“Did you talk to Sonny today?”
“No,” I said, “but not for lack of trying. I’m scared to death of where this Angela business is going to lead us.”
“No sense worrying about it. If she knew Shelby was having an affair, that doesn’t mean it was with Sonny.”
“I know,” I said, “but until we have another viable candidate for ‘lover,’ I’m going to worry. Sonny’s my friend.”
“He’s my friend too. Let’s not borrow trouble.”
I sighed. “He’s also our best resource to find out if Shelby ventured into Tent City, I think. I doubt Shelby would’ve told Clint she did that. He was very protective. And he was very forthcoming. I think he would’ve mentioned it if she went there and he knew about it.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Wait. I know what to do about Paul Baker. What if we ask Fraser to call and tell him that he has to come pick up his last check? I seriously doubt Fraser’s gonna pay that final bill, but I’m sure Baker’s hoping he will. He could ask him to come to the conference room, where we could be waiting. That way, if he is working a case, we don’t blow his cover. And we have leverage. If Baker doesn’t have satisfactory answers to our questions about the Shelby Poinsett case, we explain to Fraser how we verify trips to London. Which we’ll likely do anyway, but Baker doesn’t know that.”
“Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re brilliant? Come outside and dance with me in the moonlight.”
And I did just that.
THIRTEEN
I took Tallulah Poinsett at her word. She’d said helping would do her good, so I asked her to call Delta and ask that she come visit with her this morning for a spell. This was a request I knew Delta would simply never refuse as long as she drew breath. Her DNA would never permit it. If she had other plans, she would cancel them.
I street parked half a block from Rutledge on Queen and watched for Delta to leave. Sure enough, at nine forty-five, her Volvo passed in front of the intersection. I wouldn’t be here as long today, so I left my car where it was and walked down Queen and around the corner to the front entrance of Delta’s home.
Francina answered the door.
“Good morning, Francina, is Delta home?” I offered her my sunniest smile.
“No. You just missed her. I expect she’ll be gone a couple hours. Can I give her a message for you?”
“It’s the darnedest thing,” I said. “I’ve lost my watch—the one my grandmother gave me? The last place I recall having it on was here yesterday. I hate to be a bother, but could I come in and look for it?”
“Why, of course you can.” She stepped back and opened the door wider. “I’ll help you look. What kind of watch is it?”
I stepped inside quickly. “Thank you so much. It’s white gold with tiny diamonds around the face. On the back it’s engraved, ‘Happy Birthday Liz.’”
“I’ll look in the living room and dining room,” she said. “Why don’t you look in the kitchen?”
Was she avoiding the kitchen after Colleen’s spectacle in there the day before? “I’ll do that, thank you again.”
“Oh, no problem.”
I walked down the hall and into the kitchen. After a moment, I called to Francina, “I don’t see it in here. I’m just going to check the guest room.”
“Oh, all right.”
I slipped back into the foyer and bounded up the stairs. I had no clue which bedroom was the master. When I reached the second floor, I was in a sitting area. I knew which room was the guest room—I’d taken Francina’s food there the day before.
Quietly, I opened the second door I came to. Definitely a teenage boy’s decor. I closed it and moved on to the next. Also done in early teenager. Door number four led to a master suite, which might’ve once been a separate apartment. It looked to have been recently remodeled with a decidedly feminine flair—all yellow and cream. I moved quickly across the room to what I suspected was the bathroom door. Bingo.
I swung open the door to the medicine cabinet. Hell fire. She had a pharmacy in here. In addition to numerous over-the-counter drugs, there were at least ten prescription bottles. I had no time to analyze the labels. I turned them all face-out and took pictures. Then I turned a few of the labels back around so they looked random as they had before.
I stepped back to the bedroom door and listened. Nothing. I put my head out into the hall and called downstairs, “Any luck, Francina?”
“Not yet.”
“Me neither, I declare. I’ll be down in just a second. I want to look one more place.”
“Take your time,” she called.
I moved to the closet. Delta had an extensive wardrobe and more shoes than Off Broadway. But it was the memory, photo, and hat boxes I was interested in. Or would she keep what I was looking for closer to her? I stepped back to the bedside table that held the things she’d use regularly—reading glasses, an alarm clock. Carefully, I slid open the top drawer.
Clint Gerhardt stared back at me from three photos scattered on top of a stack of greeting cards. They were all candid photos, taken at different events. In every shot he was talking to someone who wasn’t in the picture, apparently unaware of the camera. I bet Delta looked at these every night.
This cast Delta’s motives in offering up Sonny as Shelby’s possible lover in a whole nother light. Could be she wanted that to get back to Clint—for Clint to believe Shelby was having an affair. Maybe Delta thought this would help him get over losing the wife he’d adored. Maybe she wanted to help with that in other ways. Was she that manipulative? I didn’t touch the pictures, but snapped a quick photo.
I slid the drawer closed and dashed to the top of the stairs, pulling the watch out of my jacket pocket.
“I found it,” I called.
Francina came out of the dining room. “Oh, I’m so glad. That must mean a lot to you. Is your grandmother still with us?”
“No.” A familiar sadness settled on me. “I’m afraid she’s not.”
“Can I see it?”
I held out the watch, still in my hand. Gram really had given it to me for my birthday.
“That is pretty. Mind, you get the clasp checked, now.”
“I will. Thank you again. Are you feeling better today?” I slipped the watch inside a pocket in my purse.
“Oh, I’m fine. I always got on well with Miss Shelby. If she’s hanging around here, that’s fine with me. But everybody here might not be so happy to see her.”
My head jerked up.
She gave me a knowing look.
“Francina, did you leave me a note in my purse yesterday?”
“What would I do that for?”
“Maybe there was something you thought I should know, but you couldn’t risk telling me.”
“Well, if I was smart enough to do that, I surely wouldn’t be running my mouth about it now, would I?” She met my gaze and held it.
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” I slipped her my card. “If you ever need me for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”
“That’s good of you. You never know.”
My cell phone quacked like a duck. A client. “Excuse me, Francina. Have a great day.” I was out the front door.
“You too, now.”
On the front porch, I glanced at the screen. Fraser Rutledge.
I answered the call on the fifth ring. “Liz Talbot.”
“Miz Talbot. What have you got for me?”
“We’re working a number of angles.”
“Is that a fact? Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“We need to tie down a few things. How about we come by Monday morning at nine and bring you up to speed?”
“Very well. I will see you then.”
“While I have you, I need a favor.”
“What can I do for you?”
I explained our plan to get Paul Baker into his conference room, but didn’t get into critiquing his investigative methods.
“I can make that happen,” he said. “But I assure you that I will not be paying his final invoice.”
“It never crossed my mind that you would.”
“I am gratified to learn that we understand one another. You have yourself a real nice day, Miz Talbot.”
Why in the hell had he not called Nate instead?
FOURTEEN
According to the profile I’d pulled together early that morning, Angela McConnell had majored in communications at Hollins University in Virginia. She’d been an assistant something or other at WCSC Live 5 News, the local CBS affiliate, before landing the gig to become Mrs. Lamar Bernard full time. She’d quit her job right after the engagement announcement had run in the Post and Courier.
Currently, she was in the throes of wedding planning, something I knew a great deal about since Nate and I had just been through this in December. When speaking with Mary Bernard the day before about her dinner party, I’d chatted her up about wedding preparations—a subject she was delighted to hold forth on. This was how I came to know that Angela would be meeting with Mary and the wedding planner this morning at the Bernards’ lower King Street home.
I drove by once to confirm Angela’s BMW was in the drive, then circled back and pulled to the curb a block away. I grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler in the backseat. I might be here a while, and I needed to stay hydrated. The meeting had started at ten, but, at least in my experience, more often than not these things went long. Very long.
Just before noon, Angela rounded the corner on the sidewalk, heading back towards Broad on foot. Sonavabitch. I grabbed a map I kept handy for such purposes, opened it with a flick, and hid behind it.
Where was she headed? I was already pissed at this woman for what I was afraid she was going to tell me. And now I was going to have to chase her down to make her do it.
I waited, watched her in my rearview. When she was far enough away, I got out of the car, closed the door quietly, and took off after her. Staying just close enough to keep her in sight, I followed her up King to Market, where she turned right. Less than half a block later, she passed under the green awning and into City Lights Coffee.
Well fine, I could use a mocha latte. I followed her in, acting like I was preoccupied with important matters unrelated to her. The ambiance at City Lights was cozy and eclectic. The painted stamped tin ceiling, dark beadboard walls, and original art gave you the urge to sit a spell, if you weren’t tailing a probable blackmailer.
Angela ordered her coffee for there, so I followed suit. I waited for my mocha, picked it up, and strolled over to her table.
“Well, hey!” I said. “Angela, right?”
She smiled real friendly. “Yes. Hey—you were at book club yesterday, right?”
I watched as she recalled why I was at book club and reckoned on all the things that could be about to go wrong. It was all over her face. I hoped this woman never played poker. She would lose all her almost-husband’s money.
“That’s right.” I sat across from her.
She tucked a lock of her chin-length dark hair behind an ear. “It’s good to see you.”
“I’m so happy we ran into each other. I have a few things I need to run by you.”
“Well, I don’t have but a minute. Just a quick cup of coffee. So much to do with the wedding coming up.”
“Well, I guess if you don’t have time, I could just talk to Mary.”
Her brown eyes got large. “Oh, no. Don’t bother her. What do you need?”
“What I need to know is what you were talking about with Shelby Poinsett in her library—the same library where she was later killed, I might add—after the December book club meeting.”
“How do you—”
I kept my voice friendly, so as not to upset the other customers. “It doesn’t matter in the slightest how I know. What I know is that you upset her…told her ‘No one had to know,’ that ‘it was in her hands.’ Now. I want to know what no one needed to know, and how you knew it. The price for your silence, that I already know. You wanted in that book club come hell or high water. Right?”
“You must be mistaken.” She stood, as if to leave.
“Now you see, this right here is what they call poetic justice,” I said.
She stared at me.
I smiled sweetly. “No one has to know. It’s in your hands. Unless, of course, you killed Shelby, in which case, I promise you, many more people are going to know.”
Angela sat back down. “You must be out of your mind. Of course I didn’t kill Shelby. I was out with Lamar that night, with two other couples. We had dinner at Charleston Grill and a nightcap at The Belmont. In addition to our friends, any number of waitstaff can verify my whereabouts.”
“I’ll need the names of those friends. You can text them to me or write them down. Phone numbers too. And you can bet your mamma’s pearls I’ll be talking to everyone who was working at Charleston Grill and The Belmont. If there’s a back door you could’ve snuck out of, I’ll find it.”
“You wouldn’t embarrass me…”
“Angela, embarrassment is the very least of your troubles. Because from what I know right now, what you were doing sounds like blackmail, pure and simple. Start talking. And maybe, if you tell me everything I want to know, I’ll forget to report that particular crime. Provided you can convince me it’s the only one you’ve committed.”
She ran a hand over her face. Looked around, like maybe she was planning an escape. Finally, she sighed, licked her lips, and fixed her gaze at a spot somewhere across the room. “I was having lunch with a friend back in early December at the Pavilion Bar.”
Damnation. The Pavilion Bar was the rooftop bar at Market Pavilion, the hotel Shelby had frequented while Clint had been tracking her with the Find my Friends app.
“They put up Plexiglas and have heaters during the winter—you can eat up there anytime. Anyway, after lunch, we were riding the elevator down, and when we came out in the lobby, Shelby walked off the other elevator right in front of us. She was with a man—not Clint. They weren’t on the rooftop. They had to have been on one of the guest room floors.”
I made myself ask the question. “What did this man look like?”
“He was a black man—African-American.”
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped breathing until I started again. Not Sonny. “Tall, short…” I made a rolling motion with my hands. Roughly a third of Charleston County was African American. I needed more to go on than that.
“He was tall. Very nice-looking. Late thirties, early forties I’d say. I had pictures…”
“You took pictures of them? Shelby didn’t see you?”
“Yes, and no. There was a group moving from the elevators into the lobby. It’s narrow there in front of the check-in desk. I walked fast, got in front of them, pretended like I was taking pictures of the lobby bar and Grill 225. It’s very beautiful. Shelby was engrossed in conversation with him.”
“What do you mean you had pictures?” I asked.
“After Shelby was killed, I got nervous. I was afraid of how it might look. I deleted them all.”
I closed my eyes.
“You don’t think he killed her, do you?” Angela asked.
I blinked, looked at her. “I have no idea. So, you threatened to tell Clint that Shelby was having an affair if she didn’t let you in the book club?”
She had the grace to look ashamed. “Yes. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never done anything like that before in my life.”
“How on God’s green earth can being in a book club be that important to you? Couldn’t you just start your own?”
“When I first signed up five years ago, it was all about being in a book
club with that kind of history. And they’re a service organization. They read mostly Southern literature and classics—some more recent novels, but good literature. I knew I’d have to wait, might not ever get in, and that was fine.”
“What changed?” I asked, feeling sure I knew.
“Lamar’s mother. Lamar is her only child. She idolizes him. And she wants to remake me in her own image. Book club is so important to her. And Lamar is the most important thing to me, so of course I want to please her.” She teared up. “She just kept pushing and pushing it with Shelby. It got out of hand. All this wedding pressure. Everything piled up. I lost my mind a little bit.”
“Yeah, I think maybe you did,” I said. “Now I need those names.”
FIFTEEN
Walking back to my car, I tried Sonny again. Miracle of miracles, he answered the phone.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“I have nothing more to say about Shelby Poinsett. To be honest, I’m a little pissed off that you think I was fooling around with a married woman.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
“Lookit, Sonny. I was doing my job, just like you do yours every day. I needed to ask you a question. You answered it. I apologize if, in doing my job, I have hurt your tender feelings.”
He blew out a breath. “You made your point. What’s up?”
“Meet me for lunch at the Pavilion Bar?”
He hesitated. “Why there?”
“Because it has gorgeous views of downtown and it’s a lovely day.”
“Right.”
“I’m headed there now.”
“I’m tied up until two.”
“I’ll wait. I’ve got some work to do.”
The Market Pavilion Hotel sat on the corner of East Bay and South Market. I’d stayed there a time or two for special occasions. The accommodations were exquisite—Italian marble bathrooms, mahogany poster beds, and soft-toned bedding and drapes with sumptuous touches. I passed through the brass-framed revolving door.
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