Island of Deceit (10 page)

“What happened?” he asked Sly.

Sly slumped in his seat. “I did everything you told me and I still didn't make the basketball team. I won't even qualify for a scholarship.”

“I'm taking a chance on you. I believe in you. But even more importantly, you've got to believe in yourself. Sly, I'm proud of you for working hard to make the team.”

Sly slumped again. “For what? I didn't make it.”

“If it's that important to you, try again next season,” he said. “What's your next step?”

Sly blew out a frustrated breath. “Reevaluate. But I wanted to make it this year.”

“What's the next step after you reevaluate?” Harper asked.

“Come up with an alternate plan. I know all that junk, but I have to wait out a whole year.”

“For that team, but that's not the only team.”

“It's the only one that counts,” Sly said.

Harper understood his need to look good in front of everyone.

“Let's give Sly applause for trying.”

Embarrassed, Sly ducked his head. But as everyone clapped, Harper could tell his words were sinking in. Harper wanted the kids to know that even if they failed, they'd made progress by just trying. They weren't going to succeed at everything, but they still had to try.

After the meeting Harper would talk to Sly about alternatives and his next step toward his goals.

The meeting lasted two hours, and at the end, Mrs. Claxton talked to the kids about their Christmas program.

 

On Sunday, Barbara was getting ready to leave church when Naomi flagged her down. She'd tucked her salt-and-pepper hair under a hat that was much more subdued than Dorsey's choice would have been.

“I'm sorry you missed the meeting.”

“Me, too. I'll try to attend the next one,” Barbara said.

“Well, we'll have one in a couple of weeks. It will be the last one before Christmas. People are getting busy preparing for the holidays. I've got a million cookies to bake.”

“I didn't know people actually baked cookies anymore.”

“Oh, yes. My grandchildren look forward to it. My children, too. Well, I won't hold you. I'm going to dig up some more information for you. I'm a pack rat and save everything, but when it's time to find something, I can't put my hands on it. When I do find it, I'll bring it by.”

“More information on the Rochester family?” Barbara knew they were some of the original islanders who arrived in 1617.

“Yes, they're your family, of course.”

“My family?”

“Of course. Didn't you know? I've been the town's historian for many years and I have all kinds of information. My sister, Anna, had some things, too. I'm going by her old house and I'll see what I can find there.”

“If you need any help, let me know,” Barbara offered, wondering if what Naomi said was true.

Barbara didn't give anyone details about her background. How was Naomi going to dig up information about her when she really didn't know who she was? But Barbara wouldn't deny or confirm her identity just in case Naomi was searching for information.

“No rush,” Barbara said. “Like you said, the holidays are almost here.”

“I'll find it when I least expect to. Don't worry; it will eventually come to me.”

She started to leave, then came back. “Oh, don't forget you're working on the Thanksgiving food baskets with me.”

“I am?” This was the first Barbara had heard of any Thanksgiving baskets.

“For the seniors and the families who need them. You're supposed to help us put them together Tuesday of Thanksgiving week. Harper is one of the delivery drivers. It's an all-day affair for us.”

“I see.”

“I'll get with you later on the details.”

With a parting greeting, Naomi left.

Was the woman senile or wily? Barbara didn't remember offering to do baskets, although she'd gladly participate. She'd mark it on her calendar at home. She better start attending meetings so that she could control what she volunteered for.

Maybe she should offer Naomi some of her grandmother's hats. With the funeral, trying to find Dorsey's murderer, and her retirement, Barbara hadn't packed up the house yet. Dorsey had a million hats around the place and someone should use them. Barbara would keep only one or two.

Barbara was finally headed home. It was rather pleasant outside. The church was more inland and it was a little warmer than near the water. She rolled down her window to enjoy the warmth.

Harper had called her Saturday while he was still at work and they'd talked for half an hour, but he didn't stop by and she doubted she'd see him today. With a murder case to solve and only a handful of people in the sheriff's department, he had no time to spare. Maybe that was a good thing. Less chance of him sticking his nose in her business. Besides, the Stones were enough to keep her busy.

Barbara got up too late for breakfast. She drove to the Greasy Spoon for lunch instead. At least seven cars pulled into the parking lot right after her.

Inside, the first group she saw was Elliot, Minerva, and Andrew seated at a table eating. It was the first time she'd seen them since Andrew attempted to get her money. Andrew's arm was in a cast. Barbara ordered her food to go.

She was glad she'd worn a rich-looking ensemble, with Chanel jewelry, too. Another of her New York bargains.

She debated whether she should approach them. That and the dead woman had been the talk of the congregation. She'd been quiet about Andrew's attempt at robbing her. At least she could keep the communication open.

“Hello,” she said, on her way out. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was about your break-in. Was anyone hurt?” Barbara made sure her diamond-studded watch was showing.

“No,” Elliot said, rising from his seat. “We were very lucky.”

“That's good, at least.”

“Andrew told us he borrowed money from you,” Elliot said, digging into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He selected some bills and handed them to Barbara. “Here you go. Will this cover it?”

Barbara counted. “Exactly. You're a good man, Elliot,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I've always paid my debts and I can see you do, too. That's the mark of someone who's gotten somewhere in life.”

Elliot nodded. “Me and Minerva do our best.”

“I know. But there are bad influences everywhere. What can you do?”

“You got that right,” Elliot agreed. “Looks like you've been to church. You look very nice, doesn't she, Minerva?”

“It's a very pretty outfit,” Minerva said, smiling.

“You have a wonderful day,” Barbara said. “Good seeing you again, Minerva.”

Elliot stopped his wool gathering to speak. “You, too, Barbara.”

When the door closed behind Barbara, Andrew said, “Daddy, why you give her all that money? I could use some myself. And you had that big doctor's bill for my arm. We don't have insurance.”

Sitting abruptly, Elliot took a quick look around and leaned across the table. “We have to appear to be good citizens,” he whispered. “Folks in small towns talk. You want them saying we don't pay our debts? You've given us a bad enough reputation as it is.”

“I was just trying to teach her a lesson,” Andrew defended himself, scowling.

Elliot leaned closer as not to be overheard. “How many times have I told you, you lay low where you live? You don't want folks yakking and wondering. You got the sheriff suspicious now. Boy, does anything I tell you sink in to that brain of yours? We're lucky that what you did hasn't spread all over town.”

Andrew frowned at his sandwich.

“We won't be able to stay here too much longer. I've got to think about where we're going from here or what we can do to salvage this situation.”

They resumed eating. Maybe they should send Andrew away, or at least let the boy keep a low profile for now. Elliot shook his head. He didn't know what Minerva was thinking to bring him to lunch with them. But he couldn't send him away. If Sonya snatched him, their futures were doomed.

He spotted Detective Alyssa Claxton's boyfriend walking in wearing an Armani suit. There was a lot of talk going around about how wealthy Jordan Ellis was. He was probably the only man in town wearing a suit that expensive.

Every time Elliot drove by that big house Ellis was building, jealousy roared up his spine. Even with all the money they'd stolen, they'd never be able to afford a house like that.

Elliot wished he could come up with a scheme to relieve Jordan of some of that money. But he was too young and sharp. Definitely not the type to be played for a fool.

The word was, he was building the castle to impress Alyssa, but she'd thumbed her nose at him until lately. Some folks had all the luck. Elliot had a good mind to plan something to lighten Jordan's pockets anyway, but he'd have Alyssa on him then. Alyssa had a reputation for being a hard ass, and they couldn't afford to have the law chasing them across the country.

“Hey, Jordan,” someone called out. “Alyssa make any progress with finding her grandma's golden bowl?” someone asked.

“Not yet, but she's still searching.”

The guy shook his head. “She's not going to give up on that.”

Golden bowl? Elliot perked up. What about this golden bowl? How valuable was it? Was it solid, heavy gold? He tossed that idea out of his mind. He'd come up against Alyssa again. She wasn't just a deputy. She was a detective. Computers. ID checks. FBI crime info. That would bring on more trouble than he wanted to think about. He didn't want people tracking them down after they left. For the most part, they'd tried to stick to families with women in charge of them. Women were easy marks. They weren't coming after them like men would, too embarrassed to admit having been scammed.

He'd have Minerva visit Mrs. Claxton, though. Cover all the bases at least. Maybe the old biddy would open up about that bowl. If she didn't have it, maybe they could find out who did. He was thinking they weren't exactly acting like good neighbors, even when Mrs. Claxton offered neighborly gestures.

“Let's go,” Elliot said.

They stopped at the door. The sheriff was talking to Barbara all intimate like. Elliot frowned. What was that all about?

“What is she doing with him?” Andrew asked.

“You're the one who messed up a good thing.” Elliot felt like popping his son upside the head. All that money Barbara had—they could've made out like bandits. Hairdressers make a killing. Black women spent a fortune on their hair. Barbara charged fees like she was still in New York. He knew because Minerva went there and his pocket felt lighter every time. And that place stayed packed.

Elliot shook his head. His son never took advantage of opportunities. “You're such a fool, boy. When are you going to learn to think?” That's why Elliot couldn't give Andrew jobs. He messed up every time. Boy acted half simple.

He should go after Barbara himself. Men could always get away with dating younger women. He was only twenty years older. That wasn't so bad. Elliot crimped his mouth. Too bad it was too late now.

 

Before Barbara got into her car, Harper approached her, closing the distance between them with purposeful strides.

“Hey, pretty lady. Don't you look lovely today? And without me.” Slowly and seductively, his gaze scanned her from head to foot. Barbara's heart jolted and her pulse pounded. When most men spoke that way to her, she waved it off as “some fool with a lame come-on,” but when Harper spoke those words, it was as if they came from the heart and she was by no means blind to his attraction.

She laughed but couldn't stop the flash of desire flowing through her.

“You're full of stuff, you know that?”

“I tell it like I see it.” He bent over her as his mouth hovered over hers a second. He kissed her softly with fluttery nips, slipping his hands beneath her coat to grasp her waist. This was far from the quick little peck he gave her the other morning, she thought as the butterfly strokes urged her to open up to him.

And when she opened to him, his hot tongue caressed hers, drawing a moan that reached her core. She was lost in the sensations he produced until she heard tires squeal.

She glanced up. One of the deacons was approaching the Greasy Spoon. “Take it home, Sheriff. Take it home.”

“See what you're doing to me?” Harper asked, his gaze drilling Barbara.

“Me? I didn't…”

“You take away all my common sense and reasoning.”

“I was perfectly fine until you invaded my space.”

“I want to invade more than that,” he said, leaving no doubt what he was referring to. Before Barbara could recover from that, he said, “This doesn't nearly make up for leaving you on your own to finish breakfast.”

“Duty calls.”

He wore a suit that fit as if it was tailor-made for him. It was obvious he went to services at another church. “I should have invited you to church with me,” he said.

“You should have,” she murmured, still recovering from his touch.

“Why don't I take you to dinner to make up for breakfast?”

“You don't have to. I still have your leftovers.”

“I want to. Besides, leftover French toast just doesn't turn me on.”

Barbara nearly groaned. “I've got a better idea. Why don't I invite you to dinner?”

“Even better. What time?”

Barbara told him and left. She didn't have a clue of what to prepare. As she drove away, her conscience started bothering her. At church, she'd discovered the retired deputy, Scott, had interrogated the bartender at the local bar.

Was it possible Elliot didn't kill Sarah? Was her death a coincidence? Could one of her boyfriends have murdered her? Barbara doubted it. She was pulling straws to make her feel less guilty for withholding information.