We stayed silent, waiting for him to formulate his thoughts. Brad absently rubbed the side of his glass, his gaze pensive. His wife’s death had obviously affected him. He had cared for her, I realized. He was carrying too much pain for him not to have loved her. That probably seemed like a callous thought, but I’d seen a lot in my nearly thirty years. Nothing surprised me any more.
“I really thought we’d crested the wave, that we’d gotten over the humps and the biggest hurdles we faced. I thought things were looking up. After our first weekend session, I woke up that Saturday and went to meet Anna in the dining hall for breakfast. She didn’t show up. I continued to wait, but when she still didn’t appear, I asked her roommate to go check on her. She said she hadn’t seen Anna all morning and assumed my wife was downstairs. That’s when a full-out search began.” His voice cracked. “They finally found her body. She was in the boathouse. She’d overdosed on some prescription pills.”
I let a few seconds pass before gently asking my next question. “Were they her pills?”
He nodded, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “She struggled with depression and anxiety. But she would have never taken those pills herself and overdosed. Never.”
“How do you know?” I tried to remain sensitive, but I needed this information. It was essential to this investigation.
Brad’s gaze finally met mine, and I saw the determination there. “I know because of our kids. She wouldn’t put them through this. I know her better than that. Our kids were her whole world. What they’re going through right now . . .” He swung his head back-and-forth, his shoulders hunched.
I could accept his answer, yet I knew that when people weren’t in their right frame of mind, they could act in out-of-the-ordinary ways. Who really knew how desperate Anna was feeling? Or what kind of emotions she’d bottled deep inside?
I wouldn’t bring that up right now, though. He had enough on his mind. “Did you tell the police that? I’m assuming there was an investigation.”
“I did tell the police, but the note Anna left meant they didn’t put as much time into considering the idea that this was something other than a suicide.”
“Anna left a note?” That changed things. Could a person be forced to compose a note? Of course. But there would be signs and clues within their handwriting that they were writing it under duress. I’d taken one class on handwriting analysis, but I wanted to take more. The concept and science behind it was fascinating.
“That’s correct.” Brad swallowed hard and pulled out his phone. “I wrote down what I could remember, but I wasn’t able to keep the note myself. The police haven’t released it back to me.”
He held out his phone, and I read the words he’d typed. Riley leaned in beside me. As his arm brushed mine, my body went into survival mode. I jerked away a little too fast. Realizing that my actions had slipped out of my control, I cleared my throat and focused on the words on the screen.
I’m tired of the struggle. I’m tired of the guilt. I can’t live under this pressure any more. I’m sorry for what I’ve done and that my selfish actions have torn my family apart. I don’t deserve forgiveness.
I frowned at the desperation in the words. “Selfish actions?”
Brad winced and sat up straighter in his chair, almost as if he had to gather his courage. “Anna was a good woman. But she cheated on me.”
I blinked. That was unexpected.
“Tell me more,” I prodded. I hated to ask, but I had no choice. Not if he wanted answers. Investigations required some discomfort. It was like paring down a block of wood as you sculpted a masterpiece—the process was painful, but the end resulted in a clear, discernable image.
He let out a sigh. “I’m a developer. Office buildings, skyscrapers. Things that are a big deal. My job kept me from home too often. I take responsibility for that. Anna was lonely, and she met a man—more like a boy, truth be told—down at the marina where she’d started taking kayaking lessons. The affair lasted for three months, and she left me for part of that time. That’s when we went to counseling for the first time.”
“She ended her affair?” I asked.
“She did.”
“We’ll need this man’s name,” I said.
He reached into his shirt pocket then pushed a piece of paper toward me. “Here it is. The guy’s name is Jason Sparrow. He lives up in Onancock. It’s about an hour north of here.”
“Was the note she left handwritten or typed?” I asked.
“Handwritten,” Brad said. “And, yes, it was her scrawl. She had a distinctive way of writing, with lots of loops and fancy cursive. She liked to do calligraphy as a hobby so she took a lot of pride in how her letters looked.”
I stored away that information. Interesting. I could be pursuing a case that really wasn’t a case at all. This could really be a suicide.
***
A waitress had appeared, and Riley and I ordered some iced coffee. That gave me some time to collect my thoughts, and to adjust my poker expression. Thank goodness for these sunglasses—otherwise Brad may have seen my doubt.
These glasses also gave me the chance to observe Riley a moment. My heart rate sped at the sight of him. He seemed at ease here with the gentle breeze, the bright sunlight, and the bay in the background.
I had to admit that being here also made me feel like I was in my element. Cowboys had rodeos. Football players had games. I had my mysteries. This was my passion, the thing I loved to pursue, and the hobby that kept me up at night.
“Do you have any suspects?” Riley rested his arms on the tabletop, his full attention on Brad. “You obviously think this is related to the retreat center somehow. Why?”
“The island is secluded, so there are only a few options as to who could have done this. All of the other couples should be present this weekend for week three of this program.” Brad pointed to the paper he’d shoved toward us. “I’ve listed their names on the paper. One is Atticus Griffith. Atticus owns a major technology firm—Griffith Innovations. Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”
I nodded and took a sip of my chilled caramel latte. Everyone had heard of Griffith. The company made a new smart phone that people raved about.
“His wife is Farrah, and the couple is very pretentious. They didn’t get along with anyone at the retreat center. They definitely didn’t get along with each other. I’ve seen ice cubes warmer toward each other than the two of them.”
“And how about Bo and Angelina Daniels?” I pointed to the next name on his list.
Brad frowned. “No one could understand why the Daniels were there. He works for a construction company. He doesn’t own it. She works part time at a gas station. There’s no way they should have been able to afford the retreat. They were on a different . . . level.”
He said the words with disdain. What would he think of me if he knew the details of my past? Definitely that we were on different “levels.” But would he also feel that I was beneath him?
“So maybe they got a scholarship or someone supported them in going?” I questioned.
“Dr. Turner doesn’t give scholarships,” Brad explained. “He feels people appreciate the therapy more if they pay for it. But there were rumblings that this couple wasn’t as innocent as they seemed. At least, that was my wife’s theory. She thought they were hiding something.”
“You think Anna discovered something and either Angelina or Bo confronted her, maybe?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t ruled anything or anyone out. Besides them, there were Jim and Ginger Wagnor. They seemed the most normal of all the couples there. But I saw Anna arguing with Jim the day she died. I asked her about it, but she brushed me off. But I could tell something was bothering her.”
In my mind, Jim was already my first suspect. They had a history of conflict. Conflict could lead to violence, even death.
“Those are the only people who were there?” Riley asked.
“Well, of course, there was Dr. Turner, his assistant Blaine, Captain
Leroy, and a couple of housekeeping staff, as well as the cook. I can’t say I ever had any negative interactions with any of them, though.”
“The secluded location at least narrows down the potential suspects,” I said. “Provided her death is connected to the retreat.”
“It is.” Brad’s voice left no room for doubt.
He took a long sip of his drink. I could practically see his thoughts churning. Finally, he set his glass down with a clunk, flexed his jaw again, and glanced at Riley then me.
“I should also let you know that there was a reporter from up in Baltimore who started looking into this,” Brad continued. “Her name is Rae Gray.”
“So you have more than one person investigating?” I clarified.
He shook his head. “No, she disappeared. I haven’t heard from her in several days. Granted, I didn’t officially hire her. I contacted her about a potential story. These retreats are based out of Baltimore, plus we live in that area.”
“Do you suspect foul play in Rae’s disappearance as well?” I asked, curious as to how this all fit together in his mind.
“I have no idea. She has no obligation to contact me, but she seemed very interested. She said she was going to dig deeper. It makes me cautious that she’s not returning my calls.”
“I can see why,” I said.
Brad picked up his phone, tapped on the screen a few times, and then held it up for us to see the photo. “This is Anna. She deserves justice. Please say you’ll help.”
That seemed to be his stamp of approval. I’d passed his test, and he trusted me to investigate for him. Now I just had to hope I didn’t let him down.
I stared at the picture of his wife. Anna looked vivacious, with intelligent brown eyes, glossy chestnut-colored hair, and an overall cultured look, all the way down to the leopard-print scarf tied like a headband around her head. She was on a boat in the photo, and the sun hit her hair in a way that made the picture look like a magazine cover.
Yes, Anna’s life had ended too early.
“I’d look into this myself,” Brad continued. “But I’m afraid if I found the person who did this, I’d kill him myself.”
As his words lingered in the air, there was no uncertainty that he’d spoken the truth.
CHAPTER 5
“So, what did you think?” Riley asked when we were back in his car.
I pulled out the paper Brad had given me and stared at the information there as Riley put his car in drive. Just being in such close proximity to him again with no barriers between us—no other people, no table, not even a cup of coffee—had me feeling unnerved again. I needed to get used to this because I was going to be with him a lot this weekend.
I pulled myself together, though. I always did. And I always would.
I knew I was loved by my Creator. I would never find my wholeness in anyone but Him. So I pressed on. Beneath the humor and sarcasm and self-deprecating comments, I knew where my purpose came from, and it wasn’t Riley Thomas. All of these struggles in my life were building my character one painstaking step at a time.
“It looks like we have four suspects to start with,” I told him, glancing at my notes. “The snooty Griffiths, the redneck Daniels pair, the happy Wagnors, and boy-toy Jason Sparrow. But there’s one other thing we have to consider.”
“What’s that?”
“That Anna possibly did commit suicide. She left a note that was clearly her handwriting, and the police don’t seem to suspect any foul play. When people commit suicide, family members never want to accept it. It’s too difficult to come to terms with the idea.”
Riley frowned. “At least maybe we can prove that, right? Some answers are better than no answers.”
“I agree.” I was an answer person. I liked knowing what really happened. And I was under the strict belief that the truth could set us free. However, dealing with that truth could initially be quite a struggle.
Riley took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at me. “You handled yourself like a pro back there.”
I shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, but I secretly glowed under his compliment. I’d come a long way since my initial days as a nosy crime-scene cleaner. Education and experience and a lot of errors—I couldn’t forget to mention them—had gotten me to this point.
“You weren’t too shabby yourself,” I finally said. And it was true. He’d been a good balance of listener and interrogator. He’d been curious but not overly anxious. His laid-back vibe made him seem comfortable and confident.
For a moment, we’d felt like partners. Like Mulder and Scully. Monk and Sharona. Castle and Beckett.
I had to nip those thoughts in the bud, though. This was strictly professional, and I’d be wise not to forget it.
***
Forty minutes after leaving Cape Charles, we pulled into a gravel lot adjacent to a sturdy pier on the bay. There were five other cars in the parking area, and one boat at the dock. As we stood there, a strong wind whipped around us. I’d like to think it was just the breeze coming off the water, but the dark clouds in the distance told a different story. A storm was approaching. Hopefully that wasn’t an ominous sign of things to come.
“You must be Mr. and Mrs. St. Thomas.” A man who looked like Captain Stubing of The Love Boat fame approached Riley and me as we lifted our suitcases from the trunk. The shiny, aerodynamic suitcases. Those accessories needed a security detail all their own.
Okay, I was exaggerating, but I did have a strange love for that new luggage.
Riley smiled affably. “We are. And you’re . . . ?”
“I’m Leroy.” He raised his chin and reached for our luggage. “I run the boat back and forth from the island. We were waiting for you before we started the journey over. Let’s get you boarded. Your car should be fine here until Sunday.”
I couldn’t resist humming the theme song from The Love Boat as Leroy took our luggage and put it on a large pontoon boat waiting by the pier.
Riley leaned closer, so close that his breath feathered across my cheek. “I’ve missed that.”
Something about the exchange caused a shiver to wiggle down my spine. Not a good sign.
Remember, Gabby. Failure’s not an option. Protect your heart. Be in control.
“It’s show time,” I muttered under my breath.
“You’ve got this, Gabby,” Riley said.
I didn’t feel like I “had” anything, but I decided to keep that quiet.
Riley helped me onboard before climbing in behind me. Another couple was already sitting on a padded bench near the bow with their backs toward us. They didn’t bother to look our way as we boarded.
Riley and I exchanged a look before finding a cushioned seat on the perimeter. As the captain geared up to go and ran through some general safety precautions like the location of life preservers, I braced myself for the ride.
I glanced at the front of the boat where the other passengers sat. How strange was it that they hadn’t even mumbled a greeting or acknowledged us. Was this how all the couples at this retreat center would act? Would they all sense that they were somehow above everyone else because of their padded paychecks and fancy cars? Did rich people think they were better than other rich people?
I stared at the couple’s backs for a moment. They weren’t sitting lovey-dovey. In fact, there was a good six inches between them. They looked stiff as they stared straight ahead, neither of them speaking.
The woman had ashy blonde hair, and, when she turned her head ever-so slightly, I could see the fine wrinkles along her eyes and mouth. She wore a long-sleeved white sweater that she had pulled over her hands. The man had salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, and he wore a Northface parka. They had to be Atticus and Farrah Griffith. The Daniels were too redneck and the Wagnors too happy.
Riley struck up a conversation about fishing with Captain Leroy. I tuned out what they were saying and, instead, studied Riley a moment. Why did he have to be so handsome? Would he be easier to dislike if he was re
pulsive looking? Honestly, probably not because it wasn’t his looks that had drawn me toward him. I felt like our spirits connected.
I was just getting my life on track when he’d returned.
God, are you trying to teach me something? Show me some kind of fault in myself that I need to correct?
If I were smart, I’d concentrate on my new job and ignore the emotions trying to capture my heart and mind. That would be the smart thing. However, I’d never been very wise in matters of the heart.
And I had a feeling that would be my ultimate downfall.
Before I could dwell on that thought too long, I saw the man pull something from his pocket. His cell phone.
The boat suddenly jostled. I glanced at the sky. That storm was not only on its way—it was upon us. As if to confirm my thought, the wind gusted over us and sent a spray of water with it.
Even the birds seemed to recognize that things would get treacherous. They squawked overhead as they made a mad dash for the mainland.
When the boat jostled again, the man’s phone clattered from his hand and skidded toward me. Quickly, I darted up and grabbed it for him. Right before I handed it back, I glanced at the screen. A text message was still there.
This isn’t over. Don’t think for a second I’m letting you get away with this.
CHAPTER 6
The man I assumed as Atticus Griffith snatched the phone from me.
Oops. I guess I hadn’t been all that subtle about reading his message.
“Here you go,” I mumbled. “By the way, I’m Gabby St. Thomas.”
He simply grunted, mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “Atticus,” and stomped back to his seat.
What had that message been about? It was definitely suspicious, especially in light of everything I knew so far.
At that moment, Riley and Captain Leroy’s conversation floated to my ears.
Dust and Obey Page 3
