The Weekenders

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Parrish, Riley, what a nice surprise! What can I help you with?”

  Parrish opened her black leather briefcase, took out a document, and placed it on Melody’s desk.

  “That’s a certified copy of Wendell Griggs’s death certificate. Now, I’d like you to get us all the records and balances for any and all accounts Wendell had here—either jointly with his wife, Riley Nolan Griggs, or in his own name,” Parrish said.

  “Well, uh,” Melody stammered. “I’m not sure that’s strictly kosher.”

  “I’m acting as Riley’s attorney in this manner, and I can assure you that it is indeed the law,” Parrish said, handing her another slip of paper. “And here’s Riley’s social security number, in case you need it.”

  Melody glanced at Riley, who nodded in agreement. Reluctantly, she powered up her computer and started typing. Five minutes later, she tapped a button and the black box on the console behind her desk began spitting printouts.

  She handed the papers to Riley without comment.

  There was a checking account in Wendell’s name only, and the balance was nineteen hundred dollars. Riley handed the paper across to Parrish, who studied it and frowned.

  The next account was for Wendell Griggs doing business as Belle Isle Enterprises, and the balance hovered just under sixteen thousand dollars.

  “That’s it?” Riley asked, stunned. “No savings account, nothing with my name on it?”

  “No,” Melody said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “And you already know about the foreclosure on your home, right?”

  “Yes,” Riley said bitterly. “I think everybody on Belle Isle knows about that now.”

  Parrish gave Melody a stern look. “Somebody forged Riley’s name on those mortgage documents.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Melody said.

  “We found a copy of it in Wendell’s office. It’s not my signature,” Riley said. “And there’s no way I’d agree to a two-million-dollar mortgage on that house. Nobody in their right mind would pay that for it.”

  “She’s right,” Parrish said. “When it goes up for auction, it’ll go for pennies on the dollar.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that,” Melody said. “The bank’s appraisal was for two point one million, which is why we made the loan. Property values on the island are strong, and the auctioneer we’ve hired to conduct the sale seems to think it should bring a healthy price.”

  “And the auction is this Friday?” Riley asked, biting back tears.

  “Yes, the auctioneer will be selling off all of Coastal Carolina’s distressed loan portfolio, and I’m sorry, but that does include your house along with several other parcels on the island.”

  She paused. “I don’t know if you were aware, but Coastal Carolina also made a one-point-nine-million-dollar loan to Wendell for the purchase of the Holtzclaw property on Fiddler’s Creek. That’s another of the assets that will be liquidated.”

  She gave Riley a sympathetic smile, which Riley immediately wanted to slap off her face. “I’m so sorry, Riley. I hope you know the matter is completely out of my hands.”

  “Hmm,” Parrish said, looking dubious.

  Parrish extracted another document and placed it squarely on top of the death certificate. “As you’ll see, this is a list of corporations which we understand received several million dollars’ worth of real estate loans from this bank, to buy property on Belle Isle. I want to know the status of all those loans.”

  “I can’t…” Melody started to object.

  But Parrish was ready with yet another document. “That’s a copy of the articles of incorporation for those companies. You’ll see that Wendell made Riley an officer in each one, without her knowledge.”

  Melody looked over the list of corporations. “Well, yes, the bank did do business with these companies, but I’m not aware that Wendell Griggs had anything to do with any of them.” She tapped the typed sheet she’d been given. “This man, Samuel Gordon, he’s the agent of record, and he’s the one I dealt with.”

  “You dealt with the lawyer from Wilmington?” Riley broke in.

  Parrish shot her a stern look.

  “Yes,” Melody said cautiously. “I was vice president of lending at Coastal Carolina Bank at the time. But I had no idea Wendell was behind these companies. Are you sure of your facts?”

  “We found these documents in files in Wendell’s office at Belle Isle Enterprises,” Parrish said. “And since Riley’s never met this man, I can assure you she had no idea Wendell was involving her in any of these real estate schemes of his.”

  “I wouldn’t call them schemes,” Melody objected. “We made these loans in good faith to Mr. Gordon. It was unfortunate that he later defaulted on them, but we absolutely did our due diligence before writing this business.”

  “Default?” Riley blanched.

  “Yes.” Melody sighed. “Mr. Gordon’s credit history was impeccable, and the projects he presented us with all showed great promise for Belle Isle. Most importantly, we’re a community bank, and we believe in investing in our community. So we were devastated to hear that shortly after our deal was concluded, Mr. Gordon was diagnosed with a fast-moving cancer. The poor man was dead within weeks.” She shook her head in sorrow. “Just tragic.”

  “How tragic are we talking about?” Parrish asked. “Put a number on it, please.”

  Melody donned a pair of glasses, turned to her computer, and started tapping. Riley stole a glance at Parrish, who sat perfectly erect in her chair, looking positively terrifying.

  “Total amount of the package came in at around nine point six million,” Melody reported.

  “And what happens now, with poor Mr. Gordon deceased?” Riley asked. “Especially since your old bank was shut down?”

  “Not shut down,” Melody said quickly. “None of our customers experienced any losses because their deposits were insured by the FDIC. Baldwin Community has assumed all of Coastal’s assets, and of course, its liabilities and loan portfolio.”

  “That’s a pretty big loss for one little bank like this,” Parrish noted. “Forgive me, Melody, but if you were the loan officer, and those loans turned sour, I’m a little surprised you got to keep your job with the new entity.”

  Melody’s face turned scarlet with indignation. “You might be a good lawyer, Parrish, but you obviously know nothing about the banking business. It happens that I was the top producing loan officer for the past three years among all of Coastal Carolina’s branch banks. I’ve summered on Belle Isle my whole life, and Baldwin’s executive committee recognized my ability to help with the transition to the new bank management.”

  “You’re right, I don’t know a lot about banking,” Parrish said, maintaining her serene composure. “But I’m pretty good at doing Internet research, and before we came over here today, I did find an article in a banking trade magazine that speculated that the source of Coastal Carolina’s failure was specifically due to bad loans to those five companies, which amounted to a disproportionate amount of the bank’s total losses.”

  “That’s a gross oversimplification,” Melody said heatedly. “But since we’re all friends here, I’m going to let it pass. Riley is understandably emotional and grief-stricken right now, but I’m really surprised at you, Parrish.” She glanced pointedly at her watch.

  “I hate to have to ask you to leave now, but I’ve got an out-of-office meeting I need to prepare for. Are we all done here?”

  “Not quite,” Parrish said. “There’s just one more thing. I was wondering why Wendell chose to suddenly close his business and personal accounts last year at Wells Fargo, where he’d banked for many years, and transfer everything over to a dinky little bank like Coastal Carolina, with only four branches, all in little Podunk towns up and down the coast.”

  Melody began picking up files from her desk and transferring them into a messenger bag. She unplugged her cell phone, put it in an outer pocket of the bag, and added some pens and a calculator.

/>   “That’s no mystery,” Melody said. “Wendell and I were in Kiwanis together. After I was named executive loan officer here, I mentioned to him that we had favorable commercial loan rates, and how much we’d love to have his business. I think he was tired of the endless bureaucracy of dealing with a megabank like Wells Fargo. As he said, he was just an account number to them. Here at our bank, he was a treasured customer.”

  “Nothing more than that?” Parrish asked.

  Melody looked up, her eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

  “Were you sleeping with my husband?” Riley blurted out. “Were you in this together?”

  Melody Zimmerman zipped her messenger bag and stood up. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. I’m leaving now. I’ll let you find your own way out.”

  36

  She waited until they were back in the car. “That was not cool what you just did back in there,” Parrish said. “At all. The agreement was that you were going to listen and let me do all the talking.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” Riley said. “She was just so…”

  “Professional? Yeah. Melody’s very good. Very banker-ish. And very believable, too.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “Up to a point,” Parrish admitted. “I was at least willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, up until she got to that business about the lawyer from Wilmington, and what a good risk it was, loaning him nearly ten million dollars.”

  “Maybe he looked good on paper?”

  “Uh-uh. Remember that obituary clipping we found in Wendell’s files? Samuel Gordon was eighty years old. I find it hard to believe a man that age is going to put together a big, long-term real estate deal—and that a small bank like this would risk making a loan that size to an octogenarian.”

  “It’s illegal to discriminate based on age,” Riley reminded her.

  “On paper,” Parrish retorted. “But you and I know firsthand the reality of things like age and sex discrimination.”

  “You’re right,” Riley said, thinking about her own professional prospects as a middle-aged woman. “So, how do you think Wendell pulled it off? Was Melody in on it? Do you think she was sleeping with Wendell? And what’s the connection to the old guy in Wilmington?”

  “I don’t know,” Parrish said. “That’s for the FBI to figure out. Our more immediate concern is what to do about getting your house back.”

  “You heard what Melody said,” Riley said. “My money’s all gone. Even if you’re right, and Sand Dollar Lane does sell for pennies on the dollar, it’ll be more pennies than I can scrape up.”

  “Don’t you have the proceeds of the sale from the St. Mary’s house?”

  “I had half the proceeds. I had to split it with Wendell. The rest of my share went to the down payment on the new house. Which I can’t even move into until August.”

  “What about your mom? I bet she’d help out if you asked.”

  Riley got a pained expression. “She’d be my absolute last resort. I know everybody thinks she’s the dowager countess of Belle Isle, but the reality is that she’s a seventy-two-year-old widow living on a fixed income. A very nice fixed income, mind you. Daddy left her enough money to keep up the house in Edenton, and of course, she has Shutters, which she owns free and clear, and her stock in the family corporation. But think about what Wendell’s done to the business! I just can’t go to her to bail me out.”

  “What about Billy? Your dad left him a trust fund too, right?”

  “Yeah.” Riley shook her head. “I don’t know what kind of shape Billy’s in financially. He hasn’t always exactly been very responsible with money. I think he’s gotten a lot better, since he’s been with Scott, but he must have spent a ton of money buying and fixing up the firehouse. I think Scotty’s the breadwinner.”

  “It won’t hurt to ask, right? Parrish asked. “Anyway, I think you should get the family all together—Evelyn, Billy, and Scott, hell, even your Aunt Roo. Lay it all out for them and see what they say. That auction is Friday. There’s not a lot of time.”

  “I guess I could do that, but I really think it’s a waste of time. Mama won’t hear a word against Wendell. I’ve tried, but she’s just turned a blind eye to all of it, convinced there’s been some clerical error.”

  Parrish started the car. “If you want, I’ll talk to her. We can show her the documentation, prove the kind of shenanigans Wendell pulled.”

  “Maybe,” Riley said, still not entirely convinced. “She does respect your judgement—way more than mine, that’s for sure.”

  She pointed at the dashboard clock as Riley backed away from the bank. “We just missed the noon ferry, you know. Where to now?”

  “Onnalee’s,” Parrish said. “I need to pee, get out of these damned panty hose, and get some lunch—in that exact order.”

  * * *

  Riley and Parrish found a booth near the door, and while Parrish was in the bathroom shedding her panty hose, Riley ordered lunch—a Cobb salad for herself and a grilled cheese sandwich for Parrish.

  After Parrish returned, the waitress had just brought their food when the front door opened and Nate Milas walked in.

  Riley’s eyes met his for a moment. Nate stopped in his tracks, like a deer caught in headlights. The hostess approached, offered him a seat, but he shook his head, turned on his heel, and left as quickly as he’d arrived.

  “What was that about?” Parrish asked.

  “How am I supposed to know? Maybe he decided he wasn’t hungry.” Riley reached over and snagged a french fry from her friend’s plate.

  “Don’t give me that,” Parrish said. “I saw the look on his face when he saw you, and I saw yours, too. You practically turned green. There’s something going on between the two of you, isn’t there?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.” Parrish pushed her plate away. “You can have the rest of those fries if you want.”

  “Sweet!” Riley reached for the plate and Parrish grabbed her hand. “First tell me what happened. I know you, Riley Nolan.”

  “It was nothing,” Riley insisted. “I mean, he wanted it to be something, but it’s not.”

  “Spill it,” Parrish said. “You owe me that after what I did for you back at the bank.”

  Riley looked around the packed café. “God, I wish you could get a drink in here.”

  “Quit stalling.”

  “Okay, but it’s not exactly earth-shattering stuff. I ran into Nate out at the Holtzclaw place yesterday.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I wanted to see for myself what Wendell was up to. After all, it was my inheritance he used to buy it. And when you see the place, especially from the water, it all makes sense. It’s got a ton of waterfront access, at the deepest, widest part of Fiddler’s Creek. It’s the perfect spot to put that damned marina to go with the hotel Wendell was planning, which explains why he paid so much to buy the property. He didn’t care about the house at all.”

  “So, what? You rode around and just kinda checked it out?”

  “I borrowed Mama’s golf cart and went over, but Wendell must have put up a new gate, because it was padlocked tight.”

  “Then how’d you get in?”

  “Bolt cutters.”

  “I wish you hadn’t told me that,” Parrish said.

  “Anyway, I rode down to the house and went inside.”

  “You broke in? Jesus, Riley. You’re on some kind of criminal streak, aren’t you?”

  “No. The back door was standing wide open. I think kids and vandals have been hanging out there. There was trash all over, and you could see where people had made fires. I was walking around, checking it out, taking pictures with my cell phone, and Nate walked in and scared the hell out of me.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “He didn’t want to tell me at first. He gave me some line about how he used to love to go fishing there as a kid, and he just happened to be riding around in his boat and de
cided to see the house for himself.”

  “And then what?”

  Riley shrugged. “He started telling me how beautiful I was and how talented, and he said he’d seen clips of my work from when I was an anchor. Then the next thing I knew, he was hitting on me.”

  “Just like that.”

  “He said some other stuff.”

  “So what, he just jumped your bones right there?”

  “Not exactly. He kissed me.”

  “Did you kiss back?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You are such a liar. How was he?”

  “He’s definitely improved with practice.”

  “I knew it!” Parrish crowed.

  “Hush!”

  “What happened next?”

  “Same old Nate Milas,” Riley said, wrinkling her nose. “One minute he was kissing me, the next minute he was heading for second base.”

  “Well I certainly hope you let him have his way,” Parrish said.

  “Really? You think I’m that big of a slut? I’d just drop to the floor and do the deed with some random guy in an abandoned house? In broad daylight?”

  “Why not? He’s single and so are you. He’s rich and successful, and easy on the eyes, and you said yourself he’s a good kisser.”

  “Nate Milas is just another guy on the make,” Riley said flatly. “He finally admitted he’d gone out there because he wants to buy the Holtzclaw place. He even said he didn’t blame Wendell for wanting to tear the place down, because that was the smart thing to do.”

  Parrish studied her friend. “Riles, you know all that property is going to be auctioned off this week. Somebody is going to bid on it, and the reality is that that somebody is probably going to be a developer. Maybe they won’t build a hotel and all that other stuff Wendell wanted to do, but it really is inevitable. Don’t you think it would be a good thing if that buyer is Nate Milas? He’s a local boy who made good. His family has been on the island almost as long as yours. He’s not gonna want to foul his own nest.”

  “No,” Riley said vehemently. “That’s just the point. Mama always says there’s nothing worse than new money. Nate is hot to prove to the world that he’s not just Captain Joe’s kid. He’ll pave the roads, mow down the wildlife sanctuary next door, put in a marina, and God knows what else. It’s the perfect spot for another ferry landing. Before you know it, Belle Isle will be like Myrtle Beach or Panama City Beach: pancake houses, golf courses, and high-rise condos. It’ll be nothing like what my great-grandfather intended. The island you and I grew up on, the one I thought Maggy would grow up on, will be gone forever.”