by Mary Ellis
‘Why not put the fox in charge of the henhouse?’ asked Nonni, no longer the peacemaker at the table.
‘Exactly. Well, that landscaper doesn’t have much chance of getting paid now. So although Johnson did a wonderful job, I wouldn’t drop our name if Eric decides to give him a call. He might run in the opposite direction.’
Nonni crossed her arms, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘Thanks, Mrs Borelli. I’ll be sure to tell Eric.’ Jill leaned back as the waitress delivered three identical plates of shrimp and grits. The ladies dug in with pleasure, but soon Nonni and Francesca put down their forks and started gossiping about mutual acquaintances.
Jill understood why their lunches took two hours, but she had a job to do. Her shrimp and grits was so good, she had no trouble cleaning her plate. Then she pulled a twenty from her wallet and waited for a pause in their conversation. ‘Forgive me for eating and rushing off, but I have to work this afternoon.’ She laid the bill on the table.
Nonni looked horrified. ‘You put that money away, young lady. I invited you so I pay. No arguments!’
‘Yes, ma’am, and thank you.’
‘A pleasure meeting you, Jill.’ Francesca grinned warmly.
‘The pleasure was mine.’ Jill scooped up her money and shoved it into an SPCA collection bottle near the front door. One good turn deserves another.
Setting her GPS for the address on the mechanic’s lien, Jill soon arrived at Robert Johnson’s home in North Charleston. Fortuitously, Johnson was just getting home from work when she parked at the curb.
Jill shrugged into her blazer for a more professional appearance. ‘Mr Johnson,’ she called, ‘may I have a word with you?’
‘Who are you?’ Johnson halted with one hand on the door handle.
‘I’m Jill Wyatt, an investigator working the Salvatore Borelli homicide.’ She hoped Johnson would think she was with the police, despite the fact she hadn’t flashed a badge.
‘What would I know ’bout that?’ he asked.
Jill waited until she reached his side. ‘Probably nothing, but I’m talking to everyone who spoke with the deceased before his death.’
‘Look, I’m hot and tired and don’t think I can be much help.’
‘Please, this will only take a few minutes.’ Jill offered a charming smile.
‘Five minutes and that’s it.’ Johnson unlocked the door and held it open. Trying not to consider he could be a murderer, Jill followed him inside.
Whereas his yard was full of well-trimmed ornamental trees and blooming shrubs, the kitchen looked sorely neglected. ‘Mind if I sit?’ She plopped down at the cluttered table.
Johnson opened a Coke and leaned against the sink.
‘According to my report, you went to see Salvatore at his home and argued with him, rather heatedly.’ Jill pulled out her notebook.
‘You bet I did. That bum still owes me sixty K. Have you seen that monstrosity of a mansion? Look around. Which one of us needs the money more?’ Johnson gestured at his modest furnishings.
‘That is quite a garden, even for Kiawah. Did Mr Borelli settle his debt with you that day?’
‘He did not. Now that Sal is dead, who knows how long I’ll have to wait for my money.’
‘Considering you filed a lien more than five years ago, why did you pick now to demand payment?’
‘Oh, I called him plenty of times, both at his restaurant and at home. But now was when I needed the money.’ Johnson focused his gaze out the window.
‘May I ask why?’
‘What would that have to do with your investigation?’ His tone indicated a waning of patience. ‘That ain’t none of your business.’
‘You’re right, it’s not. I just want the facts to eliminate you as a suspect.’
‘S’pose it don’t make no difference.’ Johnson finished the Coke and crushed the can in his massive hand. ‘I needed the cash for a new chemotherapy drug for my wife. Insurance denied coverage – they said it was still experimental for her type of cancer.’
Jill heard the pain behind his words. ‘Forgive me for prying, sir. Sometimes I hate this part of my job.’
‘Work’s the only thing I have left any more.’ He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded. ‘My wife is dead, but then again, so is Sal Borelli. I call that justice.’
Jill rose to her feet, not liking his evil little smile. ‘My sympathy for your loss. Thank you for talking to me.’
When Jill tried to step past him, Johnson grabbed her arm with a vise-like grip. ‘You wondering who killed that tightwad? I’d take a good look at his wife if I were you. They fought like cats and dogs the entire time that house was being built.’
‘I’m sure plenty of hard decisions had to be made. Men and women don’t always agree on decorating. Now if you don’t mind …’ Jill glared at the callused fingers still holding her arm.
‘What are you – twelve? I ain’t talkin’ about paint colors or window treatments.’ Johnson released her. ‘Get out of my house.’
Jill couldn’t get away from the nasty man fast enough. She punched in Lieutenant Schott’s number before she reached the end of the street. Unfortunately, she got Schott’s voicemail instead. ‘Lieutenant Schott, Jill Wyatt, the PI working for the Manfredis. I think you should look into Robert Johnson, a landscaper from North Charleston. Mr Borelli owed him sixty-five thousand for work done on his house. Johnson needed the money for his wife’s cancer treatment. I’m not sure when she passed, but Borelli never gave him the money. Johnson could have killed him when he refused to pay, or after her death for revenge.’ Jill left her number and hung up, feeling stupid for leaving such a long message. After checking her watch, she headed to the University Medical Center of South Carolina. She still hadn’t heard a word from either husband, and Jill wanted to see her two favorite patients in person.
When Jill got to the hospital she was ready for some good news. Maybe she would make farm animals from modeling clay with Bobby and little Joan. Or perhaps Ralph would be there with his three, and she’d have a chance to bring his older two out of their quiet shell. Or at least make the Norris baby giggle.
But good news was not to be.
David Sugarman, who Jill found in a chair outside his wife’s room, had taken the children to his sister’s house. Charlotte was showing signs of rejecting her sister’s organ. And if that happened, Charlotte would be transferred to hospice for her next step in life’s journey. Jill was not permitted into her room, so she asked question after question of the tall, harsh man. Sugarman’s answers were brief and succinct. The husband seemed to be in a state of shock.
‘I don’t know what to do, Jill. They’re going to change the dosage and add another drug to the mix, but they can’t tell me if … this … will … work or not.’ His voice cracked while his lower lip trembled.
‘All I know is you shouldn’t be alone.’ Jill pulled out her phone. ‘Do you have any family I can call?’
‘I only have one sister. She would have to bring the kids to the hospital. I don’t want them here now. They shouldn’t see me like this.’
‘You must have friends. Let me call someone.’
‘My boss said to call him if I needed anything. I get along well with him.’ Sugarman met her gaze with moist eyes, pulled out his phone, and punched in the number.
Jill waited until David talked with his boss and heard the man was on his way. Then Sugarman headed to the men’s room, and Jill headed to the fifth floor to see Emma Norris.
Unfortunately, the news from Emma’s husband wasn’t much better. Ralph stepped from the room when he spotted Jill on the other side of the glass. ‘Emma’s resting now, Miss Wyatt. The nurses keep giving her medicine so she’ll sleep.’
‘Well, that’s good, right?’ she asked. ‘A body needs rest in order to heal.’
Norris looked up at the ceiling tiles. ‘I guess so. I don’t know much ’bout that.’ Whereas Mr Sugarman seemed to be already grieving for the inevitable, Emma’s hu
sband seemed to be in a stupor.
‘What did the doctor say?’ she asked.
‘He said Emma has an infection. He mentioned where – some sort of lining. I don’t remember exactly what kind.’
Jill grabbed his arm. ‘They’re giving your wife antibiotics, right? Emma agreed to take meds. She told Charlotte.’ As Jill’s voice lifted in intensity, she started to attract attention from passers-by.
‘Yup, they’re giving her medicine, Miss Wyatt. The doctor has been here several times, nurses too. I just don’t know if it’ll be enough.’
When Ralph finally looked up, Jill noticed how blue his eyes were. As blue as the sea, her mother used to say. His serenity scared her more than Sugarman’s premature grief.
Both women are going to die. And it’s my fault.
‘What can I do, Mr Norris? Should I go sit with your children?’
‘No, they’re back at the hotel. A lady from church is staying with them.’
‘Do you want me to drive you to the hotel?’ Jill heard the desperation in her voice.
‘No, I got my truck here. I’m going to kiss Emma and head there now.’
‘I … am … so … sorry I got you into this.’ Jill burst into tears, rendering the apology barely decipherable.
‘Stop that talk. This was Emma’s choice. I know I was sore at you at first, but not any more. If she is being called home, home she will go.’ His expression held nothing but pity. ‘Just pray for her. That’s all we can do.’ Having run out of things to say, Ralph walked into Emma’s room.
Jill couldn’t watch him kiss his comatose wife goodbye. She knew she should be comforting Norris, not the other way around. But she couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say. So she ran to the elevator and pressed the button half a dozen times. On the ride down she felt herself getting nauseated. Once she reached the parking lot, she punched in the first number that came to mind.
‘Eric?’ Jill concentrated on taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart.
‘Yep, I had a feeling you would call. Nonni said she took you to lunch with Francesca Borelli. Get any new leads in exchange for listening to them gossip about fellow bridge players?’ He issued a hearty belly laugh.
‘Oh, Eric, I do have news on the case, but that’s not why I called.’ Hiccupping, Jill gasped for air. ‘I really messed up.’
‘What’s wrong? What happened?’ His tone changed from jovial to heartfelt concern.
‘Don’t … feel sorry for me. This is my fault. I’m at the hospital. Emma Norris and Charlotte Sugarman have taken turns for the worse. Either or both might die.’ Jill dissolved into tears.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but you can’t blame yourself, Jill.’
‘Oh, really? Maybe I’m not responsible for Charlotte rejecting the transplanted organ. But if not for me, Emma Norris would still be picking tomatoes in her garden or baking cookies in the kitchen. Now she could die of some mysterious superbug.’
‘You were doing your job,’ Eric said, the consummate voice of reason.
‘No, Eric. I was paid to track a woman down, which I did, not stick my nose into another family’s business.’
‘OK, even if it wasn’t your job, you did what you thought was best.’
‘I don’t remember anyone putting me in charge of the universe.’ Jill forced herself to stop crying. ‘Want to know what Ralph Norris asked me to do? Pray for Emma. Me – a woman who’s been to church six or seven times in the last ten years.’
‘Anybody can pray. You don’t need a formal training.’
‘Look, I’m sorry I dumped all this on you, but I didn’t know who else to call. I’ll see you later tonight or maybe tomorrow.’
‘Wait. Don’t hang up. You need to talk to someone. I’m just not the right one.’
‘This isn’t about me. It’s about poor David Sugarman and Ralph Norris. They could lose their wives and five kids might lose their mother.’
‘I understand, but I’m worried about you right now. It’ll take at least forty minutes to get back here. By then I will have found someone who can help.’
‘Thanks, Eric, but—’
‘No, Jill. I thought we were friends. Let me do this for you.’
The cold, hard lump of fear sitting in her stomach shrunk by half, but it still took all her strength to utter a feeble, ‘OK.’
When Jill walked through the back entrance of Bella Trattoria, the room was uncharacteristically silent. Glancing around, she saw that the kitchen and storage area renovations were almost finished. She was headed toward the steps when Eric stopped her.
‘I thought I heard a car in the driveway. Don’t go upstairs, because I found someone who can help.’
She pivoted on the bottom step. ‘Who did you get to talk to me? Nonni?’
‘Nope, not my grandmother. I’ll tell you on the way, but we’ve got just enough time to get there.’ Eric led her to his car by the hand.
‘A psychiatrist? You might not be rich enough to fix what’s broken in my head.’
‘Not a shrink. What you said gave me an idea. Anybody who thinks they are in charge of the entire universe needs to talk to someone.’ Eric pulled on to Bay Street after traffic cleared.
Jill grabbed his arm. ‘I was joking about that. Did you call your parish priest? I hope you told him I was raised Baptist, not Roman Catholic.’
‘Would you relax? Try some of that deep breathing I heard on the phone. My priest is conducting a funeral at the moment, so I went through the phone book. This pastor’s name is Greg Berman. For the next sixty minutes you’ll be part of his flock. I gave him a brief outline of … what’s bothering you.’
Jill shrank down in the seat, scared and embarrassed. ‘You shouldn’t have done that. I call this interference into my personal space. Everyone is entitled to their own neurotic tendencies.’
Unfortunately, Eric pretended not to hear her until he pulled up to the side door of a small brick church. From where they parked, she saw no sign indicating the denomination.
‘We’re here.’ He leaned across her and opened the door. ‘Give the guy one hour of your time. He might be able to help you sort through this. What do you have to lose?’
‘You are coming in with me, right?’
‘Wrong. I need to pick up linens, paper products, and ad materials for the grand reopening. I’ll be back in an hour. Reverend Berman is expecting you, so be brave. You can thank me … or beat the tar out of me later.’
Fresh out of excuses, Jill climbed out and marched up the steps. She had to try. Eric in his misguided wisdom thought she needed intervention, even though she’d lived for twenty-five years without spilling her guts to anyone.
Just as she reached for the handle, the door swung wide. ‘Miss Wyatt? Hi, I’m Greg Berman, the pastor here. Come in. I’ve got fresh coffee in my study. Would you like a cup?’
Jill practically had to run to keep up with him. ‘Yes, that would be nice. A little milk or cream, please.’
Once they were seated with mugs in hand, Pastor Greg wasted no time with preliminaries. ‘Your friend told me about the natural sisters you brought back together and are now sharing a liver. Wow, what a blessing for them to find each other. And how brave those women are.’
‘I suppose, as long as they both live through this.’ Jill studied the forty-something pastor over the rim of her cup. He wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and loafers – not exactly ministerial garb. ‘It won’t be a blessing for Emma, the liver donor, if she dies from infection.’
‘And you hold yourself responsible?’
‘If not for me, Emma would be living with the family she created, blissfully unaware of Charlotte.’
‘But she might never get the chance to save someone’s life.’
‘They might both die, Pastor.’
‘Call me Greg. And I understand that, but Emma made the choice. Not you. Only a very self-centered person would think they have such power over another human being … or perhaps an atheist. Are you an atheist?
’
‘No, I don’t think so. I guess I believe in God, but He doesn’t always answer prayer, does He? Sometimes good people die, and sometimes bad things happen for no good reason.’
‘It would seem that way, but that’s because you and I can’t see the full picture. We look at events through a very small lens, from our own perspective. God sees everything simultaneously and knows what each of us needs to grow during our short time on earth.’
‘And Emma Norris needed my interference?’ The sarcastic inflection Jill perfected years ago reared its ugly head.
‘Absolutely she did. No matter what the outcome, she has placed all her trust in a God who can heal us, or call us home if our time is finished. It’s all part of a master plan. And of course, Charlotte needed you. That goes without saying. Few other PIs would have gone beyond the call of duty. You were truly of service to that family.’
Jill snorted. ‘Yep, that’s what I was telling myself until both of their conditions deteriorated.’
‘You’re not in charge of the universe, Jill.’
She dropped her face. ‘I know I’m not. Eric shouldn’t have told you that.’ When she lifted her chin, Reverend Berman was grinning.
‘I fail to see what’s so funny.’
‘Because you’re viewing the situation from a limited perspective. Eric is very fond of you, in case you haven’t noticed. He knows exactly how important this is.’
‘Yes, it’s very important that both women live. They have husbands and children.’
‘I agree. But it’s also important you understand this is part of God’s plan, including your role, even if you don’t believe in Him. You have been placed exactly where you could be useful.’
‘You make life sound like God’s giant chess board.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, Jill regretted them. She had no reason to be disrespectful to a clergyman.
‘Oh, it’s far more complex than that. Chess is a game easily understood by those who study the mechanics and play it often.’ He set his coffee cup on an end table. ‘Spiritual men and women know they don’t have to understand. They try to live the best they can, being of service to one another, while recognizing the outcome is beyond their control.’
