1 Lowcountry Boil (14 page)

“I wasn’t trespassing. I was in a business accompanied by one of its owners.”

“And you think Deanna will admit that?”

I huffed out an exasperated sigh. Scott told Adam to get the votes. The only mention of murder Scott made was Adam shouldn’t try to kill Daddy. The context made it crystal clear they previously discussed killing folks. But context wasn’t the kind of evidence you could take to a judge. “Well…you can haul Adam and Scott in for questioning. I’d like to question those two scum-sucking—”

“And let them know we’re on to them? Then we’ll never get the evidence to convict them. Sis, maybe one day you’ll tell me the stuff you left out of that story. When we get to court, trust me, it will come up.” He eyed me suspiciously. “We’ve got to get evidence. But…” He caught the baseball one last time. “We have a lot more than we had this morning. We have suspects.”

“If we don’t do something quick, we’re going to have another dead body. We don’t know who to protect, and we don’t know who the hit man is. We both know the trace on that phone number will come back to a disposable cell phone. There are ways to track where it was bought, and if we’re lucky, who bought it. But that will take days at a minimum.”

“We have to protect the whole island until we figure it out,” Blake said. “If I arrest Adam and Scott, it’s not like they’re going to just say, ‘Oh, right, we have a contract out on Joe Blow.’ And even if we make sure it’s in tomorrow’s paper they’ve been arrested, how likely is it that a hired gun will read the Stella Maris newspaper? We can’t be sure the hit wouldn’t still go down.”

“So what do we do?”

“We make sure everyone knows Gram was murdered. Tell them the culprit is still on the island and dangerous.”

“Bedlam by the Sea,” I said.

“Yep. Our best defense. I’ll call Vern Waters at
The Citizen
and give him tomorrow’s headline.”

“And when you go into The Cracked Pot for breakfast, make sure Moon Unit has read the paper. I’ll drop by Phoebe’s Day Spa in the morning, the other hotbed of information.”

Blake called a meeting of his entire staff of three patrol officers. I sat quietly in the corner with Nell while Blake briefed Clay “Coop” Cooper, Sam Manigault, and Rodney Murphy. Days off were canceled, and everyone would work double shifts, with patrols concentrated on council members.

It was getting close to dinnertime, and Mamma and Daddy were expecting us. I doubt Blake would have gone if our family wasn’t in the high-risk group. Even though Scott told Adam to leave Daddy and me alone, there was no reason to think he would do as he was told.

“Head on over to the house,” Blake said. “I’m going to take a quick spin around town. Maybe I’ll spot Elvis’s phantom. Once in a while, Elvis sees things before I do. His phantom could be our hit man.”

It was a deceptively peaceful spring evening. The air was warm and clear with a slight breeze blowing off the ocean. “I’ll just take that spin around town with you,” I said. “It’s a nice evening for a walk.”

He grimaced. “Fine.”

We strolled down Main Street, past the courthouse and the professional building, and then crossed the street and came back up the other side. We rounded the corner and headed down Palmetto Boulevard. Blake checked doors as he went. Everything seemed to be in order. “No sign of any phantoms.”

Nate called to let me know the best flight he could get had an overnight layover in Chicago. Calm Nate had been replaced by tense Nate, whom I’d never met before. He wouldn’t be in Charleston until nine the next morning.

As we passed Island Hardware, Blake stopped short. “Normally, Adam and Deanna pull the big shade down on the front door.”

“Yeah, well, today wasn’t a normal day at the hardware store.”

Blake tried the door and found it securely locked. He peered through one of the large storefront windows. All the lights were off inside, no signs of life. “No phantoms here either.”

We continued to the next stop, Ferguson’s Flowers and Gifts.

The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood tore through the evening.

We both spun around. The noise had come from behind the hardware store.

Blake bolted back down the street and cut through the alley between the hardware store and the dress shop.

I grabbed Sig from my purse, dropped the handbag, and took off after him.

Someone was running along the back of the building.

“Stay put.” Blake shouted at me.

I ignored him and tried my best to keep up, but my Kate Spade sandals weren’t designed for sprinting. As I rounded the back corner, I caught a glimpse of a darkly clad figure disappearing around the front of the Stella Maris Baptist Church.

Blake dashed after him, pushing himself to a speed I’d bet he hadn’t run since high school. I stopped long enough to pull off my shoes, then made up some ground. Rounding the front of the church, I pulled up short. Blake was poised on the church’s front lawn, scanning the grounds in a slow circle. “Where the hell did he go?”

He searched the area surrounding the church, but there was no sign of anyone. We tried all the doors to the church, but they were all locked except the front doors. No one was inside the sanctuary. Whoever we were chasing had disappeared into thin air.

Blake grabbed his cell phone/radio. “
Coop?
” He let go of the button and spoke to me. “He’s at The Pirates’ Den. Alma’s Wednesday night special is Shrimp and Sausage. He was on his way there when he left the office.”

After a long pause, his reply came back. “Yeah, Blake.”

“Get over to the Baptist Church quick as you can. And have John call Adam Devlin and tell him to meet me at the hardware store.”

I grabbed his arm and pointed to the cars in the parking lot of the fellowship hall.

Blake pressed the talk button again. “Never mind that. Adam’s not home.”

“On my way,” Clay said. “What’s up?”

Across the churchyard, a motion-activated light on the back of the hardware store illuminated the area. The window at the top of the steps was completely torn out of the wall. Shattered glass and splintered pieces of wood covered the ground below. “I’m still working on that,” Blake said. “If you see anybody along the way dressed all in black, pick ’em up and bring ’em with you.” He holstered his cell phone.

“One thing’s for sure,” Blake said to me. “That wasn’t a phantom. Phantoms don’t generally have to burst through windows—frame and all—to get out of places.”

EIGHTEEN

I retrieved my shoes and purse. Then I let Blake convince me to go on over to Mamma and Daddy’s. I was exhausted, and Blake and three patrol officers were looking for the phantom, who might also be a hit man. As luck would have it, I pulled into the driveway right behind Merry. We hadn’t spoken since the council meeting, and the evening ahead loomed full of the promise of a tension headache.

Ignoring me, Merry slammed her car door and strode towards the front door. My sister radar clicked on. There was something a shade too dramatic, almost scripted, in Merry’s clearly demonstrated rage.

“Merry, will you wait up?” I wanted to negotiate a truce before we went inside. I crossed the front yard at a run and caught up with her just as Mamma opened the front door and took us in with her quelling gaze.

Mamma was five-feet-four of no-nonsense. Not a hair in her auburn bob was out of place, and her makeup was skillfully applied. “Leave your situations at the door,” she said. Her tone, along with the fire in her eyes, told me she’d heard all the details of last night’s skirmish. She didn’t favor us with a backward glance as she returned to the kitchen.

It was a long-standing rule in our mother’s house that nothing controversial be discussed at the dinner table. But the Mary J. Blige lyrics Mamma used to remind us of the moratorium on brawling in the house—and her bizarre attire—took us both aback.

The animal print exercise tank top and black Lycra capri pants were so far removed from anything Mamma ever wore that we were both struck dumb. We glanced at each other, and then looked to Daddy for an explanation.

“Your mamma’s been taking Jazzercise classes,” he explained. “Says it’s a good outlet. Helps her cope. It’s got Chumley all upset. His dinner’s been late every night this week, and she’s started talking like one of those rappers.”

I looked from Daddy to the latest in a long line of sad-sack basset hounds that had occupied the spot by his recliner since I was a child. This one was not even two years old, but the folds of loose skin and big droopy eyes made him look as ancient as his predecessors. Chumley gave a loud
woof
to emphasize his distress.

“More likely you’re upset because
your
dinner’s been late,” Merry said. “And Mary J. Blige is rhythm and blues, not rap.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to cook every now and then, you know,” I informed him. “You could broaden your horizons.”

“Girls, come set the table,” Mamma called.

I stepped over to the sink to wash my hands. I let the water run until it steamed, then I reached for the soap. “I don’t know who’s more spoiled, Daddy or that dog,” I declared.

“You’re all ruined,” Mamma retorted. “Blake called. He’s going to be late. We’ll start without him, but set him a place.”

“What’s going on?” Merry asked.

I kept scrubbing and played innocent.

“He said he’d tell us about it later,” Mamma said.

“Do you have any sanitizer handy?” I asked.

Merry and Mamma exchanged a look.

“I am not crazy. I’m getting ready to handle
your
food. I’d think you’d want my hands to be clean.”

Merry smothered a grin. “You just scalded them.”

I fantasized about smothering her. “Fine. Don’t blame me if we all come down with a stomach virus tomorrow.”

Mamma took the last of the squash out of the cast iron frying pan and turned off the burner.

She glanced up as she handed me the platter. With a pained look, she offered the advice she had shared with us countless times since our sixteenth birthdays. “You girls would be amazed at how much your dispositions would improve if you’d just put on a little lipstick.”

It was Mamma’s philosophy that eighty percent of a girl’s problems could be mitigated—if not completely solved—by putting on a little lipstick, preferably Estée Lauder.

“I’ll have a Jack and Coke,” Daddy called from the den. “And Chumley here needs to go outside for a walk.”

“You’ve already had a Jack and Coke,” Mamma told him. “Walk the dog yourself, and then come open a bottle of merlot. Merry, use the green napkins. Liz, here, these serving dishes can be put in the dining room.”

I delivered them, and popped into the family room to grab my sanitizer.

In short order, we were seated around the dark mahogany dining room table. Fresh yellow tulips graced the centerpiece and soft candlelight flickered off the prisms of the dimmed crystal chandelier. Mamma offered her hands to Merry, on her left, and me, on her right. Following deep-seated tradition, we joined hands and bowed our heads.

As was her custom, Mamma returned thanks. “Father, bless this food to our use and us to thy service. And please smile down on us tomorrow and make The Most Fabulous Spring Bazaar Ever a huge success. To the glory of thy name, amen.”

Daddy looked at Mamma. “What do you have for Chumley to eat? The gravy on that steak might upset his stomach.”

“I broiled his piece,” she said. “He really shouldn’t have fried foods at all.”

“Mamma, please tell me you did not broil that ridiculous hound a piece of steak.” I stared open-mouthed at her.

“Liz, close your mouth, darlin’, that really is unattractive. Of course I did, I just told you he shouldn’t have fried foods. I broiled a piece for Rhett, too.”

“
We
shouldn’t have fried foods,” Merry said.

“Speak for yourself.” I closed my eyes and savored the first bite of steak and gravy.

We all looked up as Blake came through the front door.

“Hey, everybody. Sorry to be late.” Blake kissed Mamma on the proffered cheek and slid into his place at the table.

“What kept you?” Mamma picked up his plate and shoveled on steak and gravy.

“Somebody broke out of the hardware store.”

“Broke
out
?” Finally, Daddy’s interest had been captured by something other than his dog.

“Believe it or not. From what Adam could tell, nothing was taken. The back window sure was destroyed, though. Somebody was locked in and smashed a chair through the window to get out. Probably just some teenage prank, but…” The look on his face said he didn’t buy what he was saying.

I thought it prudent not to tell Mamma I had been involved in a police chase. Apparently Blake agreed.

“Why would you automatically assume that teenagers are responsible?” Merry demanded.

“Why not just open the window and crawl out?” Daddy always favored simplicity.

“According to Adam, the back windows haven’t worked in years. They’re painted shut. The front windows are display only.  And all the doors have keyed deadbolts.”

“Sounds like a fire hazard to me,” I said.

“I’ve raised Adam’s fire-safety awareness,” Blake said.

“Whoever it was probably went home with at least a few scrapes and scratches. I’ll ask around tomorrow morning,” Mamma said.

A guilty teenager could not hide from the Stella Maris grapevine. But Elvis’s “phantom” was looking good for it to me. Adam and Scott both left through doors.

“Whoever it was hightailed it out of there pretty fast,” Blake said. “They weren’t hurt too bad.”

“Enough now. Eat your dinner, it’s getting cold.” Mamma had piled a small mountain of food on Blake’s plate while he wasn’t looking.

Daddy glanced up at Merry as he slathered butter on a biscuit. “How’s that roommate of yours?”

Neither Blake nor Daddy particularly cared for Merry’s roommate, Kristen, though the reasons always seemed vague to me.

Mamma shot Daddy a warning glance.

“I’m just asking after the girl, Carolyn. Just being polite.” He reached for the blackberry jam. “She still selling drugs?”

“Daddy,” Merry said. “Kristen is a pharmaceutical sales rep. You make it sound like she’s pushing crack on a street corner. I
assure
you that is not the case.”

“So you tell me,” Daddy said.

After a moment, he tried another approach. “Could be your sister will be needing a roommate. Your grandmamma’s house is awful big for one person to ramble around in.”

A forkful of squash froze halfway to my mouth.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Merry said. “I have a house of my own. I’m not moving in with Liz.”

“Save you some money,” Daddy said.

“Frank, enough.” Mamma patted her lips carefully with her napkin. “Did you girls get a look at my azaleas?”

“They are breathtaking, Mamma, as always,” I said. “Something else that sucks the breath right out of your lungs is that billboard of Merry’s on I-26.”

I’d noticed the sign on my trip in on Monday. It featured a man in a coffin, surrounded by elaborate floral arrangements and six women in funeral attire, one of them my sister. The caption in three-foot letters read, “Are you positive you’re negative? Call Teen Council of Charleston at 1-800-GET-TESTED.”

“It’s a good picture of her.” Daddy cut a bite of steak. “The TV commercials are better, though. Merry’s got real screen presence, don’t you think?”

“What I
think
,” Mamma said, “is if we can’t find something more pleasant to discuss, perhaps we should enjoy our dinner while we each silently reflect upon the topic of our choice.”

Merry’s work at Teen Council involved several programs that upset Mamma. She preferred not to know about teenage pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases, and drug addiction. My mamma has a big heart, and she works tirelessly for the less fortunate, but the less she knows the happier she is. In her world, the less fortunate are all innocent victims of circumstance.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” I said. “It’s just so outrageous, it’s funny.”

“It would be more amusing if everyone in the picture was a member of someone else’s family,” Blake said.

“Would you like to hear the STD statistics among teenagers in Charleston County?” Merry bristled.

Mamma stood abruptly, picked up her plate and left the room.

Silence hung heavy in the dining room as we finished dinner.

I searched for a safe topic of conversation. “Anybody want cake?”

“Where’s that cake at?” Daddy grasped at the cake like a life preserver. “Coffee would be good with that, wouldn’t it? That poor little hound has got to be fed, too.”

I rose, stacked the dinner plates, and joined Mamma in the kitchen. Several minutes later, Mamma waltzed calmly back into the dining room brandishing a three-layer chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting and fresh raspberries. Mamma served and I passed around the generous slices of cake. Like a gentle breeze of nitrous oxide, the decadent confection dispelled the fog of ill temper, and serenity returned to the dining room.

I grinned. If Mamma ran the world, everyone would be happy. Fat, but happy. 

“This is wonderful.” Merry relished her first bite.

“Ummph.” Blake offered his ultimate compliment.

“Ohmygosh. It’s been so long since I had this cake, I’d forgotten how good it is.” I closed my eyes.