Page 100 of Summers at the Saint
“Are you saying Hudson, what? Got cramps or something? I thought that was an old wives’ tale.”
“No. It wasn’t cramps. It turns out Hudson probably had an undiagnosed peanut allergy. He went into anaphylactic shock. Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah. A guy I work with down here got stung by a bunch of yellow jackets recently. Fortunately, he carries an EpiPen with him.”
“My little boy didn’t have that good fortune,” Brad said. “Hudson’s tongue and lips were swollen, and when they got him out of the pool, his lower abdomen was covered in red welts—hives. Any competent medical examiner would have seen the signs of an allergic reaction. But the Bonaventure County ME ignored those signs.”
Whelan’s mind immediately turned to what Mike Sullivan had told him about the man in the red Corvette handing Hudson a paper bag.
“You said Hudson got the hot dog and fries at the snack bar at the pool. What about the peanuts?”
“Peanut M&M’s. At least a half-pound bag, probably. I never knew for sure, but I had my suspicions.”
Whelan waited.
“My investigator turned up something else I wasn’t expecting,” Brad said reluctantly. “This is going to be hard for you to hear, son.”
“I’m a big boy now, Brad,” Whelan said impatiently.
“Your mother was having an affair that summer. From the reports I got, and what she later all but admitted to me, it was some young guy. All this while I was up in Atlanta, busting my butt to make a nice life for my family—for Kasey and my little boy. The investigator thought, but I could never confirm, Hudson saw something he shouldn’t have.”
“So what? You think this other man bribed Hudson? Who was it?”
“We never found out. I’d also hired an attorney. We put the Saint’s owners on notice that I was thinking of suing for criminal negligence. After that, my investigator was never able to get access to the Saint to talk to folks who might have seen something. It would have meant getting a court order and things would have gotten… ugly.”
Whelan’s phone beeped to notify him that he had an incoming call. From Jess Sells ReMax.
Which was fine. He’d gotten what he needed out of his former stepfather.
“Hey, Brad. Sorry, I need to take another call.”
He disconnected and picked up the incoming call.
“Hi!” A woman’s perky voice greeted him. “Is this Whelan?”
“Yes. Thanks for calling me back.”
“It’s entirely my pleasure,” Jessica Womble said. “Now, are you interested in listing or buying, or better yet, both?”
“Neither. I’m actually calling about something not related to real estate. I understand your family vacationed at the Saint Cecelia, back in the summer of 2002?”
The cheery tone was gone. “That’s right, but how did you get my name?”
“It’s a long story. Briefly, it was my little brother, Hudson, who drowned at the pool that summer.”
“Ohhhh. I’m so sorry. I remember Hudson. He was a little cutie. But I wasn’t at the pool that day. My sister and I were down at the beach.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s something else you could help me with. Do you remember a guy who was around a lot that summer? Drove a fancy red Corvette?”
“Oh yeah,” Jessica said. “All the girls had the hots for that guy. He was a lifeguard down at the beach, which, now that I think about it, was why Emily and I spent so much time down there. Not that he ever gave us the time of day.”
“What was his name? Do you remember?”
“How could I forget? His name was Ric. If I remember right, his family owned the whole place, or at least that’s what he told all the girls. But you know how guys like that exaggerate, right?”
“Rrrright,” Whelan said slowly. “Thanks, Jessica.”
Whelan sat for a moment, letting it all sink in. Ric Eddings riding around in a flashy red Corvette. A stranger handing Hudson a bag of peanut M&M’s. How easily his stepfather had accepted the fact that his wife had been having an affair with a younger man that summer.
