The kids collapsed to the grass and lay on their backs panting. I gave them a few minutes to catch their breath then said, "Time to sneak up on Roman!"
They popped to their feet. I crouched so that I was at their eye level and lowered my voice. "Okay, we're going to go find him. When we see him, let me talk to him first." I looked at each of them in turn for a long moment. "Understand?"
"Yep!" Skylar said immediately.
"Got it," her brother chimed in.
I searched their faces. "Are you sure?"
They nodded solemnly.
I stood and took their hands in mine, and we headed through the long grass to Roman's private golf course. As we neared the hole, I spotted him. He wasn't working on his short game, as I’d expected. He was driving ball after ball toward the old shed. I stood in silent awe and watched as four balls in rapid succession bounced off the dead center of the side of the shed.
He really was good. And from this vantage point, I knew exactly how Fred had pegged him as Chip's son. Even I could see it--his stance, his swing, the way the dropped the club after a hit were identical to his father's distinctive movements. It was eerie.
After the fifth ball hit the shed, I released the kids' hands and gave him a round of applause. He turned toward the sound of my clapping, shielding his eyes against the sun with his hand. And, at that moment, Skylar and Dylan sprinted toward him, shouting and calling his name.
Good listening, guys, I thought as I jogged behind.
By the time I reached the three of them, Dylan had apparently figured out division all by himself. Roman and the kids were each eating a square of chocolate.
"Gee, thanks for saving me some," I said with a laugh.
"I was informed that this was a family-only chocolate bar," Roman answered lightly.
Skylar beamed up at him. Then she turned to me with a slightly chagrined look. "Sorry we didn't let you talk first like you said, Sage."
"It's okay," I told her. "But do you think I can talk to Roman for a minute? Why don't you two run down to the shed and gather up his golf balls for him?"
"Yeah, you can talk to our brother," Dylan said with heavy emphasis on the word 'brother.' Then he looked at Skylar. "On your marks, get set, go!"
And they were off, arms windmilling and legs pumping.
"There's a bucket by the shed you can use," Roman shouted after them.
We stood side by side and watched them run. Out of control, top speed, spilling over the hills. After a moment, I cleared my throat but he didn't look at me.
"Roman?"
"What?" He finally pivoted and met my eyes.
"I'm sorry."
He worked his jaw for a moment before answering. "For what? You didn't do anything."
"Well, technically, we only learned that Fred was blackmailing Chip because I snooped in his register. And if we hadn't found about the blackmail, then we wouldn't have gone to Chip--"
"And if Gavrilo Princip hadn't shot Archduke Ferdinand, then World War I wouldn't have happened."
I stared at him for a few seconds trying to make sense of the non sequitur until I remembered that he had studied European history. "Still."
He shrugged. "It is what it is. Besides, would I really be better off not knowing?"
I wasn't sure if that was a real question or a rhetorical one, but I tried to answer it anyway. "I don't know? I know Muffy and the kids want to have a relationship with you."
"And Chip?" he asked in a quiet voice.
I hesitated. "I can't pretend to understand the decisions he made. But what he said was he didn't know about you until Fred started blackmailing him. And that he went to your mom and she asked him not to tell you."
Roman nodded but, judging by his expression, he wasn't exactly convinced. "That's what she said, too. But think about it. He hired me, right? He knew my last name's Lyman. He also knew he had a relationship, or a fling, or whatever it was with a girl named Lyman. He can do simple math. He should have figured it out on his own after he met me."
"Is Lyman an unusual surname?"
"I don't know. But come on."
"What's your mom say about all this?" I braced myself in case he didn't appreciate the question, but there was no outburst. Roman wasn't the outbursty type.
"She says she never told him she was pregnant. They stopped seeing each other before she started to show or whatever."
"And what about when you went to work for him?"
"Apparently, that wasn't the big coincidence that I thought it was. My Auntie Denise knew who she was and who she was married to. So she made it a point to always seek Muffy out at the committee meetings and chat her up about golf. To hear my mama tell it, Aunt Denise basically steered the conversation around to my golf ability and sort of created the situation that led to Chip calling me."
"So your aunt knew he was your father?"
Roman nodded. "Yeah. My mom didn't tell anyone else, but Aunt Denise is her big sister, you know?"
Oh, I knew all about sisters and their confidences. "Sure."
"My mom was pretty het up about my auntie's meddling. But she also thought it was a good opportunity for me. When Chip came to her after the blackmail started, she told him it was true, he's my father, but insisted he couldn't tell me. Trust me, I don't think either one of my parents handled this mess like an adult."
"I'm sorry," I repeated.
His jaw twitched. "I still don't see how Fred knew Chip was my father. That's the part that doesn't make any sense. Somebody must still be lying to me."
"Or not. I just stood here and watched you drive those golf balls. Your swing, everything about it, is identical to Chip's."
"Oh, come on. A golfer's swing is like his fingerprints. It's very individualized."
"I know. And I'm sure you and Chip never saw it because you're too close to your own swings. But I'm telling you--I don't even know enough about golf to be dangerous, and I could see it. I would bet anything that Fred saw the two of you at the driving range one day and it clicked."
He gave me a skeptical look but didn't have a chance to say anything because, at that moment, Dylan and Skylar raced up to us, holding the pail full of balls between them.
Chapter 20
We--okay, they--cajoled Roman into returning to the island with us. I think he knew he couldn't avoid Chip forever. And, having seen the result of letting big secrets fester for decades, I was pretty much convinced that Muffy's 'let it all hang out' philosophy was the better course of action in the long run.
Unfortunately, when we reached the Moores' house, it wasn't Chip who was waiting for us. It was Louie Lewis. And he was steaming. He paced back and forth beside his Lexus, with his hands balled into fists.
When he saw us, he started toward the car immediately. I shook my head at him through the windshield and pointed over my shoulder to the backseat to make sure he didn't miss the fact that the kids were with us.
He narrowed his eyes into a mean squint but gave me a short nod of understanding. All the same, my heart was hammering. I gripped the steering wheel so hard that the skin on my fingers blanched.
"You go inside with the kids. I'll deal with Mr. Lewis." Roman spoke quietly, in a voice barely above a whisper.
"No way. You're not going out there alone." I tried to keep the worry out of my voice, but I knew he wasn't fooled.
"Don't be a knucklehead. We're not inviting him in. And the kids can't be in the house alone. So, yes, I‘m going out to see what he's doing lurking around in front of the house like some kind of drugstore cowboy. You’re going to fix the kids their snack." He put up a hand to ward off the objection I was still forming. "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself against Louie Lewis."
I grumbled, but, in my heart, I knew he was right. I pulled the car way up the driveway, so that the back door of the minivan was parallel to the side door into the kitchen. I figured I could hustle the kids inside before Louie had a chance to accost us or throw eggs at us or whatever nefarious plan he had in mind.
>
I killed the engine and grabbed Roman’s wrist. “Wait. I want you to promise me this—if he’s out of control or in any way threatening, please don’t engage him. Just come inside. We’ll call the cops.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Roman.”
“What?” he demanded with barely concealed impatience.
“I’m serious. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” I painted him with a look that I hope conveyed how very much I didn’t want anything to happen to him. “Joke all you want but he could be a … K I L L E R.” I spelled it out because it dawned on me that Skylar and Dylan had gone very quiet in the backseat.
“He could be a color?” Dylan ventured, trying to sound it out.
“Off kilter,” Roman answered quickly. “It means upset. But don’t worry, I’ll help Mr. Lewis calm down. You go get those apple slices with peanut butter that Sage promised you.”
“Okay. We’ll save you some,” Skylar told him. “We know how to divide now!”
My attempt at laughing caught in my throat and ended up sounding more like an asthmatic cat coughing up a hairball.
Roman raised an eyebrow. “Sexy. Listen, I hear you. I won’t do anything stupid.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
A look passed between us. It was the closest I could get to telling him how I felt, so it would have to do.
“Come on, guys, let’s race to the door.”
* * *
Skylar and Dylan helped me wash and slice the apples, using the plastic kitchen knives that Rosemary had sent them so they could be ‘real’ chefs. We were in the process of laboriously glopping the oily, all-natural peanut butter that Muffy loved and the rest of her family reluctantly tolerated into three small bowls when Roman rapped on the back door.
I ran over to let him in.
“You were so worried about me that you locked me out?” he asked.
“I locked us in. There’s a difference.”
Skylar looked up. “We’re fixing you a snack, too. Look, you get your very own bowl!” She gestured proudly and a slick of peanut butter oozed onto the otherwise-immaculate counter.
“Eww,” he said under his breath.
“It tastes better than it looks.”
He shot me a skeptical side-eye glance.
“I’m serious. So, come on, already, tell me what happened,” I demanded.
“Oh, man, I don’t think I can.” His shoulders started shaking with laughter.
“Roman!” I swatted his butt with a dishtowel. “Tell me already.”
He caught his breath. “Okay. Well, you’re right, Mr. Lewis was furious. Apoplectic, actually. The cops showed up at his house and wanted to know why his initials were in Fred’s little book. He apparently denied that he was paying Fred off and suggested it must be some other LL. The detective called his bluff by asking to talk to Rita to confirm there had been no unusual withdrawals from any of the bank accounts.”
I winced as I imagined how that conversation would go.
“Exactly,” Roman said with a nod. “As Mr. Lewis put it, she’d be madder than a wet cat in a paper sack if she got the idea that he was spending money on anything but her. So, rather than risk that, he broke down and admitted that Fred had been blackmailing him.”
“Did he tell the police why?”
“He sure did.” Roman’s smirk had returned and he appeared to be on the verge of another bout of convulsive laughter.
“What was it?”
He stopped and studied my face. “Why do you want to know? What his secret might be doesn’t change whether or not he’s our … color.” He glanced over at the kitchen island to make sure the kids weren’t listening. They were completely engrossed in their efforts to cover every square inch of their apple slices with peanut butter.
“You’re absolutely right,” I admitted. “But I want to know because I’m straight-up nosy and I think it’ll be entertaining.”
It occurred to me that I was talking about Louie’s secret, which was the equivalent to Chip’s secret, which was the man standing across for me. “I mean, oh crap, I didn’t mean it that way.”
Then it hit me that Louie’s secret could very well be something tragic. My heart dropped, and I hung my heads. “I’m a lousy human being. I’m sorry.”
Roman started to laugh even harder than he had been. “I’m just messing with you. Louie Lewis paid Fred a hundred grand, give or take, to keep him from spreading the news that he takes ballet.”
I cocked my head. “What?”
“You heard me right. Louie started taking ballet to improve his flexibility, strength, and speed.”
“Okay. So? Don’t lots of athletes do that? Even football players?”
“Sure. But those guys are apparently more secure in their masculinity than Louie. And I guess Fred had pictures.”
“What a buffoon.”
“Actually, he’s more of a gazelle.” He struck a pose that approximated ballet’s fifth position and grinned at me.
As I chuckled a thought occurred to me, and I got serious. “Did he know how Fred found out about his secret ballet habit?”
“He had no idea. But he’s really upset at the notion that he might have spent all this money to keep it hushed up and he could find it in The Orbit.”
“I don’t blame him for that.”
“Um … well, he blames you.”
I started. “Me?”
“I guess the police explained how Marilee came to find out about Fred’s ledger.”
I groaned. “He’s really mad?”
“He was. Spitting mad.” He rubbed some imaginary Louie saliva off his cheek.
“So he has a temper.”
“Oh yeah.”
I glanced at the kids but they were still mowing down apple slices. I knew they’d be asking for water any minute, so I said, “hold that thought.”
After I’d poured Skylar and Dylan each a cup of water, I returned, bearing a plate of apple slices and a bowl of peanut butter. “Snack from your little brother and sister,” I said as I placed the dishes in front of him.
“That sounds so crazy.” He snaked out his hand and took a piece of the apple. “Want one?”
“Thanks.” I dipped my slice in the peanut butter. “Do you think Louie has enough of a temper to have killed Fred?” I whispered before popping the fruit into my mouth.
Roman considered the question as he chewed. “I don’t think so. But maybe. I mean, if Giorgio Valetta’s story checks out, isn’t he our only other real candidate?”
I shrugged. “Maybe Valetta’s story doesn’t check out. Just because his agent said that’s where he was, that doesn’t necessarily mean—” My train of thought screeched to a halt as if there were a cow standing in the middle of the tracks.
“What? Do you think we should start digging into his alibi?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said absently. “But first I think we should do something else.”
“What’s that?”
I chomped on another bite of apple and swallowed then said, “Well, what’s the common thread tying together Fred and his three blackmail marks?”
“They’re all golfers?”
“And?”
“They all live on the island?”
“And?” I repeated.
“And they all put their pants on one leg at a time?” He snorted.
He was clearly getting frustrated with my little guessing game, so I supplied the answer. “And they’re all represented by one Linda Zaharee, sports agent extraordinaire.”
“You don’t think she has something to do with this?” his voice was full of disbelief.
“No way, she seems very professional.”
“She’s a cool lady,” he agreed. Then he wrinkled his brow. “So what are you thinking?”
I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. “Maybe they confided in her. Maybe she had files where she kept all her clients’ private information and Fred snooped around and found them? Maybe s
he’s not involved in any way, shape, or form. I don’t know. But what I do know is I don’t believe in coincidences. And her relationship to all four guys is one big, fat, unbelievable coincidence.”
Chapter 21
Muffy came home just after Roman set off to find Chip. The kids and I ran into her coming through the front door juggling an armload of reusable grocery totes. We were on our way out to fly the kites.
“Let’s give your mom a hand with the groceries first,” I said, resting the kites gently on the shelf inside the door.
Skylar and Dylan each grabbed a bag from her arms. I took the remaining one, and she gave me a grateful smile.
“Thanks.” She hung her keys on the hook above the shelf and slipped off her sunglasses. As the kids raced toward the kitchen with the bags she asked me in a low voice, “Have you heard from Roman?”
I nodded. “We went out to Frogmore and dragged him back. He’s headed to the club to talk to Chip.”
“Good. They need to have themselves a come to Jesus meeting.”
“We also had a run-in with Louie,” I said.
Alarm sparked in her eyes, and I hurried to reassure her. “He was lurking around in front of the house when we got back. Roman dealt with him while I brought the kids inside.”
“What did he want?”
“He’s pretty unhappy that the police know about the blackmail.”
She barked out a laugh. “I’ll bet he is. Meanwhile, Giorgio Valetta had his lawyer send me a cease-and-desist email, threatening legal action if I disclose the ‘alleged extortion’ to anyone else.”
“He’s suing you?”
She waved a hand at the idea. “Apparently, any speculation about whether he’s a cheater would damage his reputation and standing in the community. I forwarded the email to our attorney, who said to ignore it. So, there. It’s ignored.”
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