“I’m terribly sorry,” I said. “Was Pete’s father in the accident as well?” Of course I knew he hadn’t been.
“No.” Rita sighed. “But he might just as well have been. It killed him too. He just couldn’t cope with loosing Robin. Drank. We thought at first if we took Pete for a little while, maybe Ingram would pull himself together.”
Boone shook his head. “Never did. He lived ’til 2002, but it wasn’t much of a life, to tell you the truth. Pete was better off with us. We raised him like ours.”
“He’s very fortunate to have had you,” I said.
“It helped.” Rita looked at her hands. “It was hard for me, losing my sister. Having Pete here…it was like holding on to part of her.”
“It was hard on all of us,” said Boone.
“I imagine so,” said Nate.
“The guilt…” Boone shook his head.
I felt my face creasing. Why did Boone Newberry feel guilty? Bridgette Glendawn had been driving the car that killed Robin Carter. “I’m sorry?”
Rita looked at Boone. “It was my fault.”
“How could that be, Mrs. Newberry?” I asked.
“No,” said Boone. “It was my fault. I should’ve picked Rachel up at school, let someone else worry about the damn busted pipe.”
Nate said, “Busted pipe?”
“You see,” said Rita, “Robin was killed on the way to pick up Rachel at school. I had a migraine. I never got over that. Knowing that if I had just gone to pick up Rachel, my sister would be alive.”
“No,” said Boone. “I should’ve picked her up. How could you drive with a migraine? I shouldn’ta ever gone to see about that burst pipe at the diner. I shoulda just said, I have to go pick up my daughter.”
They both looked utterly miserable. I felt horrible for bringing up such painful memories. “I’m so terribly sorry. We should go.”
Then it hit me. “You’re a plumber, then, Mr. Newberry?”
“Well, I wasn’t then. I was a handyman. But the plumber, Harold Yates, no one could get ahold of him. I guess he was sick, that’s what I heard. After I fixed that pipe, I figured maybe plumbing was a good field. The island only had one. Seemed like something we needed.”
THIRTY
“Yes?” Brenda Carter opened the front door. She wore a pale blue tank top and white shorts. I didn’t know Brenda well, had never spent much time in her company.
“Hey, Brenda, how’re you this evening?” I smiled real friendly.
“Good, and you?” Her expression inquired as to my business on her front porch at nearly nine p.m. on a Monday night.
I studied her. She was tall, lanky, her blonde hair styled in a careless layered bob.
I knew in that moment there was a fifty percent chance I had this figured wrong. Too late to turn back now.
“I’m good. Is Pete home?” I asked.
“Yes. I’ll get him. Come in.” She opened the door, stepped back. “Have a seat in the living room.”
She moved towards the kitchen. I sat in a white wing back facing the fireplace. When she came back, Pete was with her. We said hey and all that. They perched on the sofa. Brenda reminded me of an exotic cat that might pounce on me if she took a notion.
“What can we do for you?” Pete seemed stiffer today than he had in the Exxon station last Wednesday, less open.
“Look, I know Zeke’s death is still fresh, and it’s difficult to talk about him, but I’m asking all his close friends if they can help me figure out something in Zeke’s past…something we can’t explain, and we think could be related to his death.”
He shrugged. “I’ll help if I can, of course.”
“Good, good,” I said. “Do you know what Zeke’s connection to Harold Yates could possibly have been?”
Pete turned white, looked stricken. Brenda straightened. Neither of them said a word.
“Zeke kept Harold’s obituary. Did you know he and Tammy Sue were the only people in town at Harold’s funeral?”
“I didn’t know that, no.” Pete cleared his voice, adjusted his glasses.
“He was such a lonely man,” I said. “It’s hard to think someone could live in our small town and be that isolated.”
“Maybe he would’ve had more friends if he would’ve shut up about the damn flying saucers,” said Pete.
Brenda put a hand on his knee.
“Did you know Harold?” I asked.
“Not really,” said Pete. “I knew about him.”
“You hated him, didn’t you?” I kept my voice soft.
“What?” Pete tried to look shocked, but failed. “No. Why would I hate him?”
“Because he went out into a field looking for UFOs one day and didn’t come to work all day. No one could find him. When the pipe burst at the diner, they called your uncle, Boone Newberry. The only other man in town to call for a broken pipe.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pete’s high color testified otherwise.
“Your Aunt Rita had a migraine. Boone couldn’t pick up your cousin at school, because he had to fix the pipe in the diner. So they called your mom. And on her way to pick up Rachel, she was broadsided by a drunk driver. All because Harold Yates was out standing in a field.”
Pete stared at me. Brenda seemed to be gripping his knee.
“I’m very sorry for what happened to your mother,” I said.
“You don’t understand anything about it.” Pete was shaking.
“I think I do,” I said. “You hated Harold Yates. The only person you hated more was Zeke Lyerly.”
Pete drew back as if I’d slapped him. “I didn’t hate Zeke. I told you. We were friends.”
I nodded. “I believe you were, all these years. It must have killed you to find out at Margie and Skip’s bonfire that Zeke was the one who caused Harold to go out into that field with his prank. Truth or Dare. All those years, you were his friend. And then you find out he was responsible for your mother’s death.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Pete.
Brenda stared at me hard. “Pete needs a glass of water. And something to calm his nerves. His blood pressure must be going through the roof. I’ll be right back.” She stood and moved towards the kitchen.
I looked at Pete.
He shook his head. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
“I wish I did, Pete,” I said. “And I really wish you hadn’t shot my husband—tried to kill us both.”
“I did no such thing. Liz. Come on, now.” He reached for a look of disbelief, but it fell flat.
“You know what the only thing I haven’t figured out is?”
Brenda walked back into the room with a glass of water, handed Pete a pill. They both stared at me with something like dread. Pete swallowed the medication, took a sip of water.
“Zeke told everyone at the bonfire that he and a friend played that prank on Harold Yates. He didn’t name the friend. I wondered why, thought at first he didn’t want to lay blame at someone else’s feet. He felt remorse for that stunt but didn’t want to make anyone else look bad.”
Something flickered in Brenda’s eyes.
“But that wasn’t the only reason why, was it, Brenda?” I asked.
“How would I know?” she asked.
“Because you were Zeke’s best friend from the time you were what, nine? You were the tomboy running with Zeke until you were Zeke’s girlfriend in high school.”
“That was a long time ago,” she said.
“It was,” I said. “Does Pete know it was you with Zeke and that old a.m. radio? It was you who helped play the prank that led to his mother’s death?”
Pete dropped the water glass. It shattered on the hardwood floor, sending glass and water in every direction. His head swiveled, a crazed look in his eye. “Brenda?”
>
And there it was. Well, it could’ve gone either way.
“Pete, be quiet.” Brenda’s voice was nearly a whisper.
“Noooo,” he howled through clenched teeth.
Tears slipped down Brenda’s cheeks.
“All these years,” he said. “You never told me. You made a vow before God to honor me and you kept that from me?”
“I just—”
He jumped to his feet, lunged toward her. “Not one word.”
He had a gun. Must’ve had it in his waistband. Sonavabitch. I reached for my Sig 9.
“Freeze.” Pete pointed the gun at me.
“Pete, you’re scaring me,” said Brenda.
“Pull your gun out slowly, by the barrel,” said Pete. “And give it to me.”
“Pete, you don’t want to do this,” I said.
“Do it now. Seriously? I have nothing to lose. You do not want to fuck with me.”
“Okay.” I nodded fast. “All right.” I pulled out the Sig and handed it to him.
“I’m curious about one other thing,” I said.
“Really?” Pete raised both brows dramatically. “Too bad. You’re all done asking questions.”
I pressed on. “I can’t figure out why you would’ve put Zeke’s body in his car trunk. I bet you never expected you’d be the one to open that trunk, right? That must’ve been quite the quandary. You’re the only one who knew what you’d find there. But you couldn’t’ve anticipated Tammy Sue would set fire to the car.”
Brenda said, “Pete, don’t say anything. Let’s call a lawyer.”
He seethed. “It’s too late for lawyers. It’s too late for…anything. Our whole marriage has been a lie.”
“Don’t say that,” said Brenda. “It’s not true. We’re a family. The boys…” Her face twisted in grief, perhaps for the life they’d all shared which was clearly a memory.
He looked like he’d been sucker punched. “Where are the boys?”
“They’re at the beach with friends,” she said. “They’ll be home soon.”
“Well, we’ll just have to take this party somewhere else.” He gestured with the gun. “Both of you, in the garage.”
“What?” I said. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”
He looked at the ceiling. “Fine. Putting Zeke in his car was a poetic gesture of sorts. He prowled the town in that car when we were teenagers. It was his pride and joy. Stuffing him inside it just felt right.”
“Oh my God,” said Brenda.
“Shut up,” said Pete. “The garage. Now.”
Brenda gave her husband a look that said he’d clearly lost his mind. “Pete? You’re going to shoot me? What the hell is going on here? I’m not going anywhere with you and a gun.”
“I’d hate to kill you here, where our sons will see the blood, but I will if you make me.” Pete’s tone was ice. “Move. Into the garage.” He gestured towards the pass-through door in the kitchen.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To the lighthouse,” said Pete. “Move.”
“Lighthouse?” Brenda had the look of someone watching aliens land.
Pete jammed the barrel of the gun into his wife’s kidney.
“Better do as he says, Brenda,” I said. “It’ll be okay.” No sense getting her shot. Pete was becoming increasingly unstable.
“Get in your car,” said Pete. “In the driver’s seat. Liz, you get in the backseat with me.”
Like she was in a trance, Brenda walked through the kitchen, opened the door to the garage, and passed through. She climbed into the driver’s seat of a BMW crossover. I got into the backseat, and Pete slid in behind Brenda.
“Head to the lighthouse,” Pete said.
Brenda’s shoulders rose and fell.
“Go ahead, Brenda,” I said.
She looked at me in the rearview mirror. I nodded as slightly as I could manage, trying to reassure her. I hoped she received the message I was sending.
She started the car and backed out of the garage.
I said, “Pete, that was smart what you did with all the gopher bait, divvying it up between everyone’s house to neutralize it as evidence. Shame you didn’t think of that before you shot Nate.”
“It’s a shame I didn’t kill both of you,” said Pete. “But I’ll enjoy killing you today that much more.”
“Like you enjoyed killing Zeke?” I asked.
“Not that much,” he said. “He died slow and painful. Like he damn well deserved.”
“How’d you get him to swallow that strychnine?” I asked. “That stuff’s got an awful bitter taste.”
“You wouldn’t believe how easy that was. I showed up at closing time with a thermos of coffee,” he said. “Zeke liked it strong. I had my cup in my hand. Of course I didn’t pour mine from that thermos. Told him it was the best coffee I’d ever tasted. Poured him a cup in that ugly mug of his.”
“I figured,” I said. “The thing that gave you away was the car. You should never have put his body in the back of that Mustang. You might’ve gotten away with it.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “Nothing matters anymore.”
“Now Pete, that can’t be true. What about your sons? Don’t you want to see them grow up?”
“Huh,” he said. “Like you’re going to allow that to happen.”
Brenda parked the car in the parking lot at the base of the lighthouse.
“Give me the keys,” said Pete.
Brenda handed him the key fob.
“Get out of the car, slowly,” said Pete.
We both climbed out and shut the doors.
“Now climb.” He gestured towards the lighthouse.
“There’s just one other thing I don’t get,” I said.
“I don’t give a damn,” said Pete. “Climb, or I’ll shoot you both right here.”
“Here works for me,” I said. “No sense in doing all that work and then getting shot. Besides, you—what? Want to make it look like Brenda killed me, then jumped or something?”
He seethed.
“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll climb up those steps,” I said.
“What the hell else do you want to know?” he snapped. “What else is there?”
“Why did you try to shoot Nate and me? Up until then, you were barely on our radar as a suspect—certainly not at the top of the list.”
He looked at me with pure hatred. “Is that a fact? I overheard you and Margie Robinson talking at the Pirates’ Den Friday night. She told you that sob story of Zeke’s—he felt so bad about poor Harold. It would only’ve been a matter of time before you figured it out.”
“Ah,” I said. “Maybe so. Bonus question.”
“Climb,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I think he’s finished talking, Brenda. I don’t want to climb those steps, do you?” I said.
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Rumpelstiltskin,” I said.
And four sets of car lights came on, lighting the parking area.
“Pete Carter, drop the gun,” said Blake. “You’re under arrest.”
THIRTY-ONE
That Wednesday night, we had dinner at Mamma and Daddy’s house. As was her custom, Mamma put on a spread of fried foods not often seen outside country buffet restaurants. We fixed plates in the kitchen and gathered around her mahogany Duncan Phyfe dining room table.
Daddy said, “You’re telling me Pete Carter is the one who was shooting at y’all from up in a tree?”
“He was,” I said. “I think maybe he was hunting hogs with Zeke. They really were good friends right up until that moment at the Robinsons’ bonfire when Zeke told that story. And it’s sad how random all that was. Zeke was not one to open up like that. And he couldn’t have known
what that stunt he pulled on Harold Yates cost Pete Carter.”
Mamma looked at me wide-eyed. “Poor Brenda. She’ll have to finish raising those boys by herself.”
Blake said, “The thing I don’t get is why someone good with guns would choose to kill someone with poison. Pete’s lawyered up. Not telling me anything.”
“The only way he could’ve killed Zeke with a gun and not risk Zeke taking the gun away from him was to do it from a distance—the way he tried to shoot us,” I said. “I think he wanted Zeke to know he was the one killing him and why. He wanted him to suffer. Pete was eaten up with rage. It had been stewing in him for thirty some odd years.”
Nate said, “He’d likely been planning since the bonfire to kill Zeke on the anniversary of his mother’s death. Then in April, when he saw the gopher bait in the Elliotts’ garage, he decided it would make the perfect murder weapon. He went back later and helped himself. Grant didn’t notice half a bag was missing because he’d already used what he needed. I guess Saturday, after he didn’t kill Liz and me, he decided to get rid of the remaining poison in a manner that would muddy our investigation.”
“Liz, I wish you wouldn’t go into these situations by yourself,” Mamma said.
“I was never by myself, Mamma,” I said. “I had a microphone on and a camera in my sunglasses, which were propped on top of my head. Blake, Nate, and the rest of the cavalry were never far away.”
“That’s how they knew to wait for you at the lighthouse?” she asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “I had to get Pete to talk while he still thought he was in control of the situation. So we let things play out a bit.”
“That’s the dangerous part.” She gave me a worried look. “When people are desperate, you don’t know what they’ll do.”
“I’m fine, Mamma,” I said. “How is Tammy Sue? Have you talked to her this week?”
“I have.” Mamma cut a slice of tomato. “I took her a casserole. I invited her over here any night she wants to come. But she’s grieving, said she needs to be alone. It’s going to take time. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Did she say whether she’d talked to April at all?” I wondered if the two would bond in the aftermath of Zeke’s death.
Lowcountry Bonfire Page 21
