“Don’t kid yourself. People in town and on the island know me, but that’s because of my family, plus I grew up here and I’ve been coming here my whole life. To the rest of the world of broadcast journalism I’m just another over-the-hill hag. Literally, I am yesterday’s news.”
“I take it the job search has yet to turn up a big-bucks offer from one of the networks?”
“The search hasn’t even yielded a callback from my agent,” Riley reported.
“But you just started looking last week, right?”
“Right. Now can we talk about something else? Like a game plan for the stakeout? I was thinking we go by the bank, to make sure Melody’s there. It has a big plate-glass window, so we should be able to see her from the street.”
“Then what?”
“We find a good parking place for your car—in the shade so we don’t roast to death, then we take turns watching in shifts. We can use my car to go to Harris Teeter.”
* * *
“What exactly are we waiting for?” Parrish asked, as they sat in her car under the sparse shade afforded by a crape myrtle across the street from the Baldwin Community Bank.
“If Melody comes out, we follow her, see where she goes, and what she does,” Riley said.
“Brilliant! Maybe she’ll lead us to the two-by-four she used to wallop Wendell in the back of the head,” Parrish said, rolling her eyes.
“Do you have a better plan?”
“Yes. Leave the stakeouts to the cops.”
“I would if the cops were interested,” Riley said. “Go on, get your groceries, and run your errands.”
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Parrish said.
* * *
Shortly after eleven, Parrish popped the trunk of her car and stashed her groceries in the cooler she kept there. She slid onto the passenger seat. “Anything exciting to report?”
Riley yawned. “Nothing.”
“Let’s ditch this and go get some lunch,” Parrish urged.
“No way. I want to see where she goes at lunchtime. Maybe she’ll meet an accomplice or something. But you go, if you’re hungry. Just bring me back a sandwich.”
“Nope. I said I’d take a shift and I will. See ya.”
* * *
Riley was back in forty-five minutes. “Any movement?”
Parrish was sipping from a bottle of water. “She went out right after you left and came back twenty minutes later with a takeout bag from Onnalee’s. Melody’s quite the dedicated banker.”
“She didn’t meet anybody?” Riley asked, disappointed.
“I followed her, but she must have called in her order, because she stood around at the front of the café, alone, waiting for her food, then walked directly back here. It’s been pretty busy in there,” Parrish said.
“Hmm.” Riley handed a paper-wrapped sandwich to Parrish. “That’s chicken salad with lettuce and tomato.”
Parrish took a bite and chewed. “Thanks.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is a total waste of time.”
“Not entirely,” Parrish said, delicately wiping her hands with a paper napkin. She took out her cell phone, tapped the screen, and scrolled through her photo feed. “Take a look at that.”
Riley removed her sunglasses and stared at the photo. “That’s Melody, all right. What am I missing?”
Parrish shook her head. “I forget you’re totally not into fashion.” She took the phone away and maximized a frame that showed Melody walking out of the café.
“See that cute little dress she’s wearing? That’s a Jason Wu, from his spring collection. Sarah Jessica Parker wore the same thing, but in green, in last week’s People magazine. I looked it up online. It retails for eighteen hundred dollars.”
Riley squinted at the dress. “For that? Really?”
“Um-hmm. Those pumps she’s wearing? Those are Louboutin.”
“Even I’ve heard of them,” Riley said. “What, something like two hundred, two hundred fifty dollars a pair?”
“In your dreams. Those are ostrich skin, six hundred dollars, on sale. Also? That tote bag where she stashed her lunch? Calfskin, Prada. Two thousand dollars easy.”
“You’re sure it’s not a knockoff?” Riley asked. “I mean, I bought a knockoff Kate Spade bag down on Orchard Street the last time I was in New York for forty dollars.”
“Yeah,” Parrish said. “Bootleg. Ugh. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that purse. You need to quit carrying that thing. It’s an embarrassment.”
“Oh.” Riley studied the photo again. “Who knew?”
“I did,” Parrish said crisply.
Riley did the math. “She’s walking around wearing over four thousand dollars’ worth of stuff.”
“More than that,” Parrish said. “I can’t see the logo from these pictures, but it looks like those are Chanel cat-eye sunglasses. That’s another six hundred dollars. I also can’t tell about the watch from this distance, but just based on what she’s wearing today, Melody likes timeless, classic style. If I had to bet, I’d say that’s a Cartier tank wristwatch, and they start at around two thousand dollars. Let’s say she’s wearing, conservatively, nearly seven thousand dollars’ worth of designer goodies. They must be giving away free samples to the employees of this bank.”
“Damn, Parrish, you’re good at this.”
“I keep up,” Parrish said. “Here’s the thing I’ve been thinking about. Melody is a very clever girl. She’s definitely got expensive taste, but she’s careful not to wear anything too flashy, like one of those giant blinged-out Louis Vuitton logo bags that all the rappers carry. Nope, it’s understated and quiet.”
“Like Melody,” Riley said. “The question is, how does somebody who works at a community bank in Southpoint, North Carolina, afford all that stuff?”
“Not to mention a twenty-five-thousand-dollar country-club membership,” Parrish reminded her.
Riley thought about it. “Even if she was Wendell’s mistress, it’s hard for me to imagine him buying that stuff for Melody. I mean, he liked to think he was always buying top-of-the-line, but you said it yourself. He was a star-fucker. He totally would have gone for the Louis Vuitton, and not the Prada. Just look at the fancy purse he gave me for my birthday. I never said anything, but it was way too ostentatious for my taste.”
“So she shops for herself. Wonder what kind of car she’s driving these days,” Parrish said.
“Nothing fancy,” Riley said, pointing toward the parking lot. “I noticed her pulling into the ferry parking lot Memorial Day weekend. It was a perfectly ordinary silver compact.”
“Too bad.”
* * *
Shortly before four o’clock, Parrish walked briskly back to her car and got in the driver’s seat. “Whew. Somebody was in the ladies’ room at the drugstore. I thought I was going to wet my pants. Anything new?”
“Nothing. It’s almost quitting time,” Riley said. Let’s hang around and see if she goes someplace else, or heads back to the ferry. Is that okay?”