Lowcountry Bonfire

by Susan M. Boyer

  Mamma said, “It’s no trouble at all.” She cracked two eggs into the sizzling cast iron skillet.

  Nate cut me a look.

  “How’s Tammy this morning?” I moved to the sink and lathered my hands.

  “About as well as you could expect,” said Daddy.

  “We got another dose of Valium in her,” Mamma said. “But it must’ve worn off. She woke up about three and didn’t want to take anything else.”

  “Has she eaten?” I asked.

  “Not a bite,” said Mamma. “It’s all I can do to keep her hydrated.”

  “I’ll go look in on her.” I dried my hands and slathered on a thick layer of hand sanitizer.

  “Here.” Mamma handed me a plate piled with cheese eggs, country ham, grits with gravy, and a biscuit with butter and strawberry jam. “Eat your breakfast first. You need your strength.”

  “I would’ve gotten that, Mamma,” I said. Either I hadn’t moved fast enough to suit her, or she’d decided I was unqualified to fix my own plate. “I’m not cutting timber.” I took the plate and slid into my chair at the breakfast table.

  In self-defense, Nate fixed his plate and waited by the stove for his eggs.

  “Looks like you may be right,” said Blake. “Doc Harper tested Zeke for strychnine. Results aren’t back yet, but preliminarily—he stressed that preliminary part—he seems to think it’s a safe bet that’s what killed him. Initial window is between four and eight p.m. yesterday.”

  “Price says he left at five and Zeke was there and alive,” I said. “Connie Hicks came by the shop at 6:20 to pick up her car. She didn’t see anyone. The shop was locked and Zeke didn’t answer her knock.”

  Nate joined us at the table. “Anything more from forensics?”

  “Not yet.” Blake forked a bite of grits and gravy, looked at me. “Tell me about these other suspects of yours.”

  I constructed the perfect bite of eggs, grits, gravy, and ham. The problem with investigating crime in a small town is that the suspect pool was often made up of friends and family. I didn’t want to discuss this in front of Mamma and Daddy just yet. I caught Blake’s gaze, gave my head a small shake.

  “Let her eat her breakfast, son.” Mamma settled into her chair. Her plate had one egg and one spoonful of grits with no gravy.

  “Have you talked to your sister?” Daddy asked.

  “Not in the last few days,” I said. Merry had taken a leave of absence from work to teach a workshop at UNC-Charlotte. She was also spending time with her fiancé who lived nearby. “Have you?”

  “Your mamma talked to her. I guess she’s all right up there.” He sounded skeptical. Daddy regarded anyplace else one of his children lived as a dangerous place.

  “Daddy,” I said, “you and Zeke were friends. Can you think of anyone who might’ve done this?”

  He dropped the corner of the newspaper. “I can’t imagine who could’ve gotten the drop on Zeke. Nor who would’ve wanted to neither. You know, I saw him come home yesterday. Twice.”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “Once before lunch. A little after eleven. Then he left again after lunch and came home at six thirty.”

  “Wait. What?” I said.

  “He came home early for lunch,” said Daddy. “Then again at his usual time, six thirty.”

  “You saw Zeke come home at six thirty?” Blake asked.

  “Didn’t I just say that?” said Daddy.

  “Daddy,” I said. “Tell me exactly what you saw at six thirty.”

  “What do you mean? I just told you three times. I saw Zeke come home at six thirty.”

  “Dad,” said Blake. “Did you just hear me say that Doc Harper said Zeke was killed between four and eight?”

  “Did you say that? I was reading the paper.”

  “Did you talk to him?” I asked.

  “Nah. I was sitting on the front porch, me and Chumley.”

  “Okay then, you saw someone drive Zeke’s truck into the driveway,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Someone drove Zeke’s truck into Zeke’s driveway at the same time Zeke does that every day. Had Zeke’s cap on. Waved when he pulled in, like Zeke always does.”

  “Did he pull into the garage?” I asked.

  “Well, he drove around back. I can’t say whether he pulled into the garage or not.”

  I pondered that. The Lyerly’s garage was on the back side of the house with a rear-loading door. You had to drive down the driveway and make a long U-turn into the garage. “His truck is still at the shop.”

  “I guess he went back,” said Daddy.

  “How long were you outside?” I asked.

  “I came inside not long after he came home,” he said.

  “Did you go back out?” I asked.

  “Nah. It was almost supper time,” he said. “Time for my Jack and Coke.”

  “You didn’t see the truck leave again?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  I made eye contact with Nate, then Blake. This was significant. Given that the evidence so far pointed to Zeke being killed at the shop, Daddy had very likely seen the killer driving Zeke’s truck. And Zeke had almost certainly been in the back.

  “Is Tammy going to stay with y’all for a while?” I asked.

  “As long as she needs to,” said Mamma.

  “Did she call her family?” I asked.

  “She did,” said Mamma. “I was surprised they didn’t come yesterday. But Tammy said maybe they’d be here for the funeral.”

  “Poor Tammy. Now she’s got a funeral to plan,” I said. “Has anyone called to see about her?”

  “Margie Robinson,” said Mamma. “She’s coming by later this morning.”

  “Are they close?” Nate asked.

  “I had that impression,” said Mamma.

  “Anyone else call or come by?” Nate asked.

  “No,” said Mamma. “Just Margie. She heard from someone at The Cracked Pot that Tammy was here.”

  I cleared my place. “I’ll take her some tea.”

  “She’ll want it iced, with Splenda and some lemon,” said Mamma. “And don’t be burdening her with your theories about artificial sweeteners. She has enough to worry about right now.”

  Daddy kept the newspaper at full mast, hiding behind it. “Red Bird, did you fix Kinky a plate? Poor little pig has to eat too.”

  Kinky LeCoeur was the Vietnamese potbellied pig Zeke had helped Daddy adopt in a poker game-related transaction a couple months back. Mamma looked at me. Her gaze held me accountable for Daddy’s fascination with potbellied pigs. I’d made the mistake of telling him about one that belonged to a client.

  Mamma pointedly ignored Daddy. “Make sure Tammy Sue drinks that tea now. She needs the fluids.”

  Blake said, “Dad, I think you’re going to have to take care of Miss Kinky.”

  I took a glass of iced tea up to the guest room and knocked gently. “Tammy Sue? It’s me, Liz.”

  “Come in,” she called.

  I opened the door, walked in, and set the tea on the glass-topped wicker nightstand. The room seemed dark and stuffy. “Why don’t I open these windows?”

  She rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head, burrowing beneath a pile of quilts.

  I raised the roman shade on the left-hand side of the bed and opened the window, then walked around the bed and repeated the process on the other side. Light spilled into the room. The air was fresh, but hot. I turned on the ceiling fan, then fluffed the pillows Tammy wasn’t holding fast to. “Here now, Tammy. Why don’t you sit up and have some tea?”

  No response.

  “I know you want to help me find out who took Zeke away from you.” I moved the cushioned wicker chair closer to the bed.

  She climbed out from under the pillow and quilts, wiggled into a sitti
ng position. Her eyes were swollen, her mass of hair knotted and matted.

  “Please drink some tea. Mamma’s worried about you being dehydrated,” I said.

  “I don’t want to worry her.” Tammy reached for the glass.

  I waited until she’d drunk a few sips. “We’re all working real hard on finding out who did this. I need to ask you a few more questions. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Tammy said. “What do you need?”

  “Walk me through what you were doing between five o’clock and six thirty on Monday.” How had she missed Zeke’s truck pulling in at the usual time?

  “Well, after Zeke went back to work, at first I was just so mad at him. I stewed a bit. I was cleaning house like a crazy person. Nervous energy, I guess. Then I started thinking how he’d been so sorry…so…devastated that I’d found out about Crystal. I decided to fight for my marriage. I put myself together a home-spa afternoon. I did my nails, soaked in the tub, did a facial…I wanted to be really pretty when Zeke got home.” She cried softy. “I put on his favorite lingerie and waited with a bottle of Champagne. I wanted to show him I forgave him and was recommitting to our marriage.”

  The light dawned. “And when he didn’t show up…”

  “I felt rejected all over again. I felt like a fool.”

  “And that’s when you lost your temper,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Where in the house is your bedroom in relationship to the garage, the driveway?”

  “It’s on the other end.”

  “Can you see the garage from your bedroom window?”

  “No. There’s a window on the back of the house, but there’s a big magnolia tree right outside. The window on the other wall looks out the end of the house.”

  “You can’t see the driveway at all?”

  “No, not from our bedroom.”

  “Did anyone call or come by to see you between five and eight?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m just checking off my list. Are you close friends with Margie Robinson?”

  “I’d say so. I’m as close to her as anyone here. Closer than most. To be honest, my life revolved around Zeke. I didn’t spend a lot of time with anyone else. I kept the books for the shop, kept the house nice, sold crafts at the flea market three or four days a week.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do without Zeke.”

  “It’s going to take time,” I said. “Do you recall going to a party at Margie and Skip’s a while back?”

  She flinched. “That’s when he started seeing her.”

  “Crystal?”

  “Of course Crystal.”

  “Was there anyone else Zeke talked to at that party?”

  “What do you mean? He talked to everyone there. Oh, wait…you mean Winter?” She rolled her eyes. “Winter was trying to get Spencer’s attention. She flirted with Zeke a little, but it was harmless. Who told you about that?”

  “Connie Hicks.”

  “Well, Connie’s flirted with Zeke herself.”

  “Did it work? Did Winter get Spencer’s attention?”

  “Boy, did she. Spencer was livid.”

  “With Winter, or with Zeke?”

  “Both of them, now that you mention it.”

  “Okay. You said you do the books for Zeke.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you do that mostly from home, or do you go into the shop?”

  “Mostly from home. But I go in Friday afternoons for a couple hours. Well, I used to. Recently I haven’t as much.” Her eyes welled up.

  “Does Zeke have a special coffee mug? One he uses more often than not?”

  “Yes, actually. He loves this pottery mug I got for him at the flea market. It’s brown, and it has a funny face on the front. He used it every day.”

  “When’s the last time you saw it?”

  “The last time I was at the shop…maybe Friday before last?”

  “Was Zeke particularly fond of coffee?”

  “Was he ever.” She shook her head. “The darker and stronger, the better.”

  “He had some unusual brands in the cabinet,” I said.

  “Most days he kept a pot of Jamaican Blue Mountain brewed. That was his go-to. He had a few other, more expensive brands. Some Hawaiian Kona. That civet mess…” She closed her eyes, smiled. Then she covered her mouth. “That bag of Death Wish. I bought that on Amazon for him as a joke. He loved it. Oh my goodness. That looks bad, doesn’t it?” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “You would hardly have bought it if you were contemplating poisoning him.”

  “I guess that’s right.”

  “When did you buy it?”

  “Back in April, I think it was. I could look it up on Amazon.”

  “Don’t worry about it for now. Tammy, was Zeke camera shy?”

  “He hated to have his picture taken. Occasionally, he’d let me take a picture for a frame or whatever. But I had to promise never to post anything online—Facebook, like that. He was very serious about it.”

  “Why do you suppose that was?”

  “He always said the internet was an invasion of privacy. He hated the very idea of social media.”

  “Do you think that’s all it was?”

  “I wondered, you know, if he was afraid of someone he used to work with coming after him.”

  “Where did he tell you he worked before he met you?”

  Her eyes were clear, guileless. “He was in the Army. I think some of that NASCAR stuff, all like that, that might have been a little embellished. But in the Army, he was overseas, and I think he was on some dangerous missions. I didn’t ask too many questions.”

  “Do you know if Zeke used email?”

  “Never. If places asked him for an email address, he told them the truth: He didn’t believe in email. If they had mail for him, he told them to send it via Uncle Sam.”

  “This might seem like a strange question, but has anyone flirted with you? Paid you special attention?”

  She raised her chin, squinted at me. “Not that I can think of.”

  “How about someone who just seems especially attentive or solicitous?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Humphrey has always seemed that way. I mean, more solicitous than Zeke’s other friends. He helps with the dishes when he comes over for dinner. Compliments me outrageously. He jokes with me a lot, says if Zeke doesn’t treat me right I should let him know, all like that. But he doesn’t mean anything by it, I’m sure.”

  “Probably not.” Tammy had told me the day before that Zeke and Humphrey were close friends. Was Zeke keeping Humphrey close to keep an eye on him? “But we have to run down every possibility. Have you ever met April, Zeke’s ex-wife?”

  “No, I haven’t. And Zeke didn’t talk about her at all.”

  “He must have told you something about her when you were dating.”

  She nodded. “He said they were too much alike to be married to each other.”

  A feminine version of Zeke? I tried to wrap my brain around that.

  “How did you meet Zeke?”

  “I went to the Dominican Republic with three of my girlfriends from back home in Georgia. The Iberostar Grand Bavaro in Punta Cana. We saved up our money. It was an all-inclusive resort. Very posh. Anyway, we were having drinks in the lobby bar right after we arrived, and Zeke came up to me and said, ‘I can wait a little while if you really want a big wedding, but if it’s all the same to you we could find someone to tie the knot right now.’”

  “And that was the first time you’d ever seen him?”

  “Yes.” She smiled at the memory. “We just clicked. We spent the evening together, had dinner, walked on the beach. Then the next day we went sai
ling. It was love at first sight, for both of us. We spent most of that week together. I wanted to go back to Punta Cana—the two of us. We were going to. Maybe next year.” She sniffled, wiped her eyes.

  “When was that trip?”

  “Spring of 2008. We got married in early September. We just couldn’t stand to be apart.”

  I rubbed her arm. “Listen, I’m going to need to look around over at your house, is that okay?”

  “Sure. My keys are in my purse.” She nodded towards the dresser. A large leather purse sat in front of the mirror. “It’s probably a mess. The people from Charleston County were over there all day yesterday. I told them it was fine—do whatever they needed to do. They would have anyway, I guess.”

  “Do you know of any secret places Zeke had where he kept things?”

  “Just his top desk drawer. Maybe he had a hidey hole. It would be like him. But if he did, he never told me about it.”

  “How about a safety deposit box?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know of one. He told me once that we needed to talk about things…just in case. But we thought we had plenty of time. We put it off.”

  “You don’t know what things he meant?”

  “I assumed the usual things. Insurance, maybe. I never wanted to talk about life insurance. I always told him there wasn’t enough money in the world to fix it if anything happened to him.” She dissolved into sobs.

  I slid onto the bed beside her, hugged her close, and let her cry.

  EIGHT

  Nate and I left Tammy in Mamma’s capable hands and set to exploring the Lyerly home. It was a comfortable-sized ranch—roughly twenty-four hundred square feet was my guess—with a three-car garage, and a screened porch, patio, pool, and fire pit out back.

  I unlocked the front door and we stepped inside the foyer. The floor plan was open, with the entry separated from the family room ahead and a dining room to the right by only a column and a change in ceiling height. In the vaulted family room, french doors on either side of the fireplace led to the screened porch. Light-colored bamboo flooring with a darker tiger stripe ran as far as I could see. The walls were painted a creamy ivory, the decor uncluttered, almost minimalist.