed as they and their parents checked out their books. When they’d left, laughing and chattering, I called Ronald. “Would you mind taking the desk for a while? I’ve something important I need to do.”
“Sure.”
I went outside with my iPhone. On the spur of the moment, I’d come up with a plan to deal with Mike Williamson. I knew I should go to Watson with this information, but what could I tell him? That Mike gave me a creepy feeling? That I’d seen those skinny, hairy legs where they shouldn’t have been?
I didn’t think the police had leg lineups.
I’d promised Watson I wouldn’t play the Lone Ranger anymore. And I wouldn’t. No, for this plan I needed allies.
I called Butch first. “Can you come to the library at seven tonight?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I can’t explain on the phone. I need you to trust me. It’s very important. You mustn’t be late.”
“I’ll be there.”
My next call was to Connor. I made the same request. He didn’t hesitate for a moment before agreeing to come. I went back inside, but had a hard time concentrating on my job for what remained of the day. I said nothing to my coworkers about my plans. They’d only worry.
I was worrying.
At five minutes to seven I announced closing time. The last of the stragglers checked out their books. Bertie came out of the back carrying her keys and bag. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”
“No,” I said.
She studied my face. “You still look strained. Take it easy for a few days. You should come to the studio. I have a gentle yoga class at six thirty tomorrow morning.”
The door opened and Butch and Connor came in. They eyed each other suspiciously, and me even more suspiciously. “Is something going on here?” Bertie said.
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, “but I trust you’re in good hands, Lucy. Good night.”
I walked to the door with her and glanced out. Dusk was lengthening and the first and brightest stars were appearing in the blue-black sky.
I turned and faced the two men. I took a deep breath. “Mike Williamson killed his father.” No point in beating about the bush.
“Are you sure?” Connor said.
“How do you know?” Butch said.
I explained about seeing him at the beach, and how I hadn’t recognized him until today, when I saw him wearing shorts. “He was there, deciding where to place the lights. I’m sure of it. He needed daylight to check out that stretch of the coast, and with the storm coming he would know that everyone would be heading home soon. He must have stayed until it was dark and he figured his dad’s boat would be passing.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of any lights,” Connor said.
“You remember at book club Will told us that lights on the beach had made him turn toward what he thought was a small boat harbor?”
“That’s a story. A story Louise Jane told to make herself sound important.”
“But it wasn’t just a story. I saw them too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me or Sam Watson?” Butch asked.
“At first I didn’t think it was important. Then, when I realized it might have been a deliberate attempt to wreck Will’s boat, it was after Louise Jane had grabbed the old tale and run with it, so no one believed me.”
“Fair enough,” Connor said. “We’ll go with you to Detective Watson.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’ve got an idea. Look, Watson’s not going to arrest a guy because I said he has hairy legs.”
“You’ve got that one right,” Butch muttered.
“So, we’re going to trap him.” I checked my watch. Seven fifteen. “He’ll be here at eight. You’d better move your cars.”
“What?!”
“Are you nuts?”
“Hide your cars in the loop. He won’t notice them in the dark. I’ll wait for Mike outside. You two can conceal yourselves nearby.”
“Why would we want to do that?” Connor said.
“Remember in Kidnapped when Alan made Ebenezer Balfour confess to cheating David out of his inheritance while David and the lawyer hid and listened? We’ll do the same.”
Butch and Connor looked at each other.
“That,” Butch said, “is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hear me out. Mike is a vain and boastful man. He thinks I’m interested in him. I don’t expect him to break down and confess, but I’m counting on him telling me enough, thinking he’s impressing me with how clever he is. Then, once he’s said something we can take to Watson, you two leap out of the bushes and Butch arrests him.” I smiled at them.
“First,” Connor said, “allow me to point out that there are no conveniently located bushes.”
“No, but you can hide around the corner. I’ll turn off the light above the door.”
“Even better,” Connor said, “I’ll talk to him. I’ll say I’m looking for you, but you seem to have gone out. And then I’ll say, ‘By the way, Mike, did you kill your dad?’”
“He is not going to say anything in an attempt to impress you,” I said. “It has to be me.”
“This,” Butch said, “is the stupidest idea I have ever heard.”
“But?” I said.
“But, it’s worth a try. Connor and I’ll be here in case he tries anything. At best he’ll say something about setting the lights and at worst he’ll say nothing incriminating at all.”
“I can’t say I approve,” Connor said, “but I’m not going to drive off and leave you two to carry out that plan by yourselves.”
“Good,” I said. “Now, move those cars.”
I checked my watch again. Seven thirty. Charles was sitting on the returns shelf by the door, his eyes fixed on my face, his tail moving slowly back and forth. “What?” I asked. “You want to object too?”
The big cat wisely said nothing.