Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (7 page)

EIGHT

(Day #2: Saturday Night)

He looked worse than dejected. He was torn, burned, injured, and homeless.

“You still have your credit cards and bank accounts, right?”

He nodded slightly.

“Go check into a hotel. Buy some clothes. Just one outfit and a pair of matching shoes.” I searched for a clean spot on his shirt so I could pat his back. I settled for a not quite burned patch on his shoulder.

“I’m going home, to my house,” he said. “Where I should’ve been all along.”

“No, Gilbert. Please. Stay away from Jaime. You’ll only make things worse. I promise, I’ll talk to her. I’m doing everything I can. Can you call me in a gate pass?”

“She’s not even there. I checked. She’s gone. The house is empty. She went away for the weekend. She does that now. Me time, personal time, a yoga retreat.”

“Still, get me a pass and stay away from the house. You’ll only make things worse. Try the Tidewater Inn. Enjoy a quiet dinner and get some sleep.”

“Fine. But Elliott, please find my egg.” He shuffled to his feet, then out into the lot.

I watched him drive away, then I went back through the clubhouse to the rear dock. The party was really hopping now. Most of the boats had returned, and the regatta officially moved from a sailing party to a dock party. I quickly found the boat Vivi Ballantyne had sponsored. After introducing myself to the crew, and congratulating them on their sail, I left them to celebrate.

I spotted Matty and Elaine on the far side of the dance floor. Well, at least I spotted Matty. His head was a good foot above the crowd. He looked happy. Without me.

“Here, sweetie, you need a cocktail,” Sid said and handed me a fresh mai tai.

I took a sip and handed it back. “I can’t stay. I need to wrangle Jaime Goodsen before Gilbert gets checked into the loony bin. You’ll be okay if I go?”

She smiled at a handsome man walking over to us. Dark skin, dark eyes, impeccably dressed. Milo Hickey. Local financier and underground poker game host. I know this because Sid and I crashed a game last May. All in the name of investigation. “I think I’ll manage. Call me tomorrow. I’ll be at the hospital all day.”

In addition to working real estate seven days a week, Sid also served on the Island Memorial Hospital board. But her board was more tame than my Ballantyne board.

The indigo sky boasted streaks of deep pink as I zipped down Cabana Boulevard toward Sugar Hill Plantation. I needed to get over to Jaime’s, hoping she was now home, and beg her to work things out.

The gate guard handed me a pass after I gave him my name and destination. It expired on Tuesday, in three days. Gilbert’s not so subtle way of telling me to hurry.

I wound around the development to the Goodsen’s house on Brambleberry Lane. The house was dark. So was the street. Quiet, deserted, off-season. I drove around the first half of the circular drive, parking right in front of the steps. I tucked my hipster beneath the seat and my phone into my front pants pocket, then got out. The driveway was still covered in mounds of pine straw as if the house was heading for foreclosure.

No one answered my repeated door bell ringing, so I peeked through the front door. I’m not sure it’s really considered peeking, since the entire thing was made of glass. The back patio lights shone through all the way to the front door, bathing the interior in faded light.

Gilbert may have understated the nature of his visit earlier. The place was a disaster. I decided to walk around to the back to get a better look, but I only made it to the side door. It stood open. I casually looked over my shoulder, but no one was around. The house directly next door was as dark as the Goodsen’s. Not even a stray dog bark to warn the neighborhood of my presence.

I stepped inside. Might as well check out the damage, since I was pretty sure I’d be the one who’d have to mediate the clean up. Nothing looked broken, just strewn haphazardly everywhere. Dishtowels, pots, pans, silverware. I tiptoed through the kitchen to the living room. Same scene. Cabinet doors open, CDs and DVDs on the carpet, knick knacks thrown on the upturned sofa cushions. Did Gilbert think she hid the egg beneath a cushion?

“Come on, Gilbert. Seriously? It’d break if you sat on it,” I yelled to the empty room. No one answered. Thank God or I would’ve totally freaked out.

I eyeballed the staircase, then the door to the master bedroom. Which I deduced using my exemplary detective skills. A massive four-poster bed was visible through the open doorway. The linens dumped in a heap, the mattress tilted caddywhompus.

I edged inside, hoping he didn’t do anything drastic to escalate their contention. A quick peek to the bathroom revealed the same as the rest of the house: open drawers, the contents scattered on the floor. The vanity top looked untouched. Guess you can’t hide a Fabergé in a tiny pot of eye cream. And really nice eye cream, too. The thousand-dollar-a-jar kind. Actually, she had a fine array of face products. A twang of jealousy hit me. Ever since the doctor used the phrase “a woman of a certain age” when discussing my vitamin situation, I’ve been studying wrinkle creams like a law student studying for the bar.

I flipped on the closet light. I expected it to be pristine, nearly empty, since Gilbert’s entire wardrobe decorated the streets of Sea Pine. But I was wrong. Jaime had kept the best pieces for herself. Decent suits, with coordinating dress shirts, destroyed. And it looked like she took great pleasure in it. Each shirt sliced to threads, almost literally. Threads dangled by the hundred dozen. Colorful stickers decorated boxes, some sized to fit shirts, others looked to fit ties, were smashed in the corner. A wastebasket overflowed with burned shirtsleeves and what were probably once silk ties. A can of spray paint lay on its side next to a crumpled suit on the floor. The suit was a cringe-inducing shade of blue/green, somewhere between the
Miami Vice
logo and a Furby.

If their separation were arson, I’m guessing this was the flashpoint. The place where Jaime exploded, sending flames racing across their marriage.

It was as if they wanted a
War of the Roses
. She kicked him out and dumped his clothes all over town. He ripped apart her house, she stole his boat. I did not want to know what came next. If the egg meant that much to Gilbert, it would not be pleasant.

“Oh, Gilbert, you’re not getting it back,” I said. “Not in one piece, anyway.”

The lights blinked out.

Someone slammed into me.

I crashed into the wall, face first, then collapsed to my knees.

“
Where is she
?” a man screamed. He was behind me. On top of me. Pulling my hair back.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I bit back panic in large gulps. It was dark and he was heavy. He wrenched my shoulder until I laid flat on my back. His knees pinned my arms to the carpet.

I flailed my hands, but they barely moved. They started to feel tingly.

“
Where is she
?” he repeated with hot breath. Rage radiated from his everything. His fingers dug deep into my neck. Real panic finally sank in.

“Off…you…” I choked. I coughed and whispered as he screamed into my face.

I started to buck, desperately trying to knock him off. His fingers only dug deeper.

“No…stop…”

And he did.

He grabbed my hair by the handful and whispered directly into my ear. “You get her back here or you’ll pay.”

Then he was gone. I couldn’t stop coughing and choking. Tears slid down my cheeks. I grabbed my phone from my pocket.

“What’s your emergency?” a tiny voice said.

I must have dialed, though I couldn’t remember. “Hello? Help?”

I heard distant thumping. I scrambled deeper into the closet, and in a whisper, sputtered out the Goodsen’s address. I searched the floor in the dark for a weapon. I wrapped my hands around the discarded paint can and hoped to hell the nozzle wasn’t pointed at my own face.

My hands shook and tears continued down my cheeks. Mostly from the earlier choking, but my reaction angered me. I was cowering in the closet like a sorority sister in a horror movie, scared and helpless and alone.

A door slammed and I scurried back until I hit the wall. So much for angry and brave. The door whipped open and a flashlight shone straight into my face.

“
In here
,” a man yelled. “I’m Officer Prickle with Sea Pine Police. Who are you?”

“Elli…” I started to stay. I cleared my throat and said in a scratchy voice, “Elliott Lisbon. I called dispatch.”

The light switch flipped on and I saw Corporal Parker.

“Elli!” She helped me to my feet. “Are you ok?” She spoke into the handset attached to her shoulder. “Is medical on scene?”

“One minute out.”

“Is this your house?” Officer Prickle asked me.

“No,” I rasped out. “Gilbert and Jaime Goodsen.”

We walked through the bedroom and out into the living room. We stopped near the side door.

“Do you have permission to be in the house?” Office Prickle asked. He stood about a foot from me. A scowl on his face, which I could plainly see now that every single light in the house was on.

“Um, well, I needed to talk to Jaime,” I stuttered out.

“Place your hands on your head and turn around,” he said.

“What?” Parker asked. “Russell, it’s Elliott. She’s the victim.”

“Yes, I’m the victim.”

“She’s also an intruder. She could’ve easily tossed this place.” He grabbed my arms, roughly I might add, and handcuffed my wrists behind my back. “Let’s go.”

He dragged me out the front steps to the waiting ambulance.

“Hey, I have permission to be here,” I said and tried to walk tall, but my arms hurt, my neck was throbbing, and I was pissed. And teary.

He let Parker remove the cuffs so I could sit on the gurney, but then he handcuffed me to the rail. As if I might hop off and run like the wind, an escapee in a 1940’s cops and robbers movie. As if my Mini wasn’t parked ten feet away.

The medic checked for injuries. He asked questions and I answered, mostly about the attack and where the man touched me. Parker took notes while Prickle glared, ready to pounce should I make a run for it.

I snapped my arm close to my body when I saw the medic with an IV bag. He gently pulled my arm toward him and started tapping on my hand.

I yanked it back. “Nope.”

“I need to start an IV, ma’am.” He reached for my arm and I tried to slap his hand away, but my wrist was still shackled to the gurney rail and I nearly yanked my hand clean off. “Shit. That hurt. Stop already.”

“I haven’t started. Let me have your arm back.”

“Are you refusing medical treatment?” Prickle said. “I’ll take you in right now if you want to skip the hospital.”

“I’m refusing to let this man jab me with the needle.” As soon as I said the word needle, I got lightheaded. He tapped my hand again and I gritted my teeth. “Listen to me.
No
IV for shit’s sake. Can’t you just hand over some extra-strength Advil and a band-aid?”

“What a surprise seeing you here, Elliott,” Ransom said from behind me. His words pleasant, his tone friendly. His musky cologne floated over me all heady and divine. After swooning over Matty earlier, and now Nick, I was beginning to believe smell was my strongest sense.

I admired Nick’s beautiful tan suit and elegant blue shirt before I saw the look on his face.

“Hey, Nick. I didn’t know you were here.” I looked pointedly at Parker, silently asking,
what gives
? I wasn’t worried about Prickle and his handcuffs, but no way I wanted to face Nick Ransom.

“Care to start at the beginning?” he asked.

“Care to uncuff me?” I rattled my wrist against the rail.
This boob thinks I’m an intruder,
I added silently to myself.

He nodded to Prickle who did not look happy, but complied anyway.

I rubbed my wrist dramatically and hopped off the gurney. “Can we walk a bit? I need some air.” And away from the needles and creepy supplies and medicinal smells in the back of the ambulance. Definitely my strongest sense.

“Elliott Lisbon,” he said through clenched teeth. “If your neck wasn’t already wrung, I’d wring it myself. What the hell are you doing here?”

I kept walking, even when I hit the street. I told him about Gilbert at the regatta, the stolen boat, and the open side door. “I didn’t see the guy’s face, but I felt his anger. Desperation, jealousy. Whoever he is, he wants Jaime back in a bad way. My guess is she came home to this mess and decided to take Gilbert’s boat. Probably sailing it to Charleston right now, to hide out for the weekend or a yoga retreat. I guess she does that now. But didn’t tell her boyfriend, who probably saw Gilbert here earlier, and now he thinks they’re off reconciling.”

“Do you remember all the way back to yesterday? I ordered you to stay away from this shooting.”

“Ordered me? You can’t order me.”

“Yes. Ordered you. This is a criminal investigation. You are not a criminal investigator. Now you are breaking and entering, obstructing, contaminating evidence…”

“Stop. I’m an investigator in training, and you know it. Gilbert gave me permission to be here. Just because Jaime isn’t here, doesn’t mean I can’t be.” I fudged a little, but I knew I could get Gilbert to back me up. I just needed to call him before Ransom did. “What evidence did I contaminate exactly? This is a domestic dispute gone senseless and you know it.”

“How’s your egg hunt? Seems like it’s taking an awfully long time to find an egg.”

“Don’t call it an egg hunt. And it’s barely been two days. One day. A day and a half. I’m working on it and you’re holding me up. Am I free to go?”

He grabbed my arm and stopped me, towering over me. His silky shirt stretched across his chest like a canvas but I refused to admire the art. He leaned in close, so close his dark blue eyes were mere inches from my own. Which meant our lips may have been even closer.

“I’m letting you go. But let’s not repeat past mistakes. Deal?”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about us or the case, and I didn’t want to ask. He released my arm and I walked back to the Mini.

Well, tonight sucked. The Goodsens had dragged me into a hurricane of hate and revenge, Matty had moved on, and I think Ransom just dumped me. And I totally forgot to eat dinner.