LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB

by Susan M. Boyer

  I moved to the desk and pulled up the photo of Eli and Shelby, the original, uncropped version. To Eli’s right was a woman whose head reached his shoulder. “I’ll start a profile on her.”

  “All due respect to your empathy for the woman, but my money is on Delta Tisdale,” said Nate.

  I shook my head. “I just don’t believe that.” I zoomed in and studied Ruth more closely. A lovely woman, she favored Eli.

  And then I saw it. “Hell’s. Bells.”

  “What?” said Nate.

  “Come look at this.”

  He moved behind me.

  “Look at this guy, two people back from Ruth, in the crowd. See those bright blue sunglasses with wings?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t make out who that is, can you?”

  “Not clearly. And that’s the point. He doesn’t want to be recognized. But I’ve seen those sunglasses before. I have a strong suspicion that is Edward Izard. And the skinny redhead on his arm? Is most assuredly not his wife.”

  Nate leaned over my shoulder and squinted at the screen. “Pull up another photo of Edward Izard.”

  I Googled him and selected images. He appeared on the screen with Evelyn at a variety of events, and a few times with a young woman in her early twenties who was a younger version of Evelyn.

  Nate said, “They just have the one daughter?”

  “And one son.” I suddenly wished I hadn’t zoned out while Evelyn had been chattering on and on at book club. “When Colleen stayed at book club after I left, Mariel Camp was thinking about how Edward was having an affair with a girl his daughter’s age.”

  “That could be him,” Nate said. “But with the sunglasses, and in a crowd…it’s not a clear enough image to say for sure.”

  I clicked back to the digital photo from the hotel lobby and studied it some more. “Oh, it’s Edward all right. This explains everything.”

  I called Delta.

  She answered on the second ring.

  “Delta,” I said, “I need to ask you something confidentially.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Anything I can do to help.” The eagerness in her voice didn’t escape me.

  “Tell me about the Izards. Clearly they’re wealthy. Was that her family money, his, or both?”

  “Well, Evelyn was a Middleton,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “Okay, but that family tree has many branches, some leafier than others,” I said.

  “Evelyn’s parents left her several hundred million dollars. She was an only child.”

  “And Edward?”

  “Well, of course the Izards had money. But the story is that his father lost it all in one failed business venture after another. My understanding is that Evelyn and Edward have an ironclad prenup. If they divorce, he gets nothing. If anything happens to Evelyn, a sizable portion of it goes to charity. Evelyn didn’t tell me that herself, you understand. But it’s common knowledge.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sonny agreed to meet us at The Pirates’ Den for dinner. Stella Maris was safer for all of us. It was a Monday night, so the island’s favorite restaurant/bar/hangout wasn’t crowded. We grabbed a table by the window overlooking the ocean and ordered a pound of boiled shrimp and a pitcher of margaritas to start. The owner, and customary bartender, John Glendawn—Moon Unit’s father—delivered the margaritas himself.

  “Shrimp and grits is the special tonight,” said John. “Y’all ready to order or you want to work on this a while?”

  My mouth started watering. “Shrimp and grits for me.”

  Sonny and Nate both echoed my order, and John headed back to the kitchen.

  “Sonny? I get that you felt you couldn’t betray Eli’s confidence,” I said. “And I admire that. But now that he’s told us the whole sad story about Ruth and how Shelby wanted to adopt her children, we can talk freely amongst ourselves, right?”

  Sonny seemed to mull that for a minute, then said, “It looks that way.”

  I showed him the photo I’d printed out of the man I believed was Edward Izard. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

  Sonny took the photo and the magnifying glass I handed him. “It’s hard to say for sure it’s the same guy from this photo. But one Tuesday right before Christmas, Shelby and I were coming down in the elevator. Eli stayed behind to spend some time with Ruth and his nephew. Most of the time Ruth stayed overnight in the room Shelby had already paid for. She was taking advantage of the luxury, knowing what lay ahead for her.

  “Anyway, Shelby and I walked out of the elevator and this guy with a redhead—her I recognize—came off the other elevator. I guess they were involved with each other, not looking where they were going. They ran right into us. Literally. They started apologizing, then Shelby and the guy recognized each other. Both of them looked shocked. It was a little awkward. She introduced him as her neighbor. I don’t recall the name. He introduced the redhead as his niece in from out of town. We all said hello. They apologized again for bumping into us. Shelby was afraid he would think there was something inappropriate going on between us. And that was that.”

  “Except it wasn’t,” I said.

  “Explain,” said Sonny.

  A waitress set a platter of boiled shrimp on ice with slices of lemon on the table. We all reached for shrimp, but kept talking.

  “Did Shelby mention anything else to you about the incident?” I asked.

  Sonny shook his head. “I wouldn’t call it an incident. Some guy and his niece bumped into us. They apologized. That was all.”

  “Sonny.” I cocked my head to one side. “Did you buy that was his niece?”

  Sonny shrugged. “I never gave it any thought. Shelby didn’t contradict it.”

  “I’d bet Gram’s silver that was his mistress,” I said.

  Sonny mulled that a minute, chewed on a shrimp.

  Nate said, “You and Shelby felt awkward, you said. You were thinking how it looked for y’all. But Edward Izard—that’s Shelby’s neighbor—he was worried about how it looked to y’all.”

  I explained the rumors about the Izard prenup. “We need to get ahold of a copy of that document.”

  Sonny’s forehead creased. “You’re thinking Edward killed Shelby because she saw him with another woman and might tell his wife?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And now he’s taking shots at you.”

  “But why wouldn’t he have done that months ago?” asked Sonny.

  “My theory is that he likely tried. He’s not a very adept criminal. Shelby was easy. If my theory is right, he rings the bell, she sees her neighbor, maybe is a little nervous because she hasn’t told Clint yet what she’s been doing at Market Pavilion hotel. She lets him in. Either she invites him up to the library where she’s already having wine, or she goes to get her glass and offers to bring him one. Either way, he follows her upstairs and pushes her out the window. She never saw it coming because it either never occurred to her that he was having an affair, or she just figured it was none of her business.”

  Nate said, “With you, it would’ve been much harder because you didn’t have a relationship with him. Also, it would’ve taken a lot more nerve to directly attack you than Shelby. He would’ve used an entirely different method. Do you remember anything unusual happening around that time?”

  Sonny squinted. “Like what?”

  Nate said, “Anyone following you. Maybe a break-in.”

  “He would’ve preferred it to look like an accident, I’m thinking,” I said. “Especially coming right around the same time as Shelby’s death.”

  Sonny was quiet for a long moment. “Two things, now that I think about it. Son of a bitch. I had a gas leak the night before Shelby died. Fortunately, I smelled the stuff they put in natural gas to make it stink when I opened the door. Never flipped the light switch. Called the fire department, late
r a plumber. I figured old house, old pipes. A potential disaster I was lucky to avoid.

  “Two nights later, I was coming home from work and my brakes failed. Fluid leak. I thought it was just a run of bad luck. But if it was Edward, why would he stop there?”

  I said, “My guess is when no one questioned him regarding Shelby’s death, he figured you didn’t remember the incident in the hotel, or you didn’t think it was significant.”

  “Which was in fact the case,” said Sonny.

  “This feels right to me,” I said. “Edward would’ve had the resources to bribe Paul Baker. After he was fired and we were hired, maybe Edward decided he needed to clean up his loose ends. Probably went looking for Baker, but couldn’t find him. Edward escalates, takes a few shots at you. After I came to his home, he figured maybe I suspected him, so he decided I was a risk as well. The guy’s a fanatical runner. My guess is, he stole cars from depressed neighborhoods, did quick drive-bys, ditched the cars, and ran home. Guy like him out jogging at night doesn’t fit the profile of a shooter.”

  “We have a workable theory of the crime—crimes,” said Nate. “Now all we have to do is prove it.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Nate dressed in running togs and followed Edward when he left the house at one that Tuesday afternoon. We had in earpieces to communicate.

  I waited in the lobby of Market Pavilion Hotel wearing a grey wig, stage makeup, granny glasses, a frumpy dress, and sensible shoes.

  At 1:05, Nate said, “He ran to the end of Tradd. Now he’s barely jogging. I’m having to walk to stay far enough behind him.”

  At 1:10, Nate said, “He’s slowed to a walk. Now he’s headed in the door. Yeah. Runner my ass. He’s just running around. Handing him off to you.”

  I looked up as Edward walked in the door. Surreptitiously, I took several photos as he checked in and walked towards the elevator. Then I stood and followed him.

  “Oh, could you hold the elevator, please?” My voice was feeble.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pressed a button, and the doors stayed open.

  I stepped onto the elevator.

  “What floor?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m going up to the rooftop to meet my granddaughter for lunch,” I said.

  “Lovely day for it,” Edward said.

  “It is, isn’t it? She’s such a sweetheart.”

  When he got off on the third floor, he said, “Have a nice lunch.”

  “Thank you so much, young man.” I pressed the button to go back to the lobby. I glanced toward the front as I made a U-turn off the elevator and moved quickly towards the ladies’ room. Nate sat at a table in the lobby bar by the window. “He got off on three,” I said into my mic.

  I passed through the elegant vestibule and into the bathroom. Inside a stall, I removed my wig and changed clothes. Then I moved to the mirror and used makeup remover wipes to clean the little old lady off my face.

  “Here’s the redhead,” Nate said into my earpiece. “I’m headed to the elevator. She’s picking up a key.”

  A few minutes later, I heard him say, “Ladies first,” and then, “Three please.” He’d let her on before him so she’d swipe her key, then asked for the floor he knew she’d press before she pressed it. At least that was the plan.

  I listened as they rode in silence.

  A few minutes later, Nate said, “I slipped the transmitter into her purse. She went into 326. It’s at the end of the hall. Any number above 320 will work.”

  I rolled up my granny outfit, stuffed it into my purse, and went to check in. “Could I please have room 326? My husband and I stayed there the weekend we got engaged. It has sentimental value. He’s meeting me this evening.”

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” The fresh-faced, eager-to-help clerk today was a young man. “That room is taken.”

  I gave him my best distressed female look. “Oh no. Well, what’s the next closest room available?”

  “I could offer you 328 or 301. I’m afraid that’s all we have on the third floor.”

  “Three twenty-eight, please.”

  I gave him my ID and credit card, and a few minutes later I had a key. I took the elevator to the third floor, and Nate and I went into room 328 and set up our receiving and recording station.

  In case we ever needed it, we recorded what went on in room 326 that afternoon. Nate put on the headphones and listened so I didn’t have to. We needed to know when they were leaving.

  An hour later, Nate laid down the headphones and picked up the camera. We listened as the door to the next room closed. I quietly opened our door, and Nate stepped out into the hall long enough to snap a picture of the two of them cuddling and sucking face as they walked towards the elevators.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Tallulah had another chance to help us find Shelby’s killer. At my request, she called each member of the book club and asked them to meet at Delta’s house for a special tribute to Shelby the following morning. It was such short notice, no doubt many would’ve been unable to come except for Tallulah’s plea. We’d traded heavily on the bond between women over the last few days.

  When everyone was assembled, Tallulah spoke eloquently, but with difficulty, about Shelby’s life, the things that were important to her. Tallulah announced a new program for the homeless, named in Shelby’s honor, and funded by what would’ve been her inheritance.

  Then everyone grazed at the vast spread of pretty sandwiches, salads, canapés, dips, crudités, pastries, tarts, fruits, cheeses, and nuts that Francina had whipped up in a culinary coup unrivaled since the loaves and fishes miracle. I doubt my mamma could’ve pulled off such a feat.

  While everyone socialized and ate, I mentioned in strictest confidence to several of the women, including Evelyn, that the police were returning to the Gerhardt residence the next morning to fingerprint the back gate, which they knew the killer had used to access the courtyard. Through some oversight, the gate had been missed during the initial forensics evidence collection.

  Our theory was that Edward knew Clint was on the third floor listening to music. Perhaps he could even hear it on the other side of the wall. But not knowing when Clint would decide to come downstairs, Edward would’ve gotten out as of there lickety-split, then slipped into the courtyard thru the gate to make sure Shelby was dead. On the outside chance he’d gone thru the kitchen, he surely wouldn’t’ve gone back inside. He would’ve left via the path behind the house and then gone out the gate.

  At my request, Delta suggested to Evelyn that she should be sure to let the neighbors know so they wouldn’t be alarmed should they see all the goings on. Of course, there was only one person we wanted to make sure Evelyn told.

  My mission accomplished, I stood alone by the sideboard in the dining room and reached for a cucumber sandwich.

  “Put a few of those in your purse for me, would you? And some ham biscuits.” Colleen faded in, in ghost mode.

  I glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I will do no such thing. But I will get you some ham biscuits later at the Cracked Pot. Provided I get an answer or two from you first.”

  She gave me this serene, angelic version of a poker face. “What do you want to know?”

  I switched to throwing my thoughts at her. Are you running off home buyers? From the island? Giving them nightmares and all such as that?

  “What do you think?”

  Colleen.

  “I might occasionally tip folks off as to how it’s not smart to get too many people on an island with no bridge. It’s in their best interests.”

  What about the people who already own those houses?

  “Eventually they’ll sell them. But I need to keep housing values down. Then people will stop building new homes there. I told you. We have to keep the population down.”

  My thoughts went back to after Hugo. What’s coming? When
?

  Colleen sighed. “Something. Sooner or later. I’m looking at things on a whole different timeline than you. We’ve got to find you a comfortable balance between panic and unconcerned.”

  Thank you so much. I might’ve been the teensiest bit cranky. That’s very helpful.

  “Stay calm. If anyone asks, tell them living there’s a pain because you have to get on a ferry to go to work. And the mosquitoes are horrible.” She faded out.

  I looked at the cucumber sandwich in my hand. I’d lost my appetite.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I waited inside the courtyard on one of the chaise lounges by the pool. I’d turned it so it faced the back of the house.

  At 10:35, I heard the gate swing open.

  I walked around the back of the house. “Edward, that you?”

  Silence.

  I turned the corner.

  He was three feet in front of me.

  “You couldn’t be sure, could you?” I asked.

  “Of what?” His voice was a scoff.

  “That you hadn’t left your prints on the gate. Of course the police fingerprinted it the night Shelby was found. There were no useable prints. A shame.”

  “I don’t have the vaguest idea what you’re yammering on about,” he said.

  Then he rushed me.

  He wore gloves this time, and carried a knife. I saw the glint in the moonlight that peeked out from between the branches of the live oak.

  I lunged to the side, darted backward into the courtyard.

  “I can’t understand why you’d kill Shelby,” I said. “She probably didn’t even realize you were having an affair. If she had, she wouldn’t’ve told Evelyn. That wasn’t her way. You didn’t know your neighbor very well, did you?”

  He lunged at me again with the knife. He wasn’t feeling chatty yet.

  I slid out of reach. “You couldn’t take the chance, could you? If she’d have talked, Evelyn would’ve surely divorced you, and you would’ve been left with nothing. That would be hard for someone like you. You’ve never worked a day in your life, have you, Edward?”