Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (18 page)

“Like Labor Day holiday or like the English call a vacation, like going to university? Labor Day is over.” I placed my face near the glass with my hands cupped on both sides of my face, peering in to see what I could see.

Not the exact teapot, but several tea sets through the front part of the store. Something to hope for.

I dialed the number etched into the glass. No answer. No surprise, since they were probably across the pond enjoying tea and crumpets.

“Sid, this is it. I know it,” I said. “We have to get this teapot. I have to get inside this store right now.”

“We have to be at lunch in like five minutes.”

“I know, but this is more important. And it’s right there.”

“You don’t know that. What about the tables?”

“That’ll be more important after we get the teapot. My boss, my mentor, the closest person I have to any family, is flying home from Alaska, today, specifically because his dear favorite cousin Zibby thinks she’s winning the Wonderland Tea’s Peculiar Prize for this teapot. The one I broke and then hid like Peter Brady who broke mom’s favorite vase after she said don’t play ball in the house.”

“Uh-huh. I believe they all confessed. They were good like that. They didn’t hide it and buy a new one.”

“Well, they should have. I have to get that teapot. I have no tables for the event and my one client is sitting in jail. The only sure thing is that teapot is most likely right inside this door.”

“Most likely isn’t a sure thing, sweetie.”

I dialed the store number again, alternately pacing in front of the window and peeking through the glass.

“Check this out,” Sid said and waved from a spot ten feet away.

I walked over to a slim alley between the two buildings with The Boardroom on the right. And an open window on the second story.

Sid pushed back the rickety rusted iron accordion gate blocking the entrance. I barely fit frontways, and Sid, who’s built like a professional athlete, six feet of tone and tension, scooched behind me.

A soft concerto floated down from the window. Its sophistication no match for the stench emanating from the alley. Sour vegetables, urine, rank body odor, misery. While no reason for this alley’s existence came to mind, a trash truck or delivery van couldn’t service the shops from it, I’m pretty sure Charleston’s less fortunate sought shelter, and solace, in the tight space.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Helloooooo!”

Sid and I stared at the open window, our necks tipped back in unison, but no one appeared. We shouted louder and louder until nearly hoarse.

I stretched my arms, trying to reach the cement sill, but no go. Not even Sid’s ridiculously long arms came close. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t even think it, sister. We’re having lunch at the Palmetto Café. You’re not putting those grimey shoes on my person.”

“I’m not going to stand on your shoulders, for shit’s sake. I’m not aiming for the roof. I only need an extra couple feet. I’ll sit.”

“Try shouting again. Or throw a rock.”

We scoured the ground, neither of us wanting to actually touch anything. Sid didn’t. Since it was my desperation, it was my mucky rock. I found a lump and palmed it. “Not enough room to really wind up,” I said.

“It’s not a baseball. You’ll break the window.”

I aimed and flung. My elbow slammed into the brick behind us. The rock missed the target, but cracked the edge of the sill, raining dust down on me.

“I’m climbing, Sid. The clock is ticking and we have to do something.”

She stared at me a beat. “Fine, but take off your shoes.”

I left my ballet flats on the ground and hoisted onto Sid’s shoulders in the most unladylike way possible. I pulled her hair and smacked her cheek.

We tottered forward, then backward. “Don’t slam into the wall, Sid, I’m wearing silk.” My pants were wrinkled, and I knew I had alley wall particles in my hair, but my outfit remained lunch-worthy.

I gripped the gritty sill, stuck my face in the open window, and hollered.

Judith Durant popped up from behind a cabinet and scared the crap out of me. I screamed, Judith screamed, Sid screamed. Then Sid ran, leaving me hanging from the sill. Judith rushed over and opened the window all the way. “Good Lord in Heaven, what are you doing out there, Miz Lisbon?”

She grabbed both my arms and yanked. My bare feet scarcely gained traction as I scaled the wall. As soon as I was halfway through, Judith tugged me like a sumo wrestler going for the gold and I flew ass over teakettle into her lunch. Tuna fish salad and cold coffee. I was so grossed out by the combination of smells, I barely heard Sid pounding on the door downstairs.

Judith ran out and I plucked a dozen thin sheets from a tissue box on the desk, mopping up coffee splashes from my arms to my face. When neither Sid nor Judith appeared in the upstairs office, I went down to the shop.

They were chatting near the front between a painted china hutch and stack of colorful Moroccan silk pillows.

“I told y’all I was closing. Then I walked over here to close this shop up. I own a third, in case you need to break into another one later today.”

“No, we’re good,” I said.

Sid handed me my shoes. “Looks like we found the pawn parlor,” she said, pointing at a row of teapots.

Adrenaline perked me right up. “That’s it!” I walked over to delicate tea set adorned in hand-painted poppies with green leaves. It truly resembled silk chintz fabric. A whimsical orange poppy sat atop the lid and the handle was covered in porcelain leaves. “I’ve been searching for this exact pot. It’s to replace an identical one purchased here a while back.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you needed a teapot like Zibby’s? I sold it to her myself.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Zibby Archibald. She called this shop a pawn parlor,” I said, then added before I offended her, “we call our board room the parlor. Zibby mingled the names. But a pawn shop is pretty close to a consignment shop.” Mentally adding, you could’ve mentioned it when I asked because they’re nearly the same.

“Not close in the least. Different clientele,” she said, as if an expert in all things pawn related. “Jaime sent Zibby my way, told her about my collection. I think Jaime was trying to make friends on the board.”

“Well, I’d love to buy it. How much?” I flipped over the paper tag hanging by a string from the handle. It said $250 written in red pen, then SOLD AB.

“It’s already sold. Twice already. Once to a buyer in London, then to Alicia Birnbaum who said she had to have it. She thought it would be fun for her and Zibby to have matching pots at the Tea.”

Alicia Birnbaum wasn’t invited to the Tea. And she knew full well the Tea was about originality. So why sabotage Zibby? Or was she really trying to sabotage me?

“I’ll double what she paid if you let me take it right now,” I said.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m giving it to Alicia today…” her voice trailed, her face in full negotiation mode now. “You know, Alicia and Jaime were like sisters. Alicia wanted to be just like her. Probably thought she’d help her out with the board. I’d hate to interfere.”

“There must be a dozen other things that will bring Alicia Birnbaum closer to Jaime than a teapot she recommended to Zibby Archibald.”

Judith stood silent, slowly shaking her head.

“I’ll triple it,” I said.

“Done.” She pointed to a pretty turquoise peacock pot. “Alicia had her eye on this one, too.”

I whipped out my credit card before she could change her mind. This egg case had cost me more than a thousand bucks in a single week. The teapot counted as part of the case because Jane exasperated me whilst discussing the egg when I dropped Zibby’s original set.

Judith wrapped it carefully in bubble wrap. I thanked her again and we left. Standing on the sidewalk, I checked my watch.

“Oh crap, we’re forty-five minutes late!”

I stashed the teapot in Sid’s car and ran the three blocks to the Charleston Place Hotel. I hurried around the stone fountain in the drive and burst into the lobby, Sid three steps behind me. I slowed, so as to not draw attention.

The elegant marble floors shone with a generation’s worth of polish. An enormous crystal chandelier hung between two sides of a grand double staircase covered in heavy rugs, held in place on each stately step with a heavy brass bar. A floral arrangement sat center, understated and delicate, and yet somehow still dominated the space.

I asked the bellman for directions to the closest powder room. He visibly stepped back at my appearance. And smell. I was filthy, disheveled, tattered, and reeked like a dock worker who slept in an alley.

He pointed across the lobby, and as I followed the direction of his gloved hand, Mimi Ransom stepped into view. With Alicia Birnbaum by her side.

TWENTY-ONE

(Day #5: Tuesday Afternoon)

“I’m out,” Sid whispered and fled.

“You just want your mah jongg seat!”

Before I could also flee, Alicia spotted me. She wore a tailored shift straight from the fifties. All that was missing were a pair of gloves and pillbox hat. She turned to Mimi, who if possible, was her fashion superior in a tea-length suit and draped silk scarf, and helpfully pointed me out in the lobby.

Embarrassment burned from my insides out. A flash that simmered in my gut and crept up my neck. I started to sweat, which made everything worse.

I didn’t dare look down at my sullied outfit. If it were as clean as a just-cleaned whistle, I couldn’t compete. As is, security was certainly on their way to escort me from the lobby.

“Look what the cat finally dragged in,” Alicia said in a low voice as they approached.

Mimi Ransom leaned in and kissed my cheek. I’m positive it tasted like coffee and tuna. “How delightful to see you again, dear.”

She was as kind and gracious as I was awkward and inappropriate–in my appearance, in my timeliness, and in my smelliness.

“My apologies, sincerely,” I said. “Take me two shakes to get cleaned up. I had a bit of a scrum behind an antiques store.”

They raised brows. “Oh?”

“Helping a Ballantyne board member,” I said.

“Helping them hide the body?” Alicia asked.

I thought about mentioning the teapot I just bought out from under her, but didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“I’m sorry, Elli, but I’m on the run. Something came up at the stables,” Mimi said. “And I wish I had better news about your tables. I thought the staff here at the hotel might help. They had a cancellation, but booked a replacement event last minute.”

I fought back panic, swallowing and blinking. No lunch, no tables, no time.

“It was lovely to meet you, Alicia,” Mimi said. “And Elli, we simply must get together soon.” And with that, Mimi Ransom walked out the glass doors, taking my hope with her.

Alicia smirked. “Guess you should’ve looked for tables at that antique shop.” Then she strode off in the other direction, heels clicking, attitude clacking.

I literally snapped my fingers in an Ah-Ha! moment. Who knew Alicia Birnbaum’s snark would save my day?

With a quick spin toward the lobby doors, I dashed outside and chased after Mimi in the drive near the fountain. “Mimi, wait,” I said, waving her down. “Do you have any restaurant connections? Maybe Moroccan or Indian, who have a spare fifty squat tables?”

She smiled. “I like your style. Now that I can do.”

“You’re a saint. And I promise to be on time in the future.” I looked down at my outfit. “Well, and cleaner.”

“You’re lovely, Elli. Say hello to my Nick for me.”

I agreed and went back inside the hotel to the powder room. I needed to scrub off some of the stench and muck before Sid made me sit in the way back for the ride home.

What I really needed was a tall glass of something ice cold and boozy to wash away my mortification. My life with the Ransoms was one long line of humiliations and indignities. From spending the majority of our forensics class with my head between my knees to backing into the family mailbox on Thanksgiving Day. But hey, even twenty years later, I still got it.

My makeup took the brunt of the coffee splatter. Mascara ran down my left eye, the eyelashes themselves a droopy mushy mess. The blush I’d carefully applied now had random blank circles where the liquid washed it away.

Lord help me, this is what I looked like? My hair mussed and dusty, my tunic stained and mottled. And the horrendous smell. How could she kiss me? And not gag or wince or flinch? What would she say to Ransom?

I had just turned on the hot water when Alicia came out of one of the stalls. She stopped, stared, then went to another sink.

“I do not for the life of me understand why so many people think you’re so damn amazing,” Alicia said, swirling her hands in soap. “Show up late. Looking like…like…like I don’t even know what. What the hell were you doing?”

“My job.”

“You deserved to lose those tables.”

“I didn’t lose anything. I actually got an even better idea out of this mishap.”

“Mishap? You’re a dump. An embarrassment. A menace. You think you can do whatever you want. All in the name of the Ballantyne—a bunch of—”

“Watch it, Alicia.” I pointed a soggy towel right at her face. “Don’t mess with me or the Ballantyne.”

“Or what? You going to slug me? Oh wait, you don’t have your best friend here to protect you.” Her voice shook when she said “best friend.” She threw her towel in the bin. It missed. She grabbed it with a trembling hand and slammed it down the chute.

I had my best friend and she didn’t. “I’m sorry Jaime’s gone,” I said. “I know it’s a terrible loss.”

“How dare you try your Ballantyne act on me,” she said. “You know nothing about my loss.”

I finished with my towel and tossed it into the bin. “Both my parents died when I was twenty. One right after the other,” I said. I looked at her full on. “You feel empty and lost. As if some unseen anchor, one you never even realized was attached, has disappeared, leaving you alone and adrift.”

Alicia let go. Her posture folded in on itself and she leaned on the sink counter. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “She was my family. I don’t know what to do. We’re supposed to play in a tournament this weekend. How can I ever go to our club again? It won’t be the same.” Anger rose to the surface and she pointed her finger at me. “She loved our club, the one place Gilbert could never go. And now I can’t go either.”

She snatched another towel and covered her face as she cried.

“I’m sorry,” I said and slipped out the door.

Words couldn’t help her. I didn’t reassure her things would be okay. Because they wouldn’t. Not for a very long time.

I walked back down Market Street and found Sid waiting for me in her car. She’d moved the tea set to the rear, put a garbage bag over the entire front seat, headrest to bottom, and another down in the foot well. “It’s that or you sit in back.”

Using her fancy electric buttons, she rolled down all the windows and the sunroof and we hit the highway at full speed. Without a hat, my sometimes curly auburn hair would be blown snarly when we returned to Sea Pine, but at least we didn’t have to smell me.

“I’m starving,” I said.

“Yeah, I skipped breakfast. More room for the Palmetto’s she-crab soup and lobster mac and cheese.”

“There’s a Zaxby’s just off the highway,” I said, fiddling with her GPS screen.

“So not the same,” she said.

The GPS lady directed us, and with only a twenty minute delay to scarf down two orders of Chicken Fingerz, we were back on the road.

Ransom called before we even hit I-95. “Mimi says you were quite impressive.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I said.

“Seriously. She said you had a genius idea for tables.” He paused. “Why? What did you do this time?”

“No ‘this time.’ I’m a genius remember?” I said and quickly changed the subject. “When are you releasing Gilbert?”

“He’s already out,” he said. “Released this morning.”

“Really? You caught Jaime’s real killer?”

“No, we just don’t have the evidence to arrest Goodsen for it. Yet. But I’ll tell you what I told him and Busy Hines: he should not leave town.”

“He’s not leaving town.”

“Yeah, I doubt he’s capable of leaving town. But with your help, on the other hand…”

I hung up.

“Great news,” I said to Sid. “No evidence to arrest Gilbert, so he’s out of jail. Just in time for the Ballantynes to arrive tonight and the Wonderland Tea tomorrow!”

“He could still get arrested, sweetie.”

“Well, not tonight he can’t. Wait, forget I said that.” I started looking around the car. The dash, the doors, the center console.

“Whatcha doing?”

“I’m looking for wood to knock on.”

Tod phoned as we passed the gated entry to Oyster Cove Plantation back on Sea Pine Island. He was tied up with a topiary emergency and couldn’t meet the Ballantynes at the Big House, who were due to land any minute.

Sid dropped me at my cottage door and I ran inside. Not to pat my own back, but I was killing it lately in the abbreviated shower get-ready-fast department. I was dressed in linen pants and an eskandar button down shortly before four thirty. I popped into my garage and remembered, once I saw it empty, that my Mini was back up at the Big House.

I climbed onto my three-wheeler, tossing my hipster handbag into the basket, and pedaled as fast as I could without breaking into a literal sweat. I parked my bike near the front steps two seconds before a float of a car rambled up the drive. The Ballantyne’s Rolls Corniche. Vivi waved with both hands from the front seat and Mr. Ballantyne honked the horn.

Vivi Ballantyne was a petite seventy-two year old dynamo, not a frail bone in her delicate body. She wore a pretty pink pantsuit with Chanel flats and tucked her arm in mine once she hit the pavement. “My lovely Elli, oh we missed you so!”

I kissed her soft cheek. “And I, you.”

Mr. Ballantyne lifted the massive trunk lid and removed their luggage, five leather bags ranging in size from shoe case to steamer trunk.

“What’s the twist, Elliott?” Mr. Ballantyne shouted. He was six feet of stage presence, robust and commanding and captivating. Think Jimmy Stewart on Broadway.

I wasn’t sure which twist he was referring to, since we had so very many for the Wonderland, but a bright red and orange truck backed up the driveway, an Indian restaurant supply company name painted in fancy script along the side.

I wanted to jump and shout! The tables arrived! Hallelujah PTL. “You’ll love it, sir. Something fanciful to take advantage of our perfect weather.”

“I bet you ordered it up special,” Vivi said.

“Indeed I did,” I replied. I made a mental note to send Mimi a gift and an invite to the Palm & Fig Ball this Christmas. And a second mental note to look my very best.

We walked through the Big House. Where once there was chaos, now complete order. The tea sets were gone. All of them. I did not know where, but I did not care.

Mr. Ballantyne opened the patio doors wide and we went outside to see the transformation in progress.

A grungy Tod walked up the path and I quickly held up my arm, palm flat. The international sign for stop, duck, and hide. He jumped into the garden hedge just as the Ballantynes surveyed the scene.

Beyond the lap pool and patio, dozens of crape myrtles, massive oaks and towering magnolias spread out among the greens of the back lawn. Heavy strands of Spanish moss dangled from the oaks’ branches, along with twelve-arm crystal chandeliers and oversized brass keys on long ribbons.

We watched as the crew unloaded squat tables and stacks of square poufs, ornately decorated with intricate embroidery and rolled edges.

“I love your imagination! Such a twist, indeed,” Vivi said. “The children will adore sitting on pillows for tea.”

“Wholeheartedly agree, my dear,” Mr. Ballantyne said. “Looks as if you’ve got things under control, as usual.” He winked at me and I felt my cheeks burn. Did he know how out of control things were just an hour ago? Probably.

“I think we’ll retire to the residence,” he said.

“I’ll have Carla send up dinner, then, after you get settled,” I said and hugged them both.

They went inside and Tod popped out of the bushes. He had ivy in his hair and dirt on his chin. “A small tussle with the Cheshire Cat,” he said as he walked by.

I tracked down Carla outside the kitchen, which was apparently still off limits. A petite sous chef stood guard at the swinging door.

“The Ballantynes are upstairs,” I said to Carla. “They’d like dinner when you get a minute.”

“Of course. I’m making Vivi’s favorite: Seafood tacos with lime cilantro aioli and blue corn chips for snacking.”

“Babies, I’m here!” Busy Hinds said and glided into the room. She wore a tall white chef’s hat and matching coat. “I’m ready to pipe when you are, Carla.”

“I’ll leave you two to your piping and tacos,” I said.

I started to walk away, then remembered Gilbert and turned back. “How is Gilbert doing? Did you get him tucked in someplace?”

“Like an asylum?” Carla said.

“He’s doing fabulous,” Busy said. “Full of vim and vigor and can’t wait to hit the street. Says he has his own plan and might not need you at all.”

“His own plan?” I asked, but they’d left for the kitchen and left me standing in the hall.

Nothing good could come of this.

With the Ballantynes tucked in for the night, everyone in place, crews handling the tea set up, and me freshly showered, I had time to visit Gilbert and see exactly what this “plan” was.

I popped into Tod’s dark office beneath the stairs. It had a tall ceiling, but not much square footage. A rickety chandelier hung over his desk and archaic door knockers hung on the wall. Very Addams Family meets the Haunted Mansion. He liked the imagery.

“I’m heading out, won’t be gone but an hour. Two tops,” I said.

He waved me off. “Take the night. You saved me an embarrassing moment.”

I stood shocked, my eyes duly wide, my hand on my chest. “Are you saying
you
owe
me
?”

“I’m saying leave before I change my mind.”

I left.

With the top down, I zipped out of the gate and onto Cabana Boulevard, heading south to Sugar Hill plantation to visit Gilbert. But as I waited my turn with the gate guard, I saw Gilbert’s squished white and green Smart Car zoom past me.

The Mini was the perfect vehicle for stakeouts and car chases. I only needed half the room of a normal car to make a u-turn, whilst still in line. I whipped around and followed.

I stayed three cars back, which was difficult. I overestimated his speed when I used the term zoom. More like a smooth putter. I almost accidentally passed him twice.

He drove north on Cabana to Old Pickett Road, then turned right, following it around the creek. He pulled into the parking lot of the Wharf, a swank restaurant on the Intercoastal Waterway with a spectacular view of the Palmetto Bridge.

I parked in the far corner, far enough from the entrance it had to be staff parking. I tucked the Mini between two mid-sized SUVs. I could’ve parked next to Gilbert and asked him about his plan, but I wanted to see what he was up to. It’s what investigators did.

Gilbert certainly looked more put together than he had of late as he walked across the lot and into the restaurant. Only one mismatched shoe, and though his shirt was inside out, he wore normal pants.

I noticed Ransom’s slick silver racer parked by the door. Maybe he had the same idea I had. But before Gilbert even arrived?

A young hostess in ridiculously high heels greeted me at the door. I told her I was meeting someone and casually checked the dining room. Square tables set at angles faced a wall of windows, each table covered in a white cloth. Nearly every table was taken, fine diners preparing to enjoy their five-star meal while watching the sun set over the bridge.

Gilbert wasn’t in the main dining room. I casually walked toward the bar and spotted Ransom on a high-backed stool. He lifted his drink in greeting. I slid into the seat next to his.

“Riesling, please,” I said to the bartender.

She uncapped a bottle of Loosen Bros, poured, and set the glass in front of me on top of the requisite white napkin square. Then topped off Ransom’s drink from a bottle of Pellegrino.

“Water?” I asked.

“I don’t drink when I’m on the job.”

“PI’s don’t necessarily follow those rules.”

“I find you don’t necessarily follow any rules.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“And you’re watching Goodsen,” Ransom said. He tilted his head toward the patio.

I leaned forward and looked at Gilbert on the deck. He sat alone, half facing the railing, half facing the glass door entrance to the restaurant.

“Be careful,” Ransom said. “You’ll get us made.”

“Not if we’re on a date.”

“So now you’re ready to date me?”

“All in the name of the hunt.”

“Uh-huh. How’s that coming along?”

“We’ve been here before, Ransom. You tell me, I tell you.”

“I think it was you show me yours, I show you mine.”

“That sounds like an evasive answer.”

“The only kind you give me,” he said.

I sipped my wine, slowly. It was sweet and crisp and delicious. I leaned forward again for a better view of Gilbert. A man joined him at his table. Dr. Locke, the one who I’d seen arguing with Gilbert at the morgue. I took another sip of wine to hide my reaction.

“You know him?” Ransom asked.

I set my wine on the napkin square. “He looks familiar.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Gilbert and Dr. Locke sat close together, huddled almost, at their four-top. They looked like two people plotting something nefarious.

I shrugged at Ransom. “You know him?”

“Looks familiar,” he said.

“Good evening, Nick,” a woman said in a sultry voice. “Been waiting long?”

I looked over his shoulder at Alicia Birnbaum. She wore a black dress with black heels. All sleek and sexy, and, if I’m being honest, slutty.