LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB (18 page)

TWENTY-ONE

  

Sunday dinner at Mamma's house was always at two. That gave her time to finish frying things after church. We got there at one so I could help. I convinced Nate it would be best not to mention the shooting incident. No need to upset Mamma when there was nothing she could do.

We walked through the front door calling out our hellos.

“I'm in the kitchen,” called Mamma.

We were meandering in her direction when a noise that sounded like a vibrating foghorn assaulted us.

“What the hell is that?” yelled Nate.

The noise stopped. From the backyard came Chumley's—Daddy's Bassett Hound—howl.

We quickened our pace towards the kitchen. Mamma presided over four large cast iron pans, two with chicken, one with gravy, and one she was just dropping okra into. I smelled biscuits baking.

“Mamma, what was that—”

The noise was louder this time. It drowned out Chumley.

Mamma rolled her eyes, her whole head, Heavenward. When the noise stopped she said, “You recall the didgeridoo on your father's Christmas list a few years back?”

“Oh no,” I said. “I thought that was a joke—a scavenger hunt.” Thank God I hadn't been the one to buy it.

“I'm sure it was just some of his nonsense at the time.” Mamma pointed towards the backyard with her head. “He read something on the internet about how playing the didgeridoo is good for your breathing. He worries about his lungs, because you know how he used to smoke, way back. So now he's actually taken up playing that infernal thing. Elizabeth, see if you can distract him.”

Blake walked into the kitchen. “Where is that—”

The noise recommenced.

“Liz,” Mamma shouted over the racket.

“Okay, okay.” I shook my head and walked out the screened porch door. I covered my ears and crossed to the center of the backyard where Daddy sat in a bar-height chair. The didgeridoo was five feet long and looked like a walking stick with a flare at the end.

The noise stopped. Chumley continued to howl, long and mournfully.

“Hey, Tutie,” Daddy called. He laughed. We had an agreement he'd stop calling me that. I was pretty sure it was shorthand for Fruity Tutie, on account of my aversion to germs. Daddy had nicknames for everyone.

“Daddy, come inside and let's pick out a wine for dinner.”

“I'll be in directly. I'm building up my time. Playing this thing's good for your lungs. How about that? They've got YouTube videos on the internet that teach you how to play.”

Some days it would be a blessing if Stella Maris lost internet service.

“It's almost lunch time.” I walked over and petted Chumley, tried to soothe him.

“Well, call me when it's on the table. Listen. I can make the vowel sounds. You use your tongue—”

“Daddy, no. The neighbors are trying to enjoy a peaceful Sunday afternoon. It's too loud. We're going to have to find you a better place to practice if you're going to play that thing.”

“A better place? Where would that be?”

“Someplace soundproof.”

“There's no place like that around here.”

“Maybe Blake knows of someplace.”

“Nah. Nobody cares if I blow the horn for a few minutes in the afternoon. I'm not keeping anybody awake.” He lifted the instrument to his mouth.

Blake would understand, I told myself. “Daddy, did you know Blake's dating one of the girls who used to live in that bordello down on Church Street?”

He lowered the horn, looked at Chumley. “Hound dog, hush up.”

Chumley finished his howl, barked twice, then fell silent.

Daddy turned back to me. After a minute he grinned. “Does your Mamma know?”

“Not yet. But he's going to tell her today. Don't say anything yet.” Aggravating Mamma was his absolute favorite thing to do in the world.

He stood and carried his didgeridoo towards the house. “Let's go see about that wine. Which one of the girls is it? They were all pretty.”

“Heather Wilder.”

Daddy grinned, nodded. “Pretty blonde.”

“Now don't say anything to Mamma yet. Promise me.”

“Oh, I won't.”

He probably wouldn't. But he'd be waiting to bait Mamma the minute Blake told them. We walked back into the kitchen. My sister, Merry, and Joe Eaddy, her boyfriend, had arrived. Mamma was giving Merry what for on account of she's the one who bought Daddy the didgeridoo.

“Well, if it helps his lungs, that's a good thing.” Merry, the baby, could be depended on to take Daddy's side no matter what.

“You haven't heard what it sounds like,” I said. “You got here too late for the recital.”

“I can play it some more if you want me to,” Daddy said.

“No.” Mamma, Blake, Nate, and I all spoke at once.

“I'd like to hear it, FT,” Joe said. FT was Joe's nickname for Daddy—Franklin Talbot.

“Joe,” I said, “trust me on this. You would not. Daddy, how about a pinot noir today?”

“This won't take but a minute,” Daddy said. “Joe, come on outside.”

Mamma cut Joe a look. He wouldn't be asking about that didgeridoo ever again.

Blake looked at me, his face a confusion of apology, worry, and anger. “Sonny tells me someone took a few shots at you last night in Charleston. Why exactly did I have to get that news from him?”

Everyone froze, stared at me.

Daddy propped the didgeridoo in the corner. “What happened?”

I sighed. I couldn't really blame Blake. I'd thrown him under the same bus, he just didn't know it yet.

I shrugged, tried to look nonchalant. “I was walking back to my car over on Beaufain. Someone drove by and shot at me. Charleston PD is investigating.”

“This something to do with a case you're working?” asked Blake.

“I don't see how,” I said. “Possibly.”

Blake and Daddy glowered up at Nate from under lowered brows. Their identical expressions said,
What are you going to do about this?

Nate said, “Liz and I are going to be working as a team for a while instead of working different angles of the case.”

“It may not have anything to do with me at all,” I said. “It was a drive-by.”

Blake said, “Just exactly like the one at Sonny's house Friday. What's the common denominator?”

I looked at him, shook my head. “We don't know of one.”

Blake vibrated with tension. “You know that doesn't make sense, right?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“You have some idea, sis.” Blake stared at me.

I sighed. “I can't talk about a case, Blake. You know that.”

Mamma, who had been unaccountably quiet, said, “Why don't y'all come stay with us for a few days? Until the police figure this out?”

“That'd be the best idea,” said Daddy. “Safety in numbers.”

“Daddy, we're fine,” I said.

Nate said, “Frank, if I thought Liz was in any danger at home, we'd be right here. Or we'd go to Greenville for a few days. But the security we have at the house covers the entire property. No one is going to drive by and shoot at Liz there. This particular criminal seems to have a particular MO that doesn't translate well to the island. He's stealing cars from folks with outstanding warrants who don't report them stolen. Then he drives by—he's not a great shot—and he ditches the car right after. If he tried that here, we'd have him at the ferry dock.”

Daddy and Blake seemed to mull that.

“It seems to me that Nate has this under control,” Mamma said.

My mouth started moving before I could stop myself. “And it's a good thing, because Heaven knows, Liz is incapable of taking care of herself.”

“
E-liz-a-beth Su-zanne Tal-bot
.” Mamma enunciated each syllable precisely. “You should thank the Good Lord that you have family who care about you.”

“I'm very grateful for my family,” I said. “I just wish they had a little more faith in my professional abilities.”

“We do,” Merry said. “But you have to admit, your job carries risks that none of the rest of us have to deal with. We worry because we love you.”

Blake cleared his throat. As the police chief of Stella Maris, his job also carried risks. But the crime rate was low in our quiet, isolated town.

Merry hugged Blake. “We love you too, big brother. You just avoid trouble better than Liz.”

I shot her a lethal look.

Nate said, “We've got this. Really. There's nothing to worry about. Carolyn, that fried chicken smells amazing.”

Joe's eyes lit up. “Fried chicken. In all the excitement I missed the fried chicken. Oh man.”

Joe's fondness for Mamma's fried chicken bordered on Pavlovian.

Mamma said, “Girls, set the table in the screened porch. It's nice outside.”

I moved to the sink to wash my hands. I scrubbed for two minutes with hot water and soap, then pulled the hand sanitizer out of my purse. When I looked up, they were all staring at me. “Would y'all prefer I didn't wash my hands before I handle your dishes and silverware? I've been loving on Chumley.”

“Yeah, wash up good,” said Blake.

With the focus off my close encounter with bullets, I had a passing fear Daddy might circle back to the didgeridoo. Looking to put more distance between us and that god-awful horn, I said, “Daddy, do you know what I saw this week?”

“What?” He gave me an inquiring look.

“A Vietnamese pot-bellied pig,” I said. Daddy's fascination with animals of any sort was well-established.

“A pig? Where'd you see him?” Daddy asked.

“At someone's house. I was doing an interview. I had no idea how big they can get. For some reason, I thought they were smaller.”

“Was she a pretty pig?” Daddy asked.

“Well…I guess that's a subjective thing. She was cute, I thought.”

“A pig,” Daddy murmured. He pressed his lips together, gave his head a little tilt. It was a thoughtful look. Then he said, “I'm going to open some wine. Joe, Nate, Blake, let's get out of the women's way.” He headed towards the den.

Merry said, “I think one Sunday they should make dinner.”

“Would you want to eat it?” Mamma asked.

“Nate's a great cook,” I said.

“Your daddy can't make himself a sandwich,” Mamma said.

Merry and I found safe conversation territory in Daddy's pretend helplessness, which Mamma enabled. We carried flatware, napkins, condiments, et cetera, outside and set the table while Mamma finished cooking.

Mamma called us all to dinner and prayed over us, throwing in an extra petition for protection for all of us, especially me. We piled our plates high with fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, mashed potatoes, okra, macaroni and cheese, butter peas, broccoli casserole, cucumber salad, and cantaloupe, then settled into chairs at the long, rustic table in the screened porch.

Mamma said, “Did y'all hear Tammy Sue Lyerly has gotten her real estate license?”

Between bites, we all said, “No.”

“She hasn't sold anything yet,” Mamma said. “But she's got several listings.”

“Real estate's been slow for the last year,” said Blake.

“What's that?” said Daddy.

“There's several houses that've been on the market for more than a year,” said Blake. “That's unusual. Property here usually moves fast.”

“That'll drive property values down,” said Joe. “Any idea what's going on?”

Blake made a face. “Nah, it's strange. I've heard stories where several agents had serious buyers back out last minute. A couple times I've heard them say they were concerned about evacuating in a storm.”

A bolt of electricity stabbed me straight through the heart. Was Colleen popping into other folks' dreams with Impressionist nightmares? I looked at Blake.

“What?” He stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. “What's wrong? I told you I have that covered.”

“Do y'all ever worry about that?” I asked.

Daddy scowled at me. “Well, of course it's something we all think about. It's not just a Stella Maris problem. Evacuating Charleston County is the bigger issue. With forty-five new residents every day and a thriving tourist population, it's a huge problem. Add Berkeley and Dorchester County, and it's a logistical nightmare.”

“I get that, of course,” I said. “But we're at greater risk because for us there's no road out.”

“That's why we have to be vigilant,” said Daddy. “You were at Clemson when we evacuated before Floyd hit Cape Fear. But you have to remember the rest of us coming up there three days before the storm made landfall. Only reason we weren't sitting in that mess on I-26 for nine to ten hours with everybody else. Eighty percent of Charleston County evacuated. Still more tried to leave but gave up. State's made a lot of changes in procedures since then. I hope it's enough. You were eight when we left before Hugo hit. I know you remember that.”

At the time I'd wanted to stay and watch the storm. A child's folly. I had no idea. “I remember.” The destruction had certainly left an impression. Still, I'd been young. Perhaps I needed to reflect on the days and months after we'd returned more.

Daddy creased his face at me. “We can't sit around worrying about things that might happen. We have to be prepared and take action when we need to. What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Because I had. “Nothing,” I said. “I'm fine.”

Everyone had finished eating, and we were sitting around the table chatting, when Merry said, “Joe and I have news.”

That got everyone's attention.

Merry said, “We're getting married.” She held up her left hand. A large diamond glittered on her ring finger. She must've slipped that off earlier, or I would've noticed it.