Page 44 of The Summer We Made Promises (The Destin Diaries #3)

H ad she ever been in this house completely alone before? Yes, but today felt different to Maggie as she roamed the empty space. Loneliness pressed on her heart.

She blamed the chaos of the morning’s preparations—good heavens, it was like they were getting ready for a State Funeral. There’d been so much fluttering about how to fit ten people on the boat, not to mention that infernal box they treated like the Ark of the Covenant.

But now, with all the Summer House residents gone to the marina for Artie’s watery send-off, the silence seemed heavier than usual.

So was Maggie’s guilt.

“Pffft.” She flicked away the unwelcome sensation as she poured herself some coffee, refusing to wallow in second-guessing. The decision was made—she would not, she could not sit on a rocking boat in the blazing sun and cheerily toast a man who’d played a role in Roger’s arrest.

It didn’t matter what that role was or wasn’t—she couldn’t fake tender emotions for the guy.

She could tiptoe back into a relationship with Jo Ellen, yes. But fawn over Artie? No, that she would not do.

Splashing cream in her cup, she tried to forget the look of disappointment in Jo Ellen’s eyes when they said goodbye. Even Tessa had shot a few unkind looks her way, but then, Tessa had been acting weird since yesterday afternoon.

Honestly. What did they expect of her?

She stepped onto the deck, begrudgingly noting that they’d been given a perfect day to toss Artie into the Gulf.

But even before she took a sip, her stomach churned. Her whole chest, to be honest, felt tense and fluttery, like she’d made a very, very bad decision.

Guilt and remorse and shame rose up like bile in her throat, refusing to be ignored or go away.

“Oh, come now, Magnolia!” she chided. “You can’t…” Her whisper faded out when she noticed a man lingering at the end of the boardwalk.

Who was that?

They didn’t get too many passersby on this stretch of beach homes, and especially not men that old. Well, he was about her age—so not ancient —but in decent shape and not falling over dead from the heat. Considering he was in khaki pants and a golf shirt, that was saying something.

He looked up at the house, so she dipped out of view by stepping back into the shadows of the deck. Oh, the looky-loos irritated her. Did they think they had every right to just stare at these houses?

Waiting a beat, she inched forward to see?—

What? He was on the boardwalk, coming closer with far too much purpose. Of course this would happen when she was here alone. When everyone and their brother, niece, and cousin just had to go out and pay homage to a man who’d?—

“Hello?”

She swore under her breath when she realized he’d seen her and called out.

She couldn’t hide now. Clearing her throat, she stepped to the railing. “Can I help you find your way off my private property, sir?”

“I know how to leave,” he said, taking off a baseball cap to reveal a thick head of white hair. “I’m looking for Peter McCarthy.”

Oh, dear. The bad guy he was after? Hadn’t Vivien said something about them catching that man? Why hadn’t Maggie paid closer attention? Maybe this was one of his unsavory partners, come to kill…someone.

“Try calling him,” she said. “I can’t help you.”

“I did and his phone’s disconnected. This is the address he gave the FBI.”

Her heart jumped. The FBI? Now what did they want? The house? The deed? Her head on a platter? Hadn’t she given them enough?

“Why do you need him?” she asked, her fingers tightening on the coffee cup as he came closer, almost to the first-level patio.

“I understand he’s been digging for information on Arthur Wylie and Roger Lawson.”

She nearly dropped her coffee.

For at least three heartbeats, he stared up at her, silent and expressionless. Then his eyes shuttered.

“Wild guess, but you gotta be either Maggie or Jo Ellen. Based on what I know—which is a lot—I’m going with Maggie. Roger said you were, uh, spunky. Artie said his wife was a softy. Lady, you aren’t soft.”

She managed to swallow. “Who are you?”

“My name’s James Hill, retired FBI. I headed up the Biloxi CCSG and put a man named Cotton Ramsey in jail.” He shifted from one foot to the other, holding her gaze. “I think I have the information you want. And you have a thirty-year-old dry cleaning stub that I’ve been looking for.”

Her legs wobbled like she was on that boat after all. In fact, right then, she wished she’d gone and could throw herself in the water.

“So, can we talk?” He spread out his arms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not carrying anything but answers to the questions your pal Peter’s been asking.”

Answers . Was there anything she wanted more?

“I’ll be right down,” she croaked.

“Bring that dry cleaning stub, please.”

Feeling shaky, she darted upstairs to her room and opened the small box that held her rings, retrieving the tiny card with the perforated edge.

Once again, she had to give Jo Ellen props for having the nerve to take this from the bank. It might be the price they had to pay for answers.

As she shoved it in her pocket, she wished she also had a gun hidden somewhere but, sadly, that was not the case.

So, she took a deep breath and went all the way down to the ground-floor level, coming face to face with the man standing next to the pool like he had every right to be there.

He was tall, lanky, and pushing eighty. But then, so was she.

She lifted her chin and met his direct gaze.

“Am I right?” he asked. “Magnolia Lawson?”

She considered offering her hand, but thought better of it. Instead, she nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes.”

“The spunky one.” He grinned, reaching into his pocket for a wallet he flipped open. “As I said, James Hill, retired FBI. Don’t get me wrong, Roger always had nice things to say about you. Can we sit down?”

She studied the badge, then nodded, happy for the excuse not to stand there and vibrate with nerves in front of the man.

“First of all,” he said after they both sat, “I never got to give you my condolences, Mrs. Lawson. Roger’s death was untimely and unexpected.

” He let out a sigh. “Sadly, I was working hard to get him out within the next few months. The minute Cotton Ramsey and his crew were behind bars, your husband would have been home free.” He gave a tight smile.

“Guess God had other plans and I’m sure Roger is up there waiting for you. ”

She just stared at him, trying—and failing—to understand what he was talking about.

But all she could really think was that this man, this James Hill, was one of the few people on Earth who’d ever implied her white-collar criminal of a husband was in heaven .

Instantly, she liked him.

“I hope so,” she said softly.

“Oh, I know so. He was on the side of the angels.”

She drew back at what had to be an exaggeration. “Are you being sarcastic or do you have information about my husband that I don’t?”

He angled his head in concession. “Yes, he committed crimes, chief among them greed and stupidity. But in the end, and well before, I think he made up for them. He was repentant, and he worked tirelessly to help us.”

What was he talking about?

The man leaned back, giving her a chance to see that he had healthy color, white teeth, and a surprising amount of breadth to his chest. As always, she respected a person who took care of themselves. And one who thought Roger was good ?

Yes. She was more than ready to listen.

“Who are you, exactly?” she asked.

“I was Roger’s handler. I negotiated his deal, arranged for his shortened incarceration, worked with him and Artie to get Cotton, and—you’re very welcome—I made sure you could keep this property.

” He jutted his chin toward the house. “I like what you’ve done with it.

” He grinned again. “Now that was sarcasm.”

“I’m very confused,” she admitted after a beat. “Would you be kind enough to start from the beginning? And understand that I have no idea what my husband—and Artie Wylie—have to do with this Cotton fellow.”

He nodded slowly, gathering his thoughts. “Well, surely you knew that Roger borrowed money from Cotton at interest rates that would make your hair curl,” he started.

“I heard that was a possibility.”

“It’s a fact. And the price for non-payment—even late payment—was…high. Cotton threatened to kill you, your three kids, and the Wylies alongside you.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide as chills exploded on her arms. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. When Cotton got wind of the fact that Roger bought this property—and still owed him a whole ton of money—it was no holds barred. Cotton wanted his money and this land.” He crossed his legs, getting comfortable. “Roger and Artie cooked up a scheme and, honestly, it was a good one.”

“A scheme?”

“They got Roger arrested, which was the only way Cotton would back off. Artie contacted the police, pretended to be one of Roger’s unhappy clients whose financial draw had disappeared, and Roger was arrested. Surely you remember that.”

“All too well.” So Artie had turned Roger in…to help him.

“In the interrogation, the whole business with Cotton’s loan came out and the Feds were brought in,” he continued. “My team had been trying to get Ramsey’s crew for a long time, but he was the head of the snake and avoided capture. He talked like an idiot, but he was smart as a whip.”

Maggie just stared at him, once again overwhelmed with how much about her husband she never really knew.

“And Cotton was ruthless. With Roger in jail, he knew this property was in play. He was going to come after you for the money. And, by extension, Artie’s family, since you all were so close. None of you were safe—not for one minute.”

Every vein in her body turned to ice.

“Then one day Artie Wylie showed up in my office. Now there was a choir boy if I ever saw one.”

She almost smiled at that. “He was…a good man.”