Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller

by Melinda Woodhall

  “Hey there again, Nessa.” Barker issued an awkward laugh. “I know...it’s a real treat for you to get to talk to me twice in one day.”

  Frankie rolled his eyes as he realized that Barker was calling to ask for permission.

  “Anyway, I’m here with Frankie and I got a quick question for you. I’m gonna put you on speaker if that’s okay.”

  Nessa’s unmistakable southern drawl filled the room.

  “Hi Frankie, how’s it going?”

  “Swell, Nessa, it’s going really-”

  Cutting Frankie off with an irritated wave of his hand, Barker raised his voice.

  “I know you’re busy, Nessa, so I’ll make this brief.”

  “Frankie’s made a deal with an insurance investigator working a life insurance claim on Portia Hart. Apparently he wants us to confirm her cause of death.”

  Barker pinned Frankie with a stern glare.

  “I’m sure the guy’s trying to find a reason to contest the claim. Would you have a problem with us looking into this? I wouldn’t want to step on your toes or anything.”

  The silence on the other end of the connection worried Frankie. He chewed hard on his gum and avoided Barker’s eyes.

  “I don’t have a problem with you guys taking on the case,” Nessa finally said, “but your client may not like what you’re likely to find.”

  “What do you mean?” Frankie asked. “What won’t they like?”

  “The insurance company probably has a clause that allows them to reject the claim if Portia committed suicide,” Nessa explained. “So, I’d bet they’re hoping you come back with a cause of death by suicide. That’ll save them a million bucks, or whatever ridiculous amount Portia Hart had in her policy.”

  Leaning over Barker’s desk, Frankie spoke toward the phone.

  “So, you’re saying Portia didn’t kill herself? Was it an overdose?”

  “I’m not saying any such thing, Frankie,” Nessa warned. “I’m just telling you both that this isn’t a cut-and-dried suicide, and your insurance investigator’s not gonna like the fact that we’ve opened an official investigation. No telling how long it’ll take for us to figure out what happened. It could take weeks…or even months.”

  Frankie stood up and crossed his arms over his thin chest.

  “I bet we can help you find out what happened quicker than that…right, Barker? If we’re on the case, we can speed things up.”

  Barker gave the phone an uncomfortable glance, then shrugged.

  “I mean, I guess we might could get people to talk to us that won’t talk to cops,” Barker said. “And we aren’t bound by as many rules. So, if it doesn’t bother you, then-”

  Nessa’s voice cut through Barker’s muttering.

  “Look, Barker, you don’t have to treat me with kid gloves.”

  She was beginning to sound impatient.

  “I’m a big girl. My ego can handle a little competition from the private sector. So, have at it. You guys see what you can find out. If you find out anything I can use along the way, I’d be grateful for any info you want to pass on.”

  Relief flooded Barker’s face, and he gave Frankie a thumbs up.

  “That’s great, Nessa. I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop, and sorry to bother you. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Hold on, now. I have a question for you,” Nessa said. “You said the investigator is looking into a claim, but you never told me who the beneficiary is. That’s a pretty important piece of information.”

  Thinking back to his conversation with Maxwell Clay, Frankie tried to remember if the investigator had mentioned the name of the beneficiary. Whoever benefited from Portia’s death would be a natural suspect if foul play was suspected.

  Barker seemed to read Frankie’s mind.

  “So, you’re treating Portia Hart’s death as a suspected homicide?”

  “I’m pursuing all possibilities,” Nessa corrected. “As should you, if you want to find out the truth for your client.”

  Frankie nodded in agreement, but the idea that he might once again be searching for a killer unnerved him.

  After all, he’d barely survived when he and Barker had tried to track down the Willow Bay Stalker.

  “Sorry, Nessa.” Frankie was suddenly worried he’d gotten involved in something far more dangerous than he’d anticipated. “I didn’t get all the details yet, but the guy said the beneficiary was Portia’s brother, I think. He acted like the guy was pretty eager to get his hands on the payout.”

  “The brother?” Nessa sounded intrigued. “Okay, well, I’d appreciate hearing anything else you find out.”

  The thought that Willow Bay’s chief of police was wanting information from his investigation made Frankie’s spirits perk up.

  “Sure thing, Nessa. Clay’s coming in tomorrow morning, so I’ll find out then and we’ll let you know.”

  After Barker had disconnected the call, he turned to Frankie.

  “Tomorrow morning? What time?”

  “Ten o’clock,” Frankie muttered, ignoring Barker’s frown and returning his gaze to the television. “Look at all those people wanting to know what happened. It’s crazy…”

  Turning on his computer, Barker pulled the keyboard toward him and began typing. He kept his eyes on the monitor as he spoke.

  “I’ll start the background work on Portia Hart. That way we’ll be ready to hit the ground running once Clay comes in and signs the paperwork tomorrow.”

  Frankie wasn’t listening. He was still watching the crowd milling around in front of the Riverview Hotel.

  “You know, if Portia Hart is such a big celebrity, with fans always hanging around, then someone must have seen something.”

  Frankie’s words were soft, as if he was speaking to himself.

  “There’s always someone who knows what happened…someone who saw something. We just have to find a witness.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lexi Marsh opened red, tired eyes to look at the big numbers on the clock; it was after one. She’d gotten a few hours of fitful sleep, but her nerves were still on edge. Reaching for the pills on the bedside table, she knew immediately from the light weight of the bottle in her hand that it was empty.

  “Shit…all gone,” she groaned, letting the bottle fall to the floor as she stood up and stumbled into the living room.

  Scanning the room for her phone, Lexi was relieved to see she’d stuck it on the charger by the television. She stared at the dead screen with mounting dread, suddenly remembering what had happened the night before.

  A woman was killed at the hotel, and that man…that horrible man…

  Her hand shook as she picked up the remote and turned on the television. The station was still tuned to Channel Six, but the news was over. A woman in faded jeans and waterproof boots was watering a bed of flowers as she spoke in a loud, cheerful voice about the importance of keeping soil moist during a drought.

  Thumbing the MUTE button, Lexi picked up her phone. She swiped past the notifications about missed calls and unread messages and tapped on Molly Blair’s number.

  She needed more pills to help her calm down. Everything would seem better once she had taken her medicine.

  Six rings later an automated voice informed Lexi that the person she was calling was not available.

  “Molly, I need to talk to you.”

  Lexi tried to think of something to say that would make Molly call her back.

  “It’s about my…my date last night. There may be a problem, so please, call me back.”

  She dropped the phone on the table and turned to see that the gardening show had been interrupted for a special news bulletin. Lexi wrapped her arms around herself as she stared at the screen.

  The same handsome reporter stood in front of the Riverview Hotel. Snatching the remote, Lexi turned up the volume. Nick Sargent's deep voice filled the room.

  "Questions surround the death of self-help author Portia Hart. Sources claim that the popular author was fou
nd by the hotel cleaner.”

  The reporter stared into the camera with dark, solemn eyes as he spoke.

  “The daughter of the late billionaire Remington Hart was reported to be unresponsive in the bathtub with an empty pill bottle beside her.”

  His words sent a chill through Lexi, and she held a hand to her throat as if the pills she’d swallowed earlier might be stuck within.

  “The police aren't saying if the death is a possible suicide, an accidental overdose, or something more sinister,” Nick continued with a grim shake of his head, “but they have opened an official investigation, and a source inside the department labeled the death as suspicious."

  Lexi numbly absorbed the information. The police thought the poor woman’s death had been suspicious and they’d opened an investigation.

  Did that mean that Portia Hart had been killed? Questions flooded through Lexi’s muddled brain as she tried to think.

  The police will question the hotel guests. Will they find out I was there?

  She thought of the man she’d visited on the hotel’s tenth floor the night before. Her date as Molly would call him. Would the awful man tell the police she’d been there? Would he put the cops on to Molly?

  Panic fluttered in Lexi’s stomach at the imagined what would happen if the police found out the truth about Molly’s sordid little business enterprise.

  Will the cops track me down, too? Will I get in trouble for what I’ve done?

  An even more disturbing possibility caused her heart to thump heavily in her chest. What if Portia Hart had been killed by the man in the stairwell? What if he was able to find out who she was?

  And what if he comes looking for me?

  Motivated by the urgent need to warn Molly about the pending situation at the hotel, and desperate to get more pills to calm her shattered nerves, Lexi hurried back into her bedroom and threw open her closet door.

  Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin tank top, Lexi grabbed her purse and charged toward the front door.

  Remembering that she’d set her phone on the bedside table, Lexi spun around and darted back to retrieve it. The phone began to buzz and vibrate in her hand as soon as she picked it up.

  She looked at the display and sighed. She hadn’t thought the day could get any worse.

  “Hi, Mom, what’s up?”

  “What’s up is that I’ve been trying to call you and you won’t answer, that’s what’s up.”

  Loretta Marsh emitted a high-pitched laugh that was anything but amused. It reminded Lexi of the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Sorry, Mom. I’ve been busy. I’m taking a summer class, and-”

  “Spare me the lies,” Loretta Marsh snapped. “It’s just embarrassing for the both of us. I know what’s been going on.”

  Lexi kept her face expressionless, as if her mother would be watching her reaction. But even the eagle-eyed Loretta Marsh couldn’t see through a cellular connection.

  “What are you talking about, Mom? There’s nothing going on.”

  “I’m talking about you lying. About you pretending that you’re still taking classes at that community college. I know it’s not true.”

  Relieved that her mother didn’t know about the work she’d been doing for Molly, Lexi tried to think up something to say.

  Her shoulders slumped as she realized it was no use. Her mother was right; she had been lying, and there wasn’t much use in saying otherwise.

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would act like this.” Lexi forced the words out of her dry sticky mouth. “Now I’ve gotta go. I’m late for work already.”

  “So, those strangers you take care of matter more to you than your own mother? Is that what you’re saying?”

  For one dreadful moment Lexi thought her mother actually did know about her dates. Then she realized Loretta Marsh must be talking about the job she’d made up to get her mother off her back.

  Lexi had claimed to have found work as a home healthcare aide. The imaginary job helped Lexi explain how she’d been able to afford an apartment without a roommate, and where she went on the many nights she spent out of the apartment.

  “No, of course not.”

  Lexi’s words sounded unconvincing to her own ears, and she wondered for the millionth time why she bothered lying to her mother.

  “But I do have to go now. Bye, Mom.”

  As she crossed the room and put her hand on the doorknob, Lexi saw that the television was still on. A photo of Portia Hart’s face filled the screen. Lexi stopped to study the carefree, smiling face, wondering why bad things seemed to always happen to good people.

  She looks so happy there. And now, just like that, she’s dead.

  As Lexi opened the door and stepped into the unbearable heat of the summer day, a disturbing conviction settled in her mind.

  If I’m not careful, I may wind up dead, too. Only no one will even know who I was, and you can bet my photo won’t be posted on the evening news.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Channel Ten news station was unusually quiet when Hunter Hadley arrived. The crew scurried around like frightened mice, darting sideways looks at him as he crossed to his glass-walled office, but not calling out the usual greetings and updates. Hunter sank into the chair behind his desk with a puzzled frown.

  “Got a minute?”

  Veronica Lee appeared in the doorway. Her green eyes were unusually bright, and her face was illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the big picture window. Hunter dropped his eyes to stop himself from staring.

  “Sure, come on in. Sit down.”

  “I’ll stand if that’s okay with you.” Veronica’s voice was neutral, but her back was stiff. “I just thought you might like to know that there’s been some gossip about the station, and…”

  “And you’re volunteering to be the one to break the news to me?”

  Veronica nodded, then swallowed hard.

  Giving her a reassuring smile, Hunter cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, and leaned back in his chair to listen.

  "Well, it’s just that Gustavo told everyone that he quit because the station is in financial trouble. That we’re going bankrupt.” Her voice faltered on the word. “I also heard pretty much the same thing from Nick Sargent earlier today."

  Hunter winced. Unprepared for the question, he sat up straight in his chair and met Veronica’s worried gaze.

  "We aren't going bankrupt," he said, running a big hand through his dark brown curls, unsure how much he should say. “Sure, we’ve lost some of the local advertisers lately, so things are a little tight, but that doesn’t mean we’re in trouble."

  He hesitated, tempted to leave it at that. He didn’t want Veronica or the rest of the crew to worry needlessly. But then, he couldn’t risk them hearing the whole truth from anyone else either. If the wrong message was sent out, he could end up losing more of his crew.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Veronica said, letting out a deep breath. “I knew Gustavo must be mistaken, and Nick Sargent…well, he seemed to enjoy the idea that Channel Ten was in trouble.”

  “Listen, Veronica, I’m sorry that-”

  “No, I’m sorry, Hunter. We’re in the middle of breaking news and I’m wasting time listening to gossip. Forget I said anything.”

  Brandishing her notebook in her hand, Veronica’s voice filled with enthusiasm.

  "I'm going to track down Portia Hart's next of kin for an interview. I figure someone will have to come to Willow Bay to view the body. If I'm waiting outside the ME’s office, maybe I'll get a chance to ask a few questions."

  Hunter raised a hand to stop her from leaving. He needed to tell her the truth. But a loud rap on the doorframe made them both jump.

  A young man in khakis and a polo shirt stood just outside the doorway of his office. The man nodded as he met Hunter's eyes.

  "How can I help you?"

  Hunter noticed the heavy bag hanging over the man's muscular shoulder. It looked worn out and oddly famili
ar.

  He glanced again at the man's square jaw and dark complexion.

  "I'm Finn," the young man said, his voice deep and solemn. "Finn Jordan."

  Hunter's eyes widened in surprise, and for a minute his throat was too thick to speak.

  "You're Jordie's son?"

  Nodding, Finn dropped his eyes and cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Sir. Saul Jordan was my dad.”

  “Was your dad? You mean…”

  Pain knifed through Hunter. Could Jordie really be gone? Finn raised his eyes, and the sadness within confirmed Hunter’s fear.

  "When did he…pass?”

  It hurt to say the words, and Hunter looked away, fighting to keep his composure. He watched Veronica hurry out of the room, heard her close the door behind her as he turned back to Finn.

  "What happened?"

  "Cancer," Finn said, his face tight. "He thought he had longer. The docs told him six months, but it was more like six weeks. He was planning on calling all his friends after he'd decided not to do anymore chemo. Set up time to say his good-byes. Said he wanted to get his energy back first. Only he never did."

  Hunter thought of his old mentor's wide smile and all-knowing eyes. Saul Jordan had taken Hunter under his wing when he'd started out as young reporter. He'd been the kind of role model Hunter's own father never had been. Hunter tried to remember the last time he'd taken the trip out to Memphis to visit Jordie. Had it really been more than two years?

  "My dad asked me to give you this," Finn said, dropping his eyes to the envelope he held in his hand. "Made me promise him I'd bring it to you in person."

  Hunter could see a flash in Finn's eyes. Anger? Resentment? Hunter wasn't sure. The only thing he knew, was that the boy must be hurting. Losing a dad like Saul Jordan must hurt pretty bad.

  His hands trembled as he took the envelope and opened it, wondering if Jordie's hands had been trembling when he'd sealed it.

  Hunter,

  My time’s about up so I'm gonna need to call in that favor you owe me. You know what I'm talking about, so don't try to play dumb now.

  Finn's a good boy, and I taught him everything I know. But he’s gonna need someone to look after him once I’m gone. Watch out for him. Tell what you’ve learned. Give him a base to come to when he needs it.