1 Lowcountry Boil (20 page)

With one hand on the car door handle, something made me pause. Call it my suspicious nature. I looked around, half expecting Colleen to pop back in, but I was alone on the street. Why
was
Marci home today? Not likely because the newspaper headlines scared her. I hadn’t gotten the chance to rifle through Marci’s things, but since I was here anyway, why not see what she was up to? With an eye out for Elvis, I jogged across the front yard and slipped around the side of the house. The tall windows were open, inviting the breeze. I knelt and peered into the first room I came to. The living room, now empty.

I crept along the side of the house. The next room back was a bedroom. I could hear movement, but no one was in sight. I jerked lower as Marci stood up. She’d been looking under the bed.

Marci stretched languorously and smiled a self-satisfied smile. She sashayed over to the closet and rumbled through it for a moment, as if looking for something. The shrill ring of the telephone startled her.

She hesitated, and then picked up the phone. “Hello?”

Marci licked her lips slowly. “I’m heading out of town for a few days. Going to see an old friend in Savannah. Why?”

“Why no, did you want to talk to him?” she asked innocently.

She smothered a giggle. “He was gone when I got up. I haven’t spoken to him today.”

Her eyes widened. “He
hit
you?”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, a look of pure delight on her face. “That
is
odd. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have
hit
you.”

She lay back on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. “No, he won’t be coming back.”

Marci regarded her manicure. “No. He won’t. Because I’m calling a locksmith to come over and change all the locks. Right after I call my attorney. I’ve been abandoned.”

She cradled the phone on her neck so she could check the polish on both hands. “You heard me. I don’t want him back. On the contrary, I arranged for him to find your wallet under the bed to get
him to leave. Since my bitch-cousin got the house and the council seat, and you’re hedging now about leaving that puritan cow you married, I’ve had to improvise. I need to keep this house.”

Marci arched an eyebrow. “Of course, I’ll need your help to make ends meet, but that won’t be a problem will it?”

She rolled her eyes at something he said. “We’ll have to be careful for a while. Right now, he can’t prove a thing in court. He gave you your wallet back, didn’t he?”

Marci reached for the bottle of lotion on the nightstand. “Good. You didn’t admit to anything, did you?”

She stopped in mid-motion, with a large dollop of lotion in her hand. “Was anyone else in the store while he was there? Did anyone overhear you?”

She visibly relaxed, but looked disappointed. “I see
.
”

She gestured impatiently with her left hand. “Without a witness, he can’t prove a thing in court. If he could, I might not get the house.” Something in her voice smacked of Marci making it up as she went along. Something was off. She listened for a moment.

Marci sat up. One hand went to her chest. “That never seemed to bother you before. As a matter of fact, I got the distinct impression that the fact I was your brother’s wife made me much more attractive.”

Her shoulders and chest rose and fell slowly, like she was taking deep slow breaths. “You got what you wanted. And now, I’m getting what I want. Out. Michael has way too much pride to stay married to me now.
Ciao Baby.”

She hung up.

A second later she sprang up and dashed through what must have been the bathroom door. The next sound I heard was retching. I didn’t know what had upset her stomach, but I knew what upset mine.

TWENTY-SEVEN

As I pulled away from Marci’s house, I wondered where Michael was working that day. Like a teenager, I had an overwhelming desire to drive by and just look at him. Or maybe I could think of an excuse to be there…maybe he’d pour out his heart to me about his cheating good-for-nothing wife. This insanity is why I’d stayed in Greenville for so long. Michael made me irrational.

With more self-control than I thought I possessed, I resisted the urge to do a grid search of the island for new construction. Instead, I swung by Phoebe’s Day Spa to make sure everyone knew the island was on high alert. The smell of sandalwood greeted me when I walked into the old five-and-dime Phoebe had transformed into a five-star retreat. An appointment desk in the foyer sat empty, so I went on back.

The large room in the center of the spa housed hair, makeup, and nail stations. An indoor waterfall gurgled in the corner. Tropical plants, Polynesian art, and lots of sheer draped fabric gave the place an exotic feel.

Grace sat with her hair half-foiled in Phoebe’s chair. Otherwise, the place was empty. Phoebe painted color on a section of Grace’s hair while Grace read aloud from
The
Citizen.
“Stella Maris residents should take necessary precautions to ensure their personal safety.”

“You know things are serious when folks cancel appointments with you,” I said.

They both looked up.

“Liz, sugar,” Grace said. “Come hug my neck.” She put the newspaper down and opened her arms. With tasteful makeup and manicured hands, Grace was elegant, even with foils sticking out of her head at odd angles. “I’m so sorry about lunch yesterday.”

“What is it with you Southerners and necks?” Phoebe asked. “If you’re not hugging one, you’re threatening to wring one. Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, yourself,” I said. I hugged Grace, careful not to get hair color on me, and then hugged Phoebe, too. She was roughly my age, and with her three-inch platform shoes, my size. The two-inch accent stripe in her long, black hair was purple that day.

“Grace, weren’t you just in here yesterday?”

“Well, yes I was,” she said. “But that was just for a wash and style.”

I looked at Phoebe. “Did the rest of your clients call in scared?”

Phoebe said, “Nah. Nobody booked appointments today. Everyone who isn’t working at your mother’s bazaar is shopping there. I let my staff have the day off.”

“With the news about Gram being murdered in the paper, I figured everyone would buy bread, milk, and flashlight batteries and hole up at home. That’s what Blake was hoping,” I said. “I’m worried about the turnout for Mamma’s bazaar. She’s worked so hard…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Grace waved dismissively. “Everyone will come out for The Most Fabulous Spring Bazaar Ever—you mark my words. It’s in the church, you know. Folks will feel safe there. Besides, there’s safety in numbers. That’s what I’ve told everyone, anyway.”

“And of course, they think you have the inside scoop.”

Grace tried to look offended. “Well, you know I do.” The she turned serious. “I knew Emma Rae didn’t fall down those steps. I told Blake that to begin with.”

“Do you have guests this week?” I asked her. If she had a crowd at the bed and breakfast, she’d be safer.

“Two couples,” she said. “Some retired folks from Ohio, and two young ladies from Virginia.”

“Good. Stick close to home—except for the bazaar, of course. There’s safety in numbers.” I tried for a grin, but didn’t quite execute it. I needed to call Blake and check in so he wouldn’t worry. He’d still be mad, but at least he wouldn’t worry about me.

“I’m not in any danger.”

“Grace, whoever killed Gram was trying to shove some zoning changes through the town council. Anyone who would’ve opposed that is in danger.
You
are in danger. You’ve got to take this seriously.”

“Why, of course, I take it seriously,” Grace said. “But I’m not the one in danger. I could sense it if I was.”

“Grace, I know you have a gift. But I also know you have blind spots.”

Phoebe had been quiet far longer than usual. “I’m wondering why neither you nor Willa saw this coming.” Willa Butler was the closest thing our island had to a voodoo priestess, heavy into signs and portents.

Grace pondered that for a moment. “You girls are quite right. This entire affair blindsided me. It often works that way. The people closest to me are the ones I don’t read well at all.” She looked at me. “I’ll be careful, sugar. I promise.”

I hugged her again. “Thanks. I just couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, too.” When I pulled back, I caught the edge of Grace’s black and white polka-dot drape and it came loose.

“Watch it, will you?” Phoebe said. “I get hair color on that St. John pantsuit and you’re buying her a new one.” Phoebe laid down her paintbrush and picked up the drape.

“Wait now,” Grace said. She fiddled with her necklace and smoothed the top of her suit. “All right.”

Phoebe adjusted the towel that had been rolled into a collar protecting Grace’s neck, put the drape back on her, and fastened it.

I straightened. “Phoebe?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever see Gram wearing a silver locket?”

“I never saw her wearing it,” Phoebe said. “But I know she had one.”

Grace and I both squinted at her.

“What?” Phoebe grimaced.

“How do you know she had one?”

“She lost it in here, couple weeks before she died. I didn’t know who it belonged to. I laid it aside and asked clients when they came in if they knew whose it was. The next time she was in—the last time she was in—I asked her and she said it was hers. She was sure happy to have it back.”

“Is that important?” Grace asked.

“I think it is,” I said.

TWENTY-EIGHT

I left Phoebe’s Day Spa and hustled back to Gram’s for a wardrobe change. Stella Maris is a small town. No matter how many new people had moved in over the last few years, I was still far from a stranger. Snooping incognito seemed like a reasonable precaution. Typically, when working undercover, I dress as a generic utility meter-reader. It’s a common PI disguise. Put on khakis, a brown work shirt and a cap, and as long as you carry a clipboard and look busy, few people will question you.

As I pulled into Gram’s driveway, I wrestled with calling Blake, and decided against it. It was easier to get forgiveness than permission. If I spoke to him, we’d have a big fight about how I needed to stay where he could keep an eye on me, et cetera—and also about last night. I had work to do, and no idea whatsoever what I was going to tell him about last night. How could I explain I saw the whole thing go down at Merry’s, but didn’t intervene, without mentioning Colleen?

Once I was trés incognito, I grabbed stakeout essentials (small cooler with water and Diet Cheerwine, Dove Dark Chocolate Promises, can of Lysol, extra hand sanitizer, and my camera) plus a few of my favorite toys (Taser, binoculars, and eavesdropping equipment, and, of course, Sig).

Troy had left the island, and law enforcement officers all over the state were looking for him. Scott had likely gone back to Greenville after he delivered his message in person to Adam. Adam was the only one of my axis of evil available for surveillance. My instincts said he was also the genesis of this whole endeavor, even if Scott was the financier.

Time to find out exactly how much evil Adam Devlin was the root of.

I didn’t think I’d been home long enough for Adam to know what I was driving, so I took the Escape. I’d swap off and take Granddad’s van for my next stakeout. I drove through the parking lot behind the hardware store. Deanna’s Volvo was there, but not Adam’s Lexus. I pulled into a parking spot and called just to be sure.

Deanna answered. “Island Hardware.”

“Hey, Deanna. It’s Liz.”

Silence. I imagined she was reliving our close call the evening before in the back room and not finding it pleasant.

I plunged ahead. “Say, listen. We should talk. Can you get away for lunch?” Now, of course I knew this wasn’t gonna happen, or I wouldn’t have asked. Deanna would avoid me for a while if she could. That would make denial easier to hang onto.

“No. I have to stay here. Adam’s home sick, so I’m here by myself until three. Then I have to pick up the girls. Let’s do it another time, okay?” Her tone brightened, as if we were discussing any ordinary lunch date. I wondered if she still had that twenty-five grand in her purse.

“Sure thing,” I said. “But Deanna…”

“Yes?”

“Just be careful, okay?”

“You too,” she said breezily. “Bye now.”

Adam was home sick my Great Aunt Fanny. He probably was ashamed for customers to see him. Which was a problem, since he likely wanted an alibi for today. He was expecting someone to be murdered soon. Jerk was probably home with an ice pack on his eye. I wondered how he’d explained that to Deanna. Probably hadn’t. He probably left and called her to say he was going home. Which meant she would think he’d gone to see his mistress. Would Deanna try to track him down again?

I pondered whether to stick around or go hunt him myself. What I needed was a second set of eyes. I needed Nate. Since he was still in Chicago, I’d have to settle for who I could get.  “Colleen?”

Miracle of miracles, she popped into the passenger seat. “Nice outfit.” Bray-snorting ensued.

“Thanks. Can you hang out here with Deanna for a while and let me know if she leaves?”

“I can try.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I can stay unless I’m given an assignment. Then I’ll have to go.”

“All right. But try to let me know if you have to leave.”

“Okay.” She faded out, presumably to pop into the hardware store.

I zipped over to Sea Farm to see if Adam was really at home, which, of course, he wasn’t. Thinking that might work to my benefit, I circled the block and parked one street over. Then, I took a stroll around the neighborhood, which was deserted as far as I could tell. Everyone was at work or school. Sea Farm was predominantly a neighborhood of young families. Either they hadn’t read the paper, they didn’t feel personally threatened, or they wanted to be out and about to gossip with their friends. The stay-at-home moms were likely at the bazaar. I slipped through an adjoining back yard into Adam and Deanna’s.

I hopped up onto the back porch of their two-story Victorian and examined the lock on the door. Given a little time, I could have let myself in. But through the paned top half of the door, a light on the alarm panel blinked red. The system was armed. Hell’s bells. I guess Blake was right. Some folks on Stella Maris did have alarm systems. Bypassing one was complicated, and something I did not have the equipment for.