Deadline (5 page)

Finally, she sat back on her heels and despondently rubbed her hand over her bare wrist. Of all the things to lose, why that? Her mother had always said that tears should never be wasted on inanimate objects. Still, the watch had held enormous sentimental value for her, and while she could buy another, that particular one was irreplaceable.

Sighing with regret, she looked out across the water, then up at the moon. She missed her mother, but that was a familiar ache because she’d been gone for a long time. The loss of her father, however, remained an open wound.

In that moment, she felt very lonely.

But not alone.

Gripped by a sudden and inexplicable fear, she turned quickly to look behind her. Seasonal residents and tourists usually cleared out by Labor Day, so all the other houses along the stretch of beach, her neighbor Bernie’s included, were dark. No campfires flickered. There was one boat anchored offshore, but at a distance, and only its safety lights were on. The breeze didn’t carry any sounds of merrymaking.

Yet, she sensed she wasn’t alone. And it was that, not the balmy wind that raised goose bumps on her arms. Grateful for the flashlight, she got to her feet and started up the boardwalk, moving swiftly, so that by the time she reached the steps to the porch, she was practically running and out of breath. She shut the front door soundly behind her and shot the dead bolt. Then she went through each room of the lower story, checking it. But for what, she couldn’t say.

Feeling a bit foolish for the unwarranted panic, she ordered herself to get a grip. Even so, she poured a second glass of wine and took it with her when she went upstairs. The boys were just as she’d left them. In her bedroom, she finished her wine while preparing for bed.

But she didn’t fall asleep. It wasn’t until much later, after she heard Stephanie come in and quietly shut the door to her bedroom, that she relaxed enough to close her eyes.

“Knock, knock?” Without waiting for an answer, the back door was pushed open and a shock of white hair appeared in the crack. “Anybody home?”

“Bernie!”

“Bernie!”

Both boys scrambled from their chairs at the breakfast table and rushed to greet their next-door neighbor. They were instantly intrigued by the large sack he’d carried in. With unabashed greed, Hunter asked, “Did you bring us something?”

“Mind your manners, young man,” Amelia scolded.

Bernie laughed. “It’s okay. I did, in fact, bring them something. But they have to finish breakfast before they can have it.”

Amelia gave him a look of thanks as the boys returned to the table and attacked their cereal bowls.

“Coffee?”

“Thank you, but stay where you are. I’ll get it.”

He had one bad hip, and the other had already been replaced. As he went to the cabinet for a mug, Amelia noticed that his tottering gait was more pronounced than usual. After pouring his coffee, he joined her and the children at the table.

“My feelings were hurt,” she told him.

He blew on his coffee. “Why’s that?”

“I thought you might have left for home while I was in Savannah.” He lived in Upper Michigan.

“Without saying good-bye? Never.”

“Your house was dark last night.”

“I was packing up and cleaning all day yesterday. Tuckered me out. I went to bed early.”

“The rental company has people who thoroughly clean the house after you’re gone. You didn’t have to do it yourself.”

“I know, but I’m fussy. Hate the thought of people seeing my dirt.”

“You should have asked Stef and me for help.”

“It looked to me like you were having a grand time on the beach. I wouldn’t have interrupted your play.”

“Grant, blot your mouth, please.” She rolled her eyes when he used the sleeve of his T-shirt rather than his napkin. Bernie chuckled. She asked him when he planned to leave.

“In a day or so. Have to get back and settle in for the long winter.”

“You could stay longer. Better yet, you could move here permanently.”

“Home’s up there,” he said with a touch of sadness. “You know how it is.”

He and his wife of decades, of whom he often spoke, had lived in the same house from the day they’d married. She had died years ago, but he continued to mourn her and refused to move away from the town where she was buried and where one day he would be interred beside her.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t go before we could say a proper good-bye.” She reached across the table and patted his hand.

“Hey, Bernie,” Stef chirped as she passed through the kitchen carrying a bundle of laundry bound for the utility room. “You look smokin’ this morning! I like that shirt.”

It was flamingo pink and matched a stripe in his equally loud Bermuda shorts.

“Thanks. It’s new.”

Amelia hid her smile in her coffee cup. Stef’s flirting never failed to fluster the senior. After dumping her bundle in the laundry room, she reentered the kitchen and pointed to the large sack he’d left on the countertop. “What’s that?”

“A going-away present for the boys.”

“Can we have it now?” Hunter pushed his empty cereal bowl across the table for Amelia’s inspection. “We ate our breakfast.”

“Yeah, Mom, please,” Grant chimed in.

“I suppose so.”

Bernie seemed as eager as they to open the sack and reveal the surprise. With touching pride, he reached into the sack and produced a box. On it was a picture of a kite in the shape of a pirate ship. It was an elaborate thing, with multiple sails.

“Oh my gosh!” Amelia exclaimed. “Will it actually fly?”

“Can we do it now, Bernie?”

He looked at Amelia. “Can they?”

She laughed. “Of course. But get your sandals on,” she called after the boys as they charged through the back door.

“I’ll see that they do,” Stef said, following them out.

Bernie paused and looked back at Amelia. “Maybe I should have checked with you first. But I saw it in a store on Tybee, and immediately thought of them. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It was sweet of you. Thank you. Oh, and thanks for repairing their beach ball.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“You didn’t patch it for them?”

“Nope. Must’ve been Stef.”

Amelia smiled woodenly. “Don’t let me keep you from the fun.”

Grinning like a young boy himself, he hobbled out.

She tried without success to convince herself that there was a logical explanation for the ball, just as there was for the porch light. Forcibly shaking off her uneasiness, she cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then, taking a last cup of coffee with her, she went out onto the front porch and sat down in one of the rocking chairs.

The kite-flying was well under way. Stef was doing the running for Bernie, who was gesturing wildly and shouting instructions. The boys were running alongside Stef and were so excited watching the kite, their feet got tangled up with hers and all three of them stumbled and fell into the sand. The pirate ship crashed bow first into the surf.

But they all came up laughing. Bernie reeled the kite in and soon it was aloft again.

Amelia’s throat became tight with mixed emotions: joy in watching her boys play with such unbridled happiness; and sorrow that they were doing so with a hired nanny and an elderly neighbor rather than with their dad.

One day, probably sooner than she hoped, they would question her about him. They knew he had died, but of course they were too young to know the circumstances. Eventually, they would want to know.

She kept a picture of Jeremy on the nightstand between their beds, but she doubted they actually
saw
it. It was part of the furnishings in their room, nothing more. They mentioned him less and less frequently, especially Grant who was barely old enough to remember him at all. Most of their memories would be of angry shouting, slamming doors, boozy breath.

In the picture in their room, he was wearing his Marine dress uniform and a stern but noble expression. The first time she saw the photo, she had teased Jeremy about it.

“You look grimly determined.”

“I am,” he’d said with exaggerated gravity. “Grimly determined to bed you and make you my woman.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll surrender without a fight.”

They’d laughed and kissed and made love. Life had been good. The future had seemed bright.

She would emphasize to her sons that aspect of their father’s personality, his ability to tease and laugh. She would tell them stories about the months leading up to their wedding, when he’d courted her sweetly and with an earnest desire to please.

He’d been intimidated by the plantation house in which she’d grown up, awed by the number of statesmen and dignitaries with whom she and her father were friends. His efforts to fit into their circle had won her heart.

Friends and colleagues were impressed by his distinguished-service record in Iraq. When it was called for, he exercised a courtly politeness that charmed even the most discriminating of their acquaintances. By the time they walked down the aisle, he’d been wholeheartedly accepted into their society.

When she talked to her sons about him, she would emphasize those good times. Of course, she inevitably would have to tell them about the bad ones as well. She would wait until they were old enough to understand, but not so long that they heard about his downfall from a crueler source.

The thought of that brought tears to her eyes.

As she blinked them away, something in her peripheral vision glinted. She turned her head to see what it was and for several moments stared with incomprehension. Then, gripping the armrests of the rocking chair, she slowly levered herself out of it and walked the length of the porch to the corner of the railing.

There lay her watch, the clasp open, the band stretched out along the wooden rail, as though it had been carefully placed.

She knew positively that she hadn’t been the one who’d put it there.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Stef bounded up onto the porch. “The boys are asking for a drink. They’re having a blast, although I worry about Bernie’s hip giving out. Are you coming down?” Then she paused and asked, “Something wrong?”

Amelia picked up the watch and turned to her. “I found my watch.”

“Great! Where was it?”

That wasn’t the response Amelia had hoped for. If Stef needed to ask where she’d found it, then she hadn’t put it on the porch railing, either.

Dawson glanced down at the LED of his jangling cell phone. Headly. He answered dispiritedly. “Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Why ask me? You’re the one taking Viagra.”

Headly snorted. “I don’t need it.”

“If you say so.”

“Where are you?”

“In my room.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Working on the story?”

“I don’t have a story yet.”

“You heard Amelia Nolan’s testimony.”

“And I’ll hear her cross-examination on Tuesday. Between now and then, there’s nothing much for me to do, is there?”

“Rough draft?”

“I talked myself out of that. I don’t want to write something only to have to scrap it and begin again if the defense attorney destroys her testimony.”

“Which is unlikely.”

“Still.”

“So you’re just hanging out.”

“Watching the grass grow.”

“Any leads on her current address?”

“The last one Glenda could dig up was the townhouse on Jones Street. As I predicted, she no longer lives there.”

“Maybe she moved into her dad’s mansion.”

“No. Glenda learned that she’s donated it to the state. It’s closed up, but will possibly open next spring as a museum. That’s under consideration with the historical society. Something like that.”

“Well, she’s gotta live somewhere,” Headly said with impatience.

“Wherever that somewhere is, it’s under wraps. A bailiff hustled her from the courtroom. I assume the same bailiff will escort her in on Tuesday at nine o’clock. Over the long weekend, the lady is keeping a low profile, and who could blame her?”

“Damn! I’d hoped you could have talked to her by now.”

“As if she would talk to me.”

“How do you know she wouldn’t?”

“Because she’s not talking to any media.”

“The news outlets down there are full of stories about the trial. I’ve been following online.”

“Then you should have noticed that there aren’t any quotes from her, except what she was quoted as saying on the witness stand. The state prosecutor—”

“Lemuel Jackson. I understand that he’s highly regarded.”

“He held a brief press conference outside the courthouse immediately after court was adjourned on Wednesday. I listened from a distance. He didn’t say anything about Ms. Nolan except that her testimony had been compelling. Nothing’s happened since then. Dullsville. So there you have it, an up-to-the-minute report. How about your end? Anything from Knutz?”

“About the Wessons of Ohio? Not yet. This damn holiday.”

“Hmm. Let me know when he gets back to you. Right now I gotta go.”

“If you’re only watching the grass grow, what’s your hurry?”

“I gotta pee.”

Dawson hung up, dropped the cell phone onto the cluttered table, and walked into the bathroom. At least he hadn’t lied to Headly about having to go.

When he was done, he lingered for a moment at the sink, staring at the disheveled guy in the mirror who had haunted-looking eyes surrounded by shadows. Arms braced stiffly on the rim of the sink, he silently asked himself what the hell he was doing here, why he was putting himself through this, why he should give a fuck about Jeremy Wesson.

Arriving at no satisfactory conclusion, he turned on the cold-water tap and splashed his face several times, then dried it, and was doing up his zipper as he walked back into the other room.

Where he uttered a startled sound and drew up short.

Amelia Nolan was standing not ten feet from him, a can of pepper spray aimed directly at his face.

“Tell me now who you are. Because after getting a face full of this, it’ll be a while before you can talk.”