“Jury.” He drew back, an incredulous look on his face. Then he nodded. “Okay. Okay. I see what this is about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Local boy makes good on TV. Has endorsement contracts. Comes home, buys hisself a big ass house right on the beach. Remodels. Puts in a pool. He’s obviously rolling in some serious dough. You want to be on my payroll.”
“I assure you, I have plenty to keep me busy. I don’t need your money.” This wasn’t strictly true. Nate and I needed a steady stream of paying clients to keep up the beautiful but aging beach house my Gram left me. But we stayed busy enough. “I’m here as a favor to a friend.”
“And just who might that be?”
The doorbell rang.
We both looked down the hall.
He raised his eyebrows, shrugged. “I’m not expecting company this afternoon,” he said. “’Course I wasn’t expecting you either. Whatever they selling, I don’t need. Where were we?”
“I was explaining how you need to call Fraser Rutledge lickety-split,” I said.
“And just like I was telling you—”
The doorbell rang again, three times in rapid succession.
“Now that’s just plain rude.” He glared towards the door. “And I wouldn’t have expected that here, ya know what I mean? Folks here was always the kind that call before they just show up on your front porch, hammering on your doorbell. What is this world coming to? If folks here done lost they manners, I don’t even know what to think. That’s disappointing. Mmm mmm mmm.” He pressed his lips together, shook his head.
A fist banged on the door. “Darius Baker? Charleston Police. Open the door.”
“Oh, shit.” Darius’s voice went high-pitched. His face reflected astonishment.
I slid the card back to him.
“Listen to me,” I said. “Go quietly. Do not say. One. Single. Word. Except ‘Lawyer.’ Do you understand me?”
“Oh yeah. I understand you just fine. I’m being railroaded on this here thing so someone can look good closing a high-profile case fast.”
“I don’t think that’s it, truly.”
More banging on the front door. “Darius Baker. We know you’re in there.”
Sonny’s voice. He knew I was in here too. He knew the white Ford Escape parked out front was mine. Blake would be with him. This was Stella Maris, and out of Sonny’s jurisdiction.
“Answer the door,” I said. “I’ll call Fraser Rutledge and have him meet you at the jail.”
“Uh, this here is privileged communication, right?”
“Provided Fraser Rutledge is your attorney. My firm is on retainer with his.”
“Well, see, I might have left out a li’l part of that story I was telling you just now.”
“Fill me in. Quick.”
“Remember how I said I had three ex-wives?”
“All healthy—yes.”
“The truth is, I mighta understated that number by one.”
“And?”
“A hundred years ago, Trina Lynn was actually my first wife. If that was even legal. It shouldn’t a been. We were way too young.”
“That’s a pretty big omission. Did you leave anything else out?”
He reached up, rubbed his smooth head with both hands. “Oh, Lord.”
“I can’t help you unless you tell me absolutely everything.”
He said something, his voice soft, wounded.
More banging on the door.
“What did you say?”
“I said we had a child.” His voice was coated in misery.
“When?”
“I was already gone. Trina, she put the child—a li’l boy—up for adoption.”
“How is that not common knowledge in this town?”
“I got no damn idea. I didn’t know myself until recently.”
The doorbell rang three times in succession. “Darius DeAndre Baker. This is your Aunt Nell. You get yourself out here right this very minute.”
Of course. Nell knew everything that happened at the Stella Maris Police Department. She ran the place, regardless of who was chief. No way would she have stayed behind while Sonny and Blake came to arrest Darius.
“Aw naw.” Darius strode towards the door and I followed.
He flung it open. “Aunt Nell?”
Nell Avalee Baker Cooper, a full-figured black woman, wore a tailored pink suit, heels, and pearls. Her salon blowout drooped a bit from the humidity. She planted her hands on her hips and bowed up, ready to strike. She clutched a dangerously large Coach carryall that matched her suit in her right hand. “Stand back, Sonny Ravenel. You can have him when I’m finished with him. He’s not going anywhere.”
Sonny took a step back. “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes met mine.
I knew Sonny well enough to know he was relieved to see me. Moon had been right.
Blake stood off to one side. Jeremy Jenkins must’ve gone around back.
I stole a glance at Blake.
He nodded ever so slightly, looked away. The fact that he said nothing told me all I needed to know. He was happy to see me too.
“What is this I hear, Darius?” Nell asked. “You’ve barely been home five minutes and you’re in trouble with the law already.”
“Now, Aunt Nell—”
“Don’t you ‘Now, Aunt Nell’ me. I want the truth out of you. Right now. Did you hurt Trina Lynn?”
“Of course not. Aunt Nell, you know me better than that. You know I ain’t hurt nobody, ’specially not a woman. Most ’specially not Trina Lynn.”
She stared him down, took his measure. “No, I don’t think you did. So you go along with Sonny now.” She swiveled her head towards Sonny. “He won’t let a soul harm a solitary hair—”
She spun back to Darius, took in his smooth head. “Sonny’s not going to allow anybody to hurt you. Isn’t that right, Sonny?”
“No, ma’am,” said Sonny.
“I beg your pardon?” Nell’s tone threatened to call down a plague.
“I mean yes, ma’am,” said Sonny. “Nell, all due respect. You know better than to think I’d let anything bad happen to Darius.”
She jerked her head back to Darius. It crossed my mind how she was in serious danger of giving herself whiplash. “You keep your mouth shut tight, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will see about getting you a good lawyer,” said Nell.
“I’ve already got me a lawyer.”
“This is no job for one of your slick Hollywood mouthpieces.”
“I got me a local attorney—a good one. Now, Aunt Nell, don’t you go worrying yourself. This here is all a big misunderstanding. We gonna get it straightened right out. I even got my own investigator.” He looked over his shoulder at me.
Nell raised an eyebrow at me. “Mmm-hmm. I see that.”
Jeremy Jenkins climbed the last step to the porch. “Why am I not surprised?” Tall, with broad shoulders, if he hadn’t had such a nasty look on his face, he would’ve been handsome.
“Sonny,” I said, “Detective Jenkins. Mr. Baker is represented by Rutledge and Radcliffe. Mr. Rutledge will meet y’all at the jail.”
Jeremy muttered something under his breath.
“All right then,” said Sonny. “Let’s head in that direction, why don’t we? Darius Baker, you are under arrest for the murder of Trina Lynn Causby. You have the right to remain silent—”
“And you see that you do that very thing,” said Nell.
“I will, Aunt Nell. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Nell looked heavenward and raised her hands. “Lord Jesus, look after Darius. Keep him safe from harm. Help us find the truth about what happened to poor Trina Lynn, Lord. We know the truth will set Darius free. Amen.”
Nell looked a
t me hard. “I’ll expect to hear from you directly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Of course.”
THREE
I loved my new Escape, but missed the happy green color of the one we’d recently traded. White showed every speck of dirt and dust. But white and silver were the most common car colors in the country. Private investigators needed to blend in. As soon as I was in the car and the air conditioning cooled things down, I called Fraser Rutledge and outlined Darius’s situation.
“Very well, Miz Talbot.” Fraser never let an opportunity escape to express his disapproval of the fact I hadn’t taken Nate’s last name. “I will meet with Mr. Baker and then ascertain how quickly we can get before a circuit court judge on the matter of a bond. I gather that you and Mr. Andrews will begin investigative work forthwith.”
Our contract with Rutledge and Radcliffe for a recent case was open-ended, allowing us to begin work on behalf of any of Fraser’s clients without executing a new agreement. While Darius hadn’t technically hired us—signed our contract for services—Fraser had. Any client of Rutledge and Radcliffe’s was a client of ours as soon as we did work on the client’s behalf at Fraser’s request, or that of his partner, Eli Radcliffe.
“Nate is still finalizing the pretrial work for Lucas v. Lucas,” I said. “I can get started right away on Mr. Baker’s case.” Nate and I had planned to take some time off as soon as he finished the Lucas case and enjoy the beach, catch up on our reading. That would now have to wait.
“I was given to understand the two of you had wrapped up Lucas, Miz Talbot.”
“Mr. Rutledge, you might recall our conversation on Thursday? We were sitting right in front of your desk when we mentioned there was a loose end or two, and that Nate was going to follow up on those.”
“Precisely. That was Thursday. Today is Tuesday, and the sun which the good Lord hung in the sky has set and risen again five times in the interim. I dislike loose ends, Miz Talbot. The Lucases go to court next week.”
“Which is why Nate is still focused on the Lucas case, and I will get started on the Baker/Causby matter.”
“No one speaks to the media except me.”
The media. Sweet baby Moses in a basket. Stella Maris was about to be invaded. “Of course. Will you be stashing Mr. Baker in a hotel under an assumed name?”
“Not at this time. Let us have a multitude of unruly reporters trampling through his yard and taping spots in front of Mr. Baker’s home for the time being. We cannot have him appear to go into hiding. Optics, Miz Talbot. We start thinking about our jury pool and what they see and hear right now. Perhaps the logistics involved in travel to Stella Maris may prove a deterrent to the fourth estate after the first week.”
“I’ll alert the local authorities.” Blake would no doubt rather Darius stayed in a yurt on the moon than Stella Maris under the circumstances.
“Very well. I will see you and Mr. Andrews tomorrow morning at 9:00 in my office.” He ended the call.
“High-handed boor.” Fraser Alston Rutledge III, Esquire, challenged my sunny disposition. While we’d steadfastly refused to become the in-house investigators for Rutledge and Radcliffe, preferring to retain our autonomy, Fraser had managed to arrange things to suit himself through trickery. He sent us a steady stream of work and paid us twenty percent above our standard rate. I thought of it as an aggravation tax. And here I was sending him a client, ensuring we’d be working with him yet again. I drew a deep sigh. We had bills to pay.
I dialed Blake.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on with Sonny?” I asked when he answered.
“I was there, remember?”
“Blake Talbot, don’t you dare play innocent with me.”
“I don’t know anything you don’t know,” said Blake. “Sonny’s not talking to me about Darius Baker except in front of his partner. All very official. But hey. The guy has a new partner. He’s going to be loyal to him. That’s just natural. But what I would like to know is exactly how and why you ended up at Darius’s house before I did.”
“And here I thought you looked happy to see me.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” said Blake. “But I am curious how you came to be there.”
“I can’t say.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“I have client confidentiality to consider,” I said.
“Darius call you?” Blake sounded skeptical. “I can’t imagine how he even knew you were a PI.”
“Whatever. Look, I talked to Fraser. He’s letting Darius come home after he’s released. No hiding him away. So get ready for the onslaught.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
“Afraid not.”
He muttered a lengthy string of words Mamma would’ve disapproved of. “I better go tell Nell and Bill. You know those yahoos are going to harass them.”
“Later.”
I sat there in Darius’s driveway pondering my next steps.
By habit, I worked cases starting with the people closest to the victim, then moving out in widening circles until I found the culprit. I needed to speak to the people who knew Trina Lynn best, or at least the longest. This was bound to be difficult. Our families had history. Troy Causby had been involved in a case of mine a few years back, the one in which my Gram had been killed. I opened an app on my iPhone and looked up the number, then took a deep breath and dialed Billy Ray and Georgia Causby’s home.
“Hello?” A woman answered on the fifth ring. Her voice betrayed that she’d been crying.
“Mrs. Causby?”
“Who’s calling?” Her tone was polite, but nevertheless put me on notice that she would suffer no fools. My mamma had taught me that exact tone.
“This is Liz Talbot.”
“What do you want?” This woman was younger. Not Georgia Causby. Probably Trina’s sister. She might harbor ill will towards me, though she had no just cause whatsoever.
“Laura Beth?”
“We are grieving. You have a lot of nerve calling here.”
Another woman spoke to her. Laura Beth must’ve put her hand over the phone. There was muffled arguing. After a moment, she yelled, “Fine. Fine.”
“Hello, this is Georgia Causby. What can I help you with?”
“Mrs. Causby, this is Liz Talbot. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
“That’s kind of you.” Her voice was stiff. “Again. What can I help you with?”
“I’m investigating what happened to Trina Lynn.”
“Why on earth would you of all people be doing that?”
“Because I was hired to.”
“By who?”
“I’m working for an attorney in Charleston. He wants only to get to the bottom of what happened.” This was the truth, just not the whole truth.
“Aren’t the police doing that?”
“Let’s just say we want to make sure they don’t miss anything. Police officers are often stretched thin these days.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t hold you responsible for what happened to Troy. But you are a reminder, you understand me?”
“Yes ma’am. I do.”
“On the other hand, I’m grateful to your family for not making things hard with Sara Catherine.”
“Of course.” Sara Catherine was Troy Causby’s daughter. She was also my cousin Marci’s child. As Mamma would say, Marci and Troy had been called elsewhere. Billy Ray and Georgia Causby had adopted Sara Catherine. “Mrs. Causby, would you please talk to me? In person? I know it’s a lot to ask right now. But I promise you, I only want to help.”
“You’d best come on now, before Billy Ray gets home.”
“Thank you.” I glanced at the clock. “I can make the 3:00 ferry. That should put me at your house around four. Will that work?”
“As long as you’re gone
by five it will.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
I did a mental inventory of my freezer, then zipped over to Mamma and Daddy’s house.
“Mamma?” I called out softly as I walked in the front door. I wasn’t sure if Daddy would be asleep or not.
“We’re in here,” she called from the family room.
Chumley, Daddy’s basset hound, woofed a greeting.
I stepped down the hall and stopped short at the doorway. Daddy was in his recliner, wrapped in a robe and a blanket, with a heated wrap across his shoulders. Chumley spilled out of his lap. The table beside him was covered with pill bottles, Vicks VapoRub, Halls Mentho-Lyptus, and all such as that. A humidifier delivered a steady cloud of moisture to the air. An episode of Main Street USA played on the TV above the fireplace. Daddy muted the TV.
Mamma was curled up on the end of the buttery yellow sofa working a crossword puzzle. “Don’t get too close to your father. He caught this mess from somebody. It must be contagious. I’ve had my flu shot and my pneumonia shot.”
“The hound can tell I feel bad.” Daddy stroked Chumley’s back. “Every time I sit down he crawls up in my lap like this. Your Mamma won’t let him in the bed.”
“Him or me.” Mamma’s gaze returned to her crossword. “Your choice.”
“Are you feeling any better, Daddy?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve never seen such a fuss over a cold.”
“You say that,” said Mamma. “But the very second I stop making a fuss, you imagine your fever’s gone up.”
“What are you talking about, Carolyn?”
Mamma shook her head.
“Mamma, are you sure you need that humidifier? The humidity level outside is over eighty percent.”
“Your father says he needs it,” she said, like she knew exactly how ridiculous that was.
“When’s the last time you took my temperature?” Daddy asked. “We’re supposed to call the doctor if it goes over 102.”
“Frank, I just took your temperature ten minutes ago and you know it.” Mamma looked at me. “What are you up to, sweetheart? You want a bowl of chicken noodle soup?”
“No, thank you, Mamma. How’s your freezer inventory?”
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