Booked for Trouble (11 page)

Once we were seated on the outside deck, Mom excused herself. I leaned back in my chair and enjoyed the view over the sound. At first glance, Mom's theory sounded pretty far-fetched. But maybe there was something to it. Oh, not about Karen smuggling the necklace out of the hotel and murderous accomplices lying in wait, but the fact of the necklace being in Mom's bag. What had Karen said when she and Mom had their altercation in the lobby? Something about Mom being a common thief? If that had been the rumor when they were back in school, so what? It was a long time ago. Mom wouldn't care. She'd so totally put her Outer Banks life behind her, I wondered sometimes if she believed she'd lived her whole life in Boston.

Had Karen decided to get revenge for Mom's slight by making it look as though Mom was still a thief? Karen, a hotel maid, was in a position to steal jewelry from a guest's room and then to get into Mom's room. Had she dropped the necklace into Mom's bag, not to get it out of the hotel to recover later, but in hopes that Mom would be found with it?

Even I had to admit that my theory was a stretch. All Mom had had to do was look into her bag, see the necklace, wonder where it had come from, and tell the desk she had it if anyone was searching for it.

I knew that's what my mother would do. No reason Karen would, though.

All of which had absolutely nothing to do with Karen being murdered outside the Lighthouse Library.

The two incidents appeared to have nothing at all in common. But they had to be related somehow.

I watched Mom make her way through the room toward our table. A man seated at the bar by himself said something to her. She gave him a radiant smile, and a shake of her head. Once he was behind her, and she saw me watching, she stuck out her tongue. My mother could be infuriating at times, but I loved her so very much.

The problem was, I could see only one thing that joined the theft of the necklace and the murder of Karen. My mother.

I would have to do everything I possibly could to ensure the police didn't take that thread to that conclusion.

I
n the interest of protecting the reputation of the library, Bertie had asked us to not talk about the death of Karen, but if we had to, to imply she was found in the marsh, rather than in the shadow of the lighthouse wall. I suspected Bertie might have had a hand in placing that impression into the news reports.

Unfortunately Diane Uppiton had no intention of protecting the reputation of the library.

Once the news was out, the knowledge that we were the site of a “brutal murder” seemed only to increase our custom. The police had finished their work; the tape was taken down; the crime scene tidied up. The parking lot soon filled with people pretending to be going bird-watching in the marsh, but most of them had neglected to bring binoculars and wear suitable footwear. They walked a couple of yards through the grass, and then circled around to come out beside the lighthouse. As there was no sign saying “Murder happened here,” many of them popped into the library to ask.

Fortunately for me, this morning I wasn't downstairs to answer their questions, but was upstairs gazing out the
window, watching cars come and go and people tiptoeing through the marsh. I had the day off work, and luxuriated in a quiet morning of sitting in the window alcove in my pajamas, drinking coffee and reading
Maddy Clare
. It was another beautiful day, and I wondered if it was possible to get tired of this view. I considered myself to be very brave, reading that ghost story here in my apartment. According to Louise Jane, not exactly a reliable source, the lighthouse was haunted by the ghost of a woman brought here as a young bride by a cruel old man, who'd locked her in this very room until she'd taken the only way out and had leapt through the window to her death on the hard ground below.

I hadn't believed a word of it, but nevertheless I'd snuck a peek at some of the haunted-history books among the library's collection. I found plenty of ghosts, but no mention of the tragic bride, who Louise Jane said was known as
the Lady
.

Just in case, this morning I kept Charles upstairs with me rather than allowing him to go down to the library.

Eventually hunger got the better of me, and I put the book aside. I pulled my bathing suit on under shorts and a T-shirt, tossed a towel, sunscreen, a bottle of water, and the book into my beach bag, and headed out the door. Charles dashed on ahead.

The library was busy, but I didn't slow my pace as I waved at Ronald behind the circulation desk. I needed one more thing before I hit the beach.

Lunch.

I headed for Josie's to pick up a sandwich. As I drove into Nags Head, I tried to smother a little niggle of guilt about Mom. I hadn't told her I wasn't working today. Selfishly, I wanted to do what I wanted to do, and that
was to go to the beach. Alone. I loved nothing more than setting up my folding chair at the edge of the water, letting the waves play with my toes, and enveloping myself in a book the way one can only when one is alone.

I'd never before had to give a thought to entertaining my mother. But on this trip, she almost seemed needy. Needy of my time and my attention. I thought back to the day of her arrival. I'd wondered if something was wrong. Was she becoming conscious of the passage of time, and wanting to connect with her only daughter? Or just hoping to wear away my objections and convince me to quit the Lighthouse Library and return to Boston? With the commotion over the death of Karen Kivas and the discovery of the necklace in Mom's beach bag, I'd put most of that out of mind.

It was reasonably quiet at Josie's before the lunch rush. I placed an order for roast beef with caramelized onions and red peppers on a baguette and asked the clerk if my cousin was in. She bellowed over her shoulder and Josie came out, wiping floury hands on her bibbed apron.

“Morning, sweetie,” she said, eyeing my shorts and flip-flops. “Day off?”

“Yup. Beach day.”

“Lucky you,” she said. “I'd skip work and join you, but I have a function to cater tonight.”

I reached across the counter and took my bagged lunch from the sandwich maker, a skinny young man with long bleached dreadlocks.

“I'm making something new,” Josie said. “Let me get you one and you can tell me what you think.”

“I shouldn't . . . ,” I said, but Josie ran off.

Two men came up to the counter. They were in their early fifties with short gray hair, which was lightly gelled,
and they were dressed in summer business clothes of open-necked dress shirts. The taller one studied the menu printed on the blackboard on the back wall, while the other said, “Mornin', Alison.”

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” the woman at the cash register said. “Please accept my condolences.”

I edged away, not wanting to look as though I was hovering.

“Thank you,” the man said. “We're still in shock. The family can't come to grips with it yet.”

“Darn disgrace, that's what it is,” his companion said. “I'll have the Reuben sandwich and a pecan tart. And a bottle of that iced tea. Doug?”

“Sounds good. Same for me, but just water.”

“Never mind the tragedy to Doug's family,” the second man said, “but it's also bad for Nags Head, bad for businesses like this one. We don't want word getting out that this isn't a safe place to bring your family.”

“Stuff happens.” Alison rang up the charge while the dreadlocked man began making the sandwiches. I wondered what was keeping Josie.

“Stuff doesn't happen,” Doug said. “People make things happen. And other people can put a stop to it. If they're allowed to.”

Okay, now I got it. This must be Doug Whiteside, Karen's brother. Hadn't Connor told me Doug was going to run for mayor? As if he'd picked up my thoughts, he turned toward me. “I hope you're not worried, miss. The killer will be long gone, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure none of their like come here again.” He thrust out his hand. “Doug Whiteside.”

I took his hand in mine. His grip was firm, so firm I wondered if he was intending to crush every bone I had.

“You can rest assured that the Outer Banks will remain the perfect place for your vacation.”

“I live here,” I said.

His eyes lit up. “Is that a fact? How could I possibly not have run into you before? I would have remembered if I had. Billy?”

His companion handed me a fridge magnet. It didn't say anything about his running for mayor. It didn't have to. It featured a picture of Doug Whiteside, all polished teeth, sprayed and styled hair, with the words FOR
NAGS HEAD
, a phone number, and a URL: www.doug fornagshead.com.

“You might have heard about that murder over in the marshes the other night,” Doug said.

“I did.”

“My sister, Karen.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thank you. I've been saying for a long time that we need a new administration in this town. A mayor that's going to work with the chief of police, not put obstacles in his way at every turn. Let the police do their jobs, and keep the scum of the cities away from our town and our families. Don't you agree, Miss . . . ?”

“Lucy Richardson.” This was the first I'd heard about the mayor being at odds with the police chief. I was under the impression they got on quite well. Like every town department, including the library, the police wanted more money. The mayor and the town council tried to balance everyone's interests with what they could afford to spend.

Where on earth was that Josie?

“Folks are clamoring for Doug here to run for mayor,” Billy said.

Doug Whiteside shrugged modestly. “I haven't
decided yet. A political campaign is tough on the family.”
So undecided he'd had fridge magnets and a Web page made up already.

“You're right, Doug.” Billy placed a firm, supporting hand on Doug's manly shoulder. “But nothing can be as tough on a family as a death. Particularly a senseless murder. Isn't your duty to Karen now?”

“I'll take one of those things,” the sandwich maker, who'd been listening to the entire conversation, said. Billy handed him a magnet. Then he slapped one onto the metallic trim of the display case. “We have to be going, Doug. Can't be late for that meeting.”

“Duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Lucy. I'm sure I'll see you around.” He gave me a megawatt smile, and walked away.

Billy pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket. “Let me take down your name and phone number, Lucy. If Doug does decide to run for office, we'd like you on our team.”

I held up the fridge magnet. “Why don't I call you?”

His smile froze in place. “That'd be great. Just great. You too, buddy,” he said to the sandwich clerk. He swept their order off the counter and left.

“Is it safe to come out?” Josie whispered from the back.

“You rat,” I said.

“I'd heard that Doug's milking Karen's death for all it's worth. And don't you even think of voting for him, Kyle Bradshaw.” She glared at the sandwich clerk.

“Just listenin' to what the man had to say,” Kyle said.

Josie snatched the magnet off the display case. She thrust a plate toward me. “Here, try this. It's an old recipe of our grandmother's. She called it Dream Cake. Nuts
and coconut in a filling of brown sugar and eggs on a rich shortbread base. Did your mother ever make it for you?”

I looked at her.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot,” Josie said with a grin. “The only thing your mother makes is reservations. I tweaked it a bit, made a few updates, and have been wanting to give it a try. What do you think?”

“I think I don't need cake for lunch. But anything to help you out.” I took a bite. Deee-licious. “Wow, this is great.” I finished the treat and licked my fingers.

As we talked—and I ate—we walked to the door. Josie tossed the fridge magnet into the trash. “Doug's business must have been working around the clock last night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Karen's death is tailor-made for him. He'll be handing those magnets out by the truckload.”

“That's a bit harsh, isn't it? She was his sister.”

“Doug and Karen were estranged for a long time,” Josie said. “I don't know why, but as a guess, I'd say because one was as manipulative as the other. Karen got her way by playing the poor-little-me card, and Doug gets his way by pretending he has to be talked into doing what he wants to do in the first place. He's been planning a run for mayor for months. Now he'll humbly say he's been forced into it by his sister's murder. Although he never cared about her when she was alive. He never gave her a penny or so much as offered to help her out. She said she didn't want his charity, but it's not charity when it's from your own brother, is it?”

“He looks prosperous enough. What does he do?”

“He owns a sign company. Doug's Signs and Labels.
They make signs for businesses, and labels to put on bottles and cans. And now, I guess, they make fridge magnets. He's going to use Karen's death to claw his way into the mayor's office. Tough on crime, and all that blather. I heard him bad-mouthing Connor. Who, by the way, has the full support of the chief. Mark my words, Lucy: Karen's picture will start appearing on his promotional literature.”

“Won't that backfire? Won't people see it for the opportunism it is?”

“Some will. But those people aren't likely to vote for Doug Whiteside in any event.” She spun around to look at the chalkboard on the wall. “Do you think I should add Grandma's Dream Cake to the menu?”

“Absolutely.”

She gave me a hug that smelled of flour and coconut. “Have fun at the beach.”

I tried to have fun at the beach, but for once, my book, no matter how good it was, couldn't keep my attention.

I watched two young kids in brightly colored bathing suits chase sandpipers through the surf under the watchful eyes of their parents. Another family was occupied in constructing a sand castle that, judging by the intensity of the father, might be on the way to becoming one of the wonders of the world. The children, for whom this was supposedly a fun activity, lost interest and wandered away. Dad continued digging trenches to hold back the sea and constructing ramparts.

I thought about Doug Whiteside and his challenge to Connor. But most of all, I thought about my mom, meeting with Louise Jane at three.

At a quarter to three, I decided I was getting chilly. Dad was building dykes to keep the incoming tide away
from his castle. His family had gone back to their hotel. He hadn't seemed to notice their departure.

I figured he had as much chance of saving his empire from the sea as I had from keeping Louise Jane from plotting with my mom.

But, like the frantically bailing man in front of me, I had to try.

I arrived at the hotel to find Louise Jane waiting in the lobby. She did not appear to be thrilled to see me.

“Oh,” I said, “I totally forgot. Today's the day you and my mom are getting together, isn't it?”

She looked as though she didn't believe me. “I called her room. She'll be right down. You're not at work?”

“Day off.”

“What a nice surprise.” Mom greeted me with a peck on the cheek. “I wasn't expecting to see you this afternoon, dear.” She studied my outfit. “Don't you have to be at work?”

“Day off.”

“How nice. I'm sure you don't mind, Mary Jane, if my daughter joins us.”

“Louise Jane,” my archenemy corrected her.

“I had a lovely, relaxing morning and enjoyed a light lunch. Now I'm positively starving again. I do believe it's cocktail time.” Mom headed for the lobby bar.

Louise Jane, looking somewhat nonplussed, scurried to catch up. “But I thought we were going to tour the hotel, Suzanne. I was going to show you some of the historic places they don't tell the ordinary tourists about.”