Reading Up a Storm by Eva Gates Page B

the side tables. The paintings were standard Outer Banks rental: beach scenes of colorful umbrellas and pristine sand, children playing in the surf, sailing boats resting in harbor. The far side of the room, looking east out to sea, was a wall of glass.
    â€œWhy don’t you have a seat?” Watson said. “Lucy can make the coffee.”
    I was tempted to protest, but I decided discretionwas the better part of valor. I had invited myself to come along, after all.
    Marlene threw me a look full of questions. I tried to give her an encouraging smile. She slowly lowered herself to perch on the edge of the couch and watched Watson with wide eyes. The detective strolled across the room and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out. The curtains were pulled back and sunlight streamed into the room. Curious, I followed him, wanting a peek at the view. French doors opened onto a spacious deck with lounge chairs, a dining table with seating for eight, and a grilling area so elaborate it was more of an outdoor kitchen. The deck overlooked a swimming pool, blue water sparkling in the sun; the grass and sand of the dunes; and the ocean beyond. People walked or jogged along the beach and fishermen were setting themselves up for the day.
    â€œNice,” I said. The house must easily be worth one and a half to two million bucks. Judging by the size and the fact that it was a vacation rental, it probably had six or seven bedrooms and a matching number of bathrooms. Two kitchens maybe, in addition to the outdoor one.
    A lot of space for two people. And a lot of money, even at the end of the tourist season.
    â€œCoffee, Lucy?” Watson said.
    I scurried back to the kitchen. Connor had taken a seat in a chair next to Marlene.
    â€œAre you going to tell me what this is about?” she asked. Her face had gone pale beneath her tan. “Has something happened to Will?”
    Watson turned to face into the room. “First, may I ask your name?”
    â€œMarlene Bergen.”
    â€œYour permanent address?”
    She waved a hand, indicating her surroundings. “Until Will buys a place, anyway. He’s looking at real estate, but he’s very particular.”
    â€œI am sorry, but we have bad news, Ms. Bergen,” Watson said.
    â€œWill? Is he hurt? Has he been in an accident?” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get dressed so you can take me to the hospital.”
    I’d started rummaging through the cupboards, most of them as vast an expanse of empty white as Alaskan ice fields, searching for coffee, but I soon gave up, as I doubted anyone wanted a hot drink anyway.
    â€œI’m sorry, Marlene,” Connor said. “But Will’s dead.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” she said with a strangled laugh. “He’s not dead. He’s as healthy as a horse. When I had that cold a couple of weeks ago, he didn’t catch as much as a sniffle. He said he never gets sick.”
    â€œSit down, Marlene, please,” Connor said. She dropped onto the couch.
    I sat beside her and took her hand in mine. Her long fingernails were painted the same color as her toes. “It’s true, Marlene.”
    She turned large round eyes to me. Then she gave her whole body a shake, pulled her hand away, and stood up once again. “In that case, I guess I have some calls to make. Thank you for coming to tell me, Detective. Connor . . . uh . . .”
    â€œLucy.”
    â€œWhere have they taken him?” she said. “I suppose you want me to call and make the arrangements.”
    â€œYou’re not interested in hearing how he died?” Watson asked.
    â€œI assume the old fool got himself drunk and crashed the car. It was bound to happen sometime. Heavens, I hope he didn’t hurt anyone else!”
    â€œWas Mr. Williamson in the habit of driving after drinking?” Watson asked.
    â€œAll the time. Said he could handle it.” She lowered