Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (8 page)

NINE

(Day #3: Sunday Morning)

Sunday morning started earlier than usual. Meaning I actually set my alarm and crawled out from under before nine a.m. I felt sludgy and lost and wanted to get organized. I needed progress on the egg investigation and I had the feeling I was missing something huge. Yes, getting strangled was a large clue.

I sat on the patio with a bowl of cereal and a fresh notebook and wrote down the story as I saw it. Jaime Goodsen gets tired of waiting for her husband to become successful, at least to the level she expected. Determined to seek vengeance for the years she wasted on him, she throws Gilbert out of the house, steals his heirloom egg, burns and scatters his entire wardrobe, takes up with a new man (possibly more successful, definitely more dangerous), then hijacks Gilbert’s boat to leave him homeless after Gilbert ransacks her house. Now neither has a place to live.

As for Gilbert, he got shot and all he cared about was the damn egg. Not the artwork, watches, jewelry, cash, investments, clothes or even his boat. Sure he was distressed over it, but the last thing he said was “find my egg” not “find my boat.”

I called Gilbert, then Jaime. Neither answered, so I left messages all over town: cell phones, home phones, office phones. Next I dialed Sid at Memorial Hospital, hoping to catch her between board meetings.

“What can you tell me about Nurse Elaine?” I asked when she picked up.

Sid laughed, but ignored the question. “How you doing, sweetie? Everything work out last night after you left the regatta?”

I touched the collar of my crewneck tee. I’d worn it to hide the bruises, a loose ring of red and blue marks just above my collarbone. Like a necklace.

“Oh, I’m good. But I’m getting nowhere fast. What about you? The regatta work out for you?”

She laughed. “Milo and I nearly shut the place down, then held our own regatta. Turns out he owns a lovely sixty-two foot Princess. Sleek and fast, just like Milo. Now why do you want to know about Nurse Elaine?”

“I don’t like her. She was hanging around Gilbert when we were in the hospital. And last night she was interested in him again.”

“And Matty, I noticed.” The sound of her fingers tapping on a keyboard drifted through the phone. “Looks like she’s been here about six months. No complaints, works in peds. She talks too much and is ridiculously bouncy.”

“It says that?”

“No, but I thought it would make you feel better.”

“It does, actually. I’m going to keep my eye on that one,” I said. “Now I’m off to collect the finest tea sets the ladies of Sea Pine have to offer, then my lunch with Matty.”

“Have fun, sweetie. And try not to mention Nick Ransom this time.”

“His name will not pass these lips, I promise,” I said and hung up.

Today was official tea set drop-off day for the Wonderland Adventures at the Ballantyne Big House. While we commissioned whimsical hand-painted tea sets for the children and their parents, all of the Ballantyne donors brought their own. Some choose their finest place setting, while others spend the year traversing antique shops and auctions, seeking out the most unique set they can find to win the Particularly Peculiar Pot Prize.

I arrived at the Big House shortly after nine a.m., barely fifteen minutes late. But it’s not as if I punched a time clock or anything, so there was no one to notice. I whipped open the front door and nearly slammed into Tod.

“Where have you been?” He stood with his hands on his slim hips. “You didn’t confirm the set up for today, did you?”

I peeked around him. The large foyer yawned behind us. A beautiful hand-stitched rug covered the thick plank floors and matching oversized Queen Anne wing chairs graced the alcove near the wide center staircase. But no people, no tables, no boxes.

I heard distant clinking sounds from the kitchen. At least Carla was there.

“Didn’t Busy confirm? I swear she said that at the meeting.”

“The one you attended for ten minutes?”

“Yes, that one.” I walked around him toward my office, scoping out the halls, the parlor, the foyer. Nope, still deserted.

“Well, Busy got her dates mixed up and confirmed everything for next week. The tables, the tents, the crews. And not just today, Elliott. For Wednesday. The Big Day.”

I threw my handbag in the bottom drawer of my desk and grabbed the phone directory, quickly flipping to Sandpiper Party Rentals. “Look, I’ll just call up Rusty, he’ll help us out.”

“Not on a holiday weekend he won’t. The Oyster Fest is still going on, plus the last day of the regatta is tomorrow. You are supposed to confirm Busy’s confirmations. You know she’s a busy Busy this time of year.”

“You’re hysterical. I’m busy, too, you know.”

“Uh-huh. With the egg hunt? How busy can you possibly be?”

“Never mind me, busy Busy is a criminal attorney, she doesn’t have a ‘this time of year.’ And shouldn’t she have assistants to confirm?”

“They did. For next week,” Tod said.

The Sandpiper’s office phone rolled straight to voicemail, so I left a message, then dialed up Rusty’s cell. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Rusty, it’s Elliott Lisbon at the Ballantyne. How have you been?” I put it on speaker so Tod could follow along.

“Just working the Oyster Fest over here, then heading to Savannah ’fore dark. I hear you got a date mixed up.” His voice boomed like a truck driver on a CB radio.

“I did indeed. Can you help a girl out? The Wonderland is Wednesday and we need set ups today.”

“Well, now, little Elli, I’m afraid we’ve got the Ghost Tour Jamboree this week. Got everything tied up. Not a chair to be had. With the Jazz Festival coming and the psychic’s convention, gonna be a bear to get local. Everyone’s busy.”

I rubbed my hand over my eyes. “I see that. Thanks, anyway, Rusty.”

“Sure thing. We’ll see you for the Palm & Fig.”

I clicked off the phone and Tod dramatically slumped into the chair across from mine. “You better figure out how you’re going to explain to Edward you had to cancel the Wonderland Adventures. First time in fifteen years.”

“Calm down, Tod. Rusty is but one rental place. There must be dozens we’ve used.”

“Well, you better do something. The ladies will be arriving with tea sets in about fifteen minutes and we’ve no place to put them. I’ll go clear a spot on the table in the parlor, but it won’t hold many.”

I flipped through the directory looking for rental companies. Apparently we’ve not used dozens. More like two. It also seemed Sea Pine Island wasn’t teeming with set up crews for big events. I called the only other place on the island, but same result. No can do.

After seventeen phone calls to every party rental from Savannah to Jacksonville to Atlanta to Charleston with nearly every shop closed for the holiday, I started to worry. We could probably live without tents. The forecast predicted sunny skies for the rest of the week, and there were plenty of trees for shade. But we could not live without tables and chairs for two-fifty guests plus children.

I put my forehead on the cool wood surface of my desk. It was my bright idea to stop using our own major supplies for parties some five years ago. Too much work, expense, personnel, storage. Easier to just hire a crew to come in, set up, take down.

I couldn’t believe the rental shops who did answer didn’t have a single crew available. I’d even tried reaching out to contacts of contacts, hoping to get some strings pulled, but I only got sympathy. And two requests for invitations to the Tea. I had one last resort so-desperate-it-might-actually-kill-me-to-make-the-call contact, but I wasn’t there yet.

“Three ladies just arrived with settings, Elli,” Tod said from the doorway, his normally neat brown hair slightly tussled. “With coordinating teapots and sugar/creamer sets. And their own silver. Shall I crush their dreams and tell them you’re canceling? Or perhaps you’re planning to switch to a picnic with paper plates. We can spread bath towels on the back lawn and ask the guests to bring folding chairs.”

“Don’t panic. I’m on it. Just make do. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I waited for him to leave, then I groaned out loud and slowly dialed the phone.

“Hey Nick, how’s it going?”

“Hello, Red. To what do I owe this surprise? Did Prickle arrest you again?”

“Funny. Can’t I just call you, to you know, say hi?”

“Hi.”

I don’t know why he had to make this so difficult for me. “So how are things? Work, your parents?”

He laughed. “Work? My parents? Either you’re very bad at flirting or you want something. And while your flirting is often painful to watch, you must need something. So spit it out, I’m on a case.”

“Is Mimi still active in the Charleston fundraising community?” Mimi being Mimi Ransom, his mother. She and her husband were a longstanding Charlestonian couple who enjoyed their horses, their careers, and their status.

“Are you in need of an invitation?”

“Tables. Apparently Busy Hinds mixed up the dates for the Wonderland with the party rentals and we’re without tables, chairs, and tents. It’s for Wednesday afternoon and I desperately need a crew.”

“I figured desperate worked into this if you’re asking me. I can make a call, but no promises.”

“Thank you, Nick. I appreciate it.”

“Sure, Red. I love it when you owe me. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to be repaid,” he said and hung up.

My stomach betrayed me and did a little flip. Traitor. If my lips started to tingle, I’m calling him right back to cancel and going straight to the picnic scenario.

The phone rang before I could imagine what a hundred checkered tablecloths would look like spread out on the grass. Thank God. I have no idea how to tell Carla to prepare crumpets best served with dirt.

“Elli! Hello, my dear!” Mr. Ballantyne shouted into the phone.

“Oh, hello, sir,” I shouted back, slightly disappointed it wasn’t Ransom on the other end of the line.

“How is my Tea? Are the teapots arriving as we speak?”

“Indeed they are. We are right on schedule. Running smoothly, no glitches so far. Knock on wood.” I rapped on my desktop so hard I bruised two knuckles. At this point, if I was going to use superstition to get me through, I needed a salt shaker, a four-leaf clover, and a horseshoe.

“Good news! And the minor discord between Gilbert Goodsen and his lovely wife? I expect you’ve been able to mend the fence?” Wind whistled into the phone, as if he were standing on the wing of an airplane.

“Almost, sir. It’s a tricky one, but I hope to wrap it today. How are the turtles?”

“We’re sailing across the gulf. Full speed. Destination: Hawkins Island. The sea is giving us her dandiest performance, my dear. We’re nearly soaked through! Vivi sends hugs!”

And with that, he was gone.

“
Elliott!
” Tod’s shout reverberated through the Big House.

I tapped my knuckles against my desk one more time and scooted out to the foyer.

“Don’t shout, Tod. I’m right here.”

He carried a full tea service in his hands and had a pink straw hat on his head. One with a yellow polka dot ribbon on the brim and a flower the size of a soccer ball pinned to the front.

“I’m heading to the attic right now,” I said and tried my very best not to laugh.

With almost fifteen thousand square feet in the Big House, you’d think there would be plenty of storage. Not the case. Every room is a reflection of Southern style and elegant furnishings, ready to be enjoyed at a moment’s notice. Beautifully painted, lovingly adorned. No boxes of knick knacks shoved into a corner or discarded accessories placed out of sight and out of mind. And no surface large enough to hold hundreds of tea cups in one place.

But the attic above the third floor housed an assortment of accoutrements. Odds and ends collected over the years. I used the back staircase near the solarium and hiked up three massive flights of steps to reach the attic door.

The stale heat hit me like a smack upside my head. Hot and dry. And dusty. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been forced to drag something out of here. Maybe two years ago when I needed a pinball machine for a retirement brunch?

The ceiling was low, and heavy wood beams crisscrossed above my head. I avoided looking up. I did not want to encounter any hidden creatures. Better to assume there weren’t any. I dug deep into my front pocket and clutched my hand-sani in one hand while I poked around with the other.

Cardboard boxes in varying sizes and shapes were neatly marked and scattered around the raw plank floor. A trunk of circus supplies, a bin of oversized metal letters, a pair of mannequins dressed as court jesters, an old wagon wheel. In the way back, beneath a tarp coated in something I did not want to know about, I found a short stack of portable tables.

I yanked the tarp away so nothing squirmy could jump out at me, and ended up spraying the entire area with a year’s worth of dust. My face felt gritty and I slathered on more hand-sani. I was more sticky than clean, but I swear I could hear Tod shouting my name all the way up there.

The tables were only four feet long and a little awkward to carry, so I half-slid, half-wobbled them over to an old service elevator. I broke my thumbnail and ripped my pants and I felt wispy cobwebs in my hair.

The elevator was creaky and tight and smelled like dirt, which is why I hadn’t ridden up in it to begin with. Once I had five tables piled into the tiny compartment, I hit the “down” button and jumped out. No way I was riding in that thing.

I trudged down the three massive flights of steps, walked through the solarium to the storage pantry in the kitchen.

“Good Lord, woman, look at you. Do I need to call 911?” Carla said. She was bustling around the commercial kitchen in a spotless white chef’s coat, her name embroidered on the front in pink script.

“That bad? Wait. Don’t tell me, I’m pretending I’m clean as a rubber duck in a bathtub.” The elevator binged and the doors slid open. “Can you hold this? I’m going to get Tod to help me carry these.”

She looked at me as if I had said I was going to ask Tod to marry me. “Good luck with that.”

Turned out I needed more than luck. Tod was juggling two donors who were insisting on explaining the lengthy heritage of their tea sets. He looked less happy than I was.

After twenty-five minutes of trudging, dragging, washing, and wiping, the tables were finally lined up in the foyer. We may not have anything to sit on at the party, but at least the tea sets could be properly checked in and accounted for. I decided to worry about Wednesday later.

Women started arriving in waves. I’d barely set one teapot down, when another was thrust into my hands. I nearly dropped three saucers and rattled at least a dozen more. Who exactly was entrusting me with a hundred and fifty sets of heirloom china?

Jane Walcott Hatting marched across the marble foyer in a perfectly pressed linen suit with Busy Hinds strolling behind. “Well, I don’t care about your tragic pet carrier mishap, Busy,” Jane said. “You should have figured out a way to free your PDA from within its locked doors. It’s made of cloth. Next time try scissors.”

“Oh, Janie, you’re adorable,” Busy said. She waggled her fingers in my direction. “See, looks like everything’s fine. The tables are here, just like they should be.”

I smiled at Busy, confident I was leaving deep dust lines in the creases of my face. “A small delay. No worries.”

“I’m still waiting for you to tell me what you and Carla are planning,” Jane said to Busy. “I insist that I be kept in the loop.”

“It’s a surprise, darling! It’s batty and you’ll love it.” Busy whirled away in the swirl of her flouncy cape. “Why, Zibby, this set is bonkers. Wherever did you find such a delicious chintz?”

“One of a kind,” Zibby said. Her orange hair did indeed coordinate perfectly with the pattern on the tea cup. It helped that she’d pinned a poppy to the top of her head. “A quaint pawn parlor up in Charleston. Except they had two. A pair. But the other was marked sold, to a London collector, so I immediately bought this one.”

Zibby handed me her tea set; first the cup and saucer, then the teapot. She wobbled out with a wave and a blown kiss.

“Jane, do you have a second?” I asked before she could march into the parlor.

“Not now, Elliott. I’m trying to get this place organized. You may not have bothered to shower for today’s drop off, but I’ve been preparing for a week.”

I bit back the lengthy explanation in favor of diplomacy. “I’m wondering about a Fabergé egg you may have in your shop. I think I saw it last spring.”

“It’s not a ‘shop,’ it’s a gallery. And a Fabergé is way out of your league. Stick to matchbooks, or shot glasses, or whatever it is you collect.”

I gripped Zibby’s teapot handle so tight, my bruised knuckle actually hurt. “Not for me, Jane. Gilbert Goo—well, it’s a private matter and I’m hoping you can answer some questions. Maybe this afternoon?”

“Make an appointment with my secretary. I think I have room next month.” She clicked off without even looking at me.

I could have slapped her. I wasn’t paying attention and missed the table when I went to set the teapot down and dropped it right on the floor. In case you were wondering, bone china using gravity to travel straight into a marble floor results in said bone china cracking into several pieces. Like the spout detaching from the mainframe.

Oh. My. God. I watched it happen in horrifying slow motion, Zibby’s words of “one of a kind” echoing in my head like a soundtrack to this disaster.

I didn’t know what to do. The foyer was empty. The pieces lay in three big chunks on the floor. I heard footsteps clicking on the marble floor and quickly picked up the dismembered pot.

“Chicken, you’ve got your hands full today,” Carla said to me. “Tug called. He found Gilbert Goodsen’s boat. I didn’t even know it was missing, but he says it doesn’t look so good.”

I lifted my hands and showed her the broken teapot.

“Any chance it arrived that way?” Carla asked.

“Zibby Archibald’s one of a kind. She’s been bragging about it for a week. Dyed her hair orange to match the poppy print.”

She clucked at me and shook her head. “Who in the world entrusted you with heirloom china?”

I tucked them into a cupboard in the hutch behind me. “I asked myself that very same thing. What about Gilbert’s boat?”

“Tug tried to get Gilbert, but no answer. Thought he’d call you, you’d know how to reach Gilbert. It’s back in its slip at Fisher’s Landing, but he said the boat’s in bad shape.”

I squirted my hand-sani on my palms and tried to wash up my face. “I’m going to run over there really quick. Please find Tod and have him finish this. And tell him to be careful. These suckers are fragile.”

I called Tug as I drove out of the lot. He said he put up an orange cone on the dock to keep folks away. I glanced at my watch. Plenty of time to run over to the boat, make sure it wouldn’t sink, find Gilbert, report it to the police, then make it back to the Big House for my lunch with Matty.

Only in my dreams.