by Eva Gates
His mouth twisted, and he shook his head. “Nothing new. You might have to reconsider moving into my house.”
“Or you into the Lighthouse Aerie.”
“That would hardly suit,” Louise Jane said.
“Where’d you come from?” I asked. Louise Jane did seem to pop out of the woodwork at the most inopportune moments.
“I was upstairs doing some work with Daisy.”
“Where’s Charlene?”
“She and James went to the Elizabethan Gardens in Manteo.”
“Is Daisy okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? Historical gardens are one of James’s specialties, and maps are hers. Back to the subject at hand. You wouldn’t want to live in the library apartment, Connor. You couldn’t get in and out of the building without people wanting to stop you and tell you about a pothole in their street or that time garbage collection was late.”
He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “You’re probably right about that.”
“Of course I’m right. I always am. I’ll be upstairs if you need me, Lucy,” she said.
“Why would I—?” But Louise Jane was gone.
Once she’d left, Connor shook his head. Then he blew me a kiss and left.
* * *
The library board meeting ended and the members took their leave, clutching the budget papers and chatting excitedly among themselves. A few minutes later Louise Jane and Charlene came down the stairs together and slipped into the hallway heading to Bertie’s office. Both of them so pointedly didn’t look in my direction that my suspicions were instantly raised. What could Louise Jane and Charlene have to talk to Bertie about? And why was I not included in this talk? My suspicions only grew when they stayed in the office for a long time. Eventually the two of them emerged. Charlene went upstairs, and Louise Jane left the library at a rapid pace, head down, again avoiding glancing in my direction.
A couple of minutes later, Bertie came out of her office, purse over her shoulder, keys in her hand. “Have a nice weekend,” she called to me.
“Bertie, is something—?” But I was talking to a closing door.
Oh well. Something was up, and I’d find out what it was sooner or later. I announced closing time and checked out the last of the books. Ronald and Charlene left together, and I locked up after them.
Aside from wondering what Charlene and Louise Jane were up to, I’d spent a good part of the afternoon thinking about Gordon Frankland. I wasn’t as confident as Connor that the blasted man wouldn’t try to sue me for slander; all he wanted was to cause trouble and distress, and he wouldn’t care if the case was thrown out. If he’d killed Rich Lewiston, I wouldn’t think he’d want to draw attention to himself by engaging in a spree of legal activity, but maybe he thought he was clever enough to pull off a double play. Be so obviously in the face of the law the police would look straight through him when searching for the killer.
Before going upstairs to dress for my evening out with my girlfriends, I called Sam Watson. It was after six o’clock on a Friday in summer, but he answered. I guess, when he’s in the middle of a murder investigation, Detective Watson doesn’t worry about getting a start on his weekend. I told him briefly what happened earlier.
“Frankland’s a pest,” Watson said. “But it doesn’t sound like you have anything to worry about, Lucy. You didn’t openly accuse him.”
“I’m not worried,” I said. “Much. But I did have a thought. The word everyone uses for Gordon Frankland is pest. You just did. Is it possible he’s more than a pest?”
“Anything’s possible, Lucy. I understand what you’re saying, but I have no reason to think he was responsible for Lewiston’s death. He doesn’t have an alibi for the time, but that means little. The hostess at Jake’s saw him leave. She remembers because he complained about his steak. Said it was overdone.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“Right. The hostess didn’t see where he went once he was outside. He says he went straight home, but as he lives alone and regularly parks his car inside his garage with the door shut, no one can verify that. You’ll be interested to know he’s threatening to sue the NHPD for harassment because an officer parked outside his house, in full view of the neighbors, and questioned him aggressively, according to Mr. Frankland.”
“Pest,” I said.
Watson chuckled. “While you’re on the phone, Lucy. Significant parts of this investigation are being taken over by the Boston police. I’m telling you this because your father’s aware of it.”
“Boston police? Why?”
“Further digging has discovered that Mr. Lewiston had some associates that are, shall we say, known to the Boston authorities. He owed money to the sort of people you don’t want to owe money to.”
“You said earlier he was in debt only to banks and credit agencies and the like.”
“It would appear Rich Lewiston’s financial problems went deeper than first appeared. Your father’s ordered a full internal investigation into his partner’s clients to see if he undermined the reputation of the firm in any way. It’s possible Rich angered people he shouldn’t have.”
“You mean it might have been a mob hit?”
“Boston thinks the origins of the man’s murder are more likely to be found in that city than in Nags Head. This is not, Lucy, an entirely new case on their files.”
Meaning they’d been watching Rich. Probably waiting for him to lead them to higher-ups in organized crime or do something to incriminate himself.
“I plan to release Mr. Lewiston’s body on Monday and allow his wife and son to take him home, provided nothing new comes up on the weekend.”
“Thanks for talking to me,” I said.
He chuckled. “Take care of yourself, Lucy.”
In a way, I was relieved. If this case belonged to Boston, then it had nothing to do with me or people I cared about. I was glad to be able to take off my sleuthing hat. Not that anyone ever asked me to put it on, or even that I wanted to. But that’s what seems to happen all too often.
If it turned out that the roots of the case lay back in Boston, well and good. But I couldn’t forget that Rich Lewiston’s presence in Nags Head was still unexplained. He had to have had a reason for coming all this way, unexpectedly and unannounced. If that reason was directly related to his murder, then I couldn’t turn my back and say it was none of my business. Not if it involved people I was close to. I’d keep trying to do what I could do to help sort all this out.
If the case did lead back to Richardson Lewiston and Rich’s law practice, what effect might that have on Ricky? I had no idea how intertwined Rich and Ricky were in the firm’s cases and client base. Maybe Ricky had turned a blind eye to whatever his father had been up to. And what of my father? Even if Rich had been acting on his own initiative and keeping any illegal or unethical activities from the rest of the partners, surely that had the potential to destroy the reputation of Richardson Lewiston.
I don’t know anything about the law or the running of a law firm. My dad had never tried to interest me in following in his footsteps and potentially joining the firm, but I do know that for a major corporate law office, reputation is everything.
Regardless of what had happened to Rich or was happening to the case, Mom would be glad to be able to go home on Monday. I gave her a quick call to check in. “Hi, Mom. Just calling to see if there are any developments at your end.” I could tell by the buzz of noise in the background she was in a restaurant or bar.
“Nothing I know of, dear,” she said.
“Where are you?”
“At the Ocean Side for”—she lowered her voice—“yet another round of drinks with Evangeline and her entourage. This is all getting terribly tedious, Lucy. Evangeline’s bored and restless and wanting people to entertain her.”
A bark of female laughter echoed in the background.
“It’s Lucy,” Mom said. “I’ll be right back. No, nothing more for me. Thank you.” The voices and
laugher faded as Mom walked away. “There, now I can talk easier.”
“Is Evangeline okay?”
“No, she’s not okay. Brittle is the word I’d use. Laughing too loud, drinking too much. She needs to go home with her son so they can grieve together, not be pretending to be the life of the party.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m being too harsh. Easy for me to say.”
“We all deal with grief in our own way.”
“That we do. I suspect there’s a substantial amount of guilt mixed in with Evangeline’s grief. Probably on Ricky’s part too.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, one part of her is glad her husband is dead and she can get on with her life. The other part of her feels guilty about that. They were married for many years. As for Ricky, he and his father were never close.”
“By get on with her life, you mean with Leon Lions.”
“Not necessarily him. He’s doting on her, but she’s not responding in any way I’d consider to be beyond the normal bounds of a rekindled, casual friendship. Although she is enjoying making a fuss about leaning on his manly support.” Mom snorted. “The police came by earlier with another round of questions for her and Ricky.”
“What sort of questions?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t here. Things to do with the law practice. Evangeline claims not to know anything about that. I don’t necessarily believe her. She always seemed to know a great deal about the goings-on at Richardson Lewiston.”
I had a flashback to that night at Jake’s. Gordon Frankland approaching our table. Ricky getting to his feet, recognizing the man immediately. Evangeline recognizing him also, judging by the expression on her face. If he’d been nothing but a regular client of the firm, there was no reason she would have known him.
“Your friend the detective spent quite a lot of time with her,” Mom went on. “Leon was upset about it. He says he should have been allowed to sit in on the interview to give the ‘grieving widow,’ in his words, moral support. The police didn’t see it that way. She had Stephen, acting as her lawyer, with her to safeguard her rights. Ricky’s talking about booking a flight home tomorrow. He says if the police are interested in the business of the firm, he needs to be there.”
“About that. Don’t tell the others yet—things might change, but if they don’t, Watson’s going to release Rich’s body on Monday.”
“Why do you know that and the man’s family does not?”
“I called him to talk a few things over and he told me. You might want to go home too, Mom. The police are turning their attention to Richardson Lewiston, and whatever happens, it’s unlikely to be pretty.”
“That I am not happy to hear. I’ve been trying to convince your father that it’s time for him to let go of some of the workload, to edge himself into retirement the way Amos is doing. This brief holiday was supposed to be the start of that. Instead, he’s now working harder than ever, worried the firm’s about to crumble around him. Thanks for calling, dear. Are you and Connor doing something fun tonight?”
“Not tonight. I’m meeting Josie and her friends for a girls’ night.”
“Sounds lovely. I’m going to make my excuses now. You’ve given me an idea. I’ll tell Evangeline and her entourage that I need to spend some quality time with my sister. Good night, dear.”
“ ’Night, Mom.” I hung up and then went upstairs to get ready for a night out with my friends.
Chapter Seventeen
And a fun night it was. We had dinner at a casual place in town, where I complained at great length about our house-hunting experience. My friends told me about all the people they knew who also couldn’t find a suitable place at a reasonable price.
After dinner, Grace suggested a drink at the Ocean Side Hotel, and I might have shouted, “No!” a bit too forcefully.
When the laughter died down, we decided to head for the bar at Jake’s. On the way to our cars, Grace said, “You might be interested to know, Lucy, that your friend Ricky asked me out.”
“Ooh, do tell.” Josie wiggled her eyebrows. “When was this?”
“Last night, as book club was breaking up. He suggested dinner tonight. Fortunately, I had a standing date with you guys as my convenient excuse.”
“You don’t need an excuse on my account,” I said. “If you want to go out with him, that’s okay with me.”
“I do not want to,” Grace said. “And not just because the picture you’ve painted of him in the past is so unappealing—”
Josie and Steph laughed.
“He’s here because his dad died,” Grace continued. “He should be dealing with that and supporting his mother, not trying to pick up women.”
“Ricky can walk and chew gum at the same time,” I said.
“Not with me,” Grace said firmly.
We didn’t stay at Jake’s for long, as both Josie and I had to work in the morning. Josie had picked me up at the lighthouse earlier, and we exchanged hugs in the parking lot with the others before everyone headed off on their separate ways.
“That was fun,” Josie said as we drove out of town.
“Always is,” I said. “Even the closest of friends often drift apart and start to lose touch when they get married, but I’m glad that hasn’t happened with you, and I hope it doesn’t happen to me.”
“It won’t if we don’t let it,” she said.
It was reasonably early, but night had fallen and traffic was light heading out of town. A single car pulled out of Jake’s parking lot after us and followed us through Whalebone Junction and down Highway 12. Darkness settled around us as the bright lights of Nags Head fell behind. In the distance, the lighthouse lamp flashed its rhythm, as it would throughout the night.
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. “I’m going to miss living at the lighthouse. I love it there, but it’s time for me to move on.”
“Have you and Connor done much planning for your wedding?”
“I’ve scarcely had time to give it a thought. It’s been so hectic with Mom here and all that stuff around the death of Rich. At least that’s over and they’ll be going home on Monday. I hope.”
“Over? You mean they’ve arrested someone?”
I filled Josie in on what Watson had told me, that the police were investigating Rich’s business affairs. I didn’t add that I was still concerned about the Nags Head connection. “Once Connor and I find a place to live, we can concentrate on planning the wedding.”
“The perfect house will appear, Lucy. Don’t give up hope.”
“I’m not,” I said, speaking as much to myself as to my cousin.
Josie flicked on her turn indicator, slowed, and turned into the lighthouse drive. The car behind us sped past, its headlights illuminating the long, quiet road ahead.
I jumped out of the car, waved good-night to Josie, and trotted up the path. I turned to watch the red lights of her car fading in the distance, and then I let myself into the lighthouse to be greeted by Charles. It had been a long day, and I was bushed.
I let out a groan when I remembered that I had to walk the dog. I really, really didn’t feel like it. Maybe tonight I’d forgo the walk and let Fluffy sniff around the bushes for a couple of minutes. That should last her until morning.
I unlocked the door to the Lighthouse Aerie, and Charles ran in ahead of me. Fluffy gave us a woof of greeting and leapt off the window seat. I threw my phone and my purse onto the bed and kicked off my shoes. “Let’s make this a quick one,” I said to Fluffy.
My phone buzzed with a text. It often didn’t work inside the stone walls of the lighthouse, but whatever energy propels phone signals must have been strong tonight. I crossed the room and picked the phone up. I didn’t recognize the number, but the words that flashed on the screen got my attention.
It’s me. Josie. My phone’s out of juice. Car broken down half way to town. Borrowed phone from a guy but he’s heading other way. Help!
I replied immediately: On my way.
I thanked the
god of phone signals that I did have reception here tonight. I didn’t stop to wonder why Josie hadn’t called the landline. She knows how erratic cell phones can be in here. In my panic and rush, I also didn’t consider why she’d call me rather than her husband. If she was halfway to town, Jake’s restaurant was not much further away than the lighthouse.
I swept up my purse, stuffed my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and ran into the hallway, heading for the stairs. Charles and Fluffy followed me. I hesitated. Charles couldn’t come, and Fluffy would slow me down. I grabbed the cat, called to the dog, shoved them both into the apartment, slammed the door on them, and then I hurried down the stairs. I remembered to lock the door behind me and ran for my car. I jumped in, started it up, and sped down the laneway. I didn’t like the idea of Josie stranded at night on the side of the highway outside of town. Some man had stopped and offered her his phone. It sounded as though she was being suitably careful, as she should be, and hadn’t stepped out of the car. She’d probably rolled her window down an inch or two, just enough to accept his phone. I turned onto the highway. She’d said she was halfway back to town. That didn’t necessarily mean she was at the five-mile point; she could be anywhere along the road. Traffic was light, and not more than one or two cars passed me heading in the other direction. No one was ahead of or behind me. Thick clouds covered the moon, and outside the beam cast by the lights of my car, all was pitch-dark. My headlights picked up flakes of sand scurrying across the pavement, and I kept my eyes peeled for deer; I’d once almost hit a deer at night on this stretch of road. I saw nothing but drifting sand and scruffy grasses moving in the wind.
I drove slowly, alert for the sight of a car ahead of me, pulled off to the side, its red rear lights facing my way, white headlights shining into the night. Maybe the car belonging to the phone owner would be parked protectively next to it.
Nothing. I reached Old Oregon Inlet Road and the traffic picked up slightly, people heading home after a Friday night out. Lights from the rows of houses lining the seafront appeared, but they were far from the highway. Soon I was well past what anyone would call “halfway to town.” Could I possibly have missed her?