PART7

“A mistake is forgetting to buy milk, Lamar. What you did required a plan.”

He lowered his voice.

“Please. I want to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because I owe you the truth.”

I paused.

“Tomorrow. In a public place. And bring every document you have.”

He hesitated.

“All right.”

“And Lamar?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

I ended the call.

The following morning, I met Lamar at a small café near the marina.

Detective Walker had advised me not to meet him without notifying the authorities. He knew where I would be, and Ione sat at another table with a clear view of us.

Lamar arrived fifteen minutes late.

He wore a white shirt and khaki trousers.

His beard was neatly trimmed.

He looked healthy.

Comfortable.

Alive.

He sat across from me.

For a moment, I remembered our first date.

We had been twenty-four.

He had taken me to a little diner and ordered two hamburgers because I was too shy to tell the waitress I wanted something different.

He had laughed when I stole his French fries.

I remembered the first house we bought.

The first Christmas tree.

The nights we spent talking about retirement.

And then I remembered the empty casket.

“What do you want to tell me?” I asked.

He placed a brown envelope on the table.

“I want you to understand why I did what I did.”

I didn’t touch it.

“Go ahead.”

He looked down.

“The bait shop was failing. We had borrowed too much money. I thought I could fix everything, but the debts kept growing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry.”

I stared at him.

“You didn’t want me to worry, so you made me a widow?”

He closed his eyes.

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Losing everything.”

I leaned forward.

“You did lose everything. You just made sure I lost it too.”

He rubbed his beard.

“Rhoda and I had been talking for a while. She understood the situation. She thought we could start over somewhere else.”

“And Clifton?”

“He was already gone.”

I looked at him.

“Clifton had been dead for years, Lamar. You were having an affair with his wife while he was alive.”

Lamar looked away.

I waited.

Finally, he said, “I know.”

“Did you ever think about what that would do to him?”

“I can’t change it now.”

“No. You can’t.”

He pushed the envelope toward me.

“There’s something in here that might help you.”

I opened it.

Inside were bank statements, property papers, and a handwritten letter.

The letter was addressed to me.

I began reading.

Roberta,

If you’re reading this, then things have gone differently than I planned.

I know you hate me. I understand.

I never wanted you to be left with nothing. I thought I could move the money, settle the debts, and come back later when everything was quiet.

But things got out of control.

Rhoda and I made decisions we shouldn’t have made.

I know I cannot ask you to forgive me.

Lamar.

I folded the letter.

“Is this supposed to make everything better?”

“No.”

“Then why did you write it?”

He looked at me.

“Because I want you to know that I never stopped caring about you.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

Then I asked the question that had been sitting inside me since the restaurant.

“Did you ever plan to come back?”

He stared at the table.

“Yes.”

“When?”

He hesitated.

“After things settled down.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“A month? A year? Ten years?”

He rubbed his face.

“I thought I could return under different circumstances.”

I nodded.

“So you planned to let me grow old believing you were dead.”

He didn’t answer.

I looked at the man across from me.

His face was familiar.

His voice was familiar.

But the person sitting there was a stranger.

Then I noticed something in the envelope.

A second document.

It was a deed to a small property in Georgia.

The owner was a company registered in my name.

I frowned.

“What is this?”

Lamar leaned forward.

“That property was supposed to be yours.”

“Why?”

“I bought it with some of the money.”

I looked at the amount.

The property was valued at approximately $180,000.

“Did you buy this using money from the bait shop?”

He looked uncomfortable.

“Some of it.”

I pushed the paper away.

“I don’t want a house bought with stolen money.”

“It’s not stolen.”

“Then explain it to the police.”

His face changed.

“Roberta, don’t do this.”

“I didn’t do anything, Lamar. You did.”

He grabbed the envelope.

“Listen to me. If you cooperate with them, everything could become worse.”

“For whom?”

“For all of us.”

I stood.

“No, Lamar. You don’t get to include me in your plans anymore.”

I walked away.

Behind me, he called my name.

I didn’t turn around.

By the end of that week, the investigation had expanded.

Detectives discovered that the business account had been opened using false identification documents and Clifton Gaither’s personal information.

They also found evidence that money had been moved through several accounts before reaching a property company in Georgia.

The authorities contacted Clifton’s family.

They were shocked.

Clifton had been a quiet man who had worked his entire life.

His daughter, Melissa, agreed to speak with investigators.

She told them that shortly after her father’s death, Rhoda had claimed she needed money to settle several outstanding matters.

Melissa had given her some old financial documents, believing they were needed for the estate.

She had no idea her father’s identity might later be used to open accounts.

The authorities began examining those records.

Meanwhile, Eddie provided the original business ledgers and the copies of documents he had kept.

The evidence was stronger than anyone expected.

There were forged signatures.

Unreported transfers.

False statements.

And proof that Lamar had deliberately arranged his disappearance.

The case did not move overnight.

There were interviews, financial examinations, legal paperwork, and several difficult conversations.

But eventually, the truth became impossible to hide.

Lamar had not drowned.

He had left Georgia voluntarily.

Rhoda had helped him establish a new life in Florida.

And the money had been moved through accounts designed to make it difficult to trace.

The two-note whistle that had once meant my husband was coming home had become the sound of a man who had planned to leave me forever.

Three weeks later, I received a call from Detective Walker.

“Mrs. Ashby, we have an update.”

I sat down.

“Go ahead.”

“We have enough evidence to move forward with charges related to the financial fraud and the false identity documents. Lamar and Rhoda have both been taken into custody.”

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“Are they both there?”

CONTINUE FOR FINAL PART…