“How did they respond to Clint when Shelby first brought him home?” I asked.
Jane smiled. “Oh, I expect Williams had him checked out thoroughly. Probably hired a team of investigators the first time Shelby mentioned his name, long before she brought him home. By the time he showed up in Charleston with Shelby, the Poinsetts knew everything there was to know about Clint Gerhardt. But Williams has a lot of respect for Clint. That’s Williams. He admires anyone who overcomes adversity. And Tallulah…she could tell—anyone could—that Clint adored Shelby. That’s all that mattered to her.”
“So there was never any drama there?”
“Never. I think the Poinsetts sort of adopted Clint. They became the parents he never had. You know what I mean.”
“What about Clint’s real parents? Did Shelby ever mention them? Did they contact her, ask for money?”
“Those two.” Jane rolled her eyes. “They didn’t need to ask Shelby for money. Her accountant sent it to them regularly. She bought them a house, a new car every few years. She never dealt with them directly, mind you. The accountant handled it all. The stipulation was that they leave Clint alone—never ask him for anything, never contact him unless he initiated it. And they had to stay away from drugs, anything illegal.”
“Did those arrangements continue after her death?”
“Yes. She set them up their own trust. It’s modest, as those things go. But still, they’ll never have to worry about money.”
“What about Clint’s brother, Cliff?”
“Oh, he’s a sweetheart. He and his wife Lisa and their two girls…Shelby was crazy about them. Cliff is Clint’s twin, you know.”
“I don’t think anyone mentioned it.”
“Identical.”
I tucked that away to ponder later. “Was Shelby giving them money too? Does Clint?”
“Oh my goodness, no. Clint’s parents are leeches. But Cliff would never take a dime from Shelby. He’s just like Clint.”
I tilted my head and squinted at her, thinking how that didn’t square with the reality that Clint had clearly benefitted financially from marrying Shelby.
Jane lowered her chin and regarded me from under raised eyebrows. “You’re thinking Clint cared about Shelby’s money?”
“I wouldn’t know if he cared about it or not. But he’s the recipient of most of it.”
“When they first met? Shelby was at Berkeley. One reason she went so far away to school was to experience life outside wealth and privilege. She saw it as a burden. No one there knew she came from money. She didn’t want to be treated differently because of it. Of course this was more than twenty years ago—back before everything about everyone was on the internet.”
“So you’re saying Clint didn’t know she had money when they were dating?”
“He had no idea until after he’d proposed. Knowing Clint, he wouldn’t’ve gone out with her to begin with if he’d known. When she told him, at first he was so angry he broke off the engagement. I guess he felt like she’d deceived him. Honesty is very important to Clint. I suppose it’s important to any relationship. But Shelby had her reasons for what she did. And in the end he loved her too much to walk away. She convinced him that money didn’t have to change their relationship. They didn’t let it.”
“And Cliff—”
“Loved Shelby for Shelby, not her money. Just like Clint.”
I nodded, then forked a bite of salad and delivered it to my mouth.
Jane said, “But just to be clear, if Cliff and Lisa ever needed anything—if one of the girls got sick, Heaven forbid—whatever. Shelby would’ve helped. She would’ve insisted on it. Don’t waste your time looking at Cliff and Lisa.”
“All right,” I said. “Did Shelby stay in touch with her friends from Berkeley? Her roommate? Other friends?”
“Not really. Not in recent years anyway. When Clint and Shelby were spending most of their time in Georgia, I guess it’s possible. But I really don’t think so. Shelby fully invested in building a life with Clint. She was close to Lisa, Cliff’s wife. And the wives of the men in Clint’s unit at one time, though I think they’ve drifted apart since Clint got out of the army.”
“How did that work—after Shelby and Clint got married, with him in the army? I know they bought the house before they got married.”
“That’s right. They spent years tinkering with it, living here when Clint was on leave. Shelby was ready to be back in Charleston. Having the house and working on it made her happy, even though they couldn’t spend much time here for so long.”
“Was Shelby at odds with anyone that you know of?”
Jane laughed. “Oh my goodness, was she ever.”
I scrunched my face at her. This would’ve been good information right off.
“Oh,” she said. “No, no…nothing like that. Nothing that someone would kill her over. It’s just, your question made me think of book club.”
“Book club?”
Jane laid down her fork. “The Ashley Cooper Book Club. It’s more than a hundred years old. There are eighteen of us—that’s the limit. It’s in our bylaws. There are twenty on the waiting list. In order to be added to the waiting list, you have to be nominated by a member and voted on.”
“Sounds exclusive. So what was the trouble?”
“Shelby was president. She’d just been installed in September, and it was quite controversial.”
“What was the controversy?”
“Like I said, Shelby was unconventional. This club is very traditional. Some of the members’ great-grandmothers were founders. They take book club very seriously—it’s part of their heritage.”
“How did Shelby get elected president?”
“Everyone loved her. Even the women who called her hippy-dippy behind her back did it with a little smile.”
“So how did the trouble start?”
“Well, Angela McConnell is on the waiting list—she’s a sweetheart, only twenty-eight. She’s engaged to Mary Bernard’s son, Lamar. Mary Bernard’s great-grandmother was the original president. Mary wanted to let Angela move from the wait list to active. Her logic was that not everyone came to every meeting, so why not let Angela participate.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“But not to Mariel Camp, whose friend has been on the waiting list longer. Nor to many of the members who don’t like change. At least half the ladies wanted to keep with tradition.”
“And which side was Shelby on?”
“She was going to call it to a vote.”
“That seems fair.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But you would be amazed at how many members were affronted by this. I declare, you’d’ve thought children’s lives were at stake, the way some of these women carried on.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Oh, but I am. Some folks need more to occupy their time.”
“I’m going to need all their names and contact information.”
Her face contorted into a scandalized look. “No, seriously. These ladies aren’t murderers. A couple of them are grandmothers, for goodness sake.”
“That’s not a disqualifier.”
“Really, please don’t waste your time on this. I didn’t tell you about it because I thought any of these ladies were suspects. Your question just reminded me of all the brouhaha.”
I gentled my tone. “My goodness, I’m not saying they’re suspects. But they may well know something helpful.”
Jane took a bite of her salad and chewed thoughtfully.
“Who is the president now?” I asked.
“Delta Tisdale.”
The zombie alien Sasquatch reporter. “When is the next meeting?”
Jane paled. “Tomorrow at noon. It’s a luncheon.”
“Where?”
“Well, it’s at Delta’
s house, but—”
It would save me an enormous amount of time if I could meet them all at once. “Are you allowed to take guests?”
“Well, yes, but I’m telling you, none of these women could possibly have killed Shelby.”
“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to investigate several impossible things. Because one of them is the truth.”
SIX
Right after Nate and I came back from our honeymoon, we made our own protocol of not discussing cases over meals or in the bedroom except in the most urgent circumstances. Most of our clients were in tough situations. Our natural instincts were to work continuously until we solved the problem at hand. But that could lead to burnout. It would be too easy for work to take over our lives. We made a pact to take care of us. The day before, we’d had no choice but to break the rules.
That Wednesday night we cooked together. The kitchen was one of my favorite rooms in the sprawling beach house I’d inherited from Gram. It was a chef’s kitchen—Gram had loved to cook, the bigger the crowd the better. Painted green cabinets, two farmhouse sinks, and a wood floor lent the space a homey feel. Copper pots hung above the black granite island and lined the open shelves beneath the commercial-grade gas stove. I’d spent a chunk of my childhood under Gram’s feet in this kitchen.
Nate threw together a salad and boiled angel hair pasta while I sautéed bite-sized pieces of chicken in butter and olive oil. Rhett trotted over to where I stood in front of the stove, sat, and looked up at me hopefully.
“All right. One bite of chicken.” I placed a chunk I’d cooled especially for him on a paper towel and set it on the floor.
He scarfed it down, sweeping his tail back and forth on the floor. Then he resumed the hopeful look.
“How about some kibble?” I asked.
Nate laid down the salad tongs and walked over to pet Rhett. “Come on, boy,” Nate said.
Rhett followed him into the mudroom.
I heard the scoop in the dog food canister. Nate carried on a one-sided conversation with Rhett while he fed and watered him. I smiled at his matter-of-fact tone, as if Rhett understood him completely. It was the same way I spoke to Rhett.
After a few minutes, Nate came back into the kitchen. Because he’s well acquainted with my fondness for good hygiene—which certain members of my family unkindly refer to as my germaphobia—he washed his hands thoroughly. He cast me a sideways grin as he slathered on the Purell. “Sanitized for your protection.”
I smothered a smile, removed the browned chicken from the pan, added garlic, and stirred.
“Mmm. That’s smelling fine,” said Nate.
“Well, thank you.”
“And to think your mamma worries you don’t feed me right.”
“There are a great many things I don’t do to Mamma’s standards.”
He moved behind me, lifted my hair, and kissed my neck. “And yet you so spectacularly exceed all of mine.”
I smiled, keeping my eyes on the pan with great effort.
“I suppose I’d best let you be…for now.”
The promise in his voice sent shivers of desire through every fiber of me.
He moved away.
“Tease,” I said.
“You know better.”
I did indeed. I took a deep, slow breath, so as not to ruin dinner. I scooped the chicken onto a plate, then added chicken broth, white wine, and lemon juice to the pan, stirred to deglaze, and watched the liquid reduce.
I turned off the heat, added spinach and halved grape tomatoes to the pan, then added back the chicken. Once everything was combined, I poured it over the pasta bowl, added parmesan cheese, and tossed it all together.
Nate opened a bottle of Murphy-Goode pinot noir, poured us each a glass, and set them by our places at the farmhouse table. I took the pasta bowl and joined him there. Over dinner we flirted with each other, exchanged tidbits of island news, stared out the window at the ocean, and took time to appreciate the meal we’d prepared.
Only after we’d cleared the table and taken our wine to the living room did we turn back to our case. In some ways I felt guilty, as I always did, setting the client aside for a while. But coming back to a case with a fresh perspective often yielded clarity.
I grabbed Shelby’s address book and my notebook from my tote. We settled into opposite ends of the sofa, facing each other with our legs stretched out. I told Nate about my visit to One80Place. Like I was handling C-4 explosives, I passed him the photo.
He stared at it, winced. “This could be nothing more than a picture of two dedicated volunteers enjoying time with the kids. Someone says, ‘Y’all smile for the camera.’ They move in close and pose. Nothing to it.”
“Or…”
Nate shook his head, a worried look in his eyes. “My opinion, they’re cuddled up tighter than was strictly necessary for a quick snapshot. It’s possible something was going on between them. We have to follow this down whatever rabbit hole it goes.”
“I know.” The pressure in my chest grew, rose into my throat. I spoke sternly to myself. I had to remain objective. There was simply no other option.
I filled Nate in on my interviews with Clint and Jane. Talking through the high points of what they’d said helped me feel like I had a better sense of things.
“I’m as convinced as Fraser that Clint is innocent,” I said.
“All right. Why? Because he loves animals, volunteers with Habitat for Humanity, and hasn’t canceled his wife’s tulip delivery?”
“It’s not just that. He strikes me as an honorable man.”
Nate grimaced. “That, Slugger, is an emotional response to what could’ve been a carefully orchestrated performance.”
“I can’t see that being the case. He got very little notice I was coming.”
“Let’s set Clint aside for now, why don’t we? What about the best friend whose husband mighta been having an affair with Shelby?”
“I’d place Jane and Charles Kinloch on the highly unlikely but possible list for now.”
“I didn’t find anything remotely resembling a lead today,” Nate said. “Everyone I talked to claimed everybody loved Shelby. They’re all in shock. But I don’t think we can rule out someone Shelby knew through One80Place—or potentially Tent City—or any of the other organizations she volunteered at for that matter.”
“Based on what Clint described as the ‘protocols’ at their house, I don’t see our culprit being a client. Shelby wouldn’t’ve opened the door for one of them.”
“Unless it was a desperate one she’d worked with for a while and felt like she knew. This was an empathetic woman, from everything we’ve learned. She might’ve followed protocols right up until she didn’t.”
“That’s true enough, I guess.”
“We’re running against the clock,” he said. “There’s a long list of people to sift through in two weeks. I think me working the volunteer angle makes sense. But that leaves you with a slew of friends and family.”
Colleen popped in. She sat sideways in one of the wingbacks, her legs draped over the arm. Tonight’s sundress was yellow, no hat.
Nate startled a bit. “For crying out loud. Could you ring a bell or something to alert us before you just appear like that? Normal people ring the doorbell. How about that? These constant shocks to our systems can’t be good for our hearts.”
Colleen waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually. You’ve got a strong heart. It’s a shame I can’t go along and help rule out a few of these people. I’m kinda busy right now.”
I scrunched up my face at her. “With what? Is there something going on here on the island that I don’t know about?” I hadn’t caught wind of any new development plans.
“Nothing I need your help with,” she said. “But if I get a free minute, I’ll pop in while you’re interviewing thes
e folks. I can’t promise. But I’ll try.”
Nate looked confused. “I thought you couldn’t help because there’s no connection to your day job.”
“Weeeell…” she said. “Sometimes if I genuinely have nothing else I should be doing, I might bend the rules and pop in just for a minute. But you can’t depend on that.”
“Yeah, I’m abundantly clear on that part,” said Nate.
“I could really use you,” I said. “On the surface, at least, Shelby was a good person. She had nice friends, a nice family. But it would’ve had to’ve been a friend or family member—someone she trusted at any rate, knew well enough to open the door for—who killed her. That points to some extraordinary event, I think. Something went horribly wrong for these folks on an otherwise normal day. No one is going to volunteer this information to me, no matter how sweet I ask. Someone will be lying. Everyone else will be telling the truth. I need you, Colleen, to be my lie detector.”
She blurred, went a bit transparent. “Your instincts are good. Follow them.”
I said, “Okay, see? This drives me nuts. Does this mean you’ll be there putting thoughts in my head and I won’t even know it? Are you giving me a cryptic message? Or is that a simple compliment delivered with dramatic effect?”
Colleen returned to a semi-solid form, shrugged. She looked all innocent. “I just mean you have good instincts.”
I blew out a breath. “Oh good grief. Where were we?”
Nate took a long drink of wine. “Lamenting Shelby’s universal popularity, hence this long list of possible suspects.”
It was my turn to drink. “And her circle of friends crisscrossed through church, neighbors, her book club, and her volunteer work. According to Jane, the only person from outside their circle Shelby has mentioned is Sonny.”
“Are you going to talk to him again or do you want me to have a go at it?”
“I’ll do it. But I want to dig a little deeper first. I have no reason to think Sonny wasn’t telling me the truth. I’m going to the Ashley Cooper Book Club meeting with Jane tomorrow morning,” I said.
LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB Page 7
