“Then let’s meet at Onnalee’s. Say, in an hour?”
“I’ll see you there,” she said.
* * *
Once again Riley was thankful for being an early riser in a house full of sleepyheads. Evelyn never came downstairs before 9:30 in the summer, and Maggy had barely shown her face outside her room since being put on double-secret probation.
She dressed quickly, not bothering with makeup or more than a cursory hair brushing, left a note saying she’d gone to town to run errands, and managed to make the 8:30 ferry.
Another reason to be an early bird was that she mostly had the boat to herself. The season had barely started, but the residents of Belle Isle had already eased into their relaxed summer schedule. Islanders who had jobs on the mainland had mostly taken the first ferry of the morning, and anybody who had shopping or errands to run in town would probably wait another hour or so.
After enduring the sympathetic inquiries of three or four neighbors, Riley found a sunny but deserted spot on the upper deck and barricaded herself behind the pages of the three-day-old Wall Street Journal she’d bought from a vending machine at the landing, for just that reason.
A shadow fell over the newspaper page. She looked up and saw Nate Milas, holding out a steaming cardboard cup of coffee.
He flashed her a hopeful smile. “We’re fresh out of olive branches at the concession stand. I was hoping maybe this would do.”
She lowered the paper. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“It is. I was way, way out of line yesterday. I had no right to give you parenting advice.”
“True,” Riley said. She took the coffee, sipped, then wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of advice, you really should do something about the coffee on this boat. It’s ghastly.”
“You’re right,” he said. “That’s on my to-do list. Dad wasn’t what you’d call a coffee connoisseur. He’d drink Quaker State if you put enough milk and sugar in it. Mom has finally agreed to let me upgrade everything we serve in the concession stand. I’m meeting with a coffee roaster in Wilmington this morning to sample his beans. And, for your delectation—all-beef hot dogs, chicken sandwiches made from actual chicken breasts, and fresh fruit smoothies. Coming soon.”
“Fannncy,” Riley said. “But don’t you dare mess with the french fries.”
“I would never,” Nate promised, pressing the palm of his hand to his chest. “Would you mind if I sat down?”
“Only if you don’t cluck your tongue and tell me how I’ve been in your thoughts and prayers,” Riley said.
He sat down on the wooden bench beside her. “Yeah, all that sympathy stuff gets old pretty fast.”
“Between the curious stares and the whispers, I’m just about over this whole ordeal,” Riley said.
“Any news on the police investigation?” Nate asked. “Aw hell, there I go again, putting my worst foot forward. You don’t have to answer that. I don’t mean to be so nosy. But it’s kinda natural, don’t you think, for people to wonder? We haven’t had a serious crime on the island in a long time.”
“I guess,” she conceded. “I’m meeting with the sheriff this morning. More questions.”
“Does he have any idea what the motive could have been?”
“If he does, he hasn’t told me yet,” Riley said.
“He asked us for the passenger list for all of last week,” Nate volunteered. “I’ve been gone from the island so long, I didn’t know half the names, but my mom didn’t spot anybody who’d seem like a likely suspect. Mostly just the usual weekenders, folks who work on the island, day trippers, and a few people who were probably renters.”
“Was Wendell’s name on the passenger list? They did find our boat tied up, in the marina, right near where they found his body, but I’ve been wondering when he came over because, as far as I knew, he was tied up in out-of-town business meetings right up until Friday when he was supposed to meet us here on the ferry.”
“No, his name wasn’t on the list, and I was on the ferry a lot last week and never saw him. He had booked a ticket for the same boat as you, but obviously, never used it.”
“Because he was already dead by then,” Riley said soberly.
“Do you have a theory—about the motive?”
She looked away. “I think it must have had something to do with money. And maybe Belle Isle Enterprises.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Don’t you ever read mysteries? There are three basic motives to kill somebody—sex, money, or revenge. Money’s the most obvious—considering the fact that the bank was foreclosing on our house. And I know Wendell was really worried about the business. He had a lot riding on the north end development. He’d quit talking about it to me, though, because he knew I was totally opposed to what he was planning. Especially the hotel at Pirate’s Point.”
Riley’s smile was tight. “Although I’m not ruling out sex or revenge either.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “If you were opposed to the development, why didn’t you fight him on it?”
“It’s not that easy. My dad made Wendell president of Belle Isle Enterprises, and gave him voting control of the family corporation. My mother and brother were on his side, so I was outvoted. And anyway, I guess I was preoccupied with Maggy’s diabetes diagnosis. That was a pretty scary time for me.”
“How’s Maggy doing, by the way?”
“She’s not currently speaking to me, because I put her under house arrest after you brought her home yesterday. And she really, really doesn’t like you either. Other than that, I guess she’s your typical twelve-year-old pain in the butt.”
“Am I getting too personal if I ask if you think Wendell was cheating?”
“I did wonder if there was somebody else, but he always denied it. We’d been basically living apart for about six months, but we’d been having problems for a while. We did the counseling thing, but it didn’t take.”
“So that brings you back to where you started,” Nate said.
Just then the two-way radio he had clipped to the waist of his jeans squawked.
“Captain? Need you up here in the wheelhouse,” a scratchy voice said.
Nate winced. “I still can’t get used to being called captain. Better go.”
He touched Riley’s shoulder. “Hope things get worked out with the sheriff today. And if you need anything—well, give me a holler. I promise not to be sympathetic.”
* * *
The early-morning rush at Onnalee’s Café had subsided. Riley spotted the sheriff sitting at a two-top toward the back of the room. He was studying the laminated plastic menu, but looked up as she approached.
A waitress with a coffeepot appeared—the same thin, harried-looking woman who’d been working at Onnalee’s for as long as Riley could remember.
Riley took her seat and ordered her usual: cheesy scrambled eggs, sausage patty, rye toast.
The sheriff sipped his coffee and extracted a notepad from the pocket of his windbreaker.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Riley told him, pouring creamer into her mug. “Do you have any news for me?”