Island of Deceit (4 page)

Harper glanced toward the house and called the deputy who worked the night shift to get out of bed and get a search warrant for the house. Afterward, they began to process the scene. They had a long day of charting, measuring, photographing, and collecting evidence before them.

 

Dusk fell by the time they were ready to leave the scene. The corpse had been taken to Norfolk to the medical examiner's office, and the coming and going of the curious stopping to gawk had stopped with it. The woman's purse was missing, as well as any form of identification, but they'd gotten good fingerprints.

Harper began assigning duties. Since Sarah Rhodes was the only missing person on record, they would work under the presumption that the corpse was hers until a formal identification was made. Either way, a woman was stabbed.

“John, I want you to interview the ferry captain and docking captains at the ferry. Find out everything you can about Sarah Rhodes. Whom she associated with. She's been riding that ferry for months and the workers get to know regulars.”

Then Harper focused his attention on the other officer. “Scott, interview people in town. See if we can get some leads. I'm going to interview Lambert Hughes.”

Scott had worked for the department for thirty-five years before he retired three years ago. Harper didn't need to spell out every tiny detail for him. The two men left for their cars and Harper went to his. He'd opened the trunk to discard his bootees and gloves when he heard a stringent voice.

“Harper?”

In annoyance, he focused on Tracy Moore as the island's lone pest of a reporter jogged toward him.

“I need a statement. Who was that? What condition was the body in? What can you tell me?”

“We were unable to identify the body. It has been taken to the medical examiner's office for an autopsy and identification.”

“So you think it was murder?”

“We can't make a determination until the medical examiner does an autopsy.”

“Come on, Harper, give me something to work with here. Do you think it's Sarah Rhodes who worked for Lambert Hughes?”

“I can't make any assumptions. After we identify the body, and contact the family, we'll release the information to the public. You already know that, Tracy. Now, I've got a job to do.”

“Harper…”

“That's it, Tracy.”

Sighing, she left for her car, trying to flag down John. But John had pulled off; dejected, she left.

Harper headed to Lambert Hughes's place, just a mile away. He'd confiscated four knives on the property. They'd all been placed in evidence bags, dated, and sealed.

Who was she? Harper wondered at her story. Did she know her abductor? Was it rape, robbery, an irate boyfriend? Was it a stranger or someone familiar?

Hughes's housekeeper answered the door.

“We saw a lot of traffic up the road. What's going on, Sheriff?” the woman asked.

“And you are?”

“Minerva Stone. My brother and I moved here a few months ago with his son.”

“A body was found in the marsh,” he said. “I'd like to speak to Mr. Hughes.”

“Come on in,” she said, directing him to the kitchen where Lambert was eating dinner.

“Evening, Sheriff. What brings you here?” Lambert asked, struggling out of his seat. He was an ancient man, though he was still rather fit for his age. He was slim with a medium brown complexion. Probably close to five ten or eleven at one time, but no more than five seven now. Harper often saw him on daily walks.

“Don't bother to stand. I have a few questions about Sarah Rhodes.”

“Is she the one you found in the marsh?” Minerva asked.

“The body hasn't been identified,” Harper told her, then focused on Lambert.

“My Lord.”

Harper started again. “Could you tell me the last time you saw her?”

“It was a month ago. I called it in. Just didn't show up for work one morning. I wrote it all down because I don't remember the way I used to.” He struggled from his seat and started pulling out drawers.

“I'll help you,” Minerva said, busily searching through the drawers.

“Do you know the people she associated with on the island?” Harper asked.

Lambert's hand hovered over some papers as he shook his head. “I don't know. We never went anywhere except to the golf course at the base and to my doctor's appointments.”

“She never took you grocery shopping, Lambert?” Minerva asked, outraged. “Or riding around?”

Lambert shook his head. “She shopped for my groceries each week.”

“You poor thing,” she said, patting his arm. “Kept you closed up in here like a prisoner.”

“She wasn't nearly as good as you, Minerva, but she was a nice girl,” Lambert said, smiling at Minerva as if in a lovesick daze.

What the heck? Did Lambert have the hots for his housekeeper? “Did she mention any of her friends?” Harper asked, bringing the conversation back to Sarah. “Anybody she had problems with?”

“No. Never,” Lambert said, tearing his gaze from Minerva.

“Anybody ever pick her up from here?”

“Sometimes she caught a ride if her car was in the shop. That was often. She needed a new one.”

“Who did she catch rides with?”

“I never saw the cars and she never mentioned names. But I had written down some things to refresh my memory just in case and now…” He started digging through the drawers again and so did the helpful Minerva, who spent more time listening than working.

Although Lambert searched, he couldn't find his notes. Handing him a business card and telling him to call if he remembered anything, Harper was forced to leave with very little information.

At least he knew Sarah often caught rides to the house. Maybe she'd caught a ride the day she disappeared. The cottage near the body was rarely used in the fall and winter. But islanders knew that.

 

Two miles away, Barbara spritzed on perfume and sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was go out on a date with Andrew Stone. But for her plan to work, she had to pretend to be involved in a relationship with him.

Her cell phone rang and she looked at the number. Andrew. Perhaps he was canceling.

“Barbara?” he said when she answered.

“Yes?”

“I can't get the car tonight. You think we can take your car?”

Barbara took the phone from her ear. Was she dealing with a high-school boy? This man was thirty-five years old and he had to go to his daddy for a car?

“I'll be happy to drive,” Barbara said sweetly. “I'll pick you up in a few minutes,” she said, then disconnected.

Honestly, it was easier working a legitimate job than to go through the nonsense Andrew's father put him through. If he'd had a job, he wouldn't have to ask his father's permission to use a car or for spare money. He'd have his own. He was a single man with no responsibility. It wouldn't take that much for him to find a place to live, especially in a place like Paradise Island, where prices were still reasonable.

Maybe it was a good thing she was picking him up.

She donned a Chanel pantsuit and paired it with a Louis Vuitton purse and Gucci shoes, then went to her jewelry box. She slid a diamond ring on her finger, large diamond earrings, and a matching necklace. Let them see she was well off.

If it was one thing the Stones knew, it was the cost of designer goods. She'd put herself through the trouble of trooping to some of New York's famous sales outlets before she left. The places were packed with businesswomen fighting over designer discounts.

Quite frankly, she thought it was a waste of good money to spend it on high-priced designer wear when that money could be invested. But she knew it would impress the Stones, and she had to play her role. So she'd been one of the women shoving and pushing, trying to get to the best choices. It was worse than a day on the stock market. But it had paid off.

The Stones lived on the other side of the island near Mrs. Claxton. The kitchen light was on in Mrs. Claxton's house when Barbara exited the car.

Andrew slammed out of the door as Barbara walked toward the house. His light brown face disclosed the early ravages of a drunk. He was no more than five nine or ten and his clothes drowned him.

“I'm ready,” he said.

“Can't I at least greet your aunt and dad?” she asked.

“I thought…”

“It won't take long. I don't want to be rude coming in their yard and leaving without speaking.”

Andrew stopped as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Oh.” He was used to being led so she didn't have to work to get him to follow her lead.

Jesus Christ!
For this she gave up breakfast with the sheriff?

She hid her exasperation as she perused his jeans and sweater. They were designer, but still jeans. He had the audacity to wear a jean jacket over that. She hoped he had enough money on him to pay for dinner, because she planned to select the most expensive items on the menu.

She opened the door.

“Hello…” she called out.

“Barbara?” Minerva responded. “It's so good to see you.”

Barbara crossed the floor and kissed the woman on the cheek. “It's good to see you, too. Hi, Elliot,” Barbara said as he entered the room. Both of them dressed far above what one would think they could afford with Minerva working as a companion. Even Elliot's shoes were made of soft expensive leather.

“Oh, doesn't she look pretty, Elliot,” Minerva said, checking out the goods.

Elliot looked at her as though he was calculating to the penny what everything cost just as she'd been. “Does that.”

Barbara grabbed Andrew's arm and moved close. “Andrew's treating me to dinner in Virginia Beach. Thought I'd dress for the occasion.”

“I like that purse,” Minerva said.

“This old Louis Vuitton? I'm almost embarrassed to carry it, it's so old. But it matches the outfit. I need to update the wardrobe, but I'm always working and don't get to New York as often as I'd like.”

“I've always wanted a Louis Vuitton purse,” Minerva said, still checking out the goods with an envious sigh. “But they're so expensive. Never could afford one.”

Barbara bet she owned more than one Louis Vuitton, but she'd play the game. “Well, my friend told me about this sale coming up after Thanksgiving. I'm going to New York on a spending spree. Get myself a few new things for the holidays,” Barbara said. “I've worked hard enough to deserve a little splurge. Let's see what Santa can do about that purse.”

“You were telling me about this stockbroker friend of yours,” Elliot said, shaking his head. “Stock market isn't doing too well right now. Risky business to be in.”

“It's all a matter of choosing the right ones. My friend gets the news ahead of time. I know inside trading isn't quite legal, but it's how the real money is made,” Barbara almost whispered, then looked fearful. “You won't say anything about this, will you? She could get in trouble with the Securities and Exchange Commission.”

“Oh, no. No,” Elliot said, shaking his head. “You don't have to worry about that.”

“Those diamonds are something else,” Minerva said, glaring at the stones on Barbara's ears and neck, not to mention the rock on her finger.

“A girl's best friend.”

“Ready?” Andrew asked impatiently.

“I'm sorry I took so long, sweetie.” She feigned an affectionate smile. “I didn't want to be rude to your family.”

“You picked yourself a winner this time,” Elliot said. “Y'all have a nice evening.”

Barbara smiled up at Andrew. “We will.”

Elliot approached Andrew and slipped folded bills to him.

Pocketing the money, Andrew led her out. When he started to the driver's side, she let him get the door for her.

He looked disappointed. “I thought I was going to drive.”

“No, honey,” she told him pointedly and pinched his cheek. “I love the power behind a wheel,” she added, and slid into the smooth leather seat.

Barbara didn't bother to look his way as he made his way around the car. Was he crazy? Let him drive her brand-new Cadillac SRX Crossover? So new it still had the new-car smell. She stifled a chuckle. Not in this lifetime.

Andrew's gaunt face was flushed with anger as he scraped change from the bottom of his jean pockets to pay for the food and tip. Barbara counted the money to make sure he left the appropriate amount.

“Don't know why we had to leave all that money. He just served us. Didn't make the food.”

“If you expect good service the next time we come here, you have to tip generously.”

“We ain't coming back.”

“This food was worth every penny,” Barbara assured him. “We are coming back.”

Andrew had suggested they eat at a fast-food joint, but Barbara had driven to an upscale restaurant. She didn't understand him. The Stones were used to living large. Andrew must be accustomed to tipping well. And now they were acting as if they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Barbara guessed it was part of the role they played.

“I wasn't going to spend that much money,” Andrew said.

“One of my customers recommended this place.”

“They sell good seafood at cheaper places.” Andrew sulked in his seat. “I thought we'd go to a bar or something afterward, but I'm broke.”

“Maybe another time,” Barbara suggested, heading to the ferry.

“Well, you could…”

Barbara glanced at the illuminated clock on the dashboard. “It's late and I have to work tomorrow.” As if she would buy him drinks. She didn't think so. And since he'd spent all his money on her dinner, he certainly couldn't afford to buy any.

Neither of them got out of the car to catch the breeze on the ferry. Andrew sulked and Barbara turned the radio to an R&B station.

As the DJ's seductive voice came on, Barbara leaned her head against the headrest. She couldn't help thinking the music was better heard between the sheets with a lover. God, wouldn't it be nice to be seduced by a live man rather than the vocalist's mesmerizing voice.

Sometimes…Barbara swallowed around the dryness in her throat. The music took her to a more intimate and giving place in her soul. Sometimes she wished she had somewhere to go with those thoughts. That she didn't have to keep all her feelings bottled up. There were times her toys just weren't enough. But when you had nothing else, this would have to do.

“I shoulda let you come back to the island alone and stayed in Norfolk.”

The shock of Andrew's grating voice was like a glass of icy water thrown in her face.

“You should have,” Barbara murmured, glad the ferry was pulling up to the dock. She was ready to kill him.

Once they disembarked, Barbara drove directly to the Stones' house, and since the light was on, to Andrew's dismay, she went inside again.

Wearing a smoking jacket and silk pajamas, Elliot was reading the paper in the living room as if he were waiting up to make sure his high-school child didn't break curfew. He placed the paper on the badly scarred coffee table and stood when Barbara entered the room.

“Ya'll have a good time?” he asked, nodding at Barbara.

“Just wonderful,” Barbara said, smiling brightly, but Andrew merely grunted.

“You and Minerva have to try out this restaurant. The food was excellent, wasn't it, Andrew?”

“Expensive…”

“We will,” Elliot said, ignoring Andrew. Barbara noticed he often ignored Andrew. “Have a seat.”

Barbara settled as comfortably as she could on the badly sprung army-green sofa. Andrew elected to stand in the doorway, sulking.

Minerva joined them with a silk scarf tied around her curlers and wearing expensive off-white lounging pajamas.

“How do you like your new job, Minerva?” Barbara asked as the older woman settled on a cushioned ladder-back chair across from her.

“This isn't my usual lifestyle. I only took it because Lambert needed someone so badly. He's all alone, poor thing. I'm blessed to have a brother and nephew so close. But Lambert is nice and not demanding. Otherwise, I simply couldn't work for him.”

“We lost a lot in the stock market,” Elliot said. “Everybody's cutting back with the downturn in the economy.”

“You heard about the body they found in the marsh?” Minerva asked. “It was so close to where I work it just gives me the shivers.”

“Some of my customers mentioned a lot of activity near Mr. Hughes's house.”

“Well, the sheriff asked Lambert questions about that girl, Sarah Rhodes.”

“Was it her?”

“He wouldn't say. Said he couldn't identify the body. But he wouldn't ask questions if he didn't think it was her.”

“That poor girl,” Barbara commiserated, saddened, even though she believed all along that Elliot had gotten rid of her. She'd hoped Sarah had found another job, but if Elliot did kill her, what was one more murder to him?

“Andrew said you paid for your shop outright with the money you made from investments,” Elliot said after a brief comment about Sarah's untimely demise.

Barbara nodded. “I've always invested well. I have a very good broker I've used for twenty years,” she said, noticing Elliot was hanging on to every word like it was the Gospel.

“We've been friends since I started working in New York. You know, I considered retiring instead of opening a shop here, but what would I do with all that time on my hands? I may as well make more money.”

“You're a smart woman,” Elliot said.

Andrew moved toward the door that led to the back of the house.

“Where you going, boy?” Elliot asked. “You got company. Sit down.”

Mouth pressed tight, Andrew sank into a chair in the corner, even though Barbara had the couch to herself and there was plenty of room for him.

“I tell you one thing,” Minerva said. “I'd travel if I didn't have to work. I'd find plenty to do. Shopping would be at the top of my list.”

“You've got a point there, Minerva. I've done a lot of traveling, but there are still places I haven't seen yet. Maybe I'll retire in five years. Fifty is still young. Maybe someone will want to buy me out, or I could rent booths to other hairdressers and just manage. Which shouldn't take up much time,” she said. “I've saved enough for a very long retirement. I'm going to use my profits from the next few years strictly on entertainment,” she said. “You know how I like my designer things.”

“You've got a brisk business in that shop. Ever thought about hiring help? Andrew…”

“I've thought about it. But I can only offer my customers the best. They expect quality. Sometimes quality falls when you get other people in the mix. Just look at the stores now. You ever tried to find help when you need it? I've seen a man screaming for some help at the top of his voice. Stopped everyone in their tracks. And I commiserated with him because I needed some help, too, but management has cut back so much, quality service is a thing of the past.”

“Oh, girl,” Minerva said, nodding. “Isn't that the truth?”

“Everybody's got nothing but good things to say about your shop,” Elliot agreed. “You know what you're doing. I tossed around the idea of investing in the stock market, but it's too iffy right now. Shoulda done it while it was still going up. Right now, you're better off putting your money in the bank.”

Barbara shook her head. “Interest rates are way too low to make a decent profit. I work hard and I need my money to work just as hard for me. And you know that's not happening in the bank,” she said. “You know they charge a mint on loans and credit cards, but they don't pay you squat on your money. No way I'm putting large sums of money there,” she assured him. “It's just a matter of knowing what to invest in and having the right broker.” Barbara stood, knowing she'd said enough to keep stringing Elliot along. “I better get going. Have to work tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Andrew.”

“Umm. Yeah,” he said, and escaped to the back room.

Deep in thought, Elliot walked Barbara to her car. Even opened the door for her and closed it after she got in. She waved as she backed up. He was still watching her as she drove away.

Designer clothes and poorly sprung sofas. What a contradiction these people were.

 

The next day, Harper skipped lunch and dinner, and had consumed just half an egg sandwich for breakfast. His hunger increased with his temper and frustration.

They all gathered in his office after the interviews.

“What did you find?” he asked.

John checked his notes. “Sarah was seen with lots of people from the island. Car always broke down and she was always catching rides,” he said, which confirmed what Hughes had said. “She knew lots of people here. Very friendly. Was dating Ben at the bar for a while. Hung around the bar many nights waiting for him to get off. Some nights didn't go home. Don't know how long ago, but they've broken up.” John glanced up. “We all know none of Ben's relationships ever last.”

“Scott?” Harper asked.

“She was seen regularly at the Greasy Spoon, with Ben, too, especially on his days off.”

“Did she date anyone else after they split?”

“No, she was friendly with a lot of people, though.”

Harper glanced at his notes. “Was Ben at the bar?”

“He went to South Carolina to visit his family for a couple weeks,” John said.

“In the meantime, let's interview some of these friends of hers and find out whom she was getting rides from. One of them could have killed her. And her purse was missing. So we can't rule out robbery. See if any of the rides were from addicts.”

“I've got a couple more leads I'm going to check at the bar later on tonight,” John said.

Harper sighed. He was going to head to the Greasy Spoon before it closed, but first he called the local real-estate agent who rented out the house to ask for identities of the people who stayed there around the time Sarah went missing.

Another murder. His chances of getting with Barbara were growing slimmer by the minute.

 

Around seven, Barbara led her last customer to the door. The hair salon had been busy, as usual, and her ears had burned all day about the woman in the marsh. The location had been so close to Barbara's house that shivers ran up her spine just thinking about it.

“Take care of yourself, Vanetta,” Barbara said, locking the door. She went to the cash register and began to count the day's earnings.

Since her husband was found dead—and naked with another woman—Vanetta Claxton Frasier was quickly disintegrating into a recluse. She'd asked Barbara if she could come in when there weren't other customers. Barbara had agreed to fix her hair after her last customer left. She didn't usually work this late on Saturdays, but the high-school children had a party that night and she was working late anyway.

Finished with the counting, she recorded the amount in her ledger and padded to the storage room. She placed the money in the zippered pouch before stuffing the bundle in her oversized purse. Back in the salon, she straightened up and disinfected the surfaces before she swept the floor.

Vanetta was still suffering from her husband's death and betrayal. It was the same old thing—her husband was screwing around with other women. Men created all kinds of havoc in women's lives, Barbara thought.

As much as she wished for someone special in her life, she wondered if men were worth the trouble.

Truth was, she was absolutely heartsick about Sarah's death. Would reporting the Stones' activities to Harper have prevented it?
If
the woman was Sarah, Barbara had no doubt the Stones killed her. Since Andrew didn't have the balls to kill anyone, Elliot was her main suspect.

Even if she'd reported what she knew, Harper couldn't have prevented the murder. She was unaware they had chosen Lambert as their next mark until Minerva began working for him. She thought they'd choose someone in Virginia Beach.

Barbara rubbed her forehead. Guilt had eaten at her insides like acid all day. She had a screaming headache. It was a good thing she didn't have a date with Andrew.

God, how many people had that family killed?

Andrew was getting on her nerves so badly her stomach cramped just thinking about him. He tried to kiss her once. Eventually she'd have to let him, but she didn't know how she'd tolerate it without throwing up. If she could trick that bunch of thieves any other way, she would.

Barbara stopped for a moment to gaze around the room. It was a lovely place. Cheerful peach walls with white borders and wainscoting. She knew her grandmother owned property here, but Barbara only found out about the retail space after her death. The last lease to this building had ended more than a year ago. Naomi Claxton's sister, Anna, had handled the rentals for her until she'd died in February. Dorsey was waiting until she and Barbara moved to the island to make a decision about renting it again.

Barbara straightened the magazines in the rack, feeling sad at Dorsey's loss and that she never got to enjoy her island again.

She debated whether to drop off the day's earnings in the bank's night deposit box or wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow, she decided, too weary to go tonight. Her back was killing her and her feet were so tired the only thing she wanted was to get naked and slide her whole body into the tub. And she had a meeting to attend in an hour. Maybe she could shower quickly and soak her feet for just a few minutes.

Someone banged on the door and Barbara glanced sharply toward it.

Why would anyone be knocking on her door this time of the night? Thinking it might be the sheriff returning her hat, she eased around the corner.

It was only Andrew. She realized then how much she wanted to see Harper again. But what was Andrew doing here? They didn't have a date.

Barbara groaned and summoned a smile she was far from feeling. “Hi, Andrew. I wasn't expecting you,” she said, opening the door. “I have a meeting tonight, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I've run into a little problem. I have a cash-flow situation and wondered if you could make me a little loan.”