LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB (17 page)

EIGHTEEN

  

Saturday morning, we got in our run, then scarfed down yogurt parfaits. It took Nate fifteen minutes to shower and dress. When I had to dry my hair, my record shower-dress-and-primp time was an hour. I hit that while he checked our tool and supply inventory in the back of the Explorer. I kept essentials in the Escape, but the bulk of our toy chest was in Nate's car.

We took both vehicles into Charleston for flexibility. Nate would talk to the Vennings, then try to catch up with Sonny. I was headed back to Market Pavilion Hotel. It was likely they had security cameras, but beyond unlikely they were going to let me see footage of guests. No crime had been committed in the hotel, and I wasn't a police officer with a warrant. But I had a backup plan.

I settled into a plush wingback between the lobby bar and the registration desk, against the wall and out of view of the desk staff. I pulled out my laptop. So many tools have been developed for private investigators over the last ten years. The technology Nate and I own is mind boggling. But one of the best tools in our arsenal is free.

It never ceases to amaze me what people will post on Facebook.

I opened the site. It detected where I was and offered to show me what other people were saying about Market Pavilion Hotel. Oh, please do. This would've worked equally well from home. All I had to do was search inside Facebook for the hotel's name. But I couldn't follow up from home.

I clicked on the gear icon. First, I saw the hotel's page, with reviews. Then came what my friends were saying—oh, look at that. Tomorrow night was not Sonny's first date with Moon Unit. She'd posted a photo of them here two weeks ago.

Next came public posts. Here is where people get stupid. So many people have no idea what privacy settings are, or how best to use them. And it made my job so much easier. Still, sometimes it took a while to find what I was looking for. Sometimes I didn't find it at all.

I scrolled through strangers' girls' night out parties, check-ins, a video of a proposal taken inside one of the guest rooms, parents visiting college students, photos of champagne buckets, the ornate fixtures in the bathrooms…and many, many candid shots taken all around the property.

The posts were from total strangers, but that didn't matter. I was looking at who was in the background, the people who had no idea they'd been photographed, much less posted to social media.

Rehearsal dinners, anniversaries, someone having a large birthday cocktail on video. Tons of photos of the view from the rooftop. And Nitrotinis, a trademarked—literally—martini chilled with nitrogen. There were lots of photos of those. Vacation photos that belonged to people all over the world.

I scrolled to the end, then started over. I'd been scrolling through other people's precious moments for more than three hours when I found what I was looking for. A crowded lobby. A photo of friends sitting at the lobby bar. And in the background, Shelby.

With Eli Radcliffe.

Holy shit.

I stared at it long and hard. There was a crowd, and they weren't looking at the camera. But it was them.

The picture had been taken in October. Angela had seen Shelby in the same lobby with a tall, handsome, black man in early December. I right-clicked and saved the photo, zoomed in on Shelby and Eli, and cropped it.

I finished scrolling and scanning to see if there were more, but no such luck.

One was enough.

I pondered my best play. I knew I'd get nowhere with the front desk, concierge, or management. Guest privacy would be a critical component of their customer service playbook. The rooftop bar wasn't open yet. I couldn't show the photo to the bartender until later.

I was overthinking this.
Ditzy blonde o
r shy blonde? I'd go with shy. I packed away my laptop, pulled out a pair of fake cat-eye glasses, put my hair in a clip and pulled several stands loose. I hunched my shoulders forward a bit and approached the front desk. There was a possibility the desk clerk, like the bartender, would remember Shelby by name and know she'd been killed. But maybe she wouldn't.

I waited until no one else was standing at the desk and approached.

“Hello, may I help you?” The bright-faced young woman oozed hospitality.

I dipped my chin and smiled nervously at her from under my eyelashes. “Well, I hope you can.”

“I'll do my best.” She was so eager.

“My sister and her boyfriend come here a lot. It's just hard for them to get quiet time alone. What with her three kids, and his four…anyway. They've had a tough time. And I really wanted to do something nice for them. A surprise, for next time they come in.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe a bottle of champagne and some strawberries…” I lowered my voice, as if to utter something slightly naughty, “…maybe dipped in chocolate.”

“I'm sure we can arrange that,” she said. “What's your sister's name?”

“Well, she's Shelby…I'm not sure if they register in her name or his. Maybe sometimes one, sometimes the other.”

The clerk tapped on her computer. “Last name?”

I gambled. “Poinsett.” Surely she wouldn't give her married name. The bartender upstairs had referred to her as Shelby Poinsett and I hadn't thought a thing about it. Because she was a Poinsett, and this was Charleston. Her people were Poinsetts. Clint Gerhardt was from off. I'd bet good money she still had credit cards in her maiden name. But the bartender had mentioned Shelby came there with her husband.

“Okay,” said the desk clerk. “It looks like they were coming in on Tuesdays. But it doesn't look like they've been in for a while. Did you want me to try the other name?”

“Eli Radcliffe.”

More tapping. “I'm afraid I don't see that name. I could take your order and flag your sister in the system. We won't charge your card until they come in.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that so much.” I dug in my purse, pretending to look for my wallet. “Oh no. I'm positively mortified. I left my wallet at home. How long will you be here today?”

“Until five.”

“Would it be all right if I go get my wallet and come straight back?”

“Sure. I'm Jocelyn, but anyone can help you.”

“Thank you so much.” I pulled my arms in to my body, hunched just a little, like a very shy, socially awkward person might do, and hurried out.

NINETEEN

  

Nate, Sonny, and I met for lunch at Closed for Business. I needed thinking food, and their CFB Poutine was the best thinking food I'd ever come across. The guys were in a booth when I arrived, waiting for me. Heaven only knew how Nate had talked Sonny into coming given that he was avoiding the subject of Shelby with me.

We ordered—me the Poutine with an egg on top, each of the guys a Pork Slap, an also delicious and sinful concoction of fried pork cutlet, beer-braised pulled pork, pickled green tomato, swiss cheese, and house sauce on a brioche bun.

As soon as the waitress moved away from the table, I leaned across towards Sonny, keeping my voice low. “What in this world happened last night?”

He drew in a breath and slowly let it out, shook his head. “Some fool shot at me while I was walking from the car to the house. Five shots. I dove for cover. They missed.”

Nate said, “Any ideas who it was?”

Sonny shrugged. “I didn't see who was in the car. The windows were tinted dark. The passenger side window was down, but it looked like the driver was shooting. That rules out any of my gang-related cases, I think. They're more efficient with drive-by shootings. There'd be a driver and at least one shooter.”

I said, “Well, thank God it wasn't a competent criminal.”

“The sheriff's office found the car abandoned not a mile from my house,” Sonny said. “Owner says it was stolen, but he didn't report it. Likely because there was an outstanding warrant for him on an assault charge. But our paths had never crossed. Car probably was stolen, for the express purpose of shooting me.”

“So why aren't you taking a vacation out of town while they sort this out?” I asked.

“Now how would that look? Liz, for cryin' out loud. I can take care of myself.”

“I don't like it.” I still had it in my bones that this was related to Shelby.

Sonny changed the subject. We chatted for a few minutes, small talk.

It was hard, but I didn't tell them about Eli, mostly because I suspected Sonny knew but wasn't telling me for reasons I couldn't imagine. Were Sonny and Eli friends? It was certainly likely their paths had crossed. Eli was a defense attorney, Sonny a police detective. They'd both been born and raised in Charleston. It was hard to imagine they didn't know each other. So was it Eli's confidence Sonny was keeping?

I needed to ponder this more and talk it over with Nate before I broached the subject with Sonny again.

“How did it go with the Vennings?” I asked Nate.

“Nice folks. They wanted to help, couldn't much. They did say it was entirely possible it was someone else they'd heard arguing. The houses through there are so close together. They said that, if it comes to it, they'll testify that they heard arguing, but can't say for sure who it was.”

Sonny said, “I'm all for anything that helps Clint. But if these folks are changing their story, I need to let Bissell and Jenkins know. They shouldn't be blindsided by this in court.”

“I'm hoping we aren't going to make it to court,” I said. “But you can't be telling them anything about what we're working on. The Vennings haven't changed their story at all. It's how Bissell and Jenkins took it. They wanted it to be Clint and Shelby fighting. That fit their narrative of the crime.”

Sonny was quiet for a long moment. “They're good detectives. This is a difficult case.”

Nate, no doubt sensing growing tension, dove between us. “The best thing we can do is all focus on figuring this thing out before jury selection starts. Best for everyone involved if the charges against Clint are dismissed and Bissell and Jenkins get a new arrest. They look good. Everyone's happy. Am I right?”

“Of course that's what we all want,” I said.

“Agreed,” said Sonny.

“See,” said Nate. “We're all on the same side here. Just like always.”

I said, “Sonny, can you check into domestic calls in the area? See if any of the other neighbors were having loud arguments that might be what the Vennings and the Izards heard?”

“Yeah, I did that already. There's a couple two doors down who've had a domestic disturbance call. They could be the source of the commotion. I'll text you the names and address.” He didn't sound happy about it.

The waitress brought our food, and we all dug in. I'd have to run an extra twenty-five miles to work this off. French fries covered in beef gravy with little shreds of beef, cheese curds, minced onion, and an egg on top. I may have moaned a little.

But my food didn't distract me from noticing how something was off with Sonny. I was more convinced than ever that he was keeping something important from me. I just had no idea why.

TWENTY

  

Francina wore a wary look when she opened the door. Perhaps she guessed there would be a confrontation of sorts sooner or later.

“Hey, Francina, is Delta home?” Of course I knew she was. I'd looked down the driveway and seen her car.

“Yeah. She's here.” She stepped back and opened the door wider. “If you'll wait in the living room, I'll go get her.” I passed her the note regarding Delta's passport, with instructions at the bottom to tear it up and flush it down the toilet when she'd read it.

“Thank you,” I said. “Are you doing all right today?”

She started to open the note. I shook my head and mouthed,
Get her first
.

Francina nodded. “I'm doing good. How about you?”

“I'm fine, thanks.” I proceeded to the living room and pondered my strategy a bit more.

After a few minutes, Delta came into the room. She was dressed casually, in white slacks and a navy print blouse worn untucked. “Hey, Liz. Is everything all right? I wasn't expecting you.”

“I'm so sorry for barging in,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Please sit down,” she said.

I drew in a deep breath, let it out. Her problems were none of my business unless she was there. “Delta, I understand you went to see Shelby the night she died.”

She paled. Her lips parted, but she remained silent.

“Please understand, the last thing I want to do is cause trouble for you. But I need you to tell me the truth. Were you there?”

She looked around, seemed disoriented. Finally, she said, “I was.”

Hell fire and damnation.

“Why did you go there?” I asked.

“Several members of the book club asked me to speak to Shelby. They were upset about her changing things, or at least allowing that possibility. I wasn't going to do it. But then I thought maybe if I could just share with her how some of the group felt…So I called her that evening, and she said sure, come on over, we'd have a glass of wine. I don't drink, but there's no reason Shelby would recall that.”

I waited for her to continue.

“I got there a few minutes after nine. I'd fed the boys, and they were watching a movie. I just stepped out for a few minutes. They weren't by themselves long.” Her eyes had a pleading look. It was important that I understood she hadn't neglected her children.

“What did Shelby say? When you spoke with her?”

She shook her head. Her voice quivered. “I didn't get that chance.”

“Why not?”

“When I arrived, I rang the bell and no one came to the door. I knew Shelby was there—I'd just spoken to her. Lights were on. I worried something was wrong. I had no idea how terribly wrong things were.” Her voice broke. “I tried the door, and it opened, so I went inside, calling out her name.”

“Wait, the door was unlocked?” I asked.

“Yes. I couldn't find Shelby downstairs, so I went up to the library. There was a glass of wine on her desk. I walked around and looked at what she'd been working on. I saw she'd written my name on the calendar. When I turned around…” Delta was crying now, staring at her hands.

“What happened?”

“I saw the end of one of the drapes hanging over the rail. I thought that was odd, so I stepped over to the doors, and that's when I saw Shelby.”

“Behind you?”

“No, she'd already been pushed out the doors. She was in the courtyard. All twisted, but real still.” She cried harder. “It was an impulse. I tore the calendar page out. I was afraid. I ran down the steps, and then I thought, maybe she was still alive. I didn't know who'd pushed her, if they were still in the house. But I went down the hall and out through the kitchen to see about her. She didn't have a pulse. There was nothing I could do for her. But…I was afraid of how it might look. I wiped my prints off the door and everything else I could recall touching and I came home to my boys.”

“Oh, Delta. Why didn't you call the police and just tell them what you told me? Or find Clint?”

“Well, at that point, I had no idea what had happened. I couldn't process it, really. I was just afraid of how it would look.”

“Why?” I knew the answer, of course. But I wanted her to say it so I wouldn't have to admit going through her things.

She stood, went to a console table, and grabbed a handful of Kleenex. “Because there was this controversy, with me on one side and her on the other. And because I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was eighteen. I'm being treated, successfully. But there've been times when my medications weren't working right or maybe I stopped taking them because I felt fine and I didn't want to take them. I've learned I can't do that. But there are incidents others could raise, if they wanted to, when I've flown off the handle. Acted irrationally, horribly. I smashed my husband's windshield once. I attacked a roommate in college. I've been in inpatient programs three times. Somehow, my parents kept it mostly quiet. The worst of it was when I was away at school. But I'm in a good place now. My medications are working. I would've never hurt Shelby. I cared about her, so much.”

“And Clint?”

She flushed. “What about Clint?”

“Do you care about him?”

“Why, of course I do. We're all friends.”

“What I mean is, do you have deeper feelings for Clint?”

She gasped, raised a hand to her mouth. “Why would you ask that?”

Why would I ask that? “Because I sense a change in your voice when you say his name. You seem a bit wistful. I'm a detective. I'm trained to notice things like that.”

She stared at me for a good long while. “My husband left me and the boys because I have problems. I'm not perfect. He needs his life to be less messy. He's a selfish son of a bitch. And Clint is the exact opposite of Tommy. If I daydream about having a man that caring in my life, who does it hurt?”

“No one,” I said. “As long as that's as far as it went.”

“Of course that's as far as it went. For many reasons, but mostly, I'm not that kind of woman.”

“No, I don't believe you are,” I said.

“What are you going to do?” Desperation seized her voice.

“I'm going to finish investigating this case. I have several other avenues to explore that have nothing whatsoever to do with you. Hopefully, I'll get to the bottom of it soon. If I can leave you out of it, I will. I have no desire to cause you more pain.”

She nodded. “I appreciate that. More than I can tell you. A scandal might cost me my boys, though Heaven knows their daddy doesn't want to be bothered. That's the only reason I was able to get custody to begin with. But if anything goes wrong, his parents will pressure him.”

“You have to promise me you are going to stay on your medications. Go about your routine. Don't panic and do anything self-destructive.”

“And don't leave town?” she said.

“Were you planning on taking a trip?”

“No, that's just always what they say on television.”

  

I pondered Delta as I walked up Rutledge Avenue on my way back to the car. I turned left on Beaufain, and was half a block from where I'd parked remembering how Colleen had told me to trust my instincts. My gut said Delta had told me the Gospel truth. It insisted this had more to do with something going down at Market Pavilion Hotel. Something Sonny knew about but wouldn't share. I'd bet good money that was why someone was shooting at him.

That thought had no sooner formed than I heard
pfft
…
pfft
.

Something whizzed by my right ear.

I was tackled from behind, hit the sidewalk hard.

Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.

A silencer.

I raised my head to see the car.

Someone pushed me back to the sidewalk.

“Would you stay down?” Colleen said.

A car behind us accelerated.

After a minute, Colleen rolled off and let me up.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Skinned up, but otherwise fine. Who the hell was that?”

“No idea. I just had a 911 alert that you were in danger. I got here just in time to tackle you.”

“Did you get a look at the car?” I asked.

“Older Cadillac—a big one.”

“SUV?”

“No, a sedan.”

I called Nate, then Sonny. Within moments, two patrol cars arrived, followed shortly by Sonny. Nate had been on a ferry back to Stella Maris, so by the time he arrived, I was almost finished giving my statement.

The four of us propped against my car and watched as crime scene techs searched for bullets. A uniformed officer came over and told us the car had been found, apparently abandoned on Montagu—two blocks away.

He looked at Sonny. “Looks like the same MO as last night. We haven't been able to locate the owner of the car. Outstanding warrants. His mother stated that last she knew the car was broken down in the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly in North Charleston. The Pig's closed. We're still attempting to ascertain the location she referenced.”

Sonny nodded. “Thanks. Keep me in the loop.”

The officer went back to his vehicle.

Nate pushed off the car, moved over in front of Sonny. His voice was low and tight. “When those bullets match the ones they pulled out of your house last night, are you going to tell us what's going on?”

“Dammit to hell, Nate. You think if I had any idea who did this I wouldn't tell you? That's bullshit.”

I said, “It can't be a coincidence.”

Sonny ran a hand through his hair. “Of course it's not a coincidence. I just have no damned idea where the connection is.”

“It's Shelby Poinsett,” I said. “It has to be. That's all we're working on.”

Sonny said, “See, that's the problem. I'm
not
working on Shelby's case. I never have. I have nothing whatsoever to do with it.”

“What are you not telling me?” I asked. “What's the thing you can't tell me without violating a confidence?”

Sonny shook his head. “It's not that. And if I told you, you would agree with me. I'm confident of that. The thing I can't tell you did not get Shelby killed.”

I sighed, shook my head.

Sonny said, “Maybe it'd be good for y'all to spend some time in Greenville.”

“We have a case to work, thanks.” I frosted my voice. “And I can take care of myself.”

“With a little help from your friends,” said Colleen.