by Debby Mayne
"Careful?" Her perplexed look morphed into understanding. "Oh, I get it. You don't want me to give the impression I'm chasing him, right?"
"Something like that." I stood. "Would you mind giving me Connie's phone number?"
"I don't know …"
"It's pretty important that I talk to her."
She gave me a beatific smile. "That goes against my company policy. I don't give out personal information about any of my employees. But I could tell her you want to talk to her if she calls me."
"Sure, that's fine. Do you have some paper?"
After jotting down my phone number, I left the B&B, unsure where to go next. Charleston was a gorgeous town, and it saddened me that this murder had destroyed its charm in my mind. I doubted I'd ever be able to return without thinking about what I'd seen the first day I arrived and all I'd been through since.
My cell phone rang a couple of times—first when Mom called and asked when I'd be home. I told her I was needed but left out the part about my hair implicating me as a suspect. The second call came from a number I didn't recognize. I punched the TALK button and held my breath.
It was Connie. "What do you want?" she asked.
"Where are you?"
"None of your business. I can't talk long. Mavis said it was urgent and that you really needed to talk to me."
"Can we meet somewhere?"
"Just a minute." She put her hand over the mouthpiece, but I could still hear her talking to someone. I just couldn't tell who. "When do you want to meet?"
"Are you available now?"
"Um …" I heard more garbled conversation with someone before she came back. "Okay, meet me at the Low Country Diner on Rivers, about a block from Ashley Phosphate in North Charleston."
I'd been on Ashley Phosphate and knew where it intersected Rivers, so I was sure I could find the place. "When can you be there?"
"Half an hour?"
"Sounds good," I said. "Will you be alone?"
"Yes, of course." She sounded annoyed, but I was glad she was willing to meet with me.
As soon as I clicked the END CALL button, I drove toward the intersection of Rivers and Ashley Phosphate, Googled the name of the diner on my phone, and found it within about fifteen minutes. Rather than go inside to wait, I decided to drive around and see what else was in the area.
It didn't take long to realize how close the place was to the Interstate, which made me very nervous. I decided it might be a good idea to at least let someone know where I was, so I called Jim.
"Okay," he said. "What do you want me to do?"
"Just be aware of where I am."
"Are you worried about something?" Concern hung heavy in his voice.
"Um … Let's just say I have a hunch."
"Do you want me there?"
"Not in the diner with me," I replied, "but it might be a good idea to be in the general area."
"I know the place. They have a side lot, and I'll find an inconspicuous spot."
"Thanks, Jim."
I arrived five minutes early, so I had to wait for Connie who was five minutes late. She walked into the diner, glanced around until she saw me, and then walked straight toward me. When she got to the table, she forced a smile but didn't say a word as she sat in the empty chair.
The server approached and asked what we'd like. I ordered my standard coffee and toast, and Connie asked for their holiday gingerbread latte.
"What was so all-fired important about seeing me now?" she asked as soon as the server left.
She obviously didn't want to make small talk, so I got straight to the point. "Where have you been since that day when I arrived at Mrs. Birchfield's place?"
Without so much as a twitch, she propped her elbows on the table and looked me in the eye. "First of all, it's none of your business." She dropped her gaze for a second before looking back at me. "But since we're here, I might as well tell you I had some business to take care of, now that I'm unemployed."
"Don't you work for Mavis Anderson?"
She tilted her head and gave me a questioning glance. "Who on earth told you that?"
"Mavis."
Connie tilted her head back and belted out a laugh. "That woman is delusional. She's been tryin' to hire me away from Mrs. Birchfield for the longest time—ever since she gave up on buyin' her out."
"Buying her out?" I asked. "Who are you talking about?"
"In case you haven't figured it out, Mavis Anderson isn't the most hospitable host. She has struggled getting guests ever since her sister passed away and left the place to her. Instead of figuring out what she's doing wrong, she spends her time blaming everyone and everything else. I bet her place is fuller now than it has been since she's been there, and that's only because they can't stay at Ms. Birchfield's place."
I nodded. "As far as I can tell, it's fully occupied."
"That's only because Mrs. Birchfield's place is no longer open for business."
My phone vibrated, so I excused myself and took a peek at it. The message from Jim asked if everything was okay. I texted back and said yes before turning back to Connie.
"Have you told all of this to the police?"
She shrugged. "I will if they ask me. Zach said not to give them more than they ask for because they'll just hold everything I say against me."
"Whoa." I held up a hand. "When did you talk to Zach?"
Her face lit up, and her cheeks turned pink. "He and I have been … well, we're sort of an item now."
This was something I didn't expect. Apparently both Bert and Zach used romance to get what they wanted, and now all I had to do was find out what that was. I suspected once I found that out, the pieces of the puzzle would start to fall into place.
"Does Zach know you're here?"
She nodded. "I was with him when I called you."
"When did he get out of jail?"
"Late this morning. It took me a while to post bond because they set it so high, but his attorney told me what to do, so everything is good now. He promised he'd keep his temper under control, but you know it's hard when people keep blaming him for things that aren't his fault."
"Do you know about his past?" I asked.
"That's what I'm talking about. He got in with a bad crowd a few years ago and made a few mistakes. But now, even after all that time, he keeps finding himself in trouble, just because those guys have a vendetta against him … and they want money."
"Money?" I had to force myself to stay calm.
"Yeah. They told him to go to his dad for money, and if he couldn't get it there, he needed to find some other way, or else …" She drew her index finger across her throat. "You get what I'm sayin', right?"
"I do." Connie was shooting all sorts of holes in my hunch that she was somehow connected with Mrs. Birchfield's death. In fact, now I figured if she was involved, she might not even be aware of it. "If they're threatening him, aren't you worried about your own safety?"
Her shoulders sagged. "Maybe just a little, but he promised me that they don't want my blood on their hands. They just want to rough him up and scare him a little to keep him from telling what he knows."
"What he knows?" I tilted my head.
Her eyes widened. "Oh man, I said way too much. Forget I told you that, okay?"
I just looked at her and blinked. "Do you think they had anything to do with Mrs. Birchfield's murder?"
She fidgeted in her chair for a few seconds as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I wouldn't be surprised."
"Why do you think they'd want a B&B owner dead?"
"Money?" She shrugged. "How should I know? People get murdered all the time."
Now Connie was making no sense, so I wasn't sure which direction to turn. I was about to ask why she thought money might be a motive when she spoke up again.
"I do know that she was asking Bert to go in on a major project to do renovations on the B&B and purchase another one. She stayed at capacity all the time, and she thought she could do even better." Anothe
r inconsistency.
The server brought our order, asked if we needed anything else, and left. Connie's latte sure did look good. As soon as I inhaled and caught the aroma of her latte, I wished I'd ordered the same thing.
She took a sip of her latte and put it back down. "Bert had been hinting about buying her out for some time, but she wasn't about to let go of the place she'd lived ever since she first got married."
"But I thought—"
"I know. I wasn't sure about you before, so I lied."
I fidgeted with a napkin as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. "If she needed Bert to go in with her on a renovation, why would someone kill her for money that she obviously didn't have?"
"Oh, she had money," Connie said with a nervous laugh. "It was just tied up in a trust her late husband set up. She got a little bit every month, but she couldn't access the lump sum."
"Did you know her husband?"
Connie's lips twitched as she nodded and glanced down at the table. "Yes."
"Did they have children?"
Connie shook her head at first and then shrugged. "I don't know." She suddenly appeared agitated. "This is too much for me right now." She grabbed her purse off the back of the chair and stood. "I really need to go now." Without another word, she turned and ran out of the diner.
About two minutes lapsed before I heard the bells jingle on the door. Before I glanced up, I knew who it was.
"So, how'd it go?" he asked as he joined me. "From the looks of things not so well. What did you say to upset her?"
"I started asking questions about the Birchfields – like if she knew Mr. Birchfield or if they had children."
His eyebrows went up. "You must have said something else. She looked like she'd seen a ghost."
"Which is what makes me think there's a clue in our conversation that I haven't figured out yet. She contradicted herself all over the place." I leaned back and gave him a long look. "Have you learned anything new?"
"Yup." The server approached, took Jim's order for coffee, and left before he looked around before leaning toward me. "We now know for certain that Zach Zuckerman didn't do it."
"And how would we know that?" I asked.
"He was released from the Alabama State Penitentiary that afternoon. They didn't finish up the paperwork on him until after the murder happened, so there was no way he could have been in Charleston."
"Oh."
"You thought he was guilty, didn't you?" Jim asked.
"Well, he was high on my list."
"How about Molly and Wilbur?"
Jim shook his head as a look of sadness washed over his face. "We caught them trying to break into the Birchfield house a couple of hours ago."
I couldn't stop my eyes from bugging. "They were trying to break in?" The mental image of that elderly couple trying to pick a lock seemed wrong.
He nodded. "When the patrol officer arrived, they quickly started talking. Apparently, Mrs. Birchfield was Molly's baby sister, and they wanted to help solve the case."
"Why didn't they say something?" I asked.
"Molly said she didn't want everyone to clam up. She and her husband wanted to watch for clues … oh, by the way, they said they knew for certain you weren't guilty."
"Why would they think I was?"
He made a face. "They knew you found her, and they said they've watched enough detective shows to know that makes you one of the suspects."
"At least someone knows I'm innocent."
Jim pretended to ignore my last comment. "So now we're back to square one."
"I'm not so sure. There's something about Connie that's bugging me, and I'm concerned that she might bolt. I just hope she doesn't get too far."
"She won't." Jim broke into a crooked smile. "We have someone keeping an eye on her and Zuckerman, who, by the way, isn't supposed to be in South Carolina. We have special permission to let him stick around, though – at least until this case is solved."
"What's the deal with Bert?"
"That guy's what I'd call …" He circled his finger around his ear. "You know, a little off?"
"Maybe not as much as you'd think. It could be an act."
"True. Why don't you see if you can have a little chat with him next time you go back to the B&B?"
I shivered at the very thought. "That guy gives me the creeps."
"Apparently you're not old enough to appreciate his charms."
"Apparently not." I stood, and Jim immediately jumped to his feet.
"Why don't you go on ahead?" he said. "I'll take care of your breakfast."
"Thanks." I turned and left, wishing I didn't need to talk to Bert but knowing it really was the best course of action at the moment. During my time with the Nashville Police Department, I'd faced much worse than either of the Zuckerman men, but these two got under my skin.
Pieces of my conversation with Connie played through my head. I kept trying to make sense of her inconsistencies, but it wasn't coming together just yet.
Since I wasn't sure where Bert spent his days, I decided to start with Mavis's B&B. I took the long way there so I could drive by Mrs. Birchfield's place for inspiration. There was something calming about her place – at least before her murder – that didn't exist at Mavis's.
As I approached, I saw Bruiser standing by the door, his face stern and immobile. He almost didn't look real. Rather than stop, I turned at the corner and glanced back. That was when I spotted a half-opened window on the second floor. An iron trellis had been nailed up beside it and looked completely out of place. I thought back to the last time I'd seen this angle and wondered if it had always been there. I couldn't remember.
Maybe Mom had a photo. I knew she and Dad had spent many vacations at Mrs. Birchfield's place.
I pulled off the road into the nearest parking lot and punched in Mom's cell phone number. She answered right away. I asked her if she remembered the trellis.
"No, I don't remember anything like that. What always struck me was how white everything was, with the exception of the green shutters." She paused for a few seconds. "I think I do have a picture. Remember when I told you about that cookout Mrs. Birchfield had last spring?"
"Sort of."
The excitement in Mom's voice reminded me of my own when a clue suddenly led me to a conclusion. "Your dad and I took tons of pictures. I'm sure there'll be one of the side of the house. Want me to mail them to you?"
"I don't have time. Can you snap pictures with your cell phone and text them to me?"
Mom laughed. "Great idea! Maybe I'll include a selfie in one of them."
If she had any idea about my hair being in the tape, I knew she wouldn't be laughing, but I still didn't want her to know. "Please, no selfies. I just want to get a good look at the side of the house."
"You don't have to be so testy, Summer. It's not like you have to prove anything, ya know."
I pulled my lips between my teeth and said, "Mm-hmm."
"Let me go so I can do this before my hospital charity meeting."
After we hung up, I called Jim and told him about the window. He said he didn't remember the trellis or the open window. "I go right over there now and talk to Bruiser."
I'd barely arrived at Mavis's place when my phone started chirping with texts – one right after another. When I pulled up the first one and saw the smiling faces of my parents, standing arm in arm in front of the Birchfield B&B, my heart ached. They truly loved that place, and now they'd never be able to go back. Even if it reopened in the future, they wouldn't want to return to a place where their favorite innkeeper had been murdered.
By the time the pictures stopped coming, I had several angles of shots of the side of Mrs. Birchfield's house. And not a single one of them showed a trellis.
Chapter 8
My anxiety had risen to the high typical of those times when I was about to nail a suspect, but I still wasn't sure who it was. However, as soon as I opened the front door of Mavis's place, I had a pretty good idea.
/> Rather than finding myself face-to-face with her sarcastic scowl, I saw a woman who'd been tied to a chair and gagged. Her expression was more of desperation than anything else.
I quickly called Jim, untied her, and asked what had happened. She rubbed her wrist, opened her mouth, and then started sobbing.
By the time she could talk, Jim and two backup officers were at her place. "Who?" Jim asked as he looked at me.
I shrugged, but before I could say anything, she blurted, "Bert and that no-good son of his. They dragged Connie upstairs and left without her."
A sense of dread washed over me as I started for the stairs. Jim pointed downward. "You stay here. In case you've forgotten, you are no longer an officer of the law."
"Oh yeah, that's right." I turned to Mavis and rubbed her shoulder. "I'll stay here with her." After he left, I leaned over. "Can you talk about it yet?"
She sniffled and snorted a few times and then finally nodded. "I shouldn't have been so stupid. That no-good Bert and his son are murderers and thieves."
"Did they steal something from you?"
Mavis grimaced. "They almost did. Bert told me last night that he loved me and wanted to marry me."
I wished I could say I was shocked, but I wanted to play along with her. She'd already proven herself to be skittish, and I wanted her to keep talking. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was." She started sobbing again. "And I said yes. Next thing I knew, his son was here with something for me to sign … a contract stating that Bert would be half owner of this place as soon as we were married."
Things were starting to fall into place, but there was one person I wasn't sure about. "Where does Connie fit into all of this?"
"She came to warn me, but it was too late. I signed the contract."
"Why would you sign such a thing?" I asked.
Her shoulders shook with more sobs. "Because when you're married, everything should be shared equally. At least that's how I thought it was supposed to work."
"You didn't marry him yet, did you?"
She shuddered. "No, thank goodness. He wanted to elope right away, but I had so many things to do and guests to tend to." Her chin quivered, as she looked me in the eye. "I found out that the same thing happened with Lola. He asked her to marry him, but she didn't want to elope."
