“We will, Mrs. Cannon,” Abby Lee said.
Once we were out in the backyard, we crossed through the gate that faced the Gulf. We couldn’t go around the house, or the armed women of Trouble would insist we march ourselves right back inside. We took off our flip-flops and walked along the sand, taking advantage of the dunes for coverage. As soon as my parents’ house was a good distance away, we took the public access walkway onto Gulf Boulevard, walking in the direction of The Poop Deck.
It was time to brainstorm.
“I have to talk to Donald again, if he hasn’t already checked out of his hotel room,” I said once we got to the restaurant. I’d kind of lost track of his comings and goings once I started to focus my attention on Sheila. Time wasn’t on our side, so we had to move quickly. If Aunt Lula or the other armed grannies knew we’d flown the coop, this would be the first place they’d check. They took their security duties seriously.
Abby Lee wasn’t so sure of my plan. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, what if he’s the killer? Imagine, killing your own uncle over a piece of property.”
If he was guilty of murdering Harvey, prying more information out of him probably wasn’t one of my better ideas. I just had to make sure to tread very carefully. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
Lucky for me, I found him exactly where I hoped he’d be. Donald was back at the hotel bar. Then again, maybe it wasn’t luck. Whenever I had to go to a conference for work, I always managed to find myself seated at the very last stool at the bar, making awkward conversations with complete strangers. Because who wants to be away from home and sit all alone in a hotel room?
“Hey,” I said, taking the seat next to him. “I didn’t think you’d still be here in town.”
“Oh, hi,” Donald said, slightly confused by my attempt at idle conversation. “Sorry, who are you again?”
“Just a local. I met you at your uncle’s funeral, remember, and here at the bar,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. I mean, I’m sorry for your loss and all, but rumor has it you and your uncle weren’t exactly close.” There. I said it.
He eyed me with suspicion before answering. “This really is a small town,” he finally said. “Yeah. I guess you can say we had our differences. Mostly him and my mom. But they finally managed to patch things up. Too bad it was short-lived.”
“Why? Did your mom and Harvey have issues?” It was hard for me to imagine holding any type of grudge with a sibling. I had my own issues with my brother, Scott, but they were nothing more than sibling rivalry. Each of us competing for our parents’ love and affection. What siblings didn’t? But to purposely alienate yourself from your own family?
I didn’t really think he’d tell me, but he surprised me by saying, “Money.”
“Money?”
Yup. That was a surefire way to ensure a feud, even among the best of families.
“When my mom’s daddy died, he left my uncle Harvey the land here on Trouble Island,” he said. “Back then, men believed that women weren’t suitable enough to own land, so he left everything to his son, thinking Mom would marry a good provider.”
I was intrigued. “And did she?”
Donald’s face looked grim as I asked the question. “Doesn’t appear that way. See, my dad didn’t amount to much and left us when I was about seven. By then, Mom had already given birth to two other kids.”
I was beginning to get the picture. I imagined they struggled, while their uncle Harvey had himself a decent business and life here on Trouble Island. “And Harvey never stepped in to help?”
He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t think my mom ever really told him how bad it was. She struggled to provide for us, working two jobs, and never said a word. Guess he assumed we were all right.”
“But how—”
“She resented the fact that her brother was doing well, but was too stubborn to ask for help. I think half of the reason she resented him was misdirected anger. My mom was unhappy with how her life had turned out.”
A falling-out between brother and sister could have been avoided if only she had asked for her brother’s help. I told Donald as much.
“She was a proud woman. But when that article came out in that magazine and I showed her, she finally snapped. Drove all the way from Lufkin to confront Harvey. Actually, I think she visited him to finally make peace with him—and herself.”
“Why’s that? What happened?”
Donald’s grim demeanor changed into a sad smile. “My uncle ended up being a very generous man. He made some good investments over the years and made sure his little sister was well provided for in the end.”
That seemed to coincide with the man I had grown up knowing. “That was awfully generous. But I meant, what made your mom finally confront him?”
“Cancer.”
The admission left me speechless. I knew the appropriate words to convey sympathy; they just never seemed to come out right when I said them aloud. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t much of a people person. So I went with how I felt at the moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Should I keep the conversation going? It felt inappropriate to ask him about Harvey now, especially after he’d just told me about his mother having cancer. I probably didn’t need to inconvenience him any more than I already had. But I was still curious about his mom’s relationship with her brother.
“So Harvey found out about your mom’s illness and decided to help out?”
“In a nutshell. My mom was finally able to get better health care.”
I kept thinking back to the will I’d found in Harvey’s office, which was the whole reason for seeking him out in the first place.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand. If they made amends, why didn’t Harvey leave the land and restaurant to you or your mom?”
“She didn’t want it. And frankly, neither did I. I’ve got a great job already. Besides, I don’t know the first thing about running a restaurant. And my mom, well, she’s getting on in years and set in her ways. She’s pretty optimistic about beating the cancer, but she doesn’t want to spend her life sweating in a hot kitchen.”
Everything he said made sense and tied up quite a few loose ends. But I still wasn’t any closer to finding Harvey’s killer and clearing Abby Lee’s name.
Now I was just curious. I was beginning to like Donald and felt sorry that he’d had such a rough childhood. “Why didn’t your mom or the rest of the family come down for the funeral?”
“Mom was finally able to schedule her chemotherapy treatments. She didn’t feel she was well enough to make another trip down, so she sent me to represent the family. My sisters are with her now. They didn’t think they should leave her. It’s not like they really knew him or anything, so we figured it would be OK if I came alone.”
Harvey pretty much saved his sister’s life. I felt like such a heel for intruding on Donald during his stay here. He’d simply come here to pay his respects to a man he hardly knew, but loved.
“And in answer to your previous question, I stuck around to look at some rental properties. I think my wife and kids would really like spending their summers here.”
I smiled. Trouble Island was a pretty good family getaway. As Harvey’s nephew, he’d have no problems fitting right into the island fold. It was too bad Sheila had been left Harvey’s house. I was sure the Walker family would have enjoyed it. But I kept that thought to myself.
After a long internal debate with myself, I decided there was no way around it. I was going to have to pay Justin a visit and show him the will Abby Lee and I discovered back at the restaurant. I hadn’t technically done any intentional snooping; I’d simply helped Abby Lee clean up after the break-in.
“And you want me to do what with this, exactly?” Justin asked, waving t
he document in the air.
Even when the answer was right in front of them, some men still needed a good poke with a cattle prod. It was up to me to spell it out for him.
“Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Sheila was supposed to inherit everything until Harvey suddenly had a change of heart? Isn’t that enough to investigate her instead of Abby Lee?”
He rubbed his chin. “Sure, it’s odd, but changing a will is not unheard of, Jules. Hell, my mee-maw changes her last will every six months, when one of her grandkids falls out of favor. It doesn’t mean Sheila killed him.”
“Well, the current will doesn’t mean Abby Lee killed him, either,” I shot back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I kicked the sand hard enough to get caught in a mini sandstorm. I had to blow off some steam after my chat with Justin and took a walk. A good stroll along the Gulf had always been cathartic for me. I was also avoiding going home. I was sure Aunt Lula and her friends had already discovered by now that Abby Lee and I had snuck off. They probably already had a search party going.
Coming up with no new answers to my problems, I cut through the beach’s public access sidewalk, the same route Abby Lee and I took earlier, and headed back down on Gulf Boulevard. I planned on checking back in on Abby Lee. She’d stayed back at the restaurant when I went in search of Donald.
I was almost to the restaurant when I saw the last person I wanted to run into coming from the opposite direction.
The island simply wasn’t big enough for me and Heather Clegg. I tried to turn the corner to avoid having to talk to her, but she’d already spotted me.
“Jules, wait up,” Heather said, running across the street to catch up with me.
“Oh, hey, Heather,” I said, pretending I hadn’t tried to lose her. “I’m on my way over to my aunt Lula’s, so I don’t have much time for whatever it is you have to say to me.”
“I deserve that,” she said. “I haven’t been very welcoming since you came back to town, have I? So, um, that’s why I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place for coffee or something.”
I think I stood there with my mouth open in shock. To her credit, Heather pretended not to notice. Though I imagine she must have anticipated some kind of reaction from me, given our history.
Heather stood there, waiting for my response. She looked sincere in her invitation, but I was still wary. Then again, if I accepted, maybe she’d stop antagonizing me everywhere I went. As I debated the pros and cons of her invitation for coffee, I could tell she was anxious for an answer. Perhaps she really did want to call a truce. I was still a bit hesitant, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. “OK. When?”
“Are you free later this afternoon? Today’s my day off at the station.”
I’d forgotten she worked at the station as a dispatcher. “Sure. How about four o’clock?” I asked. “I’m not needed at the store anymore.” She might have been extending a peace offering, but there was no way I was telling Heather I got canned by my own aunt.
If I was surprised by her offer to have me over for coffee, what Heather did next was unthinkable—she actually hugged me, making me feel even worse for hedging on whether or not to go over to her house. “Thanks so much for giving me a second chance, Jules.”
Why not? Coming back to Trouble was about second chances, right? Reconnecting with my family, solidifying my friendship with Abby Lee, and who knew? Maybe rekindling old flames with Justin.
She didn’t leave me much choice but to hug her right back. It was a halfhearted hug at best, but I didn’t want her to think I felt weird about the exchange. My defenses were still up, but what the hell? I knew it would never lead to becoming best friends, but what was the worst that could happen? We’d make our peace and put the past behind us.
Spending the last couple of hours with Heather wasn’t as bad as I had first imagined. If you had asked me earlier that morning, I would have said I’d prefer to be at the dentist’s having a root canal rather than at Heather’s, but after spending a little time with her, it was kind of fun. We talked about old times, friends we remembered back in high school—I allowed her to do most of the reminiscing, as I didn’t have much to contribute on the subject matter. I even toyed with the idea of inviting her to join me and Abby Lee one night at The Crooked Gator for some wicked Gatoritas.
“Hey, Heather, where’s your restroom?” We’d switched it up, going from coffee to wine, and it was time to break the seal.
“Through the hallway, first door on your right.”
I felt a little light-headed from the wine as I got up from the couch. Which door did she say again? I stumbled along until I found a room with the door closed. This has to be it, I thought to myself.
I fumbled with the light switch and blinked. I gasped in horror, my buzz quickly fading into shock.
This definitely wasn’t the bathroom.
The spare bedroom had no furniture or decorations—with the exception of the walls.
Oh my God, the walls.
Every square inch of her walls had been covered with photos of me. You couldn’t even tell if there was wallpaper or paint hidden underneath.
I hesitated at the door, wondering what to do next. My somewhat inebriated state made it hard for me to concentrate. Heather still thought I was in the bathroom, so I gathered the courage to approach one of the decorated walls. Some of the photos were as old as a decade ago. I gingerly swept my hands over the pictures, trying to convince myself they weren’t real.
I took a step back to get a full view of the obsessive pictorial. It was then I realized not all the walls were adorned with pictures of me. The wall behind me was entirely devoted to Justin. Another wall boasted photos of me and Justin together—older pictures taken of us at the prom, hanging out at Carol’s diner after football games, and at the beach. Newer photos were taped over older ones—faraway shots taken of Justin and me talking at my welcome-home party, at Harvey’s funeral, and some of me working at Palmetto Pink.
What the hell?
The pieces all began to fit together: being locked in the stockroom, the black roses, the dead cat, the smashed windshield. It was Heather the entire time. While I had been tracking down a killer, I was being followed by a stalker.
I heard movement behind me, but it didn’t stop me from staring at the mad wallpaper collage. I was transfixed by what was in front of me. Heather was behind me now, but I still couldn’t peel my eyes away.
“Do you like what I’ve done with the room? I figured you might, since it’s all about you. It’s my tribute,” she said.
Tribute? There were no words to convey how I felt about seeing my picture plastered on her walls. No, I take that back. I knew exactly how I felt—I was scared. Her hatred toward me ran deep. It wasn’t about simple jealousy; it had snowballed somehow into a crazed obsession. I could have dealt with your garden-variety murderer, but not an obsessive, psychotic stalker.
“It was you the whole time, wasn’t it? Locking me in the stockroom, the flowers, my windshield, the dead cat . . .” I heard her shuffling around the room without saying another word. I still couldn’t turn around to look her in the eye. “Heather, did you do those things and leave those notes?”
Heather stopped pacing the room. “I thought that if I scared you bad enough, you’d run back to Virginia.”
Oh, I was plenty freaked out. I was about ready to pee my pants—I never did make it to the bathroom.
Turning slowly, I managed to face her directly. “So you admit it.”
“Guilty,” she said. Her bright smile made me shudder—she looked like she was proud of herself. “But I didn’t lock you in any stockroom.” She laughed as she walked closer to me. “Looks like I’m not the only one that has a problem with you being here.”
Even with her admission, it was still hard for me to imagine that someone could go to that much trouble for a man. Then ag
ain, maybe I wasn’t so different. I’d taken two months’ leave and hightailed it to Trouble just to get away from my ex-boyfriend. The irony didn’t escape me.
“Why?” I finally asked, although I already knew the answer.
Eyes wild, a sardonic grin appeared on her face. “Did you really think I was going to let you waltz back into town and take Justin away from me?” Heather screeched. “Do you know how much time I’ve invested in him?”
“How long have you been planning this?” Judging by the photos, she’d been obsessed with both of us for quite some time.
“Long enough to know you’re a problem,” she snapped. “When I heard you were coming back to town, I decided it was time to finally do something about it.”
It was a snap decision to come to Trouble after my breakup with James. She couldn’t possibly have had enough time to plot and plan. But that was the nature of someone like Heather. If she had begun her fixation well over a decade ago, she’d been prepared, waiting for the right opportunity, waiting patiently for me to come home.
“Honestly, Heather, I have no interest in Justin.” As I said this, I didn’t know if that was a lie I was telling Heather or myself. The past few days had certainly made me feel something, but I had no intention of acting on it. Whatever I’d had with Justin was ancient history.
“Don’t think I don’t see the way he looks at you. It was only a matter of time before you two got together again.”
“Heather, I swear—”
“Save it. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Now that you know what I did, you’re going to go running to Justin to tell him what I’ve done.” Her smile spread across her face, creeping me out even more. “And I can’t let that happen.”
Seeing her there, eyes ablaze, made me feel sorry for her. Almost. My sympathy ran along the lines of, Gee, I’m sorry you’re suffering from a severe psychological pathology. It wasn’t my fault if she’d misread something between Justin and me that wasn’t there to begin with. Or was she right—did Justin still harbor feelings for me, and I just hadn’t noticed?
Destined for Trouble (A Jules Cannon Mystery Book 1) Page 18