“I need to talk to you, honey. Can I come by the house?”
“No, you cannot come by my house. And I don’t want you calling my cell. Katie shouldn’t have given you this number.” She glanced down at her watch. “What do you want? If it’s money, you can—”
“This is urgent. Please, Liz. If I can’t come to the farm, meet me in Dover. Dinner? Tonight?”
“Impossible.”
“Coffee, then. That restaurant at the mall. We’ll make it early. Five o’clock. Please, I wouldn’t ask, but—”
“Russell, I work for a living.”
“Please, for old time’s sake.”
“Fifteen minutes. Not a second more.”
“Great, you’re a lifesaver. Tonight. Five sharp. I’ll be there.”
“Idiot,” Liz said when Russell hung up. “I’m an idiot.” Why did she still let him manipulate her? It was always some dire emergency, which turned out to be a plea to borrow money. “Comic relief, I suppose,” she muttered, “but which one of us is the clown?”
Hours later, amid a steady stream of mall patrons, Liz glanced at her watch. Russell was late. What did she expect? Russell was Russell.
Had it ever been good between them? After Jack broke her heart, she hadn’t dated anyone for over two years. She’d convinced herself that education was what mattered. Not men, and not the life she’d put behind her. She’d sworn she’d never be “one of those Clarke girls from out in the sticks” again. She’d vowed to become a woman of taste, sophistication, and independence.
Inevitably, in trying to choose a man as different from Jack as bay water from champagne, she’d allowed herself to believe she could be happy with Russell Montgomery.
Educated, attractive, upper-class, and worldly . . . and a lying sack of shit.
“Liz!” He leaned forward to kiss her mouth. “You look great.”
She turned her head so that his lips brushed her cheek. “You’re late.” He was impeccably dressed, as always. Brown hair styled in a medium cut, a steel-gray, single-breasted Prada suit, and Bruno Magli shoes. Russell’s striped tie matched his pinstriped maroon shirt perfectly.
“Sorry about making you wait.” He flashed his gold Rolex. “Traffic on I-95 was a bitch; backed up all the way from the train station to—”
“Fifteen minutes,” she reminded him. “Not a minute more.”
He took her arm as they entered the restaurant. Liz decided that her ex’s taste in cologne hadn’t changed. Too much and too expensive.
“Certain you’re not hungry? My treat.” He motioned to the hostess. “A booth, please.”
Russell had put on a few pounds around the middle since she’d seen him last. And his hair was definitely thinning, but it showed not a hint of gray. If he was dyeing it, it was a professional job. Russell’s locks had a hint of curl, and Katie had inherited the same rich brunette color, her father’s dimple, and his beautiful blue eyes. Fortunately, Russell had passed on to his daughter little else.
It took exactly six minutes for Russell to dispense his quota of charm and move on to his temporary cash-flow problem. From there he swept enthusiastically to his opportunity to purchase the property his business had been leasing. “A once-in-a-lifetime deal,” he assured her. Desperation showed in his eyes. “The heirs want—”
“Russell, are you gambling again? Not one cent. I don’t have any money to lend you. I wouldn’t give you any if I did.”
“I don’t need a penny from you. All I want is your signature. You co-sign the loan and I—”
“Have you lost your mind? Sell your watch. I wouldn’t co-sign a note for you if—”
“God, Liz. Danielle said you’d be like this. I’m not asking for—”
“No. Nada. Not a cent.” She opened her wallet and counted out three dollars and laid it on the table. “I’ve gone this route too many times, Russell. I’m finished.”
“Don’t walk out on me,” he said, pinning her hand with his larger one. “I need—”
She jerked free and glared at him. A bead of sweat glistened on his upper lip. “Go to hell, Russell.”
“Liz!”
She dodged a chubby brunette waitress carrying a full tray of drinks and food and walked swiftly to the restaurant entrance that opened onto the parking lot. Russell followed her, but not fast enough. She reached her vehicle, unlocked the door, and got in. He approached just as she was putting the car into reverse, and she missed backing over his shiny new shoes by inches.
“Liz, wait!” he shouted.
She raised a middle finger in salute and drove out of the mall and onto northbound 13.
Twenty minutes later, Liz slowed and pulled into a parking spot beside the dock where the Raffertys moored their boats. Even with the air-conditioning on, she could smell the salt water, the not unpleasant odor of diesel fuel, and the oily scent of newly caught fish. She put the car in park and sat there sipping a warm Diet Pepsi and listening to the Stones as she tried to summon enough nerve to go in search of Jack.
Across the lot, a sport fisherman tightened the straps that held his nineteen-foot Grady White securely to the boat trailer. His buddy emptied beer cans and paper into a black container bearing a smiley face and a notice stating “NO BOTTLES OR CANS” and climbed into the cab of the big Dodge truck. As Liz watched, the driver got into the Dodge and pulled slowly away, leaving her alone in the lot.
The parking area, with its public ramp, was surprisingly free of trash. A yellowing life preserver and a coil of rope hung from a post at the water’s edge. At the base of the pole, a calico cat trailing two bedraggled kittens tore hungrily at a trout skeleton. The song ended, and Liz turned off the ignition and put down her window part way. She could hear the purr of an outboard in the distance and the slap of waves against the pilings. An odd sensation of peace seeped through her. She’d been away so long, but she could still feel at home here. She closed her eyes and let the familiar sounds and smells soothe her troubled soul.
“Hey, girl!”
Startled by the hard rap on the front passenger window, Liz nearly spilled her soft drink.
“Elizabeth Clarke? It’s me, Nora!” The woman laughed and knocked again on the glass. “Well? Are you going to sit there? Or are you coming out to give me a hug?”
Liz got out, and Nora hurried around the vehicle and threw her arms around her. “God, you look good, girl!”
“You too,” Liz said. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Jack’s mother was stuffed into a too-tight pair of blue jeans and a men’s plaid cotton shirt that hung over her ample belly. High-top black sneakers with a hole in one toe completed her ensemble.
“Like hell I haven’t. Forty pounds and a head of gray hair. But you could pass for twenty-five.”
“Now who’s throwing the bull?” Liz asked, smiling back at her. “You’ve been around those sons of yours too long. You’re beginning to sound just like them.”
“Thirty-five, anyway.” She hugged Liz again. “Come up to the house. Jack’s out with a charter, but supper’s nearly—”
“I can’t,” Liz protested. “I didn’t intend to intrude on your—”
“When did you know me not to make enough food to feed an army?” Nora’s disheveled ponytail bounced with indignation and her glasses shifted forward on her nose. “Lima beans and dumplings,” she said, pushing back the frames. “And you can’t pass on fresh trout.”
“Fried?”
Nora laughed heartily. “Is there any other way? My doctor says my cholesterol worries him, but I told him that there’s no sense in both of us getting ulcers. Come eat with us. I insist. Jack’s dad’s making biscuits.”
“I don’t know,” Liz teased. “Arlie? Sounds risky.”
“Old Arlie’s softenin’ up a little in his golden years. Suddenly decided my pies and biscuits weren’t like his mother used to make, so he started messin’ in the kitchen.” She winked. “His biscuits are better than mine, but don’t you dare tell him. He’ll get so big-headed that he’ll not fit
through the door.”
“You haven’t changed,” Liz repeated. “You never do.” She smiled affectionately at Jack’s mother and then grew serious. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Tracy. I wanted to talk to you at the funeral, but—”
“I wasn’t at the funeral. I don’t do funerals. I thought I could do more for Tracy by cooking for her wake. It was a terrible thing that happened to her, and terrible that you had to come on it.”
“You knew?”
Nora’s pleasant face grew strained. “For all its growing up, this is still a small place. Not much happens in Kent County that I don’t know. And Jack—”
“He told you.”
Nora nodded. “Jack feels he’s partly to blame. He took her to school that morning.”
“No more than I do. She was meeting me. That’s why she came so early. My car wouldn’t start, but if I’d been on time, Tracy might be alive.”
“I doubt it. What’s supposed to happen usually does. Like George gettin’ caught. I suspected he was up to no good. His charters brought in too much money, and he always had more cash than he should have. Arlie didn’t suspect, but I was worried about him for a long time. I tried to talk sense into him, but you know George.”
“It must be terrible for you and Mr. Rafferty.”
“Not as bad as it could be. Ten to fifteen years they gave him, but Georgie will be out in eight or nine, tops. He’s still got time to turn his life around. If Arlie doesn’t kill him when the state turns him loose. It about tore his daddy to pieces. He can’t abide drugs. Seen too many young lives destroyed by them.”
“I really shouldn’t stay,” Liz said. “I’m not hungry, and—”
“The biggest mistake Jack ever made was to drop you for that worthless sister of yours,” Nora said. “You’re the one I wanted for my Jack. He wouldn’t have turned out nearly as wild if he’d had you to keep him straight.” She locked an arm through Liz’s. “No argument, now. Come and eat supper with us. It’s not as though you haven’t done it a hundred times before.”
“Thank you,” Liz said. “Maybe I could eat a piece of trout. Nobody fries fish like you do.”
“It’s all in the flour coating and keeping the oil hot enough. You can’t overcook fish, or it’s tasteless and tough. And you’ve got to have at least one of Arlie’s biscuits. And I know you like lima beans and dumplings. I bought four bushels at Spence’s last August and froze them. They’re about gone, so if you miss these, you’re out of luck.” Nora squeezed her arm. “You grew up fine. I’m proud of you. You always said you were goin’ to college, but Jack says we have to call you Dr. Clarke now.”
“Not you,” Liz assured her. “For you and my old friends, Liz will do just fine.”
“You may as well drive up to the house,” Nora said. “Kids have been vandalizing trucks and boat trailers. Arlie caught two of them throwing paint on one of his boats last week. Lucky for them, they could run faster than he could. I just went around to the one’s mother and told her that my husband was crazy and carried a forty-five on his hip. I warned her that if she didn’t want her son dead, she’d keep him off this dock.”
“Would Arlie have shot them?”
Nora laughed. “Hell, no. But he would have busted some asses and probably landed in county jail. Kids can do what they please nowadays. Not like it used to be. But Arlie hasn’t been locked up in ten years, and I’d like to keep it that way.” She walked around the car, waited for Liz to unlock the passenger door, and then got in. “You know the way.”
Liz chuckled. “I should. I spent enough time at your house.”
“You’re a good girl, Lizzy, and we’re all proud of you. I wish it could have worked out between you and Jack. I worry about him a lot.”
For an instant, Liz thought of what it would have been like if she’d given her virginity to Jack that summer when she was seventeen. Would they have broken up, or would her love for him have trapped her here in this small fishing town? Would her ambition have been buried under the strain of too many babies and too little money?
“. . . Idiot girl he married,” Nora continued, breaking through Liz’s reverie. “Jack’s got the Rafferty temper, wild as Injuns, all of them. Arlie’s mother was half Nanticoke, and the Raffertys have as much Lenape Injun in them as Irish. Used to be, fishing, running charters gave a man a solid living if he was willing to work hard, but no more. Fish are about gone; water’s polluted with mercury and God knows what other filth. I worry about my Jack, I surely do.”
“He’ll be all right,” Liz assured her with more conviction than she felt. “He said he’d had some college and that he—”
“Hmmph,” Nora scoffed. “Didn’t brag on what kind of trash he’s associating with, did he? If he doesn’t keep his nose clean, he could end up worse than Georgie. He could end up dead.”
Liz pulled into a wide driveway behind a blue compact Toyota and a Ford pickup with black-and-white plates. The two-story rambling Victorian house didn’t look any different from when she’d last laid eyes on it. Half the front had been painted a creamy white, but the paint cans and brushes sat on the bare dirt area that passed for a front lawn. What grass there was clung to the edges of large clay pots bearing wilting pansies and herbs. A crumbling brick walk led to wooden steps, worn smooth by time and weather, and a wide porch that encircled the front and two sides of the house.
A disassembled boat motor held the place of honor near the front door, along with several rocking chairs and a porch swing. The front door was fashioned of colored glass panels and boasted a tarnished brass doorknob and a mail slot that had never been used for mail delivery. Original shutters, painted black, sagged at each side of the large, twelve-paned windows.
Liz couldn’t help smiling. She could have been fourteen again as she followed Nora into the wide front hall with its braided oval rug and brass stands that held, not umbrellas, but fishing poles. The house smelled of lima beans and dumplings and hot biscuits, fresh from the oven. The furniture looked as worn and comfortable as the exterior, not so much untidy as lived in.
“Arlie, look what I found down near the dock!” Nora called.
Her husband, grayer and more stooped than Liz remembered, came through the archway that led to the dining room, a can of Budweiser in one hand. “God-amighty! Look what the wind blew in,” Arlie said. “Look at you. Donald Clarke’s girl, all grown up. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He grinned, showing the Rafferty clan’s perfect teeth, still intact and only slightly yellowed by age. “We’re just sittin’ down to supper. I’ll set a plate for you.”
“I already asked her, Arlie,” Nora said, shooing the two of them through the formal dining room and into the kitchen. “We don’t eat in there much,” Nora explained, “not unless it’s Thanksgiving. Just the three of us here now, and Jack usually stirs up something for hisself on the Dolphin III.” She pushed an orange cat off a cushioned chair. “Sit, sit,” she ordered.
“You took long enough,” Arlie said to his wife. “Did you find it?”
“I swear, men are born without a findin’ gene,” Nora said as she filled a tall glass with ice cubes and followed with cold tea and a slice of lemon. “Arlie lost the phone number of Saturday’s charter, and I had to go lookin’ for it down at the dock. He’d lose his ass if it wasn’t glued to his pizzle. Good thing I was down there. You would have sneaked off without comin’ for a proper visit, wouldn’t you?”
“I meant to come by and—” Liz started.
Arlie took his seat and passed a plate of biscuits to her. “When? You’ve been back at the old place for a couple of years, haven’t you? Don’t think we didn’t hear about it. Joe what’s-his-name who shingled your roof, he goes out with me regular when trout are running. He said you and your daughter had fixed up the old place.”
“Working on it,” she answered. “It all takes time.”
“And money,” Nora put in. She slid a helping of lima beans and dumplings onto Liz’s plate.
“Your daddy
would be proud,” Arlie said.
“I hope so.”
“A pity they never found his body,” Nora said. “He deserved a proper burial on Clarke’s Purchase like the rest of his people.”
“I know,” Liz said. “I used to grieve about it, but . . .” She sighed. “It can’t be helped. You know the Delaware Bay. He’s not the first to be lost overboard without a trace.”
“Arlie, want to offer grace?” Nora asked.
Liz bowed her head for the familiar words and then let herself enjoy the company of old friends and the food of her childhood. Nora was full of talk about people and boats that Liz had known, bad storms, tourists, and a run of good-sized trout that were biting on squid.
After supper, there was coffee and homemade apple pie. When Liz drove home, sometime after nine, she felt stronger than she had since she’d discovered Tracy’s murder.
Some things never change, she thought. She’d spent years running from her old life, and in the process, she’d almost forgotten the good times.
When Liz arrived home, Michael’s female German shepherd was waiting for her in the circle of light by the back door, head cocked, ears alert. Liz gave a little sigh of relief when she saw the guard dog. Whoever was playing these stupid games would be in for a huge surprise if he tried to sneak around with Heidi on guard.
“Hello, there.” When the dog didn’t respond, Liz remembered the silent whistle in her purse. She dug it out and blew on it to signal Heidi that she was off duty. The reaction was immediate. This time, when she called Heidi’s name, the animal trotted toward her, tongue lolling, eyes wide and friendly. “Good girl, good Heidi.” Liz took a dog biscuit from the bag on her car seat and offered it to her. Heidi nibbled it daintily and wagged her tail. “Yes, you’re a good girl,” Liz assured her.
She crossed to the porch. It was as clean as she’d left it—no grisly flowers, and no dead animals. Humming to herself, Liz unlocked the back door, pushed it open, and called Heidi in.
At Risk Page 10
