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

Charlene’s love life when Watson drove up. He’d come in his own car, and he’d come on his own.

Fluffy and I met him at the top of the path.

“Is this Mrs. Lewiston’s dog?” he said, bending over to let her sniff his hand. “Looks like it.”

“Her name’s Fluffy, and I’m looking after her while Evangeline’s at the Ocean Side, from which Fluffy has been evicted for misbehaving.”

Watson straightened up. “That’s nice of you, Lucy.”

“No, it’s not. I was given absolutely no choice in the matter.”

“You could have taken her to a kennel.”

“Now that you mention it …” I grinned at him. “Maybe not. I’m growing rather fond of the little thing. Fortunately, she’s small enough to fit in my apartment. Thank heavens Evangeline doesn’t have a Saint Bernard.”

Watson chuckled. “Let’s walk.” He pointed to the boardwalk. “There seems to be a lot of people over there. What’s going on?”

“Ronald has a marsh wildlife expert visiting, and they’ve taken the kids out. We can go the other way.”

“Let’s,” he said.

I fell into step beside him and we walked down the lane, which took us southwest toward the path to Blossie Creek, which opens onto Roanoke Sound. Fluffy trotted happily at my side. Watson walked with his hands thrust into his pockets, his gait slow and casual, appearing to be enjoying the feel of the warm sun on his head and the salty wind on his skin. He was, I thought, appreciating the chance to be outside in the fresh air, taking a moment to relax, even if the reason he was here had to do with murder most foul. Two yellow-and-black butterflies fluttered past his face, and he smiled as he watched them go. A flock of ducks took off from the calm waters of the creek, wings flapping, calling loudly to each other to keep up.

“Evangeline Lewiston,” Watson said, when the ducks had passed and all was quiet once again. “Tell me about her.”

I sucked in a breath. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me, Lucy. You’ve known her a long time.”

“Her husband—her late husband—and my dad are law partners. Their fathers founded the firm. I’ve known her for a long time, my entire life, but I know next to nothing, apart from what’s obvious to everyone, about her. She was one of those people who was simply around when I was growing up. You should ask my mom about her, not me. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to anyone in my parents’ crowd. What kid does?”

“Fair enough. I have spoken to your mother, but she neatly brushed aside my questions about Evangeline’s personality and other aspects of her life. She claims they were wives of partners, not friends.”

“Mom’s good at that. I bet you were out the door before you realized she hadn’t actually answered your questions.”

“And here I thought I was a good interrogator. In my years with the NYPD, I dealt with some of the toughest people in the world, but I fear I’ve met my match in your mother.”

“My mother was an eighteen-year-old girl named Susan Wyatt from a North Carolina fishing family who’d barely finished high school when she married my dad. Which means she married his blueblood family, his father’s law firm, his mother’s social circle, and generations of expectations. She swam with sharks far sharper than any you’ve had to deal with, Detective. She not only survived but thrived. Evangeline would have been one of those circling sharks, just waiting for her to fail. Friends is a nebulous term. An outside observer would think Mom and Evangeline are friends, but they only spent time together as required by their husbands’ positions. They never liked each other. Even now, Mom’s stayed on in Nags Head out of a sense of duty, not any bonds of friendship.”

“That’s why I’m talking to you, Lucy. You observe things. You’d be surprised at how rare that can be. You know people.”

Fluffy stopped to sniff at yet another patch of grass, and I gave the leash a tug. I considered letting her run free, but I didn’t know if she’d stay close or come when I called, and I didn’t want to risk it. If I lost Fluffy, Evangeline’s wrath would be terrible to behold. “You’re thinking Evangeline killed her husband.”

“Not necessarily. She can’t account for her time between roughly eight and nine thirty on Monday night, and that means I can’t dismiss the possibility. You’ve told me before you and your mother came to the Outer Banks regularly over the years.”

“Mom brought the kids here every summer to visit her sister. I remember those summers as some of the best times in my life.” I thought of Connor and picnics at the beach and smiled to myself. “Until now.”

“Did Evangeline ever come with you?”

“No. Definitely not. Mom wasn’t trying to reconnect with her sister or even give her kids a great vacation. Coming here was her escape, a few weeks away from the pressures of that life—keeping up with the country club circuit, the constant disapproval of Dad’s partners’ wives, not to mention her own in-laws, always waiting for her to slip and display the slightest trace of working-class southern habits.” I didn’t mention that in the latter years of my childhood, Mom had been escaping from her own husband and a lonely, failing marriage.

Two people approached us, large binoculars and cameras with long lenses hanging around their necks and bulging backpacks slung over their shoulders. They nodded politely and paid no mind to Fluffy, who was dancing on her hind legs in greeting.

“Did you ever run into Evangeline on any of those visits?” Watson asked. “Have you seen her since you moved here?”

“No and no. Why are you asking me that? She told me she’s never been to Nags Head. Isn’t that true?”

“It would seem she’s not been entirely truthful with either you or me. She originally told me the same—she’d never been here before—but a minor amount of digging proved that to be