Reading Up a Storm (14 page)

“Shoot,” he said, taking a bite.

I told him what Josie and I had overheard. He chewed, his frown growing. “Never good when politics gets involved.”

“You know Connor wouldn't do something like that, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If someone brings me their suspicions, I'll have to act on it. But rumor and muck spreading have no place in a police investigation.”

“I'm not . . .”

“I know you're not telling me because you're enjoying the gossip. You're concerned about your friend, who's my friend also. Thanks for telling me. The more information I have, the better. Sometimes you never know what will turn out to be important.” He popped the last bite of Danish into his mouth. “And thanks for this as well.”

“Did Butch tell you what Marlene told me about Will? That he went around threatening to sue people all the time?”

“He did.”

“And?”

“And, if you must know, I found the story of the shopping cart incident interesting, so I looked up the record of the call. The pedestrian was eighty-two years old. The responding officer said Williamson gave the
man a hundred dollar bill and told him to go away, and the old guy was happy to do so. I doubt very much he decided later to get even and if he did, was able to lure Williamson onto a motorboat in the middle of the night.”

“About the boat . . .”

“Enough, Lucy. When I have built a case you will be the first to know.”

“You're not still suspecting Stephanie, I hope,” I said.

“You're incorrigible. I'm not going to answer that, and you know it.”

“At least one other attempt was made on Will Williamson's life. Before the fatal incident, I mean, before Stephanie knew he was her father. I witnessed it myself.”

“Go ahead.”

“Monday was the big storm. Remember?”

“I remember. That night Williamson wrecked the boat he'd rented and had to be rescued by Ralph Harper and the coast guard. And, before you ask, I have spoken to Ralph and that conversation is none of your business.”

“What I'm about to tell you eliminates him as a suspect anyway.”

At that, Watson actually looked interested in what I had to say.

“From my apartment I can see a long way out to sea. I saw that boat, Williamson's boat, lost in the storm. It was me who called nine-one-one to report it. But I saw something else. Lights where there shouldn't have been lights. Lights that made it look as though there was a small harbor or other port of refuge.”

A cruiser tore out of the parking lot under lights and sirens. Watson watched it go. I was losing his attention.

“I saw it,” I said.

He turned back to me. He started to stand up. “I asked CeeCee what had gone on at your book club the other night. She told me Louise Jane launched into that story of how Nags Head got its name. Sounds like the same story you've just told me.”

“It's not a story. It happened. I saw the lights.”

“Louise Jane can be highly convincing when she wants to be. Williamson wanted to be convinced, that way he could believe the wreck wasn't entirely his fault. You have the sequence of events mixed up in your mind, Lucy. Thanks again for your help. Mind if I . . .”

“Help yourself,” I said. He grabbed a lemon Danish for the road and walked away.

I groaned. Watson thought I'd imagined seeing the lights, that the idea had been planted into my mind by Louise Jane McKaughnan and Will Williamson. I knew the detective didn't trust my instincts, but now he thought I was an overly impressionable bubblehead.

Why, oh why, hadn't I told the 911 dispatcher about those lights? Why hadn't I told Butch the following morning when I'd phoned him, or been the one to bring it up at book club before dratted Louise Jane opened her big mouth? Almost as bad as people thinking I was making the incident up was the idea that I could be so influenced by Louise Jane that I was imagining what I'd seen.

I peeked into the bakery box. The contents were rapidly diminishing, but a few delights remained. I'd make one more call before giving up.

Too bad if Marlene was still in bed.

She wasn't. When I arrived at her house, she was up and dressed and entertaining company.

Highly unexpected company.

“Lucy, what a delightful surprise.” Theodore Kowalski jumped to his feet when I came into the room. He was dressed in his full English scholar getup of a brown Harris Tweed jacket and a paisley cravat. He peered at me through his plain glass spectacles.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” I said. I held out the box. “I thought you might like something for breakfast.”

Marlene laughed. “Aren't you sweet? The neighbors haven't exactly been rushing over with condolences and casseroles.” She wore her bathing suit with a floor-length rhinestone-trimmed turquoise wrap thrown over it. Her face was clear of makeup and her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. “Coffee?”

I put my box on the table next to two full mugs. “Thanks. Cream, no sugar. I didn't know you two were friends.”

“Not friends, no,” Marlene said, heading into the kitchen.

Theodore wiggled his eyebrows at me. He was trying to signal something but I had not the slightest idea what that might be. He studied the contents of the bakery box and finally selected a scone, plump with berries. He nibbled at it with his small browning teeth. I tried not to think of mice.

I took a seat and Marlene brought my coffee. “I wanted to pop in, check you're okay,” I said.

“You did that yesterday,” Marlene said. “I was okay then, and I'm okay now. But thanks anyway, Lucy.”

Theodore cleared his throat. “Back to the matter at hand.”

“Lucy's not interested,” Marlene said.

“Lucy is a close friend. She won't mind if we continue our conversation, will you, dear?”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Don't worry about me.” I was curious as to what had brought Theodore here. I didn't see that he and Marlene would have a heck of a lot in common.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Theodore said, causing me to choke on a mouthful of overly hot coffee, “is far less than had been arranged.”

Marlene shrugged her thin shoulders. “If Will changed his mind, he had reason to. Will was a very astute businessman.”

“The books are worth far more than that,” Theodore said. Crumbs fell from his mouth and dusted the front of his jacket. “I made him an exceptionally good offer, wanting to help out a new and promising collector.”

“Sorry,” Marlene said. She crossed her legs and her robe fell back.

Theodore didn't even glance at the display. “I can only offer them at nineteen.”

“For what?” I couldn't help myself. Books were Theodore's passion, but everyone knew he didn't have a lot of money. In order to buy one book, he usually had to sell another.

“Some old book,” Marlene said.

“A set of Agatha Christies.” Theodore sniffed. “Excellent quality. I'm asking less than they're worth in light of Ms. Bergen's recent tragic loss.”

“See, Mr. Theodore,” Marlene said. “I don't really
want your books. But I'm trying to be fair on account of that's what I know Will would want of me.”

As I watched, horrified, a pulse began to beat in Theodore's neck. His face turned red and his eyes bulged. “Will agreed to my original price of twenty thousand. That's what we decided upon. And then, when I called to arrange to deliver the books and complete the transaction, he reneged and offered that insulting amount. And on top of that he stood me up when it came time to meet in person.”

Marlene giggled. “Sorry about that. I insisted on taking him to Lucy's book club. I didn't know he'd said he'd meet with you.”

“You and Will were at the library at the same time Theodore missed book club because he thought you were having a meeting?” I said.

“Will believed in being spontaneous,” Marlene said with a shrug.

I did not say,
since when?
I didn't think one became a top executive with an oil company by blowing off meetings. Obviously, as important as this deal was to Theodore, it had been considerably less important to Will.

Out of nowhere, a chill crawled up my spine. I looked between Marlene and Theodore. She was glancing out the window, toying with the jeweled zipper on her robe. He was glaring at her with a look of pure anger such as I'd never seen on his face before.

Neither of them seemed to realize they'd just provided a motive for the death of Will. Had Theodore, enraged by Will's handling of their business deal, called Will late at night and demanded a meeting? Had Will gone to meet him, told Theodore he was dropping what
he was offering for the books? Had a furious Theodore stabbed Will in a blind rage, dumped the body in a stolen boat, and then taken it to the marsh?

I'd once had the misfortune of seeing Theodore handling a rowboat. At the time I'd wondered how anyone brought up on the coast could be so useless on the water. I couldn't imagine him stealing a small boat and piloting it through the marsh at night. Still, I suppose desperate men can do desperate things.

No. I mentally shook my head. Theodore was eccentric, to be sure, and more than a little obsessed when it came to his beloved books, but he was no killer.

I might be convinced of his innocence, but not everyone knew him as well as I did. As if he was willingly digging himself deeper into a hole of suspicion, Theodore said in his haughtiest voice, “Miss Bergen. If Will thought I would sell those valuable books for a fraction of their true price, he was sadly mistaken. In recognition of your obvious grief, I will decrease my price slightly.”

“Just a minute,” I said. “I don't mean to be rude, but Will didn't strike me as a likely book collector.” Anything but. He'd paid almost no attention to the discussion of
Kidnapped
at book club. He hadn't even known who Robert Louis Stevenson was. I knew that rare books could be a wise investment, but surely a buyer had to have
some
interest
in collecting them? Otherwise why not buy mutual funds or oil company stock? I thought of my dad leaning over his computer, swearing at every dip in the stock market. “Where did Will and you meet, Theodore?”

Marlene laughed. “That was because of me. Will was in some boring old meeting with the real estate agents
who were looking for a house for us, all money stuff, and he told me to stay in the waiting room. Well, my phone battery had died, and they didn't have a single interesting magazine in the room, so I picked up one about investments. I figured I'd look at property so I could give Will some good advice. I saw Theodore's ad. I don't know why anyone would buy a bunch of old books when they could buy jewelry . . .”

As Marlene chattered on, Teddy's face was turning ever redder, and I feared that soon I would be required to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

“. . . but I showed the ad to Will 'cause he's always going on about how unreliable the stock market is these days and how smart investors are buying real things. I told him diamonds were real things, but he said that wasn't a good market either. Pooh.” She pouted prettily.

“And quite right he was,” Theodore said. “Rare books will do nothing but increase in value. Now, I am going to offer a small decrease on my original selling price, as an expression of my condolences on your loss. Nineteen thousand.”

“Sixteen,” Marlene said.

“Eighteen, and not a penny less.”

“Sixteen and a half thou.”

I felt as though I was in a Turkish bazaar.

“Not so fast,” said a deep voice. Michael Williamson came into the room. He was dressed in Dockers ironed to a razor-sharp crease and a blue button-down shirt. His hair was damp, his face pink, and an aroma of liberally applied aftershave followed him. “I don't know who the heck you are, buddy.”

Theodore leaped to his feet. He stuck out his hand.
“Theodore Kowalski, rare-book dealer and connoisseur.”

Michael didn't offer his own hand, and Theodore's slowly dropped to his side. “Whatever. You seem to be laboring under a severe misunderstanding, Mr. Kowalski. Marlene here doesn't have sixteen thousand to buy your books or anything else. She doesn't have so much as sixteen bucks to her name.”

Marlene jumped up. “Michael, go away.”

“Why, so you can sell the farm out from underneath me? Get real, Marlene. Nothing you have here, except your clothes and a few trinkets of almost worthless jewelry, belongs to you. My father hasn't been so much as buried yet, and you're spending his money to feather your own nest.”

“Will promised me . . .”

“That he'd leave everything to you? And you believed him? In that case, I have to wonder if you hurried his death along.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “For your information, Will was buying me those books as a gift. He was negotiating with Mr. Kowalski here on my behalf.”

Michael snorted. “Because of your keen interest in twentieth-century American literature? I suggest you be on your way, buddy. If you sell those books to her for so much as a penny, or remove anything from this house in exchange, the police will be knocking on your door.”

Theodore headed for the exit, rapidly. Michael thrust his hand out as the book collector passed. “Give me your card. When my dad's will's settled”—he gave Marlene a satisfied smirk—“I might be in touch.” I doubted Michael had any more interest in book collecting than
Marlene did. He wanted to rub her nose in her diminished status in this family one more time.

“Certainly, certainly. Anytime.” Theodore fumbled in his pocket for his gold card case, flipped it open, and pulled out one of the stiff little squares of paper. “Always willing to do business with a gentleman.”

Now it was Marlene's turn to snort.

I put my mug down and got to my feet as Theodore made a break for the stairs. “I guess I'll be off too.”