“This stench!” Riley made a gagging sound in the back of her throat.
Nate moved over toward a window and tugged at the sash, but it didn’t budge, so he took a step backward and kicked out the glass.
Riley raised an eyebrow, but he pointed at the rotted window frame and she nodded in agreement.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I kinda want to keep going and see the rest of the space up here.”
“You go first,” she said, pointing down the hallway.
In all, they discovered that the second floor held six bedrooms but only two bathrooms, both of which featured cracked and stained porcelain tile floors, wainscoting, and enormous cast-iron claw-foot bathtubs.
“No showers, just like Shutters,” Riley noted. “And I guess the concept of creating a master bath never occurred to the Holtzclaws. My dad used to say Dr. Holtzclaw was so cheap he squeaked when he walked.”
“I can tell now that it was built as a boardinghouse,” Nate said. “And it would probably take a couple hundred thousand dollars to at least make it livable. Probably another reason Wendell decided it was a teardown, aside from the fact that the location and the deep-water access makes it a perfect spot for the marina he was planning.”
She regarded him with surprise. “You sound like a prospective buyer.”
Nate looked notably uncomfortable.
“You dodged the question earlier, when I asked you why you were here. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re interested in buying this property.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That is why I’m here.”
Her eyes narrowed as she processed that information. “You’re a single guy. Why do you need a house like this? Never mind. Don’t tell me.” She shook her head in disgust and headed down the stairs.
“Wait up,” Nate called, but she was taking the stairs two at a time in her haste to get away from him. “You asked me a question. At least let me try to explain.”
She stood by the front door, glaring at him. “If I stand here and listen, are you going to tell me the truth? Or are you going to hand me a load of bullshit, like every other man in my life?”
“I will tell you the truth. You’re not going to like it, but I promise, I will not lie to you.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Can we back up a little, to earlier? Starting with what happened in the living room?” he asked.
“Yes. Let’s do start with that kiss. And end with it, too. That was a mistake. I should know better. I do know better, but you caught me at a weak moment.”
“Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong with me kissing you—and you kissing me back, if that’s what we both want?”
“You want a list? Let’s start with the fact that my husband’s ashes aren’t even buried yet. And I don’t even know you. Yeah, I used to, a long time ago, I thought. But I don’t know you now, and I don’t even know if I want to. The last thing I need right now is a hot fling, especially with another smooth operator, wheeler-dealer like you.”
“Hold up!” Nate said, his face reddening. “I know my timing sucks, but didn’t you tell me you and Wendell were getting a divorce? I can slow down if that’s what you want, but let me be clear about something, Riley. I’m not looking for a hot fling, as you put it. I really care about you. Your situation sucks right now, and I’d like to help you out, if you’d let me.”
“No way,” she shot back. She gestured at the house. “You do what you’re gonna do with this place. Buy it, tear it down, build an amusement park, if you want. I’ll take care of myself, thanks very much.”
Nate stood in the open door of the decrepit old house. He watched while she climbed onto the golf cart she’d parked under an old carport. Riley didn’t look back, and this time, he didn’t call out to her. He’d blown it—his last chance to tell her all of it—the whole thing. She’d find out for herself soon enough, and that would be the end of his stupid folly, of thinking that he could have it all—the island, the girl, the family, the life.
35
Parrish parked the car on the street in front of the Baldwin Community Bank. She smoothed the skirt of her navy Prada suit and tucked a loose strand of hair into the severe French twist she’d fashioned earlier that morning.
Then she turned to her best friend, sitting in the passenger seat. “We’re agreed, right? I’ll do the talking. I’ll be calm but firm, and hopefully we’ll manage to snow her into giving us what we want. But you need to know, this might not work. In fact, it probably won’t work.”
“It’ll work. You look terrifying in that suit, and with your hair pulled back like that,” Riley said admiringly. “If you showed up in my office, I’d totally pee my Spanx and then spill my guts.”
“Let’s hope so. It’s a good thing for you that Ed had this old briefcase stashed in the downstairs coat closet. I haven’t carried one of these things in years. Also, you do know you’re the only person in the world who could get me back into panty hose and heels in June, right?”
“I’ll owe you forever,” Riley vowed.
“Okay.” Parrish nodded to herself. “I’m psyched. Let’s do this.”
Parrish’s black Ferragamo high-heeled sling-back pumps clicked across the marble floor of the bank. Tellers turned their heads to watch her progress as Parrish made her way toward the glass-walled office on the far side of the room.
“Uh-oh. Looks like the FDIC,” one of them murmured to her coworker.
Melody Zimmerman was on the phone when the two women glided into her office and seated themselves opposite her desk.
She looked startled to see her visitors and held up a finger to indicate she was otherwise engaged.
“We need to talk,” Parrish said loudly.
Melody frowned, but hurriedly ended her conversation.
“Parrish, Riley, what a nice surprise! What can I help you with?”
Parrish opened her black leather briefcase, took out a document, and placed it on Melody’s desk.
“That’s a certified copy of Wendell Griggs’s death certificate. Now, I’d like you to get us all the records and balances for any and all accounts Wendell had here—either jointly with his wife, Riley Nolan Griggs, or in his own name,” Parrish said.
“Well, uh,” Melody stammered. “I’m not sure that’s strictly kosher.”
“I’m acting as Riley’s attorney in this manner, and I can assure you that it is indeed the law,” Parrish said, handing her another slip of paper. “And here’s Riley’s social security number, in case you need it.”
Melody glanced at Riley, who nodded in agreement. Reluctantly, she powered up her computer and started typing. Five minutes later, she tapped a button and the black box on the console behind her desk began spitting printouts.
She handed the papers to Riley without comment.
There was a checking account in Wendell’s name only, and the balance was nineteen hundred dollars. Riley handed the paper across to Parrish, who studied it and frowned.
The next account was for Wendell Griggs doing business as Belle Isle Enterprises, and the balance hovered just under sixteen thousand dollars.