“I’m going,” Riley said.
* * *
Riley found the sheriff standing in the kitchen, looking uneasy beneath the hostile glare of Evelyn Nolan, who was still in her cotton housecoat. Even to Riley, this man looked barely old enough to be a school crossing guard, let alone a sheriff.
His white-blond hair was neatly combed with a side part. He wore a baby-blue golf shirt with an embroidered insignia patch, and black Dockers. His baseball cap was tucked into his belt, which also held a leather case bearing a gold badge.
“Ma’am?” he said, as she entered the room. “I’m Craig Schumann. Sorry to barge in on you people so early.”
“It’s all right,” she murmured. “I’m Riley Griggs. My brother said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes ma’am,” the sheriff said. He glanced at Evelyn, who was pretending to wipe down the already spotless countertop. “I was, uh, wondering if we could talk, well, I wouldn’t want to disturb your family…”
“He won’t tell me what this is all about,” Evelyn said. “I’ve explained that I’m your mother, and this is my home.”
“Mama, please?” Riley gave her mother a beseeching look.
* * *
When they were alone, the sheriff gestured toward the dinette. “Ma’am, you might want to sit down before we talk.”
“Did my mother offer you coffee?” Riley heard herself ask. Absurd that she should be concerned about his discomfort, when she was the one about to be given the worst news of her life.
She hadn’t been a real journalist in more than a decade, but suddenly, out of nowhere, she found herself back in reporter mode, noticing the tiniest details, the mole on the sheriff’s chin, the speck of mustard on the Formica tabletop, her own hands, clasping and unclasping, the sorry state of her nails, with chipped polish and ragged cuticles. Most of all, and the thing she found both shocking and unforgiveable, was her complete and utter emotional detachment.
“No, well, she did, but I don’t care for any coffee,” the sheriff said, blushing furiously.
Riley sat down at the table, and he took the chair opposite hers.
“My brother said this is about my husband?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” He leaned forward and took a small spiral-bound notebook from his back pocket. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted. He consulted his notes, then looked directly at her.
“Your husband is Wendell Griggs, that’s correct? Age forty-two? And the two of you reside here on Belle Isle at 555 Sand Dollar Lane.”
“My husband is Wendell Griggs. We have a second home on Sand Dollar Lane, but our legal residence has been on St. Mary’s Street in Raleigh, which we just sold,” she said.
“That’s right.” He nodded. “Okay, well.” He took a deep breath and looked directly at her. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that your husband is deceased.”
“I know.”
His eyes widened. “You already know? Do you mind if I ask how you know?”
“My brother was out for his morning run when he saw the commotion at the marina,” Riley said. “He told me just now.”
“He told you your husband is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” He said it under his breath, then looked up and colored again. “Pardon my French. I’m just, well, your reaction isn’t what I expected.”
“It’s not what I expected either,” Riley said sadly. She stood abruptly. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to need some coffee now.”
* * *
At home she drank coffee heavily dosed with sugar and half-and-half. Today she drank it scalding hot and black, and she could already feel a blister rising on her tongue. It was the only thing she could feel.
She sat down at the table and took another sip of coffee.
“Do they know? I mean, do you know what happened? Billy said he was in the water?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Are you saying he drowned? Because Wendell wouldn’t drown. He could swim. He was an athlete. Or, he used to be.”
“We don’t know yet. I can tell you there was a wound on the back of his head.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh God. A wound? What does that mean?”
“Again, this is all the information I have. There will be an autopsy.…”
Riley felt her stomach roil. She bolted from the room, making it to the hall bathroom just in time. She knelt by the commode, retching again and again, until she thought her ribs would shatter. Finally, she laid down in a fetal position on the black-and-white-penny-tile floor, resting her cheek against the cool surface.
There was a light knock on the door, which she hadn’t had time to close. Parrish stepped inside. She took one of Evelyn’s starched and monogrammed linen fingertip towels from a delicate silver tray on the marble vanity, ran it under the faucet, and sat down beside her best friend, pressing it to the back of her neck, and then her temples, and finally, dabbing it at Riley’s lips.
“They’re saying Wendell’s dead,” Riley said finally.
“I know, shug,” Parrish said sadly, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Billy called. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Riley whispered. “I don’t know what to do, Parrish.”
“Ed does,” Parrish said. “He’s out in the kitchen with the sheriff. He’ll take care of stuff.”
“The sheriff said Wendell had a … a wound on his head.”
“That’s what he told Ed, too. Do you feel like standing up yet?”
“Give me a minute.” Finally, Riley pulled herself up and splashed cold water on her face.
“The sheriff said he had some questions for me,” Riley said. “But I don’t know anything. I don’t know what Wendell was doing at the marina. He was supposed to meet us at the ferry yesterday.”
“Ed doesn’t want you to talk to the sheriff just yet,” Parrish said.
“I already have.”
“Well, don’t say anything else to him. Look. Your husband is dead. We don’t know how, or why, or anything. Maybe there was an accident. We don’t know that yet. Now, it’s been years since I practiced criminal law, but I can tell you, if this is not an accident, the first person they’re going to look at is Wendell’s wife.”
Riley stared. “Are you saying they think somebody did this to him? It might not be an accident? That somebody killed Wendell? That’s crazy! Who would kill him? And why? And why would the sheriff think I had something to do with it?”
“Because he’s a cop. That’s how their minds work. And, face it, once he starts asking questions, he’s probably going to find out that you guys were about to get a divorce. And then there’s this whole foreclosure thing.”
Riley sat down abruptly on the commode. “Oh God. I’d forgotten about that.”
“He hasn’t,” Parrish said. “We need to get you a lawyer.”
“I don’t want a lawyer,” Riley said. “I didn’t do anything. You know that. Ed knows it.”
“Of course we do. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. This is just for your own protection.”
“No.” Riley shook her head vehemently. “I want to talk to the sheriff. I’ll answer his questions. I want him to know I don’t have anything to hide. I want to know what happened. I have to be able to tell Maggy what happened.”
“Not a good idea,” Parrish warned.
“I don’t care. I appreciate Ed’s concern, and yours, but I have to do this.”
“All right,” Parrish said, sighing. “Where’s Maggy? You haven’t told her yet, right?”
“Billy’s upstairs with her. She’s still sleeping and, with any luck, it’ll be another hour or so until she wakes up.”
“Your mama doesn’t know yet?”
“God, no.”
* * *
She sat at the table with Ed and the sheriff, who was now sipping coffee from one of Evelyn Nolan’s delicate pink-flowered coffee cups.
“
Wendell was supposed to meet me yesterday at the ferry in Southpoint, before the last boat of the day. But he never made it. I kept calling and texting … I guess now we know why he didn’t answer.”
“Why didn’t your husband drive down from Raleigh with you?”
“He had meetings. Most of the time, we do drive down separately, because my daughter and I stay on the island all summer, and Wendell is a weekender.”
“Even for the long Memorial Day holiday?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of meetings? Do you know who your husband was going to be with?”
“No.” Riley bit her lip. “I didn’t keep up with Wendell’s work stuff. And I guess I should just go ahead and tell you…”
“Riley?” Ed gave her a warning shake of his head, anticipating what she would say next.
She plunged ahead anyway. “Wendell and I had been pretty much living separate lives these past few months. He hadn’t actually moved out yet, but that was our next step.”
“You’re getting divorced?”
Riley picked at the cuticle on her thumb. “We were going to tell Maggy, our daughter, this weekend.”
“When was the last time you talked to Mr. Griggs?”
“You mean, in person?” She thought back. Lately, the bulk of her communication with Wendell had consisted of e-mails and texts.
“Maybe Wednesday?” She frowned. “I’d have to look at my phone.”
“What did you talk about? Did the subject of the divorce come up?”
“Not really. I guess we were both avoiding the subject. I know I told him I’d booked his trip on the ferry online. We just talked about the usual stuff. Dinner plans, like that.”
The sheriff jotted something down in his notebook. “I’m sorry to have to ask these questions.”
“Then don’t,” Ed put in. “For God’s sake! She just learned about Wendell’s death. She’s told you what she knows.”
“All right.” The sheriff sighed and closed the cover of his notebook. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get over to the mainland anyway.”
Riley swallowed hard. “What happens now? I mean, with my husband’s body? I need to make arrangements.”
“For now, his body has been taken to the morgue at Memorial Hospital in Southpoint. As I mentioned, there will be an autopsy. That’s state law. Unfortunately, as you know, this is a holiday, so that could take a few days.”
A holiday. She’d forgotten about that. This was to have been the weekend to start the summer, to start getting used to the reality of divorce. Riley had forgotten. Now, she guessed, she’d start getting used to the idea of being a widow.
The sheriff set his coffee cup carefully in the sink. “Just one more thing, Mrs. Griggs. Were you aware that your husband was having financial difficulties? And that your home here was in foreclosure?”
“No.” Her head was throbbing. “I didn’t know anything. Last night, when we got to the house and saw the sign tacked to the door, that was the first I knew about any of this. I thought it was a mistake.”
She looked up at the sheriff and realized she was crying. “A horrible mistake.”
11
“Mom?” Maggy’s shrill voice rang out from the hallway. Riley heard her bare feet slapping against the wooden stair treads. A moment later, she stood in the kitchen doorway, dressed in an oversize T-shirt, her hair disheveled. When she saw Ed Godchaux seated at the table, she tugged self-consciously at the hem of the shirt, trying to pull it down over her bare, tanned thighs.
“Mom, there’s a cop car in the driveway. What’s going on? Why are Ed and Parrish here? And the cops? Has something happened?”
Riley jumped to her feet and gathered her daughter into her arms. She stroked Maggy’s hair, wondering how she would find the words to break this child’s heart.
And Maggy was her heart. Motherhood had been a hard-fought battle for Riley. She’d suffered through two first-trimester miscarriages before finally managing to carry this baby full-term.
Once she and Wendell took Maggy home from the hospital, her anxieties about motherhood hadn’t ended. Her newborn had learned to sleep through the night months before Riley was able to do so without sneaking into the nursery and checking on the infant every few hours.
Riley had been driven in the early years of her journalism career. After Maggy’s birth, she’d eventually funneled all that energy into motherhood, taking an extended leave from the television station. She’d only briefly, reluctantly, returned to her evening anchor position after the station’s assistant manager, a sympathetic older mother herself, had pointed out that many children not only survived, but thrived in the care of a nanny or a good preschool.
Riley had a shelf of pregnancy, childbearing, and parenting self-help books at home in Raleigh, but nothing she’d ever read in those books could have prepared her for a moment like this.
Maggy pulled away from her mother’s embrace, her blue-gray eyes narrowed. “It’s Dad, isn’t it? Tell me, Mom. Something happened to him, didn’t it? That’s why he didn’t make the ferry last night. Tell me right now!”
Riley glanced over at Ed, who stood now, his hand on her right shoulder.
“Honey? Yes. It’s Dad. He was … there was some kind of accident.” She grasped her daughter’s hand. “Dad’s dead, Mags.”
“No.” Maggy wrenched away from Riley. She looked at Ed for confirmation. “He’s not, is he?”
Ed nodded, his expression grave. “I’m so sorry, but it’s true.”
“Nooooooo.” Maggy howled, collapsing to the floor. “Noooo. Nooo. Nooo.”
Riley knelt down beside the child, trying to embrace her, but Maggy pushed her violently away. “No!”
Ed stood quietly. “I’ll get Parrish. We’ll be on the porch if you need us.”
Maggy looked up, tears streaming down her face. “What happened?” she whispered.
“We don’t really know yet,” Riley said. “Some kind of accident, they think.”
“Oh my God,” Maggy moaned. “Was he in a car wreck?”
“No. The sheriff told me they found Dad this morning. In the water, at the marina.”
“What? What does that mean? Dad couldn’t drown. It’s the wrong guy. Dad couldn’t drown. Did you tell the sheriff they made a mistake?”
Riley reached out and tucked a strand of damp hair behind Maggy’s ear. “It’s not a mistake. Billy was there. This morning. It was your dad.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true, Magpie.”
Billy had entered the kitchen so quietly that neither of them noticed his presence. He sat down on the floor and took both of Maggy’s hands in his. “I wish it wasn’t true. Nobody wants it to be but it is. It just is.”
* * *
“I want to see him,” Maggy said.
They were sitting at the kitchen table. Riley drinking her second cup of scalding black coffee, Billy drinking a Diet Dr Pepper.
“Oh, honey,” Riley said, shaking her head. “No. I know this is a shock for you. It’s a shock for all of us. But that’s not a good idea. Look. The sheriff said Dad had some kind of wound on his head. You don’t want to see that. It’s too upsetting.”
“I don’t care,” Maggy said. “You think it’s not upsetting knowing he’s dead? Knowing he was in the water like that?”
“It’s just that, well, the sheriff said there has to be an autopsy. I don’t even know yet when we can have a service.”
Maggy stuck out her chin in an expression Riley knew all too well.
“He’s my father. You can’t just dig a hole in the ground and bury him without letting me see him. It’s not fair.”
“All right,” Riley said, shrugging. “I’ll call the sheriff and tell him what you want. It’s a holiday weekend, so he didn’t know when they’d actually … you know.”
“That’s the worst idea I ever heard,” Evelyn chimed in. She’d been flitting nervously around the kitchen for fucking ever, as far as Riley was co
ncerned, ever since Billy had pulled her aside upstairs and told her the reason for the sheriff’s visit.
Evelyn put down the broom she’d been using to sweep up nonexistent crumbs. She took a seat at the table, directly opposite her only grandchild.
“Listen to me, Margaret. I know you think you’re all grown up, and that you can handle seeing your father like that. But you have no idea what it will be like.”
“I do so. I saw Boots—after she got run over by that car at home. I’m the one who had to pick her up and put her in the shoebox and bury her. And I went to Granny Griggs’s funeral, too. I went right up to the coffin, when Mom wasn’t looking, and I touched her hand.”
“Maggy!’ Riley said, shocked.
“I’m not talking about a kitten, or an old lady whose funeral you went to when you were only seven years old,” Evelyn said.
“I was eight.”
“You were a little girl, and you scarcely knew your Granny Griggs, because she’d been in that nursing home for years when she passed away. This is your father you’re talking about. It’s an entirely different matter. Right now, you’re in shock. You don’t really know what you want.”
“Mama?” Billy gave her an almost imperceptible look. “Why don’t we let Riley decide what’s appropriate for her own daughter?”
“Because she’s obviously not thinking clearly right now, or she’d never even consider letting this child have her way.” Evelyn’s voice rose, and Riley’s head throbbed even worse.
She stood up slowly, holding the edge of the table to stabilize herself.
“I’m going upstairs to shower and get dressed,” she said quietly. She held out a hand to her daughter. “Come on, Mags.”
12
Sunday morning, Riley was sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at a plate of cold scrambled eggs that her mother had just slid in front of her, when the doorbell rang.
“Got it,” Scott said quietly. From the hallway, they heard subdued voices. Five minutes later, he was back, carrying a foil-wrapped casserole.
“What’s that?” Evelyn got up to look.
“Mona Gillespie brought her Chinese chicken casserole,” Scott said, placing it carefully on the countertop. “She said to tell you to bake it at three-fifty for thirty-seven minutes.”
The Weekenders Page 8
