“Nothing more than that?” Parrish asked.
Melody looked up, her eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
“Were you sleeping with my husband?” Riley blurted out. “Were you in this together?”
Melody Zimmerman zipped her messenger bag and stood up. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. I’m leaving now. I’ll let you find your own way out.”
36
She waited until they were back in the car. “That was not cool what you just did back in there,” Parrish said. “At all. The agreement was that you were going to listen and let me do all the talking.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” Riley said. “She was just so…”
“Professional? Yeah. Melody’s very good. Very banker-ish. And very believable, too.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Up to a point,” Parrish admitted. “I was at least willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, up until she got to that business about the lawyer from Wilmington, and what a good risk it was, loaning him nearly ten million dollars.”
“Maybe he looked good on paper?”
“Uh-uh. Remember that obituary clipping we found in Wendell’s files? Samuel Gordon was eighty years old. I find it hard to believe a man that age is going to put together a big, long-term real estate deal—and that a small bank like this would risk making a loan that size to an octogenarian.”
“It’s illegal to discriminate based on age,” Riley reminded her.
“On paper,” Parrish retorted. “But you and I know firsthand the reality of things like age and sex discrimination.”
“You’re right,” Riley said, thinking about her own professional prospects as a middle-aged woman. “So, how do you think Wendell pulled it off? Was Melody in on it? Do you think she was sleeping with Wendell? And what’s the connection to the old guy in Wilmington?”
“I don’t know,” Parrish said. “That’s for the FBI to figure out. Our more immediate concern is what to do about getting your house back.”
“You heard what Melody said,” Riley said. “My money’s all gone. Even if you’re right, and Sand Dollar Lane does sell for pennies on the dollar, it’ll be more pennies than I can scrape up.”
“Don’t you have the proceeds of the sale from the St. Mary’s house?”
“I had half the proceeds. I had to split it with Wendell. The rest of my share went to the down payment on the new house. Which I can’t even move into until August.”
“What about your mom? I bet she’d help out if you asked.”
Riley got a pained expression. “She’d be my absolute last resort. I know everybody thinks she’s the dowager countess of Belle Isle, but the reality is that she’s a seventy-two-year-old widow living on a fixed income. A very nice fixed income, mind you. Daddy left her enough money to keep up the house in Edenton, and of course, she has Shutters, which she owns free and clear, and her stock in the family corporation. But think about what Wendell’s done to the business! I just can’t go to her to bail me out.”
“What about Billy? Your dad left him a trust fund too, right?”
“Yeah.” Riley shook her head. “I don’t know what kind of shape Billy’s in financially. He hasn’t always exactly been very responsible with money. I think he’s gotten a lot better, since he’s been with Scott, but he must have spent a ton of money buying and fixing up the firehouse. I think Scotty’s the breadwinner.”
“It won’t hurt to ask, right? Parrish asked. “Anyway, I think you should get the family all together—Evelyn, Billy, and Scott, hell, even your Aunt Roo. Lay it all out for them and see what they say. That auction is Friday. There’s not a lot of time.”
“I guess I could do that, but I really think it’s a waste of time. Mama won’t hear a word against Wendell. I’ve tried, but she’s just turned a blind eye to all of it, convinced there’s been some clerical error.”
Parrish started the car. “If you want, I’ll talk to her. We can show her the documentation, prove the kind of shenanigans Wendell pulled.”
“Maybe,” Riley said, still not entirely convinced. “She does respect your judgement—way more than mine, that’s for sure.”
She pointed at the dashboard clock as Riley backed away from the bank. “We just missed the noon ferry, you know. Where to now?”
“Onnalee’s,” Parrish said. “I need to pee, get out of these damned panty hose, and get some lunch—in that exact order.”
* * *
Riley and Parrish found a booth near the door, and while Parrish was in the bathroom shedding her panty hose, Riley ordered lunch—a Cobb salad for herself and a grilled cheese sandwich for Parrish.
After Parrish returned, the waitress had just brought their food when the front door opened and Nate Milas walked in.
Riley’s eyes met his for a moment. Nate stopped in his tracks, like a deer caught in headlights. The hostess approached, offered him a seat, but he shook his head, turned on his heel, and left as quickly as he’d arrived.
“What was that about?” Parrish asked.
“How am I supposed to know? Maybe he decided he wasn’t hungry.” Riley reached over and snagged a french fry from her friend’s plate.
“Don’t give me that,” Parrish said. “I saw the look on his face when he saw you, and I saw yours, too. You practically turned green. There’s something going on between the two of you, isn’t there?”
“No.”
“Liar.” Parrish pushed her plate away. “You can have the rest of those fries if you want.”
“Sweet!” Riley reached for the plate and Parrish grabbed her hand. “First tell me what happened. I know you, Riley Nolan.”
“It was nothing,” Riley insisted. “I mean, he wanted it to be something, but it’s not.”
“Spill it,” Parrish said. “You owe me that after what I did for you back at the bank.”
Riley looked around the packed café. “God, I wish you could get a drink in here.”
“Quit stalling.”
“Okay, but it’s not exactly earth-shattering stuff. I ran into Nate out at the Holtzclaw place yesterday.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to see for myself what Wendell was up to. After all, it was my inheritance he used to buy it. And when you see the place, especially from the water, it all makes sense. It’s got a ton of waterfront access, at the deepest, widest part of Fiddler’s Creek. It’s the perfect spot to put that damned marina to go with the hotel Wendell was planning, which explains why he paid so much to buy the property. He didn’t care about the house at all.”
“So, what? You rode around and just kinda checked it out?”
“I borrowed Mama’s golf cart and went over, but Wendell must have put up a new gate, because it was padlocked tight.”
“Then how’d you get in?”
“Bolt cutters.”
“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” Parrish said.
“Anyway, I rode down to the house and went inside.”