by Eva Gates
“Again, why would he kill Rich?” Connor asked.
“Again,” Steph said, “we don’t need to consider motive. Particularly not with someone like Gordon Frankland. No one’s ever claimed he’s not in possession of his faculties, but he’s a mean one. Maybe he killed Mr. Lewiston because Mr. Lewiston laughed at him.”
“That’s possible,” I said. “Did he run into Rich outside Jake’s and they got into an argument?”
“Sounds to me as though if they did argue, this Frankland would have come up with some reason to sue Rich.” Mom put a stack of plates, cutlery, and napkins on the table. “Not get into a brawl.”
“There’s a thought,” I said. “Did he egg Rich into a fight that went beyond what he intended? Maybe Rich took a swing and missed, and … whatever happened happened?”
“Lucy,” Amos said, “find out if Gordon Frankland’s in the frame, as the police say.”
“Me?”
“Lucy?” Mom said. “What’s Lucy got to do with this?”
Aunt Ellen carried out an enormous casserole dish trailing the gorgeous scents of hot spicy meat and melting cheese. “Lucy has a way of getting Sam Watson to talk to her.”
“I do not.”
“For once, I’m going to put my two cents in,” Connor said. “Leave Lucy out of this. You remember what happened last time.” He rubbed at the side of his face. “Although, come to think of it, that happened to me.”
“And then there was the time before that,” Steph said. “Who knows what would have happened had Louise Jane not learned sword fighting skills from her mother.”
“What!” my own mother screeched. “You’re telling me this has happened to Lucy more than once?”
“Nothing ever happens to me, Mom,” I said. “It happens to other people, but somehow I find myself in the middle of it. Against my will.” I accepted a plate piled high from Aunt Ellen and smiled at Connor. “I’m soon to become a respectable southern married lady. My sleuthing days are over.”
“Salad?” Steph asked.
“Thank you.” I took the wooden bowl and added a hearty serving to my already-laden plate.
We were sitting outside on the big, comfortable deck overlooking the beach and the open ocean beyond. A huge round moon hung in the sky over the sea, throwing a line of white light across the water. The night was warm but not overly hot, and the rhythmic sound of the surf steadily pounding against the shore was accompanied by the laughter of people playing at the edge of the water or strolling on the sand.
“Lucy’s right,” Uncle Amos said. “I shouldn’t have made that suggestion. If the police decide to pursue a case against Ricky, and if Ricky hires O’Malley Stanton to represent him, then we, meaning O’Malley Stanton, will start asking questions. Not before.”
“We can speculate,” my mom said. “And I will continue to speculate as to what on earth brought Rich Lewiston, unexpected and unannounced, to Nags Head. How did he even know we’d be at Jake’s restaurant? Evangeline says she hasn’t spoken to him since Saturday evening. When she left the house for the airport on Sunday morning, he was still in bed. Ricky hasn’t spoken to his dad in days. Or so he says.”
“That’s a good question, Mom,” I said. “I bet the answer’s in that letter the police found on Rich. Assuming it was a letter, anyway. Everyone says Rich had a lot of debts. You don’t suppose this could have been a mob hit, do you?”
“No,” Connor said. “If he was in debt to the mob—and we don’t know that—they don’t kill the goose that’s laying the eggs.”
I swallowed a forkful of lasagna. No one makes lasagna like my Aunt Ellen. It was hot and delicious, packed full of ground beef and spicy sausage in a rich tomato sauce layered with creamy white sauce and an abundance of cheese. “Maybe it was more than that. Maybe he was doing work for them off the firm’s books and it wasn’t going well and they decided it was time to end the relationship. Unlikely the mob would sue for failure to do his fiduciary duty, as would Mr. Frankland.” I remembered overhearing Ricky and Evangeline whispering in the hallway at Jake’s. What had they said? When Millar hears about …
Connor chuckled. “Unlikely is right.”
“If Rich was doing work under the table, for organized crime or anyone else,” Amos said, “Millar will find out. Rich’s death means all his cases will be assessed and assigned to other lawyers in the firm. Millar intends to keep a close eye on that process.”
“If underhanded stuff was going on,” Steph said, “it’s likely your friend Ricky was involved in it too, if he worked alongside his father. Did he have reason to want to put a stop to what his dad was up to? Had it gone too far?”
“And now,” Mom said, “we’re back to where we began. Ricky. I’m glad, dear, you took my advice and decided not to marry him.”
I choked on a leaf of Bibb lettuce.
Chapter Thirteen
When I got home that evening, I found Charles waiting for me at the door to the Lighthouse Aerie rather than meeting me downstairs, and I took that for a bad sign. He did not look happy. “The dog won’t be here for long,” I said. “Try to play nicely.”
Charles hissed.
I slowly opened the door. Charles shot in and headed straight for the kitchen, where he sniffed disapprovingly at the bowl of water I’d put down for Fluffy. Fluffy herself was nowhere to be seen. I decided to feed Charles before looking for the dog and did so.
While Charles dined, I searched. It didn’t take long, and it wasn’t hard to find her. I simply followed the sound of whining and peeked under the bed. “You can come out,” I said. “It’s safe. I hope.”
Fluffy’s little black nose appeared, followed by the rest of her. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on Charles. Charles appeared content to eat and pointedly ignored the dog. Hoping for the best, I opened a can of dog food, dropped a couple of spoonfuls into a bowl, added some dry food, and stirred it all together. I hadn’t read Evangeline’s feeding instructions, and I hoped the little creature wouldn’t die before I got around to doing that. I put the bowl on the floor.
Fluffy edged closer, keeping one eye on Charles. Then, not sensing an imminent attack, she rushed for the bowl and dove in. Charles finished his own meal and, completely ignoring the newcomer, strolled across the apartment, leapt onto the window seat, settled himself comfortably, and began washing his whiskers.
I let out a sigh of relief. Peace in the home.
* * *
I woke with Charles curled against my back, snoring lightly. A snuffling sound came from the floor, and I leaned over to see Fluffy’s intense black eyes staring up at me. The peace had continued, and as far as I was aware, no raging battles had broken out overnight.
Wednesday was my day off. I would like to have viewed houses, but Connor was in meetings all day. I lay in bed, contemplating what to do with my day. Maybe I’d call Mom and suggest lunch and shopping. For me, shopping isn’t a recreational activity, but it is for my mom. Perhaps Aunt Ellen and Josie could join us and we’d have a true mother-daughter outing. That would be fun.
First things first. I got out of bed and threw on a pair of yoga pants, a T-shirt, and a light sweater. Dog duties needed to be done. I found Fluffy’s leash and clipped it onto her collar, and we headed out. Charles, who usually ran ahead of me, eager to get to work, stayed where he was.
We were up early, and when I’d peered out the window to check the weather, the giant orange ball of the sun had been making its first appearance above the watery horizon.
The library was quiet, but I didn’t have time to admire it, as Fluffy was in a rush to get outside. Who knew a creature so small could exert such a powerful pull? She galloped down the stairs in a flurry of white fur, and I scrambled to keep up, trying to keep from being yanked off my feet as we hurtled across the floor of the main room, out the door, and down the steps.
With an almost human sigh of relief, Fluffy settled herself on the grass.
The area surrounding the lighthouse was so beautiful in the soft o
range light of the rising sun, and so quiet. I’d miss living here. I’d miss mornings like this one. I pushed aside a brief pang of regret. Yes, I’d miss my Lighthouse Aerie, but it was time to move on. I had no regrets or doubts about choosing to have a life with Connor.
“Come on, Fluffy,” I called. “I need coffee, and when I’ve had breakfast and am suitably dressed, we’ll come back for a nice long walk. You’ll like it out here in the wild spaces.” I wasn’t so sure about that last comment; Fluffy looked like a city dog to me, more comfortable with her little feet on asphalt than on the spongy grass, used to running away from bigger dogs, not Canada geese.
I’d stuffed my phone into my sweater pocket, and it rang. I pulled it out and felt a jolt of panic when I recognized my mother’s number. It was way too early for her to be calling to make plans for the day. “ ’Morning, Mom. Is everything okay?”
“No, it is not. Evangeline called and asked me to come to the hotel. The police informed her they will be paying her a visit at eight o’clock this morning. They have further questions for her. She wants my support, and I want yours.”
“Can’t you ask Uncle Amos?”
“I did, but he’s due in court first thing this morning. Most inconvenient. I’ll meet you at the Ocean Side. I’ve borrowed Ellen’s car, and I’m leaving now.” She hung up, giving me no opportunity to protest.
What was it Sherlock Holmes said to Doctor Watson? “Come at once if convenient. Come at once if not convenient.”
It was not convenient for me. Oh well, I had been thinking it would be nice to have a mother-daughter bonding day.
Some mothers and daughters do bonding differently than others.
I took Fluffy upstairs, fed her and Charles, and jumped into the shower. When I came out, I was surprised to see the cat and the dog both sitting on the window seat. They weren’t exactly curled up together, but neither were they engaged in a fight to the death for possession of prime napping space.
I dressed quickly in capri-length jeans and a T-shirt, not much bothering about what I wore. This wasn’t a social occasion. I told Fluffy I’d be home soon, I hoped, and we’d go for that walk. “Let’s go, Charles,” I said.
Charles eyed me from the comfort of the window seat.
I opened the door. “Time to go to work.”
Charles stretched mightily and yawned.
“Charles, you’re the library cat. Your contract allowing you to live in the Lighthouse Aerie and consume all the food you can eat says you have to put in six days a week in the library. You get no vacation time. Let’s go. Oh, for heaven’s sake. The dog’s only visiting. She isn’t usurping your position.” I marched across the room, picked the big cat up, and put him on the floor outside. He sauntered toward the stairs without a backward glance, head high, hips swinging, tail erect. When I glanced behind me into the apartment, Fluffy was stretching luxuriously across the full length of the window seat.
I arrived at the Ocean Side Hotel at two minutes to eight. I was running up the steps when the cruiser with Watson and Holly Rankin pulled up. I waited in the lobby for them.
“I shouldn’t be surprised to see you, Lucy,” Watson said. “But I am.”
“Evangeline called Mom, and Mom called me.”
“This isn’t a public event, Lucy. I could have had Officer Rankin escort Mrs. Lewiston to the police station, but I decided, in light of the early hour, I’d come here instead. Was that a mistake?”
“No. I’ll tell Mom we can’t stay.”
He nodded and headed to the elevators. Holly and I scurried after him. It was early, but guests were stirring, ready for breakfast in the restaurant or going out for a day on the water or at the beach.
Quite a crowd had gathered in Evangeline’s suite. Mom was there, once again fresh and dewy and perfectly turned out. Ricky looked rumpled, badly shaven, and not happy. A man I didn’t know stood next to Evangeline. He was about my age, short and slight, with Coke-bottle-bottom glasses and brown hair artfully arranged to stand up above his forehead. He wore a dark suit with a perfectly knotted blue tie and a spotless starched white collar and cuffs.
Watson focused on him. “I’m Detective Sam Watson, NHPD. Who are you?”
“Stephen Livingstone. Attorney with Richardson Lewiston.”
“You called a lawyer, Mrs. Lewiston? That is, of course, your prerogative, but you are not under arrest. I simply have some further questions about the death of your husband.”
“I didn’t call Stephen,” Evangeline said, “but I’m glad he’s here. We can’t have you continuing to browbeat my son and I.”
I decided this wasn’t the time to correct Evangeline’s grammar. The proper phrase would have been my son and me.
“Hardly browbeating,” Watson said. “If the rest of you will excuse us …”
My mom stood up. Ricky crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.
“All of you,” Watson said. “Please leave. Except Mrs. Lewiston and her attorney.”
Ricky huffed and slowly got to his feet.
“Hi.” Stephen grabbed my hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “So pleased to meet you. You must be Lucy, Mr. Richardson’s daughter. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?”
“Come along, Lucy,” Mom said. “Don’t dawdle.”
Mom walked out of the room. I followed, and Ricky brought up the rear.
“Where’d he come from?” I asked when the door had closed behind us. “Did you ask the firm to send a lawyer, Ricky?”
“I didn’t. If I need representation, I’m good with your uncle and his partner. I looked them up last night, and she’s got a mighty powerful track record.”
“Your father called me last night after you left,” Mom said, “to say he was sending someone down. If the reputation of the firm is in anyway threatened by these events, he wants someone here, on the ground.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” Ricky asked.
“I haven’t had time for so much as a cup of coffee,” I said. “It’s supposed to be my day off.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
“Might as well,” Mom said. “Evangeline will call when they’re finished.”
“Let’s get a seat by the door,” Ricky said. “So we can see the cops leave.”
“Did Evangeline say why Watson wanted to talk to her again?” I asked Mom when we were seated at a spacious table for six in the hotel’s bright, cheerful restaurant, with full coffee mugs and open menus.
The restaurant was less than half-full, and the low buzz of conversation swirled around us. The morning sun streamed through the east-facing windows, and the air was fragrant with the delicious scents of morning: coffee, toast, bacon.
“She doesn’t know,” Ricky answered. “At least they didn’t haul her down to the police station as though she were a common criminal. Like they did to other people I could mention.”
I added a healthy slug of cream to my coffee and stirred. “Mom?”
“She didn’t say. Unlikely Watson told her.”
“It might not be about anything new. They have people go over their statements more than once, looking for inconsistencies or forgotten details.”
“Ready to order?” the waitress asked.
Mom chose the yogurt parfait, Ricky asked for a double stack of pancakes with sausages, and I threw caution to the wind and ordered the smoked-salmon eggs Benedict. My relaxing morning and my day off had been ruined, so I might as well get something out of it.
“I don’t suppose,” I said, once the waitress had left, “you thought of anything new last night.”
“Nope,” Ricky said.
“What did you do after leaving the police station?”
He avoided my eyes. “Nothing much.”
“If you’ve stayed on to be a support to your mother,” Mom said, “going out and leaving her alone isn’t the best way to go about it.”
He lifted his head and stared at her. “I
don’t believe that’s any of your business, Suzanne.”
She sipped at her coffee. Somehow, in all the turmoil of yesterday, she’d managed to find the time to get a fresh manicure. She put the cup carefully down in front of her. “It would appear, Richard, that you and your family have made it our business. Believe me, I’d rather be at home, and Lucy has better things to be doing. Instead we’re here, because your mother has asked for my support. I’m happy to provide it out of respect for her loss and for the years we’ve known each other, although at times we could scarcely have been considered friends. If you believe I’m wasting my time, please tell me, and my daughter and I will be on our way.” She plucked her napkin off her lap, folded it, and laid it neatly on the table beside her plate.
Ricky had the grace to flush. He fussed with his cutlery and napkin. He glanced at me, and then he looked directly at Mom. “That’s not what I meant, Mrs. Richardson. I apologize.”
“Thank you.” Mom fluffed her napkin and returned it to her lap.
“In my defense,” he said, “I suggested Mom and I go out for dinner, and she said she wanted to be alone and would order room service, watch TV, and go to bed early. I told her to call me if she changed her mind, and yes, I went into town and found a low-life bar. It was not only low-life but low action, and I was back at the hotel by ten.” He glanced at me. “Alone.”
“Have you given any more thought as to why your dad would have been in Nags Head?” I asked.
“I’ve thought of little else, Lucy. I’ve been talking to people at the office—those who will take my calls, at any rate. Everyone says Dad seemed perfectly normal on Friday when he left at his regular time. A couple of people were in over the weekend, and they didn’t see him. Dad was still in bed when Mom left for the airport early on Sunday morning and she didn’t wake him. He simply didn’t show up at the office on Monday morning at his usual time. As for me, I haven’t seen or spoken to Dad for days.”