Deadly Ever After by Eva Gates (distant reading .txt) 📗

“He says he walked around looking for a bar,” I said.

“He stayed at Skinny Jane’s until closing time. He seems to have made himself unforgettable there. He bought expensive drinks for a couple of women, and when the boyfriend of one of them, who’s a regular at that bar, arrived and took exception to that, things escalated. Ricky was lucky he didn’t get a punch to the jaw; instead, he wisely withdrew from the field of battle. He took a table in the corner, and there he fell asleep. At closing time, when the bartender went to throw him out, he gave the guy a sob story about how he’d lost the only woman he ever loved …”

I assumed that was supposed to be a reference to me. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, and my mother notably avoided my eyes. I had little doubt that if I did get back together with Ricky, he’d soon forget I was supposed to be “the only woman he ever loved.” Ricky had inherited his mother’s love of high drama.

“He went on and on about how no one appreciates him,” Uncle Amos continued. “Said he didn’t want to go back to his hotel because his mother would be on his case, and he offered the bartender a hundred dollars to let him sleep in his truck. Which he did. Ricky was asleep in the truck the next morning when the bartender got it to go to work. For another hundred bucks, the bartender dropped Ricky at the library.”

“Why would he want to go there?” Mom asked.

“To tell me his sob story,” I said. “I found him on the step when I opened up this morning. He was definitely in bad shape, and he looked like he’d spent the night in a stranger’s truck. I poured coffee down him, Ronald held his head under cold water, and then I called Sam Watson, knowing he’d want to talk to Ricky. He claimed not to have known his father died. Did Ricky find his jacket?”

“When the police tracked the bartender down,” Amos said, “he gave it to them. Ricky had left it in the truck. The wallet and phone were untouched.”

“Okay, so Ricky doesn’t have an alibi for the time of his father’s death. That doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“No, but it would be nice if he had one.”

“Evangeline doesn’t have an alibi either,” I pointed out.

“You can be sure that hasn’t escaped Sam’s notice,” Steph said.

“Sam Watson plays his cards close to his chest,” I said. “With someone like Evangeline, he’s likely to give her plenty of rope in case she needs it to hang herself.”

“What does that mean?” Mom said.

“It means she has trouble controlling her reactions. He’ll be watching her.”

“You’re getting good at this, Lucy,” Steph said.

“Too good,” Connor said.

“Perish the thought,” I said.

My mother shuddered.

“Does anyone know why Rich was in Nags Head in the first place?” Connor said. “I’d think that would be important.”

“It is important. Vitally important,” Amos said. “He doesn’t appear to have told anyone he was coming, never mind why.”

“The police found a piece of paper on Rich,” I said. “When Watson saw it, he seemed to find it interesting. Do you know what it said?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What did Dad find out about Gordon Frankland and his relationship with Rich?”

“If I never hear that name again,” Connor said, “it will be too soon. Frankland filed suit against the town this afternoon in opposition to our plans to expand the fishing pier. As though we haven’t gone through extensive environmental consultations and worked hard to address community concerns and secure local approval. The guy doesn’t live anywhere near the pier, but he’s found some—”

“Maybe let Amos continue,” Steph suggested.

“Sorry,” Connor said. “I got carried away there. The guy gets under my skin.”

“Frankland’s been busy,” Amos said. “He filed suit against Richardson Lewiston yesterday for conflict of interest.”

“Yesterday?” I said. “Before or after Rich’s death?”

“Good question, Lucy,” my uncle said. “Before. Yesterday morning.”

“Seems a heck of a coincidence,” Mom said, “that he ran into us that very night.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Although that is entirely possible. I checked with Jake when I heard about the suit, and he tells me Gordon Frankland dines at his place regularly. Sometimes as often as two or three times a week. Always on his own. The man appears to have no friends.”

“Wonder why?” Connor muttered.

Amos chuckled. “It seems he favors Jake’s these days, as not many other places in town will serve him—he’s threatened to sue them all. Jake lives in fear that Frankland’s going to find something, anything, to take him to court over.”

“Can’t something be done about this constant stream of lawsuits?” my mom asked.

“Let’s get back to the point,” Connor said. “Why is he suing Richardson Lewiston?”

“He claims the firm was representing him while also advising the firm representing his opponents in a case he’s brought against a homeowner who wants to do some much-needed renovations to a historic house in Boston. Unfortunately for representatives of Nags Head and Boston, he has homes in both those places; thus he can act as a concerned citizen. I believe he’s not unknown in the courthouses of New York City either.”

“Is he wealthy?” Mom asked.

“Oh yes,” Amos said. “Exceedingly so. Rather than putting his money—all of which he inherited—to good use, or even to amusing himself, he uses it to mount court cases. Which, come to think of it, is how he amuses himself.”

“In case you think he’s being a good citizen, standing up for what he believes in,” Steph said, “don’t. He has no problem funding both sides of any situation. Before Connor’s time, he sued the town to stop them extending a building permit to a bird sanctuary, and when he won that one, he turned around and sued them for interfering in a member of the public’s right to use their land as they see fit. It’s all a game to him.”

A ping came from the kitchen, and Aunt Ellen stood up.