1 Lowcountry Boil (11 page)

FOURTEEN

By the time I snuck out of the hardware store, I was running late for my doctor’s appointment in Charleston. A friend finagled me a spot on Dr. Lombard’s calendar, which was a miracle on such short notice.  I spent the entire trip composing an explanation that would garner sympathy from the police officer who would surely stop me for any one of the twenty-seven traffic violations I committed en route. It must have been a high-crime morning on the peninsula. I didn’t get the ticket I deserved.

A trip to the gynecologist is right up there with root canals on the fun scale—if you had to undress and put your feet in stirrups for root canals. The ovarian cysts weren’t new, but Dr. Lombard wanted new lab work, and of course the results wouldn’t be in until next week.  Same drill, different doctor. I underwent several tests that ratcheted up the humiliation factor to a point where I had a pressing need for a margarita by the time I got out of there.

Then I passed Marci the Schemer on my way out and it became a straight tequila afternoon. As I came out the door, she turned down the front walk. For a moment, we both paused, like gunfighters on opposite ends of the street in an old western. I fixed her with a double-barreled stare, and she matched it. We both stepped deliberately forward. Just before we passed, her lip curled up in that sardonic grin my hand always itches to slap right off her face.

I stared her down and walked on by, my posture perfect. Neither of us spoke. What a hellish coincidence, her turning up there.

I was headed towards Hyman’s Seafood on Meeting Street, thinking an oyster po-boy was the perfect complement to Cuervo Gold, when I remembered I was supposed to meet Grace for lunch. Tequila would have to wait.

While I waited for the tourists to clear the intersection at the corner of Meeting and Market, I grabbed my iPhone and selected the playlist dubbed “Play Before Loading Gun.” Music blared through the car’s speakers via the Sync system.

Kenny Chesney. Guitars and Tiki Bars.  Deep breaths… in…out.

When I drove off the ferry onto Stella Maris, Colleen materialized in the passenger seat beside me.

The doorbells jangled a welcome as I stepped inside The Cracked Pot with Colleen right beside me. Acoustical guitar music played just loud enough to be heard over the clank and bustle of the busy restaurant. Two efficient-looking waitresses hustled among the lunchtime crowd. Moon Unit must have stepped into the back, because no one was at the hostess stand.

I took the opportunity to get a closer look at her pictures. The back wall was one colossal town-family collage. My gaze slid over the photos, taking in memories. Colleen stopped to stare at a picture of eight ten-year-olds in front of a giant sand sculpture of a turtle. She and I were two of the proud artists.

“Liz!” Moon Unit appeared and gathered me into an enthusiastic hug. “I have a booth free, or you can sit at the counter. That would give us a better chance to chat.”

“I’d love to, Moon, but I’m meeting Grace. The booth in the back would be great.” I had the ridiculous urge to hide Colleen, even though I knew no one else could see her.

Moon Unit looked disappointed, but rallied. “Sure thing.” 

We followed her to the booth in the back of the dining room, and I waited for Colleen to slide into the bench facing the door.

Moon Unit looked at me oddly, like she was unsure what I was waiting for.

I settled in beside Colleen, and Moon Unit handed me a menu. “I love this place,” I said. “It is so
home
.”

Moon Unit’s smile lit the room. “Well, aren’t you the sweet one? It’s the pictures, mainly, that do it, don’t you think? Those are my treasures. Anytime it looks like we’re going to get hit by a hurricane, I take every last one of them off the wall and pack them up when I leave town. They’re irreplaceable, you know.”

“There are pictures of everybody who’s ever lived on this island, I bet. Why Moon, you’re the town historian.”

She smiled lovingly at the collection on the back wall. “That’s the idea. The whole town pitched a fit when I remodeled this place—folks here don’t care for change, you know. I figured everybody would feel more at home if they saw little pieces of their lives here. So I asked the lot of ’em for pictures. Been adding to it ever since.”

I glanced at the menu. “Hmm.”

“Well, bless my soul, here I am,
rattling on, and you must be famished from all that excitement last night. Iced tea?”

“Please.” Much to my great sorrow, they didn’t serve alcohol at The Cracked Pot.

She whirled off to get my tea and seat another party.

Sitting in a booth at The Cracked Pot with a ghost was unnerving. I had to glance out the window or down at my lap or discreetly cover my mouth so no one would see me talking to Colleen and conclude I had finally qualified for membership in the Southern Fruitcake Hall of Fame. She, of course, found this highly amusing.

“Where’d you go this morning?” Colleen asked.

I admired the flowers in the window box. “Charleston.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Why?”

“Here you go.” Moon Unit slid a glass of iced tea in front of me. “I heard all about last night at the council meeting. I woulda liked to a been a fly on
that
wall. You Talbot girls stirred things up pretty good.”

Colleen smirked. “Brilliant.”

Ghosts shouldn’t smirk. I mean, really, what do they have to be smug about? I cut my eyes at her, wondering what she meant by that remark, and then turned to Moon Unit. “Too many people have worked too hard for too long to protect this island. Stella Maris is perfect just like it is. I’m not about to sit still while
anybody
starts putting up high rises.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted encouraging Moon Unit. It was Colleen’s fault—she distracted me.

Moon Unit crossed her arms. “That part about how perfect this island is? For goodness sake, don’t tell it. We need to keep that to ourselves better. We’ve had our share of newcomers the last few years. All nice people, mind you, but the transplants are starting to outnumber those of us
from
here.”

“I have noticed a lot of new faces.”

“You would not believe
the ruckus we had, oh, I guess it was about a year ago. Some reporter from
Southern Living
‘discovered’ us. Had a big article on Stella Maris called
Hidden Paradise.
This place was a circus for six months. Tourists crawling out of the woodwork, not to mention real estate people looking for investment property. The real estate folks left when they figured out no one was going to sell them any oceanfront property, and if they did, good luck getting it zoned commercial. Hopefully the tourists are reading about someplace else. You know how it is. Tourists are fine as long as they’re
our
tourists. The ones who’ve been coming here for so long they’re like family. They have respect for the island, you know what I mean?”

The doorbell announced another customer, and Moon Unit darted off before I could form a response.

“How’s Deanna?” Colleen moved a wooden peg on one of the brainteaser puzzles Moon Unit kept on the tables.

“Would you leave that thing alone?” Anyone looking would have seen the bright blue pegs jump. “She’s married to a grade A jackass, as I’m sure you’re fully aware—you sent me over there. But I get the feeling she’s had about all she’s going to take from him.” I took a sip of my iced tea.

Colleen looked up at me sharply. “What do you mean? What did she say?”

“It’s not what she said, just the look on her face. I’ve investigated a lot of domestic abuse situations. I can tell when a woman is invested in the whole ‘He really loves me and he swears it will never happen again’ fantasy. Deanna puts on that act in front of Adam, but I don’t think she buys it.”

“Can’t you get her to throw him out?”

“She’s not talking to me. She wouldn’t even admit he put the bruises on her arm. I can’t just barge in there and start giving her advice.”

“Shoulda told Blake.” Colleen jumped another peg and flashed me a mutinous look.

“You’re still seventeen, aren’t you?” I was beginning to figure out ghosts don’t mature much after death. “Once I tell Blake, it’s an official investigation. Deanna will not thank me for that.”

“Shoulda told him about that list, too.”

“What do you know about the list?”

Colleen shrugged. “I know where you found it and I know whose names are on it. I think it means something just like you do.”

I eyed her closely. I had the sense she knew more than she was saying, but it’s hard to pin down a ghost. “Until I know what it’s a list of, better to leave Blake out of it. He’ll thank me later.” I seriously doubted that was the case, but was trying to sell myself the idea.

“Moron.”

The bells on the door jangled, and Grace Sullivan, my godmother the psychic, strolled in. Her shoulder-length platinum bob was expertly styled, her make-up understated. In her navy St. John pantsuit, she oozed elegance. Grace was the same age as Mamma, and they were both practiced at making that age hard to guess.

I stood as she approached our booth. This should be interesting. Lunch with a ghost and a psychic.

Grace dropped her purse on the empty seat, opened her arms wide and gathered me into a perfumed embrace. “
Liz, sugar.
Let me hug your neck. I can’t believe you’re home. It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, Grace.”

She arranged herself on the other side of the booth. “So sorry I’m late. Phoebe was running behind this morning. Tammy Sue had a hair emergency. Tried to do her own color again, bless her heart, and it turned this hideous shade of pumpkin-orange.”

Moon Unit appeared at the table with Grace’s iced tea, apparently knowing her standard order. “Y’all know what you want for lunch or should I come back?”

“I know what I want.” Grace looked at me. “Are you ready?”

“I’d like a Cobb Salad, please.”

“I’ll have the same. I
love
the Cobb Salads here, they are simply
divine.
” Everything Grace said came out sounding dramatic, in a thick Southern drawl.

“Well, thank you,” Moon Unit said. “We try. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

I pretended to admire something out the window and checked on Colleen. She had abandoned the peg game. I wondered briefly if she was nervous Grace could sense her presence.

Grace leaned forward. “Sugar, what’s going on? You sounded terribly urgent on the phone. Are you really staying here with us?”

“I’m staying,” I said. “And I need your help with something.”

She reached forward and grabbed my arm. “
Tell
me.”

I pulled a copy of Gram’s list from my purse and handed it to Grace. “Gram was working on something. I’m hoping you can help me figure out what it is.”

Her face creased as she studied it. “My name is on here? Beside Mackenzie’s?”

Colleen disappeared, then reappeared on Grace’s side of the booth. I flashed her an imitation of one of my mamma’s looks—the one that usually accompanied the words “You’d better straighten up and fly right.”

Grace laid the page down on the table and rubbed her arms, as if chilled. She looked up from the list. “This is quite an odd list. Sugar, are you cold? It feels like Moon Unit turned the air conditioning on refrigerate.”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying not to look at Colleen.

“Who are HC and SD?”

“I think Hayden Causby and Stuart Devlin.”

“Anything Hayden Causby’s associated with can’t be good. You’re thinking this has something to do with Emma Rae’s death?”

“Yes. I think she was trying to solve something, and these names are pieces to the puzzle. I just need to figure out the relationship between the names on the left and the names on the right.”

“Well,” Grace said, “in confidence, I can tell you that aside from the accident of birth that made him my brother’s boy, I
have
no relationship with Mackenzie,” Grace said.  Her brother, Henry Sullivan, was the rector of St. Francis Episcopal Church.

“Y’all don’t get along?”

“It’s not so much that. It’s more that I simply have no interest in him. I see him on holidays and so forth. He’s done all right for himself, the town’s attorney and all. But he really is a pompous ass, isn’t he?”

I laughed out loud. “Yes, he is that.”

Grace looked at the list again. “The only other thing I can think of… The names on the left are council members. Of course, all the seats are traditionally kept in the same families. If I were to decide not to run again, Mackenzie would likely run for the Sullivan seat. But you couldn’t draw that parallel between the others, could you?”

“No. The only names on the right side without question marks are Mackie’s and Marci’s. It’s like Gram was sure of those connections.”

Grace was quiet for a minute. “Well, this has no bearing on my relationship with him, you understand. But I have sensed for a long time that Mackenzie was in some sort of trouble.”

“Sensed? Like a psychic thing, or you’ve noticed changes in his behavior?”

She averted her gaze, looking out the window, or at Colleen, for a long moment. “I guess you’d call it a psychic thing.”

“Do you think he’s having financial problems?” There had to be a reason he was mortgaged to the hilt.

“As I said, I’m not close to Mackenzie, but he is Henry’s boy.”

I waited.

Clear gray eyes met mine across the table. “A few years back he had some gambling problems. Henry and Nancy bailed him out with the bookies. I’ve bailed him out… He’s been in a program. I thought it was behind him, but my sense is he’s gambling again. I hope I’m wrong.”

Grace leaned forward and said, “I’m having a very odd feeling, sugar. I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m quite sure there’s someone else here with us at the table.”

“I’ve never thought your intuitions were crazy, Grace.” I looked at Colleen.

Colleen shook her head. “No matter what she says, don’t say a word about me.”

A tune sang out from Grace’s purse. She reached in and pulled out her cell phone. “Excuse me, sugar. I’m expecting painters later this afternoon at the bed and breakfast. Hello?”

I let my gaze wander while she spoke. I jumped slightly. Colleen had switched sides of the booth again. I sighed and bit back a curse.

“Why no, it’s not at all convenient for you to come now. I’m having lunch,” Grace said, presumably to the painter. She closed her eyes and flung an exasperated gesture with her free hand. “Fine. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her purse. 

“I’m so sorry, sugar, but if I don’t go and meet with these painters, they won’t get the front bedroom done this week, and I’ve got a full house next week. Let’s do lunch another day, shall we?”

“Of course.”

“Take my salad home and have it tomorrow.” She pulled cash out of her wallet and laid it on the table. Then, Grace looked at me intently. “You must promise me you’ll be careful. You’ll be fine, I’m quite sure of it. But watch your back.” She rubbed my forearms, and then patted them with a wink. “I have a feeling someone else is watching it, too.” She stood and gathered her purse. “And Liz?”

“Yes?”

“Merry needs to stay away from that Causby boy—Hayden’s grandson—whatshisname.”

I started to tell her I held little sway with Merry, but Moon Unit arrived with two salads as Grace spun towards the door.

“Grace,” I said. “One quick thing.”

She turned and looked at me expectantly.

“Do you know Mildred Sullivan’s maiden name?” Grace and Lincoln Sullivan were second cousins. Surely she would know.

Grace cocked her head and squinted in thought.

Moon Unit beat her to it. “She was a Knox when she married the mayor. Of course, he wasn’t the mayor back then. She studied art history at Converse College is what I heard. But Knox wasn’t her maiden name. She was married before. I declare, I don’t think I know what her maiden name was, do you Grace?”

“I never knew she’d been married before. I would have said she was a Knox when I eventually thought of it. Got to run.” She turned and glided toward the door, at a faster clip than her typical gait.

“Is she coming back?” Moon Unit asked.

“Looks
so
good.” Colleen eyed the salads wistfully.

“Ghosts don’t eat,” I said. Then I wondered for a second. I’d seen a lot of new things the last few weeks. “Right?”

“Say
what
?” Moon Unit tilted her head.

“Grace had an emergency. Could you box up her salad? I’ll take it with me.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”