2 Lowcountry Bombshell

by Susan M. Boyer

  And I’d told him about it, all the way home. It was coming back to me.

  Nate was most likely on his way back to Greenville.

  I curled up on the sofa and hugged a pillow to my chest for comfort. Maybe it was for the best. I was falling in love with Nate.

  I was in love with Nate.

  But he’d made it clear staying in Stella Maris wasn’t in his plans. And I’d lived as much of my life as I could making decisions based on what the men in my life did, or wanted, or didn’t want. I needed to live my life. And my life was on Stella Maris.

  Rhett sat down at my feet, tongue hanging out in a sloppy grin.

  “Hey, boy.” I ruffled his fur and hugged my dog.

  Merry called about lunchtime just to check on me. She knew without me telling her I didn’t feel like talking.

  Calista called early in the afternoon. “I don’t have a hangover at all,” she said. “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had. I hope everything’s okay with you and Nate.”

  “It will be,” I said, though it wasn’t clear to me at all what our future relationship would be. “Do you still have an SSI man out front?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Mack Ryan wants to continue that for at least another week. It does make me feel safer, although, I’m not worried about tonight anymore. I finally feel like I’m fully me, not some freakish reflection of Marilyn. I have you to thank for that. Confronting my past was the best thing for me. Though I’m awfully sorry about Jimmy.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Have your mother and Grace gone back to California?”

  “Grace has. I think she finally accepted the doomed nature of her scheme to make money using me as a sideshow freak. Mother is still at the bed and breakfast. I told her she can stay as long as she wants. Who knows? Maybe there’s still a chance for us to have a relationship.”

  “That’s really good. She’s your family.”

  “Well, when you feel up to it, maybe we can have lunch sometime.”

  “Of course. I’d love to.”

  “I guess the case is pretty well solved.”

  “I’m still tying up a few loose ends. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Let me know what I owe you when you finish.”

  “I’ll send you a final statement. But Calista…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m really glad we’ve gotten to be friends.”

  “Me, too.”

  Appropriately, “You and Tequila Make Me Crazy,” was up on the playlist in the car. I called Sonny on the way into Charleston and asked him to meet me so we could both screen the DVD. I had the photos Mack Ryan had given me, but Sonny knew the former police officers from the time when the winning ticket was drawn.

  Mr. Patel gave me the DVD with a smile and best wishes. I parked a few spots down from Kudu and took the DVD and my laptop inside. Sonny waited in our usual spot in the back left corner.

  “What is it you’re looking for?” Sonny asked.

  I opened my laptop and waited for it to power up. “Someone else in the store. Joe always played the same numbers. He didn’t buy quick picks. He wasn’t in a lottery pool. The numbers he played were personal. He would have either filled out a form, or, more likely, since it was just one set of numbers, called them out to the clerk.”

  “You think it was the clerk?”

  “The clerk went missing the same night Joe was killed and Calista was burgled and attacked. He’s the guy I asked you about. Roy Lee Jenkins.”

  “Shit,” Sonny said.

  “Right.”

  I popped the DVD in. The beginning time stamp was 7:00 p.m.

  “What time was the ticket purchased?” Sonny asked.

  “I don’t know. Calista said Joe bought the winning ticket five weeks before the drawing. He bought ten-draw tickets.”

  “How would anyone remember what numbers someone else picked five weeks before?”

  “I don’t know. But I think the answer is on this DVD.”

  Sonny stood. “Better get some coffee. This could take a while. You want a mocha?”

  “Thanks, yes. With soy, please.”

  Sonny rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  We were into our second cup when Joe Fernandez walked into the store. At first, I didn’t recognize him. I’d only seen photos Calista had shown me, and those in the newspaper articles. The camera was pointed at an angle. Joe reached for the handle at the same time another hand entered the screen. It looked like the other person opened the door and Joe walked in. He seemed to thank him. Then both men walked to the counter, Joe in front. We couldn’t see the man behind him.

  Joe waved to Roy Lee. There was no sound on the DVD. It looked like they chatted for a moment, then Roy Lee handed him his ticket. Joe waved and left the store.

  The man behind him stepped to the counter and smiled.

  “Sonavabitch.” I pressed pause.

  “What the hell?” said Sonny.

  I stared at him. “You know this guy? Niles Ignacio? He’s the yoga instructor.”

  Sonny shook his head. “No. That’s Tim Fuckin’ Poteat.”

  “Oh. My. God.” I turned back to the screen. “This is not the same Tim Poteat in the photo Mack Ryan sent over. Calista and I both would have recognized him instantly.”

  “Then someone swapped the photo. Because I’m telling you, that’s Tim Poteat.”

  “I need to get to Calista,” I said.

  “This DVD is evidence in Joe Fernandez’s murder and Roy Lee Jenkins’s disappearance. I need to get the original, get it logged in, and get a warrant for Poteat’s arrest. He still has friends in the department and the Solicitor’s office. I’ll have to handle this with care.”

  I nodded. “I’ll stay with Calista until you have Poteat in custody.”

  “Watch your back.”

  “You, too.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  I called Calista, but she didn’t pick up. I called Blake and got his voicemail. Why could I never get ahold of my brother when I really needed him?

  It was nine-thirty on a Saturday night. I called the station.

  The phone rang through to the after-hours dispatcher at the fire station. “Good Evening, Stella Maris Public Safety Services. How may I help you?”

  “This is Liz Talbot. I need to reach my brother. Do you have an emergency contact number for this evening?”

  “Well, hey there, Liz! This is Mary Jo. You remember me don’t you? We were in ninth grade Spanish together? How are—” She was so perky I wanted to slide through the phone and grab her throat.

  “Hey, Mary Jo, I’m sorry to cut you off, but this is an emergency. Where’s Blake?”

  “Well, he has the night off. I can try his cell.”

  “I’ve already tried that. Can’t you call him on the radio function?”

  “I’ll tryyyy.”

  “Could you do it now? Please?”

  “Hold please.”

  She actually placed me on hold. Now she was all business. I resisted the urge to bang my head on the steering wheel. I took deep breaths. In Mary Jo’s defense, it was rare for there to be an emergency on a Saturday night in Stella Maris.

  She came back on the line. “I’m unable to reach him at this time. Is there a message?”

  “Is Rodney on duty tonight?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Please get ahold of him, Blake, or both of them, and have them call me back as soon as possible. This is urgent.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said in a saccharine tone that suggested she’d get around to it when it suited her.

  “Thank you so much Mary Jo,” I said, thinking how I should’ve started out being nicer to her and I would’ve gotten further.

  No use
calling Nate. He was no doubt in Greenville, four hours away.

  I called SSI and convinced someone on the other end of the line to get Mack Ryan to call me. I was driving off the ferry in Stella Maris when he called me back.

  “Mack, who had access to that stack of photos you sent over?”

  “I pulled them myself. Sent them over with someone I knew I could trust. Why?”

  “Sometime in between when you pulled them and when they arrived at my house, one of them was switched.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Tim Poteat has been moonlighting for some time as a yoga instructor. He’s using the name Niles Ignacio. The real Niles Ignacio was a celebrated yoga instructor in Burlington, Vermont. I suspect he is no longer drawing breath. Calista would have recognized his photo immediately.”

  “Shit.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m on my way to Calista’s now. I can’t get her on the phone.”

  Silence.

  “Mack?”

  “Poteat is on guard duty at her house this evening. With Kennan in jail, I considered Poteat cleared.”

  “Oh, no. No. No. No.”

  “We’re on our way. ETA forty-five minutes.”

  I’d no sooner ended the call than the alarm on my phone screeched. Calista had pressed the emergency button on the pendant I’d given her.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I called Sonny and let him know where to find Tim Poteat.

  “Blake with you?”

  “No, I haven’t been able to reach him.”

  “He was going out for a sunset sail, on a date. He might not be back yet. I’m headed your way. I can deal with the details later. Don’t go in there alone. Wait for me.”

  “Sonny,” I said, “you and I both know I can’t wait. Calista’s life may depend on it. Mack and his guys are on the way. You can’t beat them. They have a head start. Get the evidence. Get the warrant.”

  He grumbled, but finally agreed.

  I parked on Ocean Boulevard, down the street a ways, where Poteat couldn’t see my approach. I called the too-perky dispatcher at the fire station.

  “I gave Rodney your message,” she said. “Didn’t he call you back?” Her tone oozed innocence and the desire to spank Rodney for not doing as he was told. But I wasn’t buying what she was selling.

  Through gritted teeth, I snarled my location and told her to send Blake and Rodney PDQ on a matter of life and death. I prayed Blake’s date had brought him back to shore for dinner. It was unlike him to be out of touch for long.

  I skirted the perimeter of the yard and went up the steps to the pool deck. I pulled my weapon from the holster at my waistband and led with that. The house was quiet.

  The door to the pool house was ajar. Where was Elenore? Was she a victim, or part of the threat? I crossed the pool deck and parted the curtains. Elenore was in bed, under the covers. I approached the bed with caution, shook her gently. No response. I felt for a pulse. She was alive, and dressed for bed, as if she’d simply turned in early. I shook her harder. She was unresponsive. Drugged again.

  It was just me and Poteat.

  I scanned the windows and doors of the house for any sign of movement and found none. Was he even still here? I crossed the patio in a crouching run. The door to the great room was unlocked. No one was in the main part of the house. I eased the door sideways on its track and stepped inside. I left it wide open in case I needed to make a quick exit.

  Water was running in Calista’s bathroom. I slid through the kitchen and down the short hallway. I slipped Sig in the waistband of my capris, reached inside my pocket and tapped voice memo and record on my iPhone. I slid the phone back in my pocket, microphone up, and retrieved my weapon. If things went sideways, Blake would know to check my phone. I continued down the hall.

  The bedroom door was halfway ajar. I moved to the left side, flattened myself against the wall, and then peered inside. Calista was undressed and tied, wrists together and ankles together. Her wrists were anchored to a thick chain that wrapped between the mattress and the headboard. Her ankles were attached to the other end of the chain near the footboard. She wasn’t gagged. She struggled against the thick, padded bindings.

  When she saw me, her eyes widened She shook her head, as if warning me to run.

  I showed her my gun.

  She nodded, closed her eyes a moment. Her chest rose, as if she drew a deep breath. “You’ll never get away with this, Niles.”

  His voice came from the bathroom. It still had that soothing, yoga-speak quality that called to mind Mr. Rogers and got on my last nerve. “Of course I will, dear heart. Once you go to sleep, I’ll have all the time I need to find your bank account passwords and transfer all that lovely money—my money—wherever I like. Then, I’ll get on a plane and disappear.” The water stopped running.

  “You’ll never guess the passwords,” she said. “They aren’t written down anywhere.”

  “Well, no wonder I’ve had such a hard time finding them. You’ll have to tell me, then, before you go to sleep. In fact, now that I think about it, we should just get all that tedious transferring out of the way first. I’ll get your laptop as soon as I finish mixing your cocktail.”

  Oh, dear heaven, what was he doing in the bathroom.

  “I’ll never give you the passwords to my accounts. You can’t execute a wire transfer without the account numbers, the passwords, and my security codes. You don’t even know which banks the money is in.”

  “Why, of course I do. I’ve had plenty of time to gather nearly everything I need from your files. Some nights, after you were asleep, I’d slip in here and disable the alarm so I could search. I know exactly where the blind spots are in the cameras.”

  “You’re the one who drugged our tea, aren’t you?” Calista said.

  Poteat laughed. “The Rohypnol is ground up in your loose tea—the chamomile. Thank you for reminding me. I need to take that with me. You’ve been drinking it most nights, just like I suggested. I couldn’t have you waking up and finding me going through your things, now could I? Happily, the old lady’s been drinking it, too. Every night she slept here. Put two birds to sleep with one cup of tea. Well, usually just one apiece.”

  “Did you kill Jimmy?” Calista asked. “Tell me. You owe me that much.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it. Is it my fault he was parked outside mooning over you like a lovesick teenager? He saw me coming in. He had to go. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. Don’t you dare say that. You’re not one bit sorry.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. I’m not. It had to be done. And then your little detective showed up with her boyfriend in their Scooby-Doo van. I had to set off the alarm to distract them so I could leave. I was parked not far down from your ex-husband. They’d have noticed my car in another minute. What a waste. I could have searched for a good hour before I had to get back to work. You ladies were out cold. Had an extra cup of tea, did you? And of course, the wine. Tsk, tsk. I had to tuck you in. That was fun.”

  Calista closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She looked like she was fighting nausea. “Why were you here to begin with?”

  “I was just going to have some more fun with you. You know, run the barking dog tape. Move some of your things around after you went to sleep. I was never going to kill you until tonight. You were so attached to all that symmetry. It worked for me.”

  “Ooooohhh!” Calista was almost as angry as she was scared.

  “Now. All I need are the passwords.” He appeared at the side of the bed and caressed her head. “And you’re going to give them to me. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve grown fond of you.”

  “You can go to hell.”

  “Or, we can have some fun before you drink your Nembutal and Mountain Dew and I fill you full of chloral hydra
te.” The Mr. Rogers voice was gone, the one that replaced it cruel. “Like we should have two years ago, when we first met. You remember our one night together, don’t you, Calista? I had to wear a mask that night, and I couldn’t talk to you. This will be so much better. I can tell you everything I’m going to do first.”

  She screamed.

  I pivoted, planted both feet, and raised my weapon. “Untie her. Now.”

  “Well, well,” Tim said. “Nancy Drew to the rescue. Where’s Nate? Oh, wait, yes, he’s gone back to Greenville, hasn’t he? And your brother, deputy dog, I’m sorry, he and his Charleston buddy are busy congratulating themselves on locking up Ryder Keenan. I’m so happy you’ve come alone. Did you come to hold Calista’s hand on the anniversary of Marilyn’s death so she wouldn’t be afraid?”

  “Untie. Her. Now. You have no idea how bad I want to shoot you.”

  “Likewise, bitch.”

  “Calista, meet Tim Poteat, ex-Charleston police officer, current SSI employee, and part-time yoga instructor. Tell me, Timmy, was Ryder involved at all? Or was he just a convenient scapegoat?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I work alone. I won’t be splitting the money I’ve waited two years to collect with anyone else.”

  “About that…” I tilted my head and gave him my dumb-blonde look. “You went to work for SSI in two thousand ten. Was that before, or after you killed Joe Fernandez trying to find that lottery ticket?”

  He laughed harshly. “I left the police force not long after Joe and I took a ride. I stayed around long enough to make sure no one looked for Roy Lee Jenkins very hard.”

  I asked, “What did you do? Talk to your buddies? Cast doubt on a few statements, make him look like a drugged-up drifter no one cared about but his mamma?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is that your mamma in the pool house?”

  Evil and disgust flickered in his eyes. “Of course not. My mother’s somewhere in Florida. An unmarked grave in the Everglades, if you want specifics. What would make you think that cow was my mother?”