The Cottage on Nantucket

by Jessie Newton

  She certainly wasn’t relaxed as she hurried down the sidewalk and around to the front door. Up the steps she went without trouble. Inside, she found the house exactly as she and Janey had left it.

  Her heart pounded like a big bass drum, and a trickle of foolishness pushed against her adrenaline and nervousness. She was being silly. “What did you expect?” she muttered. “Riggs to be sitting here, an axe in his hand?”

  She shook her head and set her purse on the kitchen table as she passed.

  Janey had kept the box of photos in her room, and Tessa collected them and took them back out to the living room. Her sister had scattered them at some point, and Tessa found she didn’t care.

  She simply wanted to examine every single one with Riggs in it. Riggs and her father. Riggs and Mom. Riggs and Bobbie. Riggs, Bobbie, and Dad. Whatever combination she could find, if he was in it, she separated the picture into a new pile.

  She also started pulling out pictures with Daddy in them, not sure why. Only that she’d found one with Daddy and Bobbie—just the two of them—and it intrigued her.

  After that, as the sun started to set, turning the light inside the cottage a dull gray and then a melancholy navy, Tessa began to sort the pictures into a pile for Mom. Any that weren’t already in Riggs’s or Daddy’s pile that contained Mom went into a new stack.

  She had to pause and get up and turn on the lights so she could continue, and her stomach pinched at her again, reminding her that she’d last eaten clear back in Boston.

  Honestly, that felt like a different day, not only several hours ago.

  She didn’t pause to eat though. She went through the entire box of photos, sorting out Mom. Then she went through them all one more time, just to make sure she’d created the three stacks she wanted.

  She took them to the kitchen table one by one before opening the fridge to see what she and Janey had left there. After setting two pieces of bread in the toaster, she returned to the table. She removed the photos of Riggs and Mom to the counter and started spreading out the ones with Daddy in them.

  He appeared the most with Bobbie and Joan, followed closely by Dale. There were hardly any of him and Riggs.

  “If they were step-brothers, wouldn’t there be more of them?” Tessa murmured as she looked at another photograph of Daddy sitting in a beach chair, a beer bottle in one hand, and a smile on his face as he laughed at something someone else had said.

  Bobbie sat on his left, and Dale sat in the background, both of them with pure delight on their faces too.

  Tessa frowned at the picture, trying to see more than what it showed. She closed her eyes and put herself in the scene. She felt the evening air, heard the crackling fire they’d built on the beach, tasted the salty sea air right before she swallowed a gulp of beer.

  What were they laughing about?

  Why did this intrigue her so?

  “Riggs,” she muttered, realizing she’d completely forgotten about her toast. She should be focusing on Riggs, not her father.

  Yet she couldn’t stop looking at the photos she’d laid out across the whole tabletop. She sighed, stretched her back, and stepped over to the toaster to throw away the now ice-cold toast. She needed something mindless to do for a while so she could let her synapses think, and she began to make coffee. Gardening often provided the mental downtime she needed to work out problems and find solutions.

  And she sure could use a bunch of solutions right now. A solution to her marital problems. A solution to her legal issues. A solution to her familial tensions.

  “Family,” she said, lifting her head from the filter and the coffee grains she was measuring.

  Everything came back to family.

  She spun from the counter, her heartbeat doing a new kind of tap dance behind her ribcage. It threatened to burst, and Tessa pressed one hand to her chest as she returned to the table and peered down at the pictures again.

  Janey had said none of the pictures had writing on them. At least the ones I checked, she’d said.

  Tessa picked up the picture of Daddy with Bobbie and Dale. With shaking fingers, she flipped it over, tearing her eyes from their laughter and clear joy.

  Nothing.

  Her hopes nosedived, and she set the picture back in the spot it had vacated.

  She picked up the one with Daddy and Bobbie, his arm slung around her shoulders and both of them beaming right out at the camera. They had to be in their mid-twenties, and Daddy wore that hideous tank top with the wide, thick ribbing in bright red—but it was his mustache that gave away the era.

  Her memory fired at her and she dropped the picture and bent to pick up her purse. She took out the picture she’d printed at the library that morning. The one of Paul, Richard, and Barbara Friedman.

  The three of them stood in a similar pose, but with only two of them instead of three.

  Tessa sucked in a breath, and the whole world whooshed by her.

  She cleared a spot next to the picture of Bobbie and Daddy and carefully laid the printout next to it. No, it wasn’t crystal clear. Yes, it was a bit grainy and slightly blurry—and true black and white while the picture that had come from the box was yellow with age.

  Tessa fell into the chair, because her eyes and brain needed all of her energy.

  Bobbie Friedman was the same woman as Barbara Friedman.

  Her brain screamed at her that Riggs had married his sister, only to correct her in the next moment that Riggs was not Richard Friedman.

  Bobbie and Daddy had been step-siblings, not Riggs and Daddy. If anyone had any claim to his inheritance, it would be her, not Riggs.

  “No wonder Mom loved her so much,” Tessa whispered. “They really were like sisters-in-law.”

  The numbness from the realization ebbed, and Tessa reached out and picked up the photo. This time, when she turned it over, she saw Barbie and Greg written in her mother’s hand.

  “Barbie,” she said, touching the letters with her fingertip. How did she go from Barbie to Bobbie? She’d never heard either of her parents, or Bobbie or Riggs, or anyone, call Bobbie anything other than Bobbie.

  The next question in her mind had her looking at the clock to find out if the hour had grown too late for her to call Bobbie.

  Almost eight. Surely she’d still be awake. Tessa hadn’t located her phone yet when someone knocked smartly on the door.

  Tessa yelped and actually jumped away from the front door, though she stood back in the kitchen. Her eyes flew toward it, and she wondered if she’d locked it. Paralyzed by surprise and a bucketful of fear, she held very still.

  When the person knocked for a second time, Tessa could only categorize it as a pound.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “I know you’re here,” Riggs called from the other side of the door. He hadn’t come through it yet, but every cell in Tessa’s body said he would soon if she didn’t answer him.

  Thinking fast, she swept the photos she’d painstakingly laid out on the table into a pile and tapped them together.

  Another demanding pounding of his fist against the door. “Tessa!” he yelled. “I can see the car in the garage, and there are lights on.”

  “Just a minute,” she called. “I just got out of the shower.” She dashed over to the countertop where she’d been making coffee and yanked open the drawer. She put the pile of pictures inside, and added the two other stacks she’d carefully sorted.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Riggs said, and it sounded like a threat.

  Tessa hurried into the living room where she’s started the sorting project. All of the photos went back in the box, and she ran down the hallway with the whole thing tucked under her arm. She slid it under her bed and faced the doorway.

  Her pulse sprinted as if she’d just run a marathon, and she tugged at the end of her blouse. “Shower,” she groaned, and she quickly stepped out of her khaki shorts and into her casual pajama pants. Down the hall, she ran her hands under cool water and ran them through her hair until
it gleamed with a decent amount of dampness.

  Only then did she head down the hall to the front door. Ask him who he really is.

  Do not even get close to asking him anything.

  You need to know, and he’s right here.

  She wasn’t going to find him at UMD. None of the photos had shown anything before Mom and Daddy’s marriage, though Janey had said Riggs was here and had been with Mom the same summer as Dale and Daddy.

  Tessa unlocked the door and opened it six inches, keeping one foot right behind it and leaning her body weight into it. “What do you want?” she asked the tall, gray-haired man on the porch.

  “We could help each other,” he said.

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “Why don’t you tell me then?” Because no, Tessa didn’t know what she was dealing with. Or rather… “Or who I’m dealing with?” She cocked her eyebrows, glad the porch had motion-sensor lights that shone with the force of the sun.

  Riggs’s jaw jumped as he pressed his teeth together. For once, he said nothing.

  “Who are you?” she asked, raising her voice.

  He actually looked to his left and back to her, as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear them. “Keep it down,” he said, almost under his breath.

  “Tell me who you are.”

  “I’m Richard Friedman,” he said.

  “Try again.” Tessa inched the door closed another measure, her fingers starting to ache for how hard she gripped the doorframe. “I know you’re not Richard Friedman. At least not Betty Friedman’s son. He died when he was twenty-three years old. He was Bobbie’s brother!” She yelled the last sentence, her chest heaving now.

  All at once, a bone-chilling thought entered her mind. “Oh, my word. Did you kill him?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Riggs said, scoffing. He looked down the lane again, giving Tessa a moment’s relaxation.

  He lunged toward her, and though Tessa carried extra weight, she was no match for a grown man, old as Riggs was. She stumbled backward, flailing for something to grab onto.

  There was nothing, and she fell backward, her tailbone meeting the new bamboo hardwood floors in the cottage and sending blinding pain in all directions.

  “I told you to be quiet,” he growled. The door closed behind him, and though Tessa’s eyes streamed with instant tears from her fall, she definitely heard the distinct click of the lock. “She’ll come down here if you don’t be quiet.” He started to reach for her, but Tessa scrambled backward, thrusting her feet toward him.

  “Don’t touch me,” she yelled. “Get away from me!” She screamed, because she needed help now that Riggs was in the house.

  He threw himself on top of her, flattening his hand against her mouth and cradling her head. As she flopped backward with his added weight, his hand hit the floor and not her head.

  Not your head, was her only thought.

  “Tessa,” he said, his voice very angry but very quiet. “You have to be quiet. I will tell you everything, but you have to be quiet.”

  Tessa looked into his eyes, hers as wide as they could go.

  “I’m going to let you go,” he said, his dark eyes flashing with danger. “Quiet.”

  She nodded as much as she was able, the awful, somewhat fishy, somewhat oily scent of his skin right up in her nose.

  He lessened his grip on her head, and the moment she could, she slipped away from him. They both got to their feet, and Tessa didn’t dare take her eyes from him for more than a breath of time.

  Tears still filled her eyes, but this round had come from fear, not pain. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tinny and high-pitched now.

  “I asked you to come see me today,” he said, staying over by the door, on the opposite end of the couch.

  “You don’t own me.” She reached up and wiped her eyes, her strength returning to the center of her being. “I don’t have to come when you tell me to.”

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  “None of your business.” Tessa lifted her chin and stared into his eyes. He really did wear danger there, and she couldn’t stop the shiver as it ran up her spine and across her shoulders. “Tell me who you are.”

  Riggs swallowed, and he looked around the cottage. Tessa had no idea what he was looking for, but she was reminded of how he and Bobbie had offered to buy the cottage. “What’s here that you want?” she asked.

  She’d certainly feel better if she stood closer to something—anything—she could use to protect herself. She took a step back while he continued to take in the changes they’d made in the cottage.

  “I met your mother here,” he said, his voice much softer than it had been a few moments ago. “Right here, at this cottage.”

  “How?” Tessa said. As far as she’d seen on TV, the more a perpetrator talked, the better the survival odds of the victim.

  “I’d come to Nantucket with Greg,” he said. “We were in the same stats class at UMD.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, and Tessa wondered at all the memories she could tell him about her father. “We needed a weekend away, because our midterms were an absolute bear.”

  Tessa edged backward again, getting closer and closer to the kitchen, where they kept the knives. Riggs returned his attention to her, and she stilled.

  “Your mother was here, on her own break of sorts. It was cold—only the beginning of March—but she said we should come that summer. She was beautiful, your mother. I fell in love with her instantly.” More of that smiling, and Tessa didn’t like it one little bit.

  She felt like he’d opened a door that was too intimate for her to walk through. She didn’t need to know these things about her mother.

  “Unfortunately, Greg did too, and Lydia was a big flirt. We came for two summers, though I’d dropped out of college by then and your dad had moved on to med school. He brought Dale with him that third summer, and Lydia…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say we all had a good time that summer.”

  Janey had already relayed as much. “Why do you go by Bobbie’s last name? When did you assume her brother’s identity?”

  Confusion furrowed his brow. “I didn’t assume his identity.”

  “You must think I’m so stupid. You just happen to have the same name as her brother? Her dead brother?” Her voice raised again, and he held up one palm.

  “Everyone called me Riggs when I was younger, because I worked as a boat rigger the first few years of college,” he said. “I ended up dropping out to open my own boat repair shop, which I lost a couple of years later in Hurricane Joan.”

  “Joan? As in Dale’s wife?”

  “As in Dale’s wife,” he said darkly. “The woman ruined me, and then they had the audacity to sue me.”

  Tessa didn’t need all the history. She didn’t even want it. “Stick to you,” she said. “You and Bobbie. You and my mom. You and my father.”

  “Well, Lydia got pregnant, and she chose Greg to be the father. The moment Janey was born, I knew she was mine. I knew. Greg knew. Lydia knew, but she refused to do anything about it, despite my pleas. I said I’d marry her. I could take care of her and the baby.”

  A horribly dark storm filled his face, and he shook his head. “She said no, and she said if I came near her or Janey, she’d do everything in her power to make sure I never saw my daughter again.” He chuckled, but the sound carried only malice. “Your mother could be a mean woman when she wanted to be.”

  Tessa bristled and used the opportunity to fall back another step. “So you left Nantucket and met Bobbie. Married her and came back to live next door to the woman you were really in love with? For almost fifty years?” Tessa shook her head. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t believe it. Why? Why would anyone do that?”

  Her mind fired more questions at her. “Why are you two Bobbie and Riggs Friedman? Why didn’t Daddy or Mom ever tell me Bobbie was my step-aunt? Why would Bobbie want to live next-
door to the woman you loved when she was your wife?”

  “Bobbie and Lydia were very close,” Riggs said. “Two peas in a pod, those women.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “Bobbie was only Greg’s step-sister, but she got along great with him and Lydia, of course. Everything was her idea.”

  “What do you mean? What was her idea?” Tessa had finally reached the cusp of the kitchen, and she settled her weight evenly on both feet. If Riggs came at her again, she could lunge for something. Pull the chair out to slow him down. Open the fridge to hide behind it. Fumble through a drawer for a knife. Something.

  “Your dad was a heart surgeon,” Riggs said. “Bobbie knew he had money, and over the years, she grew bitter and calloused. He’d told her he’d always be there to take care of her, but he wasn’t. He doted on Lydia, and about the time Greg died, Bobbie started planning a way to get the fortune he’d built one way or another.” Riggs sighed and looked down at his hands. Tessa didn’t know what to do with the vulnerability.

  “She’s been planning the same for several of her other step-siblings.”

  Dots began to connect in Tessa’s head. “Dennis Martin.”

  Riggs nodded. “When he sold his first book, Bobbie added him to the list.”

  “She set him up with Mom.”

  He nodded. “You’re quick. That way, she said, she’d have a finger in each side of that inheritance once Lydia passed.”

  “There’s not much inheritance,” Tessa said.

  Riggs looked up, his dark eyes shining like stars in the midnight sky. “Oh, but there is. There’s millions in Lydia’s estate.”

  Tessa frowned, her mind racing. Her exhaustion would catch her at any moment, and she really just wanted to go to sleep so she’d stop thinking. “No,” she said slowly. “There really isn’t.”

  “There is,” Riggs said, but before Tessa could argue with him, someone knocked on the door again. He spun toward the door, and Tessa took that opportunity to grab her phone and dial Janey.

  She dropped her phone in the pocket of her loose pants just as Riggs turned back to her. He wore quite the expression of fear as he said, “I’m sure it’s Bobbie.” He strode toward her, and Tessa backed up until she pressed into the counter.