“Nothing really. The coroner went over his notes with me yesterday. Like we thought, cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the skull,” he said.
“Was it … quick?” Riley felt bile rising in her throat. An unbidden image of Wendell, bleeding, in agony, alone on a cold, damp seawall flashed in her mind.
“Yes,” the sheriff said. “He was dead before he hit the water. You sure you want to hear all this?”
“I don’t want to, but I need to. For my daughter.”
“Okay, well, as best we can tell, time of death was around midnight, Thursday. There was some minor bruising to his forehead, probably from where he hit the ground after the blow to his head.
“He’d had a couple of drinks an hour or so before he was attacked,” the sheriff went on. “Was that usual for your husband?”
“Yes. He usually drank scotch, although he liked red wine, too. He’d have wine with dinner, then a scotch or two during the evening,” Riley said.
“We found no unusual drugs in his bloodstream—I take it he was on medication for high blood pressure?”
“Was he? I didn’t know that.” She felt ashamed that her husband had an ailment she wasn’t even aware of.
The sheriff looked surprised. “When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Griggs?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe two, two and a half weeks ago? He texted and said he was coming by.”
“How did he act? Was he upset? Did he mention any particular problems?”
“He was in a rush. Maggy was at a friend’s house, and I wanted him to stay until she got home, but he wouldn’t. He claimed he had an out-of-town meeting and a plane to catch. I was annoyed because it had been two weeks since he’d seen his daughter.”
“You didn’t believe him? Any particular reason?”
“Not really. It was just that he’d made and broken so many promises, to both of us. To tell you the truth, I’d stopped trusting him. Which is a terrible thing to say.”
“But true?”
“Yes.”
“Other than rushed, how did he seem?”
Riley tried to think back to that night.
* * *
She’d gotten his text around 6:30 p.m.
You home? Gotta check mail and pick up clothes.
She’d texted right back. I’m here, but Maggy’s at Devin’s house.
Be right there.
He’d left the Jeep’s motor running in the driveway, and brushed right past her when she met him in the hall, going directly to the basket on the pine console where she kept all the mail.
She was shocked by Wendell’s appearance. He’d obviously lost some weight. His hair was long and unkempt-looking. In fact, his whole appearance was unkempt. He wore faded navy workout pants and a pale blue sweater that hung off his shoulders.
“Hi to you, too,” Riley said. “Obviously your wife and daughter are not what you dropped by to check on. Want to clue me in about what you’re looking for?”
Wendell scooped up the mail in the basket and began riffling through it, tossing aside the bills, junk mail, and catalogues.
He didn’t even look up. “You gonna start that again? I don’t have time for this crap, Riley. I was supposed to get a document at the office, but it hasn’t come, so I thought maybe it had gotten sent here by mistake.”
He tossed the mail back in the basket. “Shit. You’re sure this is all the mail?”
“Yes, that’s all of it. What kind of document are you looking for?”
“Never mind. It’s not here.”
“Something about your north-end deal?”
His shoulders sagged. “You should be happy. It looks like you might just get your way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Riley demanded.
“What it sounds like. Where’s Maggy?”
“Didn’t you get my text? She’s at Devin’s house working on a school project. In case you’re interested, she misses you. A lot.”
“I miss her, too,” Wendell said with a sigh.
“She should be home in half an hour. Will you at least stay and have dinner with her?”
Wendell shook his head. “Can’t.” Without another word, he headed upstairs. She followed him, standing in the doorway of his closet as he tossed clothes into a gym bag. Shorts, T-shirts, a summer-weight linen blazer, and at the last minute, a pair of brown loafers.
“We really need to talk, Wendell. I can’t keep living like this. Either you’re a husband and father—or we’re done.”
“Are you talking about a divorce? For God’s sake, that’s the last thing I want. Can’t you understand—everything I’m doing is for us—for our family. I know I haven’t been an ideal husband or father lately—but it’s because of the deal, that’s all.”
“That’s the problem. And it’s not just lately. Don’t you see? It’s always the next deal, the next hot prospect. There’s no end to it. The deal is your god, your family. And in the meantime, Maggy and I are an afterthought.”
He whirled around and grasped her arm. “I’ll change. I swear it. Just give me some time. This is the deal that will let us live as a family again, without all the pressures of finding the next deal. After this, we’re set. Please?” His eyes were pleading.
Riley sighed. “I don’t know. It feels like I’ve heard this before.…”
An all-too-familiar bugle call emitted from his pants pocket. Wendell plucked his cell phone from his pocket and read the incoming text. “Shit.” He picked up the gym bag. “I gotta go. Call me if that envelope comes, okay?”
“That’s it? You’re blowing me off, again?”
He was already halfway down the stairs. “I’ll call you later. Tell Maggy I love her.”
She ran down after him. “The hell I will. If you leave now, you can stay gone.”
He didn’t even turn around. “Fuck you,” he called over his shoulder.
“No, fuck you!” Riley screamed as the front door slammed in her face.
* * *
The waitress was back, sliding plates in front of them: sausage, eggs, and toast for Riley, a thick stack of pancakes swimming in butter and syrup for the sheriff. The sweet smell of maple syrup wafted across the table and made her feel queasy.
He attacked the food, slicing the stack into quarters, then eighths, stabbing it with his fork and shoveling it into his mouth. She swallowed hard and looked away. After a moment of chewing, he took a gulp of coffee and gave her a quizzical look.
“Something wrong with your eggs?”
“No. My appetite … comes and goes these days.”
“We were talking about this deal?”
“Right. I assumed Wendell was referring to the north end development. There was a lot riding on it, and it had a lot of moving parts. The marina, condos, a retail strip, and a big hotel. He’d been working on it for a couple of years.”
“I’ve heard about the hotel and all. Kinda controversial over there on Belle Isle, isn’t it?”
“Yes. That end of the island around Pirate’s Point has been largely undeveloped. Part of the project was to go on a parcel of land my grandfather had established as a wildlife sanctuary. Wendell intended to dredge for a new marina and pave roads to allow for vehicle traffic.”