Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (6 page)

I quickly flipped open the file. A ticket from a pawn broker. Some scribbles, notes, “estimated value of $60,000.” Another appraisal beneath it, from a different firm. Antiques dealer on the island. More scribbles, notes. “Estimated value of $150,000.”

I heard the click of her heels getting louder, so I slapped the folder shut and jumped to my feet. “Thank you, perfect,” I said and took the Styrofoam cup. I gulped it down in two enormous swallows.

She followed me to the door, anxious for me to leave.

“Does Jaime have keys to this office?” I asked.

“Yes, yes she does. And she knows the alarm code. It had to be her, we’re the only ones who know it.”

I stared at the square number pad next to the door. The ink on the eight key looked nearly rubbed clean off. I looked back to Gilbert’s office with the bright orange altar for Clemson football. “1980, a big #83. The code has to be eight-oh-eight-three. Or maybe eight-three-eight-oh, right?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “How did you know?”

I patted her arm. “I’m a trained professional.” And people are predictable. It took me less than thirty-seconds to figure that sucker out, and I’m seriously not all that trained. Or all that professional.

Once inside my car, I wrote down the two names of the appraisers from the file before I forgot. Huge discrepancies in their estimated values, along with their respective establishments. Why go to a pawn broker for a Fabergé? A call to Sotheby’s seems more likely. Which meant a trip to both for me.

SEVEN

(Day #2: Saturday Evening)

I drove the five miles home along Cabana Boulevard admiring the tenacity of Jaime Goodsen. While it must totally suck to have your clothes ripped and burned and scattered along the main thoroughfare, Jaime really put it all out there. And I mean all. Shirts, shoes, socks, underpants. Not an armload or suitcase full, but an entire wardrobe.

So why take a single egg?

The afternoon sun was sinking lower in the sky when I returned to my cottage. I wasted no time lounging around, even though the sofa and my Tivo tempted me. My close friend Sigrid Bassi was meeting me at the regatta at six and she promised not to go in without me. After a leisurely but regimented shower, I dressed in my most dashing sailing attire: white shorty pants, navy and white striped sweater set, and dark red sneakers. I plopped a straw boater on my head, switched everything into a matching straw handbag, and headed to the boatyard.

The annual Labor Day Regatta brought out sailors from all over South Carolina. Hosted by the Bay Harbor Yacht Club in Pelican Bay Plantation, local residents sponsored their favorite vessels and junior yachtsmen while a dozen restaurants provided tables of food and drink.

The line to enter the Pelican Bay gatehouse had cars stacked in a strip nearly to the bridge, so I patiently waited my turn. Ironically, directly across the highway was Washburn Lane, the road that led directly to Fisher’s Landing and Tug Boat Slim’s, scene of yesterday’s shooting. I stared at Washburn Lane pretty intently, but nothing jumped out, so I took the gate pass when it was my turn and followed the car line toward the Yacht Club.

Pelican Bay is probably the loveliest plantation on the island. Narrow streets accented with low brick curbs and a grove of oaks draped in Spanish moss. White plantation homes with tall black shutters, columns, and breezy front porches with swings and wooden ceiling fans. So very Southern, one expected to see Scarlett fiddle-dee-dee-ing on the front steps.

Sid stood by the entrance to the club. Tall enough to feel at home on the women’s Olympic volleyball team with a tan to match, Sid’s athleticism served her well as one of the top realtors on the island. She never ran out of energy whether to show a house, attend an event, or make a deal.

We walked through the clubhouse to the rear deck where the party was rocking. Colorful lanterns were strung from pillar to post ten feet high and a beach band rocked the dock.

“Cocktails or appetizers first?” Sid asked. She wore her long brown hair pulled back in a vintage Hermes scarf with a sailing motif.

“Definitely cocktails,” I said as my gaze stopped on a gorgeous looker stepping onto the dock. Matty Gannon. Rugged and sweet, with soft brown hair and matching soft brown eyes.

Matty and I met on a blind date almost two years earlier. I adored him immediately. Everything about him. His laugh, his laid back manner, and surprisingly, for a planner like me, his spontaneous nature. Then his brother crashed our date. Somehow things slipped from affection to friendship before our dessert forks hit the table, and they never slipped back. Until Matty made a move at the beginning of this summer, but apparently I suck at dating.

“Now you going to tell me how you ran Matty Gannon out of town?” Sid asked me.

I watched Matty walk across the faded wood slatboard deck. He tied a rope from a white sailboat around a metal cleat. His strong legs looked damp from a recent splash, his arms tanned from a summer in the sun. His brown hair windblown.

Sid elbowed me. “Okay, sweetie, close up your jaw and tell me the story.”

A waiter swung by with a tray of mai tais and we scooped up two.

“I didn’t actually run him out of town. We were on a date. Well, just finishing it, really. It was going swimmingly. Then I may have mentioned to Matty I was having fun dating two men at once. And maybe something about making out with Ransom two nights earlier.” I took a deep sip of my fruity libation. “The night deteriorated from there.”

“Why would you say all that?”

“I don’t know. Soon I was babbling about rounding bases and crap. I don’t think I can handle two men at once.”

“At least not those two.”

I clinked her glass. “Amen, sister.”

Sid and I stepped across the deck, closer to Matty’s brother’s boat. Matty saw me and waved, and we met in the middle of the dance floor.

“Hey, Matty,” I said. “You look good. I mean, it’s good to see you.”

He laughed low and I tingled. “Good to see you, too. Been awhile.”

After our date debacle, Matty left two days later for Maine. Took his brother’s boat, the
Fire Escape
, up the coast while his brother, wife, and new baby flew up to spend the summer with their parents. That was the first of June.

“The entire summer. I haven’t seen you since, well, okay, then, it was—” Sid elbowed me to stop and I took a swig of mai tai. “So how was Maine?”

“Beautiful,” he said. “Spent a lot of time sailing, working on the boats, enjoying the family time.”

Remembering him holding the sweet newborn made my heart catch, and I heard a faint tick from the tiniest of biological clocks. A light breeze picked up his cologne, a salty sexy blend of seawater, grapefruit and sage. “Can we do lunch, Matty?” I blurted. “It’d be nice to catch up. Tell me about your trip and you and things.”

He watched me, all warm brown eyes and dreamy long lashes.

My palms started to burn, and I felt a patch of heat start to creep up my neck at the thought of him turning me down. He’d never turned me down before.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, but with school starting, I’ve got a pretty busy day on campus. Both days, really. With the holiday.”

I quickly waved him away to cover my embarrassment. “Oh, sure, of course. No big deal. Another time.”

“I still have to eat. Might be nice to escape campus for an hour.”

He was definitely making me work for it. “Can we meet at the Big House? It’s the tea set drop-off for the Wonderland Adventures this week, so I’m trapped all day. But Carla can make us something by the pool.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at noon, then?”

A perky little blonde interrupted us. She bounced over to Matty and hugged him. Arms up around his neck and a kiss right on the lips.

Pretty in pink scrubs from the emergency room.

“Elliott, this is Elaine,” Matty said. His arm was around her shoulders.

“Hi! I’m so excited to meet you,” she said. “I mean, meet you for real this time. I’m Elaine, from the hospital. But you must call me El.”

El? I’m El, I thought. El’s my name and I obviously had it first since I’m a solid ten years older than her. Fine, maybe twelve years, whatever.

“You are just a hero to me,” she bubbled. “A role model. Like an elder in a tribe.”

“Okay, then.” I belted back the rest of my mai tai and lifted my empty glass. “Think I’m ready for another drink. You, Sid?”

Matty smiled, all crooked and low. “Maybe y’all should have an appetizer or something.”

“Definitely. I noticed the spread Tug Boat Slim’s put out way, way, way on the other side of the deck.” I nodded at Elaine to say goodbye and Sid grabbed my elbow.

“
Elliott!
”

I whirled around and saw Gilbert Goodsen rushing through the crowd.

“Oh, good Lord,” I whispered.

He was wearing a lime green tee with a dozen burn holes and only one short sleeve. His yellow linen shorts were stained with blue splotches. The pockets stuck out on both sides.

“She stole my boat!
My boat!
” He yelled so loud, nearly every head turned to watch. He grabbed my shoulder with his good arm. “
She stole my boat!
”

I smiled at the lookyloos and gripped his arm, tugging it off my shoulder. “Gilbert, calm down.”

“Oh my God, you’re the man who got shot,” Elaine said. She reached for his sling. “You shouldn’t get this agitated. Is it the medication? Are you on medication?” She turned to me. “It’s the medication. It can have severe side effects.”

Gilbert nodded at me rapidly, like a bobble head on a roller coaster. “Elliott. Elliott. You have to help me. You said you’d help me.
Why won’t you help me!
”

“You’re
helping him
, helping him, like with the investigation?” Elaine perked. “How exciting! What are you doing? Tracking down the killer? Or his wife? I hear they’re getting a divorce and she hired a hit man. Did you find the hit man?”

I glanced at Matty whose smile only deepened.

“No hit man,” I said to Elaine, then gripped Gilbert’s arm. “No hit man, right, Gilbert?”

He gripped my grip and we stood six inches apart. “You need to call that lieutenant. The one from the bar? He asked all about you, sounds like you’re close. He can pull strings. You can pull strings.
Someone pull strings! Make him help us!
”

Matty’s smile left the regatta.

I didn’t see it leave, just felt it. I didn’t have the nerve to look at him.

“Sounds like you have your hands full, Elli,” he said. “I think we’ll go try Tug’s chowder now.”

He led Elaine away, and I turned to Sid. “I don’t know how this happens to me.”

“I know, Sweetie. I’m going to mingle a bit, let you handle this.”

I nodded and led Gilbert through the clubhouse to the benches out in front of the Yacht Club entrance.

“Why would Jaime steal your boat?” I asked after I called Sea Pine dispatch.

“Money. I think. She wants all my money,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve worked. I’ve paid my dues. I’m getting a good roll now. Took a while, but I never gave up. I knew I could get there. Oh, man. The rest of my cash was on that boat. Everything.”

“Don’t you believe in banks?”

“Not in this economy.” He started pacing the brick paver driveway, gesturing wildly with his good arm, letting his sling bounce against his chest. “She must’ve known all along, that’s why she didn’t want the twenty-five g, she wanted it all. Everything I had. I don’t understand.”

“It didn’t occur to you that she knew you were hiding money and she’d figure out a way to get it back?”

He stopped pacing to stare at me just as two patrol cars pulled under the awning.

Corporal Lillie Parker stepped out of the first car. She was thin and lanky and graceful as a dancer on a stage. She’d been my ally at the police station after my old ally retired to Florida and stuck me with his replacement, Nick Ransom.

The other cop barreled out of the second car as if fired from a cannon. Built like a bulldog and ready for a fight. I’d never seen him before.

“Where’s the lieutenant?” Gilbert pointed at the lead patrol car as if Ransom was hiding in the back seat.

“Off duty,” Parker said. “What can we do for you, Mr. Goodsen?”

“My wife stole my house and I need it back.”

I put my hand on Gilbert’s sleeve. “His boat is missing. It’s basically his house right now. Divorce.”

“That why you’re wearing that getup?” Officer Bulldog said.

“Who are you? You’re not the lieutenant.” Gilbert asked.

“Deputy Russell Prickle, that’s who. I’m not dragging a lieutenant down here for a missing boat.” He pulled out a thick notebook and flipped the pages until he reached the middle. “You got any proof your wife took your houseboat?”

“It’s not a houseboat. Well, it’s a house boat, just not a houseboat. It’s a workhorse. But kind of small for a fulltime residence. Not that I need a fulltime residence. Jaime and I are in a rough patch. She took my egg so I’m sure she took the boat.”

“An egg? You brought us down here for an egg?” Officer Prickle said.

“Another matter altogether. This is about the boat,” I said and turned to Gilbert. “Tell him about the boat. Not the egg. I’ve got the egg.”

“You’ve got the egg!” Gilbert grabbed me with his good arm. The one without a sleeve. “All this time I’m talking about the boat and you’ve got my egg?”

“No, not like that. I meant I’ve got it handled.”

His dejected expression, sad eyes, and droopy frown, made me reach out and hug him. I walked him to the bench to sit down.

Gilbert told Officer Prickle the specifics on his boat: name, type, length, license number, while Prickle scratched down minimal notes.

“You can pick up the report from the station in three days, after the holiday weekend,” Prickle said. “Take it to your insurance company. Give a copy to your attorney.”

“When will I get it back? You think by tonight?”

“It’s gone. Probably halfway to Bermuda now.”

“What?” Gilbert jumped up so fast, his shorts ripped.

Parker stepped forward. “We’ll notify the Coast Guard and Harbor Patrol. But honestly, we only have one officer on boat patrol for the entire county. Includes the docks, harbors, and miles of coastline. Nearly impossible to locate a stolen vessel once it’s out to sea. Unless your wife brings it back.”

“Thanks, Parker,” I said.

She nodded and they left.

“Is it insured?” I asked.

He sighed and shook his head.

“Let me guess, another heirloom smuggled out of Russia?”

Gilbert sank down onto the long park bench and put his head in his good hand.