by Eva Gates
Evangeline rubbed the back of his hand.
“I might be coming down with a cold,” Ricky lied.
Evangeline started to get to her feet, but Watson said, “Perhaps we can finish here first?”
“Nonsense,” Evangeline said. “It won’t take a minute. You can see my son is very hungry.”
Ricky tried to look hungry. It wasn’t difficult. He looked like a rabid dog that hadn’t eaten recently.
“I’ll take care of it.” Mom reached for the desk phone.
“As I was saying,” Watson said, “I’ll need a list of Mr. Lewiston’s clients and friends who live in the Outer Banks. People he might have been here to visit.”
“And, as I was about to tell you, Detective, I do not know. I paid no mind to my husband’s business dealings, and his fishing-trip companions were not acquaintances of mine.”
Yet Gordon Frankland had known who she was and she had not appreciated seeing him. I didn’t mention that.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ricky said. “They’ll have records of that sort of thing back at the office.”
“I’ve checked with the front desk, and Mr. Lewiston wasn’t registered here,” Watson said, “nor did he have a reservation. We didn’t find a hotel key on him.”
“His PA would have made any reservations he needed,” Ricky said. “I’ll ask her.”
“Thank you,” Watson said.
Ricky didn’t move. Finally Watson said, “Sooner rather than later would be good.”
“Oh, sorry. Uh … a phone?”
His mother handed hers over, and Ricky placed the call. “Hey, Jackie, it’s me. Ricky? Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Yeah, we’re all upset. I don’t know. I’ll let you know. Right now I need to be with Mom. Did you make hotel reservations here for Dad? You didn’t? You did? Wasn’t that odd?”
Watson plucked the phone out of Ricky’s hand. “This is Detective Sam Watson of the Nags Head Police. To whom am I speaking? Thank you, Mrs. McKenzie. Did you know Mr. Lewiston Senior was planning a trip to North Carolina? Was that normal behavior? Thank you. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”
He passed the phone to Evangeline, who said, “I’ll call to let you know what I need when the police have left,” and hung up.
“Your husband’s personal assistant says he left the office Friday afternoon at the usual time, telling her to have a good weekend,” Watson said. “She didn’t hear from him over the weekend, and she would have if travel plans arose suddenly. He didn’t come into the office yesterday morning, missing several appointments. She attempted to call him and got no reply, but he called her at one o’clock when she was on the phone with someone else, and he left a message saying he’d be out of town for a few days and she was to reschedule all his appointments. According to Mrs. McKenzie, this was not a normal pattern of behavior for your husband. Would you agree, Mrs. Lewiston?”
“The very idea of Rich doing anything not scheduled a month in advance is preposterous. Jackie McKenzie makes appointments for him to buy shoes, never mind flight and hotel reservations.” Evangeline snorted. “Saves me having to do it. Jackie has been with him for years, decades. She’s paid very well for her troubles.”
“That’s true,” Ricky said.
I threw my mom a look, and she raised one eyebrow. More than one lawyer has confused his wife and his secretary, and in more ways than one. I made a mental note to ask my dad about Mrs. McKenzie. Was she the sort to finally understand that her position as “office wife” wasn’t leading to the real thing and decide to get her revenge for decades of “troubles,” no matter how well paid she might be?
“Is that your understanding of your father’s behavior?” Watson asked Ricky.
“Totally. I’d be surprised if my dad even knows—knew—how to make a flight or hotel booking.”
“Yet in this case he seems to have come to Nags Head without anyone making his arrangements for him. A car registered in your father’s name was found in the parking lot of Jake’s. You told me you and Mrs. Lewiston flew and then rented a car?”
“That’s right.”
“If your father’s car wasn’t stolen, and it hasn’t been reported as such, then it would indicate he drove down from Boston.”
I remembered the Mercedes with Massachusetts plates I’d seen outside Jake’s.
“Rich drove all the way down here?” Evangeline’s shock was obvious. “I can scarcely believe it.”
“Perhaps he decided to join you for dinner to celebrate Lucy and Connor’s engagement?” Watson said. “As an old family friend?”
“If so,” my mother said, “it would have been the first time anything like that happened. Ever.”
“My husband was not,” Evangeline said, “of a spontaneous nature.”
“So you have no idea why he was here?” Watson asked.
She simply shook her head.
“None,” Ricky said.
A knock at the door and a call of “Room service!” had Ricky leaping to his feet and Fluffy setting up another round of barking. Ricky opened the door, and a waiter pushed in a trolley covered in a white linen cloth and bearing nice china and cutlery, chafing dishes, and a giant carafe of coffee.
Ricky patted his pockets one more time and came up empty once again. He gave his mother a rueful shrug, and she dug in her bag for a ten-dollar bill, which she passed to him.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Lewiston,” Watson said. “If I need anything further, I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll be here,” she said. “Until I can take my husband home.”
Ricky lifted the lid off a chafing dish, and the delicious scent of perfectly done bacon and hot buttered toast drifted through the room. “Once I’ve had breakfast, Mom,” he said, “I need to take the car and try to find where I left my jacket last night.”
“I’d like to see this jacket,” Watson said. “When you find it.”
“Surely you can buy another one?” Evangeline said.
“Yeah, but it had my things in it. I seem to have misplaced my phone and my wallet.”
My mother and I followed the police into the hallway, and Butch shut the door behind us.
“Looks like you have two mysteries to solve, Detective,” I said. “Not only who killed Rich, but why he was here in the first place.”
“Once I find the answer to one question, I’ll have the answer to the other. You know these people well, Mrs. Richardson. Is what they said about Rich Lewiston’s habits correct?”
“Oh, yes,” Mom said. “A more regimented man I never have met, and I gather from my husband that Rich is getting more so as the years pass. I’ve often thought the reason they only have one child is Evangeline couldn’t find the opportunity to arrange a second appointment with her husband.”
I choked. Butch’s eyebrows rose.
Watson cleared his throat. “I need to talk to your husband about his law partner. Is he still at the O’Malleys’?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “He’s expecting you. He’ll be going home later this afternoon.” She looked at me. “I’ll be staying for a while, dear. Evangeline’s not always as stoic as she appears, and she has no one else to call upon. She has a younger sister, but they are not close. She told me yesterday her parents are traveling in Europe at the moment.”
The elevator pinged, and a woman stepped out and headed our way. She was dressed in a neat but cheap baggy gray suit with the hotel’s logo discreetly embroidered over the breast pocket. She smiled politely to us as she passed and knocked firmly on Evangeline’s door.
Watson made no move to walk away, and so neither did I.
The door opened, and Evangeline peered out. “Yes?”
“I’m very sorry, ma’am, but we’ve had complaints about your dog barking.”
“My dog does not bark. The sound must have been coming from another room.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I heard him myself a few minutes ago. The noise is very intrusive.”
“Her.”
“W
hat?”
“Fluffy is a her. A girl dog.”
“I don’t know that the animal’s gender matters.”
At that moment Fluffy lunged for the hotel employee and broke into a chorus of high-pitched barking. She bared a row of small teeth, and the woman took a quick step backward. “Please, ma’am. You’ll have to make other arrangements for your dog.”
“That’s preposterous. I’m paying good money to stay in this hotel.”
Chuckling, Watson walked away, followed by Butch. I bent over and scooped Fluffy up.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Evangeline said. “See, she’s under control.”
“Madam, please. The dog cannot stay.”
“How tedious is this?” Evangeline turned her head and spoke into the room. “Ricky, take care of this, will you, my darling?”
“I don’t have any money on me at the moment, Mom, as I seem to have lost my wallet, and I don’t think a bribe will work in this case anyway.”
Evangeline bit back a bad word and turned to face the woman. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I’m dreadfully upset, you see, and my dear little Fluffy is only reacting to my emotions. She’s so very sensitive that way. I’ve been given the most horrid news imaginable. I’m sure you saw the police officers who just left. They were here to break the news to me of my husband’s sudden death.” A tear drifted ever so slowly down her cheek.
“My condolences. But the dog cannot stay. Unless you have a muzzle to put on it.”
Evangeline recoiled. “That’s positively barbaric. In any other circumstances, I’d check out immediately, but …” Her eyes settled on me. Fluffy had stopped struggling and was clearly enjoying the nice back rub I was giving her.
“Very well,” Evangeline said with a martyred sigh. “If you insist. Suzanne, dearest, you’ll look after Fluffy for me.”
My mother started. “Me? Oh no, you’re not unloading your dog on me.”
“Aunt Ellen’s allergic to dogs,” I said. “She can’t have one in the house.”
“That’s true,” Mom said. “I always wanted a dog when we were children, but Ellen suffered too much.”
Evangeline turned her smile on me. “Will you look at that? How sweet. She seems to like you, Lucy. I know she’ll be comfortable with you.”
“I can’t take her,” I protested. “I live in an apartment that’s smaller than this hotel room.”
“Won’t be for long. Thank you so much, dear. I’ll send you a text with feeding instructions.”
The door shut in our faces.
The hotel employee grinned at me. “Have a nice day.” She walked away.
I stroked Fluffy. “What does this mean?” I asked my mom.
“It means you have temporary guardianship of a small and excessively annoying dog.” She rapped on the door. “Evangeline, I need my purse.”
“Just a minute,” came the voice from behind the door. I put my ear against it and heard Ricky and his mother talking, trying to keep their voices low. Eventually the door opened and Ricky slipped through. He carried Mom’s purse over one shoulder, a pink leash over the other, a plastic bag containing cans and a bag of what was probably dog food in his left hand, and a hastily made bacon-and-egg sandwich and a cup of coffee in his right.
The door slammed shut behind Ricky.
“Mom needs the car,” he said. “She has to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” I said. “Now?”
“Unlike the queen,” Mom said, “Evangeline doesn’t travel with a full set of mourning attire in case it’s unexpectedly needed.”
“Right,” Ricky said. “I need a lift. I need to find my phone and wallet.”
“Have you tried calling your phone?” Mom asked.
“Yes, but voice mail picks up right away. It might be out of juice.”
“I don’t want this dog,” I said.
“Not a problem,” Ricky said. “Mom will collect her when she’s ready to leave the hotel.”
“It is a problem. I—” But I was speaking to their backs as Mom and Ricky walked down the hallway. I sighed, resigning myself to my fate, and Fluffy and I followed. Fluffy strained against me, wanting to be put down so she could run back to Evangeline. I held her tighter. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, and me with you, for the duration,” I said.
She bit my finger, and I yelped in surprise and pain. Her teeth might be small, but they were very sharp.
Chapter Ten
I dropped Mom at Aunt Ellen’s and then took Ricky (and Fluffy) to search the bars of Nags Head.
“It wasn’t too far from the restaurant,” Ricky said. “I walked there. I had to cross a busy road.”
“Big place? Small? Nice or a dive?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Not the sort of establishment you’d find my mother frequenting, in any event.”
I drove slowly down Grouse Street and turned right on Highway 12 while Ricky peered out the window and munched on his bacon sandwich and Fluffy bounced around the back seat. “You should get the dog’s harness out of the rental car,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess. You and this guy, Connor. Are you going to be okay?”
“Whatever that means, yes, we’re going to be okay.”
“Mom said he’s the mayor.”
“That’s right.”
“Mom says you can never trust a politician.”
“Your mother is not a neutral observer.”
“Got that one right. There! That’s it. I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s the right one for sure. I think.”
I did a U-turn and pulled onto the cracked and broken pavement next to an establishment that you would definitely never find Ricky’s mother in. Only one car was in the lot, parked next to the back door. Blue and red lights flickered in the windows, advertising brands of beer, along with an open sign. Ricky studied the door and finally said, “Yeah, this is it. I hope they put my stuff away someplace safe. Wait here.”
“Happy to,” I said.
Ricky got out of the car, and I twisted around and held out my hand to Fluffy, bracing myself for another bite. “How are you enjoying your vacation in the Outer Banks so far?” She studied me warily, then gave my fingers a quick lick in response.
“Do you like to go for long walks on the beach?” I eyed her carefully groomed pure-white fur and the pink collar studded with rhinestones. “Probably not.”
The passenger door opened, and Ricky hopped into the car. He was not, I noticed, carrying his blazer. “Right place, but the guy I spoke to last night isn’t in, and they wouldn’t give me his number. I have to come back at five if I want to talk to him. I can only hope he hasn’t sold my phone and used my credit card for a flight to Brazil. It’s almost noon. How about lunch?”
“You just finished a sandwich five minutes ago.”
“Still hungry. Still hungover, truth be told. I need some hair of the dog.”
“Well, I don’t. I’m going back to work. I’ll drop you at the hotel.” I switched on the car’s engine and pulled into traffic. “You can get me the dog harness. I don’t like the way she’s bouncing around back there.”
As long as the little creature had been forced on me, I might as well try to look after her properly.
“What are you going to do now, Ricky?” I asked. “Are you going back to Boston today as planned?”
He said nothing for a long time, and then he let out a sigh. “I’m not sure. I should probably stay with my mom, give her moral support and all that, but your mom’s doing that. I should go back to the office, assure everyone the firm is in good hands, a steady hand on the tiller, that sort of rubbish. But it doesn’t really matter. I don’t do much there, and everyone knows it. Your dad’ll do a better job of reassuring them than I ever could. Not that they need reassuring. They’ll be glad Dad’s gone. He can’t do any more damage.”
“Surely you don’t mean that, Ricky.”
“I do. Unfortunately. He’d been making a lot of bad decisio
ns lately, taking on bad clients. People on the lower floors are always whispering in corners about overheard shouting matches coming from the partners’ meetings. They stop whispering when I walk in, but I’ve heard enough to know they’re whispering about me too.”
I arrived at the Ocean Side. I drove past. Ricky needed to talk.
“Thing is, Lucy, Dad was a drain on the firm, and I’m in way over my head. I should have articled in another firm, got my feet wet somewhere I wasn’t the boss’s son. I should be doing smaller cases, less important ones, but Dad’s been shoving the biggest and most high-profile cases onto my desk, and then he never follows up to see how things are going, and some of the partners are ensuring I don’t get what support I need.”
“Some of the partners? You mean my dad?”
“No. Never him. Your dad’s not my biggest fan, but he’d never do anything to damage the reputation of the firm.”
“But others would?”
“Your dad’s never forgotten that Richardson Lewiston was started by his father and my grandfather. That history’s important to him. Important enough that he’s not on the side of those who want to push my father—and thus me—out. Guess that’s all a moot point now.”
I took a left turn onto a side street. “I had no idea. Ricky, the police think your dad was murdered. Is it at all possible that one of the partners or someone else at the firm decided to speed his departure along?”
“You mean by bumping him off? No, Lucy. This isn’t the movies. Members of respectable law firms don’t do that sort of thing. I’m not being sarcastic. The knives were out for Dad, and it was only a matter of time before he was pushed overboard, if I may mix my metaphors. Dad wasn’t helping matters any, and he scarcely seemed to realize what was going on. Even your father couldn’t do anything about it. Your dad was always loyal to my dad. I’m sorry to say it, but my dad didn’t return the favor; all he cared about was saving his own bacon.”
I took another left. “Someone killed him, according to the police. If it wasn’t a random attack, then he had at least one enemy prepared to go to extremes.”
“I don’t know anything about Dad’s private life, if he had one. We didn’t spend much time together outside of the office—or even in it, lately. There were disgruntled clients, like that guy who showed up at the restaurant last night.”