Last Night, page 12
“Are you from there originally?” Hadley asked.
“No, I’m from South County, right here in Rhode Island,” Donna said. “Narragansett. My family still lives there.”
“I love that area,” Hadley said. “So many beautiful beaches.”
“And the best clam shacks anywhere,” Johnny said. “Her parents own the Binnacle—you’ve been there, right, Hads?”
“Of course—it’s a classic,” Hadley said, picturing the salty restaurant with the bright-red awnings on Ocean Road.
“They would love me to run it eventually, but we have a big family—plenty of people to step in when the time comes. Meanwhile, I like what I do,” Donna said. “Trust and estates, working with absolutely awesome people, helping them plan for their futures, and . . .”
Hadley nodded. She was getting tired. Donna obviously saw, because she stopped in the middle of her sentence. “Hadley, I’m just so sorry for what you’re going through. I can’t imagine. I know we just met, but please, if there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Thank you,” Hadley said. She was done talking about it; she just wanted to leave. “I’m going to take off.”
“To your apartment?” Johnny asked.
“No, heading down to Watch Hill. I want to be there for CeCe. She’s coming back, I know it. And I’ll be waiting for her.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Donna said, reaching across the counter to touch Hadley’s hand. “The power of love. It’s going to pull her back to you. I’m an aunt, too. I’d do anything for my nieces and nephews.”
Hadley nodded. Her gaze met Donna’s and held. They were two aunts who understood that particular kind of unconditional love. In that moment, Hadley believed Donna knew exactly what she was feeling.
20
The next day dawned bright but still cold. Conor looked out the window at the ocean and saw that the snow on the beach and all around the Ocean House was still coated with ice that glinted in the sunlight. A room-service tray sat on the table by the window. It held the morning’s second pot of Dave’s Coffee. Kate lay on the bed with her laptop, and Conor sat at the desk with his.
“I think Genevieve should be your next call,” Kate said. “That lawsuit between her and Maddie was really ugly. Did Bernard say anything about it?”
“He did,” Conor said. “And he mentioned a weird situation on a film set in Quebec, when both Maddie and Genevieve were there. He said it was civil. But I agree—I’m going to contact her.”
The room phone rang, and Kate answered.
Conor figured it was housekeeping asking when they could clean the room, but when Kate hung up, she was grinning.
“We have a visitor,” she said.
“Who?”
“Your brother,” Kate said. “He’s on the way up.”
Two minutes later, Tom knocked on the door. Kate opened it, and they gave each other a big hug. Conor walked over and shook his brother’s hand.
“You made it,” Conor said. “Got a lot going on?”
“Sure do,” Tom said, glancing around. “Nice place you have here. I’ve gone past this hotel on boats hundreds of times but never been inside. Plenty of sailors use it as a landmark when they’re navigating this stretch of coast. You can see the yellow hotel—the tower, at least—all the way from Block Island and Montauk.”
“We were so excited to be here,” Kate said. “And then this terrible thing happened.”
“I heard a little about it,” Tom said, turning to Conor. “Like all other law enforcement, we received a bulletin about Cecelia. Everyone is looking for her. Any leads at all?”
“I spoke to Joe Harrigan first thing, and no—nothing substantial. The billboards are getting attention, people are calling in, and the FBI is weeding through tips,” Conor said.
“I know Joe,” Tom said. “Good cop.”
“You’ve worked cases with him?” Conor asked.
“We’ve overlapped at times. I know him mostly from seeing him on the water. He’s a sailor, keeps his boat in Avondale,” Tom said. “What else is going on with the investigation?”
“I met with CeCe’s father,” Conor said. “He’s here in the hotel, and so is Hadley Cooke, Maddie’s sister.”
“The father is Bernard Lafond, the actor?” Tom asked. “It came through in the briefing.”
“That’s him,” Conor said.
“Jackie likes his movies.”
“But you don’t?” Kate asked.
“Not that I don’t like them,” Tom said. “It’s just that I haven’t seen many of them.” He smiled. “Come on, you know what I mean,” he said to Conor. “We were raised on action movies and comedies.”
“It’s true,” Conor said. “We didn’t spend a lot of time reading subtitles.”
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Tom asked. “You mentioned a piece of evidence?”
“A key,” Conor said. “It might have nothing whatsoever to do with Maddie and CeCe, but I found it on the side of Bluff Avenue, between the hotel and the spot where Maddie was killed.”
“How can I help you with it?” Tom asked. “Is there some kind of maritime connection?”
“The key chain looked like something that might belong to a boater,” Conor said. “Made of foam.”
“Floatable,” Tom said. “Boat owners use them so the key won’t sink if it falls overboard.”
“That’s what I thought, but seems like a strange time of year to be thinking about boating,” Conor said. “And for someone to lose a boat key during a blizzard.”
“Some people don’t go by the weather reports,” Tom said. “We rescued someone two days ago—when the storm was at its worst. And the reason I had to cancel yesterday is that I was dealing with the aftermath.”
“Tom! You were out in that?” Kate asked.
“Yep. We got a distress call from a fishing boat—top heavy with ice and taking on water. Just down the beach from here. My guys did a great job, and we saved the captain—the only one on board—but it was tricky.”
“Who goes fishing in a blizzard?” Conor asked. “Why was he out?”
“It was a moronic thing to do,” Tom said. “He put himself and us in danger. But people are struggling. He fishes for lobster, and the fishery is diminished. That plus a whole lot of new regulations have been hell on the captains. They’re taking a lot more chances. More time on the water equals more catch.”
“Understandable but crazy,” Kate said.
“That’s right,” Tom said. “Okay, you have a key that belongs to someone who most likely owns a boat. You found it near the murder site. So, what are you thinking?”
“Who dropped it?” Conor said. “People weren’t exactly out enjoying a stroll along Bluff Avenue. You know what the weather was better than anyone. According to the note Maddie left her sister, she went to the beach path to meet someone. Hadley went looking for her, and Kate and I followed.”
“The storm was insane,” Kate said. “Conor and I wouldn’t have gone to the path, but we could tell Hadley was upset. It seemed dangerous for her to be heading into the blizzard alone, and we wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“And no one else would have been out there, considering the weather conditions,” Tom said, nodding and getting their point.
“Except the murderer,” Conor said.
“Are you thinking Bernard did it?” Tom asked.
“He’s in the mix,” Conor said, “but my gut says no. Besides, what would he be doing with a boat key?”
“Doesn’t have to go to a boat—lots of people put their house and car keys on the same ring. They’re sold at marine supply houses but also in souvenir shops. Tourists who want a little nautical action to rub off from the old salts. Could you tell by looking at the key what it might be?”
“Looked like a standard house key,” Conor said. “But I don’t know.”
“Let me see it,” Tom said.
“The detectives took it,” Conor said. “I was walking with Joe Harrigan when I saw it in the snow.”
“So, tell me what the foam looked like. Some of them are printed with logos, vessel names, custom details like that.”
“It was oval, buoy shaped, red-and-white striped,” Conor said. He saw something register in his brother’s eyes.
“Huh,” Tom said. “Could belong to a lobsterman. A lot of them will get merchandise that look like their buoys, holding the traplines. Every captain has a signature color or stripe pattern to identify their equipment out at sea—red and white is a common combination. I can think of several locals who use it. It would depend on the width of the stripes.”
“These were wide,” Conor said. “Three of them—white, red, white.” He pictured the foam—scuffed and discolored, cracked from being in the sun and other elements.
“Any logo?” Tom asked. “Or vessel name?”
“Nothing professionally printed, other than the stripes, but there was a letter scratched into the foam. The letter G.”
“Holy shit,” Tom said. “That’s a pretty big coincidence.”
“What?” Conor asked.
“You know that boat I was telling you about?”
“The one that almost sank in the blizzard?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “The Anna G. Belongs to Zane Garson.”
“G,” Conor said.
“And Garson’s buoys are red and white—wide striped,” Tom said.
“Well, if he was going aground on his boat, he couldn’t have also been walking down Bluff Avenue.”
“True, but he does have a crew. Family members—his brother and his son. They might have the same key ring, if he had a few made,” Tom said.
“What’s Zane Garson like? Has he or the others been in trouble?” Conor asked.
“I can’t speak to specifics; I’m not aware of details. You’d have to ask the police, but Zane and his brother are known for drinking and brawling. The kid has had some issues, too, since his mother died. When he was about twelve, he lit some fireworks and tossed them down the dock. Fourth of July and supposedly a prank, but they damaged a powerboat and gave a deckhand second-degree burns.”
“Start ’em young,” Conor said. “How about Zane?”
“He changed, too, after Anna—his wife—died. The market for lobsters crashed around the same time. That didn’t help. He lost his house, wound up moving into a shack owned by his older brother. Grub is a surly SOB, and ever since Anna died, Zane’s been taking after him. There have been allegations of the Garson brothers messing with other fishermen’s gear. Serious business with bad repercussions.”
“Well, you just saved Zane’s life,” Conor said.
“Yeah, and all he could really do was complain that we didn’t save his boat at the same time. I tried telling him that a full-blown blizzard, with sixty-knot gusts, wasn’t the time.”
Conor nodded. “The grateful type. What about guns? Any issues with firearms that you know of?”
“He has them—a lot of captains do—but I haven’t heard of any trouble. I should put you in touch with Dick Brady, the local police chief. He’d know more details about the family,” Tom said.
“Where’s Zane now?” Conor asked.
“Home, maybe,” Tom said. “Counting his lucky stars, I hope. It could have gone a whole lot worse. He’s talking to insurance people, I’m sure.”
“Where is his home?”
“Galilee,” Tom said. “Half an hour down Route 1.”
“Can you give me an address?” Conor asked. “I know it’s a long shot, but finding that key chain so close to our murder victim makes me want to talk to him.”
“I can do better than telling you his address,” Tom said. “I’ll drive you there. I have some questions for him, too, about his boat salvage.”
“Great,” Conor said. “Let’s go.”
21
CeCe and the boy had stayed in his house all night. She had tried to sleep, but even though he had given her a scratchy blanket, the room was still so cold that she couldn’t stop shivering. The boy had kept trying to call someone on his phone, but the person wasn’t answering, so he had kept swearing.
Now she watched him sitting in front of his computer, his face nearly touching the screen. She could hear the low drone of voices, so she knew he was watching a movie or TV show. But when she tried to look, he blocked her. So instead, she stood by the window, looking out at the dock. A man pulled up in a dark-blue truck with a lobster printed on the side, the same as the one on the sign and on the boy’s jacket.
The man wore overalls and a yellow jacket, and he had a cap with the lobster on it, and his face was whiskery, like her father’s face got when he needed to shave but didn’t because he had to look a certain way for the movie he was in. He wore tall black rubber boots, like the ones standing by the door, and CeCe watched him walk toward the house. She heard the doorknob turn. Her heart pounded because maybe he was here to rescue her.
“Help,” CeCe said. Ronnie had told her not to yell, so she barely whispered it. The man acted like he didn’t hear.
“Ronnie!” the man shouted, even though he was just a few feet away.
The boy jumped up from his chair. Now CeCe knew that his name was Ronnie.
“Dad!” he said. “Where were you?”
The man glared at Ronnie, then at CeCe.
“What. The. Fuck?” the man asked.
“I waited and waited where you said, but you never came into the dock. And where did you stay last night?”
“She sank,” the man said. “My beautiful Anna G went down in the goddamn storm. I was up all night trying to straighten things out. She let me down, just like everyone else. Just like my fucking brother, just like you.”
“Dad, I didn’t let you down!”
“Could we reschedule the operation?” the man asked, looking up at the ceiling. “No, we could not. It had to be right then, that very hour. And now my boat has a broken mast, and a big hole in her side, and I’ve got to pay a big fat salvage fee, and I’m sure I’ll get fined a shitload for environmental cleanup; they’ll lie about my fuel tank leaking. And now this?” He pointed straight at CeCe.
“I was waiting for the boat,” Ronnie said. “If the boat came . . .”
“Well, dickhead, I just told you why the boat didn’t come. Open your ears. I give you a job to do—I trust you with the most important part—and you fuck it up. What about the other part? Tell me you didn’t fuck that up, too.”
“I didn’t,” Ronnie said. “I’m watching it on the news right now. It’s done, just watch the news! And you can see it on social media. They’re talking about it.”
CeCe’s head tingled, as if her hair were standing straight up, the way it sometimes did when her mom pulled a sweater off over her head and it made electricity. She had an electric feeling in her heart and down her legs, too, because somehow she knew that the news Ronnie was talking about had to do with her and her mother.
“What am I supposed to do with her?” the man asked, turning around to point at CeCe. “Did you think of that?”
“Dad, it was only gonna be the lady. I didn’t know Cecelia would be there, too!”
“Don’t say her name,” the man said. “It will only make the next part harder.”
Ronnie and his father had their backs to her as they looked at the computer screen. She didn’t want to stand near them, but she needed to see what they were watching. She inched toward them, but then she had a better idea. If they weren’t looking at her, maybe she could disappear. The door looked heavy, but she was strong, and if she pulled really hard, she could open it and run away.
“Well, that part’s okay,” the man said, eyes on the computer. “We’ll get paid. Good job, son.”
“Thanks, Dad. When will this all be over?”
The father didn’t answer that question. He was still intent on the news story. “And you got clean away. Ha, listen to that! That’s what they’re saying—good, music to my ears. ‘We have no suspects.’ Ha, that is good; that is excellent. You really did a great job in that. You did that right.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said.
“Maybe we should be glad of the freaking storm. I was pissed about the timing, and my goddamn boat, but it did cover your tracks. Wrecked evidence—that works for us. And believe me, I will be compensated for the boat. We have a new Novi in our future, son. It will be loaded, too, I tell you that. The best electronics on the market.”
“Yeah, Dad. Way to go,” Ronnie said.
“Remodel this house, too. Everything’s gonna work; it will be beautiful.”
“Or a real house, Dad. Not a dump we rent from Uncle Grub. A place like we used to live when Mom was alive. Only bigger, right? With a garage and a workshop.”
“Maybe. Who’s the best?” the man asked. “What father-and-son team is the best?”
“We are,” Ronnie said.
“It ain’t my fault the bottom fell out of the lobster market after your mom passed. But thank God she never had to move into this shithole,” the man said.
CeCe had been walking backward very slowly, a tiny step at a time. She kept her eyes on Ronnie and his father, and she sent magical thoughts their way, casting a spell on them so they wouldn’t turn around and see her.
“We still got to be careful,” the man said. “Check out the Amber Alert; that means we got to be extra, extra careful. And look—billboards on the highway! CeCe’s face everywhere. They want everyone to know her nickname. They’re making her Rhode Island’s little sweetheart. The FBI is here; they’re putting her on electronic billboards up and down 95.”
“Those ones that flash about ‘Drive Sober or Get Pulled Over’?” Ronnie asked. “‘Click It or Ticket’?”
“Yeah. Wow, they are not fooling around. This is about money, it’s a kid with money. If there’s a reward, I’m telling you, that will be bad. That will be a disaster. Even Uncle Grub would turn us in for that kind of payday.”
“He wouldn’t,” Ronnie said. “He’s loyal.”
The man cracked Ronnie so hard on the back of his head that Ronnie nearly lost his balance.
“Are you stupid? You were doing so well, but here you are being a moron. Loyal means nothing when it comes to money. You better learn that lesson quick. A goddamn Amber Alert? That puts people on notice, and next thing there’s a reward, and we’re talking about rich people—the dad’s a fucking movie star—so it’ll be six figures, and that means all bets are off. Money talks. Got that?”
