Reading Up a Storm (11 page)

Here was Pat, her daughter dragged off to the police station to be interrogated about the murder of her former lover, trying to make
me
feel better. If it was possible, I felt worse.

I was the one who talked Stephanie into coming out for a drink. I was the one with the face so readable, Watson knew I knew something. I dropped into a chair. “This is all my fault.”

“Don't be ridiculous. It's all the fault of the person who killed Will Williamson. And we both know that person was not my daughter. Stephanie was making our lunch when you came to the door. I'll have it now, once you've called Amos.”

I fumbled for my phone.

“I'd like you to join me, if you haven't had your own lunch. In the meantime, I'm going to call Bertie and let her know what's happening. I have the number of a nursing service here, in case Stephanie is . . . delayed.” Finally, her voice broke. Pat burst into tears.

*   *   *

The nursing service arrived a couple of hours later, and I drove back to the library, feeling about as lousy as I ever had. Uncle Amos had been in his office when I called, and said he'd go to the police station immediately. In his day, my uncle had been one of the top defense attorneys in the state. He was now easing into retirement, spending most of his time doing less exciting legal stuff, but he was ready to leap back into the fray if needed.

I hoped he would not be needed this time. Not by Stephanie. But I was glad she'd have him on her side, in case worse came to worst.

Bertie was still on the circulation desk when I got back. She took one look at my face and said, “Tea.” She picked up the phone, and a minute later Ronald came jogging down the stairs.

“The YA book club will coming in soon, Bertie, so I can't take the desk for long.”

“We won't be long.”

I said, “Where's Charlene?”

“She's gone to Manteo for a meeting. With the municipal election coming up, they're thinking of putting together a display with information about the history of voting rights, particularly for women, and she's helping them out. Now, let's get that tea.”

We went to the staff break room. Bertie told me to
sit down and switched the kettle on. I have never developed a taste for iced tea and prefer it piping hot. She took a full pitcher out of the small fridge and poured herself a glass while waiting for the water to boil. “What happened, honey?”

I buried my head in my hands. “Oh, Bertie. It's all my fault.”

“Did you kill Will Williamson?”

I looked up, shocked at the question. “Of course not.”

“Then it's not your fault.”

“Well, not that part anyway.” Charles had leaped up onto the table, and I gave him a pat. Bertie made my tea and put a steaming cup in front of me before sitting down.

“I told Watson about Will and Pat and Stephanie. I know you were right and that I had to, but I sure didn't want to and now she's in trouble. Watson's taken Steph to the police station.”

“Has he arrested her?”

“He didn't say so, at least not when I was there.”

“That's good then.”

“Amos is with her.”

“Even better.”

I sipped at my tea. I was trying to cut back on sugar, but Bertie had put an extra spoonful in. I appreciated it. “I still feel bad.”

“That's natural enough, honey. Pat thought she was doing the right thing by keeping the truth from Stephanie, but secrets have a way of multiplying when they're kept secret. Bad things fester in the dark. I have faith in Sam Watson. He's a good man and a good detective. He'll get to the bottom of it.”

“This is another blow to Pat and Steph, another crisis
they sure don't need. Someone from the nursing home care service is with Pat now and that has to be costing a lot, particularly if Stephanie has to keep going down to the police station. Never mind that Stephanie's losing even more time from her work and—”

“I'm going to call Pat's and my circle of friends. We'll start doing shifts at Pat's house. I'll set up a roster that Stephanie can call upon if she needs to.”

“That'll be great. You can put me down too.”

Bertie smiled at me.

“But right now, I think I can be put to better use,” I said.

“How?”

“Stephanie didn't kill Will. You and I know that because we know Stephanie. But even more to the point, I know it because I saw those lights on Monday night, the lights someone put out to trick Will into crashing onto the shore. Marlene saw them too. Even if no one believes us, I know what I saw. Will and Marlene weren't hurt, but they may well have died, and I'm going to bet that was the intention of whoever did it. Those lights prove that Will's death wasn't a random attack or a mugging gone wrong. It means someone had to know, first, that he'd be out in his boat that day, and second, that he's such a bad sailor he could be fooled by a trick.”

Bertie nodded.

“That someone was determined enough to come back another night to try to kill Will a different way. This time they succeeded. Will Williamson wasn't a nice man when he was young, and I'm going to assume he never got much better. That means he had enemies.
Marlene says everyone loved him, but I doubt that very much. I can't say I loved him on first meeting.” I thought about the incident with Ralph. If my theory about the lights was right, then Ralph probably wouldn't have killed Will either. I made a mental note to tell Watson that. “I'm going to find out what I can about who might have had it in for Will. Don't try to stop me, Bertie; I'm determined to do this. I need to do what I can to help Stephanie.”

“Stop you?” Bertie said. “I think it's a great idea. As long as you promise me that whatever you uncover, you'll take to Watson immediately.”

“I promise,” I said.

“Where do you plan to start?”

I drained my teacup and got to my feet. “Marlene. She's obviously the best person to tell me what Will's been up to since he came back to Nags Head. I'm going to act on the assumption that there's a reason he was killed here, on the Outer Banks, and not in Alaska or wherever he was living before.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It's almost four now. I'll head over there when the library closes.”

“Go now,” Bertie said. “I'll take the desk for the rest of the day.”

“Are you sure? I don't mean to skip out on work.”

“Take whatever time you need. We can consider this case library business. Pat has done so much for the library over the years that it's time for us to return the favor.”

I gave Bertie a hug, feeling tears welling up behind my eyes.

When we got back to the main room, the kids were arriving for the YA book club. Some of these teenagers were old enough to drive, but most were being dropped off by parents. The parents were taking the opportunity to gossip about the murder. Ronald, today sporting a tie inspired by the TV show
The Big Bang Theory
, was going to great pains to inform them that no one had died in the marsh, although the body had been found there.

“Is that true?” I whispered to him. “Have the police found out where he was killed?”

“I have absolutely no idea. We don't need any more talk of this property being a magnet for murder.” He turned back to the teens. “Time to begin! Let's head upstairs, everyone.”

Their footsteps clattered on the iron stairs. I had to grin at the range of their attire. Everything from preppy skirts hiked up to the thigh (and beyond), to baggy jeans that left less to the imagination than one might like, to solid black Goth clothes and makeup.

A boy ran past me, one hand struggling to hold up his pants and the other gripping a paperback with a lurid cover of vampire fangs and dripping blood. When Ronald had begun the YA group, he had to argue with parents who wanted the kids reading classics, or at least books the parents thought they should be reading. He pointed out that Young Adult books today had a lot to say about the world in which these kids were growing up, and he wanted the kids to use the books as a springboard to discuss things about their own lives.

As always, Ronald—charming, gentle Ronald—won the parents over. His YA book club was a huge success. Although, I wondered as I saw Charity, the eldest Peterson
girl, give the pants-clutching boy an elbow to the ribs with a giggle and toss of her hair, if some of the kids had joined for reasons other than personal improvement and the opportunity to engage in discussion about the state of the world.

Judging by the look on Mrs. Peterson's face as she watched her daughter, she was thinking the same thing. Poor overprotective Mrs. Peterson was in for a rough few
years.

I decided not to call ahead to ask Marlene if I could come over, thinking it would be better to catch her off guard. I had no idea what I hoped to accomplish by paying her a visit. It was unlikely she'd either drop to her knees in front of me to tearfully confess, or gasp and say something like, “Now that you mention it, I saw the butler slipping a knife into his pocket.” I'm a perfectly dreadful judge of character and likely to not notice if a confession was written across the guilty party's face.

But I drove into town, knowing that I had to try. I might be able to uncover something to take to Detective Watson.

Although when (if?) I did learn something, I might be better off telling Butch first. Watson never seemed overly fond of me.

Thinking of Butch the cop made me think of Butch the man. Oh dear. Now that I realized I was in love with Connor, what was I to do about Butch? Could I continue going out for drinks or enjoying early-morning
walks with him? Would I be breaking his heart? Would he be angry at me? Would he say he never wanted to see me again?

Would he even care?

Why is life so complicated? All I want is for everyone to be happy.

I pulled up in front of Marlene's rental house and reminded myself that right now my complications were pretty minor compared to the mess Stephanie was finding herself in.

Marlene answered the door before the last chime had died away. “Oh,” she said. “I was expecting someone else.” She was dressed in a tight blue T-shirt and white short-shorts that showed off her long, gorgeous, deeply tanned legs. I felt dreadfully dowdy in my librarian uniform.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was passing and thought I'd drop in and check that you're okay.”

She smiled. “That's sweet of you, Lucy, but I'm fine. Would you like to come in? I've just opened a bottle of chilled white wine.”

“Thanks,” I said, following her into the house and up the stairs. Wow, this detecting stuff was easy.

As we walked past the kitchen, Marlene grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Red-and-white-striped cushions were laid out on the lounge chairs on the deck, and a frosty silver cooler rested on the table beside a stack of fashion magazines.

Marlene handed me the glass and dropped into her chair. “Help yourself.”

I poured a dribble of the wine, although I didn't particularly want a drink at four in the afternoon. If I had
a full glass, I'd be ready for bed by six, but I wanted to keep this meeting friendly and casual. I glanced around, searching for somewhere comfortable to sit. The only seats with cushions on them were loungers, and I didn't fancy trying to balance on the bare slats of the aluminum furniture. I lowered myself gingerly and tucked my legs up, feeling somewhat silly stretched out in the sun wearing tights and pumps. Marlene had not put up any umbrellas, so I had no protection from the hot sun.

A yellow beach towel was draped over the balcony railing. The blue waters of the pool sparkled and out at sea, waves roared ashore. Farther down the beach, brilliantly colored kites danced on the wind.

“Isn't this perfect?” Marlene said with a contented sigh.

“It is that. Where are you from?”

“North Dakota. Where the winters are long and cold and the only water is what fills the bathtub and the kitchen sink.” She shuddered, not entirely for show. “I'm never going back there. You're lucky to live here. Do you like it?”

“I love it.” I wasn't here to talk about myself. “Are you going to be able to . . . uh . . . stay on?”

“I sure the heck hope so.” She took a long drink, and then she gestured to her own body, spread out and soaking up the sun. “I know you're thinking that I didn't exactly pull out the widow's weeds. But heck, Will and I weren't married, so I'm not a widow. He was an okay guy, and he could be a lot of fun to be around. He sure knew how to spoil a girl. I'm sorry he's dead, if that matters, but I intend to go on living. I don't believe in hypocrisy. I had enough of that in North Dakota. As
for staying on here . . . the rent's paid for a couple more months, and I checked my credit card. It's still good. I transferred some cash into my own account, just to be sure. Does that make me sound mercenary?”

“Uh . . .”

“I don't care if it does. A girl's gotta look after herself, right? Ain't no one else going to do it for me, is there? That guy Will met the other night, who brought us to your library? The mayor? I heard he's a doctor too, must have some money. Do you know if he's single?”

“No!”

Marlene's eyebrows rose. “Like that, is it? Okay, I know when to back off.”

“I didn't mean . . .”

“You sure did.”

Marlene was obviously a lot better at reading people than I was. I finished my dribble of wine. Marlene waved her hand. “Help yourself to another.”

I checked the label as I poured. Way out of my price range. I kicked off my shoes, and settled back in my chair. The sun was as delicious on my bare arms as the excellent wine was on my tongue. I wanted to strip off my tights so I could tan my legs too.

“I have a bathing suit I can lend you if you want to go for a swim,” she said.

Tempting as that offer was, I reminded myself why I was here. “No, thanks. I won't stay long. Has Detective Watson been back?”

“He sent a female cop around with a bunch more questions. She fingerprinted me. She said it was for elimination purposes,” Marlene grimaced, “but it made me feel like a common criminal. I can't help them, and I told her
so. I don't know who phoned Will last night, or why he went out, or who he was meeting. He might not have been planning to meet anyone. He didn't talk to me much, not about stuff like what he was thinking. He talked a lot about the old days, when he was young. I didn't care, so never paid much attention.”

I wondered what it would be like to live with a man you didn't love, didn't pretend to love, and who didn't love you in return.

For many years, my parents' marriage had not been a good one. Aunt Ellen told me they fell head over heels for each other when they met, her a high school girl, him a college student. Obviously things changed; I'm the youngest of their four children and for as long as I can remember my parents had barely tolerated each other. They went to social occasions together, putting on a show of beaming happily at each other and exchanging not so secret little glances, but otherwise he went to work, played golf, or sat in his den and drank expensive whiskey and smoked big cigars, while she fluttered about with her charities and social (i.e., gossip) circles. Not long ago, Mom had caught him having an affair. It looked for a while as though the sham of a marriage would finally be over, but somehow both of them dug deep and came out of it stronger. They'd gone on an extended European vacation, their first together in decades, and by all accounts had enjoyed spending time in each other's company.

It was what I'd seen in my parents' marriage that had caused me to flee when Richard Eric Lewiston III, who everyone called Ricky, had done the long-expected thing and proposed to me. I realized that if I married Ricky,
I'd be committing myself to the same loveless life as my mother. And Ricky and I hadn't even had that mad head-over-heels phase that might have made the dull years worthwhile.

“That cop took Will's computer,” Marlene said. “I'm going to have to buy myself one now. I can't just use my phone all the time. Do you know a good place?”

“They took his computer? Did they say why?”

She shrugged. “Checking his e-mails to see if he'd been in contact with someone who was threatening him, I guess. Will really liked his computer. He spent a lot of time on the Internet. I told her, that cop, that. He played a lot of games.” She laughed. “Sometimes, I'd hear him laughing and cheering, and sometimes he'd be yelling like the blazes at the darn thing.”

“Last night you told the book club you'd seen strange lights from shore when you were out in the storm on Monday.” I asked Marlene, “Did you tell the police that?”

“Why would I?”

“Don't you think they'd find that important?”

“I told her about wrecking the boat, but she didn't seem interested.” Marlene's eyes opened wide. “Gosh, I sure hope the boat was insured. It was worth a lot.”

“Was it new?”

“No, it was old. An antique, like. Worth a lot of money. Will bought it when we first got here to the Outer Banks. He said he'd been dreaming of having his own boat for thirty years. He used to go out on the water with his dad when he was a kid. He said that was when he learned everything he needed to know about operating a boat.” She shook her head. Her glossy ponytail bounced. “Will
wasn't good at learning new things. Or at letting people tell him what to do.”

“Did you tell the coast guard people who rescued you about the lights?”

“Nah. What was the point? They were sure mad at Will and he got mad right back. Lots of waving and shouting. He threatened to sue them.”

“Why?”

“He said he'd been managing fine until they interfered and caused him to go off course. That was just Will's way. Nothing was ever Will's fault. He never would have taken them to court or anything. I learned not to interfere when Will was on his high horse. That old guy laughed at Will, which made Will all the madder. Will didn't like to be laughed at. Didn't matter much anyway. In all that fuss and bother, no one paid any attention to little old me.”

I was sorry to hear that. If Marlene told Watson about the lights now, he'd assume she was only repeating the story Will had come up with, inspired by Louise Jane's tale, to make himself look like not quite the total fool he was.

“Did Will regularly threaten to sue people?”

“All the time,” she sighed. “It did get tedious sometimes.”

“He must have had enemies then?”

“Nah. No one took Will's threats seriously. That made him all the madder.”

“How long were you together?” The hot sun and the cold wine were doing their magic on my head. I had to fight to keep my eyes open, to stop myself sinking into the chair and drifting off to sleep.

I doubt Sherlock Holmes ever fell asleep while questioning a suspect.

Was Marlene a suspect? I didn't know. I liked her. I liked her cheerfulness, bouncy nature, and wide-open honesty. But I was well aware that didn't mean she wasn't putting on an act, and had nothing but a heart of pure coal.

“I met him about two months ago,” she said. “He was driving back from Alaska. He wanted to take his time, see the country. Visit all those places he'd never had time to go when he was working all the time. He came into the restaurant in Vegas where I was waitressing. We hit it off right away. I quit my job and left town with him.”

“You just packed up and left? With a man you didn't know?” Maybe I
am
an innocent, like Watson had said.

“Sure. The job was useless. I'd been trying to get on at a better place, where I'd get decent tips, but there are more attractive women in Vegas than there are jobs. And let's say I know I'm not tops on that scale.”

I mumbled something.

“It sounded like fun, and I had nothing to stay in Vegas for. Come on, Lucy, you met Will. Not hard to look at, was he?”

“I guess not.”

“Although he was a bit too much on the short side for my taste. I had to give up wearing high heels because Will didn't like me to be taller than him. But best of all, he was rich. What's not to like?” She laughed and took another swig of her wine. She stretched languorously and wiggled her red-tipped toes. “Isn't this the life? Better than wearing my feet out working in a miserable diner in Vegas and sharing a mouse-infested apartment with
three other girls, I can tell you.” Her voice turned hard. “And I can tell you, Lucy, I'm not going back to that life.”

Then she giggled again. “I've shocked you, haven't I?”

“I . . . uh . . .”

“I sure have. You're so sweet, Lucy. I like you. I hope I can stay on in the Outer Banks and we can become good friends.”

“I'd like that,” I said. And I meant it. Who am I to judge a woman for trying to get ahead in life?

Unless it involved murder.
I had to remember why I was here. “Has anything else strange or unusual happened to you and Will since you got here? Like the lights, I mean?”

Her face turned serious, and she appeared to give the question some thought. “Not that I know of. Other than that guy who ran into the back of our car in the parking lot of the supermarket with his grocery cart and threatened Will.”

“What happened?”

“Will was backing out, and some old guy wasn't watching where he was going. The car and his cart bumped. His eggs broke or something. They got into a shouting match.” She stifled a yawn.

“Isn't it up to the driver of the car to watch for pedestrians?” I asked.

“Will said the man had deliberately run into us, wanting an insurance settlement or something. Typical Will.” She shrugged.

“Sure is hot,” I said, changing the subject.

“Bathing suit offer still stands.”

“No, thanks. Sounds like Will got into trouble wherever he went. Did he ever mention anyone who might have followed him from Alaska?”

“Gee, Lucy, you're sounding like a cop or something.”

“I don't mean to. I'm just speculating. You have to be wondering too, Marlene. Why would someone kill Will?”

“I guess you librarians read a lot, don't you? I figure there's no mystery about it. He was out at night, drinking, probably flashing his money around. Someone tried to roll him; Will fought back and he got the worst of it. They had to dump the body somewhere. Poor Will. I can so see him refusing to hand over twenty bucks and getting himself killed for it.” She grimaced and wiped at her face. She hadn't taken her sunglasses off since I'd arrived, so I couldn't tell if she'd been crying.