Swan Dive (14 page)

“Tell me about Lexie,” I said. “She’s been here since she was little?” I knew the answer before I asked the moms upstairs, but it was the easiest question to start with. To get people talking, sometimes you needed to lob an easy one across the plate.

“She was a dream. As a student and as a kid. A good kid,” she said as she shuffled papers. “My star. She was going to dance on Broadway someday. She studied dance at UNC, but I coached her on school breaks.”

“She quit school,” I said. “She was working as a sous chef on the island. That was her new passion.”

Her head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

“Lexie dropped out of college to pursue a career in cooking. She was very talented.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I spoke with her mother yesterday. She said Lexie loved dance, but she loved cooking more.”

“Well, isn’t that a kick in the teeth,” Inga said. “You give your everything to make these kids into something special and they just abandon it. Damn parents. They ruin their children. Let them do whatever they want without consequences.”

“Lexie wasn’t exactly a child.” 

“She was a child. Her and her friends. They weren’t grown up, but they thought they were. Thank God they aren’t all abandoning my hard work. Vigo’s class is touring with a revival of
La Cage aux Folles
.”

“But Vigo’s here. Why didn’t he go on tour?”

“He wanted to study dance at UNT,” Inga said. “After watching him as the Cavalier this week, it was the right decision.”

“He and Lexie always been an item?” I asked.

“Mostly, when they were in high school.” Inga pulled a folder from the pile and rifled through the contents. “They were in different classes here, but we did a competition using both teams. They were partners and it stuck. They were good for each other. Almost all of my dancers go on to be national performers.”

“I heard Courtney has some really great auditions lined up after the holidays.”

“And she should,” Inga said. “She was always better than Lexie technically. The kid has great focus. Even though she doesn’t interpret the choreography the way Lexie could. You believed her when she danced.”

“Berg seems to be an up and coming choreographer.”

“He’s good. I let him choreograph some smaller pieces over the years,” Inga said. “But he needs more emotion, more focus. Use his loner status to his advantage.”

“Loner? I thought he, Courtney, and Lexie were inseparable.”

“More like he follows Lexie around like a lovesick puppy. I told him to use that unrequited love to fuel his choreography.”

Well, it fueled something. Though at least I had confirmation he really was a choreographer.

“Look, those three were tight,” she continued. “And no jealousy between them. Which is unusual in this business.” She re-stacked the folders and stood. “A lot of other dancers around here would’ve liked to see Lexie knocked down to get her roles.”

“I thought that’s not how it worked.”

“That doesn’t mean the other dancers liked having her around.”

Someone didn’t like having her around, I thought as I walked back to my car. And they used her love of cooking to make it happen.

THIRTEEN

(Day #5 – Monday Afternoon)

The biggest pieces of evidence, or only evidence as far as I knew, were the deadly nightshade berries found in both Lexie’s and Rory’s kitchen. Sometimes you follow the money, sometimes you follow the evidence.

People had answers, but I needed to ask the right questions. Was Mamacita’s the only place to get deadly nightshade berries? How long would it take to grow the plants yourself? Were any nightshade berries missing from Mamacita’s garden? What about those deer she thought busted in? And where was Berg when that happened? Where was Vigo?

Zibby said to take a gift when visiting Mamacita. I wasn’t sure if she meant every single time I went, but better safe than sorry and all that, so I made a five minute detour into the Bi-Lo for a box of cupcakes. Store-bought wasn’t close to Carla-made, but I didn’t want to take the time to swing by the Big House.

I drove up Cabana to Marsh Grass Road and cruised along until I saw the Gullah Catfish Café and the dirt driveway. I wound around the back to Mamacita’s worn trailer. The sun had begun its afternoon descent. It still shone through the branches, but the temp had dropped to the low sixties. The leaves on the tall trees rustled in the light wind, and a cat screeched in the distance.

I walked up the wobbly front steps and knocked on the metal door. It shook with each knuckle-wrap, and I swear I saw a curtain move, but no one answered.

“¡Hola!” I called. “Mamacita? I brought cupcakes.” White snowman-shaped sprinkles covered the thick mound of red frosting. The super sugary kind you can only get at the supermarket. “Me torta para usted?” I tried to peer inside, but the curtains covered the windows frame to frame.

With plastic container in hand, I followed the foliage path along the side of the trailer to the main garden around back. I tapped on the chain link fence. It rattled and jiggled, but no one appeared. The padlock on the metal flip handle was undone, the bottom square part twisted away from the slim top tube part.

“Mamacita?” I called. “You out here?”

I surveyed the garden perimeter on both sides and tried to track the fence to where the deadly nightshade plants were cordoned off. The brush was too thick and I was in ballet flats. I kept a ton of emergency supplies in the Mini, but they fell into the beach category not the hiking category.

Though I wouldn’t need hikers if I took the path
inside
the wild garden. I gently lifted the handle and slipped through the gate. The paths went in seventeen crazy directions and I felt as if a white rabbit with a pocket watch might skitter by. I remembered Mamacita taking me to the far left corner, so I followed the maze the best I could. I cut through two flower patches and found the low wooden picket border.

Deadly nightshade lined the outer chain link fence. I carefully stepped into the plot and leaned closer. The metal fence was bowed inward and loose on the bottom. Only the skinniest of arms could reach through one of the link openings, but the leaves practically touched them, so one probably wouldn’t need to reach through. It was nearly impossible to tell if someone had snatched a handful of berries from one of the stalks. How many berries would kill a person? Five? Fifty? I knelt to check the backside of the plant and the right leg of my shorty pants got caught on a picket. I pitched forward and grabbed a stake for balance, but a plant was wrapped around it.

I screamed a most unladylike string of swear words and yanked back. I tipped over the picket and landed on my butt. Thorns from the plant had stabbed me in a dozen places. My hand was bruised and bleeding and I’d ripped my pants. But I still gripped the cupcake container.

Then the barking started.

Loud, sharp, vicious. I scrambled up and slowly backed away like I was taught as a child. Except I couldn’t see where the barking was coming from. Maybe I was backing into it.

Thirty feet away, directly to my right. From behind the greenhouse. An enormous black Rottweiler stormed straight at me. Its teeth bared. Its legs pumping.

I ran.

Deep barks chased me through the flower beds. I skittered on the dirt path, but kept running. The gate was dead ahead. Had I latched it?

Over it or through it? Over it or through it?

I slammed into the gate. Flipped the latch. Flew through it. I stumbled and rolled. Flat on my butt. I shoved the gate shut with my feet and kept them there.

Two dogs, at least five hundred pounds each, barked their ever-loving heads off. Drool dripping with each sharp roar. I scrambled forward onto my knees and shut the metal latch. My hands shook. My entire body shook. And each bark made me twitch.

I’d landed on the cupcake container. They were smooshed. The plastic lid cracked and broken. I picked it up and mumbled something about knocking and cupcakes and bringing the requisite gift for Mamacita and how the hell could deer get close to this place, much less humans?

I scurried back to the Mini. The barking continued and the chain link fence rattled. I tossed the cupcake container on the passenger side floor. Stuck the key fob in the slot. Foot on the brake, shift into reverse, gas that sucker. I zoomed down the dirt drive and onto Marsh Grass Road as if chased by the zombie apocalypse.

I gripped the steering wheel with jittery hands as adrenaline rushed through my system. My legs started to vibrate and I had to pull over on the dusty shoulder. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the seat back.

After five minutes of swearing I’d never break in anywhere ever again, I lifted my head and took a deep breath. I saw Vigo in my rearview. He rode a motorbike and turned into the Gullah Catfish Café drive. With a five-second get-it-together pep talk, I whipped the Mini around and went back to Mamacita’s.

I caught up with him walking toward the garden on the side of the trailer. “Hey Vigo, you got a second?”

“Sure,” he said. “What’s up?” He checked out my appearance from dirty and scuffed ballet flats to ripped and frosting-coated pants. “You okay?”

“Sure, yeah,” I said. “I, ah, well, nothing really. Just a tiny accident.”

The dogs went bonkers when the saw me. Barking, growling, jumping on the metal fence.

“Hey, girls, what’s wrong?” He opened the garden gate and petted the two wild crazy terrorizing dogs. They licked him, and he laughed, then the dogs sat by his feet, one on each side. Panting and drooling, but keeping an eye on me. “Don’t worry about these two. They’re harmless.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Is your mom around?”

“Nah, she ran up to Savannah for the day,” he said. “Won’t be back until after sundown. One of those cemetery things.” He said it casually, as if I’d know what the heck he was talking about.

“Sure, sure,” I said.

“I’m sure she would’ve liked to have seen you. Because of Lex and all.”

“Did Rory tell you I’m helping her? Helping both her and Lexie, really.”

“Man, it’s been a rough week for Rory,” he said. “And Lex, too, right? For all of us. Anything I can do, you just ask.”

“Was Lexie your girlfriend?”

“Wow, right to the point,” he said. “I like it. Lex was more than that, she was my best friend.”

“And Rory?”

“She’s totally my best friend, too.” Vigo knelt down to the dogs’ level and scratched one of their necks. “But she didn’t understand Lexie or our relationship. Rory and I are both competitors, I guess, but dance is different. We compete for trophies and solos and roles, but we’re a family. Cooking isn’t like that. It’s always cutthroat. Really breeds insecurity.”

“Can you tell me anything that can help Rory?”

“She didn’t kill Lex,” he said and shrugged.  

“If you think of anything, please contact me.” I reached into my handbag for a card and held it out to him. One of the dogs eyeballed me and growled.

Vigo laughed. “Come on, girl, it’s okay.” He took my card and slid it into his pocket without looking at it.

“I’ll catch up with your mother later.”

I still felt wobbly as I drove onto Marsh Grass Road, a mild undercurrent humming through my system. Like I’d gulped seven cups of coffee in ten minutes. My brain was buzzy and I felt disorganized.

Not just because of the dogs. But also because I hadn’t yet gotten any real answers.

I reached for my phone.

“Hey, Parker,” I said when she answered. “It’s Elliott.”

“You okay, El? You sound funny.”

“I’m good, just rushing around, you know how it is,” I said. “Anyway, do you still have the cupcakes from Lexie’s dressing room in evidence?”

“Why?”

“Can I take a look?”

“No.”

“Will you send me a picture?”

“Why?”

“I’m curious to know how many berries were in the cake. Can you tell me that?”

“No.”

“What can you tell me?”

“I can tell you that you’re getting better at this. You almost ask all the right questions.”

“Almost? What did I miss?”

“Ask the Lieutenant,” she said and hung up.

No problem, I thought, and dialed Ransom. If I wanted answers, I’d need to keep asking questions. Ransom finally picked up on the fifth ring.

“Debating whether to answer?” I asked.

He laughed. “What’s up? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I’ll keep it quick. How many deadly nightshade berries did Lexie ingest?”

“Hot on the trail, are we?”

“Yep.”

“About five, from Harry’s estimate, but it’s only an estimate.”

“That’s not very many,” I said. “That’s all it took?”

“Yeah, about that. They work fast, not like arsenic where one poisons slowly over time.”

No one would ever notice if five lousy berries had been plucked from that plant in Mamacita’s garden. But what right question was I not asking, as Parker said? “Was there a specific variety of Nightshade?”

“Just the
Atropa belladonna
,” he said. “I gotta run, Red.”

“Wait! What am I missing, Ransom?”

“Me?”

“You’re a who, not a what.”

“You could still miss me.”

“Seriously, Ransom, it’s been an upsetting day and I need you to toss me a bone. A nugget. A morsel. When it comes to these stupid berries, what am I missing?”

“That bad, huh?” he said and paused two beats. “Okay, but only because I owe you. You’re missing the where part of the berries.”

“Where? Like where they were found?”

“Where they were grown.”

“Mamacita’s, that’s where,” I said. “I thought that was established.”

“The game warden reported dozens of belladonna plants out at Stickly Island. The ground had been trampled. Rory didn’t need to go to Mamacita’s. She could’ve gone to Stickly.”

Stickly Island Nature Preserve ran north off Sea Pine Island right before the bridge to the mainland. The four thousand acre refuge housed a variety of wildlife from herons to alligators, and though it was mostly salt marsh and tidal creeks, a hundred dozen different types of plants called it home.

“By that logic, anyone could’ve gone to Stickly,” I said. “It’s public land.”

“Yes, but Rory considerately provided pictures of her and her Aunt Zibby out there hunting for their conservation group.”

“Are you kidding? She gave you pictures?”

“Not directly. They’re on their website. Rory and Zibby are standing in the same area as the belladonna plants. Going to be tough to argue that one.”

“That’s a stretch. It’s still public. And you still owe me,” I said and hung up.

I put the Mini in gear and pulled out onto the road. Here I am risking my life to examine a single deadly nightshade plant and there’s an entire forest of them two miles away. But who knew about them? Just because Rory visited the preserve didn’t mean she was foraging for poison berries. And it didn’t mean she was the only one who knew those berries were out there.