“I never got any kind of notice,” Riley said heatedly. “But we live in Raleigh. Would the notification have been sent there?”
“Yes. The notice should have been sent to your legal residence of record. And it would have been sent by certified mail. So somebody had to have signed a return notice.”
“Somebody might have, but it wasn’t me,” Riley said slowly. “We just sold the house in Raleigh, but I only moved out right before I came down here Friday.”
“Weird. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Riley stood up and opened her bedroom door, peering down the hallway to make sure she couldn’t be overheard. The hallway was empty, and she could hear the muted sound of the downstairs television, where Evelyn was watching The Good Wife, another part of her Sunday ritual.
She closed the door and sat back down on the bed.
“The sheriff says Wendell was murdered. I don’t … I can’t process any of this.”
“Sorry. Look, Riley, do you have access to any of your family’s financial records, or your husband’s business records?”
“Here? I’m not sure. Wendell had a small office in the village, next to the post office. That is, Belle Isle Enterprises has an office, and since Wendell was the president…”
“If I were you,” Sharon said slowly, “I’d make it my business to take a look around his office.”
“And look for what?” Riley asked. “I thought that’s what I was going to talk to you about—about hiring you to help with all this mess.”
“The thing is, Riley? I’ve only gone into solo practice this year. I just went through a divorce of my own. I’d love to help you out—this case is intriguing as hell. But the more we talk, the more I realize this isn’t something that’s going to be solved by filing some quick motions in the courthouse down there. I think there’s something really fishy going on. But unless you can guarantee that you can pay me a retainer, this is as far as I can go. I just can’t afford to take on a pro bono case like yours right now.”
“Oh.” The single syllable hung in the air.
“I hate, hate, hate this,” Sharon said. “Let’s do this. See if you can get your hands on your financial records. Check the filings at the courthouse down there, to see if your husband has been named as a defendant in any civil or criminal cases. Maybe—just maybe, if you do most of the legwork, I’ll be able to help you out a little. Does that make sense?”
“I guess,” Riley said, her voice meek.
“Call me when you have more facts, okay? And Riley?”
“Yes?”
“If the FBI does come calling, just play dumb. Got it?”
“Dumb I can do,” Riley said bitterly.
* * *
An hour later, Riley tiptoed barefoot down the stairs, tennis shoes in hand, but the third step from the bottom—her old teenage nemesis—gave her away with an undeniable squeak.
“Who’s there?” Evelyn called out.
Damn it! How many times had that creaky stair tread stood between her and freedom?
“It’s just me, Mama,” Riley answered.
Evelyn popped around the corner from the den. She was dressed for bed in her monogrammed rose satin pajamas, with her hair swathed in a silk scarf and her face coated with her favorite Lancôme wrinkle cream.
She eyed her daughter’s ensemble with suspicion—shorts, T-shirt, and a UNC baseball cap. “Where are you going this time of night?”
“Parrish called and wants me to come over for a glass of wine. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”
Evelyn frowned and glanced upward. She lowered her voice. “I don’t like the idea of you running around by yourself this time of night. Do I need to remind you there’s a murderer somewhere out there? I mean, why can’t Parrish come over here?”
“No, Mama, you don’t need to remind me that somebody killed my husband,” Riley snapped. “Anyway, Parrish promised Ed she’d stick close to the house because her cat’s been sick.”
It was alarming, really, how quickly and easily she slid back into the habit of lying to her mother. Maybe there was something about sleeping here at Shutters, in her old bedroom. The next thing she knew she’d be stealing money from her mother’s purse again to buy dime bags from the sketchy guys who gassed up boats down at the marina.
Evelyn shook her head, lips pursed in silent disapproval.
“Anyway,” Riley said, “the sheriff told me he’s sure whoever did this is long gone. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll call you when I’m heading home. All right?”
Before Evelyn could voice any more protest, Riley gave her a quick peck on the cheek and hurried out the back door.
* * *
Palm fronds and low-hanging branches brushed against the side of her mother’s golf cart as she bumped along the road in the growing darkness. Moths batted against the cart’s headlights, and she could hear the soft calls of mourning doves echoing from the treetops. When an armadillo suddenly scuttled across the path, Riley was so startled she nearly fell off her seat.
Ten minutes later she turned off the main cross-island road and onto Sandy Point Lane. A hundred yards down she saw the lights of Whale’s Tail, the Godchauxs’ house, shining through the tree line.
Riley pulled the cart under the porte cochere and was soon tapping on the home’s brass whale-shaped knocker.
Five minutes passed. Riley stepped away from the front portico, found a pebble, and tossed it upward, aiming at the second-floor master bedroom window. It fell far short, actually beaning her on the head.
“I suck,” she muttered. “Hey, Parrish,” she called, through cupped hands. “Open up! It’s me!”
A minute later, the sash slid open and Parrish leaned out. “What the hell?”
“Would you please get your ass downstairs and let me in?”
“Why?”
“Just let me in, will you?”
* * *
They sat at the table in the kitchen. Parrish, dressed for bed in pajama bottoms and a camisole, sipped a cup of tea while Riley poured herself a glass of Ed’s expensive Brunello.
“I talked to your lawyer friend Sharon Douglas,” Riley reported. “She’s nice, but she says she can’t represent me unless I know I can pay her. And I honestly can’t guarantee that I could.”
“That’s it? She wouldn’t even talk to you?”
“I wouldn’t talk to me either, if I were just starting a solo practice after going through a bad divorce.”
“So that’s it?”
“She gave me some advice. For one thing, she says I need to find out everything I can about the state of our finances, and the company finances.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
Riley cocked an eyebrow and grinned.
“Oh, shit,” Parrish said, shaking her head. “I know that look. That’s the look that got us thrown out of the sorority house our junior year. The same look that made my daddy take away my car for three months after we ran out of gas and money during spring break in Key West senior year.”
“I’m pretty sure Wendell kept all the business papers at his office in the village,” Riley said. “All we have to do is go over there and take a look around. It’s not like we’d be breaking and entering. I mean, it’s my family business. And I’m Wendell’s wife. I mean widow.”