“I’ve gotta run. Good luck with all this.”
“Hey, business is business. These are paying customers. I’m happy to see ’em.”
I stepped out under the pink awning and scanned Main Street for the Explorer. It would likely be a few more minutes. The crowd outside The Cracked Pot had gotten larger. A woman I recognized as Lily McAdams, Darius’s most recent ex-wife, stood against the side of the building talking on her phone and checking her nails. She reminded me a bit of Trina Lynn. She had that same blue-eyed, fresh-faced, wholesome look. Except for Vivianne, Darius seemed to favor blondes. How were Calista and Arianna getting along?
I started to call Calista, but then I caught part of what Lily was saying. “…just trying to get his money. Darius would have told me if he’d had a son. We’re soul mates. We didn’t keep that kind of thing secret from each other.”
I eased closer, not looking at her.
“No, he just came up to me after the press conference,” she said.
Brantley Miller was here. I needed to talk to Lily, fast.
I leaned against the building with one hand, held my chest with the other, and faked a pained grimace. Lily looked at me. “You okay?”
I winced. “I think so.”
“Hey, I’ll call you back,” she said into the phone. “You need to sit down?”
“No, thank you. You’re sweet to ask. It’s nothing, really. Hey, aren’t you Darius’s wife?”
She held out her hand. “Lily McAdams. Technically, Darius and I are divorced. But that was such a huge mistake. I guess I needed to grow up a little bit. As soon as we get this mess behind us, I’m sure we’ll patch things up.”
“I’m Liz Talbot.” I handed her a card. “I work for Darius. Well, not exclusively, but I’m on retainer. My husband and I are private investigators.”
“Oh, wow. It’s great to meet you,” she said. “So you two are helping Darius with these ridiculous charges?”
I chose my words carefully. “We are, yes. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but did you meet the young man who’s claiming to be his son?”
“As a matter of fact, he walked right up to me and introduced himself yesterday afternoon. The whole thing’s bizarre. Darius does not have any children.”
“That’s my understanding. Did this young man tell you where he was staying? I’d like to talk to him.”
“Somebody needs to. Somebody needs to tell him to stop spreading these lies about Darius. That is not helpful, to say the least.”
“So, do you know? Where he’s staying?”
“Oh. No, he didn’t mention it. I didn’t ask. I just wanted to get away from him.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Well he’s obviously trying to scam Darius. Who knows what else he’s capable of?”
Nate pulled to the curb.
“You have my card in case you need to reach me,” I said to Lily. “Where are you staying?”
“The Stella Maris Hotel.”
“You were lucky to get a room,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “This island could use a nice resort or two.”
Oh sweet reason, please don’t let anyone else get that bright idea. It was always a risk when this many new people came to town. “With the ferry, and no bridge, it’s just not practical to have big hotels and all like that.”
She smiled. “You never know. I’d be willing to bet you good money Darius is planning to put a resort here with its own private ferry. This place is gorgeous. So relaxing—well, aside from the legal difficulties. I’m going to talk to him about it as soon as we’re through this nightmare. You’ll see.”
Why had it not occurred to me until that moment that Darius might be interested in developing Devlin’s Point, most of which he now owned? After everything we’d been through to prevent Devlin’s Point from being turned into a high-rise resort. That had been Colleen’s first assignment. Was it possible she’d been at the jail for days protecting a man who planned to work against everything she’d been sent to us to accomplish? I wasn’t accustomed to sharing Colleen, and I didn’t care much for her being tied up with Darius all week.
“Bye now.” I waved to Lily and climbed in the car.
“Who was that?” Nate asked.
I grabbed my stainless steel coffee mug from its typical holder and gulped. “Lily McAdams. Ex-wife number one. But that’s not even in the top three headlines.”
“Oh?”
“Captain Olympia Price is the one who pressured Sonny and Jenkins to arrest Darius. Brantley Miller is here. And Lily thinks Darius plans a resort for Devlin’s Point.”
TWENTY-ONE
Two Meeting Street occupied the corner of Meeting and South Battery, across from White Point Garden. The lovely white Queen Anne style house reminded me of a wedding cake, with its turrets and wide wrap-around double porches with arches between the columns. Built in 1892 by Warren Carrington and his wife, the former Martha Williams, with money her father gave them as a wedding gift, the house was arguably the most iconic inn in Charleston, which was somewhat ironic given that it was built twenty-seven years after the Civil War ended.
Nevertheless, it was quite lovely. Margie Sue Frentress and her twin sister, Mary-Lou Willis agreed to meet us on the porch. The twins had blonde hair, blue eyes, and sweet smiles. One of them had a touch of strawberry in her hair. I pegged them at mid-fifties, but well-maintained. We all said our hellos, and we showed them identification and gave them each a business card. Then we settled into a round wrought iron table with four chairs on one of the rounded porch corners under a turret. The lush landscaping in the garden beyond and the canopy of live oaks shaded the porch and lent it a quiet, private atmosphere.
“I’m sorry to ask you to meet out here,” said Margie Sue. “It’s just…” She looked at her sister.
“We understand,” I said. “I can imagine this has all been very upsetting.”
Mary-Lou added, “And, well, to be honest, how did we know y’all were who you said you were? You could be anyone, really. Nearly witnessing a murder has made us a bit paranoid.”
“Are you satisfied with our credentials?” Nate asked.
“Yes, thank you,” said Margie Sue. “We appreciate you offering your identification and all. Of course, we’re not supposed to talk to y’all.”
“The police told you not to?” I asked.
“Well, they told us not to talk to the press,” said Margie Sue. “And they certainly discouraged us from talking to investigators for the defense. The one detective kept reassuring us we didn’t have to talk to you. But the other one, he kept adding unless we wanted to. We looked it up on the internet. It’s not against the law for us to talk to you.”
“No, it certainly isn’t,” I said.
“We’ve planned this trip for months,” said Mary-Lou. “Our getaway—just the two of us. I can’t believe we’re involved in a murder. Everyone wants us to come home, but we’ve decided to stay through tomorrow. That’s when our airline tickets are for.”
“Could you walk us through Sunday evening?” I asked. “Just take your time and start with dinner.”
“Well,” said Margie Sue, “we had late reservations at The Peninsula Grill. We really wanted to go there, but the only time they could take us was 8:30. We don’t usually eat that late. I know I should’ve made the reservations weeks ago.”
“Margie, stop that,” said Mary-Lou. “We had a fabulous dinner. We can stay up late on vacation if we want to.”
“What time did you leave the restaurant?” I asked.
They exchanged a glance.
“About 9:45. It might have been later. We can’t be a hundred percent sure,” said Margie Sue.
“Did you walk back to the inn?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Margie Sue. “We had a big dinner, and we wanted to let it settle. It’
s less than a mile straight down Meeting Street, but we decided to take our own walking tour.”
“Tell us about that,” I said. Nate and I had agreed that I should ask most of the questions.
“We walked down North Market towards the Cooper River,” said Margie Sue. “Then we went right on Church Street, but we backtracked up Cumberland to see the Powder Magazine. Did you know that’s the oldest surviving public building in the Carolinas? It was built in 1713. They stored their gunpowder in there before the revolution—the walls are thirty-two inches thick. But they had to move the powder during the siege to hide it. It’s all so fascinating.”
I smiled. “It is, isn’t it? Where did you go next?”
“We went back over to Church Street and walked partway down to St. Philips, but then I remembered that Dueler’s Alley ran behind the church. The story of the Whistling Doctor just breaks my heart. I wanted to see if we could hear his ghost whistle.”
“I wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about chasing ghosts down a back alley, but I’d had wine with my dinner, so I agreed,” said Mary-Lou.
“We walked back up to Cumberland and went right on Dueler’s Alley,” said Margie Sue.
“Don’t call it that,” said Mary-Lou. “It sounds so Wild Wild West. Philadelphia Alley.”
“Y’all sure seem to know your way around the city,” I said.
“We studied the tourist maps they give you at the Visitors Center like we were studying for exams,” said Mary-Lou. “We wanted to make sure we saw everything we could.”
“Anyway,” said Margie Sue. “We’d just taken a few steps in. That’s when we heard arguing. Two women. We couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were yelling, but they were talking over the top of each other. We stopped and just looked at each other, like, what should we do? That’s when we heard the gunshot.”
“We didn’t even talk about it, we just ran down the alley,” said Margie Sue. “I confess I considered if maybe we were hearing the ghosts of duelers, but I didn’t think those were women. It was confusing.”
“And I thought at first it was a ghost tour of some sort,” said Mary-Lou. “You know, a dramatization.”
“But I guess in the backs of our minds, we both thought maybe someone needed help,” said Margie Sue.
“You ran towards the gunshot?” I asked.
“It was stupid, I know,” said Mary-Lou.
“What did you see?” I asked.
“This beautiful young blonde woman was lying there. We found out later of course she was a local reporter. I called 911 on my cell phone,” said Margie Sue.
“Did you pass anyone before you got to the victim?” I asked.
“No.” They both shook their heads.
“Did you ever see the other woman?” I asked.
Margie squinted. “Not really. It was dark. There are some lights along the alley. But we were a good ways away when we heard the gunshot. I caught a glimpse from behind, but all I saw was black clothes. She had a hood up or something. I couldn’t tell the color of her hair.”
“Was she tall, short, thin, fat?” I asked.
Margie pressed her lips together, shook her head. “She wasn’t overly anything that I noticed. But really, I just caught a glimpse.”
“I didn’t see her at all,” said Mary-Lou.
“Did you see anyone else in the alley that night? Someone going in a door or through a gate?” I asked.
“No, just the poor reporter and the other woman walking away down the alley in the other direction, towards Queen Street. Well, she walked a little ways. Then she started running.”
“And you’re positive it was a woman you saw?” I asked.
“Well…” said Margie. “Honestly, no. We thought we heard two women. But I can’t swear the other person wasn’t a man with a higher-pitched voice. And I had the impression it was a woman, from behind. But I wouldn’t swear to it. Things have gotten awfully muddled in that department.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“We waited for the police,” said Margie Sue. “Neither of us knew if she was alive or dead, or if we could help. We were afraid of doing more harm than good.”
“Oh,” said Mary-Lou. “And we met Vicki.”
“Who’s Vicki?” I asked.
Margie Sue reached for her purse, rustled around in there, and came out with a slip of paper. “Vicki Turpitt. She and her husband are staying at a campground over at James Island County Park. She came down the alley from the other direction while we were waiting on the police.”
“Did she see the other woman?” I asked.
“She did say she saw a woman dressed in black leaving the alley,” said Margie Sue. “But she didn’t wait for the police to come. Said her husband was waiting for her at the waterfront swings. I think she was really shook up.”
“Did you give her name to the police?” I asked.
“We did,” said Mary-Lou. “But we have no idea if they spoke with her.”
“How long before the police arrived?” I asked.
“Not long,” said Margie Sue. “Minutes. Vicki just missed them. EMS came about the same time, but that poor woman was already gone.”
“How long were you there, talking with the police?” I asked.
The sisters exchanged a glance. “Not that long. Maybe fifteen minutes. But then they came by the next morning to follow up. Asked us to come in and make sworn statements. We did that.”
“Did they drive you back to the inn?” I asked. “Sunday night.”
“Why no,” said Mary-Lou. “We walked on back.”
“Tell us about that,” I said. They were staying at Two Meeting Street. Had they happened upon Mo and Jim with Darius? It would have been on the way if they’d walked along the waterfront. But the timing was probably off.
Margie shrugged. “We walked out the other end of the alley. Came out at Queen Street. We went left, walked over to East Bay. And we took that all the way back to South Battery, then turned right and here we were.”
“Did you see anything peculiar, anything that caught your eye?” I asked.
They squinted at me with identical expressions of confusion. “Like what?”
“Just go back over the walk in your minds and tell us anything you think of,” I said.
They both tilted their heads, looked off into space.
After a moment, Margie said. “We were in shock. Chattering about what had happened. I didn’t notice anything at all until right before we turned on South Battery. And that was just some poor soul rummaging through the trash. It’s sad, really, in a city this beautiful, you still have people that desperate.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” said Mary-Lou. “It is sad.”
“Tell me about who you saw,” I said.
Margie Sue looked surprised. “I guess it was a homeless person.”
“Man or woman?” I asked.
“Woman,” they both said.
“Old or young?” I asked.
“It’s hard to say for sure,” said Margie. “She had on a baseball cap. Her hair was up underneath it. She had on way too many clothes for the heat—a big flowy skirt and a paisley jacket. And she had a big shopping bag.”
“White, black, Hispanic, Asian…?”
“White, don’t you think, Mary-Lou?”
“Definitely white.”
“And her build?” I asked.
“It was hard to tell,” said Margie Sue. “She had on so many clothes. She wasn’t dressed for the weather at all.”
“Where was the trash can she was going through?” I asked.
“Right at the side entrance to White Point Garden,” said Margie Sue.
“Did you see anything specific that she took out or put in the trash can?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t,” said Margie Sue. “Did you?” She
turned to her sister.
“She had a white bag in her hands when I saw her. But I couldn’t tell you whether she took it out or put it in.”
“Did you tell the police detectives about this?” I asked.
“Well, no,” said Margie Sue. “They never asked us anything about after we left the alley.”
TWENTY-TWO
James Island County Park sits along the Stono River, a tidal channel that separates James Island from Johns Island. The park is lovely, with mature trees and lots of natural areas. The Turpitts’ Catalina Legacy travel trailer was parked at site one twenty-five, tucked into the shade. The white Chevrolet 4x4 had Arkansas plates.
The couple sat under the awning in outdoor zero gravity recliners having coffee when we pulled up. They smiled and waved like they knew us. The black and tan dachshund stretched out between the chairs stood and commenced barking.
“Missy, shh,” said the man. He was bald with a sturdy look about him.
“Hey, y’all,” I said as Nate and I climbed out of the Explorer.
“Good morning.” They looked to be active sixty-somethings. They both lowered their chairs, stood, and walked towards us.
Nate and I showed them our identification. As with the twins, I did the talking.
“I’m Liz Talbot. This is my husband, Nate.”
“Jim and Vicki Turpitt.” He held out a hand.
We all shook hands, said hello again.
“We’re private investigators looking into what happened downtown Sunday evening,” I said. “We were wondering if we could have a few moments of your time.”
“Sure,” they both said.
“But I’m afraid I can’t tell you a thing,” said Jim. “I was waiting for Vicki on the swings.”
“Vicki, would you tell us what you remember?” I asked.
She was a strawberry blonde who wore her hair styled short and straight, but with a little lift and a scatter of bangs. It suited her. She regarded me with intelligent eyes. “We had dinner at Hank’s around 8:00. It was maybe 9:30 when we left. We went for a walk. Headed down Church to Market, then over to Concord. We walked down to the north entrance of Waterfront Park—where the fountain is. We sat on a bench nearby, in the terraced area under the trees. Then we walked out to the swings. I wanted to walk some more, but Jim wanted to enjoy the swing.”
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