by Margot Hunt
“I’ve been worried sick!” my mother said. “You were so much later than I thought you’d be! Did you at least get the information you were hoping to find?”
“Not exactly,” I said, tucking the pepper spray back into my bag.
Ebbie looked back at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Or I would be, once I figured out what Kat was up to.
* * *
When we got back to the house, Todd was waiting in the living room, watching the Tennis Channel with the volume off. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, and his wavy dark hair was sticking up on end as though he’d been running his hands through it.
“I’m going straight to bed,” Ebbie said from the doorway. She looked tired, and I felt a stab of guilt at keeping her up so late.
“Good night,” I said. “And thank you again. For everything.”
Ebbie smiled. “Good night.”
When she had left the room, I sat down on the couch next to my husband, tucking my legs underneath me. He was still staring at the television.
“Hey,” I said.
He nodded and took a sip of his beer.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked, reaching out to rest my hand lightly on his arm.
“What would you like me to say?” Todd sounded tired and tense, but not mad. I was glad. I wasn’t up to facing his anger.
“I’m sorry I left the way I did. I know that I worried you,” I said. “And I know you’ve been through a lot lately.”
Todd finally turned to look at me. “I wasn’t worried. I was scared out of my mind. Two days ago you were arrested for murder. Tonight you disappeared for hours without telling me or even Ebbie, apparently, what you were doing. What was I supposed to think?”
“I had to do something.”
“So I gathered.”
I knew I couldn’t tell him that Kat had asked me to meet her at the lighthouse or that she hadn’t shown up or that she possibly had sent the tattooed man after me. Todd would insist on going to the police, which I had absolutely no intention of doing. I hadn’t trusted the police even before they arrested me for murder.
Instead I’d have to lie to my husband. If I dressed it up in a half-truth, maybe he’d even buy it.
“I got a text message from someone who said he had information about the witness who claimed to have seen Howard pushed off the balcony,” I said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t give me his name. In fact, I’m not even sure it was a man. But whoever it was wanted me to meet him at the lighthouse after hours, so I went and waited. But he didn’t show up.”
“You did what?” Todd practically shouted.
“Shh,” I said. “You’ll wake up the kids.”
“What were you thinking?”
“Please stop shouting.”
Todd set down his beer bottle with unnecessary force on the side table. “But that’s crazy. It doesn’t make any sense. You were gone for, what? Six, seven hours? Just to meet someone you don’t know?”
“He said he had information for me. I couldn’t just ignore that.”
“Let me see the text,” Todd demanded with his hand out.
We looked at one another for a long moment. Todd was upset, yes, but there was also something in his expression I couldn’t quite read. A wariness I hadn’t seen before. I wondered if he knew I was lying.
“I deleted it,” I said quietly.
“What the hell is going on, Alice?”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
Todd closed his eyes. “We can’t get through this if you don’t trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then tell me what you were doing tonight.”
“I already told you. I was meeting someone I thought wanted to help me. But I was wrong. That person didn’t show up.” This, at least, was the truth. “If he had, and I could have used his help to clear my name, it would have been worth it.”
Todd shook his head, picked up his beer and took a long drink from the bottle. I knew he still wasn’t sure he believed me, but I could tell he was softening. Finally he reached out and took my hand. “I know you’re scared and worried, but please promise me you’ll never do anything like this ever again.”
“Believe me,” I said, turning to look at the silent tennis match, “I learned my lesson tonight.”
* * *
I didn’t get any sleep that night. I lay in our bed, listening to my husband’s soft snores, while I tried to figure out what Kat was up to. Had she simply been unable to show up? If so, it was an awfully big coincidence for that man to be at the closed and gated lighthouse at the exact time Kat and I were supposed to meet there. But if Kat had sent him in her place, what had she been hoping to accomplish? It was hard to believe that he had been there to deliver a benign message. Had he been sent to scare or even hurt me? And if so, what would Kat do when he told her I didn’t show up?
Finally I gave up on sleep. I crept out of our bedroom without waking Todd and padded to the kitchen. I made chamomile tea and sat down at the table, my hands cupped around the steaming mug, while I tried to think about what I should do next.
I turned my laptop on and opened a blank document.
Then I began to type.
30
I was still sitting at the kitchen table in front of my laptop when Todd came in, clean-shaven and dressed for work. I had long since finished writing the document I hoped would keep us all safe. Now I was sipping coffee, reading the headlines of the news online and contemplating how thankful I was to be alive that morning.
“Did you get any sleep?” Todd asked, leaning over to brush his lips against my cheek.
“A little.”
“I forgot to tell you when you got back last night—Grace called while you were out. She wants us to come into her office this afternoon.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, but she said she hoped to have good news for us. She needs to talk to the prosecutor on your case this morning, and then she’ll meet with us after that.”
“I could use some good news,” I said with a wan smile.
“What good news?” Liam asked, bounding into the kitchen. He was still wearing his pajamas, and his hair was sticking up. “What’s for breakfast? Are you going to make eggs?”
“No, let your mother rest. Have some cereal,” Todd said.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” I stood and stretched. My muscles felt stiff and sore from the hours of sitting uncomfortably against the banyan tree.
“Am I going to school today?” Liam asked.
Todd and I exchanged a glance. He shrugged. “I don’t think another day off is such a bad idea.”
“I agree,” I said. “Let’s keep the kids home today, at least. We’ll know more about what we’re dealing with after we talk to Grace.”
* * *
“Come in,” Grace Williams said, waving us into her office. Unlike John Donnelly, Grace didn’t have a corner office with a water view. Her law office was located in a two-story building on North Dixie Highway just down the street from the courthouse. But it was an open, airy room with stylish touches, like a demilune desk with curved legs and a leopard-print rug. There was a large table to one side covered in file folders and stacks of paper.
“I know, it’s a mess,” she said, waving at the piles. “But there is a method to the madness. Or at least, I know where everything is. Please sit down.”
Todd and I sat side by side on cream upholstered French armchairs. He reached over and took my hand in his. The gesture reminded me of a frightening moment during my pregnancy with the twins. The doctor had ordered an amniocentesis, and when Todd and I were brought in to be given the results, we’d sat just like this. Now, as then, we were hopin
g for the best but bracing for a potentially life-altering blow.
Grace sat down behind her desk and laced her fingers together. “I have good news.”
Todd and I glanced at one another.
“Let’s hear it,” Todd said.
“The prosecutor is dropping all of the charges,” Grace said. “The paperwork is being processed as we speak.”
I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands. Todd raised his hands in triumphant fists and said, “That’s fantastic! What happened?”
“It was actually Alice’s idea,” Grace said, nodding approvingly in my direction. “And you were absolutely right.”
“About what?”
“That the key to the whole case was the witness who claimed he saw Howard Grant pushed over the balcony,” Grace said. “I sent my investigator to meet him.”
Todd looked over at me. “Does this have anything to do with your meeting last night?”
Grace frowned. “What meeting?”
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head at Todd before turning back to Grace. “Who was the witness?”
“His name is Ronald Shaw,” Grace said. “Apparently he’s a bit of a character.”
“And this man, Mr. Shaw, said he didn’t see anyone push Howard after all?”
Grace shook her head. “No, he still claims he saw someone that night. He was quite insistent. He said that he had a clear view of the Grants’ house through his telescope, and he saw a woman push Howard Grant off a balcony.”
Todd and I exchanged another perplexed look.
“Then why are they dropping the charges against Alice?” Todd asked.
“Ronald Shaw has Alzheimer’s,” Grace said. “He’s lucid at times, but during the course of the interview, he lost track of what year it was and who the president was.”
“That’s very sad,” I said.
“Sad for him, yes, but good for you,” Grace said. She shook her head. “Mr. Shaw’s wife told my investigator that the police officer who interviewed her husband showed him a photo lineup and put a lot of pressure on him to identify Alice as the person he saw push Howard Grant. Someone named Sergeant Sofia Oliver.”
“I’m not surprised. She’s not my biggest fan,” I said drily.
“In any event, Mr. Shaw is not competent to testify against you. And without a witness, the state’s attorney doesn’t have a case. They can’t even prove that Howard Grant was murdered,” Grace continued.
“I can’t believe it,” I said, feeling dazed. “After all of this, after everything I went through, it’s just...over. Just like that.”
“It’s good news, Alice,” Grace said.
“The best news,” Todd added.
“In fact, if you’re interested, I think you have grounds for a lawsuit,” Grace began.
“What kind of lawsuit?” Todd asked.
“False arrest. False imprisonment,” Grace said crisply. “If the police had done their job and investigated properly, they would have known that their main witness wasn’t of sound mind. In fact, it sounds to me like Sergeant Oliver seriously overstepped by putting so much pressure on Mr. Shaw to identify you in the photo lineup. They should never have arrested Alice.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to sue the police. I want to put all of this behind me.”
Grace nodded philosophically, although I thought she looked a little disappointed. “It’s your choice, of course.”
“What happens now?” Todd asked.
Grace went over the basics in her fast, bullet-point way of talking—the clerk of court would record the dismissal of the case, and Grace would petition to have the arrest expunged from my record. I sat still, trying to absorb all the information, while Todd nodded along.
Grace finally paused to take a breath. “Do you have any other questions?”
“No, I think that’s everything.” Todd slapped both hands against his legs. He looked to me. “Do you have any questions?”
“Actually, there is something I want to talk to Grace about,” I said. “But I need to speak to her privately.”
“I can’t hear what you’re going to say?” Todd asked, surprised.
I was sorry to hurt his feelings, but it couldn’t be helped. The stakes were too high.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” I assured him. “I’ll be only a minute.”
Todd stood. “I guess I’ll wait for you outside.”
Once Grace and I were alone, she looked at me with her cool, calculating gaze. “What’s up?”
I pulled a manila envelope out of my bag.
“You said that the attorney-client privilege covers all communications between us. I need it to cover this.” I held the envelope up for her to see.
Grace nodded. “Is that something you want me to read?”
“No,” I said. “And I know this is going to sound a little melodramatic, and maybe even a little crazy, so I apologize in advance. But I need you to hold on to this for me. Please don’t break the seal while I’m alive. But if something happens to me—if someone kills me, or if I die in an accident or apparent suicide—open it then. Read it and then give it to the police.”
To give her credit, Grace’s expression didn’t change. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Is there an end date?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will there come a time when you’d prefer I destroy the contents of this? Without opening it?”
I considered this. “Five years. If I’m still alive in five years, I’ll contact you and ask you to destroy it.”
I handed the envelope to Grace. She looked down at it and nodded. “Until then, I’ll keep it in my file.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” Grace hesitated. “I don’t want to know what’s in here, do I?”
“No,” I answered. “Probably not.”
31
Things went back to normal surprisingly quickly.
The reporters staking out our house disappeared. The Palm Beach Post ran a short story under the headline Local Writer Cleared of Murder Charges.
The children returned to school.
Ebbie returned home to her bearded potter.
Todd returned to work.
No one tried to kill me.
Kat and I had still not spoken. The day after the charges against me were dropped, I sent her a brief text telling her we needed to meet. I set a time and day the following week. She didn’t respond, but I had a feeling that this time she’d show up.
To prove how serious I was, I sent her one of the photos I’d taken of the man at the lighthouse.
* * *
After dropping the kids off at school on their first day back, I laced on my sneakers and headed out for a run. I hadn’t gone jogging for a while and it was a long, tough slog, especially in the early-May humidity. I hoped summer wasn’t arriving early in South Florida. When I finally turned back onto our street, I saw Detective Demer standing in our driveway, waiting for me. I slowed to a walk as I approached him. He was tall and formidable, although his suit was rumpled as usual, and there was what looked like a coffee stain on his yellow tie.
“I didn’t know you were a runner,” Demer said.
“I’m not,” I said, trying to catch my breath. My T-shirt was soaked with sweat, and I plucked it away from my chest. “I’m trying to get back in shape.”
“Good for you,” Demer said. “I keep thinking I should start working out again. But I’ve always hated exercising so much, I never stick to it.”
I nodded without comment. I was sure the detective had not come here to discuss his exercise habits with me, and I was eager for him to get to the point.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Are you here to arrest me again?”
Demer smiled. “No, not today. I just stopped by to say goodbye.
I’m going back to Tallahassee this afternoon.”
“The case is closed, then?”
“It is. The only reason it was pursued as a homicide was the witness. Now that we know the witness is incompetent, there’s no way to prove that Howard Grant was murdered,” Demer said.
“Sergeant Oliver must be crushed.”
The detective smiled. “I think she’ll bounce back. There’s been a spate of golf cart thefts on the island. That will keep her busy for a while.”
“Does she believe that the witness was incompetent?”
“No,” Demer replied. “She thinks he made an accurate report of what he saw, and she tried to argue that he’d still be a persuasive witness if the case ever went to trial.”
“You don’t agree?”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s persuasive. The man has advanced Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t know where he is most of the time. No state’s attorney is going to take a case to trial with such an unreliable witness. Any halfway decent defense attorney would destroy Ronald Shaw’s testimony.” Demer shrugged.
“I wish you’d figured that out before you arrested me.”
The detective nodded. “You may not believe this, but I didn’t want to arrest you.”
I looked at him for a long moment. “Actually, I do believe that. Is that why you came here? To tell me that?”
“No...” Demer hesitated. “Or at least, not entirely that. I came to warn you.”
“About what?”
“There are rumors that Thomas Wyeth has some dubious business associates,” Demer told me. “No one’s ever been able to make a case against him—he’s too careful for that—but there’s talk that he has links with an organized crime syndicate in South Florida.”
I nodded. Nothing about the Wyeths would have surprised me at this point. And if Kat had sent the tattooed man at the lighthouse after me, she certainly hadn’t found him in the Yellow Pages.
“These are dangerous people,” Demer continued. “Not the sort you want to get mixed up with.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Detective Demer looked at me for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing whether to tell me something. I waited.
