“The coincidence of it not being the same one would be too much to believe,” I said.
“I need proof, above all, to take to court, Lucy,” he said.
“Which is why I can help you,” I said. “I go where my instincts take me and don’t worry about court.”
“Which is why,” he said with a twinkle in his eye that belied his words and lifted some of the darkness from his face, “I don’t ask for your help.”
“I assume you’ve been checking into the backgrounds of the women who were on the walk with Helena?” Bertie asked. “Who, I hate to remind you, are my friends.”
“I have. Again, nothing comes up that might indicate a life of crime or an overwhelming need for revenge against someone who might have wronged them years ago. Your friends are, Bertie, more or less what they appear to be. Although Lucinda Lorca isn’t quite the showrunner’s personal assistant she says she is. More like the part-time helper to the second sub-assistant of the assistant to the showrunner.”
Charles snorted.
“I won’t even try to work that relationship out,” Bertie said. “But I suggest you not read anything into that. We all try to impress our friends at reunions. I suspect Mary-Sue’s success in the real estate business isn’t quite what she says it is. I’ve seen a few of her signs around town advertising homes for sale. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one with a sold sticker slapped on it.”
I thought of Mary-Sue’s run-down house and her air of desperation. Watson wiggled his eyebrows, but he also said nothing.
Then again, was I making all this far more complicated than it needed to be? Was I seeking patterns where none existed because of some hidden desire to show off my sleuthing skills rather than come to the simplest and most obvious conclusion?
“Tina Ledbetter and Helena had a difficult relationship,” I said. “Tina has clearly benefited from her sister’s death, as she’s Helena’s heir. Maybe all this other stuff is nothing but a coincidence, and Tina finally decided it was time to get revenge on her sister for what she sees as a life of wrongs, and inherit at the same time. She’s anxious to get to Florida and start her new life. Maybe she followed Helena here and hid outside in the dark, waiting for her chance, and followed us to the pier.” And just happened to have a Nags Head anniversary letter opener in her pocket. I didn’t say that last part out loud. “She knew Helena was dead before you told her.”
“All of which would have had me taking her down to the station for some in-depth questions,” Watson said, “except for the fact that Tina has an alibi. A good one.”
“Oh,” I said. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Believe it or not, Lucy, I don’t tell you everything.”
“Uh, right.”
“At quarter of ten last Friday evening, Tina was threatening to call the police on her neighbors, who were having a barbeque in the backyard and playing their music, according to Tina, too loud. It’s not the first time they’ve clashed and threats have been made. Tina stuck her head over the fence to yell at them, so she can be positivity identified, and they’re confident of the time, as the homeowner checked his watch and told Tina that at that time of the evening noise bylaws don’t apply. Tina went back inside. It’s about a fifteen-minute drive to the lighthouse from her house, so she would not have had time to get her car, drive here, sneak up on Helena and kill her, and be back home by one minute past ten when she again yelled at the neighbors.”
“Oh,” I said.
“For what it’s worth, lest you believe the neighbors are some sort of biker gang or the type of hard-rock fans who can be bribed into lying to the police, they’re in their seventies and had gathered like-minded friends to enjoy a cello recital by Yo-Yo Ma over their vegan burgers and quinoa salads.”
“Not everyone,” Bertie said, “is a fan of classical music.”
“True. The police have been called more than once to Tina’s complaints about her neighbors. And vice versa. The neighbors were, they told me, overjoyed when they saw a “For Sale” sign go up on her lawn. After I leave here, I’m going to call Lucinda, Ruth, and Sheila, and tell them they can leave Dare County tomorrow, pending no new developments. I’ll also be lifting restrictions on Mary-Sue Delamont’s movements.” He wished us a good day and left.
“So that’s that,” I said.
“Not necessarily,” Bertie said. “Sam will keep digging. You know he will.”
“Yes, but he’s got other cases on his plate, and once the women are gone, it’ll be harder for him to talk to them.” And I won’t be able to either, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. “Tell me about them, please. I know you haven’t seen most of them in a long time, but what do you remember?”
“I remember,” Bertie said, “good times. We were young and free, passionate about our courses, loving college, loving being away from home, stretching our wings. I shared a dorm with Lucinda, Sheila, Mary-Sue, and Ruth our freshman year. I stayed in touch with them more than the other women in our class mainly because we all settled in eastern North Carolina, and we’d get together occasionally as a group when one of us organized something. But sometimes even the closest of friends drift apart. And that’s the way it should be, Lucy. People grow and change.”
From his post, Charles nodded sagely.
“Ruth, Sheila, and I remained librarians, but Lucinda moved to California, and Mary-Sue went into real estate. Ruth, Sheila, and Mary-Sue married
