1 Lowcountry Boil (26 page)

“If you sit still too much, old age creeps up on you when you’re not looking.”

I returned his smile with a wry one. “I’m aging fast lately myself.”

“Yeah, me, too.” A look of profound sadness crept into his eyes. “Only I can’t afford much of that.”

I sipped my coffee. “I’ve been to the Virgin Islands once. St. John. One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. We took a day sail to Jost Van Dyke.”

“With one of my good friends, no doubt. I do the Jost trip myself, but I’m sure I’d remember you. How long ago were you there?”

“About eighteen months ago. My grandmother had been there a few times. She always talked about how beautiful it was. I went down with a group of friends and rented a house on the north shore. Are you from St. John originally?”

He looked away. “No, I grew up not too far from here. But I’ve been in St. John for so long…”

“What brings you here?”

“Business,” he said. “Stella Maris is beautiful as well.”

“Yes it is. I’m afraid I’ve taken it for granted for too long. We stop appreciating the things we love the most.”

“Regrettable, but true.”

We sat companionably, neither talking, just savoring the coffee and the morning, each lost in our own thoughts. Realizing I’d dallied longer than I should have, I set down my coffee cup and stood. “I really have to be getting back. My family will worry about me if I’m not there when they wake up. It was so nice meeting you.”

He took my hand in both of his and enfolded me in that wonderful, warm smile. “God’s peace, Liz Talbot. It has been my pleasure to have you aboard the
Gypsy Wind
.”

“How long will you be here?”

“That remains to be seen.” The sadness crept back into his eyes.

“Well, thanks for the coffee.” I withdrew my hand and climbed back over the railing to the dock. With a wave, I turned back towards the beach.

THIRTY-SIX

From his customary place at Mamma’s kitchen table, Blake scowled as I walked through the back door. “Where have you been? I should’ve known you’d be up wandering the island before dawn. Since I
specifically
asked you not to go out by yourself, you just had to do it before I got up to stop you, didn’t you?” He’d slept in his old room the night before, but apparently not well.

“I went for a run on the beach.” I slipped into my chair. “I’m fine.”

Mamma flipped a pancake. “You’d better do as Blake asks, Elizabeth. That Causby boy is still running loose. Have some consideration for those of us who care about you.” Mamma’s eyes were round with hurt.

“I’m sorry, Mamma. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I inhaled the aroma of Mamma’s hot-off-the-griddle blueberry pancakes. My mouth watered as she set a plate in front of Blake, piled high and slathered in butter. A wide stream of warmed maple syrup flowed down the sides of the stack.

He closed his eyes as he took the first bite. He grunted his appreciation. “Ummph…umph.”

I rolled my eyes. “I swear, you put food in front of him and he loses the capacity to form words.”

“
I
understand what he’s saying.” Mamma patted him on the shoulder. “You eat your breakfast now. You need some more coffee?”

Mouth full, Blake shook his head.

Mamma set a plate down in front of me and I winced. “Mamma, sit down and eat your breakfast. You don’t need to wait on us. We’re all capable of feeding ourselves.”

“What she means is we can
serve
ourselves. None of us can make pancakes like this.” Blake roused himself from his pancakes to fire a round back at me. “Liz and Merry can wash the dishes.”

Daddy looked at me. “Where is Merry? It’s almost seven o’clock. Go see if she’s awake.”

I snorted.

Mamma cast me a disapproving look.

“Merry doesn’t know that seven o’clock comes in the morning,” I said.

On cue, Merry shuffled into the kitchen clad in cow-print pajamas and pig slippers, her hair jutting from her head at odd angles. “Unnnh.” She grunted indignantly. “If you people have to get up before dawn, can’t you at least be quiet about it?”

Blake stopped in mid-motion and stared. “Did you sleep standing on your head?”

Merry telegraphed a curse from half-opened eyelids.

The telephone rang, saving Blake from verbal assault. Daddy answered on the third ring, an indication of how wrong things were that morning which, on the surface, seemed so normal. A sedentary creature, Daddy never roused himself to answer the phone if someone else was in the house. Apparently sensing some new peril on the other end of the line, the man of the house took the call.

“Blake.” Daddy handed him the phone. “It’s Sonny Ravenel over to Charleston.”

Blake and Sonny went way back. They’d been friends growing up. Sonny was now a detective with the Charleston Police Department. Blake laid his napkin by his plate and stood. He took the phone and stepped into the den.

“Speaker phone,” Colleen shouted from the top of the refrigerator.

I jumped up and pressed the speaker button on the phone’s base.

Blake was oblivious. He’d evidently wandered far enough through the house that he couldn’t hear the speaker. “Sonny.”

Mamma and Daddy stared at me as if clearly I’d been possessed by demons. Such a lapse in manners—to eavesdrop on a family member’s conversation—it was unthinkable. Nonetheless, no one moved to turn the speaker off.

“Morning Blake.” Sonny’s voice boomed into the kitchen. “Nell told me where to find you. Thought I’d keep this off the scanner for now. Couldn’t get you on your cell, got one of those damn fast busy signals.”

“What’s up?” Blake asked.

“You’d better head on over this way quick as you can.”

My stomach knotted. I was hoping they’d apprehended Troy Causby, but something in Sonny’s tone said he didn’t have good news.

“That Kristen Bradley you’ve been looking for?”

“Yeah?”

“Some fancy S.O.B type, light in his loafers you ask me, out walking his foo-foo rat dog this morning. Had a ruffled dress on, damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. The dog, not the guy…or whatever.”

I clenched my teeth, willing Sonny to get to what someone from South of Broad had to do with Kristen.

“Anyway, he lets the little yappy dog off his leash to go take care of business. Fifi won’t go unless he has privacy or some such bullshit. He makes a beeline for this construction site over near Waterfront Park—somebody apparently thinks we need more condos on this peninsula.”

We all stared, transfixed, at the phone.

“They’re just getting ready to pour the foundation. Fifi starts digging around, yapping…works himself into a frenzy. Won’t let the guy put him back on the leash. He digs and yaps and digs and yaps and guess what he digs up?”

“What?” Blake asked. But we all knew the answer.

“White female, mid-twenties. A real looker. No ID. Two gunshot wounds to the head.”

Merry let out a low moan and sank into a chair. Mamma grabbed the counter for support. I covered my face in horror.

“You sure it’s Kristen?” Blake asked.

“No ID on her, but it sure looks like the driver’s license photo you’ve been circulating. We’re at Prioleau and Middle Atlantic Wharf.”

“I’ll be right there.” Blake stepped back into the kitchen and laid the phone down on the table. We looked at him expectantly. His eyes bored into mine for a moment. He swiveled to Daddy. “I’ve got to go over to Charleston for a while. Keep Mom and the girls here with you until I get back. I’m going to send Coop over to keep an eye on things. He’ll be out front in a patrol car.
No one
is to leave this house until I get back or call.”

Daddy looked sheepish. “We…ahh…overheard.”

Blake gaped at him.

Daddy nodded towards me. I still stood by the phone base.

Blake smothered a curse. He looked from me to Merry. “Do I need to spell this out for you two?”

Merry’s eyes grew and watered.

“The person who put her there intended for it to be
you
, Merry Leigh. The person I am going to identify at that construction site could easily, but for the grace of God, have been you.”

He spun on me. “Do you get how serious this is? This is not some schmuck getting some on the side
.
”

“Enough Blake.” Mamma moved to Merry’s side and placed her arms protectively around her shoulders. “Go do what you have to do. Merry and Liz will stay here with us. Call as soon as you know something definite.”

I turned away from him. Outside the window, squirrels were helping themselves to Mamma’s birdseed.

Blake came up behind me and spoke softly, but in lethal tones. “Two gunshots to the head.” He let that sink in. “How did you know Troy had a gun? You said I should be careful, because he had a gun, and he would use it. You told me that the night it happened. How did you know?”

I turned to face him. “I can’t tell you,” I whispered.

His anger was palpable. He faced the room and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ve got to get moving,” he said. “Troy may know who he buried at that construction site in Charleston, and he may not. He may have buried Kristen in the rug without ever unrolling it. If not, he’s figured out by now that you, Merry, know enough to send him to prison. He’s capable of just about anything to avoid prison.”

“She gets it, okay? We all get it,” I said.

“I’ll call when I can.” He looked around the room at each of us and headed out the back door.

THIRTY-SEVEN

My mamma should have been a drug pusher. She approached Clay Cooper’s patrol car, goods in hand. “You poor little thing. You couldn’t have had time for a proper breakfast, running over here on such short notice. You take this now. There’s no reason why you can’t keep an eye on things here and have your breakfast at the same time.”

I’d walked outside with her to deliver the blueberry sin. “Hey, Clay.”

He didn’t take his eyes off those pancakes. “Hey, Liz.”

Clay knew as well as any of us that resistance was futile, but he made a perfunctory attempt. “Now, Mrs. Talbot, I’m pretty sure Blake would prefer me to stay focused on securing the premises and not be distracted by this fine stack of pancakes.” 

“Nonsense. You eat your breakfast.”

I could see Clay’s mouth watering as he reached through the patrol car window and eagerly accepted the piled-high plate of hot blueberry pancakes and bacon. Clay needn’t have worried. Blake knew better than anyone the only way Clay could get Mamma to go back in the house and lock the door was to take the plate and commence eating. Grinning from ear to ear, he did just that.

“Thanks, Mrs. Talbot. This looks mighty fine. To tell the truth, I did miss my breakfast this morning.”

She reached into the car and patted his shoulder. “Bless your heart. I am so sorry you had to come running out on our account. But I do feel so much safer with you out here.” She cast a quick look over her shoulder at Daddy, only a few dozen feet away in his front-porch rocking chair. It wouldn’t do for him to think she doubted his ability to protect us. A little louder, she added, “My Frank has everything under control, I’m sure. Nobody will get past him. You just enjoy your breakfast, now.”

He lifted another forkful. “Yes ma’am. But, uh, Mrs. Talbot, ma’am, if you and Liz would please go back inside, I surely would be much obliged. I have strict orders. You and the girls are not to cross the threshold, and, uh…”

“Yes, of course. We’re going right now. You just let Frank know when you’re finished. He can bring the plate in. You’ve got coffee, now, right?”

“Yes ma’am, I got a thermos full right here. Now please, if anything happened to you all on my watch, Blake wouldn’t have to kill me. I’d personally throw myself right off the Cooper River Bridge.”

I took an appraising look around our peaceful, oak-lined street where nothing bad ever happened. I shuddered and put my arm around Mamma’s waist. “Come on, Mamma. Let’s get back inside.”

The squawk on Clay’s radio was so loud and shrill that it not only startled Mamma and me, but brought Daddy out of his rocking chair on the front porch.

Mayhem ensued.

Chumley lunged one basset-hound length forward and barked in the direction of the car. His leap positioned him squarely between Daddy and the front porch steps. Chumley yelped as Daddy tripped over him and went sprawling down the steps, shotgun flying. As it hit the ground, the gun discharged. A flock of birds rocketed out of the live oak.

Focused on the radio, Clay evidently didn’t see the source of the shotgun blast. He threw open the door. Pancakes hit the pavement. Clay scrambled out of the car, pulling his pistol from the holster. He visually swept the area, crouching, gun clasped in both hands, arms locked forward.

Merry came flying out the front door. “Daddy,” she gasped. She ran down the steps as Mamma and I rushed to his side. He was sprawled half on the sidewalk and half in the azalea bushes that lined it.

Mamma reached his side and knelt beside him. “Frank, are you all right?”

“Cracked my damn knee,” Daddy muttered. He groaned, but managed to navigate from a full spread-eagle sprawl to a semi-sitting position. He looked up. “What’d I hit?”

Reassured by the fact that he was not only conscious, but sitting up, we breathed a sigh of relief. Chumley, however, went from bark to full howl.

“Maybe a tree limb,” I said. “Likely nothing but air.”

“Clay, are you there? This is your mother. Answer me right now.” Nell Cooper, having initiated the fracas when she tried to raise Clay on the radio, dropped all pretense of radio protocol.

Clay swept the area once more in a complete circle. Slowly, eyes darting around the perimeter, he holstered his gun and reached for the radio. “Yeah. I’m here. What’s up?”

“You’d better get over to Marsh Point. Willa Butler called in. She was out jogging this morning and says she saw something in the marsh.”

Clay’s voice took on an impatient edge. “Well, Mamma, what did she see? I’m on duty here. I can’t go running over to the marsh on a wild goose chase. This is serious business.”

It was as likely as anything that Willa the Voodoo Priestess wanted someone to come take a gander at suspicious patterns in the marsh grass.

“Well, son, she
says
it’s a dead body. I don’t reckon it gets any more serious than that.”

What in the name of sweet reason is going on?
I couldn’t imagine anything more unbelievable than a second body being discovered that morning. Willa had to be mistaken. I sent up a silent prayer for circles in the marsh grass, or some other such harmless nonsense that made up the fabric of our world.

Clay looked at us, then at the ground. He rolled his lips in, heaved a sigh, and then shook his head. “Hang on, Mamma,” he said into the handheld. He lowered the unit and dialed, then raised it to his ear.

We waited.

After a minute, Clay gave his cell phone/radio the evil eye. “Damn fast busy signal,” he said. “I can’t reach Blake. Rodney’s guarding Grace Sullivan. Sam’s supposed to be catching a few hours sleep.” He turned in a circle, either stalling, or praying for an idea. He shook his head, slow and wide. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

Finally, Clay spoke into his radio. “Mamma, call Doc Harper and ask him to meet me at the scene. And wake up Sam and send him on over, too. I need backup.”