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

“More than that, sweetie.”

“Meaning what?”

“He looks at you, when you’re not looking, as though a hole has opened up in his life and you’re the only thing that can fill it.”

“Nonsense. You’re imagining that. Heavens, the man asked Grace out. Anyway, back to the subject at hand—the only person left on my list as a viable suspect is Gordon Frankland, and I can’t go around and start questioning him. If he thinks I’m accusing him, he’ll sue me. I don’t mind that so much, but Connor wouldn’t be happy.”

“Gordon Frankland wouldn’t have killed anyone, Lucy. He gets his jollies out of suing people. He craves the attention. He comes in here sometimes, and I absolutely dread the very sight of him. I’m terrified one of my staff is going to spill a hot drink on him or he’s going to slip on something, have a fall, and sue me. Every business owner in town’s the same, and that’s the way he likes it. We live in fear of him, but we don’t fear he’s going to kill us. Killing takes place in the shadows. Gordon Frankland lives in the limelight. A rather putrid limelight, but not the shadows.”

“That’s a good point, Josie.”

“Plus, it’s not his style to make anonymous threats. If he did kill that man and he thought you were getting close, he’d think of some reason to sue you so as to occupy all your attention. You might think you’ve done nothing he can sue you over, but believe me, if he put his mind to it, he’d come up with something.”

“That might have already happened.” I told Josie about the Charles-versus-Frankland incident at the library yesterday.

“That’ll do it,” she said.

I mentally called up my list and drew a line through Gordon Frankland’s name. “If I dismiss him as a suspect, then the way I see it, Rich’s death must have something to do with inheritances. Rich was losing money, and fast. The killer needed to stop that. Yes, killing for the inheritance appears to suggest it had to have been Evangeline or Ricky. I assume Evangeline will inherit everything, but maybe not. At book club the other night, Butch said something about previously unknown relatives coming out of the woodwork at will-reading time. Not only unknown relatives but former lovers, maybe even … uh … illegitimate children. If there are any. Even a shelter for homeless cats.”

“Charles would be in favor of the latter.”

“More than once I’ve thought Charles would be a good murder suspect. If he could drive a getaway vehicle and wield a weapon. I’d like to get a look at Rich’s will. Dad probably can, but it’s unlikely to the point of inconceivable that he’ll share the information with me. Before the reading, anyway.”

“Can a married man disinherit his wife?”

“In Massachusetts, not completely, no. A spouse has some rights. He or she can seek to void such a will and take an appropriate share of the estate for themselves. ‘Appropriate share’ is open to legal debate. If Rich did try to cut out Evangeline, and if she knew about it, she would have had no reason to kill her husband.” I thought about Rich’s illegitimate child. Who was, it would seem, not James Dalrymple. Might this child—now an adult—have realized that Rich was running through his money fast and decided to put a stop to it? This person was a native of the Outer Banks. It might therefore be someone who knew of my past involvement in police cases and knew I lived and worked at the library. They might even know my phone number. That was not a comforting thought.

I folded up the remaining half sandwich and stuffed it into my bag to finish later. “Gotta run. Thanks.”

“Your phone’s beeping.”

Once again I pulled it out. Not the timer this time, but a text from Louise Jane: How much longer are you going to be? I have yoga class at noon.

Louise Jane took yoga?

I replied: At Josie’s. Leaving now.

I stood up, and Josie did also. She reached for me, and we hugged each other tightly. “You take care,” she said to me.

“You too,” I replied.

“If anything at all odd happens, don’t be afraid to call for help.”

“I won’t. That goes for you too.”

I got in my car and headed back to the lighthouse, keeping my attention on my surroundings all the way. Not my full attention, though—I called Sam Watson as I drove. “Hi,” I said when he answered. “It’s Lucy. I’m calling to see if you figured anything out about what happened last night.”

“I’m sorry to say, no. The intruder didn’t leave any prints on the paper or the nail or drop whatever they used to hammer the nail in. It hasn’t rained for a few days, so the ground around the lighthouse and in the parking area is dry—no usable footprints or tire tracks. I’m sorry, Lucy, but I want you to know I won’t be letting this go. I don’t like it, don’t like it at all.”

I felt a nice warm ball in my tummy and spoke around a lump in my throat. “While I have you on the line … I had a chat with Evangeline this morning. She told me something shocking. It shocked me, anyway. Rich Lewiston had a child out of wedlock, and that child, now grown up, lives near here.”

“I know. She finally admitted to me that she’s been visiting Nags Head over the years to keep an eye on her husband and the child’s mother, as well as the child itself.”

“Do you know who this child is?”

“I do.”

“And—”

“And I’m not going to tell you or anyone else their identity, Lucy.”

“I don’t want to know. I’m wondering if you thought to check that person’s whereabouts on Monday night.”

“I paid a call on the mother of the person in question. She was not, understandably, happy to know that I know her secret, but she assured me the child is not aware of his or her parentage and has never expressed