Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) (25 page)

She released Pauley and stepped back in case the guy ached for redemption. She didn’t want to give Raysor an excuse to dramatize the situation with physical intervention. Somebody would get embarrassed.

“What the hell happened here?” the deputy asked, tapping his leg with the stick.

Raysor should have specified one of them to go first, to avoid competition between the arguing sides, but she let Pauley speak uninterrupted. Her story could counterpunch his more easily that way.

“She was trying to break in,” Pauley said, almost wheezing with exasperation. With a taut arm, he pointed to the top of the steps. “Told her before not to mess with my house. She used to watch it for me, but when I suspected she was stealing, I banned her from the premises.”

Callie crossed her arms, fighting not to react to the man’s lies.

When Raysor just listened, not responding in the positive or negative, Pauley surged onward to fill the void. “She thinks because her father is a mayor and she’s a cop, that she can get away with breaking and entering, but I told her I wouldn’t stand for it, regardless of her threats.”

Callie leaned back, impressed at the detailed fabrication. She’d heard many a story explode with creative prowess when a cop walked up, and Pauley was giving it all he could.

Seabrook appeared out of nowhere from behind Raysor. “I witnessed everything.”

Pauley’s mouth hung open like a sea bass, opening and shutting, blinking in between. “You weren’t here.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Raysor grumbled, his gaze flicking between Callie and Seabrook as he tried to answer his own question.

“I was across the street. Heard and saw it all,” he said, his no-nonsense manner commanding the moment. “Mr. Beechum, is your house up for sale?”

“Yes, of course it is.”

Raysor’s face reddened a bit.

Seabrook turned to Callie. “Ms. Morgan, did you meet a real estate agent at this house right before Mr. Beechum arrived?”

Callie straightened. “Yes, I did.” She recognized the deal.

“Did you forget your keys in the house?” he asked.

“Yes, unfortunately. The agent’s on her way to retrieve them for me.”

Seabrook fixated on Papa’s son. “Mr. Beechum, how is that trespassing?”

“Search her,” Pauley stammered. “What’s in her pockets?”

“No.” Seabrook turned to Callie. “Ms. Morgan, do you want to press charges for assault?”

“Oh, I see.” Pauley squinted from one cop to another. “It’s the blue line, isn’t it? You people stick together.”

Seabrook raised his brow at Callie. “Do you want to file charges or not?”

“Will you leave me alone, Pauley?” she asked calmly.

“Humph.”

“No, I won’t file,” she said, wanting Pauley to owe her the debt. She also felt the need to compensate him for the coffee cup, chicken shakers, and spatula in the shoebox on her porch. “This is all just a big misunderstanding.”

“We good now, Mr. Beechum?” asked Raysor in an attempt to regain control.

Pauley shook his clothes back in place. “I guess.”

Raysor walked away, calling in to the station. Seabrook went to sit in the cruiser, apparently not wanting to be seen returning to the empty house.

Callie nodded stiffly at Pauley, giving him a meager benefit of the doubt. Maybe some sense of mourning? “Sorry about your dad.”

Pauley stomped up to her face. Seabrook opened his door to get back out, but Callie waved him off. Pauley wouldn’t touch her. She’d already put him in the dirt once.

“We’ll see if you like somebody breaking into
your
house,” Pauley grumbled.

Her blood chilled, her smugness replaced with a cold reality that this guy wouldn’t be the first to break in to her place . . . or was he?

At that moment, Pauley morphed from a mouthy simpleton living off scams to a man capable of more if provoked. Street smart, he might hide behind that dumbo persona, making people underestimate him, raising his odds of succeeding with his schemes.

Pauley headed to the back of the house, still grabbing at his shirt. Raysor waved at Seabrook with a finger, indicating he’d be back in a minute, and followed Pauley.

No doubt Pauley coveted money with a passion. He’d done time, not much, but enough to give him social access to more of his ilk. Or was she giving too much credit to a socially-inept, uneducated man? Her quick thinking hadn’t been too quick these days.

Callie started to retreat to her own house.
Nope, not quick at all, girl.
Her keys were still inside the Beechum place. She sat on the bottom step, figuring it best to let Rhonda retrieve her keys rather than ask Pauley to let her in. The patrol car waited, Raysor still gone. Seabrook motioned her over.

She wasn’t worried what people thought, and Pauley probably watched from behind a curtain now, but she wasn’t sure how to read Seabrook. So she went over, curious. At the car door, she leaned down.

“Stay out of his business,” Seabrook said.

“What the heck does that mean?” Her words shot out pitchy as she drew back, not appreciating the beat-cop lecture.

“I already pulled him in for questioning, and his nerves are on edge. Probably why he went overboard on you. Give him space. He’s lost his dad and had his house burgled. With the burglar running rampant, Pauley thinks everybody wants his inheritance.”

“Thanks,” Callie said, catching on. “He
is
acting creepy.”

“Yeah,” Seabrook said. “And you
did
take some of his daddy’s stuff.”

“Mike—”

The cop shook his head. “I don’t care. Just watch the guy.”

She whispered to Seabrook, glancing at Raysor coming up to her left, barely out of earshot. “Why’d you come over?”

“Raysor didn’t see why you had to put Pauley on the ground.”

Rhonda pulled up, got out of her car, and chortled playfully at Callie as she strutted past the patrol car. “Did you leave your keys in the house after I showed it to you?” she said, loud enough for all to hear.

“I sure did, Rhonda. The owner’s inside, though. Not happy.”

Rhonda wrinkled her nose. “I’ll collect your keys. Just stay here.”

Raysor got in the car to leave, and Callie backed away to give him room to pull out. She smiled and waved. Seabrook didn’t smile back, and she wasn’t sure what that meant.

And why the hell had he been hiding in that empty house?

BACK INSIDE CHELSEA Morning, Callie dropped the cardboard box on her kitchen table. She’d returned to secure the lock when Sophie skipped up the front steps dressed conservatively in cargo shorts and a barely off-one-shoulder jersey top, but not without her bangles.

“Like the new color out front,” she said. “So what’s with the patrol car?”

She wore green contacts today.

Callie smiled. Sophie’s impromptu visit was refreshing after the morning’s drama. “Just a sec.” Callie moved the shoebox to her bedroom. She came back, emptied the coffee maker, and prepared the machine for a fresher brew. “I knew it wouldn’t take you long to snoop. First, how was the party?”

Sophie’s face lit up. “You
are
curious about Mason’s galas. Fabulous!”

“Simple question, Sophie.”

The woman gave her a deep study. “You’re uptight.”

“No, just tired of crap on this street.” She leaned on the counter. “Do you realize I have no clue what it’s like to live here and not talk to police? I mean each and every day.”

“I hear you, girl.”

Shut up, Callie
. This was not the person to bare one’s soul to. Sophie proudly claimed the roles of neighbor and girlfriend; however, the fact Sophie partied with Mason was enough reason to stay mute. One too many drinks, and a Friday night could spread Callie’s feelings, background, and flaws across the sea island, to come back at her embellished ten times over.

Would she ever trust somebody again? Not if she saw each new person as a potential threat, and she had no clue how to change that habit after two years of honing the skill.

“Any-way,” Sophie drawled, “the party was good. It’s always good. This time he brought in these duck canapés and tuna carpaccio with this to-die-for mango chutney.” She reached over and touched Callie’s arm. “And get this. There was a five-foot salmon pyramid, with the fish shaped like roses. Then later they served these teeny, scrumptious,
warm
chocolate and brandied cherry truffle cakes. Girl! What part of that don’t you want to experience?”

Sophie prattled on about the food, the bartender who put drinks in LED lit glasses, and the couples of convenience due to out-of-town spouses. Some band flew in from New Orleans.

“He does that each week?” Callie asked.

“Just about,” Sophie replied.

“Why?”

“Who cares? Besides, tell me about Rhonda. What does she say the Beechum house is selling for? I like to know how much equity I own.”

Callie’s mouth twitched. “You have a hundred percent equity, Sophie. Your ex paid for the place.”

Sophie’s dangling earrings knocked her shrugging shoulders. “Still like to know what I’m worth. Each time it goes up, I get warm fuzzies.”

The coffee maker gurgled and let out a final hiss. “Coffee ready. Want some?” Callie asked.

“Sure. You never answered why the cops were here.”

“Pauley saw me on the doorstep and thought I was breaking in. Just a mistake.”

Sophie’s mouth curved down. “He’s always been an odd nut.”

Seabrook ought to just post Sophie on guard, give her incentive as the street’s unofficial crime patrol. She performed the job anyway. “If you’re so nosy, then how come you aren’t seeing this thief?”

Sophie pulled a leg up, foot under her, knee resting against the edge of the table, folded in origami fashion. “I’ve been thinking about that. Haven’t seen anybody new or out of place. But then, if this criminal is someone I know, I wouldn’t sense anything wrong. Could be Mike, that realtor Rhonda, or even you.”

Exactly
, Callie thought.

Sophie sipped her coffee. “Can you add some cinnamon to this? And maybe some milk?”

As she walked to the spice shelf, Callie reverted back to suspecting a local resident instead of someone off the grid. Also, Sophie might not possess as keen an eye as she professed. As Callie originally thought, these locals were too caught up in each other’s comings and goings to see which one of their own was killing, assaulting, and burglarizing the rest.

“Any of this bother your kids?” Callie asked. “Jeb’s not worried enough, in my opinion.”

Sophie blew out a breath in mild disgust. “Have you learned nothing from me, because my children sure pay attention. Come on, I know you remember,” she said. “It’s the defining difference between us, girl.”

Callie scoffed. “The whole negativity thing. See no evil, hear no evil, stick your head in the sand and experience no evil. In the meantime, someone comes up and shoots your backside off.”

Sophie winked. “Funny. I’ll convert you one day.”

The hell she would. “How’re the boys doing with the fishing business?” Callie asked. “Jeb seems mighty entranced by Zeus’s business acumen.”

“Good, good. They get along well, don’t you think? I love that.”

“Um, hmm.”

“They could almost be partners. Zeus’s daddy bought him the boat, so it’s not like Jeb would have to buy into the business or anything. Two friends, earning money, having fun. That’s how life’s supposed to be. Easygoing and enjoying the people around you.”

Callie grabbed the good lead in. “So, is Zeus going back to school in August? I mean, with his job going so well. I don’t know how well
well
is, but you know how kids are. They make a few dollars, and they think they don’t need the education. The whole Bill Gates story. I hate it when the random young boy gets rich. Throws the rest of the kids off balance thinking that’s the norm instead of the lottery pick it really is.”

Sophie pursed her lips. “You worried Zeus is a bad influence on Jeb?”

“No, not at all.” Callie hadn’t meant it to come out that way and thought she’d done a better job of asking the question. Guess her covert tricks weren’t so slick anymore. “Jeb is hinting about not going to school, is all.”

“And you think this is Zeus’s idea?” Sophie wasn’t as slow as she let on.

“My son adores yours, and this hesitation about college came from out of the blue, so naturally, my thoughts wandered—”

“To my son instead of your own.”

“I’m not blaming anyone, Sophie. I’m just confused.”

Her neighbor rose from her seat. “Not being fond of conflict, let me cut this conversation short, so you don’t ruin the air in this house any more than it already is.”

“Don’t be like that, Sophie,” Callie said, now feeling bad. “I didn’t mean to—”

Sophie waved a finger like a windshield wiper. “You already did. You are crystal clear, neighbor-of-mine. My son is a good and free spirit. He’s testing out a business idea. No, I don’t know if he’s going back to school in the fall, but if he takes time off, the world won’t stop. If he quits the job, same deal. Jeb’s decision about college is no different. It’s his life. Get used to it.”

Callie reared back, embarrassed at the sudden turn in the conversation.

“Jeb is a man,” Sophie continued, now moving toward the front door. “You have hang-ups about that, mainly because he’s the last man in your life. That’s sad for you, but it’s his life, girl. Not yours. Zeus’s only influence on Jeb was pure exposure. Let your son draw his own conclusions. Even if Zeus invited him into the business, what’s so wrong with that? Can’t Jeb say no, yes, after school, whatever, on his own?”

“Sophie,” Callie said, not wanting to lose the woman’s fledgling friendship. Plus, Sophie kept her abreast of local affairs. A loose partner of sorts.