LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY

by Susan M. Boyer

  “Ms. Talbot. I wasn’t told you’d arrived.”

  “She came with me.” Tess grinned.

  “Why on earth? Tess? How do you know Ms. Talbot?”

  “We’re friends,” said Tess. “She helped me out of a frightful mess.”

  Abigail raised an eyebrow at me. “Is that a fact?”

  “It was nothing,” I said. “I was just doing my job.”

  “And why are you here again?” asked Abigail.

  “I needed to speak with you regarding Mr. Bounetheau’s death,” I said.

  “Have we lost telephone service? One customarily makes an appointment.” Abigail’s voice could’ve flash frozen a trawler full of shrimp.

  “One gathers that she knows you, Abby,” said Tess. “If she had called, you would’ve ordered someone to tell her to contact your attorney. This is important.”

  “Tess, I simply cannot believe you snuck her in here. You’re my sister, for Heaven’s sake. Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours, sister dear,” said Tess. “Always yours. But sometimes you’re your own worst enemy. Now talk to Liz. She’s trying to help you.”

  Just then I was thinking how that wasn’t entirely true, but we went with it.

  Abigail consulted the ceiling, sighed. Then she sat on the sofa across from us. “Very well. What is it that you need, Ms. Talbot?”

  “Can you think of anyone who would have a motive to kill your husband?” I asked.

  Something in her face shifted. Suddenly, she looked the part of a bereaved widow. “No,” she said quietly. “Charles was universally loved. It must have been a random robbery, certainly you must realize that.”

  “That’s possible,” I said. “There are several other possibilities.”

  “For example?” said Abigail.

  I said, “It’s possible someone connected to Peter and Peyton’s recent misfortune might have viewed Mr. Bounetheau as a threat.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Abigail. “Charles had nothing whatsoever to do with the twins’ business affairs, which, I assure you, are all quite legitimate.”

  She couldn’t possibly believe that.

  “Oh, Abby.” Tess shook her head. “What good does all this posturing and pretending do? It’s in all the papers. How do you know some drugged up hoodlum isn’t taking revenge against the family because someone in their family was arrested with the boys?”

  Abigail turned to Tess, aggravation writ large on her face. Then she seemed to deflate. She looked down, then back up, worry in her eyes. “What would you have me do?” she asked her sister.

  “Tell Liz what you know,” said Tess.

  “I don’t know anything” said Abigail. “I have nothing to do with the import and export business. I have no idea who all does.”

  I very much doubted that was true. Could Abigail be targeted as a witness?

  “Let’s back up just a bit,” I said. “Do you know any of the twins’ close friends? They lived here with you, right? Did they have visitors?”

  Abigail gave me a withering look. “Yes, the boys have rooms here. But we have five homes. They have quarters in all of them. Truthfully, we don’t see much of them at all. No, I don’t know who their friends are these days.”

  “I understood they socialized with a group of friends they’ve known since childhood,” I said.

  Abigail waved a hand. “I suppose they do when they’re in town. I honestly haven’t kept up.”

  “Business associates?” I asked.

  Abigail shook her head. “I haven’t the vaguest idea who they might be.”

  “Where are your other homes?” I asked.

  “Manhattan, London, Bel Air, and Monaco,” said Abigail.

  “Where do Peter and Peyton spend most of their time?” I asked.

  “For the last few years, they’ve divided their time between here and Bel Air,” said Abigail.

  “They have a home in Miami too, don’t they Abby?” said Tess.

  “They do.” Abigail nodded. “Although, my understanding is they planned to sell it. They haven’t spent time there in years.”

  “What about prior to the last few years?” I asked.

  “After college, they spent a few years in the London office,” said Abigail. “Apart from that, they’ve divided their time in each city as…business needs dictated.”

  Somehow, she said that with a straight face.

  “They graduated from college in 1986?” Of course, I knew the answer.

  “That’s right.”

  “And then they spent how many years in London?” I asked.

  She seemed to consider that for a moment. “Four. They stayed four years. They came home for Christmas in 1990 and didn’t go back, at least not to stay.”

  “You’re sure of that?” I asked.

  “Yes, but tell me, what on earth can this possibly have to do with my husband’s death?”

  “While they were in London, did they come home to visit much?” I asked.

  Abigail’s voice rose with frustration. “Does that question have any possible relevance?”

  I smiled sweetly. “Well, I won’t know until you’ve answered it. Think, please. During 1989, did they visit? Before they came home for Christmas?”

  “No.” She looked at her lap.

  “How can you be sure?” I asked.

  Abigail’s voice was ragged and angry. “Because they’d had a falling out with C. C. They didn’t come home at all that year. I know they were home for Christmas in 1990, and that’s the first time I’d seen them since the day after Christmas the year before. I know this because Virginia was expecting Kent in January, and C. C. moved mountains to reconcile with the boys so we could all be together for Christmas.”

  “Oh, right,” said Tess. “I remember that.”

  If that were true, neither of the twins could be Tallulah’s father unless for some reason Hollace Spencer had travelled to London.

  “Do you use the same decorator for all your homes?” I offered her a sunny smile.

  She gave me a look that suggested unkind things about my mental health. “What?”

  I shrugged. “You have a lovely home. I just wondered if the same folks decorated all five of them.”

  “No.” She stood. “Now, if there’s nothing else related to my husband’s death, I have a funeral to plan.”

  On the drive back to her house, Tess was quiet. Some of her joie de vivre had faded.

  “Tess,” I said, “I’m so sorry if I put you in a bad spot. I shouldn’t have asked you to get in the middle with me and Abigail. I hope that doesn’t cause friction between you.” I knew a few things about sisters.

  She pulled to the curb and turned the engine off. Then she waved a hand dismissively. “Abby and I have a difficult relationship. It’s nothing to do with you. In some ways we’re so alike.”

  I laughed out loud. “I’m afraid the similarities evade me.”

  She raised both eyebrows. “You might be surprised. Yet, I suppose there are more ways we’re different. I have no illusions about my sister. I know full well what she’s capable of. She’s still my sister and there’s good in her as well. I’d hoped by getting her to talk with you I could…I don’t know…maybe head off another disaster? I should’ve known there’s no steering Abigail in directions she’s disinclined to go.”

  I felt my face scrunch. “I don’t understand.”

  Tess’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “You asked me about Vivian. Who did you think was in the photo?”

  “She looks very much like someone I’ve recently met,” I said.

  Tess turned to me with a knowing look. “And her name?”

  “Tallulah.”

  Tess nodded, looked out the window over her shoulder for a moment. “I thought as much. And then you asked Abigail about interior d
ecorators. I suspect you’ve figured things out for the most part.”

  “You know about Tallulah?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” said Tess. “But Abigail does not. Not yet, anyway, though I suspect she’ll soon be told.”

  “What happened?”

  “Abigail hired Chadwick Interiors to redo the entire house in the late 1980s. They were in and out all the time. Holly Spencer was part of the team. She was young and very beautiful.”

  “I knew it.”

  Tess grinned. “Oh. But it wasn’t one of the twins’ whose eye she caught. I suspect they prefer the company of gentlemen, but I’ve never known for sure. I’ve never had a close relationship with the boys. None of my business, really.”

  “C. C.?” I tilted my head at her. “He must’ve been—”

  “Far too old for that sort of shenanigan, but nevertheless. It was C. C. He seduced her, and that’s the kindest way I can put it. I doubt it was entirely consensual to be brutally honest. She needed her job. Chadwick’s wasn’t as big a deal back then. Abigail’s business was critical.”

  “It looks like Hollace—Holly—would’ve been more scared of Abigail finding out than anything else.”

  Tess’s eyes widened. “She was in an awful spot. C. C. tried to woo her, and she kept him at arm’s length. He played the game for a while, then he pressured her into having dinner with him to discuss the plans for his study. She went along because her boss insisted. After she had dinner alone with him, he had something on her. If he told Abigail that, she’d have fired her in a skinny minute and no one in Charleston would’ve done business with Chadwick’s anymore.”

  “That’s reprehensible.” My heart sank. “I thought C. C. was a decent man, although, to be perfectly honest, I’m trying to put my finger on exactly why I held that opinion.”

  “This was most assuredly not his finest hour,” said Tess. “People are, I think, the sum of all their actions. C. C. was a study in contradictions. In most ways, a very decent man. He did a lot of good in this world, and continues to do so through his foundation. He also did a few truly despicable things. Coercing Holly into an affair was one of them. Mind you, I’m not trying to excuse his behavior. I’m just telling you what happened as it may bear on your case.”

  “How did you find out?” I asked.

  “Chadwick’s did work for me as well. I liked Holly. She was at my house one morning and ghastly ill. She thought it was a stomach bug, she said. The second morning it happened, she fell to pieces in my kitchen. I made her a cup of tea. I’m a good listener, you know. She told me the whole story. I think it was a huge relief. She thought I’d run straight to Abby, but of course I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?” In her place, my loyalty to my sister would’ve come first, no matter what.

  “Come now,” said Tess. “You must plainly see why not. You’re familiar with Abigail’s methods for dealing with those who threaten her family.”

  “You were protecting Abigail from herself?” My sister wasn’t a sociopath. There was that.

  “Of course. I know all about the business with Virginia and her first husband.” She shook her head slowly in dismay. “What do you think would’ve become of Holly and her child? Abby already had quite enough to repent.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “Not much, really. I listened, asked Holly what she wanted to do. Offered her advice, offered help. She was adamant about keeping the child, but she was terribly frightened of both Abigail and C. C. She decided to go home. She grew up in Edisto Beach. Her family had a successful restaurant there. She told the folks at Chadwick’s she’d decided interior design wasn’t for her after all. Walked away and never looked back.”

  “You’re certain Abigail never found out about the affair or the baby?” Everything inside me rebelled at referring to what had happened to Holly Spencer as an affair, but the right word escaped me in the moment.

  “Quite certain. There would’ve been hell to pay. Abigail wouldn’t tolerate being humiliated under her own roof. C. C. had affairs over the years, and I’m sure she knew—or at least suspected. But he had the good sense to be discreet. That was the closest he ever came to dallying with the help.”

  “And you never told C. C. he had another child?” I asked.

  “Never. I heard from Holly occasionally. I’d asked her to keep in touch, let me know if she needed anything. I would’ve been happy to’ve helped with the expenses, but she wouldn’t take a dime from me. I sent the occasional gift, for birthdays, graduation, and so forth. But that’s all.”

  “Have you met Tallulah?” I asked.

  “No, but I’ve seen photos of her. I know how very much like Vivian she looks. It’s uncanny.”

  “Did Holly tell Tallulah who her father is?” I asked.

  “Oh my, no,” said Tess. “Holly married her childhood sweetheart, Drum Aiken. He raised Tallulah as his own.”

  “They got married nearly a year after Tallulah was born,” I said.

  Tess shrugged. “They made up quite the romantic story, I imagine. I’m told it’s worked out quite well. They’ve all lived happily ever after. Well, until now.”

  ELEVEN

  As was her custom, Grace had gone all out with Christmas decorations at the bed and breakfast. The wrap-around porch of the lovely Victorian house was draped with garland lit with tiny white lights, as was every window and door. She and Mamma must’ve shopped together for fresh holiday decor ideas. The same hurricane lanterns I’d seen on Mamma’s steps lined the steps of Sullivan’s Bed & Breakfast.

  When I pulled into the circle drive out front, Claude waited, posing in front of the house like he was part of the display. He regarded me solemnly as he munched the last few leaves off a willow branch. “What are you doing here now?” I asked Claude.

  He had nothing to allow, just stared at me like he couldn’t be bothered with my tiresome questions.

  I thought about alerting Daddy, then shook my head and raised a palm to Claude. “Let’s just pretend this never happened.”

  I climbed the steps, let myself in, and found Grace serving four o’clock tea. I paused by the French doors leading from the front hall into the parlor. A massive angel-topped Christmas tree occupied the front corner of the room, decorated in gold, cream, and crystal ornaments. “White Christmas” played in the background. A large tea cart held tiered plates of pretty sandwiches, mini-quiches, scones, fruit tarts, and Christmas cookies. Teapots, sugar bowls, cream pitchers, and bowls of lemon slices were conveniently set within reach on the coffee table and the round table between two wingbacks.

  The sight of Dwight Goodnight holding a dainty teacup and saucer had me smothering a giggle. Upon further inspection, he seemed to know what he was doing. He and Grace sat on the sofa, heads together, apparently deep into conversation. I didn’t recognize the other guests.

  “Liz, Sugar,” Grace stood when she saw me. “You know Dwight Goodnight, of course. Come meet Janet Batrouny and David Merritt. And Janet’s son, Jeff Doggett, and his wife, Kayte. They’re all visiting from Charlotte.”

  “It’s lovely to meet y’all,” I said.

  Mischief danced in Janet’s blue eyes. Of medium build, she had shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and was dressed in jeans, a leopard print sweater, a leather jacket, and ankle boots. I pegged her for the ringleader of the happy group. Like Mamma and Grace, she apparently had perfected the art of making her age impossible to guess.

  They all said hey and all that, then went back to their tea, sandwiches, and conversation, which seemed focused on Shibori indigo fabric dyeing, with the ladies doing most of the talking and the men playing the role of long-suffering, indulgent supporters.

  Grace said, “Liz, come and have something warm to drink, Darlin’. I can’t believe it’s still so cold outside. Fix yourself a plate. I’ve got hot spiced apple cider today along with Darjeeling
and peppermint tea. What can I get you?”

  I’d missed lunch and was famished. “That sounds fabulous—but you relax and finish your tea.” I went about the business of pouring a cup of Darjeeling and adding sugar. Grace laughed at something Dwight said and returned to the sofa. She was particularly animated today. I took a gander at her from the corner of my eye.

  Interesting. As always, Grace looked polished—like she’d just stepped out of hair, makeup, and wardrobe, where a team had pulled her look together. Every hair of her platinum bob was in place and she wore her signature pearls. But she was dressed more casually today than she typically did for tea, in jeans and a cream-colored sweater over a red plaid shirt.

  I arranged a selection of sandwiches and pastries on a festive, luncheon-sized piece of Grace’s Christmas china—a lovely pattern with sprigs of holly and red and green plaid bows. Keeping my focus on my food but tuning my ears in to Grace and Dwight’s conversation, I settled into a wingback to Dwight’s left.

  “…you ask me, Nietzsche was just a bag of hot air. If I subscribed to his notions, I’d just put a gun in my mouth and put an end to my misery,” said Dwight.

  “Oh.” Grace gave her head a little toss, then nodded. “I quite agree.”

  We’re discussing Nietzsche at tea? I took a long sip.

  Dwight turned to me. “Thank you again for arranging for me to stay here. Grace is a wonderful hostess.”

  “You’re welcome.” I scrutinized him. Something was different. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a white button-down shirt, but he was definitely more pulled together than he’d been when last I’d seen him. Of course, I’d shown up on short notice with heartbreaking news. No one would’ve been at their best. Still…

  Grace’s eyes lit up. She tilted her head at a coquettish angle. “Sugar, did you know Dwight graduated from College of Charleston two years before my first semester?”

  This was a first for me, watching Grace flirt shamelessly. I sipped my tea, raised an eyebrow at Dwight. “He didn’t mention he’d been to college.”

  He shrugged, looked innocent. “It didn’t come up.”