Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (9 page)

TEN

(Day #3: Sunday Late Morning)

Tug was not exaggerating when he said the boat was in bad shape. I’ve seen wrecked cars at the junk yard look better than that boat. Vandalized, spray-painted, demolished. The mast looked to have been sawed in two. How it made it into the slip, I have no idea. But Gilbert was going to freak. I dialed his number, but it rolled straight to voicemail. I asked him to call, but didn’t explain why. Though I did use the words “urgent” and “please.”

The lunch crowd on Tug’s back deck watched me step around the bright orange cone on the dock and onto the battered sailboat. Someone, I’m guessing one Jaime Goodsen, had spray-painted a dozen unladylike epithets in dripping blue/green paint, the same garish shade from her closet, from the bow, across the deck, over the captain’s chair. Each one bawdier than the next. One or two of those derogatory names I’d never even heard of.

And something stunk. Pungent and sour. Something foul like eggs that had long gone over to the other side. I soon found what when I accidentally kicked a large bucket of dead fish and splashed half a pail of smelly liquid on my left shoe. I gagged as I nearly slipped in the slime.

“Shit shit shit. What the hell were you thinking?” I muttered. I squished forward, and my skin started to crawl. “So freakin’
rude
. And petty.”

I tiptoed to the stairway leading to the lower deck and debated whether to climb down into the darkened cabin. On one hand, it’s not my boat, so why do I need to be the one to traipse through the trash? On the other, Gilbert will be a twisty worried mess and want me to do it instead of him, and I was already halfway there with fish shit on my shoe.

Remarkably, the smell wasn’t so bad downstairs, but I grumbled anyway. So far, nothing broken to snap and crackle beneath my squishy shoe. I felt for a light switch, eventually finding a small lamp to flick on. Maybe Jaime used up all her anger upstairs where the whole world could see it.

Or maybe she was dead on the floor with a bullet hole in her head and blood in her hair.

Jaime Goodsen’s lifeless eyes stared up at me, almost pleading at me. Her expression was frozen, eyes wide with terror, her arm stretched toward the door, as if trying to warn me.

“Oh my God,” I choked out. I stumbled backward until I hit a cabinet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whispered over and over, unable to stop.

Something thumped and I ran.

Up the stairs, onto the deck, and straight into the bucket of dead fish. This time I fell. I flew across the deck face first, sliding through slime and guts, screaming my head off. Something splashed my face. I slapped my lips closed and tucked into a ball until I rolled to stop.

“Elliott!” Tug’s voice bellowed over the crowd.

I heard the pounding of his footsteps as he barreled down the pier to the side of the boat.

“Are you okay? Can you move?”

I stood up so fast I nearly passed out. With shaking hands, I waved him off. “Don’t come on the boat, Tug. Just call dispatch. Or 911. Or whatever. Just get them here now.”

He reached for the rail and I ran forward. “
No!
Crime scene. Honest, please, please call them.” I lowered my voice. “Jaime Goodsen is dead down below.”

“Oh, man.” He staggered back and reached for his phone.

I pulled out my hand-sani. My hands were shaking so badly, I bobbled the bottle and almost dropped it twice. I flicked the lid and squirted. Nothing came out.

“No no no no no no.” Panic drove bile into my throat and I was sweating like a pig in July. I squeezed and shook and pleaded until a single lonely blob plopped into my palm. I’d used it all up in the attic earlier at the Big House and hadn’t even noticed.

“They are on their way, Elli,” Tug hollered up from the deck.

I wobbled over to the side and he helped me down from the boat. The lunch crowd had moved from the deck to the dock, held back by a single orange parking cone.

“Can you…um, can you…” I cleared my throat.

“Go clean up, Elli. I’ll stand guard.”

I kicked off my shoes right there on the wood planks and fast-walked barefoot through the crowd. They stood back out of respect. Or maybe it was the smell.

Once inside the tiny lavatory, I used my elbow to unload enough soap to wash a car. I scrubbed my face, arms, and hands until they stung, then rinsed. After I dried off with a scratchy brown paper towel, I rested my forehead on the basin edge.

Wasn’t I just here, doing this same thing? I thought. First Gilbert, now Jaime.

“Oh, man. Gilbert.” How was I going to tell him? Now’s he’s really going to freak out. Jaime attacked and dead on his boat. Did he kill her? What about her boyfriend who attacked me at Jaime’s house? Is this why she wasn’t home? My God, it could’ve been me.

I was about to fully indulge in a breakdown when someone pounded on the bathroom door. Think me silly, but I recognized the pounding.

I tilted my head back and took a deep breath, then swung open the door.

“Hi, Nick. We simply must stop meeting like this.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I pushed the hair off my face and felt fish juice. “Oh this? I fell into a small bucket of fish. It’ll wash out.”

“Not the fish smell part, Lisbon. The going aboard a stolen boat that’s been obviously vandalized part. The destroying a crime scene part. The interfering in an active investigation part.”

“It was just a missing boat, Ransom. Why would I call you?”

It was hot and tight in the doorway and the sour smell of me was making me queasy. I pushed past him, through the dining room and out the back door into the fresh air. I breathed out, not even realizing I was holding my breath.

“Lisbon, we’re not done.”

“No one in the department was even looking for the
Tiger Shark
. Deputy Prickle made a point of letting us know that.”

“Us?”

“Yes, us. Me and Gilbert Goodsen when we reported it last night.” I leaned against the rail and watched the activity on the assaulted boat. “Talk to Prickle. Or Parker, she was there, too. And, Lieutenant Investigator Nick Ransom, I mentioned the boat to you at Gilbert’s house, after the attack. You didn’t say to keep you in the loop. On the boat.”

Half a dozen evidence technicians with heavy cases and a handful of medical personnel buzzed on and around the boat. Dr. Harry Fleet, the county medical examiner, a large black man with a natural scowl and cranky disposition, slowly clambered across the deck.

“Start at the beginning,” Ransom said. He pulled his notebook from his sport coat and leaned against the rail next to me.

“The shooting at Tug’s bar? The attack at Jaime’s house?”

“The murder on Goodsen’s boat.”

I explained how I tiptoed gently around the boat deck, extremely mindful of the damage, careful not to touch anything, and how I inexplicably happened upon Jaime down below.

“And how did you happen to end up dipped in fish guts?”

“Minor mishap on the deck with a bucket. Anyone would’ve crashed into it. It was very hard to see.”

He nodded and took notes while I spoke. “And Gilbert Goodsen? Why are you here and not him? Something to do with your egg hunt?”

Shit. I’d forgotten to even look for the egg on the boat.

Harry Fleet and a team of assistants lifted a black body bag from the boat, then secured it to a gurney on the dock.

“Tug couldn’t reach Gilbert, so he called me. He knows I’m helping Gilbert with a few things, and didn’t want the boat sitting out here in this condition. I was going to call Parker after I looked around.”

He snapped his notebook shut as my phone rang.

I checked the caller ID. Gilbert Goodsen.

“Hey Gilbert,” I said and Ransom shook his head once. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning. Can we meet?”

“Did you find the egg?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, I’ve got my hands tied up right now. Business is starting to cook, had appointments all day. I’m headed to Memorial Hospital from Charleston. A client died last night and the family asked me to come, should be there in about an hour.”

“Perfect. I mean, not about the client dying, that’s terrible and definitely not perfect.” Ransom’s brow started to rise. “Listen, I’m close by, so I’ll just meet you, okay?”

“Sure, Elli. I’m hoping for good news. I think things are turning my way. Except for my late client. And my divorce. But I know you’ll knock some sense into Jaime and get this worked out.”

He clicked off and I turned to Ransom. “He’ll be at Memorial in sixty.”

Ransom slowly took in the guts in my hair and my dirty clothes. His brow raised at my torn and stained capris. “All this from one bucket of fish?”

I went to brush away the dust, but stopped myself. No way I wanted my hands to touch my pants in the state they were in. “Not exactly. I spent the morning at the Big House setting up the Wonderland Tea. Tea set drop-off day didn’t go as planned.”

“Uh-huh. Isn’t tea just tea bags and cookies?”

“If I was five years old and inviting Hello Kitty and Mrs. Beasley.”

“Mrs. who?”

“Never mind. Any chance you’ve heard from Mimi?”

“When I hear, you’ll hear.”

I glanced at my watch. It was well past twelve. “Are we done here? I’m late.”

He tapped his notebook against the rail and studied me. “Yes,” he finally said. “But I want to talk to Gilbert Goodsen before you do. Understood?”

I agreed and took off for the Mini parked on the sidewalk near the street. Matty was waiting for me at the Big House, Gilbert may have killed his wife, I’m the worst egg hunter in the state, Ransom thinks I’m a moron, and poor Jaime Goodsen was dead. And it was barely even lunchtime.

ELEVEN

(Day #3: Sunday Lunch)

After borrowing a handful of plastic garbage bags from Lola Carmichael in the Landings office, I covered the inside front half of the Mini and raced down Cabana Boulevard toward the Big House with the top down. I checked my watch. Nearly one p.m. An hour after I was supposed to meet Matty for lunch. I dialed him up, but it went straight to voicemail.

I flew through the Oyster Cove Plantation gate, down the road, and around the driveway, skidding to a stop in front of the wide steps to the front door. Matty’s 1960s convertible Land Cruiser was parked in the side lot. He’d waited for me.

“Good God, woman, what have you done?” Carla said to me as I ran into the foyer. She studied my face, which had to be pale white and grimacing. “Do you need medical attention?” She started patting me, checking for injuries and sanity.

“Hand-sanitizer and Matty. In that order.”

She pulled a miniature plastic jug from her apron pocket. I’d like to think she kept it there because she’s also germ-conscious, but I know she kept it for what she dubbed “Elliott Emergencies.” “Matty’s on the back porch finishing lunch.”

“He started without me?” I slathered hand-sani from my fingertips to my elbows, then added a layer to my face for good measure.

“Chicken, he finished without you. Don’t you have a cell phone? I couldn’t let the boy starve. He’s on his lunch break. Lord knows what in the world you’ve been up to.”

“I can’t explain now, but it’s a shocker.”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been a Zen garden over here. Busy and I kicked Jane out of my kitchen and she’s due to break down the door any minute.”

I thanked her for the sani and scooted through the solarium and out the back door.

The Big House sits on over thirty-five rolling acres covered with magnolias, pines, crape myrtles and palm trees. A sparkling lap pool stretched across the patio, framed by chaise lounges and umbrella’d dining tables, one of which hosted Matty Gannon and Jane Walcott Hatting. Eating lunch. Together.

Laughing.

I took a deep, calming breath. The kind they teach you in yoga class. But instead of feeling calm, I breathed in a whole lot of stink and gagged in the most unladylike manner. Maybe Matty wouldn’t notice the stench.

“Jesus, Elliott, you smell like the gutter,” Jane said. She literally pinched her nose with one hand while she spoke, waving me away with the other. “What have you done now?”

Nearly the same thing Carla asked, but it sounded so rude coming from Jane. I straightened my back. “I hear wonderful things coming from the kitchen. These surprises are really going to knock your socks off, Jane. I’ve never heard such genius ideas.”

She jumped to her feet. “They told
you
?”

I smiled and shrugged vaguely.

Matty placed his napkin next to his plate, then joined us on the other side of the table. “Jane, I should let you get back. I appreciate you joining me for lunch.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Matty. I’ll see you at the Tea, then?”

“See you then.” He nodded to Jane and she walked away.

“I’m so so sorry, Matty. I got held up and called, but you didn’t answer. And you had to eat lunch with Jane, I’m so sorry about that, too.”

He took a small step back. “You okay, Elli? Looks like you’ve been swimming in a tub of chum.”

“Something like that,” I said and tried not to cringe at the word chum. “Someone vandalized Gilbert Goodsen’s boat and I accidentally slipped into a bucket of disgusting. I would’ve showered, but I was already late to meet you.”

“You’re fine, Elli. But listen, I have to get back to campus. School starts Thursday and I’m tied up tomorrow, you know how crazy the preparations can be.”

He walked across the brick patio toward the steps.

“Hey, Matty,” I called and waited for him to turn to me. “Can’t we go back to being best friends? I miss you.”

He slowly smiled, low and handsome. “I miss you, too, El.”

Tod bustled from the doors behind Matty. His neat button-down was partially untucked and had a smudge near the pocket. “Do you have any idea what I’m dealing with around here? I’m a mess and it’s your fault.”

I dramatically looked down over my outfit, then back at his. “I win.”

“Well, win this. Detective Handsome is on the phone, demanding to speak to you immediately. Says you’re late for your date. And Tate Keating called four times in the last hour saying almost the same thing.” He glanced over at Matty and smiled. “Looks like she overbooked today.” Then he turned on his heel and marched back through the doors.

“Not overbooked. Not dates. It’s not like that, I swear.”

“It’s okay. I know you’re complicated.” He half-waved, barely lifting his palm in my direction. “You take care.”

I stood rooted to the ground and watched him walk away. You take care? That’s the exact thing Nick Ransom said to me when he waltzed out of my life twenty years ago. What’s going on? Three months ago I had both men fawning over me, and now I had none. How did that happen?

My phone beeped.

Tod texting me:
Get on the phone already
.

I texted back:
So NOW you text. Thanks
.

My pleasure
, he typed back.

After thirty seconds on the phone with Nick Ransom in which I explained to him I’d be at the hospital in less than twenty minutes, and he explained he was starting without me so let’s meet in the morgue, I hopped into the Mini and sped home. I was not going to the hospital smelling like dead fish.