Killer Summer, Lynda Curnyn [books suggested by bill gates .txt] 📗

“Donnie? Well, no—at least not that night. He had a boat show over in Sayville.”

Or so he said. “Well, you’re probably better off. It wasn’t a good night in Kismet.”

“No,” she said, sadness filling her eyes once again. “It wasn’t.”

By the time I got down to the dock, I had worked myself into a lather. Though I wasn’t sure who pissed me off more. Maggie, for betraying her best friend, or Donnie, for betraying his wife with her best friend. But when I spotted Donnie, standing on the deck of his boat and looking pretty damned pleased with himself as he polished the leather seats wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue shorts and dark, wraparound sunglasses, his toupee looking like it was about to take off with the next good wind, I decided it was him I hated the most. Now I tried to get a grip on my anger, studying him for a moment as he rubbed a soft cloth over the seat in front of the steering wheel, trying to figure out what his appeal might have been for Maggie. I guess he did have a good build, though he was a little on the short side. And he was younger than Tom. It was possible Maggie could have climbed into the sack with this guy. He had a certain, slick Long-Island-Guy-With-Cool-Boat thing going on. If you went for that sort of thing.

“Hey, Donnie,” I called out in the most cheerful voice I could muster.

“Hey, Zoe,” Donnie said, turning to look up at me as I stood on the dock. “Gorgeous day out today, huh?”

“The best,” I said, my gaze roaming over his boat, which had Happy Havens painted in black on the side. Yeah, happy. I’d give him happy. “Nice boat.”

“She’s a beauty,” he said, smiling even wider.

Were those capped teeth? Oh yuck, Maggie. What were you thinking?

“So, Donnie,” I said, holding up my camera. “I decided to put together a tribute video on Maggie. Something for Tom to keep. Amanda just contributed a story. I wondered if you might want to as well.”

“For Maggie? Gosh, I’d be happy to. You know, I loved that woman.”

I bet, I thought, pulling the camera from my bag and raising it before my eyes.

“Hang on a sec,” Donnie said, smoothing a hand over his toupee. Not that it helped much, but at least it was no longer flapping in the wind.

“So what should I do? Sit on the chair? Stand?”

“Whatever you feel comfortable with, Donnie.” This is your moment after all, you bastard.

He remained standing, though he took a good few minutes trying to decide which side of the boat to stand on.

Then, because I couldn’t bear another sobfest—especially since I,suspected Donnie’s wouldn’t be as authentic as his wife’s—I said, “I’m going to ask you a few questions, Donnie, and all you have to do is answer, okay?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay. So, Donnie, how long had you known Maggie Landon?”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s easy. I knew Maggie almost as long as I’ve known my wife. Those two were like bread and butter, you know? As soon as I started dating Amanda, it was like I was dating Maggie, too. And Tom, of course. They were already married by then.”

“Of course,” I said, giving him a closed-mouth smile, so he wouldn’t notice my clenched teeth. “So, about eight or nine years then?”

“Eight and a half,” he replied.

“So the four of you were pretty tight, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Donnie said, one hand going to his toupee, which was starting to flap in the wind again.

“Spent a lot of time together at the beach?”

“Sure did. Well, Amanda and I have only had our house about three years. But before that we used to come out to see Tom and Maggie all the time.”

“Good times, huh, Donnie?”

“The best,” he replied with another hearty chuckle.

“So, Donnie, let me ask you. Were you here in Kismet the night Maggie died?”

He frowned, considering this for a moment. “No, actually, I wasn’t.”

“Where were you?”

I saw his jaw clench briefly, before he broke into another chuckle, this one not quite so hearty.“Hey, Zoe, what kind of film are you making anyway? What does it matter where I was?”

I lowered the camera.“Well, I was hoping to include some footage. Kinda like where were you the night Kennedy was shot. But with Maggie, of course.”

“Oh,” he said, looking a bit uneasy when I raised the camera again. I saw him think for a moment. Then he said, “I was playing poker with my buddies.”

Jesus Christ. Could this guy even get his story straight? He told his wife he went to a boat show. “Are you sure that’s where you were?”

Now he frowned. “Of course I’m fucking sure.”

Oops. Losing the subject. “Okay, no problem. Just that it was a pretty nice night. I thought maybe you might have come here after the boat show. ‘Cause your wife said you went to a boat show. So what time did this poker game happen? Before or after the boat show?”

Now he really looked flustered. “Can you shut that thing off? You’re starting to give me a fucking headache.”

I lowered the camera once more, which was probably a good idea. Because the minute Donnie thought I was no longer filming— I figured he was too stupid to realize I could leave the camera on and pick up everything with the mic—he let loose on his anger.

“What the fuck you asking me where I was that night if you already asked my wife?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just trying to get my facts straight for the film. I thought I saw your boat at the dock that night. When I came off the ferry. Around nine-thirty, ten.”

“Well, you musta been high, ‘cause I wasn’t anywhere near this island that night,” he said, his hands balling into fists.

“Okay, if you say so.” Before he was tempted to use those fists on me, I said,“Thanks for the info, Donnie. I’ll let you know when