04 Lowcountry Bordello

by Boyer, Susan M.

  Mean Olivia reared her head. “Because then my children would’ve read in the paper that their daddy died in a whorehouse and their mamma owned it.”

  Colleen said, “You mortals would be so much happier if you would get over your obsession with what other people think. What other people do. What other people have. Like my granny always said, ‘Mind your own biscuits and life will be gravy.’”

  Why, oh why had I said “no thank you” to that wine?

  “Olivia,” I said, “Campbell and Shelby are six and four if memory serves. I’m guessing they don’t read The Post and Courier much.”

  Olivia straightened, nostrils flared, all puffed up like a cobra ready to strike. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

  I would’ve argued the point further, how somebody needed medical help, could maybe have been saved, except I remained unconvinced there’d been a body. I’d seen no evidence of it. I kept my voice calm. “What happened next?”

  She cut me with a nasty look, then turned to Robert. “I checked for a pulse. Several times. On his neck, his wrist. There. Was. No. Pulse. Whoever that was is as dead as a doornail. There was a gash in the back of his head. A big ole wooden pineapple with blood on it was on the floor beside him. I panicked. I ran out to the car and called Liz. A decision I deeply regret at this moment.”

  “Why didn’t you go get your Aunt Dean?” I asked. “And why didn’t you tell her about all of this afterwards, when we went back into the house?”

  “Aunt Dean has a bad heart.” Something about her tone did not have the pure ring of truth.

  “I can check on that, you know,” I said.

  “Why are you not on my side here?” she practically screamed at me. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “Is she drinking that bourbon?” Colleen asked. “She needs a little more.”

  Robert said, “Olivia. Get ahold of yourself. You’ll wake the children. Besides that, if Liz wasn’t on your side, she wouldn’t have come and gotten you.”

  Nate’s easygoing tone had an edge. “I believe Liz has gone above and beyond the duties of friendship this evening.”

  I knew Olivia well. She was hiding something. Something else. “Why didn’t you tell your aunt?”

  She looked at Robert, then Nate, then me. I could feel the heat from how fast the wheels were spinning in her head. Finally, she said, “Because I wasn’t sure she wasn’t a party to whatever was going on.”

  My eyes locked on hers. “Come again?”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Colleen.

  “She was upstairs with me, yes,” Olivia said. “But I’ve heard things…from a few of the residents I’ve spent time with since Aunt Mary passed. Aunt Dean insisted I get to know them. At first I flat refused. But then I thought maybe I’d find out something I could use against Seth. And I guess I did, but I’ve been too afraid to do anything about it. I’m told occasionally a ‘suitor’ gets out of hand. Over the years other…situations have come up. Aunt Dean relies on Seth to deal with any problems.”

  “And by dealing with these problems, you mean Seth has what…” Nate spread his hands, “bounced someone out of there? Or are we talking about something more serious here?”

  “I’m not certain,” Olivia said.

  “Are you afraid of your Aunt Dean?” I asked.

  “No, of course not,” Olivia said. “But if she let on to Seth I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to…”

  “Let’s back up a minute,” Nate said. “So you saw the body. You felt for a pulse. Then you went outside to your car and called Liz?”

  “That’s right,” said Olivia.

  “That was at seven forty-five,” I said. “Olivia, think. How long did you stay in the parlor? More than five minutes?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. I was scared out of my mind. After I checked for a pulse, I got out of there quick.”

  “So you came back downstairs at seven forty, which explains how Robert missed you. He left ten minutes earlier.”

  Robert said, “Again, I did not see a body. And the parlor—the entire downstairs was dark the whole time I was there. If something happened, it happened within that ten minutes.”

  “It took me an hour to get there,” I said. “But when I went inside with Olivia, there was no body in the parlor, and no sign that one ever had been. No blood, no signs of a struggle. The room was immaculate.”

  “A lot can happen in an hour,” Nate said. “That’s plenty of time for someone to move a body and clean up the mess.”

  Skepticism painted Robert’s face.

  Nate looked at Robert. “Bottom line. If you believe anything is going on here other than your wife being under a great deal of strain that maybe caused a momentary…vision, something along those lines, then we should call the authorities in Charleston and let them sort this out.”

  “No,” said Colleen. “Not just yet.”

  “No,” Olivia said. “I will not have all this dirty laundry aired. I have nothing to do with any of it, but that’s not the way it will look.”

  “Liz…” Robert’s eyes traded on years of friendship.

  “What exactly do you want us to do?” I asked.

  “Just look into it. The house, the aunts, this Seth character. See what you come up with.”

  “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” I asked.

  “No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “I give you my word. And I apologize. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  I looked at Nate.

  He looked at Robert. “Have you forgotten that Liz and I are getting married Saturday? The morning after, we leave for two weeks in St. John. We already have one case to finish, in addition to all the wedding preparations. Our hands are full right now.”

  “Just give it a day,” Robert said. “One day. You can spare that, right, Liz?”

  I had already said I’d help my friends. But Nate was clearly not happy with the situation.

  Colleen said, “I don’t have a good feeling about this. I don’t know what happened there tonight, but that house has a long history of trouble. On the other hand, if Robert’s no longer vulnerable—because Olivia’s no longer being blackmailed—the town council, and ultimately the island, is less vulnerable. It seems clear this falls under my mission.”

  Nate’s eyes met mine and saw the silent request. He glanced away, then back. After a long moment, he said, “All right then.”

  Even for friends—maybe especially for friends—we didn’t open a case file without a contract. I pulled my iPad from my purse, opened a contract, and made some case specific notes. Then I emailed the contract to the address Robert gave me.

  A few moments later, he stepped into his office and retrieved the printed document. Standing at the kitchen island, inches from Colleen, he checked boxes and filled in the blanks. Then he handed it to me with a check. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept this earlier.”

  “Oh,” said Olivia. “Just exactly what do you mean trying to hire one of my very best friends to spy on me?”

  Nate and I stood and made for the door.

  Four

  The next morning, we put on several layers of clothes and went for a run. In the pre-dawn hour, it was cold, but at least the rain had quit. Between the wedding, Christmas, and now this new case involving some of my oldest friends, I was on edge. The rhythm of the surf soothed my frayed nerves.

  Nate, Rhett, and I made our usual loop around the north point of the island, past the bed and breakfast and the marina, to Heron Creek. There we turned around and ran back past the house, all the way to where Main Street dead-ends into the sand dunes, then home. It was a five-mile loop. Nate and I were quiet, lost in our own thoughts as we ran. F
or my part, I was noodling over what could possibly have happened on Church Street the night before.

  As we headed up the steps to the walkway across the sand dunes, I said, “What are you thinking about?”

  Nate shrugged. “Mostly I’m wondering how it is that you and Olivia are such good friends. You and she are very different women.”

  I watched where I was stepping, so I had somewhere to look besides at Nate. “Have I ever told you about my friend Colleen?”

  “The one who died when you were in high school?”

  Colleen appeared. She walked on top of the walkway rail like it was a balance beam. “Be very careful what you say.”

  I shot her a look. I wasn’t going to tell him she was still hanging around. I knew that was against the rules, or so she told me.

  “Yes,” I said to Nate. “Colleen was my best friend since kindergarten. But she went through a bad time—an awkward phase, Mamma would call it—starting when we were about thirteen. She’d never been on a date. Lots of girls were mean to her. Olivia never was. She went out of her way to stand up for Colleen. And after Colleen died, Olivia was there for me. I know she can be impossible sometimes. But she has a good heart.”

  Nate said, “I’d bet good money any qualified psychiatrist would diagnose her with something requiring a prescription.”

  “Nate.” I tossed him a quelling look. “She’s my friend.”

  “Friends don’t usually speak to one another in the tone she was addressing you last night.”

  “He makes a good point,” Colleen said. “I would’ve thought Olivia would’ve outgrown her mean streak.”

  “She was overwrought,” I said. “She’s not usually like that. She lashes out when she feels like she’s under attack. Her impulse control hasn’t fully developed.”

  “If she verbally attacks you again, we’re dropping this case and Robert can figure this out for himself. He’s an attorney.”

  “Come on now—”

  “What? You think I should just sit there while she spews venom at you?”

  “I think we should take into account that she’s under a great deal of stress.”

  “And you’re not? With our wedding coming up in four days? Aren’t brides always stressed?”

  “Yes, and I have some knots in my neck maybe you wouldn’t mind rubbing after I shower.”

  “Do you now?” His voice dropped an octave.

  I gave him a slow grin and took off running towards the house.

  “Really?” Colleen called after us. “Y’all don’t have time for that stuff this morning.”

  But we made time for a long soapy shower, with lots of rubbing on each other’s tense spots.

  Later, after breakfast, we settled into the office to figure out the best approach to our new case. I was at my desk, Nate in a leather chair across from me.

  At seven fifteen, Mamma called. “Liz, Nicolette has been trying to reach you. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine, Mamma. We’re just busy wrapping up a couple cases.”

  She sighed.

  “You’ve taken on entirely too much.”

  I was hard-pressed to argue with her. “What did Nicolette need? Do you know?” She’d left me a voicemail, but with all the drama, I’d forgotten to call her back.

  “She needs the final count for the caterer for the reception.”

  “Unless Daddy has invited any more random folks from the flea market, we’re at three hundred and four.”

  Nate looked up from his laptop, his face frozen in stunned panic.

  I flashed him my best Oh please look. This was not news to him.

  “There are always a few folks who can’t come last minute,” Mamma said. “And the caterer always plans for a few extra. I think we should tell her an even three hundred.”

  “Whatever you think, Mamma.”

  She said she’d call Nicolette back, gave me a litany of admonishments, most of which didn’t register, and we said our goodbyes.

  “Have you finished with the research you were doing on the Savage case?” Nate asked.

  “All done. I emailed you everything I found.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. All I need to do now is pull the report together and get it to them. But that doesn’t have to be done today.”

  “As for the Pearsons,” I said, “the first thing we need to do is determine if there was a body in that house last night. If there was, and we don’t report it, we have an exposure.”

  “But you didn’t see a body. All you could report is hearsay, and you had evidence it was unreliable—there was no body when you arrived.”

  “True. And I took photos of the room. The date, time, and location is part of the files.” I weighed that for a moment. “I think I’ll call Sonny.” Sonny Ravenel was an old friend—my brother, Blake’s, best friend. He was also a detective with Charleston PD.

  “And tell him what?”

  “Who said I was going to tell him anything?” I grinned as I tapped Sonny’s name in my favorites list.

  “Ravenel.” He answered on the second ring, sounding distracted.

  “Sonny, it’s Liz.”

  “I’m in the middle of something.”

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just have a quick question. Any missing person reports in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “Only one. An eighty-nine-year-old white female missing from the dementia unit at Ashley River Plantation. Look, I can’t talk right now. Someone killed Thurston Middleton and left him propped straight up on a park bench at White Point Gardens. Has a newspaper in his lap, like maybe he just finished it. Damnedest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

  The back of my neck tingled. “Killed him how?”

  Nate frowned.

  “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Gotta go.”

  “Sonny, Sonny, wait. What’s he wearing?”

  “What?” His tone implied unkind things regarding my mental health.

  “I’ll explain later. I promise. Just tell me what he’s wearing.”

  “Khaki pants and a checked button-down. No coat.” He ended the call.

  Five

  Nate drove, and Colleen rode with us into Charleston.

  “I tried to tell you there was no time for all that frolicking.” Colleen’s head poked between our seats. Today’s outfit was a Christmas sweater with a jeweled angel, skinny jeans, and a Santa hat. Since her death, Colleen could wear whatever she liked simply by thinking about it. She was working my last nerve.

  Hush up. Thinking my side of the conversation wasn’t nearly as satisfying as talking. I purely hated it when she put me in a position where I had no choice and then baited me.

  I called Olivia. “Have you picked up your car?” I asked the second she picked up. I’d left the car on South Battery, which bordered White Point Gardens.

  “Robert sent his secretary over with a friend to drive it back. She called me just a second ago to let me know they found it. Why?”

  “Call her back right now and tell her not to move that car until we get there. We’re in a brown Explorer. Call me back.” I ended the call before she could ask questions. Between the media and the looky-loos we’d never find a place to park.

  A minute later my phone rang. Olivia said, “Something big is going on over there. They’re holding the spot.”

  “What did she say, exactly?”

  “Something happened in the park. There’s crime scene tape and—” She made a godawful noise, somewhere between choking and yodeling.

  “Listen to me. We do not know there’s a connection. Do. Not. Say. A. Single. Solitary. Word. To. A. Soul. Understand? Tell me you understand.”

  “Yes, of course. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.”

  “Olivia, do not panic.
Go on about your day, just like any other Tuesday, hear?”

  But for ragged breathing and muffled sobs, she was silent.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call as soon as I can.” I ended the call.

  Nate pulled onto the ferry. At eight a.m., even on a Tuesday, it was crowded. Along with regular commuters, this close to Christmas, lots of folks were headed to Mt. Pleasant and Charleston to shop. We stayed in the car.

  “What was the victim’s name again?” Nate asked.

  “Thurston Middleton…” There’d been Middletons in Charleston forever. Something tickled the back of my brain. I pulled out my iPad and commenced Googling.

  “Damnation,” I said, after reading the first article that came up.

  “What’d you find?” asked Nate.

  “I thought that name sounded familiar. He’s a local real estate developer. Into green technologies. Comes from money. He was gearing up to make a run in the Republican primary for the First Congressional District next year.”

  “Now right there’s exactly what this mess needed. A politician. He was going to challenge Mark Sanford?”

  “That was the plan. Assuming Sanford runs again, I guess. I don’t follow politics beyond Stella Maris. Too depressing.”

  During the ferry ride and trip through Isle of Palms and Mt. Pleasant, I picked up as many details as I could from the internet, sharing salient points as I found them. From all appearances, Thurston Middleton appeared to be a Boy Scout. He’d served in the Air Force, was active in local efforts to assist the homeless, married to Julia Bennett Middleton for eighteen years, four sons.

  “This is so sad,” I said. “Looks like he was one of the good guys.”

  Nate drove onto the Cooper River Bridge. “Maybe he was. But he was sure in the wrong place last night. Sonny’s going to have fun with this one.”

  Scrambling, I said, “We don’t know for sure his was the body Olivia saw.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Nate asked. “You are not seriously advocating the notion that two men who strongly resembled each other were killed last night, in the same manner, within a block of each other, wearing the same clothes, with one of their bodies unaccounted for. Are you?” He glanced at me long enough for me to read his incredulous expression before turning back to the road.