Riley took out her change purse and dumped the contents into her friend’s outstretched palm. “Here’s seventy-five cents. I’ll have to owe you the rest.”
* * *
The visitor was in the living room, seated on an oversize tufted Victorian sofa. He stood when the two women walked into the room. He was compact, with an athletic build and neatly combed brown hair, dressed in pressed and starched blue jeans, an open-collared shirt, and a navy-blue blazer. He was very young, Parrish decided. Like, right out of the academy young.
“Mrs. Griggs?” He looked from Parrish to Riley, unsure who was whom. He split the difference and extended a hand with a business card between the two women. “I’m Special Agent Aidan Coyle. Sorry to drop in unannounced. I tried to call ahead, but your phone didn’t seem to be turned on.”
“I’m Riley Nolan.” Riley took the card, gave him a nod, and handed it to Parrish. “And this is my good friend, Parrish Godchaux, who also happens to be my attorney.”
“Oh.” Agent Coyle offered a weak smile.
“What can we help you with, Agent Coyle?” Parrish asked, as the three of them took seats on Evelyn Nolan’s grandmother’s supremely uncomfortable velvet and horsehair sofa.
He removed a cell phone from his inside coat pocket and placed it on the carved mahogany tea table. “Do I have your permission to tape this conversation?”
Riley looked at Parrish, who took out her own phone and placed it beside the FBI agent’s phone. “As long as you don’t mind if we do the same thing.” She tapped an icon on the phone’s screen and sat back in her chair.
Special Agent Coyle was only a few years older than her son, David. This was one instance where her middle-aged status might be to her advantage. “Go ahead.” She nodded at the phone, as though she were agreeing to loan him the family sedan for a trip to the Steak ‘n Shake.
“Well, uh, the agency is interested in Mrs. Griggs’s, that is, Ms. Nolan’s husband’s dealings with Coastal Carolina Bank.”
Parrish crossed her legs and leaned forward. “And why is that?”
“Why are we interested? Uh, because the bank failed.”
“And that was because of Wendell Griggs?” Parrish cocked one eyebrow, questioning how that could be so.
“Mr. Griggs and his, uh, interests, had a substantial loan portfolio with Coastal Carolina Bank. Those loans, which are in default, represented a substantial percentage of the bank’s debt,” Agent Coyle said.
“Of course, we’d like to be as helpful as we can. Did you know anything about Wendell’s dealings with that bank?” Parrish asked, looking directly at Riley.
“Not until I learned that Wendell had taken out a mortgage on our home here on Belle Isle with them. I’d never heard of Coastal Carolina Bank until then,” Riley said.
“You weren’t aware of the mortgage? Even though your name is on the document?”
“That’s what she just said,” Parrish pointed out.
Coyle frowned. “You didn’t sign loan papers for a mortgage for the home at Sand Dollar Lane, in the amount of two million dollars?”
“I did not,” Riley said firmly.
“What can you tell me about Oceanview Partners?”
“Nothing. I’ve never heard of it before.”
Agent Coyle consulted a notebook he’d pulled from his pocket. “Fiddler’s Creek Enterprises?”
“There’s a Fiddler’s Creek here on the island,” Riley said.
“Belle Isle Landings Corp.?”
Parrish was making notes of her own, on the back of a magazine she’d spotted on the coffee table. “Agent Coyle, are these corporations that Wendell Griggs was involved in?”
He appeared not to hear her question. “Ms. Nolan, how involved were you in the financial dealings of Belle Isle Enterprises?”
Riley started to answer but Parrish cut her off. “My client was not involved in the day-to-day dealings of the company and, in fact, she and her husband were estranged at the time of his death, so she really can’t answer any of these questions.”
The FBI agent considered Riley for a long moment. “Are you friends with a woman named Melody Zimmerman?”
“Melody Zimmerman?” Riley shot Parrish a questioning look. Parrish shrugged.
“I wouldn’t say we were friends. More like acquaintances,” Riley said.
“What’s Melody Zimmerman got to do with this?” Parrish asked.
“She works at Baldwin Community Bank, right? The one that took over Coastal Carolina?” Riley asked.
“That’s our information,” Agent Coyle said carefully. “Would you say she was a friend of your husband’s?”
Parrish put a hand on Riley’s arm before she could answer. “Ms. Nolan doesn’t really know who her late husband was or wasn’t friends with, because they were estranged, as I told you earlier.” She stood up and looked down at the FBI agent, like a schoolteacher losing patience with a wayward student.
“Was there anything else we can help you with?”
“I guess not,” the agent said, putting his notebook and phone away. “You have my card, so if you remember anything about those companies I asked about, maybe you could give me a call?”
“Of course,” Riley said.
29
“What the hell was that all about?” Riley asked, when the FBI agent had puttered away on his rented golf cart.
“It sounds like the feds are interested in Wendell’s role in that bank failure,” Parrish said. “Why was he doing business with a small local bank like that, anyway?”
“I really don’t know,” Riley admitted. “We always did all our personal banking at Wells Fargo.”
“And what’s up with the question about Melody Zimmerman?”
“She’s something important at Baldwin Community Bank. And she worked at Coastal Carolina before the new bank took it over,” Riley said. “She also told me she worked with Wendell on some real estate deals, including the mortgage on our house. They were friends from Kiwanis.”
“That’s pretty interesting,” Parrish said. “Hey. You don’t think there was anything going on between Wendell and Melody—right?”
“Melody?” Riley dismissed the notion. “She doesn’t exactly strike me as the home-wrecker type. Anyway, she’s totally not Wendell’s type.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. She’s attractive enough, in a quiet kind of way.…”
“You’re right. Wendell was a major star-fucker. He always wanted to be orbiting around whoever was the main attraction in a room,” Parrish said. “Nobody would ever say that about Melody Zimmerman.”
“Maybe it wasn’t romantic,” Riley said slowly. “Maybe it was strictly business. The question is—what kind of business?”
“That’s for the FBI to find out,” Parrish said sternly.
* * *
Evelyn and Maggy came back from town on the midafternoon ferry. Mr. Banks had been washed and groomed and had Carolina-blue toenails and a blue-and-white Tarheels bandana around his neck. Maggy had a sleek new haircut, too—with a hot-pink streak on the right side.