by Kathi Daley
“It looks like Garrett will be coming for Thanksgiving dinner,” I said after a brief, awkward silence in which we’d both struggled for something to talk about.
“That’s great. He must be doing better.”
“He is. There’s even a possibility he’ll be able to move back to the resort permanently after the first of the year. Then he could continue his physical therapy as an outpatient.”
“That’s wonderful, but surely he hasn’t recovered to the point where he can resume management of the resort.”
“No. He most likely never will be able to run the place again. But he’s getting around better with the wheelchair, and while he’ll always need a certain amount of help, he seems to be on his way to living a somewhat independent life. I want to remodel the downstairs bedroom and bath so he’ll have a suite that will accommodate his wheelchair.”
“That’s a great idea. You’ll need a ramp at both the front and back door, as well as one from the deck to the yard. How about if I come by tomorrow to help you get started? We should have the front ramp and access to the downstairs bathroom in place by Thanksgiving.”
I raised a brow. “I appreciate the offer, but Thanksgiving is in five days.”
“It’ll be tight, but I know a few guys who are looking for work, and I bet they’d be willing to take on a rush job. I was going to have them paint the newspaper building, but this is a bit more important. Leave it to me. I’ll make sure everything is ready for Garrett when he comes home for the first time.”
Words couldn’t express how grateful I felt. I tried to find a way to tell him, but in the end, I leaned over and just kissed him on the cheek.
Our salads arrived and our conversation segued into different types of salad dressings and then the locations of the best meals we’d ever eaten. From there, we drifted to the letters I’d found.
“I gave them to Vikki, so I haven’t had a chance to go back over them. I’m intrigued by the hidden box, but the likelihood of finding someone who might have stayed at the resort more than fifty years ago when all we have to go on are a photo and some letters seem like a pretty big long shot.”
Jack swallowed, then set down his fork. “You might want to speak to Edna Turner. She ran the library before she retired twenty years ago and seems to be very knowledgeable about local history. I interviewed her recently for an article I wrote and found her to be deeply entrenched in the community. She seems to know everyone who’s been around for any length of time and is in her midseventies at least, so she would have lived on the island when you suspect Francine was staying at the resort.”
“Thanks for the lead. Maybe we can set up an interview after we get Alex’s case wrapped up one way or another. I’m trying not to get distracted. Alex and Trey deserve our full attention.”
“I agree. And the letters can certainly wait a few more weeks.”
Our conversation drifted back to food for some reason, and by the time the main course arrived, we’d settled into a comfortable banter that was personal but not too much so.
“I know we said no shop talk during dinner, but isn’t that Portia Sinclair with Brooke Johnson?” I whispered to Jack as we neared the end of our meal.
Jack and I had first met Brooke when we were investigating a recent death and its link to an eleven-year-old cold case that had turned out to be extremely complex, with a lot of things to consider once everything had been unraveled. Brooke was a wonderful person, a respected teacher, a loving mother who was pregnant with her third child, and a willing contributor in the community. She’d also been caught up in a situation from which the writers had been able to untangle her.
“I think it is. I left a message for Portia earlier, but I never heard back.”
“I hate to interrupt their dinner, but I’d be interested in getting her take on things.”
Jack hesitated. “Why don’t we just introduce ourselves and see if we can arrange a meeting with her for tomorrow?”
We skipped dessert and paid the bill, then headed to Brooke’s table on our way out.
“Jill, Jack, so nice to see you both,” Brooke called out. “This is my friend, Portia Sinclair.”
Portia had a frown on her face. “Are you the Jack who wanted to speak to me about Trey?”
“Guilty as charged.” Jack smiled.
“Are you two working on another mystery?” Brooke asked, before turning to Portia. “Jack and Jill helped me out with something I was involved in not long ago. I’ll vouch for the fact that you can trust them.” Brooke looked back at me. “If I can help in any way, just holler. I owe you guys more than I can ever repay.”
I thought about the photos taken at the party. Brooke was five or six years older than Trey and his friends, but she’d lived on the island her entire life, so she’d probably know the identities of at least some of the partygoers.
“We’d like very much to pick your brain,” I said. “Tomorrow?”
“I have church activities early in the day, but I should be available by three-thirty. Why don’t I meet you at the newspaper at four?” Brooke turned to Portia. “Will you come with me?”
Portia hesitated.
“It’ll be fine. I promise,” Brooke encouraged her.
Portia glanced at Jack, then nodded. “Okay. But I really don’t know anything.”
“That’s okay,” Jack assured her. “Jill and I are grateful for any help either of you can provide. We’ll see you tomorrow at four.”
We left the restaurant and Jack gave the valet runner our ticket. We stood hand in hand, looking out over the expanse of moonlit ocean while we waited for Jack’s car to arrive.
“It’s early yet,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me from behind and pulled me into his chest. “Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap before I take you home?”
I leaned my head back and rested it on Jack’s body. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt quite so content. It could have been the wine we’d had with dinner, but I suspected it was something more. I turned so I was facing him, put my arms around his neck, then leaned forward to kiss him softly on the lips.
“I take it that’s a yes?” Jack asked.
“It’s very much a yes.”
Chapter 9
Sunday, November 19
When I came downstairs the next morning, George was sitting at the kitchen table with Clara with a pot of coffee and a basket of homemade muffins. They offered to share with me, so I pulled up a chair and poured myself a cup of the hot brew.
“George has news,” Clara said as I took my first sip.
“What kind of news?” I asked.
“News about Trey Alderman. Tell her, George. Tell her your news.”
“Tell her George, tell her George,” Blackbeard parroted.
George glanced at the colorful bird with a look of amusement on his face. “Give me a chance. She’s barely sat down.”
“What’s your news?” I asked.
“It’s really quite juicy,” Clara interrupted before George could say anything.
“I’m all ears,” I persuaded. “What’d you find out?”
“I found an article in a low-budget gossip magazine that was published just four weeks before Trey’s death. It seems a young woman named Melanie Carson, who went to the same college as Trey, claimed he was the father of her unborn child. Trey denied having ever slept with her, and the whole thing had seemed to go away, but a reporter claimed to have found evidence that Trey’s father had paid Melanie to disappear, never to bother Trey or his family again.”
“Do you think the reporter was making the whole thing up? I mean, you can’t trust what you read in those rags.”
“Initially, I didn’t give the article much credence, but my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see if I could track down Melanie Carson. I eventually found her living in Savannah, and when I explained who I was, what I was after, and why I was after it, she agreed to an interview. I made the trip yesterday.”
“And…?”
“Melanie had her baby and seems to be doing just fine. She insists it’s Trey’s, that he was the only man with whom she’d engaged in sexual relations for more than six months before her pregnancy, so there’s no doubt in her mind. When she told Trey she was pregnant, he didn’t deny being the father, though he made it clear he wasn’t looking to be tied down with a wife and child. He offered to help her out financially if she wanted to have an abortion. A couple of days after she spoke to him, Mr. Alderman showed up. He explained to Melanie that knocking up some random girl could hurt Trey’s reputation at a very critical time in his career and offered her a lump sum of cash if she and the baby would simply disappear. At first, she turned him down, but the next thing she knew, Trey had publicly denied being her baby’s father in front of a group of mutual friends; in the end, she decided to take the money. She left school to avoid a scandal and went to live with a good friend until after the baby was born. She claims she never talked to any reporters, that very few people even knew about the pregnancy, so she had no idea where the reporter got the information that was printed.”
“Are we thinking this somehow played into Trey’s death?” I asked.
“Initially, I didn’t think this young woman’s pregnancy had anything to do with Trey’s death. She seemed content with her current situation and struck me as the sort to make the best of whatever situation she happened to find herself in. Then I found out the friend Melanie went to live with was Dexter Parkway.”
“Dexter? How did Melanie and Dexter even know each other?”
“They met at a summer camp when they were in middle school. They were both smart and, at the time, socially awkward, so they became fast friends who kept in touch and helped each other get through the difficult high school years. It seems Dexter visited Melanie at the University of South Carolina. By this time, she’d grown into her own and was quite beautiful. While he was there, he ran into Trey, and he was the one who introduced them to each other. According to Melanie, she was immediately drawn to Trey, and he seemed interested in her as well. After Dexter returned to his college, Trey and Melanie got together in a physical way. Trey was dating Rena, so Melanie agreed to keep their short affair a secret. When Melanie found out she was pregnant, she told Trey, and the rest you know.”
I took a minute to let this all sink in. “So Dexter most likely not only resented Trey for the way he’d treated him all those years when they both lived on Gull Island, but I imagine he also felt responsible for what happened to his friend. He introduced them, after all. I can imagine a scenario where he was furious at the way she was being treated and decided to go to the party where he knew Trey would be and spiked his drink to render him unable to play in the game the following day.”
“That’s the gist of my theory as well.” George nodded.
I paused before I continued. The theory had merit. Alex hadn’t thought Dexter could be guilty, but he didn’t have this piece of information. “I think you might be on to something. Let’s present this to the group tomorrow night.”
“Will Alex be back by then?” George asked.
“When I spoke to him yesterday, he said he planned to be. I’m pretty sure everyone will be here. Jack and I have an interview with Heather’s friend, Portia, this afternoon. We don’t consider her a suspect, but she was at the party, so she may have seen something. We’re also working on an interesting theory dealing with someone who was using the alias C. Menow.”
“The person with the Facebook page,” Clara joined in.
“Yes. We’re looking at a couple of different angles.”
“I’m anxious to hear what you’ve found,” George said. “It seems this mystery, like most, has multiple layers in need of careful peeling.”
Clara turned and looked toward the front door. “Someone’s here.”
I hadn’t heard anything, but maybe enhanced hearing was part of Clara’s gift. “It’s probably Jack and some of his friends. Garrett’s coming home for Thanksgiving, so he’s seeing to a ramp and an enlarged doorway for the downstairs bathroom.”
“That’s wonderful.” George smiled. “I’ve been hoping the old chap would be able to get out a bit. He seemed to be getting antsy the last time I went to see him.”
“He’s pretty excited about the prospect. We’re hoping that with a little help with everyday tasks, eventually he can move home permanently. But he has a way to go yet.”
“I’ve been so excited since you first mentioned it and I can’t wait to meet your brother,” Clara added. “The house has already told me that he has a kind soul and a giving nature.”
“The house is right. He’s really great.”
George added, “I spoke to Meg Collins and she’s accepted my invitation to dinner.”
I smiled. “Great. Vikki texted me to let me know Rick Savage is on board too, so only Gertie’s date is tentative.”
******
I went over to check in with Gertie while Jack got the guys he’d brought with him started on the ramp. He’d be tied up for an hour or so. Now that it looked like pretty much everyone was onboard for the holiday dinner, I was beginning to get nervous about having everything ready. When I entered the café, Gertie was standing behind the counter talking to Mayor Betty Sue Bell, who was just finishing her breakfast.
“Morning, Gertie, Betty Sue,” I said as I walked toward them.
“Mornin’, suga,” Gertie responded.
“Heard you’ve been running around stirring things up again,” Betty Sue teased with a smile on her face.
“You know me; I’m quite the rabble-rouser,” I responded. “Although today I’m here to chat with Gertie about Thanksgiving.”
“Gertie told me you’re hosting dinner out at the resort.”
“You’re welcome to join us if you don’t have plans,” I said.
“I’m going over to my neighbors’, but thanks for the invitation.” Betty Sue returned her attention to Gertie. “I have a client in twenty minutes, so I best get going. Call me later and let me know what day you decide on for your cut and curl.”
“Will do. Have a good day, now.”
I sat down at the counter after Betty Sue got up.
“So, you want to talk about Thanksgiving?” Gertie asked.
“So far, it looks like everyone is coming, and Garrett’s going to be able to come home for the holiday as well, so if you bring a date, that will bring us up to twelve.”
“Garrett’s gonna be there? Well Lordy be, I’m happy to hear that. He must be doin’ better.”
“He is. In fact, it may even work out for him to move back to the resort in a few months. Nothing is certain yet, but we’re hoping. Jack’s at the resort right now, having a ramp and a wider bathroom door installed in the house.”
“You got yourself a good one there.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I did. So, about Thanksgiving…Is there anything I need to do or buy before we get together tomorrow to do the big shopping?”
“I think we can get everything we need tomorrow, and then we’ll make the pies on Wednesday. Might want to put together a centerpiece for the table. I noticed the general store has seasonal decorations you could use if you don’t want to make anything.”
“A centerpiece is a good idea. I’ll stop by to get something on my way home.”
“How’s your investigation going?” Gertie asked as she wiped the counter. “I know you said you wanted to chat when you were here for lunch yesterday.”
“I think it’s going pretty well. It looks like Mortie was on to something with the whole intentional-drugging angle. The more people we speak to and the more information that comes our way, the more convinced I am that Trey’s accidental death wasn’t an accident at all.”
“Mortie usually knows what he’s talkin’ about. Any suspects?”
“A few. I know you’ve lived here for a long time; you must know some of the people we’re looking at. Do you mind if I pick your brain a minute?”
“Pick away, darlin’.”
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“What about Candy Baldwin, or I guess she’s Candy Dickerson now?”
“Candy’s a suspect?”
“Right now, she is.”
“I guess I’m not surprised. Candy might have a sweet-sounding name, but if you get in her way, there’s nothin’ sweet about that girl. She’s a pretty little thing and she seems devoted to Heather, who really is a sweetie, but Candy has definite ideas about things that don’t always line up with the reality the rest of us live with. And if you challenge those ideas, she’ll tear you a new one.”
“So you think she could have spiked Trey’s drink?”
“I don’t know that she did, but yeah, given enough incentive, I think she could have. ’Course, she probably wasn’t the only one with a grudge. Trey tended to let his success go to his head. Guess that happens. I know he had a fallin’ out with his parents and wasn’t hardly speakin’ to them when he died. You want a cup of coffee?”
I glanced at the clock. “Sure. I have time.”
Gertie poured me a hot cup, then set the cream in front of me.
“Do you know what the conflict Trey had with his parents was about?” I asked.
“Seemed to me it had to do with a girl. His mama didn’t go into detail, but I did hear her say Trey’s daddy was madder than a cat in hot water about trouble Trey had gotten himself in to. I guess he and his dad had words, and as far as I know, the issue between them never was resolved.”
It probably wasn’t my place to say anything about Melanie Carson, but if I had to guess, Trey and his father most likely had fought over the baby he’d fathered. “That’s sad. It’s so hard to lose a child under any circumstances.”
“That it is, suga, that it is.” Gertie paused, then added, “You know, you might want to have a chat with Reverend Thompson as long as you’re lookin’ into things.”
“I don’t think I’ve met him. Was he Trey’s pastor?”
“When he was a young’un. His family worshiped at the Baptist Church for a lot of years, and it seems to me if there was somethin’ goin’ on with Trey, he might have been inclined to seek council. ’Course, he was a cocky sort once he got older, so I suppose it’s entirely possible he figured he had everythin’ under control.”
