LOWCOUNTRY BOOMERANG

by Susan M. Boyer

  “Hey, darlin’.” Bunny smiled as they strolled straight past the hostess. “Could we please have our usual booth?” Both ladies headed straight for the restrooms, certain their wish would be granted.

  “Of course.” The hostess glanced at me, perhaps wondering, as I did, about the type of women who traveled in pairs to a restroom with accommodations for only one. “I’ll be right with you.”

  Perfect. I slid a hand into my crossbody bag and palmed a small, flat, disc-shaped listening device. “I’d love to eat at the bar if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Grab any open spot.” The hostess crossed to the corner booth by the window overlooking the parking lot and laid four menus on the table. She turned around and walked towards the open kitchen.

  With her back to me, I took the scenic route, passing by Bunny and Julia’s regular booth. I faked a dropped earring just in case anyone was watching and bent down to look for it.

  “Where on earth did that earring go? There it is.” As I rose, I stuck the magnetic bug to the metal support plate underneath the wooden tabletop and continued to the bar, smiling at anyone who cared to look.

  The bar—really the white solid surface more resembled a lunch counter—was L-shaped, beginning where the tiled half wall to the open kitchen ended. Had I sat in that section, my back would have been to the booth. I proceeded to the first counter stool on the corner, which gave me a direct view of the front booth by casually turning my head only slightly.

  The waitress slid me a menu. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?”

  “I’d like a glass of unsweetened iced tea, please.”

  “Did you see today’s specials?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  She rattled off a list of delectable sounding choices, but I was already thinking about a couple of my favorites on the menu. “I’ll be right back with your tea.”

  I opened the menu and quickly decided on the roasted beets and the Geechie fries, though it was a mystery how I could eat after last night. I pulled out my phone and opened the app to listen and record what my device picked up. I popped in my earbuds.

  When the waitress came back with my tea, I placed my order, and gestured towards my earbuds. “Audio book.” I smiled.

  “I understand,” she said. “I love to listen to them in the car. I just finished one by James Patterson. Do you like him?”

  “Yes.” I smiled and nodded, hoping she didn’t have time to chat further because Libba and CeeCee had just come through the door and were hugging Bunny and Julia, fresh back from freshening up. One was a redhead, the other a dark brunette. All four women were dressed in well-accessorized shorts outfits and sandals.

  Bunny and Julia sat with their backs to the wall, Libba and CeeCee across from them.

  “Jason?” Bunny summoned their server. “Darlin’, we’re going to need four stout Lady Sullivans. You know how we like them.”

  “Right away.” Though his back was to me, I could hear the indulgent smile in Jason’s voice.

  I’d be willing to bet they tipped him well every Thursday. I’d never tried a Lady Sullivan, but according to the menu, it was made with Tequila, strawberry, key lime, and basil. That sounded like a fancy margarita to me, and I had a particular fondness for margaritas.

  The four women discussed food briefly, each seeming to have already decided what she wanted. Jason delivered the cocktails, which they tasted and declared divine. He took their food order and slipped back to the kitchen.

  Bunny raised her glass. “I call this meeting of the Seashell Sisterhood to order.”

  “Forever faithful,” the four women said in unison.

  “Is it just me, or do these drinks need more tequila?” asked Julia.

  “Mine’s fine.” There was a bit of reproach in the redhead’s tone.

  “Seriously, Libba?” said Julia. Libba was the redhead, then, CeeCee the brunette.

  The others murmured non-committal “Hmmms.”

  They waxed poetic about how glad they were to be through Labor Day weekend and have the kids back in school for a while now. I glanced up occasionally, and noticed Julia seemed subdued. Bunny noticed too.

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” Bunny asked Julia.

  The other two women stopped chatting and leaned in. CeeCee reached across the table to take Julia’s hand. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, truly.” Julia smiled brightly.

  “How are you holding up, really?” asked Libba.

  “Well, my stars in heaven, y’all, it’s not like she was a friend of mine. Far from it,” said Julia.

  “We know that,” said Bunny. “But all this is bound to stir up talk.”

  “It probably has,” said Julia. “But it’s not the sort of thing people will mention to my face, now is it?”

  “At least you know for sure now it’s over,” said Libba.

  “Libba.” Julia gasped. “You make it sound like I wished the woman dead.”

  “Well, pardon my saying so,” said Libba, “but didn’t you?”

  Julia raised a hand to her mouth, but didn’t say anything.

  Bunny said, “Now Libba, you know Julia didn’t mean what she said. She was angry, is all.”

  “Have the police been by?” asked Libba.

  “The po-lice?” Julia drew back, looked at her friend in utter disbelief. “Surely you don’t think they’ll want to talk to me?”

  No one said anything. Bunny looked down at the table.

  “All of you are thinking that, aren’t you?” asked Julia. “You think the police will think I murdered that husband hijacker because of a moment of—of—” She blinked, raise both hands to her mouth.

  “You dropped your basket is all, sweetheart,” said Bunny. “It happens to the best of us.”

  Libba said, “Julia, you know I’m your friend and I love you. It’s because I love you that I think you should talk to an attorney. Just in case…so you have someone to call.”

  The waitress put my plate in front of me. I unrolled my flatware from my napkin, chose a Geechie fry and bit the top of it off. Yum. Geechie fries are basically French-fried grit sticks and I had a particular fondness for them. I was not typically a fan of the beet. But they performed magic on the beets at The Obstinate Daughter, I was certain of it. There was something about the combination of pomegranate molasses, ricotta cheese, and pistachios that made the beets not only palatable, but delicious. I picked up my fork and put together a bite.

  CeeCee piped in. “The thing is, you made rather a scene. In front of several hundred people. Someone will recall that and make mention of it.”

  What on earth had happened? I bit off another bite of Geechie fry and studied the foursome across the restaurant.

  “When one pushes over an eight-foot ice sculpture at a black-tie cancer benefit, well, it’s bound to cause talk,” said Libba.

  “It’s a miracle you were able to keep it out of the papers,” said CeeCee.

  Bunny put her arm around Julia. “That woman—not to speak ill of the dead—had no business being there. She should have known better. It’s bad enough, running around with a married man. But to show up at his wife’s signature charity event—that’s just beyond the pale.”

  Was that the very event where the photo I’d found of Trina Lynn and Walker Nance had been taken?

  “Well of course she had no class,” said CeeCee. “But that’s not the point, is it? The point is, she’s dead, and poor Julia here had one hell of a motive to kill her.”

  “But I didn’t kill her.” Julia practically wailed. “I wouldn’t have any idea how to shoot someone. I certainly don’t own a gun. Why, I’ve never fired one in my life. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

  Bunny looked around the restaurant. She almost caught me looking. “Shhh. Of course you didn’t shoot anyone. Do you have an alibi? I
mean, you know I don’t think you did it, but an alibi would come in handy.”

  Julia was quiet for a minute. “I was at my parents’ house Sunday night.”

  “How late?” asked Bunny.

  “’Til about midnight.”

  “Well, there you go,” said Bunny.

  “Who else was there?” asked Libba.

  “Why does it matter?” asked Bunny.

  “You know very well why it matters, Bunny Porter,” said Libba. “If it’s an alibi you need, it’s better to have people who aren’t your blood relatives providing it.”

  “Besides Mamma and Daddy and the kids, Carlene and Isaac were there most of the evening.”

  “I’m afraid paid help isn’t much better than family,” said CeeCee. “You’d best talk to an attorney.”

  “It just makes me so angry,” said Julia. “First, Walker humiliates me, strutting around with that cheap piece of TV trash. Then, he has the nerve to bring her to my benefit—”

  “Well now, in fairness, sweetie, he didn’t bring her,” said Libba.

  Julia glared at her friend. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours, of course,” said Libba. “But I think it’s best to deal in facts. Especially if you’re recounting this to police officers. They’re especially keen on facts.”

  “Fine,” said Bunny. “The horse’s ass did not technically bring the cheap piece of Christmas trash to the cancer benefit that our lifelong friend spent a year planning. But the tramp was there. So was he. And he was caught red-handed in the coat closet with her in a position for which there simply is no polite explanation.”

  “If anyone besides Catherine Calhoun had caught them, it would’ve been a different story,” said CeeCee. “Ever since her husband got caught in that bawdy house scandal last Christmas, why, she simply cannot resist spreading bad news involving anyone else’s husband.”

  “I think she told everyone she ran into,” said Libba. “She surely told me. And she was quite gleeful about it.”

  “No one had to tell me anything,” said Julia. “There was this moment…I’ll never forget it as long as I live. They’d just given me a thank-you toast. And they wanted me to say a few words. I walked up on that stage, and I looked out into the crowd, and every person I looked at was talking behind their hand, or just looking at me like they felt so, so sorry for me. Sorry for me…Julia Kensington. Why, no one’s ever felt sorry for me my entire life. I couldn’t abide it, the pity. Y’all understand, don’t you?”

  They all murmured, “Of course we do.”

  “And I have to say,” said CeeCee, “it was quite satisfying to watch you nearly take her out with that ice sculpture.”

  “But we need to circle the wagons,” said Libba.

  “Exactly,” said Bunny. “As I recall, I was at the Kensington’s home Sunday evening as well. Until midnight. Didn’t I see both of y’all there too?”

  “No,” said Julia. “No, thank you, dear Bunny. But I couldn’t possibly let you do that. I’ll speak to an attorney, just in case. But I really and truly was at Mamma and Daddy’s house. They’ll just have to believe me. It’s the truth. My children were there. I wouldn’t have my children lie for me in a million years.”

  “Darlin’?” said Bunny. “Where was Walker?”

  “Why, I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Julia.

  Apparently well-trained to their routine, Jason delivered fresh drinks and took the empty glasses. “Your food will be right out.”

  “You don’t think that Walker—” CeeCee asked.

  “Don’t even think such a thing,” said Julia. “Whatever else he is, and I have a very long list of names, he’s still the father of my children. He’s not a murderer.”

  “Perhaps she was pressuring him,” said Libba.

  “But so what?” said Bunny. “She had no leverage. The secret was out. Everyone knew Walker was having an affair with the trashy blonde on TV. And everyone knew for certain that Julia knew. The bimbo had nothing to pressure Walker with. I mean, she could have said, ‘Oh please leave her and marry me or I’ll never see you again.’ But that would have gone one of two ways. If God gave him half a brain, he’d have said, ‘Okay, fine. This was the worst mistake of my life,’ and that would’ve been the end of it. But if he’d thought he was really in love with her—forgive me, Julia—but if he was that stupid, well then, he wouldn’t have killed her, would he?”

  “It could’ve been a crime of passion,” said Libba.

  “Libba, that is just not a helpful thing to say,” said CeeCee.

  “I’m just trying to prepare her for what the police are probably thinking,” said Libba.

  They all went quiet as Jason delivered their food. When he stepped away, Bunny said, “We’re all here for you, Julia. You let us know what you need. We’ll get through this together.”

  “Are you going to divorce him?” asked CeeCee. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t already filed papers and thrown him out.”

  “I haven’t decided,” said Julia. “We’re in counseling.”

  “When did you start that?” asked Bunny, surprised.

  “A month or so ago,” said Julia. “I didn’t say anything because I know what you all think. You all think I’m weak, and I should’ve kicked him out the night of the benefit. But it’s not that easy. The children adore Walker. And I—I’m just so hurt.”

  “We’ve all said way too much about Walker and what we would and wouldn’t do, many times,” said Bunny. “This is your decision, and yours alone. Now come on, y’all, let’s have another drink and enjoy our lunch. We’re going to have to get in the carpool line before you know it.”

  “Hear, hear,” said CeeCee.

  They all lifted their glasses and clinked them together in the center of the table. Bunny signaled Jason for another round, and they all tucked into their plates. Until 2:00, they chatted about their kids and the fall sports they were playing. Then they paid their bill and left.

  After the table had been bussed, I discreetly retrieved my bug and headed to the car. I weighed my options, then headed back into Mt. Pleasant. I wouldn’t attend Trina Lynn’s funeral, for all the reasons I’d told Nate I shouldn’t. But I could watch to see who all came out of that church and observe how deeply they appeared to be grieving.

  SIXTEEN

  Julia Nance and her friends understandably held a low opinion of Trina Lynn Causby. But based on the traffic gridlock in the Old Village of Mt. Pleasant, she was well-loved. The Causby family had been in Mt. Pleasant for generations, so naturally everyone knew them. Then there was Trina Lynn’s WCSC family and all the people her stories had touched over the years.

  St. Andrews Church occupied the corner of Whilden and Venning, three blocks from Charleston Harbor. The historic church, which dated back to 1857 and was now used primarily as a chapel, fronted Whilden Street. The large, contemporary-style ministry center, where Trina Lynn’s service was no doubt being held, faced Venning. Live oaks along both streets wept Spanish moss, adding to the somber mood of the afternoon.

  When I arrived in the neighborhood at 2:15, police officers stood watch outside the church, relieved from the duty of directing traffic by virtue of the fact that everyone who’d come for the funeral was already inside. The parking lot was packed to overflowing, and every available spot on the surrounding streets was taken. So many cars were illegally parked, the police would’ve been hard pressed to tow them all. This was a blessing for me. I’d blend in just fine.

  Across Venning Street was the church parking lot, and behind it ran a private drive that provided access to a newer row of homes tucked in behind the homes on Morrison Street. I drove around the block once, then rolled down Morrison Street and parked in front of a small painted brick building that was once probably a store of some sort, but was now, according to the sign, New Ebenezer Baptist Church. I banked on the churc
h’s goodwill in light of the large funeral going on a block away.

  I opened the lift gate, grabbed my good camera out of the back, and put it in a small, lightweight backpack. Then I slid into a lightweight utility jacket. Flipping through a box of identification, I selected a fake press ID that claimed affiliation with no news outlet in particular, but looked official enough for casual observers. I pulled together a few other items I might need—my pick set, Wi-Fi jammer, and gloves—added them to the backpack, then secured it snugly to my back.

  If I walked around the block and down the private drive, I risked being spotted by someone who knew I didn’t belong, or perhaps one of the police officers on guard at the front of the church. I scanned the homes across Morrison, looking for one with no cars out front and a deserted feel, then walked confidently down the driveway of the cream-colored house directly across the street.

  As soon as the six-foot privacy fence in back registered, I started running. I charged it, jumped, put my hands on the top, and hoisted myself up. My right foot found purchase and I pushed myself the rest of the way over, landing in a low crouch. I stayed low, prayed no one was home at the two-story house I was looking up at. For a couple minutes, I watched. There were no signs of life. What I was about to do was all kinds of risky.

  According to the sticker on the window, the security system on this house was the same as Trina Lynn’s. I reached for my signal jammer, then stopped. This house was elevated, like many this close to the harbor. How high was the front porch?

  I walked around the side of the house, scanned the area, and climbed the steps. This would work well. From here, I could see across the parking lot. I couldn’t make out much, but my camera lens would take me much closer. The line of trees between the parking lot screened me from view. I raised my camera, looked for the door of the church and zoomed in. Perfect.

  I settled into a rocking chair and waited. The service would just now be starting. Just in case, I popped in my earbuds, and slipped my phone into a utility pocket. I mulled Julia Nance and her Seashell Sisterhood. Sonny and Jenkins likely had no idea there were two people with motives just as strong as Darius’s. The problem was, once they’d made an arrest they stopped looking at alternate theories. They’d probably stopped looking the minute ballistics came back on that gun. It was hard to blame them. At 3:00, I heard the church doors open. Using the camera as a monocular, I scanned the faces coming out of the church and started snapping.