Chapter 70
On the drive back to the Saint, Traci kept replaying the interview with KJ over and over in her mind. She couldn’t get over his casual tone as he told how he and Garrett had hidden in the woods outside the dorm, getting stoned, waiting for the fire to start while Livvy and Felice, their friends, were locked inside, unconscious and helpless.
“Then Garrett took off on the golf cart,” KJ said. He’d sounded so bitter at his coconspirator’s betrayal.
Where had Garrett gone after he left the scene of the fire, she wondered. How far had he gotten on the golf cart? She only remembered seeing two cars in the parking lot at the dorm following the fire.
She picked up her phone and called Livvy.
“Hey, Mrs. E.”
“Liv, what kind of car does Garrett drive?”
“Huh?”
“Car? What make and model does Garrett drive?”
“Lemme think. Okay, yeah, he drives, like, a crappy old Nissan. Black, with a lot of rust. Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondering.”
What if, Traci thought, she’d been wrong? What if one or both of the men were still on the island? Where would they be?
Her phone rang as she was pondering the possibilities. It was Whelan.
“Hey. I thought we were having dinner together. I’m here with Felice. Where are you?”
Damn. She’d completely forgotten.
“Just getting ready to cross the causeway. See you soon.”
She found Whelan and Felice in the kitchen, unloading the takeout cartons he’d brought. Felice was still dressed in the scrubs she’d been given at the hospital.
Whelan lifted the lid on one of the containers, handing it to Felice. “Shrimp fried rice?”
“Love it,” Felice said.
“From the Chinese place across the street from my apartment in the village,” Whelan said. “Not a ton of choices in this town that might suit a chef like yourself; we’ve got pizza, barbecue, Mexican, Chinese, and Southern fried.”
“I miss decent Chinese food,” Felice said. “We had our pick back in Miami.”
“I don’t know that you’d call this decent,” Whelan said. “More like sub-mediocre. But I brought some egg rolls, potstickers, some crab Rangoon, and beef and broccoli. Hopefully, something for everyone.”
Traci placed dishes, napkins, and cutlery on the table and they served themselves buffet style, with Felice awkwardly using a spoon to feed herself.
Afterward, Felice picked up a paper bag and spilled half a dozen fortune cookies onto the tabletop.
Whelan took one and opened it. He read it aloud: “Make yourself necessary to someone. Deep, huh?”
Felice handed her cookie to Traci. “Can you open that for me, please? These mitts aren’t good for much right now.”
Traci pulled the paper slip from the cookie and read. “Courage is not the absence of fear; it is the conquest of it. I’d say that’s pretty apt in the light of the last twenty-four hours.”
Whelan handed Traci a fortune cookie. “Let’s see what yours says.”
She opened the cracker, read it, blushed, and crumpled the paper in her fingertips.
“What’s it say?” Felice asked. “Come on now, we read ours.”
“It’s silly and meaningless,” Traci said, but before she could discard it, Whelan reached over and pried it from her fingertips.
“Fair is fair.” He cleared his throat and roared with laughter as he read Traci’s fortune out loud. “The one you love is closer than you think.”
“Oooh, Mrs. E,” Felice said, waggling her eyebrows. “Looks like you made a love connection. Wonder who that could be.”
Traci started to clear the dishes in an attempt to distract her dinner companions.
“What did the fire marshal say when you met with him?” Whelan asked.
“The fire marshal is a woman. Named Dahlia Diaz. The fire was started in the gas dryer. KJ and Garrett loaded it with towels, sprinkled it with kerosene, and then set the dryer on high, creating, essentially, a firebomb. Then they sprinkled more towels with kerosene and put them outside the girls’ bedrooms. Then Garrett put some kind of pick in the doorknobs to keep the girls locked in.”
“The fire marshal told you all that?” Whelan asked.
“No, she told me that it was arson. KJ Parkhurst told me the rest.”
“How did that come about?” Whelan asked, startled.
“That sheriff’s deputy, Shapley, called me. They apprehended KJ, hiding out in the carriage house behind his grandparents’ place here. He refused to give them a statement, said the only one he’d talk to was me. So I went to the jail this afternoon and met with him.”
“You believe anything that fool tells you?” Felice asked.
“He freely admitted most of what I just told you. He also copped to the thefts from the hotel, but of course, he said it was all Charlie’s idea, and that Garrett was the one who did the dirty work. KJ claimed the two of them blackmailed him into going along with everything by threatening to out him to his family.”
“Whose idea was it to kill Parrish?” Felice asked. “Satan?”
“KJ wouldn’t talk about Parrish’s murder. At all. Just kept saying it was a big mistake.”
“A mistake? What do you think he meant by that?” Whelan asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
She dumped the dishes in the sink and sat back down at the table.
“After I left the jail I dropped by Shannon’s to check on Livvy, who, by the way, seems to be relatively unscathed. Of course, she’s still processing everything that’s happened, and still mourning Parrish. She showed me a selfie she snapped of the two of them, when they were on the way to the afterparty. Both dressed in their Hawaiian-print dresses, their faces pressed close together with these goofy smiles…”
“Parrish wasn’t goofy very often. She must have been having a good time that night,” Felice said wistfully.
“Both Shannon and I were suddenly struck by how much they looked alike in that picture,” Traci said. “And it started me thinking…”
“You think maybe the murderer didn’t intend to kill Parrish? That it literally was an accident? But why would someone target Livvy?” Whelan asked.
“Livvy saw Cedric, the guy from the band, chatting Parrish up, handing her a Solo cup, presumably of punch, and a joint. The guy didn’t know Parrish, or Livvy. Maybe someone just told him—”
“Paid him, probably,” Felice put in.
“Hired him to hit on the pretty girl in the flowered dress,” Traci continued.
“But why?” Felice asked.
“This is a long shot, but what if someone found out that Livvy stood to inherit a big chunk of Fred Eddings’s money? And they wanted to stop that from happening—at any cost.”
“I was under the impression that nobody knew that Livvy was Fred’s child, or that the will had been changed,” Whelan said.
“Me too,” Traci said. “But what if someone else knew about the NDA Shannon was forced to sign? What if they found out right after Ric got his dad to change the will?”
Felice shook her head. “Livvy told me it was a big dark secret who her daddy was.”
“Who else knew that Fred was Livvy’s father?” Whelan asked.
“Andy Plankenhorn, obviously, and Shannon’s lawyer, but he died years ago.”
“If Livvy’s out of the way, Ric Eddings gets to inherit the whole enchilada, right?”
“In theory. But what if someone else did know about the NDA?” Traci said.
“Like who?” Felice asked. She’d been watching the back-and- forth like a spectator at a Ping-Pong match with rules she didn’t quite understand.
“Madelyn Eddings. After Fred was too frail to live alone in the big house, she personally took charge of moving everything out of that oceanfront house, and then moving him into Gardenia. Maybe she found a copy of that NDA when she was cleaning out his office?”
“So helpful,” Whelan quipped.
“Ugh. I never did like that lady,” Felice said. “Sticking her nose in our business at the restaurant, coming around all the time, having special lunches with Garrett.”
“You saw her with Garrett?” Traci asked.
“Yeah. A lot. She had opinions about the dining room. This one time, I went into the storage room, and they were just coming out, looking kinda sex-drunk, and I remember thinking if it was anyone else, I’d think they were back in there doing the nasty. But she’s waaay older than him, got a rich husband. Why would she be messing with some little waiter?”
“Maybe she wanted revenge on Ric. Everybody in town knows he was running around on Madelyn.”
“Maybe.” Whelan looked dubious.
Felice stood up, yawning. “Mrs. E, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take my pain meds and go to bed now.” She turned to Whelan. “And thank you, Mr. Whelan, for the dinner. When I get these bandages off, I’ll play around with some recipes, come up with a menu for an Asian-themed dinner, later in the summer.”
“Please invite me, when you do that,” Whelan said.
“Good night, Felice,” Traci said. “Get some rest.”
Whelan pointed to the wine bottle he’d set on the counter. “The guy at the liquor store promised me that this is an excellent pairing with subpar Chinese food. Wanna give it a try?”
They took the wine out onto the screened porch, and Lola trotted out to find a place on the wicker sofa between Whelan and her mistress.
“I think she’s starting to like me,” Whelan said, scratching the dog’s long, silky ears. He kissed Traci lightly. “Obviously, she believes your fortune cookie, even if you don’t.”
Traci glanced over her shoulder, toward the kitchen door. “I’ve got one of my employees staying here, Whelan. This doesn’t seem… appropriate.”
“Come on, Traci. You heard Felice, she’s taking her pain meds and going to bed. She’s not going to be peeping out the window at us. And even if she did, who would she report us to? Her supervisor, which is you?”
“Technically, her direct supervisor is Charlie Burroughs. Who, as of today, is no longer an employee of the Saint.”
“You’re deliberately changing the subject again,” Whelan said.
She took his hand in hers. “Just give me a little time, please? To deal with all of this?”
Whelan shook his head. “You, of all people, should know tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, to any of us. I’m attracted to you, and I think the feeling is mutual. Why shouldn’t we act on that? Why should we wait? Why should we have regrets?”
“You’re right,” Traci admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I want this.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his face closer, resting her forehead against his. “I want you, Whelan, in the world’s worst way.” She kissed him, to demonstrate just how much she wanted to take things to the next level.
Pressed tightly between the two bodies, Lola wriggled and barked in protest.
“Shut up, please,” Whelan whispered, his lips tickling her ear.
She drew back. “Excuse me?”
“I meant the dog, not you.”
Whelan wrapped his arms around Traci’s neck and pulled her closer. “We’ll be very quiet. Very discreet.”
“The guest bedroom is right next to my room,” Traci pointed out.
He was kissing her neck, running his hands up under her shirt. “If only you knew someone who owned a hotel, quite nearby.”
Traci gasped as his thumb traced lazy circles around her nipple. “God no,” she gasped.
“‘God no, don’t touch me like this’?” he asked, lowering his head to her breast.
“God no, we are not checking into a room at the Saint. Can you imagine if word got out that Mrs. E was shacked up there with… a man?”
“Who cares?” He pushed her blouse off one shoulder and started unbuttoning it.
She heard her phone ringing from within the kitchen and pushed his hand away.
“Let it go to voice mail,” Whelan urged. “We’re busy here.”
“Wait,” she said, cocking her head. “Let me see who’s calling.”
“Bonaventure County sheriff’s office,” the caller ID voice intoned.
She jumped up. “I have to take this.”
“Mrs. Eddings? This is Wynnton Coyle over in Bonaventure. Thought you’d like to know that your general manager, Charlie Burroughs, was in an accident tonight over in Wayne County.”
“What happened?”
“He tried to outrun a state trooper. Was going nearly a hundred miles an hour when his car left the road and hit a utility pole. The trooper says your man sustained some pretty serious head injuries. He’s being life-flighted to the emergency room down in Jacksonville. The woman who was in the vehicle with him, Marcie something, has some fractured ribs and a broken femur. They’re treating her at the hospital in Jesup.”
“Is he… going to make it?”
“Don’t know,” Coyle said. “I’ll keep you posted.”
She disconnected and looked up to see Whelan walking back into the kitchen with the half-full wineglasses in hand. Lola trotted close behind.
He sighed and poured the dregs of his wineglass into the sink.
“The sheriff told me Charlie Burroughs tried to outrun a state trooper earlier tonight. He hit a telephone pole going nearly a hundred miles an hour. His head injuries were so bad they’re air-lifting him down to the trauma hospital in Jacksonville. Marcie was with him, but not injured as severely.”
Whelan winced. “Will he live?”
“They don’t know yet.”
“Do you hope he does?”
“Charlie was like an uncle to me. I trusted him completely, but now that I know the level of betrayal, what he was capable of? I honestly don’t know how I feel about him. I don’t want him to die. I want him to live, so I can look him in the face and ask him why.”
“I understand,” Whelan said, but clearly, by the look on his face, he didn’t. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Whelan?” Traci called, but he didn’t turn around as he walked out the front door.