by Eva Gates
“Would you turn the television off, please, Mrs. Lewiston?” Watson asked.
Evangeline didn’t move. I crossed the room, my shoes sinking into the deep carpet, grabbed the remote off the coffee table, and pressed buttons. The voices died and the screen went dark.
“It’s Rich,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, dear.”
“Rich? Good heavens, Suzanne, have you lost your senses at long last? Rich is home in Boston.” Evangeline stood up and smoothed her skirt. “You’ve frightened the life out of me for nothing.”
My mom didn’t stand.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lewiston,” Watson said. “Your husband was found dead earlier tonight.”
“He was? Where? How did that happen?”
“That’s to be determined,” Watson said. “But it doesn’t appear to have been an accident.”
Evangeline didn’t sit back down. The fear had faded from her eyes, and it didn’t reappear. She didn’t resume crying. The dog stopped barking and settled into a long, continuous whine. “That is cryptic. Not an accident. I can guess what you mean. I’ve told him repeatedly he wasn’t to drink so heavily before driving, but I’m afraid he rarely listened to me these days. Thank you for coming to tell me, Detective, Officer. My son and I have already made bookings to fly home tomorrow, and I’ll contact my husband’s PA first thing in the morning to make the necessary arrangements. Suzanne, do you know where they’ve taken him?”
“Uh …” Mom said.
“Your husband isn’t in Boston,” Watson said. “He’s in Nags Head. He was found outside the kitchen door at Jake’s Seafood Bar a short time ago.”
Evangeline dropped onto the couch. “What? That can’t be right. Isn’t that where we had dinner, Suzanne? What would Rich be doing there?”
My mom shook her head.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Watson said. “Did you know your husband was in Nags Head?”
“No. There must be some mistake. He didn’t come with us.”
“No mistake,” Watson said. “I understand you left the restaurant early, before dinner was finished. Why?”
“My son and I had an argument. I no longer felt like making polite conversation.”
“What was this argument about?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.”
“Everything that happened in Jake’s Seafood Bar and the vicinity tonight is my business,” Watson said.
Evangeline glanced at me. She had the grace to look embarrassed. Mom noticed and gave me a curious look.
Evangeline patted her hair. “Nothing at all important. I think … I thought … my son was … uh … ignoring romantic opportunities he should have been taking better advantage of.”
“What on earth does that mean?” Watson said. “How old is your son?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five? And you’re advising him on his love life?”
“I am his mother,” Evangeline snapped. “I know what’s best for us—I mean, for him.”
“What Mrs. Lewiston isn’t telling you, Detective,” I said, “is that Ricky and I were in a relationship at one time. That ended before I moved to the Outer Banks and met Connor. Mrs. Lewiston wants her son to marry me rather than Connor because she mistakenly thinks I have money to bring to the marriage.”
Evangeline caught one word in my statement. “Mistakenly?”
“Okay,” Watson said. “Is it possible your husband decided to surprise you by joining you here?”
“We do not have that sort of marriage.” Evangeline picked up her phone and punched buttons. “Richard! Call me immediately! No matter the time.” She hung up and clutched the phone in both hands. She looked at my mother with wide, frightened eyes. “He’s not answering.”
“He’s probably gone to a bar or maybe a movie or … something … and he can’t hear the phone ringing,” I said.
“What time did you leave Jake’s?” Watson asked.
Evangeline shook her head. “I can’t possibly say. I didn’t check my watch.”
“Before the main courses were served,” I said. “We arrived around seven, had a round of drinks and appetizers. So you probably left not long after eight.”
“Possibly,” Evangeline said.
“You drove yourself?” Watson asked her.
Butch said nothing. He stood by the door, his feet apart, his arms crossed over his chest, as though it might be necessary to block our escape, and watched and listened.
“I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Evangeline said. “My son had driven us to dinner in our rental car. I assumed he would get a ride back to the hotel with Lucy, who’d come in her own car.”
“Yeah,” I muttered to myself. “Like that was going to happen.”
“Did you come straight back to the hotel after leaving Jake’s?” Watson asked.
Evangeline stared into space, thinking. That is, she pretended to be thinking. She knew exactly what she’d done. “I might have gone for a little drive,” she finally admitted. “I was naturally upset. My son and I have a close, loving relationship—isn’t that right, Suzanne?”
I thought Mom showed great restraint in not saying, Are you kidding?
“Any rare disagreement we occasionally have is highly upsetting to me. The beach is so lovely at night, isn’t it?”
“What time did you get back to the hotel?”
“I … uh …” Evangeline looked directly at Watson. “I don’t remember exactly. I came straight to my room. I spoke to no one. I took Fluffy for a short walk, settled myself down for the evening, and called room service.”
“Did the valet take your car?”
Evangeline’s eyes flicked around the room. “Yes,” she admitted.
“They’ll have a record of the time you turned it over to them,” Watson said. “As will you.” His eyes wandered to the little piece of paper on the desk half tucked under the iPad alongside the room key.
“How clever you are,” Evangeline said cheerfully. “Why yes, so I will.”
Watson crossed the room and picked up the valet stub. “Nine twenty-five.”
Mom and I exchanged glances. By 9:25, Richard Eric Lewiston Junior was dead.
“Quite a long drive,” Watson said. “If you left the restaurant around eight. Jake’s is less than a five-minute drive from here.”
“I like to drive,” said Evangeline. “It helps to clear my head.”
Once again, Mom refrained from saying, Are you kidding?
The phone in Evangeline’s hand trilled. She almost leapt out of her skin and dropped the phone onto the sofa next to her. She scrambled for it and fumbled to push the button and hold it to her ear. “Ricky! What? No, I do not want an all-expenses-paid vacation to the Bahamas. You call this number again, and I’ll sue you for every penny you have. I am quite sure that is not much.” She threw the phone across the room. It landed on the carpet and bounced once. She burst into tears, and my mom gathered her into her arms. Fluffy resumed barking.
“Is that the dress you were wearing to dinner this evening?” Watson asked her.
Evangeline mumbled, “Yes.”
Following Watson’s train of thought, I studied the front of Evangeline’s black dress and her bare arms for signs of … gulp … blood. I saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“She had a jacket over it,” I said. “The jacket’s on the bed.”
Watson gave me a nod, then turned to Butch. “The bartender at Jake’s said Ricky told her he’d be in the bar here. Go and see if he’s there. Have you met this guy?”
“No,” Butch said.
“Lucy?”
“I’ll go with Butch.”
“Why would Ricky have told a bartender his plans for the evening?” Evangeline sobbed to my mom. “And what did Lucy mean, she doesn’t have any money?” Mom didn’t answer as Butch and I left the room.
“She wants her son to marry you? And he doesn’t want to?” Butch said. “Guy sounds like a fool to me.”
I
smiled at my friend. “Thanks for the vote of support. Ricky and I dated all through college and for years after, but it was more what our mothers wanted than what we wanted. That’s why I came to OBX in the first place, to get away from all those family expectations. Mom’s come around to understanding. Evangeline, apparently not so much.”
We arrived at the lobby bar, and I looked quickly around. No sign of Richard Eric Lewiston III. “He’s not here,” I said.
“Let’s ask if he’s been in.” Butch crossed the floor, and I trotted along in his wake. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare, even if they were pretending not to.
The bartender, a grizzly older guy, finished pouring a pint of beer, shoved it at his customer, and sauntered over to us. “ ’Evening, Officer. Something up?”
“Just a quick question,” Butch said. “I’m looking for a man who might have been in earlier. Age thirty-five, uh … Lucy?”
“About five nine, slightly chubby around the middle. Short brown hair thinning in the center. Fashionably rough stubble, some sunburn on his face. He was wearing dark jeans and a white golf shirt under a white blazer, loafers with no socks. He would have been on his own, or maybe with a young woman.”
“Yeah, I think I saw him.”
“When was this?” Butch asked.
“I started shift at six. He was here then.” The bartender jerked his chin to the end of the bar. “Nursing a Scotch and fiddling with his phone. I didn’t see him talking to anyone, and he left not long after.”
“He hasn’t been back?”
“Not that I saw, and I’ve been here all night.”
“Thanks,” Butch said.
“What’s he done?”
Butch didn’t answer. When we were taking the stairs to the second floor, he said, “Sounds like your friend Ricky blew off the bartender from Jake’s.”
“Fair enough, as she told him she wasn’t coming.”
Butch knocked lightly on the door to the suite, and Watson opened it. Evangeline was on her feet. The tears had stopped, but she clutched a tattered tissue in one hand. She stared at the door. When she saw that Butch and I were alone, she resumed pacing up and down, twisting her tissue in her hands.
“I’m going to stay here tonight,” Mom said. “Evangeline shouldn’t be alone. I’ve called down to the desk and asked them to send someone to make up the pullout couch and bring me a bag of toiletries.”
“You’re going to sleep on a pullout couch?” I said.
“I’m sure Ricky will return his mother’s call shortly and I can go back to my sister’s place.”
“Do you suppose he’s lost his phone, Suzanne?” Evangeline asked. “That’s possible, isn’t it? Or perhaps the battery died.”
Or he met a woman and isn’t taking calls from his mother, I thought but didn’t say. I glanced at Detective Watson. What he was thinking and not saying was that Ricky might be on the run after killing his father.
“I have to get back to Jake’s,” Watson said. “If you hear from your son, Mrs. Lewiston, notify me immediately.”
“I’ll see that she does,” Mom said.
“I’d appreciate it.” Watson held a plastic bag in one hand. Evangeline’s shoes were no longer on the floor, and the size and shape of the bag indicated that the gold lamé jacket was inside. Watson had taken her things for analysis, I realized.
“You going to be okay, Mom?” I asked.
“You go home, dear. I’ll be fine. I’m sure we can find something enjoyable to watch on television. Evangeline and I will have a nice evening.” She was facing me, her back to Evangeline. Mom rolled her eyes to the heavens as she spoke.
“Before I go, Mrs. Richardson,” Watson said, “a word?”
Mom and I followed the detective into the corridor. I shut the door behind me.
“She doesn’t seem all that upset at the death of her husband,” Watson said. “Would you say that’s delayed shock or that she genuinely isn’t all that upset?”
Mom thought. “The latter. Rich and Evangeline are not close. They haven’t had a good marriage for many years. If ever. Right now she’s worried more about her son. I have to tell you, Detective, Rich was having problems lately. Drinking, gambling, making bad legal decisions. My husband can tell you more, but that’s what I observed and what I overheard.”
“His wife—”
“No,” Mom said firmly. “Evangeline would not have done something so crass as to kill her husband to get out of a failing marriage. Even in our circles, divorce is a common, acceptable practice these days.”
I wasn’t so sure. Yes, plenty of people got divorced and no one clutched their pearls over it. But Evangeline had known Rich was blowing through the family money at a rapid rate. An expensive divorce would not have helped the situation any.
His death, however, would put a stop to the financial bleeding. There might even be a handsome insurance policy involved.
I said nothing. Watson knew how to run an investigation. He’d find out about Rich’s financial and legal situation soon enough.
* * *
Butch drove the detective and me back to Jake’s. The parking lot was still full of cruisers, the forensics van was in place, and yellow police tape fluttered in the light wind, keeping the curious at bay.
Otherwise, the only cars in the lot were mine, Connor’s, Jake’s, and a Mercedes with Massachusetts plates, which I didn’t recognize.
Holly Rankin trotted toward the cruiser as we drove up. Unlike Butch, who looked every inch a cop, Holly was short and stocky with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was young, and her uniform didn’t fit her too well, giving her an air of play-cop. But she was intelligent and eager to learn, and I was confident she’d soon grow into the job. “I took statements from Jake’s staff and Lucy’s friends and family,” she said, “and then I said they could go. That was okay? Right?”
“Fine,” Watson said. “I’ll read the statements when I get back to the office. In the meantime, did anything stand out I should know about?”
“No one claims to have seen the deceased at any time today, spoken to him on the phone, or otherwise communicated with him. He didn’t come inside the restaurant. Only Lucy’s dad knew him, and he said he didn’t even know the guy was in North Carolina. None of the staff heard anything, and none of them went outside between the time Jake did and then Ruth.”
“Thanks,” Watson said. “Good job.”
She trotted away, visibly pleased with the bit of praise.
We found Connor, Jake, and my dad sitting at the big round table having a beer. Connor leapt to his feet when we came in and gave me a hug. “I decided to wait until you got back. Everything okay? Where’s your mom?”
I hugged him back and then let go—reluctantly—to talk to Dad. “Mom’s staying with Evangeline tonight.”
“What about Ricky?” Dad asked.
“Evangeline can’t get hold of him, and she’s worried. He didn’t go to the bar at the Ocean Side like he said he would.”
“Ricky does his own thing,” Dad said. “He’s not one to report to his mother on his whereabouts.”
“That’s what we all said, but she’s leaving messages he’s not answering, and she’s getting increasingly frantic.” I pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a sigh.
“Get you a drink, Lucy?” Jake asked.
“No thanks.”
“You have no idea what brought your law partner to Nags Head tonight?” Watson asked my father.
“Absolutely none,” Dad said. “Although something odd did happen earlier tonight.”
“What was that?”
“A client of Rich’s recognized Ricky and Evangeline. He knew of me, although we’ve never met.”
“Is that common? You not to know your partner’s clients?”
“We’re a big firm,” Dad said. “A very big firm. We have offices in several cities, twenty-seven partners, and more than a hundred associates.”
“Oh,” Watson said.
“So, yes, I can’t possibly know all our clients on sight. Although I did recognize the man’s name.”
“What happened tonight that you call odd?”
Dad let out a long breath. “He approached our table. Said hello. He implied that he had problems with the way Rich and Ricky were representing him. Amos cut him off, reminding him this wasn’t the time or the place.”
“You don’t know what he was talking about?”
“I do not, but I can assure you I’ll be calling my office first thing in the morning. After we make arrangements for Rich, of course.”
“It was Gordon Frankland,” Connor said.
“Gordon Frankland?” Watson said. “Of Nags Head?”
“The Nags Head pest. Yes.”
“Who’s Gordon Frankland?” I asked.
No one answered me. “That is interesting,” Watson said. “Did you notice what time Mr. Frankland left the restaurant?”
“No,” Dad said. Connor shook his head.
“He was gone by the time we got up to leave,” I said. “I noticed that section of the deck was empty, but I can’t say what time he left. He was on his own.”
“I know who you’re talking about,” Jake said. “Gordon Frankland’s a regular here. He comes in for dinner at least once a week, sometimes more. Always on his own, far as I know. My staff has been warned—advised—to treat him with kid gloves.”
“I’ll have a word with him. I’ll also need to talk to your customers who might have been outside when Mr. Lewiston arrived,” Watson said to Jake. “Most people pay by credit card, I assume.”
Jake stood up. “Yeah. We ask for telephone numbers when we take reservations, so I can get you those as well.”
“If you don’t need me anymore,” I said. “I’d like to go home, and I’m okay to drive myself. I’m bushed. If you don’t mind, Dad, I’m going to withdraw the offer of a nightcap.”
My father stood up. “I don’t mind. I’m glad we had a chance to spend some time together, Lucy. Despite how it turned out.” He approached my chair, and I got to my feet. He gave me an awkward hug. My dad isn’t one for displays of affection, but he was making the effort, and I was pleased. He turned to Connor. “You take care of my daughter, young man.”