1 Lowcountry Boil (24 page)

“Nate? When the guy in jail is innocent, the murderer is on the loose.”

“Usually you have backup. Me.”

“I’m fine. Trust me. Let me know when you get another flight, okay?”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at the church.”

“Why?”

“My mother’s bazaar.”

“What—never mind. Where is Blake?”

“He’s working. He’s trying to find the guy Adam and Scott hired to do their dirty work.”

“I thought you were going to stick close to Blake.”

“Nate, there is no way Blake is going to take me to work with him. Trust me.”

“I’ll call you.” He hung up.

I sat there, focusing on breathing in and out, enjoying the shade of the live oak and a few moments of peace. Then,  my phone vibrated.

An alert. Someone had breached my security system.

THIRTY-THREE

I pulled up the live feed while I ran for the car. A man in khakis, a blue golf shirt, and a ball cap peered in the window of the pass-through door to the garage.

I slipped the phone into its mount on the console and started the car. I glanced from the rearview mirror to the screen while I backed out of the parking spot. I turned right on Palmetto. Before I could hit the accelerator, the Dodge Caravan in front of me braked to a stop. I peered around the minivan. SUVs and minivans were backed up as far as I could see. Between traffic coming and going to the bazaar, and the soccer practice car pool, the island was in gridlock. Why weren’t these people holed up at home? Stella Maris residents might have been panicking, but they weren’t letting it interfere with their daily routines. Every parking space in sight was taken. I couldn’t even get out and make a run for it.

I growled in frustration and picked up my phone for a better view of what was going on at home.

My uninvited guest had disappeared from the screen. I pulled up a multi-pane view of the three outdoor cameras. A horn blared. I glanced up. Traffic had moved a foot. I rolled forward, and then turned back to the screen. He was on the deck now, approaching the sunroom door. The camera faced the door, so I could only see him from behind. Turn around, turn around,
turn around.

He tried the sunroom door, then cupped his hands around his face and looked inside. He jumped back. Rhett was no doubt on the other side raising hell. The prowler looked around the backyard, and up and down the beach, presumably to see if anyone was around to catch him in the act.

The cap was pulled low, and between that and his wrap-around sunglasses, I couldn’t tell anything about his face except he wore neither mustache nor beard. The cap had a scuba diving flag on the front. Elvis’s phantom. He’d been at the house Monday and Rhett scared him off. Odds were, he was also my intruder from Tuesday night. He’d known Rhett would be inside and come prepared.

I looked up just as the Caravan in front of me rolled forward. The light at Palmetto and Anchor must’ve changed. Traffic started moving, but my speedometer still didn’t break ten miles an hour.

I glanced back at the phone. The Phantom reached inside both pockets and pulled out a set of keys and something white, about the size of a baseball. He laid the white object down on the deck. The corners of a napkin fell open. I banged the steering wheel with my left hand. He had more treats for Rhett. Hopefully, he realized now he didn’t have to drug that particular golden retriever. Snacks and a belly rub would buy anyone unmolested access to the house.

The Phantom fished through the set of keys, tried one, then another. On the third try, he opened the sunroom door. Hell’s bells. He must have taken a set of keys when he was in the house Tuesday night. There’d been an extra set in a drawer in the kitchen.

Rhett sprang through the door. I couldn’t hear him barking—there was no sound on the feed—but I could see he was giving the intruder what for.

The man knelt, reached for one of the treats, and held out his hand to Rhett.

Rhett sniffed his hand, then scarfed down the treat.

The Phantom patted Rhett on the head, pointed to the napkin with more treats, and went inside and closed the door.

Rhett wagged his tail and wolfed down the contents of the napkin.

Traffic stopped again. I switched the feed to the indoor cameras.

The Phantom passed quickly through the sunroom and foyer, moving from one pane on my phone to the next. Then he disappeared. The upstairs cameras were in my room and Gram’s. I waited. A moment later, he appeared in Gram’s room and opened the top drawer in her dresser. He slid his hands through the contents, then closed the drawer and went to the next one. What was he looking for?

Another horn honked. I’d reached the outskirts of downtown, and traffic was moving again, though still not fast enough to suit me. I was too close to the Caravan, and I knew it. I gritted my teeth and backed off.

The Phantom was working on Gram’s chest of drawers, methodically checking each drawer. When he finished, he moved to the nightstand.

Finally, the Caravan turned left at the end of Palmetto and I turned right on Ocean Boulevard. I pulled to the edge of the road in front of the hedge. The engine was quiet, but I didn’t want to risk my prowler hearing me coming. I slipped my phone into one pocket, my keys into the other. I opened the door, and was halfway out of the car when I reached back into my purse and grabbed Sig. I was almost positive this phantom prowler wasn’t dangerous. But I wouldn’t bet my life on it.

I tucked Sig in the back waistband of my pants and darted around the end of the hedge. I dashed across the grass to dampen the noise of my approach. Rhett came sprinting from around the house to greet me. Midway up the drive, he remembered we had guests and commenced barking.

“Shhh!” I hissed loudly, to no avail. Dammit, dammit,
dammit!
My prowler would no doubt be headed for the door. I was in no mood to chase anyone.

The Phantom had come in from the back of the house, but Tuesday night he’d come in through the mudroom and left via the front. How would he leave today? I darted around back.

Rhett passed me, circled back, and chased ahead. He sprang up the deck steps, and I took them two at a time. Rhett barked emphatically at the back door. I wasn’t sure how long it took Benadryl to take effect, but he showed no signs of being drugged.

“Hush now,” I said. “Sit. Stay.”

Rhett sat, but wiggled, squirmed, and yipped.

The intruder had left the door unlocked. I pushed it open and listened. The house was quiet. I slipped in and tiptoed towards the foyer. He’d have to come downstairs to access any of the three doors. I slipped Sig out of the waistband of my pants. Holding the gun with both hands, I pointed it towards the floor and started up the steps.

The stairs creaked.

Nate’s blues rift rang out from my phone.
Shit.
I let the phone ring; it would go to voicemail. I abandoned stealth for speed and raced down the hall towards Gram’s room.

Sonofabitch.

One side of the french doors stood open, curtains pulled back. I crossed the room and looked out. I scanned the balcony, trellis, and deck. No sign of anyone. He couldn’t have climbed down the trellis and slipped away that fast, could he?

I listened again. All was quiet, the house felt empty. I checked Gram’s closet and bathroom. Empty. Room by room, I cleared the house. No one there but me. How in the hell had he gotten away that fast? He must have climbed down the trellis, but he sure made quick work of it.

I went back out to the deck, where Rhett still sat, struggling to contain himself.

“Good boy.” I knelt, laid down the gun, and hugged him.

Released from the command to stay, he charged down the steps and over to the south yard. He stopped just short of the boundary his collar allowed and barked into the forest. No doubt, that’s where my prowler went. The big question was what had he been looking for?

I pulled out my phone and listened to the voicemail from Nate. Unable to book another flight that night, he’d taken a shuttle to a Hampton Inn. He’d rebooked for tomorrow and would land in Charleston at 8:20 Friday evening.

I went back inside and locked up. Then, I went into my office and logged onto my laptop. I pulled up the recordings for each camera to make sure I hadn’t missed anything while I was driving, and to confirm how the intruder escaped. Sure enough, he’d been looking under the bed when his head jerked towards the window—presumably when he’d heard Rhett barking as I ran towards the house. He walked straight to the french doors, opened the one on the left, and stepped out onto the balcony. He’d likely started down the trellis as soon as I went in the back door. I didn’t think Elvis’s phantom was quite as old as Elvis thought. I watched the recordings several times, zooming in for a better look, but still had no idea who my prowler could be.

I debated calling a locksmith, but decided against it. If my prowler wanted in badly enough, he’d get in, and I’d rather not have to deal with a broken window. Besides, what I really wanted was to catch him in the act and find out who he was and what he was looking for.

Could this phantom have been looking for Gram’s list? I doubted it. Who would’ve known she’d made such a list? I headed upstairs to conduct my own search.

I hesitated at the door to Gram’s room. I hadn’t been in this room since Gram’s death, except in pursuit of the intruder. The peaceful retreat awaited its occupant’s return, as at the end of any normal day. The bottles and jars on the antique dressing table had only a light coating of dust, and the four-poster bed, with its celadon toile duvet and dust ruffle, piled high with pillows, looked freshly made. I steeled myself.

Systematically, I went through every drawer. I checked the drawer bottoms for envelopes taped there, knowing full well that Gram had nothing to hide in such a fashion. I searched her room as if she were a complete stranger. I went through her bathroom, looked in the toilet tank, and checked the medicine cabinet.

An hour later, I’d found nothing of note. I glanced at my watch and sighed. I’d have to search the closet and the rest of the house later. If I didn’t hie me back to Mamma and Daddy’s house soon, Blake would have an APB out on me. If he didn’t already.

THIRTY-FOUR

A symphony of tree frogs and crickets greeted me when I stepped out of the Escape in Mamma and Daddy’s driveway. I blinked at the scene in front of me.

Daddy rocked slowly back and forth in one of the six chairs that lined the porch. A shotgun lay across his lap, a glass of what looked like Jack and diet in his hand, and Chumley the faithful basset hound lay at his feet.

A posse of friends and neighbors gathered on the front porch and dotted the lawn. Each of Daddy’s buddies carried a shotgun, rifle, or sidearm, and sipped liquid fortification. Several drank from Mamma’s good crystal. A couple had wads of tobacco in their cheeks, and periodically spit into the mulched azalea beds. Others patrolled the perimeter of the lawn and tromped through Mamma’s hostas. Too many dogs to count sniffed each other and marked territory.

Daddy glowered at me. “High time you showed up. Something wrong with that fancy telephone of yours?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I meant to call.” I was feeling really guilty just then for worrying my family. I wasn’t accustomed to having people waiting at home for me while I worked.

Blake opened the front door and glared at me as if he’d like to eviscerate me but was just too tired. “I ought to wring your neck.”

“Could you maybe do that later? We need to talk.”

He looked from me to Daddy. “Everything all right out here?”

Daddy took a sip from his glass. “Just fine.”

Blake massaged his neck. “Dad, maybe everyone would be safer inside their own houses. This looks like an accident waiting to happen.”

“Son, I’ve been handling guns since before you came into this world. So has everybody out here. If somebody’s coming for Merry they’ll have to go through us.” He looked at me hard. “If they want Liz, they’ll have to find her first. If they’re coming for me, I’m waiting for ’em.”

Blake shook his head and stepped back to let me inside the house. He shut the door behind us.

“Grace?” My eyes searched his.

“We’re watching her. She’s fine.”

“Where’s Mamma?” I asked. No way had she seen what was going on out front.

“Upstairs,” Blake said. “She was exhausted from the bazaar. She brought home plates of chicken and dumplings for dinner. Yours is in the kitchen.”

I peeked out the front window for another look. “Holy crap.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Blake said. “Zeke Lyerly’s in that bunch.”

“Oh hell.”

Zeke Lyerly had lived across the street from Mamma and Daddy for two decades. Zeke used his gun to expedite things. When he found a nest of yellow jackets in his front yard, rather than bother with the usual chemicals, he and Daddy shot into the rotted tree stump where the yellow jackets made their home. This proved less harmful to the yellow jackets than to Zeke and Daddy, who each suffered a dozen stings.

I closed the blinds. “Can’t you run those crazies off?” I asked.

“Look at it this way. Even Troy isn’t stupid enough to mess with that bunch. Unless I’m willing to arrest the lot of them—Dad included—all we can do is hope for the best and stay out of the line of fire.”

“Did you say there were dumplings?” I was starved. I headed towards the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been all day?”

I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carryout box. Where to start? I grabbed a fork and dug in. Even cold, chicken and dumplings were my weakness. “Where’s Merry?”

“On the screened porch.” His tone of voice telegraphed exactly how much patience he had left.

“If we go out there, I’ll only have to tell this once.”

He sighed and waved his arms in a shooing motion.

I scurried out to the screened porch.

Curled up in the wicker chair, Merry pulled the quilt she was wrapped in tighter. I suspected the quilt was more for emotional comfort than against the non-existent chill. “Hey,” she said. “Where’ve you been?”

I settled onto the swing with my dumplings.

Blake sprawled across the loveseat. “So.” He looked at me. “Elvis tells me he ran into you at Marci’s. Not only did you not stay here today like I specifically asked, but you’ve apparently appointed yourself my special investigator.”

I gave him my why-didn’t-I-smother-you-when-we-were-little look.

He ranted on. “I have successfully done my job without your help for years. Please refrain from conducting your own investigations—wait.” He got this terrified look in his eyes. “You’re not planning on opening up shop
here
are you?  Taking cases…”