Reading Up a Storm (20 page)

“No other women?”

“If there was, he kept it secret. And, considering that his affair with Pat wasn't much of one, except maybe to his wife, I have to think there weren't any others.”

Looked as if that line of inquiry was a dead end. No one seemed to even remember Will until prompted, much less carry a grudge that would end in murder all these years later. Reaching into his past had been only a faint hope, but I couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment. “I agree.” I sighed. “Thanks, Aunt Ellen. Is Aaron in?”

“Let me get him,” she said.

“Hey, Lucy,” my cousin said. “I bet you're calling about the coast guard, right?”

“Josie told you what I'm interested in?”

“Yeah. I went down to the station this morning and found the guys who'd been out that night. They said Williamson had been acting like a real jerk. He threatened to sue them for causing him to wreck his boat.” Aaron laughed.

“What did your friends think about that?”

“They thought it was darn funny. There he was, soaked to the skin, surrounded by wreckage, and trying to pretend it wasn't his fault. Apparently he had some woman with him he was trying to impress.”

“And that was all?”

“Pretty much, although they said Ralph Harper got awful mad. As mad as Ralph ever gets anyway.” Aaron said good-bye, but before I could hang up my aunt was back on the line.

“Ralph Harper. What's he got to do with this?”

“He was with the coast guard when they rescued Will. Will got blustery and threatened to sue. Ralph came to the library the night Will died and confronted him. Why?”

“I totally forgot until this very minute. But now it's all coming back. Ralph and Will were not what you'd call friends as young men. Ralph was in school with us, but he quit to help his father fish as soon as he was old enough. He didn't spend much time on his homework and was restless and irritable in class, because all he wanted was to be out on the water. Even back then, the sea was all he cared about. Because his grades were bad,
and he failed a couple of times, he had the reputation for being slow, as in not very smart. Which he wasn't. He simply wasn't interested in learning about the wider world. He wasn't a big boy, but he spent a lot of time working on his dad's boat, so most of the boys left him alone. But Will made fun of him, his fishing family roots, his love of the sea. I seem to remember talk about them coming to blows behind the school one day. Will got the worst of it, but that didn't stop him from mocking Ralph. Although he did start being more discreet about it. In Ralph's hearing, anyway.”

“That's interesting,” I said. “Do you think Ralph's the sort to carry a grudge?”

“For all these years? Absolutely not.”

“Still, I'd like to talk to him. Do you have a number for him?”

“No, honey. I don't even know where he lives. I haven't spoken to Ralph in a long time. Hold on, Aaron's waving.”

My cousin came back on the line. “If you're looking for Ralph, Lucy, you could drop by the coast guard station sometime, but he's not usually there unless there's a storm coming in. I've heard that he eats his breakfast most every morning at the Shrimp Shack, at least the mornings when he has a fishing trip lined up. It's open early and is near his boat slip.”

“Thanks, Aaron. That's great. Say bye to your mom.” I hung up, feeling as though I might be making progress.

Ralph Harper hadn't been high on my suspect list because he'd argued with Will after the wreck. But in light of what I'd just learned, I was wondering if Ralph
might have been responsible for lighting those lamps. It was highly unlikely that Ralph would want to kill Will over some high school bullying, but they might have had a confrontation recently that I hadn't heard about. Maybe Ralph hadn't intended that Will die in the storm but only wanted to frighten him into acknowledging that Ralph had used his knowledge of the sea to save him. Of all the people I'd considered, Ralph was the most likely to know about the intricacies of this shoreline, and the behavior of a small boat in a storm.

And then when, far from being grateful for his intervention, Will had threatened to sue Ralph and to mock his reputation in public, had Ralph decided to put an end to Will's bullying? Permanently?

The phone was still in my hand when it rang. Connor. I took a deep breath and answered. “Hello!”

“I am finally finished with meetings and handshaking and baby-kissing. Are you free for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“How about something casual and comfortable so I can forget I'm mayor for a night?”

“I'd like that.”

“Is six too soon?”

“I'll be ready.” It was ten after five now. I could forget about Ralph Harper and the case tonight. I ran for my closet. Charles leaped off the window seat to join me. We peered at the racks of clothes. I was aiming for casual and comfortable, yet drop-dead gorgeous. A difficult feat. I pulled clothes off hangers, held them up in front of me, and tossed them behind me onto the bed.
Everything I owned was suitable for wearing to work in a library, hanging out with girlfriends, or going to a party or to the beach. What did casual and comfortable even mean? I tried to think of what my mom would do in this situation. My mother would never allow herself to be caught dead without the perfect outfit. When she had been here during the summer she even had the right accessories to wear when being interrogated by the police.

I found a flowing calf-length skirt in colorful swirls of blue and red. I'd bought it because it was on sale, but had never worn it. When I got it home, I decided it was too hippie, as though I was about to head down the road to Woodstock in a gaily painted Volkswagen Kombi. Of course, having gotten it at seventy percent off, I couldn't return it.

I was about to toss the skirt onto the rapidly growing pile, when Charles meowed and jumped onto the bed to land beside a plain black short-sleeved T-shirt with a deeply scooped neck. I picked the T-shirt up and held it against the skirt. Charles gave an approving meow.

I jumped into the shower, washed my hair, and gave it a quick blow-dry. There isn't a lot I can do with the mass of black curls I consider my curse, so I bunched them up into a loose knot at the back of my head and pulled a few tendrils free. I applied a touch of pale pink lipstick and some blush, dressed in the skirt and T-shirt, and chose a small gold chain and gold hoops for jewelry. Because I was going for casual and comfortable I could avoid the high-heeled sandals I hate (but force myself to wear anyway) and slipped on black ballet flats.

I twirled in front of the mirror. I thought I looked
pretty good. I needed a second opinion. “How do I look?” I asked Charles, who was watching from the bed.

In answer, he jumped down and went to inspect the empty depths of his food bowl.

I had just finished feeding him when the doorbell sounded. “Don't wait up,” I called to the
cat.

“Tell me again why I want to be mayor,” Connor said to me.

I laughed. “Because you're good at it?”

“I'm okay with the mayoring part, but sometimes I hate the politicking part.”

We had gone to the town of Duck where, as Connor said, he was less likely to be approached by voters, and were comfortably settled in a restaurant near the boardwalk overlooking the calm waters of Currituck Sound.

“Did you run into any problems today?” I asked, sipping my glass of wine.

“Plenty of people had heard Doug Whiteside's insinuations, but no one, so they told me, believed them. What they didn't tell me, I can guess.”

“You don't seriously think anyone believes him, do you?”

“People who don't like me will believe it, and people who want me to keep on as mayor won't. The big problem with that sort of insinuation is that it turns people
off politics. Good people who don't believe in the integrity of their elected officials and wash their hands of the whole thing, saying we're all crooks.”

“I'd love to go door-knocking for you sometime,” I said. “I can help hand out literature and stuff like that.”

He smiled at me. “I'd like that very much, Lucy.”

“Do you know anything about Bill Hill? He's Doug's assistant or campaign manager or something. Seems to follow Doug around everywhere.”

Connor shook his head. “Never heard of the guy until recently. Why do you ask?”

“The women I overheard in the library spreading that muck said Billy had been the one who mentioned it. Not Doug.”

“Is that right? I'll ask Dorothy to look into it. Sometimes the paid staffers can be even more ruthless than the politicians themselves. They can have as much, or more, invested in winning than their candidate does. And often they have nothing to fall back on if he or she loses.”

“Did you hear that the police have learned Will didn't have any money?” I asked.

“Yes, I did. For some reason I find myself not at all surprised you know about it, Lucy. At least once that news is made public, no one can say I killed him because he threw his support behind Doug. More likely Doug was mad because Will threatened to make him look like a fool and a sucker. That, of course, is between you and me. The last thing I want to be accused of is spreading dirt about my opponent.” The waiter asked if we were ready to order, and we spent the remainder of the evening chatting about our lives. No more was said
about Doug Whiteside or politics or the subject of who might have wanted Will Williamson dead.

On the way to Duck, Connor had played Aerosmith on his iPhone through the car's Bluetooth system, but heading back he switched the music off and we drove in comfortable silence, watching the night pass by.

“Sometimes I see deer along the highway at dusk,” I said as we left the bright lights of Nags Head behind us and turned onto Highway 12. Thick clouds filled the sky and the darkness on this stretch of road closed in on us. “So drive carefully.”

“I will,” he said.

He pulled up in front of the lighthouse. My heart pounded in my chest and my hands were clammy. I took a breath. I'd decided before we left the restaurant what I was going to do at this moment. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” I asked.

He turned in his seat and faced me. His hand reached out and he ran a finger lightly across my cheek. “I'd like that.”

A tap sounded on my window. I yelped and Connor's hand jerked away. I whirled around to see a white face peering into the car. Louise Jane. She wiggled her fingers at me. I might have made a very unladylike noise.

“Hope I didn't interrupt anything,” she said, once Connor and I were out of the car. “There'll be no moon tonight, so it's a perfect night for me to be on watch.”

“On watch for what?” Connor growled.

“For whatever's out there.” She hefted her pack onto her back, lowered her miner's light, and switched it on. The light hit me full in the face, stinging my eyes. I turned away. “I'll be around most of the night, but you
two mustn't spare me a thought.” She made no move to leave. I hoped something very nasty was in the marsh, lying in wait for Louise Jane and her blasted light.

“Have fun,” Connor said, through gritted teeth. “I need to be going anyway. I have a busy day tomorrow. Could I please take a rain check on that drink, Lucy?”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks for the dinner.”

He got in his car. Louise Jane and I watched while he drove away.

“Gee,” she said, “I hope I didn't chase him away.”

I went into the lighthouse without a word. Drat that Louise Jane. I'd decided it was important to go slowly with Connor. I'd been dating Ricky for many years, and I knew the breakup with him made me vulnerable to rushing too fast into something with the next attractive man who presented himself. This burgeoning relationship with Connor had, to me at least, the potential to be the real thing, and I was determined to make it work. Slow and careful. When I invited him in for a drink, a drink was exactly what I meant. Not that I would have been adverse to a few kisses.

Even if my intention had been for Connor and me to fold campaign leaflets all night, there was nothing quite like knowing Louise Jane was prowling around outside (no doubt watching to see if the interior lights went out) to ruin a girl's mood.

Connor, obviously, felt the same.

I refrained from yelling at Charles when I got to my apartment and found that he'd made himself a comfortable nest of the black wool pants and black cashmere sweater that had been a Christmas gift from a friend in Boston. My fault for not putting the clothes away. Not
Charles's fault that Louise Jane had ruined the end of my evening.

I went to the window and peered out. All was pitch dark; no glimmer shone from Louise Jane's light, but I was facing the wrong direction. When the thousand-watt bulb came on above me, it illuminated a bank of thick clouds, moving fast across the night sky. I kicked off my ballet flats, stepped out of the colorful skirt, and pulled on the cat-hair covered black pants, thick socks, and hiking boots. I topped it all with a heavy dark sweater, grabbed a flashlight, and let myself outside.

It was time to find out what Louise Jane was really up to out there in the night. I will admit I found it hard to believe she'd killed Will, a man she'd met only a few hours before, in order to give her ghost stories some veracity. But, who the heck knew what Louise Jane was capable of? It was possible she might accidentally come across something the police would want to know and spoil the crime scene. I hadn't thought to mention to Watson or Butch that she was prowling around out there.

By now I knew the staircase and the main room of the library so well that I didn't need to switch on any lights. I stopped on the third floor to peek out the west-facing window. A small yellow light was bobbing along the path to the Sound. I ran lightly down the rest of the stairs and through the library. Once I was outside, I switched my flashlight on. I kept it at the weakest setting, aimed it toward the ground at my feet, and headed for the boardwalk.

I walked slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. I wasn't exactly scared, but I did keep my free hand clenched on the phone in my sweater pocket. I turned at
a bend in the path, and the light of Louise Jane's headlamp came into view. I crept forward. I felt a drop of rain hit my head, and then several more in rapid succession. In less than a minute the clouds had opened, rain came pouring down, and I was drenched right through. Feeling even more of a fool, I crept forward. Louise Jane had stopped moving. I was debating jumping out and yelling boo, when I heard her voice. “Now what? It's starting to rain, is that going to be a problem?” She was on the phone, which surprised me. I didn't know ghost hunters used smartphones. Nothing wrong with keeping up with the times, I guess. I switched off my light.

“Yes, I have them here. I'm at the dock, Grandma.”

After a long pause Louise Jane said in a voice that was almost plaintive, “But I don't want to sit out. It's raining. It wasn't supposed to rain so I didn't bring an umbrella. No, I don't want to knock on the lighthouse door and ask Lucy for one. She'll laugh at me. No, Grandma, they moved the hidden key over the summer and forgot to tell me where they put it.”

Rainwater was forming into an icy river at the back of my neck. I shivered and took an involuntary step backward. My foot slipped on a wet rock and I grunted softly. I dropped to a crouch. There are no trees in the marsh, and I was out in the open.

“Something's moving,” Louise Jane said. “Hold on, Grandma.” She raised her voice. “Spirit!” The command was strong and powerful. Despite myself, I shivered. “Show yourself.”

I held my breath. The lighthouse light came on. The beam's powerful enough to be seen some thirty miles distant, but it's constructed to direct the light out to sea
and remarkably little of it shines on the ground. Then it switched off, and we were plunged back into darkness. Wet, cold, miserable darkness, I might add. My sweater was not waterproof, I had nothing on my head, and the sudden deluge was creating muddy puddles beneath my feet.

“Nothing, Grandma,” Louise Jane said at last. “Must be an animal. You're sure Great-grandmama said this was what I had to do? Did you tell her it's raining? Wake her up then!”

I'd seen, or more to the point heard, enough. Louise Jane was following her great-grandmother's instructions, as interpreted by her grandmother. By the sounds of it, she'd be happier if I popped my head up over the grasses and invited her in for a hot chocolate and a turn with Charles on her lap.

If I hadn't known she'd be absolutely furious at me for spying on her, I would have done precisely that. Instead, I waited until the light went into its twenty-two point five second dormancy and crept away. I'd been out for about half an hour. I was cold and I was wet, but my time had been well spent. Louise Jane had been nothing but a footnote on my list of potential killers, but I could now confidently cross that footnote off.

A cup of steaming hot chocolate with two marshmallows bobbing on the top and a purring cat curled up on my lap was exactly what I needed right
now.