Lucy sat alone at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of iced tea. Funeral arrangement papers were spread in a fan before her. He saw Patch in her now: the same clear blue eyes, the determined jaw. But Lucy, for all her brass, had a delicacy in her mouth, her chin, her hands, and a gentleness – like Patch’s – that was well concealed. She had not cried again since the bodies were found, showing the steel Whit knew was at her core.
‘I don’t want to shop for a casket again anytime soon,’ she said.
‘God forbid.’
She rattled the ice cubes in her tea. ‘They won’t be able to fix his face right, will they? He’s all broke, Whit. They broke him.’
He sat down next to her.
‘Have they arrested someone?’
‘No. But David says he has a suspect.’ He took her hand. ‘I don’t know who.’
She drank her tea. ‘The sheriff’s office took Patch’s answering machine, his computer yesterday. I wrote down his messages. I thought maybe there were more people I should call. But what do I say, Whit? He can’t meet you for lunch – he’s been murdered?’
Whit glanced at the messages: an exterminator was due to spray the house tomorrow – they’d need to cancel that; three notes to return phone calls from Suzanne; the Port Leo library calling about an overdue book. All the daily doodlings of a life moving steadily along its course when fate got mean and reared up and smacked his nose back into his brain.
Whit called the Port Leo library, asked about the overdue book. Lucy watched him with a frown.
‘Whit, who cares about a book right now?’ she said when he hung up.
‘Was he a regular library user?’
‘Lord, no. He didn’t want to look at it unless it swam, batted baseballs, or might kiss him.’ She sat back down next to him. ‘What’s this book he checked out?’
‘ Jean Laffite, Pirate King. ’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I never saw him reading anything but the newspaper and Sports Illustrated. ’ She paused. ‘You haven’t talked to Suzanne yet, have you?’
‘No. I told her I’d visit her later, get a statement for the inquest.’
Lucy tore at her paper napkin under her tea glass. She ripped it into thin shreds. ‘You said they’ve got a suspect.’
‘You making a bet?’
‘I’m an unforgivable bitch,’ Lucy said. ‘Yes.’
‘Who, honey?’
‘Suzanne’s boyfriend, Roy Krantz. He and Patch didn’t get along too well.’
‘You never mentioned that.’
‘They never saw each other more than once a month,’ Lucy said. ‘Fangs shouldn’t be bared that often.’
‘Lucy. This is serious. You point at him, it’s going to be taken pretty seriously. At least by me and probably by David.’
Lucy’s voice went small. ‘You don’t want to believe you know a person who could kill two people in cold blood.’
‘But you think Roy could.’
‘Bad vibes fairly explode from him,’ Lucy said. ‘And I know what you think of my vibes. But I’m even being logical. He was in prison once. For drugs. Not a fact Miss Suzanne advertises.’
‘Drugs don’t necessarily involve violent crime,’ he said and she frowned. ‘But why would Roy hurt Patch and Thuy?’
‘Suzanne’s in the will. She gets half of this land, the money in Patch’s accounts. I’m sure it’s a fair amount.’
‘Can’t she say the same about you?’
‘But I don’t have a bad relationship with money like Suzy Q does.’ Lucy cleared her throat. ‘Patch told me and I’m not supposed to know, but he wanted to be sure I didn’t give her any money, not like I got more than two bucks anyway. Gambling problems.’
‘How deep is she in?’ he asked.
‘Real deep. Patch said nearly a hundred thousand in debt, Whit.’
A hundred thousand. The lucky number.
Lucy kept on. ‘Suzanne and Roy drive up to Bossier City or fly over to Biloxi every few weeks. Or gamble on the casino boats out of Rockport or Galveston. She’s pissed away her money, and Patch wouldn’t give her two cents to rub together. I told David Power this morning.’
‘And how did David take your suggestion, Lucy?’
‘He furrowed his brow. Very insightful aura. He’s a deep thinker.’
‘Maybe if he’s thinking about wells and water, and even then I wouldn’t be too sure.’
‘I know that Suzanne won’t be happy if she thinks I’m accusing her boyfriend.’
‘Clearly.’
‘But don’t I have a responsibility, Whit?’
‘Yes.’
Lucy took his hands in hers. ‘I should have stayed here to house-sit for him. I’ve done that before. Roy – or anyone – wouldn’t have tried to break in if I was here.’
‘You don’t know that, Lucy.’
‘I’m playing the what ifs. It’s the worst game in the world. It’s like a terminal game. You second-guess yourself to death.’ She wiped the back of her hand along her mouth. ‘If you’re gonna break up with me, this’d be a real bad time.’
‘Why on earth do you think I’d break up with you?’
‘I’m just saying,’ Lucy said. ‘Don’t you break up with me for at least three months.’
‘I don’t want to break up with you.’
‘Because you love me, right?’ Lucy stared at him. ‘I’m not trying to paint you into a corner, Whit. Trust me. I feel a love vibe from you but you’re not saying it, and if you’re feeling it, this’d be a real good time to let me know.’
‘That I love you? Oh, Christ, Lucy, sure I love you.’
‘You don’t have a future in greeting cards.’
‘I love you, Lucy. I’m not going anywhere.’ There. Said. Not so hard once the words bit into the air.
‘I love you, too, Whit. I do. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I want you to know that, and this is all going to be all right, isn’t it?’
‘Baby. Yes. It’s okay.’ He got up, kissed her. She kissed shy at first and then she kissed him hard, eagerly, her palms pressing against his back. The phone rang; she broke the kiss.
‘Hell,’ she said. She answered the phone. He could tell by her tone it was a relative or a family friend calling, distant somewhere, who had just heard. Lucy sank into a chair by the phone, started mumbling thanks, a brief explanation of the tragedy. Whit put her tea by her. She patted his hand in thanks, and he went into the study.
The Glenfiddich bottle he’d poured from last night was still there. He picked up the whiskey and noticed, for the first time, the tag entwined with a thin gold ribbon along the bottle’s neck. Handwritten. To celebrate days of old. Stoney.
Whit tucked the bottle back into the bar. Seeing Suzanne Gilbert wasn’t going to be pleasant now, and he decided he might as well get it over with.
I love you, Lucy had said. He felt a little shiver of happiness, of nervousness, of new possibility opening before him.
Lucy stood in the doorway. Pale again, the flush from their kiss gone. ‘The sheriff’s office called while I was getting off the phone with one of Patch’s army buddies. They want me to come in. For questioning.’
9
The kidnappers slipped over Claudia’s eyes a blindfold, heavy chamois cloth, reeking of boat polish. Hands clamped on her arms and yanked her to her feet, steered her belowdecks. She heard Ben stumbling, gasping next to her.
The air in the cabin lay hot and still against her skin. Hands pushed her to the main salon’s carpet. They tied Claudia’s hands in front of her, the rope laced down to her feet and bound again. The knots were thick as doughnuts. She heard Ben’s wet breathing, like that of a tired, heavy dog.
‘You’re going to be so busted,’ Ben said.
‘Doubtful,’ Danny answered, a decided coldness in his voice that hadn’t been there when he spoke to Claudia. She heard him pacing back and forth near their heads, perhaps inspecting them like prize tarpon.