Booked for Trouble (8 page)

Mom, as could be expected, was flawlessly turned out in an oatmeal pantsuit with a bright pop of color provided by a red shirt and ruby earrings. She climbed into the Yaris and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then she pulled back and studied my dress. “Is that the best you could do for dinner out? We're not going to a librarians' convention, dear.”

“Yes, Mom.”

At the restaurant the hostess showed us to a table on the deck where Josie, Aunt Ellen, and Uncle Amos were already seated. They got to their feet as Mom and I approached. Ellen gave her sister a hug and Mom briefly allowed herself to be enfolded before pulling away.

The restaurant faced west, overlooking Roanoke Sound, boats bobbing on the dark water, the bright lights of Manteo, and the rhythmic flashing of the fourth-order Fresnel lens on the reproduction Roanoke Marshes Lighthouse. A light breeze ruffled the warm night air. The restaurant was full, inside and out, but the seating was spaced well enough apart that we could talk in privacy.

The unpleasant matter of murder and theft squatted on the table like an unwelcome toad while we exchanged greetings, ordered drinks, and consulted the menu.

“I popped into the kitchen when we arrived,” Josie said, “to check what Jake's cooking. The flounder's super fresh and he recommends it. He says he'll send out an extra-large plate of hush puppies, soon as we're ready, because he knows how much you love them, Lucy. He has a few bottles left of that Merlot you like, Dad. He's been saving one for you.”

“I'm afraid he'll have to keep saving it,” Uncle Amos said. “This isn't a night for drinking.”

“Well, it is for me. As I'm not driving, I'll have a
martini to begin.” Mom handed the waiter her menu without even glancing at it. “Whatever you suggest for dinner will be fine.”

“Now that we're here,” Uncle Amos said once the waiter had gone in pursuit of drinks, “and out of the police station, do you want to tell us about that necklace, Suzanne?”

“I have absolutely no idea what that thing was doing in my bag. Obviously someone stole it and then tried to ditch it by putting it in the first available container.”

“I think I overheard something about that,” I said. “When I left the hotel this morning, an old lady was in the lobby, saying her granddaughter's birthday present had been stolen. A cop was with her, and George, the manager, was trying to get them out of the lobby. He can't have been happy at her broadcasting it all over the hotel.”

“Where was your bag yesterday?” Uncle Amos said.

Mom shrugged. “I took it with me down to the pool.”

“Did you look in the bag?”

“I told you and the police all this,” she said.

“Indulge me, Suzanne. I'd like to go over it again. See if you can remember anything else.”

“Very well. I might have tossed a towel inside without checking it first. When I got back from the pool, I took out my towel, beach wrap, and book. It's possible I could have missed seeing the necklace. I put a scarf in the bag in case it was cool later. I dressed for dinner, and dined early so as to go to Lucy's book club.”

“Did you eat in the hotel restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring the beach bag with you?”

“No.”

Uncle Amos stopped talking when the waiter returned with the drinks. Mom practically snatched her
martini out of his hand. She took a long gulp. “Really, Amos. I do not know how it got there.”

“Can you take a guess?”

“Hold on,” I said. “You're going too fast. Has Mom been charged with stealing this necklace? You said it was expensive. Like really, really expensive or sorta expensive?”

“Really, really,” Amos said. “Diamonds, of a good size.”

“Oh. Is it big?”

“Watson showed us a picture. It's quite small, and probably very light. A gold chain, of a size that would fit snugly around a woman's neck, with five diamonds, each of which is a carat or more. Suzanne has not been charged with the theft. The bag was left, unattended, in her hotel room for an hour at least while she was at dinner, and the necklace might have even been there earlier, as she didn't empty it during the day. I reminded Watson that a hotel room is not a secure place. Staff come and go all day long. Management, maintenance, and housekeeping have master keys. Pretty much anyone who works there can get access to a room if they want.”

“That's a comforting thought,” Aunt Ellen said.

“Guests can slip in and out of someone else's room while a housemaid's back's turned. Watson had to agree, reluctantly, that any number of people could have put the item in Suzanne's bag.”

“Why would someone do that? And what do you think this has to do with Karen's death?” I asked.

“The necklace might have nothing to do with the killing. Not directly, anyway. I also pointed out to Watson that it's entirely possible the thief feared he or she was about to be discovered yesterday, and for some reason he or she decided they had to get rid of it, and fast.”

I didn't say that in that case we were talking about a pretty incompetent thief. Why not stick the darn thing in the depths of a plant pot or something and come back for it later? Not hide it where it was certain to be found, and very soon.

Almost anything might have happened, but the only thing that made any sense at all was that someone was trying to frame my mom. I couldn't see that this was a coincidence, particularly after Karen had said, in front of a roomful of witnesses, that Mom had been called a thief in school. The idea was ridiculous. I knew my mom. If she wanted something, she bought it. I know there are those to whom thievery is a compulsion, the act an end in itself, but if my mother were a kleptomaniac, she—and my father—wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret all these years.

If someone was trying to frame Mom, the only person I could think of with a motive, as well as the meanness to do it, had to be Karen. Who was no longer around to be questioned about it.

“It's perfectly obvious to me,” Aunt Ellen said. “That's exactly what happened. Suzanne's bag was nothing but a convenient depository. I trust they will be fingerprinting this necklace?”

“It's been sent to the lab.”

“And we all know how long it will take to get those results back,” Aunt Ellen said.

“It might be faster than usual,” Uncle Amos said, “if Watson makes the case that the necklace is tied up in the murder.”

“But Lucy overheard the owner reporting it missing this morning,” Josie said. “Not yesterday.”

“The woman says she saw it last when she checked
into the hotel and unpacked on Sunday. She's visiting for the birthday of her great-granddaughter. The necklace was to be her gift. When she went to get it this morning to take to the birthday lunch, she found it missing and called the police.”

“I don't see what it can possibly have to do with Karen,” I said. “The necklace was stolen at the hotel. Karen was killed at the lighthouse.” I stopped talking. Karen. Had Karen stolen the necklace and hidden it in Mom's bag to get it out of the hotel, planning to retrieve it later at book club?

If so, had someone killed Karen for the necklace? Without realizing that she didn't have it on her?

The expression on Uncle Amos's face indicated that he was thinking the same thing. “We can't forget that those two incidents happened around the same time. You can be sure Watson isn't forgetting it.”

“I thought him perfectly capable of forgetting his head if it wasn't attached,” Mom said, as she signaled the waiter to bring her another martini. We hadn't even had time to order food yet. I buried my head in the menu, trying to unobtrusively eye my mother at the same time. She looked as she always did, perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, perfectly composed. But there were fissures beneath that composure. I could tell, by the way Ellen threw worried glances her way, that my aunt noticed them also.

“Do you have something wrong with your eyes, Lucille?” Mom asked.

“No.”

“I ask because you seem to be staring. I do not need to explain my behavior to you, but I will anyway. I have had a most trying day.”

“I know that, Mom.”

“I wonder if you do.”

“Don't mistake Sam Watson for a fool, Suzanne,” Uncle Amos said. “Or for a small-town, hick cop. He spent years with the NYPD. Homicide.”

Mom sniffed, not impressed.

But I was. “Oh,” I said.

“Homicide,” Josie said. “We seem to almost be forgetting about Karen's death.”

“Karen and Mom were in high school together,” I said. “Did you know her, too, Aunt Ellen?” Ellen was the older of the sisters.

Aunt Ellen's lips pinched together. “She was in your mom's year, so I didn't have anything do with her at school, but Sue brought her around to the house sometimes.”

“Rarely,” Mom said.

“Quite often in junior year, as I recall. Then, when you were both seniors, you had other things on your mind than your school friends.” Meaning my dad and getting out of Nags Head. “After we left school, I'd see her around town and we'd say hello, but that was about it. She had children and the children got bigger, and then she was with little children again. Her grandchildren. Must be nice to have grandchildren.”

“Yes, Mom.” Josie rolled her eyes at me.

My mom could usually be persuaded to pull out pictures of my brothers' children at even the slightest mention of offspring. That she didn't take this opportunity, presented to her on a silver platter, showed me how preoccupied she must have been.

“I'll admit that I didn't like Karen, not in school or after,” Aunt Ellen said. “She was always—I don't know—
‘manipulative' might be the word. But I did feel sorry for her. She seemed to be steadily going down in the world as the years passed.”

“She made sure everyone knew how hard done by she was.” Josie sipped at her glass of white wine. It looked delicious, but I was sticking to iced tea tonight.

“You're right about that, honey,” Aunt Ellen said. “But still, things were hard for her.”

“Speaking of Karen Kivas's hard knocks, folks,” Josie said. “Don't turn around, but look who just walked in.”

Is there any phrase in the English language more designed to make one look than “don't turn around”? As one, my mother, Aunt Ellen, and I swiveled. The hostess was showing a couple to seats at the bar. The man half tripped over his own feet and grabbed the back of a chair to save himself. The woman seated there gave him a look that would curdle milk.

Aunt Ellen sucked in a breath. “I can't believe it.”

So much for looking: I didn't recognize either of them. The man was about my parents' age, with a more-than-adequate beer belly, a few strands of gray hair, and a goatee streaked gray and brown. He was dressed in jeans that needed a good wash and a flannel shirt worn open over a gray T-shirt advertising a trucking company. The woman was young enough to be his daughter. She was painfully thin in distressed skinny jeans, a tight blue tank top, and sky-high stilettos. Bleached-blond hair cascaded around her shoulders. He climbed onto a barstool and she wiggled her bony behind to get comfortable on hers.

The bartender slapped cocktail napkins on the counter in front of them and asked what they wanted.

We were momentarily distracted as our waiter placed an overflowing plate in the center of the table.
“Compliments of the chef,” he said with a grin at Josie. Hush puppies, plump and perfectly crisp. Yum. “Are you folks ready to order?”

Uncle Amos had the clam chowder, which would be made in the traditional Outer Banks style as a clear broth, followed by the rib eye, rare. Aunt Ellen ordered two crab cakes, and Mom said, “Same for me.” Josie asked for a burger with a side of sweet potato fries. She glanced at me apologetically. “I get all the seafood I want. Tonight I'm in the mood for something different.” I was most definitely not in the mood for anything different. Nothing I love more than real Outer Banks cooking. “Crab and flounder, please. And the littleneck clams to start.”

We handed our menus to the waiter before returning to the matter at hand. “I can't believe he's here. Tonight of all nights,” Aunt Ellen said.

“I can't believe he's here any night,” Josie said.

The restaurant was full of the sound of conversation and laughter. Lamps hanging above the bar and along the railing cast long shadows. While the thin woman studied the menu, her companion glanced around. He gave our table a long, hard look and his eyes settled on Josie. Now, men always look at Josie. But not usually in that way. As though they're going to spit on the floor. She did not look away, and the man broke eye contact first.

“Who's that?” I asked.

“Norm Kivas. Karen's husband.”

D
espite myself, I turned again. The bartender brought a beer for the man, a glass of wine for his companion. Norm lifted the drink and took a long swallow.

“You said they were divorced,” I said to Josie. “Maybe he doesn't see the need to pretend to be grieving.”

Aunt Ellen harrumphed. “They were married for thirty years. She's the mother of his children, grandmother of his grandchildren. Is it too much to expect him to show some signs of respect?”

“Yes,” Josie said.

Josie had told me she'd had to fire the man for showing up to work drunk. Twice. That had been the final straw in the marriage, and Karen had thrown him out of the house.

“Why wouldn't you expect to see him here any night?” I asked. “Does he have a problem with Jake?”

“Norm Kivas has a problem with everyone,” Josie said. “But specifically with Jake? Nothing I know about. No, this place is out of his price range, and way out of his comfort zone. Look at him. He's already been drinking.
I don't know who that girl is, but I bet she insisted they come here.”

Jake's wasn't a fancy restaurant, but it was in the higher end price-wise for the Outer Banks. Still, I thought, a beer couldn't cost much more here than it did anyplace else.

The waiter arrived to take their food orders. Through a brief lull in the hum of conversation, and because he almost shouted it out, I heard Norm ask for a large Caesar salad followed by the surf and turf meal of prime rib with lobster, which I'd noticed was a heart-attack-inducing fifty bucks.

“Perhaps,” Uncle Amos said, choosing his words slowly and carefully, “he's come into some money.”

“Or is expecting to,” Aunt Ellen said. “I can't imagine Karen left much in the way of an inheritance.”

“Insurance?” Uncle Amos said. “Couples sometimes take out cheap policies when they're young, pay automatically so they scarcely even remember, and then get a surprise windfall if one of them cashes in.”

“Maybe not such a surprise,” Josie said.

“Where is that waiter?” Mom said. “My glass is empty.”

Norm Kivas laughed uproariously at something his friend said. He was pretending to ignore us, but couldn't help taking sideways peeks at our table at regular intervals.

“Did the police tell you anything about Karen's death?” I lowered my voice and leaned toward Uncle Amos.

Aunt Ellen got the hint and turned to her sister. “How are the boys doing, Suzanne? That youngest grandson of yours must be getting awful big. I wish they'd come here for a vacation one year.”

“They won't say anything official, of course,” Amos said, “until they get the results of a full autopsy, but it looks as though it was some time before she was found. Time of death was probably late evening.”

“Right after book club.”

“Yes.”

I avoided looking at my mom, who was pulling up photos on her iPhone. If Karen hadn't left the lighthouse grounds, Mom quite likely was the last person to see her alive. The last person, I reminded myself, other than the killer.

First courses arrived. Mom asked the waiter to bring another martini.

“Cause of death?” I asked Uncle Amos.

“A blow to the head. Initial speculation is a rock.” I thought of the lighthouse grounds. Mostly tough marsh grasses, but some good-sized rocks and stones were scattered about. “Nothing has turned up.”

“Suspects?”

Uncle Amos dug into his chowder. “That I don't know. They wouldn't tell me.”

I popped a clam into my mouth. Delicious.

“Butch,” Josie said.

“What?” I said.

My cousin grinned at me. “I was telling Aunt Suzanne that Jake's brother and you have become great friends. Isn't that right, Lucy?”

“He's very nice.”

“The official grand opening of the restaurant's next Thursday. Butch told Jake that he's bringing Lucy. I'm sure you'll like him very much, Aunt Suzanne.”

“It's nice that Lucy's made friends,” Mom said, as though I were five years old and heading off to first
grade. “I met him at book club last night.” She noticeably omitted mentioning having met him again this morning when the police called on her at the hotel or at the police station. “He seemed pleasant enough, but if he's interested in Lucy, he's going to be sadly disappointed. Ricky's waiting at home for Lucy's summer vacation to be over. Just like when they were young. Lucille always came home at the end of August.”

Wow! That really was shucking off reality.
I watched Mom nibble on a hush puppy. Instead of being mad, I leaned across the table and touched her other hand. She looked up, startled, and I felt a sudden stab of pure love for her. Mom had more than enough to worry about right now. If she wanted to persist in believing I still intended to marry Ricky, I'd let her. For now.

Josie threw me a questioning look, and I gave her a slight shake of the head.

Despite the cloud that hung over our table, we enjoyed our meal. Jake came out to meet my mom and she showered him with praise about the ambience of the restaurant and the quality of her food. Clearly charmed, he gave her a little bow. He was slightly shorter and a bit thinner than Butch, but the family resemblance was strong. They were two mighty handsome brothers.

For some reason, an image of Connor McNeil jumped into my head. I'd missed him at book club last night.

Josie got to her feet and drew Jake aside. She nodded toward the bar, where Norm Kivas had polished off his steak and lobster, accompanied by a bottle of red wine. His friend was looking none too stable on her stool.

Norm had spent most of the evening pretending not to notice us, while peeking out the corner of his eye at
our table and laughing uproariously at whatever his companion had to say. All the while drinking steadily.

Now he turned to watch Josie and Jake. Jake made a signal to the bartender, and the bartender said something to Norm that I didn't catch. Norm got off his stool and swaggered over to Jake and Josie. Uncle Amos placed his napkin on the table and slowly got to his feet.

“You got a problem with me eatin' in this here establishment of yours?” Norm jabbed Jake's chest with one finger.

The dinner rush was over and the patio was thinning out. Around us, conversation died and people turned to stare.

“You're welcome here,” Jake said quite pleasantly. “We're happy to call you a cab. On the house, as I think Ryan there told you.” He didn't look particularly tough in his checked gray pants and white jacket, but I noticed he'd taken a step away from Josie and planted his feet apart. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Meat was overcooked.”

His companion hopped off her stool. She wobbled when she hit the floor and staggered over to the men. She plucked at Norm's sleeve. He shook her off. He turned to Josie. “How about you? You have a problem with me eatin' here?”

“Not at all,” she said. “But it looks to me as though you've had enough to drink for one night.” Jake attempted to shush her with a gesture. Not one to be shushed, Josie added, “That seems to be a regular occurrence.”

“And you're the judge, are you? Take away a man's job, see him banned from restaurants in his own town—”

“You're not being banned,” Jake said.

“Come on, honey,” the young woman said, plucking once again at his sleeve. “Let's go.”

“That was a mean trick, sending your cop brother over to harass me. Went down real well at my new job. Think you own this town, all of you.” He swung around and faced our table, pointed at Uncle Amos. “You got the lawyer man right here, too. Judge, jury, executioner.”

A waiter came out from the main building and stood filling the doorway. He held a phone in his hand and looked to Jake for instructions.

“If someone called the cops on you, it wasn't us. I'd suggest you leave, if you don't want us to do so now,” Josie said.

Norm opened his mouth and said something to Josie. I didn't hear what it was, but Jake obviously did. He grabbed Norm by the arm and jerked the man off-balance. “Now you
are
banned. Get out.”

Norm swung. It was hardly a fair fight. Norm was thirty years older than Jake, overweight, out of shape, and drunk. Jake ducked and the blow sailed past his jaw. Norm's companion squealed and leapt toward Jake, her long red fingernails outstretched. Josie shoved her, and the woman hit the floor, yelling a blue streak. People jumped up. Women screamed. Phones were pulled out of pockets. Some people punched in 911. A few took pictures. Uncle Amos made as if to intervene, and Aunt Ellen yelled at him, “No!”

It was over as quickly as it had begun. The hovering waiter grabbed Norm by one arm, Jake took the other, and they dragged a bellowing Norm away. Josie reached out her hand to the woman lying on the floor in an undignified heap. I came to my senses and hurried to help. The woman took the offered hand and pulled herself
upright. “Thanks,” she mumbled. I scooped up a lost shoe and handed it to her.

“Are you going to be okay?” Josie said. “You can stay for a while, if you want. We'll call you another cab.”

“Nah. I'm fine. Norm's all bluster. He wouldn't have done nothin'. He's kinda upset tonight, you see. His ex-wife died this morning.”

“We all grieve in our different ways,” Josie said drily.

The woman failed to notice the sarcasm. “I'm glad you understand. You're Josie, right, from the bakery?”

“Yes?”

“Y'all got any positions open? I've got tons of retail experience. My name's Sandy, by the way. Sandy Sechrest.” She thrust out her hand.

Josie took it. The women shook and then Sandy offered me her hand.

“Lucy.”

“Pleased ta meet ya, Lucy. I better run. I'll pop around tomorrow, Josie. Ask about that job. Bye.”

“Bye,” my cousin and I said in chorus.

Sandy skipped away. Josie and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I'm glad someone found that incident amusing,” Mom said when we made our way back to the table, clutching our sides with laughter.

“Norm Kivas wasn't a bad man,” Aunt Ellen said. “But the drink got to him, and then the downward spiral began. He spent some time in prison for robbery, as I recall. Amos?”

Uncle Amos sat back down. “The usual story. He's never been brought up on domestic violence charges, though. Still . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Anyone for coffee?” Aunt Ellen said.

*   *   *

Josie headed into the restaurant kitchens to spend some time with Jake, and Mom and I said our good-nights to Aunt Ellen and Uncle Amos in the parking lot. Rather than drop Mom off in front of the hotel, I figured I'd better see her to her room. She had a slight smile on her face and a wobble to her step.

The lobby bar was full and conversation and laughter spilled out of the restaurant. George was standing by the reception desk. He spotted us when we came in, broke into a huge smile, and hurried over. “Sue. Did you have a pleasant evening?”

“Yes, we did. We dined at Jake's Seafood Bar. Do you know it?”

“A new place, isn't it?”

“Very new. You should direct your guests there. Excellent seafood, isn't that right, dear?”

“Uh, right, Mom.”

“I can't apologize enough,” George said, “for that unfortunate misunderstanding earlier.” I wondered what misunderstanding that might be. The murder of a staff member or the theft of a diamond necklace from a hotel guest?

Mom waved her hand. “I explained to the police that I had nothing to do with it. It's all settled now.”

Ah, the necklace. It wasn't exactly settled, but I let it go. Mom wasn't going to explain to a man she hadn't seen for more than thirty years that she was still under investigation, was she? I wondered if I was making too many excuses for my mom on this visit.

“Can I offer you a nightcap?” George asked. “You and your lovely daughter.”

I braced myself for Mom's version of an explosion,
which was more like a localized quake, knocking the feet out from under those standing close, while no one else noticed what was going on. He was a brave man, that George. Mom had put him firmly in his place on their first meeting, and I expected her to do so again. But I had to pick my jaw up off the floor as she said, “Are you allowed to? Surely you're on duty?”

He grinned. “I'm the boss. I give myself permission.”

Mom's laugh was a delightful tinkle. “Lucy's off home now. A glass of Drambuie would make a lovely nightcap.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Remember, dear, I still haven't seen your apartment. I'm having lunch with Ellen tomorrow, so I'll come by and pick you up when you finish work. When is that?”

“I get off at five on Thursdays.”

“You can show it to me, and then we can go out for a drink and a nice chat.” She turned back to George with a smile. He held out his arm, and she accepted it. They walked together into the lobby bar.

Weird.

I turned around and almost ran smack into a woman standing directly behind me. If I was the suspicious sort, I'd say she'd been listening in on our conversation. She was dressed in gray Bermuda shorts and an unadorned white T-shirt. Her long nose and small black eyes put me in mind of a hawk. Her gray hair was cropped close to her head and she wore no makeup. She appeared to be alone, and carried a hotel key card.

“Excuse me,” I said. Then I recognized her. The woman who'd been in the library yesterday, and been very unfriendly to boot. The one I had thought of as the Gray Woman. I was about to say hello, but she marched away without a word.

Weird.

This whole day had been weird. Finding a body on the lighthouse grounds. My mother dragged down to the police station to be accused of theft, her abrupt change of heart toward George, manager. A fight at a restaurant.