Little Voices

by Lillie, Vanessa

  “With that much money, there is always someone lined up.” He pulls away, putting his elbows on his knees. “Look, Devon, you and Hale dug up some interesting things. Truly. But there’s a lot more at stake than Belina’s killer.”

  I want to tell him and his patronizing tone to piss off, but the organ blasts a few notes, and people begin to shift in their pews, preparing to head to the front for the sacrament. I check my phone and see Ricky texted out of the blue. He found evidence leading to Stefano and needs me to bring a flash drive. Good thing I always keep extras.

  He texts me an address, and I text back, It’s no problem.

  Excited about the possibility of evidence against Stefano, I decide to just leave early, conspicuous and all. “Nice to see you, Max,” I say and scoot to the end of the pew. “Gotta go see a friend about a boat.”

  He nods once, tightly, and we both glance toward Stefano. He’s standing in the pew, hand on his wife’s back, guiding her forward to the Eucharist line. As they step into the aisle, Stefano snaps his gaze to where Max and I sit. His chest rises and falls, even and yet unsettled, his eyes darting back and forth between us.

  “That can’t be good for you,” Max says, cocking his head toward me as I stand.

  “See you at buck a shuck,” I say. He lets out another deep grumble.

  Chapter 26

  I drive over the Newport Bridge back toward the mainland and pass the first of two exits into the island of Jamestown. It’s a short enough distance that I don’t have much time to second-guess myself for chatting with the FBI agent right in front of Stefano. There’s not much use in pretending I’m something I’m not. I’d like Stefano angry and unnerved when I confront him.

  He’s going to chew you up and spit you out, girlie.

  Jamestown is the shy younger sister to Newport. A smaller version in every way but with plenty of history and opulence. Edith Wharton’s family home is a focal point heading over the bridge. I pass the historic windmill open for tours on the weekends. In the fall, a working farm has an unmanned roadside stand where they trust you to put the right amount of money in the box for the apples or pumpkins. People move to Jamestown for the good elementary school and a friendly, affordably upper-class life on the ocean, if you’ve got the half million for a fixer-upper.

  Another place you don’t belong.

  I drive along the gentle curve into the downtown area, the ocean ahead and the Newport Bridge over my shoulder. Most of the shops are along Narragansett Avenue, and a couple more are on the marina. Ricky texted that he was in the back of the Conanicut Marine Services.

  I park on the street and shut off the car, glancing at my cooler with the milk I pumped in the church bathroom after I left the service. An older couple walks their hobbling lab as a woman pushing a stroller hurries past. My ache for Ester is sharp, but there’s also relief that she’s not with me, and I can be alone with my work. I double-check that the flash drive is in my purse, get out of the car, and slam the door harder than required.

  Conanicut Marine Services is all brick with narrow white doors and two large windows with mannequins wearing what I assume is the latest in New England nautical fashion. I enter the store, and a bell clanks overhead. There’s a shih tzu sleeping on her back near boxes of Sperry shoes piled a few steps inside.

  “Holiday shoppin’?” says a thin, well-dressed woman behind the counter.

  “Meeting a friend here.” I try not to seem nervous, though I’m uncertain what exactly Ricky has planned. I brought a flash drive, but I can only guess from there.

  I glance around at the mix of high-end yacht wear and sunscreen and Jamestown gear. Deeper into the store, there’s a large glass window where several desks hold mountains of paperwork, brochure displays, and images of boats. Ricky is sitting on the desk of a pretty woman. This one is in her fifties and grins at his bullshit charm act.

  Getting closer to the door leading to them, I hear her laugh like she means it, as if it’s a real pleasure. I get a familiar longing to be a little more like her. Where every move isn’t a calculation, but rather I just open my arms and fall, expecting to land somewhere soft every time.

  I slip inside the office. Ricky waggles a look my way but keeps chatting.

  “So, Ricky, you still busy on boats most evenings?” she asks, shifting over to let me approach.

  “Lynelle, Lynelle,” he says. “You know I got a thing for married blondes. You better not be flirting, or we’ll get in some real trouble.”

  “Trouble I can handle.” She winks at me as I stand next to Ricky. “Is this her?” Her smile matches her laugh, open and delighted as if I’ve brought her a present.

  “This is her,” he says. “You’re the only one who can talk her out of buying her husband a Zodiac.”

  “Gotta give the people you love what they want. Life’s too short.”

  I keep my smile in place, not sure what’s going on but understanding I need to play along. “Smart lady,” I say, looking down at the brochure with a Zodiac fishing boat soaring over waves.

  “What can I tell ya about ’em?” Lynelle asks.

  “Dig around for us,” Ricky asks. “Her husband is a data dork. He’d love all you got on Zodiac.”

  “Sure, honey,” she says. “One second.”

  As Lynelle swishes toward the back, Ricky nods his head at her desktop computer. “Get it all,” he says under his breath.

  I bend down and set my handbag on the floor by the computer tower. As I pretend to dig through my bag with one hand, I use the other hand to pull the flash drive out of my coat pocket and plug it into the back of the computer. I shift to see her screen, and the small bubble shows it’s compatible.

  I sit on the corner of the desk and discreetly use the mouse to make a copy of all her files. If it’s a hidden file, then we’re out of luck, but Lynelle doesn’t strike me as someone very worried about security. I see the symbol that the download is complete. Keeping my eyes across the room, I lean down and take the drive out before dropping it into a side pocket of my purse. I stand back up just as Lynelle returns.

  “Here’s three years of catalogs,” she says, handing me the lean, glossy books. “Bring that husband back here, and we’ll get him fixed up.”

  I thank her, dumping everything into my purse, and shake her hand goodbye, leaving Ricky to chat.

  Back in the main store area, I see the small kids’ clothes sections, but they don’t have three-month sizes.

  As if your tiny freak baby would fit.

  You don’t give her enough milk.

  She’s probably starving right now.

  I leave the baby section immediately and head to the men’s. I see a tie with a map of Rhode Island and realize I haven’t even thought of what to buy Jack for Christmas.

  Rather than try, I zip up my coat and head outside to Narragansett Avenue. I stare down at the end of the road by the water at a veterans’ memorial, a dozen flags whipping in the cold ocean wind. December is losing its frosty charm as we near the new year and the real New England winter settles in.

  The Conanicut store bell rings behind me, and a lighter clicks. I turn as the cigarette smoke wafts, and I inhale. I quit smoking several years ago, but the smell isn’t unpleasant.

  Ricky stares at the ocean at the end of the road where my gaze was. He lets his cigarette dangle from his mouth as he zips his jacket. He puts on a black skull cap, his cheekbones and nose looking sharper and prominent, reminding me so much of Derek that I have to step back to keep from hugging him.

  His focus darts across the street. “Too early for a beer?”

  “They drink red beers out here?” I ask with a grin.

  “What the hell’s that?”

  “Beer and tomato juice,” I say. My brother, Derek, would shotgun at least a couple before class, starting as early as middle school.

  “The Ganny should be open,” Ricky says, and I get that kick of pride from learning a nickname for a local bar. “Let’s see what Suze has behind the bar.
”

  I motion for him to lead the way. We cross Narragansett Avenue toward the creatively named Narragansett Café.

  Inside it has a stage in the corner and black floors and walls. They display Best of Rhode Island awards for local music and trivia nights. We sit at the bar, and Ricky waves over the bartender, who is in her late sixties. She has dull brown hair with plenty of gray. She’s not well dressed like Lynelle, no easy smile but rather the hard, skeptical stare of someone life has said “Fuck you” to more often than not. I like her instantly.

  “Who ya got with ya, Ricky? Not from the docks,” she says, glancing at my dress and purse.

  “Boat investor,” I answer. “My name’s Devon. I’m from Kansas.”

  Her lips thin until they’re almost invisible. “Guess ya hear plenty of Wizard of Oz jokes.”

  “One more won’t hurt.”

  “I don’t tell jokes,” she says.

  “Got red beer?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, blinking as she waits.

  “Two Gansetts,” Ricky says. After she walks away, he leans over. “She likes you.”

  I’m not in the mood for his charm offense. “Why don’t you start at the beginning of why I just copied some woman’s hard drive.”

  “I was dropping off some fish to one of Stefano’s captains who was short,” he says, animated like he knows his first drink of the day is en route.

  “Is that something you normally do?” I ask.

  “Not really, but I’m not in a position to say no right now,” he says. “This captain asked me to take back a Zodiac to Conanicut. Turns out, Stefano had rented it. Seems Stefano goes night fishing in them.”

  “Is this a new hobby?” I ask.

  He waggles his finger as if I’m on to something. “Stefano rents them regularly once a month. Takes ’em into the Providence River to fish. Close to where Belina was killed.”

  “I can work with that,” I say. Stefano likely won’t use his own name, but maybe his phone number or credit card can be traced. It was a good call on the flash drive.

  Suze drops the drafts and goes back to washing glasses. Ricky raises his pint.

  “Here’s to drinking Narragansett beer at the Narragansett Café on Narragansett Avenue.” I clink my glass with his and take a small sip. He glances at the clock on the wall. “We should hear about the bail pretty soon.”

  “Hope Alec is out quickly,” I say. “I appreciate the lead, but, Ricky . . .” I pause and glance around. It’s quiet except for a local classic rock station wafting from the kitchen. Suze has moved to the back, and there’s an old man in the corner booth reading the paper. “I need to know more about your business.”

  He takes a sip of beer. “Ask me anything, Devon.”

  You’re so stupid to trust this guy.

  He’s going to use you and spit you out.

  Just like you deserve.

  I turn my glass and take aim. “Miguel said you two were going to work together. Now that Alec’s out of the picture.”

  Ricky grimaces. “It’s not like that.”

  “But you are working with him. Even though Alec didn’t want to.”

  “Look, we’re worse than broke. If I have to bring in more investors, I will. Alec is going to be thanking me if I can save our business. No matter whose cash it is.”

  “Why can’t Stefano help you?” I say, wanting to confirm what the spreadsheets say. That Alec blew through money they were supposed to wash for Stefano.

  Ricky takes a long sip, glancing around the room before scooting a little closer. “Alec messed up. He thought he could pay some things down, and the boats would keep making money. But it didn’t work out like that.”

  “Why pay things down now?”

  Ricky shrugs, takes a sip. “I just know Stefano is real mad. There’s no way he’s going to keep buying from us. We gotta . . . diversify.”

  “How much did Belina know?” I ask, thinking of the one hundred thousand she sent to Stefano. Maybe as a way to help Alec out.

  Ricky finishes his beer and stands up to slide behind the bar. He puts the glass in the washer and sits back down with a cocktail straw in his mouth. “She knew we were in trouble,” he says as he drapes one elbow over the back of his chair. “But it’s Alec, you know. He always figures something out.”

  “Have you spoken to Stefano since Alec was arrested?” I ask.

  Ricky lets out a bitter laugh. “That SOB wouldn’t slow his car down if I was crossing the road. He only speaks to Alec. I deal with his captains, if I deal with anyone at all in his precious business.”

  He runs his thumb along the wooden bar top. It’s a deeper pain than I expected. “Why does it matter if Stefano likes you?” I ask.

  He chews on the straw. “I grew up . . . admiring him, I guess you could say. My mom, well, she passed when I was young. I worked on boats instead of focusing on school. Read a lot”—he says it quickly, as if I’ll think he’s dumb otherwise—“but I always wanted to impress him. Big successful guy. It was stupid. Some stuff, well, it takes a while to grow out of it.”

  And some never do.

  Failures follow you everywhere.

  Repeating and multiplying.

  I keep to my barstool, but I want to embrace him. I feel the pull of sameness, can almost see Derek next to me. If I did hug Ricky, it’d be the same too-skinny ribs and knotted spine. “From what I’ve seen, he’s not worth impressing.”

  He flinches, then a half smile. “Belina thought he was.”

  The pain doesn’t leave his eyes as he shifts the conversation to her. In fact, there’s more. “You cared about her?” I say out loud just as I realize it. “Ricky, tell me the truth.”

  He rubs his fingers along his chin stubble. “She was never going to stay with a guy like me. But, yeah, we were friendly for a while.”

  “Did Alec know?” I ask.

  He sucks in a breath. “God, no. We never told anyone. She was embarrassed of me. Stefano was the kind of guy she wanted to be seen with all over town. And Alec had a thing for her, but that didn’t bother me much.”

  Ricky is a good-looking guy. Seems to work hard and is pretty charming when he wants to be. “No, maybe she—”

  He slices me a glance that says, You know what I mean. And I do. My cheeks heat in embarrassment for Ricky. I had a lot of sex in high school but no actual relationships because it seemed the guys just wanted sex, not me, and I took whatever I could get. Not that Belina was using Ricky in that way. I have no idea what she was doing with any of these men. And that is part of the problem. “I’m sorry,” I say finally.

  “We had this love/hate chemistry, you know. It was fun, but I think she hated herself after.”

  “You can finish this one.” I slide my beer over, and he tosses the straw he’s been jawing onto the bar. “So what happened?” I ask.

  “What always happens,” he says. “I like a girl that’s too good for me. She likes someone else.” He swallows thickly and doesn’t make eye contact, just rubs his knuckle along the rounded edge of the bar.

  Something in my gut says to be careful. That all this is a little too stacked for Ricky. But I understand what it feels like not to be good enough. To make your bedroom white because you’re too afraid the real colors you want will give away that you’re not worth loving.

  He’s like Derek.

  You’ll ruin his life too.

  The voice hits me just right, knowing who I need to contact. Tears burn my throat as I say goodbye, put a twenty on the bar, and leave Ricky to my beer. But my emotions don’t stop me from uploading the marina data onto my laptop from the parking lot and sending it to my brother.

  Chapter 27

  I’m the first one inside Clarke Cooke House as they open the doors for lunch. I take a seat at the end of the bar. Pete nods my way and makes me a hot toddy with Wild Turkey before dropping a menu.

  “He should be here soon,” Pete says. “The table in the window is his.”

  It’s five feet from m
e, and I take a sip, considering if I should move. Once he sees me, and likely ties me to Max in some way, he’ll probably “pucker up,” as Max put it. I’m hoping as I press him with questions about Belina, he’ll get mad. And his anger will reveal something, anything.

  I need him to confirm several things for me beyond if he’s capable of killing Belina or at least getting someone else to do it. First, the meeting with Belina the night she was killed. Was he at Swan Point? Second, why did Belina transfer him everything in her bank account? Was it the same hundred grand he sent to Tina? And I’m wondering how he heard of the FBI investigation. The timing lines up with Belina’s murder.

  I push the drink aside because the frustration has me reaching for it. “Can I get just a sparkling water, Pete?”

  Reaching into my pocket, I feel the flash drive, but that’s not what I’m looking for. I dig deeper and run my fingers along soft organic cotton, one of Ester’s knitted shoes that matches her hat. I doubted Gilly would take her outside, so I brought it along. The time away has been difficult. The possibility that she’s changing, and I’m missing it.

  This is exactly who you promised never to be again.

  “You need something from me?” a deep voice says at my back.

  I crush the delicate shoe in my hand, my nails poking into my palm through the small knitted gaps. One more breath, and I turn around. “I do need something from you.”

  He’s still in the wealthy businessman armor, but I’m getting a closer look: good haircut for his silver-gray hair, expensive suit, likely a local place like Marc Allen. I can’t see his shoes, but I’m sure they’re expensive too. But his eyebrows are bushy and too long, like he’s not the type to let someone trim them nor is he the sort of person who gets asked.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” I ask. “Or a shrimp cocktail?”

  His caterpillar eyebrows shoot together. “No one’s bought me anything since I was a boy,” he says. “But you can watch me have a drink and eat a shrimp cocktail. Though I’m more an oysters and lobster kind of guy.”

  I stand up, and we’re almost the same height. I gesture toward his table, and then he mimics the gesture for me to go first.