Dust and Obey (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

Only
a few minutes after we exited the Bay Bridge Tunnel, Riley took a left and we pulled into the small town of Cape Charles. Golf carts cruised the old-timey streets, people walked their dogs along the warmly decorated sidewalk, and the bay glimmered in the background.

“This is where Brad said he would meet us,” Riley said. “Just for a frame of reference: Anna was buried yesterday. This is all fresh still.”

“Noted.”

He parked on the street, and we scrambled across the road, dodging golf carts—okay, not really, but the image amused me—until we reached a bistro. A man was seated outside at a wrought-iron table. A colorful, green umbrella perched above him, and cheerful plants lined the sidewalk around the area. Too bad the man looked anything but cheerful. A sweaty glass of iced tea on the table looked like it hadn’t been touched.

He nodded ever so slightly at Riley as we approached.

I knew without any introduction that this was Brad. I could see the heartache in his gaze, in the heaviness on his shoulders, in his lackluster expression.

My heart panged for a moment. I knew what grief was like, and seeing him brought those emotions rushing back. There was nothing I could say to ease his sorrow. Only time would do that.

Riley extended his arm and, without any fluffy greeting, the two men shook hands. Some kind of silent understanding passed between them.

“This is Gabby,” Riley said.

I simply offered a smile and started to sit across from him. Riley nudged my chair out for me before I was fully seated. It was such a simple action, but it always made me feel special. If Riley acted like a big jerk, it would be much easier to dislike him.

This was Riley’s gig, so I wanted him to take the lead. He knew more of the details and people involved than I did. But I was so used to being the pushy one when it came to investigations that I had trouble remaining quiet.

“Thanks again for meeting us,” Riley said.

I leaned back, observing Brad. The man was good-looking. He had thick blond hair with gentle gray strands washed through it. His tan seemed to indicate he liked to be on the water. The crow’s feet around his eyes were white streaks the sun never touched. I imagined him squinting on a boat as it sped across the water after a long day of fishing.

But he also had an air of distinction about him. It was the way he carried himself, I decided. The expensive texture of his coral-colored golf shirt. The fancy watch on his wrist.

“Thanks for taking this on.” Brad shifted in his chair. A smile hadn’t touched his lips or eyes since we’d arrived. “I hope you both realize what you’re getting into here. You’re dealing with someone dangerous, someone who’s willing to kill to keep his secrets quiet.”

A shiver niggled up my spine at his proclamation. Danger. Secrets. Almost dying. It all seemed right up my alley.

“His?” I asked. I brushed my hair away from my face and pushed my
Top Gun
-style sunglasses higher on my nose. It was better this way: He couldn’t see my eyes and know I was eyeballing his tea. I’d neglected my lunch in my haste to get ready.

“Most killers are men, so I feel like that’s a safe bet. However, it’s anyone’s guess at this point.” He raised his palms in the air.

His observation made it apparent he was well educated and researched. I’d intended to ask Riley what the man did for a living, but I’d forgotten.

Riley shifted, angling his body away from the sun. “I was hoping you could tell Gabby your side of the story here. It will mean more coming from you.”

The man’s gaze fell on me. He was scrutinizing me, I realized, and trying to determine whether or not I could be trusted. Trying to ascertain if I was as good as Riley claimed. He finally looked away, no conclusion in his gaze. I supposed I’d have to prove myself. You’d think I’d be an expert on that at this point in my life.

I mentally cued “Never Surrender” by Skillet. That song had been on my playlist a lot lately. I was confident I could win Brad over. Well, at least 95-percent confident. I’d seen too many people get cocky and fail. It was a delicate balance.

“My wife, Anna, and I were going to counseling through Love Birds Marriage Retreats,” Brad started, his shoulders rigid and his jaw tight. “This was actually our second time around with Dr. Turner. We thought we were making progress after we went through the sessions the first time. We really wanted to make our marriage work—if for nothing else, for the children’s sakes.”

We stayed silent, waiting for him to formulate his thoughts. Brad absently rubbed the side of his glass, his gaze pensive. His wife’s death had obviously affected him. He had cared for her, I realized. He was carrying too much pain for him not to have loved her. That probably seemed like a callous thought, but I’d seen a lot in my nearly thirty years. Nothing surprised me any more.

“I really thought we’d crested the wave, that we’d gotten over the humps and the biggest hurdles we faced. I thought things were looking up. After our first weekend session, I woke up that Saturday and went to meet Anna in the dining hall for breakfast. She didn’t show up. I continued to wait, but when she still didn’t appear, I asked her roommate to go check on her. She said she hadn’t seen Anna all morning and assumed my wife was downstairs. That’s when a full-out search began.” His voice cracked. “They finally found her body. She was in the boathouse. She’d overdosed on some prescription pills.”

I let a few seconds pass before gently asking my next question. “Were they her pills?”

He nodded, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “She struggled with depression and anxiety. But she would have never taken those pills herself and overdosed. Never.”

“How do you know?” I tried to remain sensitive, but I needed this information. It was essential to this investigation.

Brad’s gaze finally met mine, and I saw the determination there. “I know because of our kids. She wouldn’t put them through this. I know her better than that. Our kids were her whole world. What they’re going through right now . . .” He swung his head back-and-forth, his shoulders hunched.

I could accept his answer, yet I knew that when people weren’t in their right frame of mind, they could act in out-of-the-ordinary ways. Who really knew how desperate Anna was feeling? Or what kind of emotions she’d bottled deep inside?

I wouldn’t bring that up right now, though. He had enough on his mind. “Did you tell the police that? I’m assuming there was an investigation.”

“I did tell the police, but the note Anna left meant they didn’t put as much time into considering the idea that this was something other than a suicide.”

“Anna left a note?” That changed things. Could a person be forced to compose a note? Of course. But there would be signs and clues within their handwriting that they were writing it under duress. I’d taken one class on handwriting analysis, but I wanted to take more. The concept and science behind it was fascinating.

“That’s correct.” Brad swallowed hard and pulled out his phone. “I wrote down what I could remember, but I wasn’t able to keep the note myself. The police haven’t released it back to me.”

He held out his phone, and I read the words he’d typed. Riley leaned in beside me. As his arm brushed mine, my body went into survival mode. I jerked away a little too fast. Realizing that my actions had slipped out of my control, I cleared my throat and focused on the words on the screen.

I’m tired of the struggle. I’m tired of the guilt. I can’t live under this pressure any more. I’m sorry for what I’ve done and that my selfish actions have torn my family apart. I don’t deserve forgiveness.

I frowned at the desperation in the words. “Selfish actions?”

Brad winced and sat up straighter in his chair, almost as if he had to gather his courage. “Anna was a good woman. But she cheated on me.”

I blinked. That was unexpected.

“Tell me more,” I prodded. I hated to ask, but I had no choice. Not if he wanted answers. Investigations required some discomfort. It was like paring down a block of wood as you sculpted a masterpiece—the process was painful, but the end resulted in a clear, discernable image.

He let out a sigh. “I’m a developer. Office buildings, skyscrapers. Things that are a big deal. My job kept me from home too often. I take responsibility for that. Anna was lonely, and she met a man—more like a boy, truth be told—down at the marina where she’d started taking kayaking lessons. The affair lasted for three months, and she left me for part of that time. That’s when we went to counseling for the first time.”

“She ended her affair?” I asked.

“She did.”

“We’ll need this man’s name,” I said.

He reached into his shirt pocket then pushed a piece of paper toward me. “Here it is. The guy’s name is Jason Sparrow. He lives up in Onancock. It’s about an hour north of here.”

“Was the note she left handwritten or typed?” I asked.

“Handwritten,” Brad said. “And, yes, it was her scrawl. She had a distinctive way of writing, with lots of loops and fancy cursive. She liked to do calligraphy as a hobby so she took a lot of pride in how her letters looked.”

I stored away that information. Interesting. I could be pursuing a case that really wasn’t a case at all. This could really be a suicide.

***

A waitress had appeared, and Riley and I ordered some iced coffee. That gave me some time to collect my thoughts, and to adjust my poker expression. Thank goodness for these sunglasses—otherwise Brad may have seen my doubt.

These glasses also gave me the chance to observe Riley a moment. My heart rate sped at the sight of him. He seemed at ease here with the gentle breeze, the bright sunlight, and the bay in the background.

I had to admit that being here also made me feel like I was in my element. Cowboys had rodeos. Football players had games. I had my mysteries. This was my passion, the thing I loved to pursue, and the hobby that kept me up at night.

“Do you have any suspects?” Riley rested his arms on the tabletop, his full attention on Brad. “You obviously think this is related to the retreat center somehow. Why?”

“The island is secluded, so there are only a few options as to who could have done this. All of the other couples should be present this weekend for week three of this program.” Brad pointed to the paper he’d shoved toward us. “I’ve listed their names on the paper. One is Atticus Griffith. Atticus owns a major technology firm—Griffith Innovations. Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

I nodded and took a sip of my chilled caramel latte. Everyone had heard of Griffith. The company made a new smart phone that people raved about.

“His wife is Farrah, and the couple is very pretentious. They didn’t get along with anyone at the retreat center. They definitely didn’t get along with each other. I’ve seen ice cubes warmer toward each other than the two of them.”

“And how about Bo and Angelina Daniels?” I pointed to the next name on his list.

Brad frowned. “No one could understand why the Daniels were there. He works for a construction company. He doesn’t own it. She works part time at a gas station. There’s no way they should have been able to afford the retreat. They were on a different . . . level.”

He said the words with disdain. What would he think of me if he knew the details of my past? Definitely that we were on different “levels.” But would he also feel that I was beneath him?

“So maybe they got a scholarship or someone supported them in going?” I questioned.

“Dr. Turner doesn’t give scholarships,” Brad explained. “He feels people appreciate the therapy more if they pay for it. But there were rumblings that this couple wasn’t as innocent as they seemed. At least, that was my wife’s theory. She thought they were hiding something.”

“You think Anna discovered something and either Angelina or Bo confronted her, maybe?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t ruled anything or anyone out. Besides them, there were Jim and Ginger Wagnor. They seemed the most normal of all the couples there. But I saw Anna arguing with Jim the day she died. I asked her about it, but she brushed me off. But I could tell something was bothering her.”

In my mind, Jim was already my first suspect. They had a history of conflict. Conflict could lead to violence, even death.

“Those are the only people who were there?” Riley asked.

“Well, of course, there was Dr. Turner, his assistant Blaine, Captain Leroy, and a couple of housekeeping staff, as well as the cook. I can’t say I ever had any negative interactions with any of them, though.”

“The secluded location at least narrows down the potential suspects,” I said. “Provided her death is connected to the retreat.”

“It is.” Brad’s voice left no room for doubt.

He took a long sip of his drink. I could practically see his thoughts churning. Finally, he set his glass down with a clunk, flexed his jaw again, and glanced at Riley then me.

“I should also let you know that there was a reporter from up in Baltimore who started looking into this,” Brad continued. “Her name is Rae Gray.”

“So you have more than one person investigating?” I clarified.