Starfish Island Read online

  “When are you going to tell me who we’re meeting here?” Sebastian asked. “Does it have something to do with that mysterious phone call you started to tell me about before we got interrupted?”

  “Something very strange is going on.” Seeing Sebastian’s confusion, Michael smiled in spite of his increasing concern. “The woman on the phone asked me to meet her here. Her name is Lucy.” Michael paused for a moment. “In fact, the woman claims that she is Kirkland Alexander’s widow. Now you know as much as I do.”

  “But what does she want with you?”

  “That’s why I want you here as a witness to the conversation. I have a feeling that whoever the lady is, she’s trouble.”

  “Trouble for you?”

  “For Nicole,” Michael said. “We’ve just got to wait and see what the mysterious Lucy has up her sleeve.”

  “When do I get to meet the woman who has you smiling so much these days?”

  “She doesn’t know we’re in a relationship yet.” Michael laughed.

  “A few tips on romancing a woman are in order, and I can help with that,” Sebastian said, a look of amusement in his eyes.

  A beautiful, dark-haired woman in a very short, black, sequined dress made her way to the microphone and began to sing, her voice sweet. The singer was clearly a favorite, as demonstrated by the applause that greeted her appearance.

  Michael stared at her hard and then looked at Sebastian and whispered, “I know that woman. She’s changed a lot. Well, well, Lucia Grey. She’s certainly changed from the mousey teenager she once was. She’s built her wisp of a voice into a property. Surprised someone hasn’t signed her to a contract.”

  The woman finished her songs and left the stage. Weaving her way between the tables, smiling at the applause that followed her, she came straight to Michael.

  He got to his feet and drew out a chair for her. “This is a surprise, Lucia—or should I call you Lucy?”

  “It’s been a long time. Thank you for coming,” she said, then looked at Sebastian. “Michael, I asked you here for a private conversation.”

  Sebastian started to get up, but Michael said, “Sit down. This is one of my closest friends, and we have no secrets from one another.” As Lucia Grey—or, apparently, Mrs. Kirkland Alexander—hesitated, Michael added firmly, “Sebastian sits in on this conversation or I leave. Agreed?”

  She flung her hands up in despair. “What choice do I have?” she said through pouty lips.

  Michael studied her in open curiosity. The years since high school had treated her kindly; she’d outgrown her awkwardness and blossomed into an extremely attractive, confidant young woman. Her long, black hair was shiny and hung in curls down her back.

  Watching her, Michael thought of Nicole, with her uncalculated manners and eyes that met his squarely and honestly. Nicole was genuine and real. Contrary to Lucia’s sophisticated manner, everything appeared planned out to the last gesture for maximum effect. Behind her nervousness, her dark eyes couldn’t conceal a cold intelligence at work.

  “On the telephone, you told me that you were Kirkland Alexander’s widow,” Michael started.

  She nodded, lifting her hand to dab at her dry eyes. “Poor Kirkland,” she sighed.

  “Why have you have waited so long to come forward and say that you are—were—his wife?”

  “How could I say anything earlier?” she demanded. “Caroline Alexander never liked me. She would’ve written him out of the will if she’d known. That wouldn’t have been fair to Kirkland. I loved him too much to hurt him.” Her crisp tone changed and became pathetic.

  “Even before Kirkland’s death, Caroline made it clear that she wouldn’t be leaving anything to him,” Michael reminded her. “You must have known; she certainly made no secret of her intentions.”

  “Caroline might have changed her mind,” Lucia insisted, her tone hardening with each word. “Kirkland never wanted to hurt her. She disapproved of me, didn’t think I was good enough for her grandson.”

  “Do your parents know about this?”

  “No,” she said quickly, averting her eyes. “I never told them. Until now, I’ve never told a soul.”

  “Why do it now?” Michael asked. “Why come to me with this story?”

  “I haven’t got any money, and I need it desperately. Kirkland would’ve hated that. Before we got married, Kirkland took out a half-million-dollar life insurance policy. That was all he had to leave. Kirkland’s grandmother was paying for the policy, so he didn’t dare put my name on it as the beneficiary, but I know he wanted me to have it, and if he hadn’t died so suddenly, he would have done something to make sure the money went to me and not to his grandmother. It seems to me I have a right to the money. I know he would’ve wanted me to have it, and it’s not as if Caroline needed it.” Her face became shrouded in pure hatred. “It’s only fair, just Kirkland’s insurance money.”

  Michael stopped listening. Five hundred thousand dollars would have been the payout of the policy, and there was a withdrawal slip for that exact amount, signed by Caroline, found the morning of the day she died. A withdrawal slip that had subsequently disappeared. Coincidence? Michael didn’t believe in them.

  He leaned forward, his head drawn back so he could look down into her eyes, his face rigid, forcing her to look at him. “Lucia, before Caroline’s death, you told her about your marriage.”

  “How did you know?” Her surprise was a confession.

  Many of the missing pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “You called on her a few days before she died, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Then your parents had to know.” His eyes bored into hers.

  “They had a day off together, and I chose that day to pay a visit.”

  Michael knew when he was listening to half-truths; her face was giving her away. “That must’ve been a shock for Caroline. What did you say?”

  She looked down at her hands. “I told her that Kirkland and I had been secretly married. Then after his accident—” Again, she dabbed at her eyes. “—I had to get a singing job to support myself, and I found it hard to make a living. So I asked Caroline for the insurance money.”

  “What was her response?”

  Lucia looked lost in thought. “I suspected she’d be furious. Instead, she seemed to be terribly hurt. She kept saying, ‘I’d have thought Kirkland would’ve told me himself. I loved my grandson and thought the feeling was mutual.’ Then she got all high and mighty, which was typical of her, and wanted to know if my parents knew. I was afraid for them, afraid they’d lose their jobs. So I lied.”

  He knew it! “Then they do know.”

  “You think you know everything, don’t you?” she said bitterly.

  “Any children?” Michael asked.

  She suppressed laughter. “No. They’re not exactly my thing.”

  “Did Caroline say she would give you the insurance money?”

  “She wanted proof of the marriage first,” Lucia said. “She then reminded me I had no legal claim to her estate. I told her I wasn’t interested in her money. I just wanted what had belonged to Kirkland, and I didn’t have any doubt that he would have wanted me to have it.”

  “Do you have proof of your marriage?”

  Lucia openly studied Michael’s face, her expression revealing nothing. “I showed my marriage certificate to Caroline and left it with her so she could have it authenticated. I never got it back from her, so now I have to send for another one. She said if my story turned out to be true, she’d send the money. And when I got to the door, she said, ‘I expect this to be kept between you and I. You’ll be hearing from me.’ I promised and she added, ‘Make sure you keep this promise.’ The next day, she died.”

  “Why did you want to speak to me about all this?” Michael asked.

  “You’re the executor of the estate and, quite frankly, the only one I can trust. Kirkland always regarded you as a friend. Caroline did promise me the money, and I need it badly.”
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br />   “And the marriage certificate?”

  “As I told you, it’s gone. I left it with Caroline, and it was never returned to me.” She fiddled with an emerald bracelet that sparkled on her wrist. “I have another set to do in a few minutes. You will help me, won’t you?”

  Sebastian, who’d been listening intently, spoke up for the first time. “Why Michael?” he asked her. “Why not call on your old friend Zander Farrell? You two were quite close, and I’m sure he’d do anything to help you.”

  For a moment, Michael thought she’d faint. She steadied herself, clenching and flexing her hands, summoned up a smile, nodded, and walked away quickly.

  They stood and watched her go. “Why would the mention of Zander’s name have that effect on her?” Sebastian said, surprised.

  Michael told Sebastian about the gossip Cecilia had picked up regarding Zander’s unexpected reappearance.”

  “In my opinion, you got about half the story out of Lucia,” Sebastian said. He noticed in passing that they’d attracted quite a bit of attention while the beautiful singer graced their table.

  “Do you think there’s a connection between Farrell and that very expensive bracelet on her wrist?”

  “And earrings to match.” Sebastian shook his head.

  “Unless Farrell has turned his life around, he doesn’t make that kind of money. Someone is spending a great deal of money on Lucia,” Michael said.

  “How much of her story do you believe?”

  “Nothing makes sense. She claims to have given proof of her marriage to Caroline, but that proof has disappeared along with that supposed other will. She didn’t seem to know that it’s easy to get a duplicate certificate. Why would someone tear apart the house looking only for those two items? They have no real value. Lucia isn’t hurting for money. She has to be raking it in in a place like this. Look at her tip vase; it’s been emptied twice since we’ve been sitting here. And the expensive jewelry! She’s not in the dire straits she’d like us to believe she is.”

  “Then why come to you with that story?”

  “That is what you’re going to help me find out,” Michael said.

  Chapter Twelve

  NICOLE SAT AT her easel as the sun shone warmly through the open doors into her newly made-over studio. The sky was a clear baby blue, and the turquoise-colored water was mocking her, begging her to come stick her toes in it.

  She chewed on the end of her paintbrush, staring down into the garden. Barefoot and comfortable in a pair of her favorite jeans and a plum-colored sweatshirt, she sat and admired the tropical flowers and the hibiscuses in full bloom.

  Nicole stood up suddenly and walked outside to hang over the railing. “It’s no use,” she whispered to herself, trying to shake off her brooding thoughts. She might be excused for being frightened at night, particularly after the scary warning, but not in the daytime; not now, with sunshine sparkling over everything. This is my house, and I have to get used to living here. Hopefully, in the future, there will be nothing to be afraid of but my own imagination. At least since she shut off the intercom system, there hadn’t been any more voices.

  She managed to cheer herself a little and sat back, recalling the inspection of the house, with Rena grudgingly opening every door as though Nicole had no right to enter the rooms. Nicole didn’t understand why most of the rooms were locked; none of them contained anything that needed protecting. The woman had been totally uncooperative about giving her a set of keys, and in frustration, Nicole had ended by demanding them and telling her to leave the doors unlocked. To say Rena became enraged would be an understatement. Her mouth pulled into a thin, angry line, but she didn’t say a word when Nicole requested a few changes, such as cleaning and airing out the unused bedrooms and bathrooms. Afterward, Nicole made her own list of changes; simple ones she could make herself.

  Throughout their tour, Nicole had tried to conceal the shiver of revulsion she experienced whenever Rena spoke, reminding her of the first night’s terror.

  At the end of their excruciating tour, she told Rena, “The closet in my bedroom is filled with Grandmother’s clothes. I’ll be needing the space for my own clothes and would like to have it cleaned out as soon as possible.”

  Rena’s eyes glittered. “You can’t get in without a key. All of Mrs. Alexander’s belongings were moved into that closet, and it was locked the day she died.”

  “Michael is sending over a copy of the key.”

  Rena must have been watching out the window, because she answered the door when the key arrived later that day. Nicole met her at the bedroom door and waited with her hand outstretched until Rena reluctantly put the key in it. As Nicole turned the key in the lock of the closet that ran the length of the bedroom, a shiver ran up her spine. Something wasn’t right. The housekeeper’s raspy breathing had her on edge as the woman moved closer, much too close, practically hugging her back.

  When the door opened, a light automatically came on. Nicole gasped at the sight of the endless racks of padded hangers in the cedar-lined closet, everything arranged neatly. Even the shoes were displayed according to color. In addition, there were several chintz-covered boxes, stacked and labeled, filling the middle of the floor.

  “I can never go through all this,” Nicole exclaimed in dismay.

  “Mrs. Alexander promised me everything. The clothes, anyway,” Rena hissed, pushing to get around her.

  Her angry voice grated on Nicole’s nerves. She longed to confront her and throw her out, but had decided to wait for Michael’s return. She hesitated, knowing it was Grandmother’s wish that Rena Grey receive the clothing. But while Nicole had no desire to keep the clothes for herself, a little voice persisted in saying she should think this through.

  She felt drained and tired. For a week now, she’d been handling household problems and discussing investments with Ellis. Finally, he’d also left town for a few days, going to Tampa to entertain the two women from the club. She didn’t feel like making another decision, not today, anyway.

  Nicole stepped aside to let Rena into the closet. The woman stretched out her arms and began pulling clothes off the racks in a frenzy. She tried to load up her arms and, at one point, even stumbled in her rush, landing in a pile of dresses. There was something about the way her cheeks burned, an odd, triumphant look about her that unsettled Nicole.

  “Wait,” Nicole said suddenly. “I really should go through them first.” Rena stood stock-still, and if looks could kill, Nicole would be lifeless in a pile of clothing. Fear shot through her as she thought that she should watch her step very closely. No one was there but Nicole and Rena...wasn’t that a silly thought?

  The housekeeper threw the clothing she had in her arms on the floor and stood waiting. Anger simmered from her small frame.

  “I’ll send for you as soon as I’ve looked over the clothes,” Nicole said, and tried to smile.

  For a moment, Rena seemed about to speak. Her face reddened, her eyes shooting hateful sparks. Instead, she huffed out, shutting the door behind her.

  Nicole crept silently to the door and turned the key in the lock. For a moment, she sighed and looked helplessly at the huge, cluttered closet, and then she got to work. Her problem was that she didn’t know what she was looking for. She climbed onto a chair and started with the shelves overhead, going through colorful hat boxes. Taking off the lids, she found pieces of her grandmother’s life, old pictures, some favorite magazines and mementoes from places visited. Finally, she turned to the clothing and began to examine each piece, looking for pockets.

  Even so, she almost missed it. She’d just shaken out a yellow linen dress before adding it to the pile on her bed when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a faint bulge on one side. She slipped her fingers into the pocket to withdraw a slip of paper. Scrawled on it was a reminder underlined several times:

  Hire a detective to check.

  Was this what the Greys were after? Chester hadn’t wanted her in this room in the first place and had
tried to prevent it, and his wife had been furious when Nicole opted to go through the closet first.

  Her thoughts broke off when the handle of the door turned silently. She watched it in fascination, one hand shaking at her throat. Then the knob moved back into place again. She moved softly to the door and held her breath, hearing nothing. No sound of footsteps in the hall.

  She forced herself to call, “Who is it?”

  No answer.

  She drew a long, shaky breath, turned the key, and flung the door open. The hall was empty. With a shiver of fear, Nicole went into her studio, trying to assemble her thoughts.

  Now what? The house, although large, seemed to be closing in on her. She put up her paintbrushes, stuffed her feet into her tennis shoes, and slipped down the back stairs. Outside, she paused for a moment, drawing the crisp ocean air into her lungs, feeling the sun warm on her face. Who could she talk to? Michael was still out of town. Ellis would be back the same time as Michael, but was not a man she felt comfortable confiding in.

  What had Michael told her? “You’d better call if you have a problem.” She hated to bother him, and she wanted to deal with her own problems.

  With everyone out of town except her, Nicole’s thoughts went to Cecilia, but she hesitated; she really needed a friendly ear but hadn’t seen the woman since the day they had breakfast together.

  Nicole turned along the path that led to the Edwards home, her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt, clutching the note left by her grandmother. Why would that message be so important to the Greys? And if they weren’t looking for that, what were they looking for?”

  Maybe the note had more to do with Nicole herself. Grandmother, after all, had had her investigated. But Michael had handled the investigative work, so she hadn’t hired a detective for that. Nicole walked faster. It would help to talk to someone.

  Cecilia opened the door, holding out her hands and welcoming her with a hug. She ushered Nicole into a large room that must have been the library, and Nicole tried to hide her disappointment when she saw that they wouldn’t be alone. Katrina Lewis was draped in a high-backed chair, displaying her long legs to their best advantage. The woman looked surprised to see her, and her expression of eagerness fell.