Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) (12 page)

She found no sign of Jeb or an intruder, saving the kitchen for last. No coin on the table. Everything was in its place, the back entrance secure. She lowered her weapon. Jeb must’ve forgotten to lock up.

No, keep looking.

She searched under beds, in every closet, in the cubby under the stairs, finally the attic, sensing an itch she couldn’t scratch.

“Callie? All okay?” Lawton called from the porch.

She hustled down the stairs and back to the front door. “Yes, Daddy. Sorry. I overreacted.” However, coming or going, the rule was the house stayed secure. She turned the latch behind her father. If Jeb forgot his key, he’d have to ring the bell. She’d scold him for this mindless stunt. This wasn’t like him.

“You’re just being careful after what happened to poor old Henry,” Lawton said, one-arm hugging her. “Glad to see it.”

“What brings you here?” she asked, picking up her wallet and keys from the hall table, dropping them off in her bedroom.

“Your mother,” he said, enunciating each word. “She’s driving me mad.”

What a surprise. “Come in. Sit down.”

Her father entered the living room and flopped on the sofa. “Pour me a drink, honey.”

She went to the kitchen. “What are you in the mood for?” She disconnected from her wariness and reached for glasses.

“Bourbon,” her father replied. “Neat.”

Uh, oh, no water.
He came with serious purpose.

She studied the gin bottle. Maybe now she’d have the one she promised herself in the car.

Serving Lawton’s drink before him on a cork coaster edged with shells, she dragged over her rocker and sat with her gin. “So, what’s Mother doing to you now?” She tucked a leg under her, her eyes still hunting for other anomalies around her living room.

“Callie,” he said, resting his ankle across a knee. “Pettiness doesn’t become you.”

What was it about her mother than extracted venom out of Callie like a syringe in a vein? “Sorry, Daddy, but you mentioned her, not me.”

He took his first sip and inhaled, a tight grin showing his pleasure. “First, what have they done about Henry’s murder?” he asked, as if requesting a progress report from his town council.

“SLED pretty much wrote the deal off as a robbery gone awry,” she said. “Then we had that Rosewood burglary yesterday, which doesn’t set well with me. They found one of Papa’s silver dollars in the place. You remember that collection he had on the wall over his sofa?”

Worry deepened the wrinkles around his eyes. “Ben and Sarah Rosewood. They hurt?”

“No.” She
had
been thirsty. Half her drink was already gone. “Just a minor theft.”

Her father shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I’m sure they can rely on you to help.”

She set her glass on the coffee table. He was here to talk to her, not learn about her relationship with the local PD. “Anyway, what about Mother?”

He placed both feet on the rug and inched forward. “I’ve decided not to run for mayor again.”

Callie smiled at the news. Relieved. Seven terms was plenty. A lifetime. “I’m glad to hear it, but is that what you want?”

He crossed his legs and settled back, as if releasing the news took away the pressure. “I never wanted the seventh term, but Beverly reeled when I mentioned leaving politics. You know how she loves that environment.”

“Let
her
run for mayor, then.”

Lawton glanced sideways at his daughter. “There’s a big heart behind all her bluster, Callie. She believes we can do Middleton a lot of good.”

“I think you’ve done your fair share, Daddy.” Callie continued rocking. Oh, how she used to hate those campaign years. Beverly, however, glowed for the chance to design a catchy new slogan for the next election.

Lawton put down the glass, his eyes petitioning. “I just ask that you let her know discreetly, at your convenience, that you think it’s time I retired.”

Callie leaned back, less eager to take on this task than she was to investigate the break-ins. “Don’t you think that’s your message to deliver?”

He rolled his eyes. “Scallywag, I have, on more than one occasion. It’s like I’m talking to a, um, a . . .”

“Rock? A door? A concrete block wall?”

“Callie.”

“So what would you have me say, Captain?”

“Tell her that we need time for us. To travel or spend time with Jeb. We’ve missed too many years of his life already.”

Beverly’s comment about never seeing Bonnie in Boston rang loud and clear. “Oh, Daddy, not you, too.”

“Don’t read more into what I’m saying.” He sipped thoughtfully on his bourbon. “I was busy being mayor. Y’all were in Boston with careers. Nobody’s fault, but I can change that now.”

Beverly
might
listen to her. The woman had gone to great lengths to tie her daughter down in the Lowcountry, so maybe she was ready to be receptive to that same daughter. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“But mentioning Jeb brings me to my other topic.” He readjusted, resting elbows on his knees. “He’s worried about you. Quite a bit.”

“I’m fine,” she said, her gaze on her glass. This had to be the main thrust of his visit. Jeb must’ve presented a fine case to her father to bring him all the way out here.

“You’ve had a rough time, hon,” he said. “We want you to detox from life.”

If Beverly had said those words, Callie would’ve barked back about making presumptuous decisions for her. Hearing them from Lawton, however, just made her sad.

“That’s why we gave you the place,” he said, “so you wouldn’t suffer any time or financial constraints. You’re at the beach with no responsibilities other than Jeb. Kick back.”

Callie stopped rocking. “Kick back?”

“And give that boy some assurances that you’ve settled down and moved on. He’s scared to death to leave you alone this fall. And don’t you say anything about this to him, either.” He mindlessly tapped the bottom of his empty glass. “Screaming for him on the beach with a gun, coming home to find you drinking. He thinks you’re worse than in Middleton.”

She froze. Jeb had gone to them about her binge on the porch?
Crap
. “What reactions does he mean in Middleton?” What had they thought they’d seen in her?

“Our house is nice, but the walls are thin, Scallywag.” He pointed at her glass. “And our liquor tab practically doubled.”

A flush heated her face. “Anything else?”

“You forgot events.”

Dodged them was more like it.

“And your temper showed itself inappropriately at times.”

Beverly did that to a person.

Her father’s soft gaze turned serious. “Do you need to see a professional, little girl? You’ve been fragile since the day you arrived. Nobody wants to think a member of his family has a problem, but—”

Callie jumped up from her seat. “Why does everyone think I’m off balance?”

He nodded. “Off balance. That’s a good way to put it. And I should’ve said something earlier, but I guess it took Jeb coming to me to see you’re still hurting. I’m sorry, honey. Guess my fathering skills were out of whack.”

She paced the living room, thinking of Raysor’s description of her—
damaged goods
. So that’s how her father saw her, too. If Jeb was so worried about her, why hadn’t he locked the door when he went out? Such a simple measure took off some of the pressure. What was so damn difficult about locking a goddamn door?

“Try just being a mom,” he said. “For Jeb.”

Just a mom?

A regular mom couldn’t begin to imagine the atrocities she’d witnessed. A body diced and tossed into three dumpsters in an alley. Drug addicted mothers leaving naked toddlers for two days in unheated, roach-infested housing. Shot, stabbed, scalded victims. Kidnappings with bad endings. Those experiences had taught her to see the potential danger in any situation and hopefully react accordingly. Regardless of what the average person thought, sometimes lightning
did
strike twice in the same spot. Neither she nor Jeb could afford a repeat of that night in Boston.

When she accepted her shield, she’d given up the right to be
just a mom
. That was like pretending bad guys no longer existed.

Bad guys loved that.

“I’ll try, Daddy,” she said, knowing he’d never understand. Because making him understand would destroy his ability to sleep without a gun under his pillow, too.

Lawton’s phone rang. He held the phone out to read the small print. “I knew she’d catch up to me.” He punched a button and took the call. “Hey, Bev. No, I’m not in my office. I’m in Charleston at a meeting. No, I’m almost done. Thanks, but we’re grabbing dinner. Yea, love you, too.”

He hung up. Callie raised a brow at how easily he lied to her mother. She’d never seen that before.

Lawton put away his phone and defended himself instantly. “She had no business coming here with me, Callie. You can see that.”

“Not saying a word, Daddy.” Like she would light that firecracker.

He set his empty glass on the bar. “I want to check in with an old friend here, so I’ll pop back before dinner, if that’s okay. Give me an hour and a half.”

“Suits me, Captain. Six okay? By the way, who’s the old friend?”

“Nobody you know. I’ll be back in plenty of time. Don’t go overboard with supper.” Lawton left and drove south on Jungle Road. No telling what financial backer had a house out here. Maybe he needed to break the news to the supporter himself that the next election would proceed without him.

Once her father left, she checked the other two doors, the previously open front door still niggling at her. Then she prepped all the food, covered it with plastic wrap, and was putting on water to boil for shrimp when her phone rang.

“Callie Cantrell there? Oh, sorry, I mean Morgan?” asked a man on the other end.

She turned down the burner a notch. “Who’s calling?”

“Hey, this is Pauley. Pauley Beechum. You’re a hard lady to find.”

“Oh, hey, Pauley. I’m so sorry about your father.”

He let out a brief moan. “Yeah, rough way to go. Eerie to boot, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t lived a full life.”

Callie could clearly hear the no-love-lost in his voice. “Well,
I’ll
miss him.”

“I hear you were over there after it happened?”

She hesitated, not wanting to go into the details of an ongoing investigation, and she didn’t know Pauley that well. “Yes. I was there.”

“Scary.”

“A bit, yes.”

He let out a
hmmm
. “The police told me the killer took the silver dollar collection. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Anything else?”

“Don’t know, Pauley. You need to ask the Edisto PD.”

“Listen,” he said. “Watch the house for me, will you? Don’t let the cops steal anything. They’ll listen to you and probably lie to me. I’ll be making a trip soon to sell the stuff. Old junk can be worth a lot, you know, plus I’ll be filing an insurance claim for the coins. Probably worth ten thousand dollars, don’t you think? And I’m putting the house up for sale. Good time of year for it.”

No reminiscing. No choked up words. No discussion about how the world would be less of a place without his father. Just conversation about
stuff
and
junk
.

“The house is fine, Pauley. Again, sorry about your dad.”

“Yeah, well, nice talking to you.”

Her phone felt icky as she hung up. She turned and stared out the window at the empty house next door. She reminded herself to call Stan to check on Papa’s son and his background. Family sucked sometimes.

Jeb walked in. She returned attention to the pot, stirring Old Bay seasoning into the roiling water. “Okay, my man. Who left the front door unlocked this afternoon?”

Bewilderment covered his face.

“Despite what Zeus or Sophie think, you can’t go out and leave the house open,” she said.

“I’m sure I locked up.”

Lawton knocked on the door, and once Jeb peered past the glass, hurried to let him in.

Callie had boiled an ample supply of shrimp, nuked baked potatoes, and sliced cheese to go with crackers and pickles. A small bowl of coleslaw. She poured her father another bourbon and decided she could handle one more gin with supper.

Jeb silently pointed at her glass. Callie gave him a quick wave, her expression saying all was good.

She watched her two men immensely enjoy each other’s company over sports updates and island fishing, the boy’s relief apparent in the presence of his grandfather. When Lawton said it was time to go, Callie let Jeb walk him to his car. Jeb came back in with a jaunty step. She smiled. Lawton had played his role well.

Empty glasses and plates stacked, she started cleaning up. Shrimp peelings piled up deep in a salad bowl that Jeb carried as he joined her at the sink. “I
did
lock up,” he said, returning to the table pick up the last napkins and utensils.

She shut off the water and turned, drying off with a dishrag. But before she could start in on her son, he began a speech of his own.

“I worry, Mom. The whole time I’m with my new friends, I wonder if you’re freaking out. That’s how I know I locked up.” He snatched up the placemats, cramming them in a drawer. “You and me,” he said, pointing at his chest, then at her. “We’re backwards in this parenting business. I’m watching you instead of the other way around.”

He stopped short of saying he was fed up with the job.

Frowning, she moved toward him. “Young man, you have no idea what I suffer in my efforts to raise you. But regardless, I’m still the parental figure here.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, arms crossed. “Here I am trying to make friends in a really cool place, but I have to constantly explain about that deranged stunt on the beach. And what about that cop seeing you drunk?”