Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (15 page)

EIGHTEEN

(Day #4: Monday Night)

The day had stretched on longer than I intended and I’d done absolutely nothing for the Wonderland Tea, and Labor Day weekend was now nearly over. I’d left everything in the hands of Carla, Jane, and Busy, a woman who couldn’t tell a Tuesday from a Sunday. Yes, this is the same woman I put in charge of Gilbert Goodsen’s defense.

I called for pizza delivery on my way home, and it arrived in my driveway when I did. Lest you raise your eyebrows at my back-to-back junk food meals, I did vow to ride my bike to the Big House for the next month. Well, at least for the next few days. Some exercise is better than none, right?

I ate over the sink and had just finished the last slice of BBQ chicken with extra cheese when the phone rang. Miranda Gaines, Jaime’s friend, returning my call.

“Oh Elliott, what awful news,” Miranda said in her soft drawl. “Of all the terrible things, you discovering Jaime on that boat is just the worst.” She said it, wurrrrrst.

“I know. Everyone at the Ballantyne is in shock. A complete surprise.” I waited a beat, then continued. “Do you have a minute to talk with me? A little background for the piece the Ballantyne would like to put out for Jaime.”

“Of course, Elliott. Maybe before the Tea on Wednesday. Though it won’t be the same without Jaime there. She had the most adorable pinstriped teapot she was bringing.”

“Actually, we wanted to say a few words about her at the Tea, so I was kind of hoping we could get together sooner. Like maybe tonight?” I made a quick note in my notebook to remind myself that I needed to say a few words about Jaime at the Tea.

“Well, I’ve got the girls coming over for mahj in a minute. I suppose you could stop by.”

“Mahj?”

“The Haverhill Ladies Mah Jongg League. I’m hosting tonight. It’ll probably be the perfect time for y’all to stop by. We’re putting together an impromptu potluck in Jaime’s honor. I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind, especially for the Ballantyne.”

“I really appreciate this, Miranda. I’ll be over in a bit.”

I’d barely clicked off when the phone rang in my hand.

“Hey, El. What time we going to Charleston tomorrow?” Sid asked. “You picking me up or want me to swing by?”

“Swing by the Big House and we’ll take the Mini.”

“For a two hour drive? I barely fit, even with the seat all the way back. Let’s take my X6. It’s roomier, plus plenty of space for all our shopping bags.”

I groaned out loud. I’m not a happy shopper. “Roomier, yes, but my top comes off and yours doesn’t. But listen, I can’t chat now. I’m off to a mah jongg game in Haverhill. Can we decide—”

“I’m on my way.”

The phone went dead in my hand. I dialed Sid back.

“Two seconds, I’ll be at your house. Seriously, do you know how hard it is to find an open game? They’re down a seat now.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry, sweetie. But it’s like New York real estate, you gotta move or someone else will get there first. See you in ten.”

It actually took Sid fifteen minutes to arrive, then another fifteen for us to zip over to Haverhill Plantation. We picked up our pass from the gate guard, the same well-armed soldier from Friday when I slid through with Ransom.

I drove around to Magnolia Drive, but turned right instead of left, away from the yacht club, then another right onto Cypress Court. Several houses lined the short block, each designed in a different architectural style. We passed a Colonial and Tudor before pulling into a white Georgian with four tall columns across the wide front porch.

“This looks familiar,” I said and nodded to the French country estate next door. Sid and I once scaled the estate’s courtyard wall in the middle of the night and nearly got shot trying to charm the bodyguard in the driveway.

“Milo wants you to know you’re welcome to join us for poker anytime. Though he’d rather you use the front door.”

“Hey, you were with me, sister.”

Sid straightened her pale pink sweater set and pulled out a string of pearls. “Too much? Or not enough? I also have a cameo brooch.”

I shoved my keys into my hipster and swung open the door. “It’s a card game, Sid, not tea with the queen.”

She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like naïve and adorable, then followed me up the brick drive.

Miranda opened the door before the bell chimes stopped ringing. And damned if she wasn’t wearing pearls. And a little black dress that would’ve made Coco Chanel herself stop and stare. I tried not to feel uncomfortable in my cargo capris and pink tee, or the fact that my sneakers squeaked on the shiny marble floor while her kitten heels delicately clicked.

She showed us into an enormous formal living room with a two-story wall of windows overlooking a spectacularly green rolling golf course. Three leather card tables with silk high-back chairs were set up amidst oversized floral sofas.

“Ladies,” Miranda hollered into the other room. “We have a special guest with us.”

Several women poured into the living room, each carrying a glass of wine and a small plate of appetizers and petit fours. Not your typical potluck. And yes, all dressed as if visiting the queen.

“Elliott, I didn’t know you were joining us,” Deidre Burch said.

I was happy to see a familiar face, and one not adorned with pearls. She wore her reading glasses around her neck on an orange and yellow decorative chain.

“You must be here about Jaime,” Deidre said.

“Lord Almighty, poor dear Jaime,” another woman said. She clicked over to me and balanced her wine and china plate in one hand and shook my hand with the other. “Caroline Walsh.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said in return. “Were you close with Jaime?”

She took a seat at the leather card table closest to the window. “Oh, I’m not sure any of us were close to her. More like committee friends than close friends.”

The other ladies made quick introductions, then took seats at the tables. Sid and I grabbed a glass of wine each, then sat down with Deidre and Miranda, behind Caroline and the others.

“The last group is running behind,” Miranda said when she noticed me glancing at the vacant third table. “We’ll start without them. It’s actually good you’re here, so much more fun to play with a four than three.”

“Have you ever played mahj?” Miranda asked. She dumped a hundred small tiles onto the table and started mixing them up, face down like dominoes. The other ladies quickly started arranging them in rows near their trays.

“Never. I actually thought it involved cards, like gin rummy.”

Sid kicked me under the table. “You’ve sat with me before, Elli. I used to be in mahj league with the hospital. It’ll come back to you.”

“Sure, sure. Looks easy enough.”

Deidre raised her brow and handed me a paper card folded into three parts. Dozens of crazy sequences ran in lines across the three sections, down in columns, all in different colors. Deidre started explaining about Bams, Craks, Pungs, Kongs, Dragons, and Dots. I thought my brain might explode.

She patted my hand. “Just follow us, sweetie. You’ll be fine.”

I played along with the tiles dealt to me, but let’s face it, no way I knew what I was doing. I arranged them by matching colors and numbers and tried to bury my intense competitive nature. Even though I was there for information, I really wanted to win. No matter that I had no idea what I was doing.

A lady at the next table began to sing the first line of an old tune from the forties, something about a young life lost too young. She hummed the rest.

“Dear Jaime,” she sang.

I leaned back to see her. She wore a quilted cardigan with a beaded necklace and her gray hair coiffed to perfection.

“Isn’t it just a shame? Should’ve been that goof Gilbert to go down,” another player at her table said. “Five dot.” She clacked down a tile so fast I almost didn’t see it. Then I realized I wasn’t supposed to be watching their game, I was supposed to be playing my own.

“Probably killed her himself. You know he lost his marbles some years ago.”

“That’s right! A three-day hold at Island Memorial, if I recall.”

Miranda shook her head and slapped down a tile. “Three crak. Picked up wandering the golf course in his boxers and missing a shoe. Odd duck that one.”

I picked up a tile and studied it like I knew what I was doing, then selected a random tile from my tray to discard. I could do this all night. Pick up one, discard another. “Odd duck?”

“Jaime didn’t say much to us over the years,” Miranda replied.

The singing grandma chimed in. “Four bam. Yes, but remember the cooking conversation.” She continued humming.

Another lady at her table picked up the thread. “She alphabetized everything in the refrigerator! Not just every cupboard in the kitchen, but also the produce drawers.”

Deidre looked at me over her orange polka dot readers. “Embarrassed the poor girl. Didn’t realize no one else organized their kitchen that way. Gilbert had a revolutionary idea for grocery shopping.”

I looked down and it was already my turn again. Jesus, these gals moved fast. The game would be over before I even asked my second question.

“Boy, she was hot over that,” a lady at the other table said.

“First she got mad,” the singing grandma said. “Then she got revenge.”

“Revenge?” I asked, trying to squeeze in a word. The conversation was flying faster than the damn tiles.

“Took his favorite driver and melted it into a knot.”

“Threw him out like a fox in a hen house. Then started on his clothes.”

“And kept on going,” Miranda finished. “Red dragon.”

My ears perked up. “Oh?” I asked casually and slung out another tile.

The grandma sang another tune about boots and walking. “Sold his baseball card collection on eBay, too, I think.”

I made a mental note to check eBay out later. “I heard she took his Fabergé egg,” I said. I threw out two tiles just to catch up.

Sid kicked me again and I yelped. She gave me back the tiles. “Not your turn, sweetie.”

I glanced down and realized I had only half the tiles the other ladies did. Maybe I should sneak a few from the pile to even it back up.

“Fabergé egg? Jaime never mentioned that,” Miranda said as the doorbell rang and the door swung open behind me. The other contingency of Mahj players.

“Hi girls, sorry we’re late!”

“What the hell is she doing here?”

I glanced at Sid. From the look on her face, I gathered I was the “she” in question.

I slowly turned and faced Alicia Birnbaum, Jaime’s tennis bff. I smiled and wiggled my fingers in a friendly wave. “Hi, Alicia. Good to see you, too.”

“This is a regulation Haverhill Women’s Club League game and you are absolutely not sanctioned to be here.” She turned to Miranda with an ice cold smile. “Miranda, darling, you know we could lose our position if she’s here.”

Alicia stepped forward and gripped my chair. “I do believe that’s your signal to leave.”

Sid firmly studied her mahj card, but every other woman firmly studied me.

“Thank you, Miranda,” I said. “You are a gracious host.”

I pushed my chair back so I could stand and accidentally rammed it into Alicia. I may have scooted with everything I had.

Alicia wobbled into the singing grandma behind us. She grabbed the table to steady herself and flung tiles across the room.

“How dare you!” Alicia shouted, her face so red with anger I could feel the heat from two feet away. But she closed the distance fast and shoved me back with her right hand.

I stumbled back and knocked into my own tray of tiles. I recovered in two seconds and shoved her right back. Both hands right in the middle of her chest. She flew over the empty silk high back and straight onto the sofa. One of her shoes fell off and I swear I saw her entire head of hair move, like a wig about to be displaced. She struggled to her feet and lunged.

“Watch it, bitch,” I said and threw up my hands. “I know kung fu.”

“That’s assault!” she screamed. “Miranda, call the police. I want her arrested.”

“Hey, you started it,” I shot back. “You can yell at me all you want, but don’t touch me.”

“Oh, I’ll yell! You’re a wretch, coming here when Gilbert murdered Jaime.”

“He didn’t kill Jaime!”

“Yes, he did!” Alicia yelled. “She was kindly returning his boat so he’d have a place to sleep and he killed her.”

“She stole his boat and nothing kind about it,” I said. “She was destroying it in the slip.”

“So now you’re saying she deserved to die?”

“Of course not, but I’m not letting an innocent man get accused of killing her.”

“Let me guess, you’re ‘helping’ him.” She said “helping” with an unattractive sneer. She picked up her shoe and pointed it at my face. “You’re the worst PI in the South. All your clients land in jail.”

Sid pulled me back before I could knock the shoe right out of Alicia’s hand.

“And since Gilbert’s already there, nothing more to argue about,” Sid said. She quickly handed me my handbag and pushed me toward the front door. She whispered, “Did you say kung fu?”

“I meant to say tae bo.”

“Since when do you know tae bo?”

“I don’t. But I think it’s more believable than kung fu. Though I’m pretty sure I have a yoga mat someplace.”

She gave my arm a squeeze, then raised her voice when we neared the foyer. Every lady in the room stood behind her. “You should feel lucky that Alicia Birnbaum is kind enough to let this slide. She has such class.” She winked at me.

I sighed.

Fine. Better to let Sid stay and get what info she could. I raised my chin in the air and put my hands on my hips. “You’re choosing Alicia over me?”

Alicia stood smug behind Sid.

I whirled on my sneaker and walked out the beautiful front door. Sid better get the good stuff, I thought, as the door shut firmly behind me.

After two wrong turns, I sped out of the Haverhill Plantation gate and onto Cabana Boulevard. It was after eight, but the air was still warm from the sun which already disappeared into the horizon.

It sounded as if Jaime had been extremely private, at least with this crowd. And this crowd seemed to be her closest circle of friends. Didn’t Miranda call Gilbert an odd duck? Someone sure did. I’m not sure I’d argue. But odd isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Unless you’re trying to impress the tea-with-the-queen set.

Alicia said Jaime was returning Gilbert’s boat the night she died. Those two were as thick as thieves. Literally. Alicia probably helped Jaime steal the boat.

I also wondered about the two appraisers I met with and the fight Gilbert had with the Whitakers, the ones who were unhappy about their viatical payout. They seemed awfully angry, especially the daughter, Kat. I thought Gilbert originally said she was quiet. Was she the type to harass, then murder? Steal the egg? Probably not steal the egg, then harass him about it. If she thought it would save her father’s life, it would be long gone now. Sold for money to pay for treatment. No need to harass Gilbert or kill his wife.

It didn’t take long to drive to my cottage and get tucked inside for the night. I had another big day tomorrow: the Ballantynes were coming home. But late, probably well after dark, so I had all day to make progress in Charleston. No need to update Mr. Ballantyne with every twist and turn. Better to wait until after the Tea, and after I’d found the egg. And if I couldn’t find the egg by then, I’d burn my bunny slippers.