Timothy (16 page)

I smiled back at her. “So you use loneliness as an excuse to go up there and spy on your neighbors?”

She laughed. “I like you, boy, I think I'm going to like you a lot.” She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “But you didn't answer my question. Did you enjoy your tennis lesson?”

“Chris is a good teacher,” I replied with a smile. “I learned a lot, and I'm really looking forward to the next lesson.”

“See that tennis is all that he teaches you.” She made a face.

“What do you mean?”

She sniffed. “You surely can't be that naïve, can you?”

I gaped at her. “Are you saying…”

“I wonder sometimes if Chris Thoresson was the one who killed Timothy,” she mused, resting her chin on her hands and leaning forward.

My heart flipped over inside my chest. “But Timothy drowned—he went for a swim in the ocean and—”

“You don't believe that ridiculous story?” She chortled, and went into a laughing spasm. When she finally was able to get herself under control, she gave me a shrewd look. “Timothy knew how to swim, child. He worked as a lifeguard as a teenager—he trained with the Olympics in mind when he was young. How does someone like that drown?” She shook her head. “No, Timothy was murdered, as sure as we're sitting here. Was it coincidence that
all
the servants at Spindrift—even that awful Carson—had the day off the day he drowned?”

“But—the autopsy—the coroner ruled it an accident.”

“His body had been in the water for over a week when it washed ashore.” She replied, whistling for the dogs. “The fish had been at him. There's no telling what kind of evidence the coroner missed—or the water ruined. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘the rich are different from you and me'?”

I nodded. “F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“There's a different kind of justice for the rich than for most people.” She stood up as the dogs came running up. She opened the door and let Hetty and Charlie into the house, while Minette jumped up into my lap. Her legs were wet—the dogs had been in the water.

“I walk the dogs at this time every day—you're more than welcome to join us if you like,” she said as she shut the door, dismissing me.

I put Minette's leash back on her and walked the length of the hedge down to the beach. My heart was pounding. Timothy—
murdered
? It couldn't be possible. She'd also alluded that Chris and Timothy had been more than teacher and student.

Who would want him dead?

I froze as I came around the hedge.

If Timothy had been having an affair—and Carlo found out about it…

“Don't even think like that,” I scolded myself. “She doesn't know what she's talking about. Timothy drowned, and it was an accident. Even the best swimmers get cramps.”

I couldn't help but look up, though—and I could see the widow's walk on top of her house. Yes, anyone up there had a clear sight line into Spindrift's backyard.

Had she—
seen
something the day he died?

Minette started pulling at her leash, and I looked down at her. “What is it, girl?” I asked, and followed her sight line.

A man I didn't recognize was opening the door to the—
Timothy's
—studio.

Curious, I let her pull me along in the direction of the studio. I peered in through one of the windows, but it was tinted dark so I couldn't see in. I turned the knob and opened the door. “What are you doing here?” I asked, only then realizing it might be foolish to confront a trespassing stranger.

But rather than barking, Minette was whimpering and going into paroxysms of such joy that it was obvious she knew the man.

“And who,” he asked, standing up to his full height, “might you be?”

I caught my breath as I got a good look at him. He was an extremely good-looking man—if you liked that type. He had thick, wavy blond hair that was darker underneath and at the roots, wide green eyes, a heavy brow over a strong nose, and broad shoulders. His lips were thick, and he had a crooked front tooth. He was also tall—he had to be around six three or four. He was wearing a black cable-knit pullover shirt that stretched tightly across his strong chest, and khaki shorts that exposed tan, well-muscled legs.

Before I could answer, he smiled and said, in a rather nasty tone, “Let me guess—you must be the
new
Mrs. Romaniello.” He cocked his head to one side. “Not much like the old one, are you?”

Minette had been straining at her leash since we'd gone inside the studio, so I let go of her leash. My face started getting hot, and the traitorous spaniel dashed across the room and leaped on the stranger. He knelt down to let her lick his face and he scratched her back. He looked back up at me. “I'm sorry—that was offensive, and the last thing in the world I want is to offend you—you simply caught me off guard.” He stood back up, and Minette came back over to me, wagging her tail and her tongue sticking out. He walked over to me and extended his hand. “My name is Taylor Hudson.”

I told him my name as I took his enormous, strong hand in mine. He shook it gravely, his eyes twinkling. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hudson,” I replied. “But you still haven't told me what you're doing here. You
are
trespassing, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I am now,” he replied, scratching his forehead. “I've been away for over a year, and I suppose I need to get used to the idea that I may not be as welcome at Spindrift as I used to be. Your husband was never particularly fond of me—he made that very clear on more than one occasion. I was a friend of Timothy's, you know, and I kind of got used to coming and going as I pleased. Timothy and I went way back.”

I stiffened at the mention of Timothy. “How long did you know him?”

“Since we were kids,” he said with a smile. “You could say we grew up together in a one-horse town in the Florida panhandle.” He sat down on a sofa and crossed his legs. “I got back to town just this past weekend.”

“I'm sorry, his death must have been quite a shock for you.”

“Yes, it was.” He shook his head. “I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it, frankly. It's bad enough that he's dead—but I just can't believe Timothy drowned. He was at home in the water as a fish, you know.”

This was the second time in less than fifteen minutes someone had said this to me, but I kept my face rigid as I sat down on a chair. Minette jumped up into my lap. I started stroking her silky fur, careful not to let him see or notice how nervous I was. “Where have you been for the last year? You didn't come back for the funeral?”

He smiled. “Timothy got me a gig as a personal companion to a lady he knew from his modeling days in New York, and we were touring the world.” His face darkened. “I got the news about him when we were in Paris, and of course I would have rushed back, but,” he shrugged his massive shoulders, “I hardly saw any point. He was dead, and he never put much store by funerals and memorials and that sort of thing.” He looked around the room. “If you ever happen to come across a gold medallion with a dolphin on it, would you mind returning it to me? It was on a chain of gold links.” He looked sad. “I won it in a swim meet when I was a teenager—but I gave it to Timothy because if he hadn't been sick he would have won it. We used to give it back and forth to each other, but he had it when he died and I was, of course, in Europe.”

I bit my lower lip. I
knew
the medallion he was talking about—Timothy had often been photographed wearing it. “If I see it, of course,” I said.

“I can almost feel him here, you know.” He got up, walked over to a stack of framed prints against a wall, and started flipping through them. “He loved this place.” He smiled and pulled one out, turning it so I could see it.

It was a black-and-white print of a nude man lying in the sand while a wave broke around him. It took me a few moments to realize it was Taylor.

I blushed and looked away from the photo.

“Timothy wanted everyone to pose for him,” he said, picking it up and looking at it. “Would you mind if I took this?”

“I—I'm sure no one would mind,” I stammered, careful not to look at it again.

“Well, I'd best be on my way,” he replied, tucking the print under his arm. “If you find that medallion, please let me know.”

“How would I reach you?”

He placed a business card on the desk. “This has my cell phone number and my e-mail address. It was quite a pleasure to meet you.” He winked and walked out the door.

I stayed there for a few minutes after he walked out.

I knew what he meant about feeling Timothy—the sense of him was very strong in this place.

When I couldn't stand it anymore, I grabbed the dog and headed back to the house.

I had just come back in from taking Minette for her morning walk and was sitting down to breakfast when Carlo got back from his trip.

I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well, tossing and turning the entire night. I couldn't put what Nell Chamberlain had said out of my mind—much as I wanted to dismiss her implications, I just couldn't. Of course, that would have been much easier to do had Taylor Hudson not confirmed her statement about Timothy being a great swimmer. I'd taken dinner in my room, and spent the night online reading everything about Timothy and his death that I could find. Nowhere was there the slightest indication that anyone suspected his death had been anything other than a tragic accident. I was able to download a PDF of the autopsy from a gossip site, and while most of it was unintelligible medical jargon to me, it was clear that the cause of death was from drowning—his lungs had been full of water. Unfortunately, the autopsy report was also full of exhaustive detail about what had happened to his body while it was in the water for the eight days—his eyes were gone, and the fish had eaten his fingers and toes, and been at other parts of his body as well.

There was one thing that didn't make sense to me—when his body had washed ashore, he'd been wearing knee-length board shorts.

Timothy had given up his modeling career except for his own underwear line—it seemed odd to me that he wouldn't have cared about the tan line he would have gotten from board shorts. On the other hand, he wasn't tanning in them—he'd just gone for a swim. I also knew, from photo shoots at
Street Talk
, there were a lot of ways to cover up the wrong kind of tan lines.

Getting nowhere with that, I Googled Taylor Hudson. He'd been honest with me—he was from the same small town in the Florida panhandle as Timothy. They'd been friends, and after Timothy had started getting some fame as a model, he'd helped Taylor get started in the business, getting him signed with the same agency. They'd even done some shoots together—but Taylor's career never quite caught fire the way Timothy's had. He wasn't as photogenic or handsome, and when Timothy had stopped modeling after marrying Carlo, Taylor's career pretty much dried up.

I couldn't help wondering why Taylor had never had his crooked front teeth fixed. In almost all of the images I was able to find of him online from his modeling days, he never showed his teeth. That had to have held him back somewhat.

I finally went to bed around midnight, trying to no avail to sleep, finally giving up when Minette started whimpering to go out around seven. I threw on some clothes, washed my face and brushed my teeth and hair, and took her down to the beach. I took off her leash and let her run free while I simply stared out at the ocean, wondering what happened to Timothy out there that fateful day.

I made up my mind to question Nell a little more thoroughly that afternoon.

When I took her back inside, I gulped down a quick cup of coffee and loaded up a plate. Carlo walked in just as I sat down with my second cup. Minette went crazy, wagging her tail, barking and running around him.

“Quiet, dog!” he snapped at her, kissing me on the cheek with a flourish and a smile as he sat down opposite me at the table. Minette looked stricken, and she cowered down. I was about to call her when she fled the room, her tail between her legs and her ears drooping. My dismay must have shown on my face, because he immediately apologized. “I'm sorry, Mouse, but I'm just not a dog person, and I should have probably given her away after…” He bit his lower lip. “And she always reminds me of…” His voice trailed off and he poured himself a cup of coffee hurriedly. “Anyway, I'm glad to be back here with you, Mouse. I missed you so much.”

I made a mental note to keep Minette out of his sight. The last thing I wanted for him was even more reminders of Timothy—reminders that I wasn't him. “I've kept myself busy,” I said, wiping my mouth with my napkin. I spread strawberry preserves on my buttered toast and took another swig of my coffee. I stifled a yawn. I was definitely going to have to take a nap at some point.

“Yes, Joyce told me she'd been by to meet you and had already set you up with tennis lessons,” he said with a wink. “Don't let her bully you—she's a fanatic about tennis and will have you on the courts all day every day if you let her.”

“I like her,” I replied. “She's fun to be around, frankly.”

“Good, because I've invited them to dinner tonight—don't worry, I've already let Delia know, and asked her to make a prime rib—it's Frank's favorite.” He smiled at Juana as she brought him a plate of food. He speared a link sausage and popped it into his mouth. “Have you met anyone else? Been exploring the town or anything? Shopping? What have you been doing besides taking tennis lessons?”

“I met Nell Chamberlain.” I smiled at him. “Yesterday afternoon, when I was walking Minette.”

“Ah, Nell does love her dogs.” He beamed at me. “She's something, isn't she? Speaks her mind and doesn't care whose feelings she hurts. The advantage of age, I suppose.”