A Shot in the Dark, page 5
Sherry nodded. “They believe she might’ve taken her own life.”
That was something I felt Trish needed to know right away.
Sherry said, “So, no, I didn’t know he had a daughter. I mean, besides…” She closed her eyes. “Stuart died not knowing if she would’ve been his or not. The whole thing was just so sad.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t mention anything to you about it,” I said. “I mean, his daughter. Her name’s Trish. Trish Williams.”
“We had an odd relationship the last couple of years before he was killed,” Sherry said. “We hardly spoke, even though he was living in my house.”
I thought about Trish and knew what I’d just learned wasn’t something that could wait. “You know what?” I said. “Do you mind if I come back later? I actually have to run. I’m sorry, but I’ll be in touch.” I jogged across Edgewood to where I’d parked the Jeep, jumped inside, and headed for Trish’s hotel.
I walked across the white marble floor inside the lobby of the Marriott Hotel in downtown Jax, looking at my phone every few moments to see if Trish had tried to call. I’d already been there waiting for twenty-five minutes, assuming when she said she’d meet me in the lobby that she was up in her room.
I hadn’t told her when I called why we needed to meet, only that I had some information she needed to hear.
Throughout the fifteen-minute drive from Murray Hill to downtown, I wondered about being the first to tell her there was a chance the woman who was killed in a car accident may have been carrying Trish’s unborn sister.
I had very little information. There was a chance I was jumping the gun, but the story struck me in a strange way. I wasn’t even sure Sherry Carter wanted to tell me, even though she did.
I turned when I heard my name.
“Henry?”
Trish’s voice echoed off the concrete walls and high ceiling of the busy lobby.
She walked toward me after stepping off the elevator, then gave me a hug I wasn’t expecting. She smelled nice, like something sweet. Her hair felt wet against my face.
“I’m sorry I made you wait,” she said. “I went for a swim in the pool, then went to my room to get cleaned up.”
I shook my head, trying to force a smile when I knew what I had to tell her wasn’t something she’d be expecting.
“Did you talk to my father’s ex?” she said.
I nodded, thinking through what I was about to share. “I just left her pottery studio. But she was in the middle of holding a class, so we didn’t get to talk for long.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding toward an empty hotel bar. “Do you want to go sit?” She rubbed her bare arms up and down. “It’s cold in here, the air conditioner’s always on full blast.”
That was the thing in Jacksonville, or any part of the South. It would get too hot and humid to ever go outside, so most buildings were often frigid from the air-conditioning.
We sat across from each other in red-padded-leather chairs, with a small glass table between us.
It took me a moment to speak, deep in my own thoughts.
“Is something wrong?” she said.
“Stuart’s ex-girlfriend, Sherry Carter, told me something that… I just thought you should know right away. I didn’t even finish questioning her.”
Trish waited. “What are you going to tell me?”
“There was a woman who was killed in an accident. She was pregnant. It was a girl. It turns out there’s a chance Stuart Graves was the father.”
Trish’s expression didn’t change. She stared back at me. I couldn’t tell if it was shock or something else. “That’s what she told you?”
I nodded, and she looked away, toward the lobby.
“Sherry said nobody knew for sure. But your father claimed the baby would’ve been his.”
“I… I don’t understand. Nobody knows?”
“Someone probably does,” I said.
“Do you think it has anything to do with him being killed?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know.
Trish appeared somewhat shocked. Or maybe sad. She seemed hard to read.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I came right over to tell you. I thought it was important you knew.”
She got up without a word and left. She walked across the lobby, her flip-flops slapping the cold marble until she made it to the sliding door at the entrance, and stepped outside.
I followed her into the hot sun, but she walked at a good pace ahead of me, continuing on the sidewalk, along the front of the hotel, until she stopped at the end, before a parking lot.
“Trish,” I said, halting a few feet behind her. “Are you okay?”
She kept her back to me, silent for another moment or two. “It was bad enough knowing I had a father I never had a chance to meet. And now”—she faced me—“you’re telling me there’s a chance I could’ve had… I could’ve had a sister?” A tear slid down her face. I knew she’d be surprised but didn’t fully expect her reaction. I should’ve known better. “I’m sorry. But I think I just need to be alone for a little while.” She brushed past me and headed toward the hotel’s entrance.
“Trish,” I said.
She didn’t stop, stepping through the entrance, into the hotel.
I didn’t follow.
Chapter 9
Trish hadn’t answered my calls, so rather than wait around to talk to her again, I headed over Mathews Bridge into Arlington.
I hadn’t been in that part of Jax since before Alex sold her house and decided to take a spin by.
I stopped in front of the small two-story and stared at the porch where Alex and I spent so many days and nights. I didn’t know who the new owner was, but with a shiny new Tesla and BMW in the driveway, I had to assume it was someone with money. Or maybe someone with a lot of debt.
I grabbed my phone and sent Alex a text:
I’m in Arlington, in front of your old house.
I waited for a response, but I didn’t get one right away. I started to pull away but stopped when my phone buzzed. I pulled over and looked at the phone’s screen.
Alex had replied:
I’m sorry. So busy, in the middle of something. I’ll call soon!
I was glad I heard back from her but looked forward to having an actual conversation with her one day. It’d been a while.
I drove away and continued toward the eastbound ramp onto the Arlington Expressway, turning onto Kernan Boulevard in East Arlington.
The newer suburban neighborhood had mostly one-story stucco houses, all with the same overall design, including a fancy-looking portico in front, a two-car, side-entry garage, and a couple of large trees the builder hadn’t cut down.
I wasn’t exactly sure what a logistics consultant did, but Rick Lilly seemed to do all right for himself. The garage door was open with a black Mercedes parked inside. I parked behind it and made my way along the stone walkway to the door.
When I got to the steps, an older gentleman had already opened the door, his white hair slicked back, wearing a tight T-shirt that showed off a fit physique. “Can I help you?” he said, leaning out through the door’s opening. “I saw you drive up, and…”
“My name’s Henry Walsh,” I said.
“Henry Walsh?” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Why’s that name sound familiar?”
I didn’t know and didn’t answer. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about Stuart Graves.”
“Stuart?” The man stepped outside and let the glass storm door close behind him. “What about?”
“I’m investigating his murder.”
“His murder? Now? Are you with the sheriff’s office?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
Rick Lilly cocked his head and crossed his arms. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
He sighed, looking out at his perfect, green lawn. “It’s just that, it’s been such a long time. Now, out of the blue, some private investigator shows up at my door asking about my old friend?”
“It’s never too late to solve a crime,” I said, giving him a grin.
He looked at his watch. “I don’t have much time.”
“I’ll try to make it quick and painless,” I said.
He seemed hesitant, then nodded, and opened the door, holding it for me to go in ahead of him. “Come on in,” he said calmly.
I stepped into a good-sized foyer, with what looked like red Spanish tiles on the floor and large, potted tropical plants of various sizes, spread around the area. There was one tall enough, it looked like it’d overgrown the space, like a tree, coming close to the chandelier, high up, over our heads. A gurgling sound came from a rock water fountain almost hidden between the plants.
“I guess you like your plants?” I said. “Friend of mine has them all over his place.”
“They’re good for us,” Rick said. “Cleans the toxins from the air.”
A fact I knew but maybe didn’t appreciate enough. Although living on a boat, I had plenty of fresh air around.
Rick walked ahead of me, down a hall, toward the back of the house. “I’m interested in hearing why, after all these years, someone’s showing up at my door to talk about Stu.”
I followed him turning right, down another hall, before stepping into an office. He sat behind the desk and pointed at the two chairs across from him. “Have a seat,” he said, his fingers steepled, watching me. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay, before you get started with whatever it is you’ve got in mind, I’d appreciate it if you'd get to the part where you tell me who hired you?”
“Are you aware Stuart Graves had a daughter? From New York?”
Rick’s eyes opened wide. “Are you serious?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Leave it to Stu.”
“So he never said anything to you about her?” I said.
Rick shook his head.
“But before I get into more about her, can I ask you what you know about Elizabeth Sutton?”
“Elizabeth?” He shrugged. “Like what?”
“I understand she was pregnant when she was killed, and Stuart Graves may’ve been the father?”
Rick was quiet at first, then nodded. “I guess nobody really knew for sure, one way or the other. Guess it could’ve been, since they were together for a short time.”
“A short time?” I said.
Rick shrugged. “Listen, I don’t know much about what went on between those two. I mean, of course, it was a shock when Elizabeth died.”
“So you knew her?”
“Yeah, we all did. She’d hung around this bar we used to go to. But, I wouldn’t say any of us knew her well. Like I said, Stu had a short fling with her, that’s all I know of. Guess that’s what led him to believe he could’ve been the father. I guess anything’s possible, but I don’t know what you want me to tell you about it, or what it has to do with.”
“You were friends with Stuart Graves, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “Of course I was. I’m going to assume you knew that already, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Rick leaned back in the chair, staring at me. “Now, what’s the story with this supposed daughter of his, from New York? She’s the one who hired you?”
I didn’t want to give him too many details about her, but told him what I thought he needed to know.
Rick said, “What’s Elizabeth’s accident got to do with her?”
“If her father was the father of the unborn child…”
“Oh, I see. But I’m still trying to wrap my arms around the fact Stuart knew he had a daughter up there and never mentioned her to me. And you said Sherry didn’t know about her either?”
I nodded. “That’s what she claims.”
“Sherry’s a fairly honest woman. If she knows something, there’s a good chance she’s going to tell you.” He paused. “Maybe Stu just wanted to keep it to himself. That’s kind of how he was, anyway.”
“You mean he kept things to himself?” I said.
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“And you’d consider him a good friend? Good enough to tell you something like this?”
“Yeah, of course he was a good friend. Good enough, at least. I mean, like I said, he kept to himself. Kind of one of those creative, introverted types, you know what I’m saying? He liked to do his thing, would even disappear without anyone knowing where he was or what he was up to. Then he’d show up again out of nowhere, like it was normal. Man didn’t even ever own a cell phone. That’s just how he was.”
I looked around the home office. “I’m surprised you were friends with him.”
“Why’s that? Because we’re opposites?”
“For the most part, yeah. You’re a businessman,” I said. “Stuart, from what I’ve heard, was somewhat of a hermit. A recluse. At least, it seems he was.”
“Oh, he was. For sure. But, I don’t know. I liked the man. He did what he wanted to do. Didn’t give a damn about money. It was the last thing on his mind.” Rick grinned. “Me? I wake up in the morning thinking about it.”
“Money?” I said.
He nodded. “Gotta have it, you want to get anywhere in this world.”
“If he wasn’t into money, why would he get into real estate?”
“Because the man was broke. He needed to eat.” Rick laughed. “I’m the one who convinced him to go get his license, thought maybe it’d be something he could do, without having to go sit at a desk, or take some kind of demeaning job.” Rick shook his head. “I still feel guilty to this day, just for putting him in that situation.”
I said, “So how does an introvert sell real estate?”
Rick smiled. “Stu still had a good personality, even though he preferred to keep to himself. Most people can’t survive on their talents alone, if you know what I mean. Stu was the textbook definition of a starving artist. I appreciate being creative and all that, but a man’s gotta eat. So I tried to help him, even sent some clients his way. He didn’t have to do much, other than show someone a house. He didn’t get involved in selling; that wasn’t his thing. But he did all right, to be honest. Made a few bucks, even though he hated the fact he was in real estate.”
The gray walls in the office were covered with plenty of framed artwork and photos.
Rick pointed at a painting of a farmer with two cows next to him. “He painted that one, you know. It was a gift, because my daddy was a farmer.” He huffed out a quick laugh. “I remember when Stu gave it to me. Funny thing is, he got to a point he didn’t want to paint anymore. Too bad, because he was good at it. He’d started writing, from what he told me. I don’t know much about what he was up to, but took off on a trip to the West Coast, like some crazy kid, chasing a silly dream.”
“Silly?” I said. “Do you know what it was about?”
“Not really. I guess it was some kind of movie he’d written. Maybe he thought it was something special, but…”
“You don’t think so?” I said.
Rick shrugged. “I never actually read it. I’m just saying, he landed back here, didn’t he? Came back more broke than when he left, had to move in with his old girlfriend ’cause he had nowhere else to go.”
This man wanted me to believe he was a friend of Stuart Graves, but the way he came across, I wasn’t exactly sure he was.
“Are you married?” I said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m just asking a question.”
He took a moment before he replied. “I was. Twice.”
“You have kids?”
“They’re older, off and married now, kids of their own.”
We both sat quiet for a couple of moments.
I said, “I read through your interview, when the police questioned you after Stuart’s murder.”
Rick stared back, waiting for more. “That was a difficult time for a lot of us,” he said. “My own friend, murdered in my house. Of course, as I’m sure you might’ve read, the cops didn’t have any suspects. So, for one reason or another, they came down on me. They had nothing else.” He got up from his chair. “You know what it’s like having the cops try to pin a friend’s murder on you?”
Rick walked to a window on the other side of the room, standing with his back to me, looking out.
“Are you surprised they never found the killer?” I said.
He shrugged without looking back. “I don’t know if I’d say I was ever surprised. I was the only person who knew Stu was in that house. I mean, besides whoever it was killed him,” he said.
“Was that house your primary residence at the time?” I said.
“It was an investment property, was hoping to unload before the market crashed.” He turned from the window. “Took a lot longer to get it off my books once word got out someone’d been murdered inside it.”
“And he never mentioned a name to anyone? From what I read, nobody knew who it was. But he called you, made sure you were out of there before he met the person?”
“Yeah, he called. Left me a message. I’d been separated from my wife at the time, and was actually spending my nights there, sleeping on the damn floor. I didn’t speak with Stu directly, like I said. I wish I had, of course. Maybe he’d still be here. Or we’d at least know who killed him.”
Chapter 10
I stepped down from the Jeep at the marina and walked toward my boat. I saw a figure standing in the darkness, almost as if hiding in the shadows, away from the lamps along the dock.
I suspected it was Trish, and when she came toward me, I saw I was right.
“Hey,” she said, her head held in an almost shy, childlike way. “I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “One surprise after another. And that was a big one.”
She smiled, lips tight together. “It was just a strange thing to hear. Kind of caught me off guard.”
“Me too,” I said. “But, I hope I made it clear nobody knows for sure whether or not he was the father. You may never know one way or the other.”
