Death by beach read, p.9
Death by Beach Read, page 9
“Thank you. Do you have a charter to take out this morning?”
“Yeah. I hired a young fella to help me this season.” His face twisted. “My hip’s been giving me trouble. Not as young as I used to be.”
“It’s none of my business,” I said, “but I have to wonder. Jo never tried to get over what happened? I mean, finish school, get a job.” Have a life, I thought but didn’t say.
“She was a quiet girl, for all she was as smart as a whip and a heck of a looker back then. My folks kept her on a tight leash, too tight. A girl needs to learn how to get along in the world, but Jo never did. At first I thought she needed some time to get over what had happened that night, to forget about it. But the years passed, and nothing changed. It suited her to keep house for me. Suited me fine too. I told you before, Lucy, I never was the marrying kind. My mistress is the sea. Always will be.” He shrugged. “What’s done is done. Things mighta been different if Jo’s young man had stood up for her. But he didn’t.”
“You mean the boyfriend who was in the house that night, with her?”
“Yeah. She never said, but I figured she felt guilty over that. As though she deserved our granddaddy appearing to her. Our parents were hard on her. Didn’t let her date, didn’t let her go to sleepovers or to parties with the other girls in school, so she never had much in the way of friends. She denied having a boy in the house, but no one believed her. Maybe things would have been different if he’d come ’round again. But he didn’t.” Ralph drained his coffee cup and clambered off the stool.
“No one knows who her boyfriend was? That’s sad, in a way.”
“I know who it was, Lucy,” Ralph said. “My daddy went ’round to his house when he got back from Raleigh and put the fear of god into him. Boy denied having been with Jo, but he never came calling on her again. She never mentioned him, but I figure it was that as much as the supposed ghost of my granddaddy that broke her heart.”
I had a very bad feeling, deep in my stomach. “Who was it? The boy?”
“Fred McNeil. Connor’s dad.”
Chapter Nine
I felt a good deal better after talking to Ralph. It had bothered me, more than I realized, when Jo Harper told me the McNeil family had “bad blood.” Fred had been her boyfriend in high school, and he had apparently run for the hills when threatened by her father (and the supposed ghost of her grandfather). A common enough story. Anyone else would have gotten over it long ago, but poor Jo remained mentally trapped in the past.
When I got home, I found Connor rummaging in the pantry for the cereal box. I took the box out of his hand and gave him a kiss. “Let me make you breakfast this morning.”
“Won’t say no to that,” he said. “Did you find Ralph?”
I took butter, bread, eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and green onions out of the fridge. “I did. He was at his favorite breakfast place, and simply being there made me hungry.” I put a pat of butter into a frying pan, and while it melted, I began grating cheese and chopping tomatoes and onions. Connor put bread into the toaster.
“Ralph told me more about what happened to Jo back then, but nothing no one else hasn’t told us.” If Connor didn’t know about his father’s involvement in the Harper family drama, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “I’d say it’s a sad story, and I guess it is, but Jo seems happy enough with the life she’s made for herself, as is Ralph. She was seventeen years old, and she felt guilty already because she’d snuck a boy into the house when her parents were away. Her brother, who should have been old enough to know better, played a practical joke on her that got way out of hand. All of which has absolutely nothing to do with us and our house, except …”
“Except,” Connor said, “that I can’t stop wondering—and I know you can’t either—what brought the long-lost Jimmy here the other night.”
“A stroll down memory lane? One last chance to see the old boyhood home? Looking for something that’s no longer to be found? His reasons for being here would be nothing but an interesting puzzle if not for the fact that someone was with him. And that someone killed him.”
Connor heard a sound and glanced out the window. “Barely six thirty and Dad’s car’s already pulling up. You’d better get more eggs out. Mom will have made him breakfast, but he can always have more. Second breakfast. Like a hobbit.”
“Connor, would you say your parents had a good marriage?”
He gave me a smile so full of affection my heart turned over. “I’d say I learned how to love from my own parents.”
* * *
I spent the rest of Sunday fetching and carrying for Connor and his father as they tore away the supports and planks of the old deck and made ready for the new one. They got a great deal done, and when the sun was settling behind us, Connor and I stood at the living room windows and looked out onto the darkening sea. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned against him. And all was right with the world.
* * *
Sam called us that evening as we were curled up in bed watching a movie on my iPad. Tonight it was Connor’s choice: an action flick, all tough guys (and girls) doing unbelievable feats of daring-do. Last time it had been my choice: a regency romance, all beautifully dressed women (and men) doing unbelievable feats of historical inaccuracy.
Connor pressed pause and reached for the phone. He lifted one eyebrow at me as he answered. I snuggled up to him to listen in.
“Connor. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday night.”
“Not a problem, Sam. Has there been a development?”
“Not yet. Police in various other parts of North Carolina are showing some interest in the death of James Harper. It would appear he was, as the saying goes, known to police. A lot of police and very well known. If you get my meaning.”
“I do,” Connor said.
“I’d like you and Lucy to have a look at some mug shots. Pictures of his known acquaintances, particularly some people he’s known to have fallen out with.”
“Tonight?”
Watson chuckled. “No, not tonight. It’s not urgent. How about tomorrow morning, first thing, before you go to work?”
Connor looked at me. I nodded, and Connor said, “We’ll be there. Eight o’clock okay?”
“Sure. By the way, while I have you on the line, I had a forensic accountant take a look at those stock certificates from that trunk of yours.”
“Dare I hope they turn out to be worth millions in today’s money?”
“Let’s just say he wanted to have them to add to his collection of historical artifacts. Or so he said when he stopped laughing. Totally and completely worthless. Bunch of companies that were fly-by-night even before the crash. You can have them to start a fire, if you like.”
“See you tomorrow.” Connor hung up, and we went back to watching unbelievable feats of daring-do.
* * *
We drove to town the following morning in our own cars so we could go our separate ways after visiting the police station. Before going directly to meet with Watson, we dropped in at Josie’s Cozy Bakery. As long as I was going to be in town and had something to do before work, I told Connor, I needed to treat myself. It didn’t come as a surprise to me when he eagerly agreed. Since we were already fueling ourselves, we got a bag of assorted muffins, scones, and Danishes for people at the police station and an extra-large takeout coffee, black, for the good detective.
Our offering was well received. Watson met us once we were buzzed into the main part of the building. He accepted the cup from Connor, helped himself to a blueberry scone, and led the way to an interview room.
Connor and I took seats, and Watson put a folder on the table. “Have a close look at these pictures. You don’t have to be positive about identifying anyone; if anything seems familiar, say so. What you’re looking for is someone you might have seen on your street or the section of beach in front of your house over the last couple of weeks.”
“I hate,” I said, “to think anyone was watching our house.”
“We found no fingerprints in the pantry, on the ladder, or in the stuff in the upstairs room,” Watson said. “Other than yours and Connor’s father. Lucy’s prints were the only ones on the cat leash. I have to point out that that means little. Jimmy Harper is not unfamiliar with police procedures. We found latex gloves in his pocket, and it’s likely whoever he was with wore gloves as well. Why he took his gloves off, or didn’t put them on, is unknown.”
Watson opened the folder.
The pictures were all of men, and all of a type: midfifties to midseventies, rough shaven, badly dressed, mean eyed. Plenty of tattoos and piercings.
“What a disreputable-looking bunch,” I said.
“Jimmy Harper didn’t move in high society,” Watson replied. “Some of these guys have beards, and it can be hard to look past that, but try in case they’ve shaved it off.”
I peered at each picture closely. I tried to mentally remove the beards. Nothing looked familiar.
“Nothing,” Connor said after a few minutes. “Lucy?”
“Sorry, but no. To be honest, these men would stand out in our neighborhood, and they don’t look like the type to enjoy a leisurely stroll on the beach either. Sorry.”
“That’s fine. It was a long shot. Doesn’t mean Jimmy Harper didn’t bring his enemies with him. I’m sure he has plenty of acquaintances who haven’t come to police attention. Not yet, anyway.”
Watson gathered up the photos and slipped them back into his folder. “I know you’d like to find out what happened, and so would I, but sometimes these things never do get solved. Not if the people concerned are able to drift back into the underworld, don’t brag about what they’ve done, and don’t get picked up for something else and have evidence from this case on them.”
I told myself not to be disappointed. Sam Watson was right, as he usually was, and all this more than likely had nothing to do with us. Someone followed Jimmy to our house, killed him there for their own reasons, and then slipped away. Still, I didn’t like the idea of never knowing what happened, but such was life. “I’ll accept that,” I said firmly. “I’m settling down to a life of domestic bliss, and I want nothing more to do with any police investigations.”
Connor laughed.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Watson said. We left the interview room, and he escorted us to the door. Butch Greenblatt lifted a muffin-clutching hand in a wave.
* * *
One thing about working at a public library: people can always find you when they’re looking for you. Ralph Harper came in shortly before closing time as I was helping a woman select books for her daughter, confined to bed rest with a difficult first pregnancy. “Climbing the walls,” the patron said when she explained the situation to me. “If she was allowed to climb, that is.”
“Afternoon, Miss Lucy.” Ralph touched the brim of his baseball cap, which featured the logo of a brand of motor oil. His beard was sticky with salt spray, and he smelled of fish and the sea. “Hope I’m not disturbing.”
“You go ahead, Lucy,” the woman said. “I’ve got a nice stack here to get started.”
“Twice in one week,” I said to Ralph. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Wanted to give you a heads-up is all. I woulda dropped by earlier, but I had a long charter trip to take out today.”
“Heads-up about what?”
“Thought you should know Jimmy’s wife paid me a call.”
“I didn’t know he was married,” I said.
“I didn’t know he was married neither. Woman name of Shona. Shona Harper. I figured he was past it, but I shoulda remembered that Jimmy always did have a woman on the go. She showed up at our door yesterday, just before suppertime, all weepy and wanting to get to know us. I invited her in for a cup of coffee, but Jo didn’t come out of her rooms. I didn’t like that Shona much, and I soon suggested she be on her way.”
“Why didn’t you like her?”
“A man learns to trust his instincts out on the water. She’s a hard-looking woman and she has hard eyes. The tears dried soon enough, and she asked me straight out for money. Help with a nice funeral for Jimmy. I got no problem pitching in for that, but she got too greedy too fast. Said she wanted her share of our mother’s inheritance. She was Jimmy’s wife and that means she gets what was his when he died. Seems Jimmy told her about the sale of the house. I wasn’t going to argue with her. I told her to get out of my house. She made some threats and then left.”
“Are you worried she’s going to cause trouble?”
“She’s got no grounds to expect anything from us, but I figured you should know. Jimmy died at your place. The address wasn’t in the paper but easy enough to find out if you put your mind to it. I don’t want you thinking I sent her ’round is all.”
“I appreciate you telling me. I trust your instincts, Ralph. Can I ask what this Shona looks like?”
“Black hair,” Ralph said. “Too black. Kinda long. About here.” He indicated the line of his shoulders. “Jimmy’s and my age, probably. Sixtysomething, anyway. Could stand to lose a few pounds.” He patted his own belly. “Although I shouldn’t judge.”
That didn’t sound like anyone I’d noticed recently, but I’d be on the lookout from now on.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I’ll tell Connor. You should probably mention this woman to Sam Watson. The police are looking into Jimmy’s acquaintances.”
Ralph grunted and took his leave.
* * *
The next several days passed without incident. Sam Watson came to the house a couple of times, wanting to have another look at the upstairs storage room, but he found nothing new. While I’d been at work on Saturday, Connor had hammered new boards into place in the pantry floor, sealing the rum-running entrance once and for all.
* * *
Thursday evening the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library Classic Novel Reading Club met to discuss The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne. After closing, Louise Jane helped me arrange chairs in the third-floor meeting room and lay a table for the drinks and snacks. That done, I went downstairs to greet club members at the door. My cousin Josie was first to arrive, bearing a bakery box. Josie always provided something absolutely delicious from her own bakery for the meeting. Some of our club members, I suspected, came mainly for Josie’s treats.
“What delights did you bring for us today?” Theodore Kowalski asked.
“Pecan squares and chocolate-chip cookies,” Josie said.
His small, dark eyes gleamed. “I’ll be up momentarily.” Theodore’s English accent was as fake as the lenses in the round spectacles perched on his nose. He was a thirtysomething native of Nags Head, but despite that he talked and dressed as though he’d momentarily stepped away from his estate in the English countryside. He thought the tweed suits (heavy with tobacco smoke, although he didn’t smoke), rimless eyeglasses (although he had perfect vision), and upper-crust English accent (although neither he nor his family had ever lived in the UK) gave him gravitas in the world of rare-books dealing. Instead, a lot of people found it hard to take him seriously, but I cared for him a great deal. He was a good friend, a true lover of the library and of books.
Josie chuckled and went inside.
“Are you expecting a good turnout tonight?” Theodore asked me.
“Not really. I’m not going to express my opinion of the book, not yet, but it’s not to everyone’s taste. Not even lovers of classic novels.”
“You think so? I found it fascinating. Mr. Hawthorne’s sense of social justice is still fresh and relevant in our times.”
“Which,” I said, “is what makes it a classic.”
A stream of cars began pulling into the parking lot. The club had a core group of regulars, but anyone was welcome to attend the meeting if the book being discussed was of interest to them.
“I dared hope Sam would be able to come tonight,” CeeCee Watson, one of the regulars, said after she’d greeted us. “After all these years, I should know better than to get overly confident.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“We’d just finished dinner when he got a call from work, so he went rushing off into the night. I’ve no idea what it was about.”
“It must be hard,” I said. “On a marriage, I mean. That sort of unreliability.”
She smiled at me. “At first it was tough going, I won’t deny it. A lot of police marriages don’t make it. But Sam and I have settled into our routine, and I have my job and my interests to keep me happy.” She held up her copy of the book. “Like the reading club. Speaking of police marriages …” She nodded to the group of people coming up the path and lowered her voice. “Anything happening there?”
“You mean with Steph and Butch? Not as far as I know.”
“They’re a strange couple. But I wish them well.” CeeCee went inside as I greeted my friends.
Steph and Butch had hated each other on sight. He was a six-foot-five burly cop, and she was a five-foot-nothing defense attorney. But, as readers of romantic fiction know, opposites often attract, and they’d fallen head over heels for each other.
“I don’t suppose,” I whispered to Butch, as Steph greeted other arrivals, “there have been any developments in the Harper case?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. Couple of detectives from Raleigh came down to have a chat with Ralph about his brother’s recent activities, but nothing came of it.” After a beat, he asked casually, “Has … uh … Josie arrived yet?”
“Bearing a heavy box,” I said.
“Great.” He dragged Steph inside without another word. Butch looked like the stereotypical image of a big dumb guy, but he was anything but. He read the club’s books with pleasure and insight. Despite that, I still thought he came mainly for the treats.
