by Eva Gates
Ricky made no protest as Ronald led him away. I decided to step outside to make the call so I could have a look and see if Ricky’d left anyone else on our step. I’ve had reason to phone the good detective so often I have his personal number in my contacts list.
Last night’s fog had cleared. The sun was rising in a cloudless sky, the heat of the day was already settling in, and a light salty breeze caressed my cheeks and ruffled my curls as a flock of Canada geese flew overhead, calling to stragglers to keep up. The barking of a dog came from the marsh, and I could see heads bobbing over the long grasses near the pond. Ronald’s car was the only one in front of the library, although two cars were parked near the boardwalk, and I remembered that my dad had taken my car last night.
A square of thick white plastic lay on the steps, and I bent down to pick it up. A room key from the Ocean Side Hotel. It must have fallen out of Ricky’s pocket.
What, I wondered, had he been up to last night after leaving the restaurant?
Was it possible that he—Ricky, whom I’d known since we were kids—had killed his father and run into the night to try to forget what he’d done? I told myself there was no point in speculating. It would be up to Detective Watson to figure out what had happened.
I placed the call, and he answered almost immediately. “Good morning, Lucy. Have you located Ricky Lewiston?”
“Uh, yes, actually. How did you know that’s why I’m calling?”
“A guess. I didn’t think this was a social call. Although CeeCee tells me your club’s reading The Hound of the Baskervilles, one of my favorites. If I get this case cleared up, I might come to the meeting. Where are you now?”
“I’m at the library. Ricky was asleep on the step when I opened up.”
“Did he have anything to say about last night?”
“I didn’t ask. He seems to be hungover. Very, very hungover.”
“I’m on my way. Would you say this is a normal pattern of behavior for him? Is he a serious drinker?”
“No, not really. He enjoys a night out, but I’ve never known him to drink to excess. He was drinking a lot last night at the restaurant even before—I mean, even before he left.”
“Ten minutes. Don’t let him leave.” Watson hung up. I stared at my phone. Don’t let him leave? What was I supposed to do if Ricky wanted to be on his way? Suggest he settle down with a good book? Tie him to a bookshelf? Tell Charles to stand guard over him?
All of that turned out not to be necessary. When I went back inside, I found Ricky and Ronald in the break room. Ricky was sitting at the table, clinging to his mug of coffee as though it were a life preserver, his hair and shirt soaking wet. Ronald’s sleeves were drenched up to the elbows, his Star Wars tie askew, and he was mopping the floor while Charles scowled at our visitor in disapproval.
“Thanks, Ronald,” I said.
He handed me the mop. “It’s Charlene’s day off. I can watch the desk for a while, but toddlers’ story time is at eleven.”
“I’ll be done by then.”
“Sorry,” Ricky said once Ronald had left, straightening his tie and muttering under his breath in disapproval. “Do you have any aspirin or anything? My head’s killing me.”
I got the little bottle off a high shelf and shook out two pills. I handed them to him with a glass of water, and he accepted them gratefully.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down opposite Ricky. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know, Lucy. I went on quite the bender last night, and … I guess I decided I needed to see you one more time before I leave.”
“Before you leave? You mean you’re going home?”
He nodded, winced as the motion reminded him that he had a headache, and sipped his coffee.
“To Boston?”
“That’s where home is. For me, anyway. Obviously no longer for you.”
“Today?”
“Yes, today. With Mom. Is there a problem with that?” He lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were still bloodshot and his head hurt, but some degree of comprehension had returned.
“Ricky, are you aware the police want to talk to you?”
“What about? Okay, I went on a heck of a bender, and I don’t exactly remember everything that happened last night, but I would remember if I’d been in an accident or something. I think.” He lifted his unmarked hands and studied them.
“Have you spoken to your mother this morning?”
“I guess I should, eh? She can be overprotective sometimes, but she knows not to worry about it when I … don’t show up for breakfast.”
“I’ll let her know you’re here,” I said.
He shrugged, not much interested, and finished his coffee. He extended the mug to me. “Any more? I should probably get some breakfast into me. Want to join me?”
I took the mug. “Ricky, I don’t know what to say, but—”
I was saved from saying anything by the sound of firm footsteps in the hallway and the arrival of Detective Watson and Butch Greenblatt.
“Detective, Officer,” I said in the way my mother had taught me was proper when greeting guests. “Please do come in.”
Ricky started to stand. “Oh. I guess you’re busy. I’ll be going, then. Uh … can you call a cab for me, Lucy?”
“Not so fast,” Butch said.
“What?” Ricky said.
“Sit down, please,” Watson said.
Ricky dropped into his chair. I got to my feet and edged toward the door. I wasn’t planning on leaving, but I thought that if I made myself unobtrusive, Watson would forget I was here.
“Are you Richard Lewiston the Third?” Watson asked.
Ricky blinked. “I might be. I might not be. Who the heck are you?”
“Detective Sam Watson, Nags Head Police.”
“Is there a problem?” Ricky asked.
“Answer the detective’s question.” Butch didn’t look happy. It was likely the police had been searching for Ricky all night, and Butch had been on duty since yesterday evening.
Ricky threw me a look, and then he shrugged. He didn’t seem to know what was going on. He didn’t seem to know that his father had died and that his mother, as well as the police, was frantically trying to locate him.
Then again, Ricky was a lawyer. A corporate lawyer, yes, but he had courtroom experience. Court was a stage and a lawyer an actor. He let the silence drag on for a few more seconds, then shrugged and said, “Yeah, that’s my name.”
“Where were you last night?” Watson asked.
“That’s absolutely none of your business.”
“I’ll decide what’s my business.”
“Perhaps, Detective, you’re not aware that I’m an attorney with—”
“Ricky!” I said. “Please. Don’t be difficult. Just tell us—I mean, them—what you were doing last night after you left the restaurant.”
“Why?”
Watson turned to Butch. “I haven’t got time to play games. Let’s go. Bring him along. We’ll continue this conversation down at the station.”
“Hey!” Ricky half rose as Butch took a step toward him. “I’m not going anywhere without—”
“Ricky,” I yelled. “You do not want to do this. Please. Stop it. Your father’s dead, and you need to tell the police what you know.” Horrified, I snapped my mouth shut. Here I was, trying to be unobtrusive and silent, and I’d just blurted out what the police were not telling the suspect. I ducked my head. “Sorry.”
Ricky’s face was a picture of shock. He dropped into his chair. His mouth opened; it snapped shut. Surely he couldn’t be that good an actor? “What? Lucy, what do you mean?”
“Ms. Richardson’s right,” Watson said. “Your father died last night.”
“I still don’t understand what concern that is of yours,” Ricky said. “I have to go to my mother. We need to get back to Boston. Lucy, does Mom know?”
“Yes. My mother’s with her.”
“That’s good, then.
”
“It is very much my concern,” Watson said, “as your father was found dead in an alley in Nags Head under suspicious circumstances. Now, can you please tell me where you went last night after you left Lucy and her party at Jake’s Seafood Bar?”
That was blunt, but clearly Watson had decided it was time to stop beating about the bush. Ricky wasn’t making it easy for the police to ask the necessary questions.
“You think he was murdered?” Ricky said.
“We are presently acting on that assumption,” Watson said.
“Can I have a glass of water? Please?”
Watson didn’t tell me not to move, so I slipped over to the sink and got Ricky what he needed. I handed it to him with what I hoped was an encouraging smile and returned to my place against the wall.
Ricky drank the entire glass in one long gulp and then took a deep breath. “Okay. My mom and I had dinner at that seafood place overlooking the Sound with my dad’s law partner and his family, including Lucy here. It wasn’t a pleasant evening. My mother was making … shall we say, demands of me that I wasn’t happy about.” He threw me a quick look. “I went to the bar to get myself another drink, and I decided to leave. Mom and I’d come together in our rental car and she had the keys, so she could get herself back to the hotel without me. I paid my bar bill and walked out without saying good-bye to anyone. I went to that strip of restaurants and bars across from the oceanfront and settled in for the duration. The result of which is, I don’t feel too good today.”
“What bar?” Watson asked.
Ricky gave him a sickly grin. “I don’t remember the name. Sorry.”
“Will you remember it if you see it again?” Butch asked.
“I might. They all look much the same.”
“Did you see your father at any time yesterday?” Watson asked.
Ricky shook his head. He winced and touched his forehead. “I did not. I didn’t even know he was in town. He said nothing about any plans to come here.”
“When you left Jake’s, was there any police activity outside?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“Were Lucy and her party still at their table?”
“Yeah. I figured no one would miss me if I just left.”
“What about your mother?”
“Come to think of it, I didn’t see her. I figured she’d gone to the ladies’ room. Like I said, I wasn’t worried about her. She could drive herself to the hotel. My mother’s more than capable of looking after herself.”
I kept my face impassive. Unwittingly, Ricky had established his mother as a suspect.
“What time did you return to your hotel?”
“Uh …”
“He didn’t,” I said. “His mother was knocking on his door all night. She’s been worried sick.”
“I didn’t know that, did I?” Ricky snapped at me.
“Where did you spend the night, then?” Watson asked.
Another glance at me. “I’d like to be able to say I met a nice young lady, but I didn’t. When the bar closed, I gave the bartender a hundred bucks to roll me into the back of his truck. When he came out this morning to get to his other job, I asked him to drop me off here. I gave him another hundred for the lift.”
“Why come here?”
“I wanted to talk to Lucy. To say good-bye and wish her well. We were close, once.”
“You maintain you didn’t see your father yesterday?”
“I did not.”
“Did you recognize anyone at all, other than Lucy, your mother, and other members of the dinner party, at Jake’s last night? Inside or out?”
“No. I—wait, there was one guy. A client of my dad’s and mine. Guy by the name of Gordon Frankland. He was having dinner in the same place and came over to say hello.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Did you see Mr. Frankland after you left the restaurant?”
“No.”
“Anyone else you’re acquainted with?”
“No.”
“Did your father have any enemies?”
Ricky snorted. “Outside the boardrooms of Boston, none that I know of. Inside, yeah, probably a lot. My dad’s been an attorney for a long time. I can’t say his ethics have always been entirely aboveboard. Not that I know anything about that, of course.”
“Of course,” Watson said. “I will point out that in my experience, even people intimately acquainted with the insides of corporate boardrooms can commit shocking acts of violence.”
Ricky said nothing.
“Was your father a regular visitor to the Outer Banks?”
“He came about once a year or so on fishing trips with clients. He worked out of Boston, but our firm has clients all over the country. Like Gordon Frankland, who, as I told you, came over to our table to say hello. It wasn’t a pleasant encounter. Guy’s a difficult client, to say the least.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. He threw around a few insults and insinuations about our firm’s capabilities and then went back to his table.”
“I’m acquainted with Mr. Frankland,” Watson said. “I’ll be speaking with him. Leave your contact information with Officer Greenblatt.”
Ricky stood up. “Great. Can I have a lift back to town?”
“I don’t run a taxi service.”
The police left, leaving the door open behind them. Ricky let out a long breath. “Wow. That’s pretty hard stuff to take in.”
“It is.”
I heard voices in the hallway, and Bertie’s head popped in. “Lucy, what’s going on? Ronald said Sam’s been here to speak to a friend of yours about a death in town?”
“Hi,” Ricky said.
“Hello. I heard something on the radio this morning about that. I dared hope we wouldn’t be involved. Are we?”
“No,” I said firmly. “We are not. Unfortunately, my parents are. It was my dad’s law partner who died.”
“Goodness.”
“You’ll be wanting to check up on your mom, Lucy,” Ricky said. “She’s bound to be devastated about Dad’s death. You can give me a lift to the hotel.”
“I—”
“Take some time if you need it, Lucy,” Bertie said. “You put in a lot of extra hours last week when Ronald was off sick.”
Time I’d been hoping to spend with Connor in our search for a house. Before I could point that out, Ricky said, “Great! Let’s go. I have got to get out of these clothes.”
Chapter Nine
Connor had driven me home after dinner last night, and Dad had my car. I had to go into town to get it anyway, so I called a taxi to come for Ricky and me. We drove to the Ocean Side in silence. I had nothing more to say to Ricky, and he was wrapped in his own thoughts.
As we walked up the front steps together, Ricky began patting his jeans pockets.
“Looking for something?” I passed him the room key.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. “Must have dropped it.”
Ricky’s room was next to his mother’s. He knocked, the door flew open, and Evangeline threw herself at him while Fluffy danced around their legs, barking frantically.
“It’s okay, Mom.” Ricky patted her back. “I’m here now. Sorry if you were worried.” He led her into the room, and I followed. I nudged Fluffy with my foot to get her inside and shut the door. The little dog kept barking. I was surprised the hotel hadn’t thrown her out by now. I bent over and gave her what I hoped was a comforting pat. “It’s okay. We’re all okay.”
She stopped barking as abruptly as though a switch had been thrown. Evangeline dropped onto the couch, and Fluffy leapt up beside her.
Watson and Butch stood silently, watching everything.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said.
“Don’t push it, Lucy,” Watson replied.
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
My mother was sitting in the desk chair. Despite having spent the night on a pullout couch and being continually disturbed, she looked fresh an
d dewy and ready for another fun-filled day. She’d found the time to apply her makeup and fix her hair and was dressed in a different outfit of white capris, a blue-and-white-striped T-shirt, and blue espadrilles. Perhaps only I noticed that she was still wearing the earrings she’d had on last night, and the dangling diamonds didn’t suit today’s jaunty casual nautical attire.
“Ellen dropped off a few things for me a short while ago. She came in your car, and Amos drove her home.” Mom passed me my keys, and I slipped them into my bag. “Your father’s been up for hours, she tells me, making phone calls. He’s going home as planned later today, but we think it best if I stay a while longer.”
“I’ve been calling you all night,” Evangeline said to Ricky. “Why didn’t you reply? Where have you been? I’ve been so dreadfully worried.”
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t hear the phone. I uh … ran into a friend.” Ricky ducked his head and looked very boyish and chastised as he lied comfortably. I hoped he’d have more sense than to try to lie to the police.
“I’ll forgive you. This time,” she said. “Detective Watson was explaining to me that they can’t release your father’s body yet. Pending, as he put it, the results of his investigation.”
“That’s normal procedure, Mom.” Ricky dropped onto the couch next to her, displacing Fluffy, who glared at him before hopping down. “Have you had breakfast?”
“I was up early. I scarcely got a wink of sleep all night. I was so worried. Didn’t you at least see my messages?”
“Messages?” Ricky patted his jeans pockets once again. “I, uh, seem to have lost my phone. Lucy, did you see my jacket?”
“Nope.”
Watson’s eyes opened slightly. “You’ve misplaced your jacket?”
Ricky shrugged. “It’ll turn up. I hope.”
“Never mind, my darling boy.” Evangeline patted his knee. “You’re here now. You can worry about your phone later. Suzanne and I ordered from room service earlier. Would you like me to call down for them to bring you something?”
“Coffee, lots of it. Bacon and eggs and hash browns. Lots of toast. Tomato juice. I don’t feel too good.”
