The book discussion fizzled soon after I returned to the library, disintegrating into a few half-hearted comments and desultory replies. Faced with one another’s obvious lack of interest, the guests soon made excuses to depart, leaving me with far too much leftover food and a headache that wouldn’t subside until I finally fell asleep hours later.
The next day, I called Ellen as soon as I felt it reasonable to phone someone on a Monday morning.
“I’d love to chat,” she said, “but I’m volunteering at the fort today. Maybe you could drive over and meet me during my lunch break? We could walk on the beach and talk.”
The fort was Fort Macon, a North Carolina state park located at the tip of Atlantic Beach. Offering views of the Atlantic Ocean, Bogue Sound, and Beaufort Inlet, it was a historic site and popular tourist destination. I’d visited there a few times, taking in the displays depicting the fort’s history, from its start as a military defense post built in the early 1800s and its part in the Civil War to its use for coastal defense during World War II. Ellen, a history buff, volunteered a few days a month, working as a greeter at the information desk in the park’s visitor center and, as a member of the Friends of Fort Macon, assisting with special events.
“I could do that, but I suspect the parking lot will be jammed,” I said. “You know how it gets during the summer, especially with people trying to access the public beach near the fort.”
“True, but usually enough people are coming and going to make an opening. I tell you what—if you have a problem finding a spot, call me. I can move my car behind another volunteer’s vehicle long enough to free a place for your car. Especially since you’ll only be there for an hour.”
“I’ll give it try. Noon okay?”
“See you then,” Ellen said, and wished me a good morning before hanging up.
I pocketed my cell phone and considered what I could accomplish before I had to head over to Atlantic Beach. With only Scott and the seldom-seen Tara and Jennifer Delamont lodging at Chapters that week, Alicia and I had made quick work of breakfast. I had no events planned for the day, and so, despite the heat, I decided it was the perfect time to start my search of Isabella’s papers and photos.
But before I could put my plan into action, my cell phone rang. Seeing it was Julie, I thought I’d better answer rather than let it go to voice mail.
I barely had a chance to say hello before Julie launched into the real reason for her call. “I just wanted to assure you that I didn’t hate Lincoln despite everything.”
“You mean despite the fact that he lied to you about being separated and getting a divorce and all that? Oh, and the fact that he had a daughter that he didn’t tell you about.” I clucked my tongue. “I can actually see getting pretty angry over something like that.”
“Of course I was angry. You saw that last night. But you should know by now that I’m not one to pine over men. I mean, when it’s over, it’s over, as far as I’m concerned.”
“How did Lincoln take you breaking it off with him?”
“Not well, although he stayed calm and tried to charm me into changing my mind. He didn’t lose his temper. Not like …” Julie fell silent before finishing this thought.
“Not like what?” I sat up straighter on my bed. “Had he lost his temper with you before?”
There was a stretch of silence before she responded. “Yes, once or twice. I mean, he never hit me or anything.”
“But he’d scared you a little?” I stared at the opposite wall, where I’d hung one of my wedding photos. Brent looked back at me, his smile as gentle as always. We’d had arguments, of course, but they’d always been fair fights, never ones that escalated to the point where I felt threatened in any way.
“There was this one time when I got a little nervous, I guess. He was visiting me at Bookwaves. No one else was in the shop. He tried to kiss me, but I was worried that a customer could walk in at any minute, so I pushed him away.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t like that.”
“No. He grabbed my arm when I stepped back—”
“He grabbed you?” I tried, and failed, to keep disapproval from coloring my voice.
“Yes, but it’s not like he left a bruise or anything. Only, he did hold me pretty tight. Which made me feel … uneasy, I guess.”
“You continued to see him after that?”
“Look, Miss Manners, it wasn’t as bad as you’re imagining. And at the time I just thought … well, I believed it showed he was passionate about me, you know.”
I hmphed before replying. “You’ve been reading too many of those bodice rippers you stock. You should have dumped him as soon as he pulled that little stunt.”
Julie sighed deeply. “I know. But I’d just broken up with Henry right before I met Lincoln. You remember Henry—the monosyllabic guy who always seemed more interested in watching sports than in making love to me.”
“You wanted to dive into a more passionate relationship with someone a bit mysterious? I can understand that. I may have done something similar once or twice in the past. Before Brent, of course.”
“I suppose I was veering too far in the other direction. But anyway, I’ve always played it so safe in my love life. I just wanted to experience something a little more exciting. Which unfortunately translated into me deliberately ignoring the red flags I noticed when dealing with Lincoln.”
“Live and learn,” I said.
“I suppose.” Julie didn’t speak again for a few seconds. “I just wanted you to know, in case the investigation turned up some stuff that might make you wonder if Lincoln was … abusive.”
It was my turn to fall silent for a moment. “Was he?”
“Not to me. Not really. But I did get this phone call from another girl he’d dated on the sly a while back.”
“Someone from Beaufort?”
“Yes. I’d rather not mention names, if you don’t mind. No use dragging her into this.”
“Okay, but if she experienced his abusive side …”
“She said there had been some instances, but I don’t know …” Julie cleared her throat. “I didn’t believe her at first, of course. I just thought she was a jealous ex trying to stir up trouble.”
“How in the world did she know you two were dating?” I asked, wondering if Julie had been less than careful in her dealings with Lincoln. If they’d been seen around town, it might’ve stirred jealous feelings in more than one woman, if my suspicions about Lincoln’s playboy tendencies were correct.
And that could mean more suspects, I thought. Someone besides Julie could be a jealous “other woman.”
“She said she saw us in the …” Julie cleared her throat again. “In a restaurant in town. Which was stupid of me, I know. We should’ve met outside Beaufort. We usually did, but there was one day when I was just too tired to drive anywhere.”
“You don’t have to share her name with me, but maybe you should tell the police,” I said. “If she knew Lincoln, she might also know people who had it in for him.”
“You mean besides her, or me?” Julie’s tone was edged with bitterness. “I don’t know, I think this sort of thing just looks bad for both of us. Since we are both women Lincoln mistreated and all that.”
“Maybe, but it also might point the finger of suspicion away from you, especially if he had a pattern of abusing women.”
“That’s the thing—I don’t know that he did. Like I said, he never really took it that far with me. And as for the woman who contacted me—well, I only have her word about what happened between them.”
“But why would she call you? Do you think she might’ve wanted money to stay silent about your relationship? Although, come to think of it, that’s a bit of a stretch. It’s not like you’re rich.”
“No, but Lincoln is. Was.” Julie inhaled an audible breath.
“Maybe she thought he’d pay up but didn’t want to approach him directly. She might’ve wanted to use you as an intermediary because she was scared of him …”
“I can’t imagine this person trying to shake down anyone,” Julie said.
“But how well do you really know her? Isn’t it possible that in an attempt to blackmail Lincoln, this woman could’ve asked him to meet her at the carriage house that night? Perhaps he did, meaning to pay her, but it all went horribly wrong. Maybe he even threatened her and she had to defend herself.”
“I suppose. Although why would she have had that knife? I mean, I can understand stealing the key to sneak into the carriage house to meet Lincoln, but the knife part doesn’t really add up.”
Julie sounded strangely reluctant to pursue this line of inquiry, which made me wonder just who the woman might be. I respected Julie’s discretion if this involved a friend, or even one of her bookstore regulars, but felt compelled to urge her to take action to protect herself. “Consider this—maybe it was Lincoln who swiped the knife and the key. He might have planned to get into the carriage house to talk to someone, like this other woman, in private. And if he wanted to warn someone to remain silent about his misdeeds, he could’ve taken the knife as a weapon. Or even as protection, if he was concerned that whoever he was meeting could become dangerous. At any rate, you should tell the police about this, if you haven’t already. This woman could be another viable suspect.”
“I’ll mention it, even though I don’t think that’s possible because she doesn’t live in this area anymore. But I guess I should say something, just in case. Especially since Lincoln did tell me he had to be wary of people trying to take advantage of him to get at his money.”
“Where did it come from? His money, I mean. Surely not just from his business.”
“No, he inherited a good chunk of cash from his family. Or so he said.”
“I guess that explains how he was able to get into the rare-book business when he was young,” I said. “When he was booking the week, he mentioned he’d been in that career since his mid-twenties, which I found odd. Unless he had family money, of course.”
“Yeah, he had a trust fund or something. I didn’t really ask too much about it. Didn’t want to look like a gold digger.”
I snorted. “As if. I’ve never known you to care that much about money.”
“Proven by the fact that I run an independent bookstore,” Julie said, her tone brighter than it had been throughout the rest of the call. “Okay, I guess I’d better go. Even though we aren’t open on Mondays, I need to do some office and inventory work in the store. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do as well. I just wanted to call and make sure you knew the true story. Before you hear anything else, I mean.”
The true story? I stared at the phone for a minute. From what Julie had just told me, I assumed she wanted me to know that Lincoln Delamont might or might not have been abusive with women, in case those stories crawled out of the woodwork during the investigation. But apparently he’d not really acted like that around Julie, and she wanted to make sure I knew that, because …? Because if he’d threatened or hurt her, it might give her too strong a motive to kill him? Even if only in self-defense?
“All right. Thanks for calling, Julie.” I thought of reiterating my request that she share the information she’d just told me with the police, but instead chose to simply say, “Good-bye.”
I tapped my phone against my palm. I certainly wouldn’t say anything to the authorities. Not yet. Not until Julie had time to come clean on her own. Otherwise, it might make her situation even worse. While I did believe in justice, I was sure Julie was innocent.
Because, if by some shocking twist, Julie had killed Lincoln, I was convinced it would have to have been an act of self-defense. If that was the case, I was sure she would ultimately confess. But maybe she wasn’t ready to come forward with that sordid story yet—one I knew might, rightly or wrongly, affect the way others viewed her. Including the local patrons who frequented her bookstore.
No, I wasn’t going to rush out and give the police secondhand information. I’d wait a few days, or even a week, to see what happened first. I’d give Julie that chance.
It was the least I could do for a friend.