The Weekenders

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “All right,” she said finally. “When do they want me to start?”

  “Second week in August.”

  “Okay, Maggy’s school starts back around then, too.”

  “I’ll send you the contract,” Porter said.

  * * *

  She fixed herself a sandwich and a glass of iced tea and went out on the front porch to have lunch and compile a mental list of all the things she’d need to accomplish as soon as she got home to Raleigh.

  It had been an unusually cool and rainy week, and Maggy had been moodier than ever, bored and hostile toward every adult she encountered. Riley was actually grateful she’d gone to town with Annabelle to see a movie. She was grateful too, that Evelyn, who wasn’t currently speaking to her, was at her garden club.

  She went back to worrying about things she could control.

  Job one would be getting all her furniture out of storage, where it had been since selling the St. Mary’s house back in May. Job two would be getting moved into the new house.

  Riley frowned. She’d agreed to a leaseback agreement with the sellers, who didn’t want to vacate the house until their new home was completed. Her agreement was that she’d move in August fifth. That hadn’t been much of an issue in May, but now, with starting a new job and a new school, she’d really need to get into the house sooner. She’d have to call her real estate agent to ask if she could speed up the move-in date.

  School clothes for Maggy. She’d always gone to public school before, but the new, exclusive, private middle school she was starting required uniforms. Boxy navy blazer with an embroidered crest, pale yellow blouse with Peter Pan collar, gray kilt, navy knee socks, and black-and-white saddle oxfords. Thank God she’d ordered everything back in the spring.

  The last item on her list was the one that was the hardest. Leaving Nate. They’d discussed it briefly on the phone during his two-week absence. He’d be in Raleigh and Chapel Hill on business in the fall, but it wasn’t the same thing. And she knew most of his focus would be on starting up his projects on Belle Isle. And there was Maggy to think about, too.

  Riley looked up when she heard the unusual sound of a car approaching on the driveway that encircled the house. It was a Baldwin County sheriff’s cruiser. As soon as it parked she saw that the driver was Craig Schumann, aka Sheriff Shoe, and his companion was Special Agent Aidan Coyle.

  She picked up her phone to call Parrish but, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a golf cart right behind the police cruiser. Parrish. This superpower thing of hers was helpful, but super creepy.

  The two men turned around to see who was joining them, and Riley saw the sheriff frown when he recognized Parrish come hurrying up the walkway.

  * * *

  The four of them sat around the polished mahogany dining room table, with Parrish’s cell phone placed right beside her tumbler of iced tea.

  “I hope you’re here to tell me you’ve made some progress on solving my husband’s murder,” Riley said.

  “We have,” the sheriff said cautiously. “Of course, I’m not at liberty to give you any specifics. But we had some questions we wanted to ask, if that’s all right.”

  Riley glanced at Parrish for approval.

  “Ask away,” Parrish said.

  Agent Coyle took a printout of a color snapshot from the inner pocket of his windbreaker and slid it across the table to Riley.

  It showed a deeply tanned man with a thick mane of silver hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a Western-style denim shirt with a bolo tie. The man was laughing and holding a cigarillo between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Ever seen this man before?” Agent Coyle asked.

  “No,” Riley said.

  “You seem pretty sure of that,” the FBI agent said.

  “This guy kind of reminds me of Harlan Sanders,” Riley said. “I’d remember if I’d ever seen him.”

  Sheriff Shoe wrinkled his forehead. “Harlan Sanders?”

  “Colonel Sanders—the Kentucky Fried Chicken founder?” Parrish said. “Yeah, you’re right, Riley, he does look like the guy on the chicken bucket.”

  “Who is he?” Riley asked.

  “That’s Samuel Gordon, the Wilmington attorney who set up the dummy corporations for your husband,” Agent Coyle said.

  “What kind of law did Samuel Gordon practice?” Parrish asked. “I’ve been a lawyer in this state for nearly twenty years, and my husband has been practicing for more than thirty years, so we know a lot of lawyers.”

  Agent Coyle said, “Our records show he moved to Wilmington in 2002, and set up a solo practice the next year, following admission to the bar.”

  “Moved from where?” Parrish asked.

  The FBI agent took a notepad from his windbreaker and flipped some pages. “Laurel Springs, Mississippi. He had a law practice there for many years.”

  Parrish did the math. “He died at eighty. Which means he moved to this state at the age of sixty-seven and started practicing law here?”

  “So?” Sheriff Shoe said.

  “So most men that age are retiring,” Parrish said. “They’re not picking up and moving to another state and taking that state’s bar exam to start all over again. Do you know anything else about this guy?”

  “Married and divorced twice, the last time in 1992,” Agent Coyle said. “No children, no survivors other than a distant cousin who hadn’t seen him in forty years. One interesting thing, his law license in Mississippi was suspended for a year after a client accused him of commingling funds from an escrow account. The suspension was lifted after a year.”

  “I wonder why he moved to Wilmington,” Riley said. “And how he knew Wendell? I mean, Belle Isle Enterprises has a sales office there, but Wendell hadn’t spent a lot of time there in the past few years.”

  “We don’t know how they knew each other, but we know now that they did,” Agent Coyle said. “We searched Mr. Gordon’s records and found an agreement signed by Gordon and your husband, stating that all assets of those dummy corporations were actually owned by Belle Isle Enterprises.”

  “Maybe Melody Zimmerman was the connection,” Parrish said.

  “We talked to her,” Sheriff Shoe said. “And she strongly denies having anything but a strictly professional relationship with Wendell Griggs.”

  “She’s a liar,” Riley said. “There’s a photo on her Facebook page that I can tell was taken from the balcony of my bedroom on Sand Dollar Lane. And I also know from Facebook that her first job was as a clerk in a law office there.”

  “But she didn’t work for Samuel Gordon. We checked,” the sheriff said.

  “Maybe she knew him through some other connection,” Parrish said.

  “Okay, I’m still not convinced this lawyer had anything to do with killing Wendell Griggs,” the sheriff said impatiently. “I mean, he was already dead.”

  “Then how can we help you today, Sheriff?” Parrish asked.

  “Tell me about your brother’s relationship with your late husband,” the sheriff said.

  “Billy? He and Wendell got along okay, I guess. They weren’t best friends, but they weren’t enemies either,” Riley said. “But I told you before, Billy is the least violent person I know. He would never…”

  “Your brother has an alcohol problem, isn’t that correct?”

  Riley glanced at Parrish.

  “What bearing does that have on Wendell’s death?” Parrish asked.

  “Do you have any idea of how many violent crimes are committed by people under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”

  “Billy’s not violent when he drinks. He just gets happy. And sleepy. And he didn’t have any reason to kill Wendell,” Riley said.

  “Your husband owed him money, correct?”

  “Yes. I think Billy invested money in Wendell’s hotel project.”

  “We looked into your brother’s finances. He was basically broke,” the sheriff said. “The money he inherited from your father, that was all gone, right?”

>   “My brother doesn’t discuss his finances with me,” Riley said. “But even if he was destitute, that wouldn’t change things. Billy’s partner, Scott, is a very successful restaurant designer. They have money. And, as I told you before, neither of them had a reason to kill my husband.”

  “That you know about,” the sheriff said. “Where is your brother today, Mrs. Griggs?”

  “It’s Ms. Nolan. I believe he’s working out of state this week. Billy is a jazz musician.”

  “And his partner, Scott Moriatakis? He’s what you people call a weekender? Comes and goes but works someplace else?”

  “Yes. His full-time residence is in New York, but he travels constantly for work. Didn’t he tell you this already when you questioned him?”

  The sheriff ignored her question. “And your husband owed him money too, because he’d also invested money in the hotel project that fell through?”

  This was the first Riley had heard about Scott investing in the Pirate’s Point hotel project. “Where did you hear that?”

  Riley felt Parrish kick her under the table.

  “Scott doesn’t discuss his finances with me either,” she said quickly.

  “Is he on the island now?” the sheriff asked.

  “No. As you said, Scott’s mostly a weekender. You have his contact number, correct?”

  “Yes,” the sheriff said. “There’s one more thing. The Baldwin County Coroner’s office is ready to release your husband’s remains. Call Cleo Carter at this number. They’ll need to know what mortuary you’re using.”

  He stood up abruptly, ripped a page out of his notepad, and handed it to Riley. “Mrs. Griggs, Mrs. Godchaux, that’s all we have now. But we’ll be back in touch.”

  * * *

  Riley and Parrish stood on the porch at Shutters, watching the police cruiser roll slowly down the driveway toward the main road.

  “Good thing I saw that cruiser leaving the county garage in the village,” Parrish said.

  “So that’s how you knew to come without my calling you,” Riley said.

  Parrish smiled blandly. “It’s my own secret bat signal.” Her expression turned serious. “Did you know Wendell owed money to Scott?”

  “No!” Riley said. “Billy never said anything about it to me. I wonder if he knows Scott loaned Wendell money? And I really wonder how the sheriff knows.”

  “It sounds like they really do suspect either Billy or Scott,” Parrish said.

  “Which shows you what an idiot that sheriff is,” Riley said. “You’ve known both of them for years. Does either one of them strike you as a killer?”

  “Of course not. Nobody we know strikes me as a killer,” Parrish said. “Except maybe Evelyn. That didn’t come out right,” Parrish said hastily. “What I meant was, your mother is a force of nature. And when people don’t bend to a force of nature, well, sometimes they get mowed down. I totally don’t think Evelyn bashed in Wendell’s head and killed him. If she wanted him dead, she would have poisoned him.”

  “She’d like to kill me right now,” Riley said. “And so would Maggy.”

  She quickly brought Parrish up to date on her confrontation with her mother and daughter over her relationship with Nate Milas.

  “You were right to stand up to both of them,” Parrish said. “Good for you for finally growing a set.”

  “Nate and I have been talking almost every night while he’s been gone,” Riley said. “But I don’t know how we can keep up a relationship once Maggy and I go back to Raleigh. Especially since I’m starting my new job as soon as I get back.”

  “You got a job!” Parrish squealed. “I knew you could do it. That’s fabulous.”

  “We’ll see. The money sucks, and it’s some new start-up women’s interest magazine format, sort of like my last job at WRAL. And I’m a little nervous that they were willing to hire me without an interview. I mean, who does that? But I don’t have any choice. And my agent promised that if the ratings are okay we’ll go back and renegotiate.”

  “So you’ll be amazing, and you’ll get offers for something better,” Parrish said.

  Riley sighed and looked at the scribbled note in her hand. “I guess it’s time to throw a funeral, huh? God, how I dread it.”

  Parrish put her arm around her friend. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you through it.”

  55

  Riley was almost dressed for the funeral. Thank God she’d thrown a simple navy-blue linen sheath into her suitcase when she was packing for the summer. As she was pawing through her jewelry case looking for something to dress it up a little, she picked up a strand of huge freshwater pearls.

  They’d been a gift from Wendell’s mother, Beatrice, and although she’d been touched by the sentiment, Riley had secretly found them a bit gaudy. Today though, it seemed appropriate to wear them for the last time. And then she’d pack them up, along with her engagement and wedding rings, and save them for Maggy, who loved bling.

  As she searched the case for her pearl earrings, Riley spotted the amber-colored pill bottle Parrish had pressed into her hand the night before. “Here. I think you’re gonna need this.”

  “You know I don’t like drugs,” Riley said hastily, trying to give the bottle back.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Who doesn’t like drugs? Anyway, it’s not like it’s quaaludes or meth, honey,” Parrish said. “It’s just a little something to take the raw edge off your nerves tomorrow.”

  “Isn’t that why God invented wine?”

  “Wine is for after the service,” Parrish said. “And I promise, I’ll have plenty for you back at my house afterward. But you need to dose yourself with these an hour beforehand if you want to survive this ordeal with your wits intact.”

  Riley was fastening the pearl necklace when Maggy burst into the room. Her daughter was wrapped in a towel, and her hair was dripping wet.

  “What’s this supposed to be?” Maggy brandished a pale purple frock.

  “A dress?”

  “I get that it’s a dress, Mom, okay? When I got out of the shower just now I found it laid out on my bed.”

  Riley took the dress and frowned. It was a girlish lavender floral print, with a deep ruffle at the hem and a high neckline. She held it up to her daughter. The hem hit Maggy two inches below the knees. It reminded Riley of something from Little House on the Prairie. All it needed was a matching sunbonnet.

  “I think I know what this is about,” Riley said. She walked out into the hallway and hollered, “Mama!”

  Evelyn popped her head out of her bedroom door. “I’m right here, Riley. You don’t have to shout.”

  Riley held out the dress. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Evelyn’s face softened. “Isn’t it darling? I knew Maggy didn’t have anything suitable to wear to her daddy’s service, and there wasn’t time to take her shopping in Wilmington. Frieda Heard orders all her grandchildren’s clothes from this online store. I had to guess at Maggy’s size and pay extra for overnight shipping, but I think it’s perfect, don’t you?”

  “Perfect?” Maggy shrieked. “It’s hideous. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.”

  Evelyn turned her head and gave Riley an expectant look.

  “Would you please explain to your child that it’s rude to speak to her elders like that?”

  “I will. But in the meantime, I really don’t think this dress is right for her.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Evelyn asked, stepping out of her bedroom wearing a severely cut long-sleeved black dress. “I’ll have you know I paid a hundred and seventy-five dollars for that dress.”

  “If you like it so much, you wear it,” Maggy retorted.

  “Margaret? That’s enough,” Riley said. “Take the dress and go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I’ll go,” Maggy muttered. “But I am not wearing that rag.”

  When she’d heard the bedroom door slam, Riley returned to the subject at hand. “I’m sorry Maggy was disrespectful. Sh
e’s obviously upset. But about the dress. It’s at least two sizes too big, and it’s not her style at all. She’s twelve, Mama, not four.”

  “Fine,” Evelyn snapped. “I was just trying to help.” She started to walk away, but Riley caught the sleeve of her mother’s dress.

  “I know you were, Mama, and I really do appreciate all you’ve done for Maggy and me. So let’s try not to fuss at each other so much. Especially today. Okay?”

  “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Evelyn said, turning a critical eye to her daughter. “But it’s already after two. Don’t you think it’s time for you to change before we leave for the chapel?”

  Riley found the pill bottle right where she’d left it, on her dresser. She swallowed two tablets and tucked the bottle in her pocketbook, along with her grandmother’s red leather-bound Bible. “Help me, sweet Jesus,” she whispered.

  * * *

  “Maggy!” Riley stood in the main floor hallway at the bottom of the staircase. Evelyn was already waiting outside in the golf cart, tooting the horn every thirty seconds. “We need to leave for church now. Right now!”

  “Coming!”

  Maggy walked slowly down the stairs. She was wearing an old dress of her mother’s, which Riley had rigged to fit with strategically placed safety pins and duct tape. And over the dress she wore her father’s old pinstriped dress shirt. The shirt was buttoned and there was a suspicious, wriggling bulge in front.

  “You look very nice,” Riley said. “What’s that you’ve got under your shirt?”

  “I had a big lunch,” Maggy said, brushing past her and motoring toward the front door.

  “Not so fast.” Riley clamped one hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

  “Moooom. We’re gonna be late.”

  Evelyn tooted the horn again.

  “See?”

  “Lose the shirt. And the puppy,” Riley started, and then changed her mind. Maggy had been through enough. If wearing Wendell’s clothing and clutching the puppy he’d given her gave her comfort, so be it. “Never mind.”