Chapter 18 #2
It was complicated. Most of the funding for her kids’ college came from Sylvie’s death benefit; she’d set it up that way.
The rest was paid by Nikki. Because she felt responsible.
So, yeah, that wasn’t too far away from guilt.
He said, “I always told your mom I’d look after you two.
” He moved a finger between the siblings.
“She asked, and I agreed, and I told her I’d make sure you got to go to whatever university or trade school or whatever you wanted after high school. ”
“What if I don’t want to go to college?” Toby threw out.
Reed said, “Why don’t we wait and see after you graduate?”
“So that’s why you’re following me. Cuz you think you’re my counselor or something!”
“I don’t think that’s it,” his sister said.
“Hey!” The two girls Priscilla had been with had returned. “Are we going to Drake’s or what?” the taller of the two asked, while the shorter, heavyset redhead kept her eyes on her phone while her fingers moved quickly over the screen.
“Yep.” Priscilla nodded. “Toby?”
Her brother gave a furtive glance at Reed. “Just wondered if I could crash here tonight.”
“At my apartment? Sure, but why …?” she started to ask, and then her gaze moved back to Reed as well. “Doesn’t matter. Yeah. For sure. We’re going over to a friend’s place now. You can come, I guess.”
The kid seemed to want to decline, but with one last glance at Reed, said, “Yeah, sure,” and as Priscilla waved at Reed, Toby, head down, hands deep in the pockets of his oversize shorts, stalked off.
As Reed walked the block to his Jeep, he chastised himself for almost letting the kid goad him into a physical confrontation.
He’d have to do better next time.
Because whether Toby liked it or not, Reed wasn’t giving up.
“So Archer Greenlee left the group early,” Nikki clarified, driving through town and talking on the Bluetooth connection in her Subaru.
For most of the day, she’d been interviewing people who had known either Billy Huber or Mavis Greenlee, and she felt like a dog chasing its own tail. Getting nowhere and fast.
But maybe things would change now that she had Mac, the part-time bartender at the Stag and Boar, on the line and he was telling her that Archer Greenlee’s alibi wasn’t as rock-solid as she’d thought.
“He was here at the bar that night, like he said. With his usual group.”
She remembered that Archer had claimed to be at the Stag and Boar with some friends, including Otis Childers, as well as a couple of others, Knox Quinlan and Stoney Tripp, whom she had yet to interview.
“But he left early. I remember because he bragged about winning some kind of shooting contest with them the last time they’d been out to the rifle range, and the guys at the table complained that he should be paying for their drinks,” Mac said.
“And anyway, it wasn’t like him to leave early when he had bragging rights. ”
“And he left about what time?”
“Geez, I don’t know. I’d been on my shift for a couple of hours, so maybe seven? The guys usually hang out till ten at the earliest, sometimes midnight. I remember once they were even still here at closing.”
Mac didn’t have much more to offer, but it was enough to convince Nikki to turn around and find out for herself.
She wanted to see Archer’s expression when she asked about it.
Worry was more likely camouflaged on a phone conversation than it was in a face-to-face conversation.
Nervous tics, beads of sweat, fidgety hands, and eye shifting couldn’t be so easily hidden,
At the next corner, she pulled into the parking lot of a mom-and-pop grocery, where two crows were fighting over a bit of garbage and one of the checkers, apparently on break, was leaning against the building and scrolling through her phone.
Disgruntled, the crows cawed loudly and flapped out of the way, while the checker didn’t bother looking up.
Nikki barreled out of the other entrance to the lot, nearly cutting off an older Impala inching down the street, then turning onto Victory Drive, which was part of Highway 80, leading to the island.
Finally, with finding this chink in Archer’s alibi, she was getting somewhere.
At the city limits, she called her sister through the Subaru’s Bluetooth connection. When Lily answered, Nikki explained that she had one more stop and then she’d be home.
“Sounds good.”
Nikki squinted against oncoming headlights and asked, “So everything’s okay?”
“Right as rain, whatever the hell that means,” Lily said, using one of their mother’s favorite phrases. “Phee’s doing homework, and Chloe has already had a bath and is in pajamas. We’re good.”
“I should be home in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. It all depends. If I’m any later, I’ll text or phone.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t know about Pierce.”
“He called. On his way home. But don’t worry about anything. We’re good here. Phee cooked tonight. Boxed mac and cheese. Better than instant ramen, which was her first choice. I told her ‘no way.’ She can make that for herself and her roommate when she’s in college.”
Nikki laughed as she clicked off. She thought about calling her husband and at least letting him know where she was going, but decided against it. The less Pierce knew about her research, the better. And so far, the day had proved uneventful.
Earlier, she’d driven to the country club where Radley Bowers was the golf pro and where her own family had been members for generations.
The grounds were manicured, lush azaleas in full bloom in shades of pink, purple, and orange.
The fairways stretched away from a rambling, stone clubhouse flanked by blossoming magnolia trees.
She’d pocketed her keys and strode across the parking area to the pro shop and walked in as two women in skorts, sweaters, and visors were walking out. Radley was inside, arranging putters by size on a display rack.
He turned to face her when the door shut behind her.
A broad smile was plastered across a narrow, tanned face, but before she could utter one word about Mavis, the welcoming grin faded as he recognized her.
“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered under his breath, and the clubs he’d been arranging fell and scattered around his feet like the thin plastic sticks from a game of Pixy Pick-up Stix.
“Nikki Gillette!” A tall, fit man in a yellow Izod shirt and knee-length shorts, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me, you’re here because of Mavis.
” To Nikki’s surprise, he kicked one of the putters, and it went sailing into a display of jackets, only to tumble to the plaid-carpeted floor. “I knew it. I just knew it!”
“I just want—”
“To ask me a few questions. I know.” Radley snagged the thin club he’d booted and tossed it onto the pile.
“Just so you know, that woman was the bane of my existence. You hear me, the goddamned bane.” He pushed the putters with one foot into a more orderly stack, but didn’t bother trying to arrange them.
“But other than seeing her here at the club on occasion, I had nothing to do with her.”
At that point, Nikki realized she hadn’t even asked him a question. Just the mere sight of her—knowing she was a reporter—had set him off.
“God, I thought I was done with her.” He ran stiff fingers through his hair, still thick and sandy-colored, his palm white against a darkly tanned wrist, evidence of hours playing golf in the sun.
“If you’ll leave me alone, I’ll tell you what I told the police, okay?
Mavis and I were married right out of college, then, about eight years later, we weren’t.
That was decades ago. She was out of my life. End of story.”
He didn’t display any modicum of grief for his dead ex-wife. “Why did you divorce?”
“A lot of reasons. Irreconcilable differences.”
“That’s pretty broad.”
“Ancient history, Nikki.” She waited, and his face hardened. He finally spit out, “I can tell you got ideas. Go ahead. What’re you thinking?”
“I think she had an affair.”
He snorted and shook his head. “One? That’s rich.” He snorted. “Look, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, okay?” He bent down and started sorting the clubs again as if the interview was over. “Yes, she cheated.”
“With my father.”
He froze for a second, then stood, still holding a child-sized putter. “Yeah.” Nodding, he nervously tapped the club onto the floor. “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I found out and filed for divorce the next day. To her credit, she didn’t fight me.”
Nikki got right to the point. “And you were home, with your wife, on the night that Mavis was killed?”
His gaze held hers. “That’s right. I’d had a meeting at the church after work.
Then I came home; we had a quiet dinner, later than usual, I think, and watched TV.
There was a game on and then some reruns of Seinfeld, I think.
Or Modern Family. I can’t remember, we rotate the old stuff we like, but I do recall that Kelsey was more than a little miffed.
The Honeywells were having some sort of patio party, and we weren’t invited.
Kind of ticked her off. But—that’s beside the point.
” His eyes narrowed. “Anyway, if you’re asking me if I killed my ex-wife, the answer is ‘no!’” He tossed the child’s putter back onto the unsightly pile.
“Divorcing Mavis was the second best thing I ever did. The first was marrying Kelsey. Now, if that’s all, I’m working here. ”
“What church?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were at a meeting at the church.”
“Yeah. The All Christian, off of Oglethorpe.”
“Where Westin Stark is the pastor?” Nikki asked, thinking the minister’s name kept haunting the edges of her investigation.
“Yes. Reverend Stark.”
“He was there?” she prodded.
“At least for part of the time. Why? What’s this got to do with Mavis?”
“The reverend didn’t stay for the entire meeting?”
“Had to leave a little early,” Radley said. “That matter?”
She ignored the question. “Can you verify who was at the church meeting?”