Low Country Liar (2 page)

"So you came hero.
"
Mitzi's curiosity over Lisa's choice was still evident.

"I couldn't think of a better place than Charleston. Time seems to pass so leisurely here. Plus, I have you for company," Lisa concluded, keeping to herself the other very pertinent reason for her choice.

"For whatever reason, I'm glad you're here for a few weeks. I only hope you don't find it too boring after the exciting life you've been leading working in television." Before Lisa had a chance to refute her aunt's statement, Mitzi Talmadge made one of her lightning changes of subject. One thought often triggered off another in Mitzi's mind; it was a trait that was characteristic of her personality. "Do you remember the letter you wrote me when you first went to work for the broadcasting company? I can't help laughing when I think about it. You'd put in your application and were so irate when they called you back to hire you as their weather girl."

"At the time, I was a very militant feminist," Lisa agreed with a laughing smile. "I hope I've mellowed with age."

"Mellowed with age—and you're all of twenty-four," her aunt mocked.

"You don't know how vocal a Women's Libber I was," Lisa declared. "When I think of the lecture I gave the company about their weather-girl job, I wonder why they ever hired me!"

"That's what Slade said. I told him about the incident when I heard you were coming for a visit."

The mention of his name set Lisa's teeth on edge. She attempted a bright smile. "I'm dying to meet this paragon you call Slade Blackwell. You've mentioned him half a dozen times in your letters." A half a hundred would have been closer.

"I would have invited him to dinner this evening, but because it's your first night here, I thought it would be best with just the two of us. I promise you that you'll meet him soon. Maybe tomorrow night," suggested Mitzi Talmadge as the idea began to form in her mind.

"I believe you said he was the son of an old family friend?" Lisa's tongue felt almost honey coated as she made the casual inquiry—too
sweet to be sincere—but Mitzi didn't seem to notice.

"Mmm, yes," Mitzi sipped her drink, replying absently. "I met him quite by accident shortly after I moved back here to Charleston when my divorce from Simon was final. If you remember, my mother died soon after my divorce, so I really had a very trying few months."

"I can imagine," Lisa murmured.

"But Slade was wonderful," Mitzi continued, not hearing Lisa's low comment. "I never had a head for business—not that I'm as stupid as some people, but I just find it very tedious and dull. Anyway, things became quite complicated with the divorce and the settlement of the family estate. Slade simply took over for me and handled everything. You know how I loathe details, Lisa," Mitzi smiled at herself. "Now that Slade is looking after everything I don't have to be bothered with them. He makes out all the checks and all I have to do is sign them."

With sinking heart, Lisa felt as if her worst suspicions had been confirmed. How could her aunt be so gullible? Her letters this past year had been filled with "Slade said," "Slade suggested," or "Slade told me."
He had been quoted as a veritable authority on anything and everything.

It was at Slade Blackwell's instigation that Mitzi had reopened the family home in Old Charleston. Lisa remembered that it also had been the interior decorator he had recommended who had been given the task of renovating the mansion.

Her green gaze swept the living room with its high ceilings and rich cypress woodwork. Lisa was unable to find fault with the completed product. The decor was a smooth mix of antique and modern. It invited a guest to sit back and relax, instead of giving a museum effect that said, Fragile, Keep Off.

Yet it grated, just as it grated to know that Slade Blackwell had suggested the landscape architect for the walled garden outside the colonnade portico. In the waning hours of a March dusk, it was ablaze with spring flowers—azaleas and camellias and the magnolia trees budding, the scent of honeysuckle drifting in the air. Magnificent spreading oaks dominated it all with their elegant draping of silvery beardlike moss.

The same company that designed the garden still maintained it. Lisa couldn't help wondering what kind of a kickback Slade Blackwell made out of the deal. Those two items were just the obvious ones; she guessed there were many other small deals as well. Now Mitzi had informed her that Slade Blackwell made out the checks for her signature. Lisa doubted if Mitzi even verified what she was signing. The man was probably stealing her blind.

"Does this Mr. Blackwell handle all your money?" There was a faint challenge in Lisa's question. She simply couldn't keep it out even though she tried.

"All except some that I keep in an account of my own. I call it my mad money." An impish smile made the woman appear even younger.

Heaven only knew how much was in that account! Heaven or Slade Blackwell—Lisa wouldn't even hazard a guess. She did know that her aunt had received a considerable amount from Simon Talmadge when they had divorced. Lisa's father had understood that Mitzi's mother had been quite wealthy and Mitzi had been an only child.

Plus, there was the income Mitzi made writing romance mysteries. The latter wasn't a large sum, but combined with the other, it was probably a sizeable amount that Mitzi Talmadge was worth.

"Aren't you worried that you're a bit too trusting, Mitzi?" Lisa set her glass on the ornate coaster sitting atop a marble inlaid table, trying to disguise the sharpness of her tone.

"Do you mean where Slade is concerned?" There was faint surprise in the woman's answering question. Then she laughed, a gay melodious sound. "A more honest, dependable man couldn't be found. You haven't met him yet, but when you do, I know you'll like him." Mitzi hesitated, her gaze sharpening. "On second thought, maybe you won't."

"Oh?' Lisa was instantly alert. "Why?"

"You said a moment ago that you have an aversion for the strong, masterful type. I'm afraid those adjectives would fit Slade. Of course, he can be very charming and gracious, too."

When it suits him to be. Lisa added the qualification silently. An older woman probably seemed an easy target to Slade Blackwell. Mitzi didn't have any close family—her parents dead, no aunts or uncles living, the husband she had divorced gone, too. What money he didn't steal from her while she was alive he probably hoped to inherit on her death.

"What did he say when he learned I was coming for a visit?" Lisa asked.

"I don't recall that Slade said anything in particular except that he was glad Simon's family hadn't forgotten me."

"We didn't forget you," Lisa protested quickly. Anger against this Slade Blackwell slowly began to grow hotter. No doubt he wanted Mitzi to be isolated and totally dependent on him.

"I didn't mean to imply that you had," her aunt hastened with a dismissing laugh. "But you must admit it was awkward when Simon was alive. After all, he was your father's brother and we were divorced, I couldn't very well be included as if nothing had changed. I wouldn't have wanted it that way if your parents had tried."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you are still part of my family," Lisa stated emphatically, "regardless of any divorce."

"God love you, Lisa," Mitzi laughed. "I still think of you as my niece, too. That's why I'm so glad you've come for a visit." Just as quickly, she became thoughtful. "There's only one thing I regret in my life. Oh, not the years I spent with Simon," she assured Lisa hastily. "But the fact that we never had any children and that Simon wouldn't adopt any. You seem like my own daughter, though, and Slade my son."

"Is Slade Blackwell related to you?" Lisa questioned. It suddenly occurred to her that he might be some distant relation.

"No," Mitzi denied somewhat ruefully. "His father once proposed to me, though, many years ago. Sometimes, when I'm in a really sentimental mood, I start thinking that if I'd married him instead of Simon, Slade would be my son. But of course, I didn't and he isn't and it's all water under the bridge." She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand and a smile. "Tell me what you would like to do while you're in Charleston."

"Don't worry about entertaining me." Lisa folded her hands in her lap, relaxing more fully into the cushioned chair. "I know you're in the middle of a book. You just keep right on writing and I'll wander around on my own. I have a couple of people I want to look up while I'm here."

"College friends?"

"More or less," she answered without lying.

But her true plans were just beginning to take shape. One of the very first things she was going to do was meet this Slade Blackwell and find out what his game was. She was determined to accomplish her plan without her aunt present.

If there was one thing she had learned producing the local affairs show, it was how to handle people. And more importantly, how to ask the questions that would reveal a person's true stand, either by doing it herself, or having a reporter do it for her. Slade Blackwell was going to have quite a few questions to answer.

Mitzi glanced at her wristwatch. "Goodness, it's past seven!" She frowned and looked toward the dining room with its small teardrop chandelier suspended above a gleaming white-clothed table. "Mildred usually serves promptly at seven. I wonder what's wrong."

As if on cue, the housekeeper-cook and general dogsbody appeared. There was an exasperated thinness to the line of her mouth, a grimness to her features that said she had put up with more than her share of troubles.

"As near as I can tell, dinner is going to be about thirty minutes late tonight. The oven is on the blink again," she announced, her tone saying it was just about the last straw.

"Oh, no!" Mitzi echoed the housekeeper's sentiment, plus an additional note that indicated she didn't want to be bothered with the problem. "Didn't Slade say that he knew—"

"I've already phoned Slade," the housekeeper replied, using his given name calmly. "He'll have the man out first thing in the morning. But in the meantime, dinner will be late."

Lisa waited until the housekeeper returned to the kitchen before asking, "Couldn't you have called your own repairman, Mitzi?"

"I suppose so," was the answer, as though it hadn't occurred to her before Lisa suggested it. "But it's so much easier to call Slade. He always knows a reliable firm to send."

Yes, Lisa thought cynically, one that will be certain to reward him for passing on business. And a house as old as this was costly to maintain. Several trades would be involved. It seemed to Lisa that what had begun as merely a suspicion against Slade Blackwell was proving to be a well-founded one.

"It isn't that difficult to find a reliable company," Lisa insisted. "It would require a few phone calls and some checking, but you could do it and not have to rely on someone else."

"Oh, I could do anything if I set my mind to it," Mitzi agreed with an expansive wave of her hand. "The trouble is that I am so lazy."

"I find that hard to believe. Look at your writing schedule," she argued.

"Ah, but that is something that I enjoy doing. It isn't work. As far as anything else goes, I don't want to be bothered," she said with an uncaring shrug. "If I didn't have Slade to turn to, I probably would take care of these routine matters. But I do have him. He spoils me outrageously and I love it."

What could she say to that, Lisa wondered. Her aunt was an intelligent woman. Why couldn't she make her see that she was vulnerable? Or, perhaps the word was gullible?

Dinner was eventually served about a quarter of an hour later than Mildred had thought. The evening passed quite pleasantly despite the prolonged serving time. The conversation was filled with reminiscences of old times and gossip about family. The only irritant Lisa found was the way Slade Blackwell's name kept cropping up.

Mildred plodded into the living room to the low, marble-inlaid table in front of the sofa. She picked up the empty coffee service as if it weighed a ton and started to leave. At Mitzi's chair, she paused.

"Will you be wanting anything else tonight, Mitzi?" But she didn't give her employer an opportunity to answer. "If you don't I'll be turning in now." Her heavily intoned words implied that she was on her last legs, and any further requests would be a severe strain on her health.

"I am sure there is nothing else we will need," Lisa's aunt responded with a sympathetic smile. "Have a good night, Mildred."

"I'll try," was the sighing reply as the housekeeper shuffled out of the room. She made it appear that it was too much of an effort to pick up her feet.

When the housekeeper was out of sight, Mitzi's twinkling gaze slid to Lisa. "Isn't she a character? She could do the work of an army, but she gives the impression that the smallest task is too much for her. Bless her grumbling soul. I don't know what I'd do without her. Slade found her, of course."

"Of course," Lisa echoed dryly and tried to swallow a yawn, but she couldn't.

"You're tired, aren't you? I had forgotten how exhausting it is to travel. I'll bet you'd like to have an early night."

"Oh, no, really," Lisa started to protest.

"Don't argue. You are tired. We'll have plenty of time to talk in the next two weeks. There isn't any need to try to do all our talking in one night," Mitzi insisted.

Lisa was tired and didn't object at all to having her arm twisted. "If you are sure you don't mind…"