13. Doesn’t Add Up

Riggs

Riggs sat in his couch, sipping a beer and watching Nadia and Ledger on their knees on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table.

They were playing some card game Nadia taught his boy where you tossed cards one on top of the other and smacked any duplicates. If your hand got there first, you got the whole pile. But if one or the other threw down a jack, then you laid down a line of three cards, and the winner of the entire pile was the highest end card.

Ledger was competitive, and to an untrained eye, Nadia was too.

But Riggs was good at ferreting out a tell, so he caught her occasional brief hesitations that allowed Ledger to clap his hand on the cards before she got there.

This meant the three decks Riggs had dug out so they could play were mostly in his son's hand.

They both laid down the final turn of four cards, which was all Nadia had left, before Ledger threw up his hands and shouted, "I win! Again!"

Nadia collapsed onto a hip and reached for her beer, muttering a fake gripe of, "Lightning Quick Ledger, fastest hand in the West," before she threw back a drag.

"You said it," Ledger crowed, shuffling the cards in his hands and asking, "Go again?"

"Buddy," Riggs said low.

It was late. He had school in the morning.

His kid looked at him and his shoulders slumped.

He hated seeing that just as much as he hated stopping the fun, for both of them.

And he didn't have time to deeply contemplate that Angelica wasn't the card-game-playing-with-her-son type of mom. She was the park-your-kid-in-front-of-the-television—either with a show on, or a game controller in their hand—so-she-could-do-her-own-thing type of mom.

Angelica loved her son, kept him fed and clothed, made sure he got his schoolwork done and didn't miss a parent-teacher conference or a football or baseball game.

But that night, Nadia's teacher came out, and Riggs knew it wasn't fair to compare, because it was only one night, she didn't have a job, loads of laundry to do or any shit like that, but she was all about conversation and engagement and keeping his son's mind active at the same time subtly challenging it.

She'd be an excellent mother.

And that was something Riggs just wasn't going to contemplate, deeply or otherwise.

"If you're jazzed, you can read for a while," he told his son quietly.

Nadia took her feet and made it easy, saying, "Great night, Ledger. I had fun, even though you trounced me three times. But thanks for having me over, and I demand a rematch on taco night."

"Thanks for the cake," Ledge replied on a victorious grin. "It was awesome. And you're on because you're easy to beat."

She did a fake eye roll before she said, "My pleasure."

Ledger moved to the stairs and Riggs called, "Be up in a sec, buddy."

"'Kay, Dad."

He looked to Nadia when she hooked a thumb to the door and asked, "Should I go? Or I can tackle the dishes while you guys sort that out."

"You touch the dishes, I spank your ass."

Her head jerked, and that look he sometimes caught in her eye, this one saying she wouldn't mind that, he also wasn't going to contemplate.

"And don't go, unless you want to." He indicated her nearly full beer with his head as he pushed out of the couch. "At least until you finish that."

As answer, she lifted it and took a sip.

He felt one side of his mouth go up, then he followed his kid.

He found Ledger in his bathroom, brushing his teeth.

Riggs stretched out on his son's bed, hands clasped behind his head, until Ledger came in wearing his sleep shorts and a tee.

Riggs rolled off and Ledger crawled in.

His boy had pulled the covers over himself before he said, "Just so you know, I approve. She's pretty, makes good cake and lets me win card games."

So Ledge had noticed the tell too.

Not a surprise, his kid was sharp.

That said.

"Nothing to approve of, buddy. We're just getting to know our new neighbor."

Ledge gave him the side eye, mumbling, "Right."

Damn.

Ledger had read this wrong.

"Seriously, Ledge. She's in MP working through some stuff. Then she's gonna go back to Chicago. But everyone needs friends no matter where they are, or how long they're there, so we're gonna be that for her."

Ledger took this in and replied, "You should go for it anyway, because she's pretty, makes good cake and lets me win at card games."

"It doesn't work that way, Ledge."

Ledger gave him a look Riggs had never seen, before he said, "Well, maybe you should work it to make it that way so she'll stay, seeing as her cake was that good."

This suggestion made him uneasy.

"Is there another conversation we should be having, kid?" Riggs asked.

"No. It's just that you're a good guy. And you should be happy like Aunt Kate is happy."

"I am happy," Riggs asserted.

"Not like Aunt Kate is happy."

He wasn't going to explain how he took care of that particular happy in his way to his nine-year-old son.

Instead, he said, "How about you let me do my job as your dad and look after you, rather than the other way around."

"Just sayin', while she's here, make sure she makes us Brenda's tacos."

Riggs shot him a smile. "I can do that."

Ledger reached for the book on his nightstand.

Riggs took his cue, mussed his son's hair then strode out.

When he hit the bottom of the stairs, he heard, "I'm in here," coming from the dining room.

So he rounded the stairwell and saw Nadia standing at the dining room window, looking out.

The rain was gone, but the clouds remained, and dusk was settling in.

She had her arms crossed on her chest, beer bottle still in hand, and he should keep his distance.

But he didn't.

He was a demonstrative, affectionate kind of guy with people he cared about, primarily women, though that wasn't why he walked to her, got behind her and rounded her chest with his arms.

It was because she undoubtedly needed a hug.

And because he couldn't stop himself.

She didn't get stiff or pull away.

She settled into his chest.

"He good?" she asked.

"Yeah. He likes you."

"Good," she murmured. Then, "I hesitate to ask, but have you heard anything about your friend?"

He had.

"Swelling going down, but other than that, no change. They still have him induced and the prognosis is still guarded."

She twisted her neck to catch his eye and whispered, "Sorry, Riggs."

He gave her a squeeze.

She looked back to the lake, and so did he.

"I wasn't snooping," she told him. "But I saw your house from the opposite side of the lake during my walk, particularly this room, and I was curious. It's amazing. The view from here is spectacular. And I don't know where you found that table, but it's perfection."

"I made it."

Her head twisted again, this time faster. "You made it? You made that table?"

"Yeah. Got a workshop west of the house. During down time, I make furniture, refurb it, and create other pieces on commission. Like, I made the mailbox structure for your cabin."

He watched her eyes grow wide.

"Wow, I'm impressed. That piece is magnificent."

He gave her another squeeze, a smile with it this time, and muttered, "Thanks."

"I'm seeing now, but barely, how you can afford your own lake," she teased. "Seems to me you work all the time, even when you're not working."

"Got the ghost of Roosevelt Whitaker to thank for that," he explained. "All that mess, people freaked about it, the trustees couldn't keep the houses leased, and in the case of this house, the vandals from fucking with it."

"Vandals?" she asked, openly shocked.

He lifted his chin. "Yup. Graffiti. Broken windows. Once, they tore up the pier, and I know that because the trustees hired me to fix it. Heard word they even threw rocks to break the windows when they had renters inside in the early days. It was a situation."

"But nothing while you've been here?" she pressed.

He shook his head. "Nothing." He smiled. "Not even a…boo," and he gave her an abrupt squeeze on the last word.

Her body mildly jumped, then she shot him a fake glare.

To that, he grinned.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, he felt it there, but after that, he lost her.

"That's good," she murmured, her thoughts seeming to fade to something else.

"Then again, I'm not a guy to fuck with," he told her.

She came back to him, smiled in return, and remarked, "I've noticed that."

"Yeah," he replied, then got back to what he was saying. "Trustees also couldn't give them away, but no one was buying. They tried several times to put all this property on the market. They'd get offers, but nothing near what it was worth, so they couldn't take them. Even tried once to parcel off the land so people could build."

She gasped in horror, and he chuckled.

"I know. But that didn't work either. Years went by, the stink from the mess Lincoln made didn't lessen, they were still paying property taxes out of the estate, not to mention all the legal action eating into it, something had to give. Dave and Brenda got your cabin for a song. I heard that, had a good look at this place, the resources and know-how to fix it up, bid seriously low thinking they'd tell me to go fuck myself. They took my first offer."

"Boon for you," she noted.

"Everyone in town thought I'd lost my mind. But now I got a legacy to give my son, so I'm laughing."

"Right," she whispered.

He gave her another squeeze and really should have walked away, moved it to the living room.

But he didn't.

He looked back to the lake and felt it when she did too.

"You know what I've noticed?" she asked the view.

"What?"

"Well, two things. The only outdoor space is your pier, and that area set off to the side, which is surrounded by trees, your house and the driveway. That space just barely has a view to the lake, though nothing else, but your trees, house and driveway."

"Yeah?" he said leadingly because he didn't know where she was going with this.

"This house, this location, no balconies, no decks, no porches?"

"Yeah?" he repeated in the same tone since he still didn't know where she was going with this.

"Which leads me to the second thing. Your place has a lot of windows, but from what I can tell, you can't see the cabin from any of them."

He looked in that direction, and he saw her pier in the moonlight, but she was right.

He couldn't see the cabin. It was tucked too far back in the trees. And even from the back bedroom on the next level, you probably couldn't see it.

He'd just noticed it, but he didn't miss noticing how he really didn't like it, since now, Nadia lived there.

"Do you know how much of a hand Lincoln had in designing this house?" she asked.

"Word is, he worked closely with the architect to create it."

"Well, that tells me, even if he wasn't about to go there in his head, he knew something was up with his brother and his wife. I don't have a sibling, but if I built close to one, especially if I was emotionally close to them, I'd want to be able to see their space."

He would too.

"Methinks Lincoln wasn't as surprised as it seems he was with what he found in those stables," she remarked. "You said he served seven years? That's not much for two murders."

"He confessed and was sentenced for manslaughter."

"Thriller writer would probably know what premeditated murder would buy him," she noted. "And the man didn't shoot them then call the police to turn himself in. He made sure he didn't start a wildfire before he set the stables alight. I mean, how much work would it be to drench the land and trees around an entire building?"

Jesus.

"A lot," he grunted.

"Mm," she hummed before she allowed, "I could see being in emotional overload after you shot your twin brother and wife to death, so you went through the emotions, doing strange stuff while not thinking clearly. But how long would that actually last? And seven years is a long time, and it isn't like he's thrown into a room and not allowed to speak to anybody during that time. How could he not sort his affairs so his children and family were taken care of when he took his own life? Especially if he was going to take his own life, you'd think he'd make those plans. Furthermore, how easy is it to get your hands on a bottle of arsenic? I can't imagine that's something you can stroll into the local CVS and source."

"Nope," he agreed.

"Not to mention," she kept at it, "Roosevelt obviously couldn't know he was soon to die, but if you have a lot of money, you make arrangements. How is his estate tied up with Lincoln's?"

"I don't know, and when I bought this place, I didn't ask. But you're correct. All this shit is fishy."

"No one ever asked these questions before?"

"I didn't, because other people's mess isn't something I give a shit about."

Though, he was starting to give a shit about it now.

She settled even deeper into his chest as she took a drag from her beer and then murmured, "Well, I think this house tells a tale about Lincoln Whitaker. Just as the cabin tells one about Roosevelt. One was complicated. Brilliant, but complicated. The other enjoyed the simple life. It isn't surprising, they might have been twins, but they were two different men. Still, something doesn't add up here."

She was correct about that too.

He'd had plans for the next day of taking his kid to school and spending the rest of the day getting Nadia's cameras set up, the American flag she told him she bought, and if there was any time left, working in his workshop.

But he slotted a visit to Harry on his schedule.

After doing that, he gave Nadia another squeeze and asked, "Feel like more cake?"

She twisted her neck again to look at him. "Seriously? I don't think I'll be able to eat for a week."

"Well, I feel like more cake."

Her sunny smile came back, stating plain she dug that he liked her cake, and while she was still blasting it at him, he let her go, but took her hand and led her to the kitchen where she watched as he cut himself another wodge of her amazing cake.

And she kept watching as he downed it.