“Look what Mimi let me do!” Maggy exclaimed, walking into Riley’s bedroom.
“Mimi let you dye your hair pink?” Riley gave her mother an astonished look.
Evelyn stood in the doorway gazing fondly at her granddaughter. “Peg Meecomb’s granddaughter Ainslee has a new shop in town, and I wanted to give her the business. I hope you don’t mind. Ainslee says all the girls are getting their hair done that way.”
Riley couldn’t decide what was more surprising—that her mother had indulged Maggy in such a radical hair style—or that she was seeking Riley’s permission—even retroactively.
“Sure,” Riley said. “I think it’s cute. What’s the name of Ainslee’s shop? Maybe I’ll get my hair dyed pink, too.”
“Mom!” Maggy shrieked. “You can’t. I’ll kill myself.”
“Joking,” Riley said quickly. “Just a joke. I would never.”
“You better not. Gabrielle Martin’s mom went out and got her nose pierced. It’s like she thinks she’s young or something. And Gabrielle was, like, totally humiliated.”
“I can promise you right now, I will never get my nose pierced,” Riley said.
“Okay. Cool.” Maggy bounced off the bed. “So … am I off restriction now?”
“Yes. As long as you can be respectful and follow the rules here. And did you thank your grandmother for taking you and Banksy into town today?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maggy said. “Thanks again, Mimi. You rock!” She turned to her mother. “I’m gonna meet Annabelle at the pool. Is it okay if we just get dinner at the snack bar?”
“Make sure you eat all your exchanges and test your blood,” Riley said. “And I want you back here before dark. Understood?”
“Got it.”
* * *
“My God!” Riley rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how anybody survives the emotional roller coaster of raising a teenaged girl. Yesterday she was a zombie. Today, it’s like I have my old Maggy back.”
“Get used to it,” Evelyn said dryly. “You were the same way at that age.”
Evelyn lingered in the doorway, looking apprehensively at her daughter.
“For goodness’ sakes, Mama, come on in,” Riley said finally. “It’s your house, you know.”
“Just for a minute,” Evelyn said, sitting down with her spine ramrod straight. “I think I need a nap after all the excitement of the past week.”
“That was very sweet and generous of you, treating Maggy and Banks to a new hairdo today.”
“Ainslee promised it’ll wash out in a few days. It’s just some kind of organic beet-juice dye. Anyway, it’s nice to see her smiling again,” Evelyn said. “I’m afraid I’ve been kind of hard on Maggy lately. And you.”
“We’ve been kind of hard on each other,” Riley said. “And I’m sorry about that. It’s been a difficult time for us all. Since Wendell died, well, I’ve had to face some pretty ugly truths about the things he did. I’ve been dreading telling you, because I know you thought of Wendell as your son but, believe me, Mama, he wasn’t what you thought. He wasn’t what any of us thought.”
Evelyn’s expression changed. Her jaw tightened. “If this is about the foreclosure, I’m sure that was all a mistake. Wendell would never do anything to leave you in dire straits. If you like, I’ll go into Wells Fargo with you next week, and we’ll get it straightened out. The branch manager there has known our family for years.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Riley said. “But it’s no mistake. And there’s more. My trust fund…”
“That’s enough,” Evelyn snapped. “I won’t listen to this. Wendell wouldn’t have done those things. Your daddy was a wonderful judge of character. He trusted Wendell, knew he would always take care of you, would run the family business the way it should be run after he was gone.”
She jumped up, eyes blazing. “Whoever killed Wendell, that’s the person responsible for all of this. And in the meantime, I won’t have you dishonoring your husband’s fine name. Wendell was Maggy’s daddy. She worshiped that man. If you want to help your daughter get through her grieving process, you’ll stop going around saying horrible things about Wendell Griggs.”
“I wish I could,” Riley whispered. But Evelyn was out the door and down the hall. A moment later, the familiar slam of her bedroom door reverberated through the house.
30
Saturday evening, Riley was sprawled out on the flowered chintz sofa in the library, engrossed in a book she estimated she’d first read when she was Maggy’s age. It was a Helen MacInnes international espionage novel and, even without the spidery handwriting proclaiming it the property of Earline Riley on the flyleaf, she knew it had been her grandmother’s.
Despite her gentle ways, Nanny had been a voracious reader of mystery, suspense, and spy novels. The pine bookshelves in the library were lined with her Book-of-the-Month selections; heavy on the likes of Margery Allingham, Daphne du Maurier, Victoria Holt, and Phyllis A. Whitney.
How many Saturday nights in her youth had she spent in just this same position, reading these same comfortingly familiar stories of murder and intrigue? As a bookish preteen, Riley had found these fictional worlds endlessly fascinating, but now that she’d been unwillingly thrust into such a world, all she wanted was out.
The front door opened and closed with a bang. “Mom, I’m home,” Maggy called out.
“Did you have fun with Annabelle?” Riley called.
“It was okay.” Maggy’s footsteps receded.
Riley read on. At ten, Evelyn returned home, poked her head in the library, and announced that she was headed to bed.
“I’m gonna read for a while, and then I might take a ride around the island, just to get out of the house,” Riley said. “Okay?”
Evelyn shuddered. “I wish you wouldn’t go out this late. You know, as long as the person who killed Wendell is at large, I don’t think I’ll ever feel completely safe here again.”
“I’ll lock up the house, and I’ll have my phone with me. And I’ll take a heavy flashlight. And a can of Mace. Okay?”
“Go ahead,” Evelyn muttered. “Nobody pays attention to me.”
* * *
She’d known her destination as soon as she got in the golf cart. If she hadn’t already known the spot by heart, the sight of a handful of faded and crushed roses was enough of a reminder that Maggy, too, had been drawn to this spot.
Riley stood on the seawall at the marina and gazed down into the inky waters of the bay.
She hurried back to the golf cart and sat, her hands shaking so violently she was afraid to drive. Suddenly chilled, she lifted the backseat bench and riffled through her mother’s assorted golf paraphernalia until she came up with Evelyn’s pink windbreaker again. After donning the jacket, Riley clenched her hands tightly in her lap, closing her eyes, waiting to reclaim her composure, before she drove back toward the village.
Not wanting to attract attention to herself, she pulled the cart around to the back entrance of the Belle Isle Enterprises building.