“I have a plan.”
“I picked up on that,” she said.
“I figured, when you showed up. What do you think? Can you scare the girls into moving out real quick? Before anyone has a chance to hurt one of them to keep them quiet?”
Colleen grinned.
“I can. Roxanne will help. And I bet the three men buried under the pool will, too.”
“God’s nightgown. What happened to them?”
“They became problems. Seth handled them.”
“Does Miss Dean know?”
“I have no idea. I can read her mind, but she thinks mostly on how much she misses her sister. She worries about what will become of her family home once she’s gone. Will Olivia sell it? And she worries about Olivia and Raylan. Seth, too. She cares deeply for all of them. Family is very important to her. ”
King Street was a blur. This case had spiraled so far out of hand. I took several deep breaths. Then I pulled out the burner phone and called Sonny.
“I would hate like hell to have to arrest you,” he said when he answered. It was the second call from the same burner, so he knew it was me. But he and I both knew he’d never prove it, even if he wanted to.
“This is an anonymous tip from a concerned citizen. The rug you’re looking for—check the dumpsters in the area where William Rutledge’s body was found first.”
Twelve
“Hard Candy Christmas” was playing again downstairs at the Bed and Breakfast. I hurried up to our room. “What’ve I missed?”
Nate slid the headphones to his shoulders. “Rush hour at the house of ill repute. The first car pulled through the gate right after you left. Lexus sedan. Driver either had an electronic opener or someone was expecting him. The gate opened as he pulled up. I snapped the plate and ran it. James Huger. But here’s the more interesting part. I got a photo of him when he walked around the front of the car and opened the door for a woman with a scarf over her head and shoulders.”
“Dana?”
“No,” said Nate. “Dana was in her room at the time.”
“Oh no. Don’t they have enough going on in that room over the garage? Please tell me there aren’t three of them in there.”
Nate pointed to the screen. “Dana never left her room.”
She was propped on her bed doing her nails.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I’ll come back to them,” Nate said. “This gentleman arrived next…” He picked up the Canon and showed me the screen. “…from the direction of South Battery. By process of elimination, he must be Mr. Russell, Lori’s beau.”
“I wonder why he walked over?”
“Like all the rest of them, he doesn’t live but a few blocks away. Probably one of the things that makes this place so attractive. A gentleman can go out for a walk after dinner, pop in to see his mistress, and walk home. Much less suspicious than leaving in the car.”
“Dear heaven. Who else?”
“William Calhoun pulled in a half hour ago. At least his BMW did.
“Finally, young Henry Prioleau arrived mere moments ago. I got his license plate and a photo of him. He turned around after he got out of the car and opened the backdoor to get a package.”
“Likely more lingerie,” I said.
“Twenty-seven years old, driving a Mercedes, and keeping a mistress.” Nate shook his head.
“Did you see Heather go back in?”
“The same way she left. She beat Henry by five minutes.”
“So we have a full house?”
“Indeed,” said Nate. “It would appear if our killer is one of the patrons, he’s bold. Not shy of returning to the scene of the crime so soon.”
“So much for the process of elimination.”
“On that note…One item of interest came up in conversation. It seems Seth’s statement to the contrary notwithstanding, at minimum, three of these gentlemen were in the house last night: Huger, Calhoun, and Russell. Amber and Lori expressed surprise to see Calhoun and Russell, respectively, again so soon. The conversation between James Huger and whoever he’s with included something along the lines of how they rarely get to sneak out two nights in a row.”
“Let’s go back to James Huger now,” I said.
Nate ran a hand through his hair. “I think we have to assume he’s a hound dog with two women on the side. But it seems he’s neglecting Dana. Pays a lot of money to keep her there, though.”
“Did you get a look at the woman in the scarf once she was in the bedroom?”
He shook his head. “They started going at each other as soon as they closed the door. But there was something strange…they were subdued. So far I’ve turned off the feed on three of the four occupied bedrooms because we can surmise the activities they are pursuing, and it is not relevant to our investigation.”
“Interesting. The men who were there last night, I mean. And James Huger’s second mistress. She didn’t have a portfolio like all the others. And no street clothes. She can’t possibly live there. She must come and go with him. Do you need a break?”
“I’m good.”
“I’ll get to work on organizing what we have and finish the profiles,” I said, “as soon as I get back.”
Nate raised his eyebrows. “Where’re you off to now?”
“I’m going to take a walk over to Meeting Street.”
“Didn’t you just come that way?”
“Yes, but I thought you might need a break. I’ll be right back.”
“What are you—”
“I’m just going to see who all’s out and about this evening.”
I kissed him and was out the door. Truthfully, I felt a little guilty about where I was headed, and I didn’t want him to talk me out of it. The clock was ticking. Desperate measures were in order.
I headed towards White Point Gardens on Church, made a right, and a block later hung another right onto lower Meeting Street. The Middleton home was only a few houses up, on the left. I walked slowly.
My phone rang. Nicolette, the wedding Nazi. What in heaven’s name did she want at this hour?
“Hey, Nicolette.”
“Hey, Liz, sorry to bother you. Are you getting excited?”
“Very. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’ve been working on the centerpieces. I know you want a variety, and I have flower arrangements ordered as we discussed for half the tables. The others I’ve ordered candlescapes for. But the florist only has sixteen of the candle-centric pieces. We have thirty-eight tables total, unless you want to go back to ten tops as I recommended.”
“No. I really don’t want folks crowded together. Eight at a table is plenty.”
“But ten really is standard, and you can see how it would make things work out with the centerpieces.”
“Nicolette, when I said half, I didn’t mean precisely half of the tables had to have candles. Tell her to use what she has and do flowers for the remainder. Or buy some more candles, for heaven’s sake. For what we’re paying her, she can make this work, I’m sure.”
“Yes, but I really think you’ll be happier and things will be simpler if we go to ten tops.”
“No, I really won’t be.” She was testing my sunny disposition.
“Fewer tables will allow more floor space inside the tents—more room for everyone to mingle.”
“You know what really appeals to me most right now? Eloping. Vegas looks better and better by the second. I’ve already had one big church wed—”
“Very well, Liz. I’ll speak with the florist.”
“Thank you, Nicolette. Bye now.” I ended the call.
Across the street, the Middleton home, a two-story butterscotch-colored house, was trimmed for the holidays with greenery and red bow
s. Two sets of steps, one on each side, led to a semi-circle front porch. Double piazzas ran along the left side of the house, facing the side yard. Every light in the house seemed to be on. My heart hurt for the family inside. It was beyond sad that such a festive-looking home was in mourning.
Thankfully, the media wasn’t camped out in front of the house. I paused by a palm tree, my phone still in my hand as if I were checking my GPS, or perhaps a message. A runner passed behind me.
Thirty minutes later, the front door opened. A feminine figure dressed in exercise togs emerged with two pugs on leashes. No matter what tragedy befalls us, others depend on us to carry on. Often those that need us most give us great comfort. Julia Middleton’s sons and her dogs would see her through this. She wouldn’t have someone else walk the dogs this evening. I would walk Rhett myself—would want him close.
She came down the steps and headed towards White Point Gardens. I waited a moment, then walked in the same direction, but stayed on my side of the street. At the corner, she turned right on South Battery and I followed.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself. “Mrs. Middleton?”
She stopped and turned. “Yes?”
I caught up to her. Even with no makeup and red eyes, she was lovely. Porcelain skin, high cheekbones, her blond hair short, chic. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am.”
“Are you with the press?” Bold, like a warrior princess, this widow was not to be trifled with. I sensed great strength in her.
“No, no. My name is Liz Talbot. I’m a private investigator.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m a private investigator. I know this will sound odd, and I’m keenly aware that it’s a deplorable intrusion on your grief. But I think we can help each other. Will you talk with me for a few moments?”
She stared at me. A car drove past, then another.
“You know something about Thurston’s death?”
“I do. But I want to be discreet in how and when I share what I know with the police. I don’t want anyone to be unnecessarily subjected to embarrassment.”
“If you intend to blackmail me, it won’t work.”
“Blackmail you? Mrs. Middleton, I assure you, nothing could be further from my mind.”
I looked her straight in the eyes.
“Very well,” she said. “Walk with me. Bentley and Bess need their exercise.” She moved to the right side of the sidewalk.
Bentley and Bess led the way and we followed.
“Was someone blackmailing Mr. Middleton?” I asked.
We walked for a few steps before she answered. “That Neanderthal bastard, Seth. All of this is sure to come out. I haven’t told the police any of it yet. But I’ve thought about it, and I plan to tell them tomorrow. That’s the only way they’ll be able to get justice for Thurston.”
This was what I’d heard in her voice on the phone with Miss Dean—what Julia didn’t say, the familiarity. “Seth knew that Thurston was once a client at 12 Church Street?”
She turned and looked at me. “Client isn’t the right word, exactly. I lived there before we married. I was a student. It was a simple boardinghouse back then. Two sweet little old ladies trying to hold on to their family home by renting rooms. Nothing more.”
“But the room was named for Thurston?”
She sighed. “He knew Aunt Dean and Aunt Mary Leona. He made the arrangements for me to live there to help them out. They were just getting started. He was afraid they’d lose their home. I couldn’t have afforded it at the time. So yes, he paid the rent. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.”
“When did Seth approach Mr. Middleton with his blackmail demands?”
“A few weeks ago. He’d heard Thurston planned to run for office. Thurston had no idea what that place had turned into. When Seth told him, he didn’t believe it.”
“But then he came to believe it?” I asked.
“He started asking around. Normally, Thurston is above that sort of gossip. It’s not something anyone would tell him because everyone who knows him knows he wouldn’t be interested in hearing it. But he didn’t have to ask many questions before some of his friends were happy to tell him. Don’t misunderstand me. What that house is…that’s a tightly held secret. But within a certain group, the information isn’t hard to come by if you know who to ask.”
“What did Thurston plan to do?” I asked.
“He wanted to talk to Aunt Dean. Try to get the business back on the right track. She really is a sweet lady. She’s always been very good to me.”
“What about Seth? Was Mr. Middleton going to pay him?”
“Not a chance.” She shook her head.
“So he was prepared for this to come out?”
“I wouldn’t say prepared. He was very concerned about my reputation. Would he have preferred it not come out? Of course. But he wasn’t going to pay a blackmailer. He thought about turning Seth in to the police, but that would’ve left Aunt Dean alone. She’s in her eighties.”
“He sounds like a very nice man—an upright man.”
“He was. His death is a great loss not just to me personally, but to the community. He would’ve made a wonderful congressman.”
“I’m certain he would have.” My phone vibrated. I pressed the button to send the call to voicemail.
We crossed the street and turned south on King.
After a few moments she asked, “What’s your involvement in all of this?”
“I have a client who asked me to get involved.”
“Someone else Seth is blackmailing?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Seth is a menace. Thurston was concerned he might be a danger to the women who live there, but some of his friends convinced him that three of the men who have done business with Aunt Dean for a long time keep him in check.”
“That’s my impression,” I said. “Though I think Miss Dean does a fair job on her own.”
We crossed to the far side of Murray to walk along the waterfront. The breeze was bracing. Before long we could see the yellow crime scene tape, still wrapped around trees in the park.
“None of this seems real,” she said.
“I can appreciate that.” We walked on in silence. “Mrs. Middleton—”
“Please. Call me Julia. I think we’re past formalities.”
I nodded. “Julia, do you think Seth killed your husband?”
“I would bet a great deal on it. He was livid that Thurston made it clear he wasn’t going to pay him. His threats were more frequent, the tone uglier. I think in the end, Thurston would’ve turned him in to the police after he made sure Aunt Dean was taken care of. Seth likely guessed as much.”
“Do you know if your husband still had a key to Miss Dean’s house?” I asked.
She glanced at me. “He kept one after I moved out in case the sisters had some sort of emergency. I imagine he still had it somewhere. Why do you ask?”
“It’s a loose end,” I said. “Can you think of anyone else who would’ve had a motive to kill your husband?”
“No. Everyone loved Thurston. He shined, you know, with this light from within. He was a good man.”
“After he looked into the house on Church Street, did he find that he knew any of the men who are currently clients there?”
“He knew most of them. He was astonished to learn that James Huger is among them. Like Thurston, James helped out Aunt Dean and Aunt Mary Leona in the beginning. Honestly, he rented empty rooms—two of them, just to help them get by. But things were very different then.”
“So they went way back, Thurston and James Huger?”
“All the way back to the cradle. Their mothers are friends. And James and his wife, Beatrice, are dear friends of ours. James p
ositively dotes on her. They have five children—all adopted from foreign countries—about the same ages as our boys. They’re very philanthropic. James was a campaign contributor—he was organizing a fundraiser.” She shook her head. “You think you know people.”
“Who else did Thurston know? Current patrons at Miss Dean’s, I mean.”
“Arthur Russell. That didn’t come as quite the surprise. Arthur is notoriously unfaithful to his wife. And William Calhoun—that was a shocker. He’s a neurosurgeon—married to a beauty queen—she was Miss Something-or-other. If she finds out, that will be a messy divorce.”
Arthur Russell. We had our final first name. “And the others?”
“We know Nathaniel Gibbes and his wife socially. The other man is quite a bit younger, unmarried. We’ve met him—Henry Prioleau. We know the family. They own Rut’s New South Cuisine. Not our sort of place, really, but the restaurants are quite popular. The Prioleaus—that branch of the Prioleaus—are very concerned with branding the restaurants with Southern Friendly. One might say they overdo.” We rounded the point of the peninsula and headed north on East Battery.
“Do you think it’s possible any of those men would’ve killed Thurston to silence him—to keep him from disturbing their extracurricular arrangements?”
She was quiet for a long moment. “I would hate to think someone would commit murder over such a thing, but I suppose it’s possible. But I still think it was Seth.”
I nodded, drew in a deep breath. “I’ll walk you home. And maybe you shouldn’t go out by yourself for a while.”
“Why on earth not?”
“If it was Seth, he knows that you know everything Thurston knew. He has to know you’ll suspect him and will likely talk to the police about the blackmail. You’re as much a threat to him as Thurston was.”
Thirteen
This time, the tune of “Blue Christmas” welcomed me to the bed and breakfast. It was almost ten, and the downstairs appeared deserted. A tray of Christmas cookies was on the foyer table. I grabbed a couple Santas and climbed the steps.
04 Lowcountry Bordello Page 12
