I ran around the car, crawled in the other door, and slammed it shut. Nate leaned over in the seat, towards the center. His face was ashen, grim. He was out of breath. I slid my arm around him. “Drive, Blake. Drive.”
I was terrified, shaking.
“Slugger, I’ll be fine. This isn’t anything but a scratch.”
“Shh. Hush now. Rest.”
The Tahoe shot out of the parking lot. I prayed quietly, but fervently. Father God, save my husband, your servant, Nate. Heal his body.
How long had we been in the water? How long had he been bleeding?
A silver aura filled the backseat, bathing us in light.
Colleen.
I felt a surge of hope mixed with anger. How could you let this happen?
She faded in, but remained transparent. Her eyes were moist. “Keep praying. We’ll talk later.”
“What the hell is—?” Blake drifted right, then jerked the steering wheel back center.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Please just drive.”
Nate mumbled something I couldn’t make out. At least he was still conscious.
Colleen put one hand on Nate and one on me. Shimmers of soft gold and white swirled around us. And we prayed.
Blake’s phone rang. He answered it hands free.
“Drive to the parking lot at the high school,” said Doc Harper. “A Medicare helicopter will meet us there. We’re going to MUSC. Can’t take any chances with a gunshot to the torso.”
“Roger that.” Blake made a hard left. Then a right. Minutes later we turned into the school parking lot.
Doc Harper was waiting for us. He ran to the car as Blake pulled to a stop.
Colleen turned off the special effects but stayed in the back of the car with us, perched on the console.
Blake popped the door lock. Doc opened the door to check on Nate.
He looked at the wound, took his pulse. “Looks like the bullet passed through. We need to do some imaging, see what’s hit.”
“Scratch,” said Nate.
“Maybe so,” said Doc Harper. “But we can’t bank on that. We’re going to take good care of you. How much pain are you in on a scale of one to ten?”
Nate’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Nate. No. No. No. Stay awake with me, sweetheart.”
“He’s passed out,” said Doc Harper. “Might be for the best.”
And then I heard the rhythmic thrum of the helicopter approaching. It hovered over us, then descended to the parking lot. The rails had barely touched the asphalt when the door slid open and a medical crew sprung out.
Everything that happened next was a blur.
Nate on a stretcher, unconscious.
The medics examining him—taking his vitals, calling things to each other in a language I couldn’t decipher.
Them lifting him into the helicopter.
Blake and me climbing in after him.
Colleen crying and telling me to keep praying.
And the helicopter rising above the island, then shooting through the dawn sky towards Charleston, leaving Colleen in Stella Maris.
TWENTY-THREE
That morning aged me by ten years. It seemed surreal. Blake and I moved from one waiting room to another as they ran tests to see if Nate needed surgery. Blake called Mamma and Daddy and Merry—neither Nate nor I had so much as our cell phones with us.
Because I asked him to, somehow, Blake convinced them to stay put until we knew more. It was my family’s protocol that everyone gathered at the hospital if any one of us was having more than a routine test. I wanted them there, needed the comfort of family around me. But some part of me felt like as long as we weren’t all in the waiting room, it couldn’t be life-threatening. I kept praying.
By some miracle of an answered prayer, the bullet missed Nate’s organs. It wasn’t a scratch. But it wasn’t a mortal injury either. They cleaned the wound and stitched him up. The doctor wanted to keep him overnight, but Nate was adamant.
“If they keep me here,” he said, “nothing will drag you away. That’s the way you operate.”
He was right. As long as he was in that hospital, I would be by his side. No matter how good the medical center, I held a conviction that patients with an advocate on hand got better care. Finding Zeke’s killer—and who shot Nate—was important to me. But if I had to choose between Nate’s welfare and any case, he would win every time. “I won’t apologize for that.”
“No need. I’d do the same if the situation were reversed. But I can’t be lying about while Zeke’s killer absconds to parts unknown. And even if I could talk you into going back to work, they’d have to knock me out to keep me here while you chased a killer. The only solution here is I’m going home.”
The doctor wasn’t happy. But after Nate signed and initialed a forty-seven-page release, we left with antibiotics, painkillers, and discharge instructions.
Blake was exasperated. He agreed with the doctor and thought Nate and I were being foolhardy. Nate was loopy on painkillers, and I was crazy with relief. The three of us laughed at the absurdity of Ubering from the hospital to the ferry dock on Isle of Palms, where Clay Cooper picked us up in his patrol car.
“I dropped Rhett off at your house an hour ago,” Clay said. “Found him wandering around Sea Farm. He’s fine.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I said. “Thank you so much, Clay.”
“Happy to help,” said Clay. “I wondered if he’d tailed your shooter home, but Rhett, he wasn’t talking.”
“About the shooter…” said Blake.
Coop shook his head. “He’d cleared out by the time we got over to Heron Creek. We found a piece of navy fabric snagged on a live oak and two shell casings in the brush. Looks like he climbed up in the tree all right.”
When Blake finally dropped us off at the house, Rhett ran out to greet us. I looked him over from head to tail.
“Are you all right, boy?” I hugged him tight. “Good boy. You’re such a good boy.”
“E-liz-a-beth Su-zanne Tal-bot.” Mamma stood at the top of our porch steps looking down, her expression heavy with worry. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mamma.” I’d called her from the hospital. Daddy and Tammy Sue hovered behind her.
“Then bring your husband inside,” Mamma said. “Rhett is perfectly fine. I’ve given him some chicken. You and Nate need food.”
“Carolyn, I’m so happy to see you.” Nate climbed out of Blake’s Tahoe. “I haven’t eaten all day.” He shot me a playful grin.
Mamma’s look accused me of being an unfit wife.
“The doctors wouldn’t let him eat until they’d thoroughly checked him out, Mamma.”
Her gaze didn’t let me off the hook that easily. “What exactly did the doctors say?”
I’d already told her this on the phone, the second time I called. Blake, Nate, and I climbed the steps.
Nate said, “The bullet went straight through. Just a flesh wound. A scratch, really. Didn’t hit anything important. They patched me up. I’ve got a couple prescriptions. I’ll be good as new in no time. Unless I starve.” Again with the grin. He was playing to Mamma.
“I’ve got a late lunch inside,” Mamma checked him out good, hugged him hard, then led us all indoors.
“Mamma, I’ve got to get a shower,” I said. “I’m too nasty to be in the house.”
She scrutinized me, must’ve seen the truth of what I said. “Hurry up,” she said. “The food will be cold.”
I watched Nate like a hawk all the way up the steps, afraid he was going to faint from blood loss or infection or some damn thing. When we made it to our bathroom, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I turned on the shower, got the water warm. “I’m not sure about that waterproof bandage.”
“It’s tight as a drum,” he said.
“I need a shower.” He had that mulish look on his face again.
“Fine,” I said, “you go first.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re not going to wash me?”
I gave him a quelling look. “Mamma and Daddy are downstairs.” Then I hugged him tight, held onto him. “Are you really okay?”
“I really am.”
“I’m worried Colleen must’ve been reassigned. I can’t believe she wasn’t there,” I said.
“But she was there in the car,” said Nate. “Or did I dream that?”
“No. She was there. But why wasn’t she there to keep you from getting shot?”
“The way she tackled you in Charleston a while back?”
“Exactly,” I said.
“I guess it was a wake-up call. We can’t depend on her to always run interference. Maybe we’ve gotten sloppy.”
We were both famished. We showered and changed and were back downstairs in record time. Nate moved gingerly, slowly, but he wouldn’t hear a word about being waited on.
We ate in the dining room. It had been four years since Gram left me the beach house. This was the first time we’d eaten a family meal at the dining room table that had seen so many happy family memories. It was time. Daddy sat in Gram’s place at the head of the table and Mamma spent extra time thanking God before we ate. Tears of gratitude slipped down my face as she prayed.
“Liz, are you going to fix Nate a plate?” asked Mamma.
“Of course.” I averted my face and wiped my cheeks as I rose.
Nate put a hand on my arm. “Please sit down. You’re exhausted and haven’t eaten yourself. Carolyn, if you don’t mind, I’d like to pick my own chicken. Liz doesn’t put near enough on my plate. Unfortunately, she’s prejudiced against fried foods.”
“Certainly,” said Mamma. “Frank, pass Nate the chicken.”
Daddy handed the turkey platter, piled high with fried chicken, to me. “When you children get some food in you, I’d like to hear exactly what happened.” His tone notified me that this was not an idle request.
“Of course, Daddy.” I set the platter between Nate and me. “Have all you want.”
He grinned at me.
We were all quiet for a few minutes as we heaped chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, green beans, sliced tomatoes, butter peas, and fried squash on our plates. I cheerfully poured gravy all over my potatoes and my biscuit.
Tammy Sue sat across from me, next to Blake. “I just hate that Nate was hurt. Somehow I feel responsible for all of this.”
“Nonsense,” said Mamma. “How on earth are you responsible for what some reprehensible scoundrel did? It’s hard to believe such things going on here in Stella Maris.” She shook her head.
“Y’all were out for your morning run?” Daddy prompted.
“That’s right,” said Nate. “We were closing in on Heron Creek when someone in a tree along the bank opened fire. We’re reasonably sure they were using a sound suppressor and night vision equipment.”
I told Daddy about the fabric in the tree and the shell casings Clay Cooper had found.
“Up in a tree,” mused Daddy. “Not everybody can climb a tree.”
I mulled that. “Did you take custody of Zeke’s guns? The…accessories?”
“Yeah. Everything’s locked up,” said Blake.
“His shotguns? Why would you lock up his shotguns?” asked Daddy.
Blake, Nate, and I shared a look. We hadn’t told Mamma and Daddy about the number and variety of weapons in Zeke’s gun collection.
“Well, it’s not like I need to shoot something,” said Tammy Sue. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”
Blake looked at her. “How is that even possible? Being married to Zeke?”
“I just don’t care for guns.” Tammy broke off a bite of biscuit and smeared it with butter.
“Who can blame you?” said Mamma.
“Whoever was shooting at us had to have night vision goggles or a scope,” I said. “There’s no way he could’ve seen us otherwise. And the shots sounded loud, but not nearly loud enough.”
“Agreed,” said Nate. “The shooter used a sound suppressor. Who else on the island owns that kind of equipment?”
Blake grimaced. “I wouldn’t’ve thought anyone had it. Island’s too small for that kind of hunting.”
“Unless you’re part of the hog reduction team.” I’d lost all patience with Daddy’s secret impeding me getting a straight answer. “Daddy, who else was working with Zeke?”
“Working with Zeke to do what?” Daddy worked hard to look innocent, but came up short.
“Frank.” Mamma eyed him. “What is she talking about?”
Daddy gave me a look that promised we’d talk about this later. “Now, I did hear that Zeke was working on thinning the feral hog population, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
Mamma shuddered. “Oh my goodness. Surely not.”
“I’m afraid so, Carolyn,” said Tammy Sue. “He was convinced they were a threat to agriculture, our parks, our yards. He was working for the mayor.”
“Tammy,” I said. “Was he doing that at night?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “He said that’s when they were active.”
Blake said, “He use night vision scopes? Goggles?”
“That’s right.” Tammy Sue might’ve saved Daddy’s skin by mentioning the mayor but no one else involved in the hog project.
“Do you know if anyone else was working with him at night?” I asked.
“He never mentioned it to me if they were,” said Tammy.
“Dad?” asked Blake.
“How would I know?” He studied the bite of food on his fork.
“Frank,” said Mamma. “Don’t think for a minute I believe your hands are clean in this.”
Irritation flooded Daddy’s face. “As far as I know he was working alone. He liked hunting alone.”
“Well,” Nate said. “Looks like we’re closer than we thought. Someone is spooked.”
Blake nodded. “Price Elliott. I called Judge Johnson and told him what happened this morning. We’ve got our warrant.”
“No,” I said. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t Price. Do you really see him at five in the morning, climbing a tree with an automatic rifle? Blake, he plays video games.”
“All the more reason,” Blake said. “Those things desensitize you to violence.”
I shook my head. “We need to look for someone who had access to the strychnine and a gun with a night scope or goggles—and who knew how to use the gun. We can figure out the motive. There can’t be more than one person on this island who could’ve put their hands on both those weapons.”
Blake stood, wrapped a biscuit in a napkin. “Until you have a better idea, I’m locking Price Elliott up right now.”
“Fine, hard head,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”
“We’ll be right behind you.” Nate winced as he negotiated himself out of his chair.
He needed to be in bed. “Sweetheart—”
“Nate Andrews,” Mamma said. “I am not having this. Uh-uh. No. You need your rest. Elizabeth, if you have more important things to take care of, your father and I can stay here.”
Nate’s eyes grew, sought mine. His look said, Help.
“She’s right,” I said. “I’ll stay here.”
He closed his eyes, gave his head a little shake. “No. Go on now. Kick over some rocks. Let me know what you find. And Liz?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve got your weapon, right?”
“It’s in the car,” I said. “It’s been too hot for a jacket to cover a holster. I’ll swap out my purse so I can carry it with me.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Blake and Clay Cooper searched the Elliott home for gopher bait. I
waited in the family room with Glenda, Grant, and Price.
“I don’t understand this,” said Glenda for the third time.
“Is Kelsey out of town?” I asked. Kelsey was their daughter. I didn’t suspect her of anything, but I was methodically compiling a list of anyone who had access to the strychnine.
“She’s studying abroad this summer,” said Grant.
Blake didn’t waste much time. He knew where the gopher bait was. Nate had told him. We heard footsteps on the steps leading from the garage below the house into the kitchen. Blake stepped into the room.
“I’m removing two bags of Gopher 50 from the premises,” he said. “One of them has been opened and is half empty. Grant, could I get you to sign this form?”
Grant’s face creased. “Come on, Blake. Is that what this is all about? The gopher bait? Good grief. Half empty?”
“Sign here, please,” said Blake.
“This is ridiculous.” Grant shook his head, but signed the form.
“Grant,” I said. “Where did you purchase the gopher bait?”
He ran a hand through his hair. I’d seen Price use the same mannerism. “I had my brother get it for me. He lives in Florida. You can’t have it shipped to South Carolina. I’ve tried everything they have at Island Hardware, and everything they have at Lowes. I can’t get rid of the damn gophers. I asked my brother to help me out. I was desperate. Surely you’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He looked at Blake hard.
“I don’t think I do,” said Blake. “Do you have any firearms in the house?”
Grant said, “Yeah, I have a shotgun and two hunting rifles in the bedroom closet. Why?”
Blake said, “Master on this floor?”
“Yeah,” said Grant. “Right through there.”
Blake nodded at Cooper, who went to retrieve the guns. “Is that it?”
“Yeah,” said Grant.
“Any accessories?”
Grant screwed up his face. “Accessories?”
“Do you own any night vision goggles or scopes or any sound suppressors, anything like that?” asked Blake.
Glenda paled, looked at Grant.
“No, of course not,” said Grant.
Lowcountry Bonfire Page 18
