[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  “If I see him, I’ll let him know,” I said.

  She nodded her thanks, and then, just before I left the room, she did a Columbo. “By the way, Ms. Martin, since you’re here... Here’s the information about that store we discussed, where you can purchase defense spray. Tell them I sent you. This seems like an excellent time to arm yourself, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”

  I took the business card she handed me and beat it out of there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elspeth Caulfield lived on the northwest side of Sweetwater, in a little community called Damascus. It was closer to Nashville but further from the interstate, so it took me as long to get there as it would have to go to Sweetwater. With everything I had on my mind, though, the drive flew by, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of a run-down Queen Anne Victorian badly in need of a paint-job. Four big, black Labrador Retrievers were barking and slavering at me from inside the fence, and I was considering my next move carefully. If I opened the gate and walked in, they’d jump on me and knock me to the ground, and then they’d either maul me or lick me to death. And even if I got away with my life, my silk blouse and linen skirt would be beyond help. On the other hand, if I didn’t open the gate and go in, I wouldn’t be able to see Elspeth.

  I was still standing outside the fence, dithering, when the front door opened. A petite blonde came out. Looking at her, I realized I did indeed remember Elspeth Caulfield.

  A few weeks back, Todd had told me I didn’t look a day older than when we’d dated in high school. It was a blatant lie, and I was well aware of it. Elspeth, however, really didn’t look any older. She was still just a fraction over five feet tall, and her figure hadn’t developed much in the past ten or twelve years, either. In her oversized denim shirt and with her hair pulled up into a pony-tail, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up in her daddy’s clothes. She had wide, unblinking, very pale blue eyes, and a smooth face totally devoid of make-up. Even her voice was girlish, high pitched and breathy. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” I answered. “My name is Savannah Martin. You probably don’t remember me, but we went to high school together. For a year or so. Before you... um... left.”

  “Of course.” She looked like she didn’t actually remember, but was too polite to say so. Mother had brought me up to do the same thing. There’s nothing more galling to a man’s ego – to anyone’s ego, I suppose – than to be forgotten.

  “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by without calling first? I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Of course not,” Elspeth said. Politesse dictated that she invite me in, but she didn’t, just waited for me to continue. I looked around, at the house and overgrown yard, searching for something to say. Something complimentary, to break the ice and ease into what I really wanted to talk about.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced around at it.

  “Did I mention that I’m a Realtor now?”

  “It must have slipped your mind. Although I’m afraid I’m not interested in selling.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think you were,” I said. “Although, if there comes a time, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.” I took a breath. “So how have you been? I haven’t seen you since… um…”

  “High school,” Elspeth supplied.

  I nodded. “What are you doing with yourself these days? How long have you been back in town?” And where did you go, anyway? And more importantly, why…?

  “I work from home,” Elspeth said.

  “I see. Um…” I looked around, vaguely. “Would you like to go get a cup of coffee or something? It’s almost lunch time.” I had passed Beulah’s Meat’n Three just a few miles down the road.

  “I should probably get back to my computer,” Elspeth said. “It was nice to see you again, Savannah.” She started to turn away.

  “Wait a second!” I exclaimed. “I actually came to ask you something.”

  “Really?” Her tone was politely inquiring, but nothing more. Neither curious, nor even especially interested. Surely it wasn’t possible for someone to be so completely, utterly, unfailingly polite all the time? I mean, God knows I try, but I’ve got a long way to go before I stop putting my foot in my mouth on a regular basis, and even Mother has her moments of really quite astonishing rudeness. Deliberate ones, usually. Elspeth’s measured responses made me want to shake her to try to get some other kind of reaction from her, but of course I couldn’t do that. She was on the other side of the fence, for one thing, and for another, the dogs would probably hurt me if I did.

  However, I watched her closely as I asked, “You remember Rafael Collier, don’t you?”

  If I hadn’t been watching, I’m not sure I would have caught it. Her expression changed for just a tenth of a second, and then it was back to being smooth and bland. “Naturally.”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  Elspeth shook her head. “Not for years.”

  I hesitated. “I understand you two hooked up once back in high school?”

  “Oh...” She laughed, a tinkly, little laugh. “I wouldn’t say we hooked up, exactly. ‘Hook up’ is such an unattractive expression, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose,” I said, although it had never struck me as such. There are certainly a lot of uglier words one could use for a couple of teenagers having sex, if one were inclined. “But you were... um... together, right?”

  “I knew him,” Elspeth said.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She was approximately as easy to pin down as... well... Rafe. “So did I.” Although not in the Biblical sense. The way Elspeth supposedly did.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Elspeth said.

  “I understand. And I hate to ask. But what happened to you might have some bearing on a criminal case – a rape and murder – that happened in Nashville recently.”

  Someone else might have looked shocked or appalled. Elspeth just looked suspicious. “Are you working for the police?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “For him?”

  I shook my head. “As I told you, I’m a Realtor. The woman who died was a friend of mine. I’m trying to find out who killed her.”

  “And you think he might have done it?”

  The way she kept saying he and him, but never Rafe’s name, was interesting. If I had specialized in psychology instead of law in college, it might have been even more interesting. As it was, I assumed she had been traumatized by whatever had happened to her, and avoiding his name was helping her keep the memories at a distance. I was getting a bad feeling about this.

  “Actually,” I said apologetically, “I’d be very surprised if he did. But the police think he might have.”

  “So you’re trying to help him?”

  Admitting to trying to help Rafe would probably be a bad idea. “Not really. I’m just trying to find out who killed my friend. But she knew him. And I thought, if what happened between you two back then could shed some light on whether he’d be capable of doing something like this now…” I trailed off.

  Elspeth nodded. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” she said.

  I stared at her. “Excuse me?”

  The dogs were rooting around in the yard, and now one of them stuck its enormous snout through two pickets and put its cold nose on my leg. I jumped.

  “I’m sorry,” Elspeth said again. “But surely you can understand why I can’t talk about it. About him. You’re a lady, and we don’t discuss things like... that.”

  Well, no. We didn’t. Not usually. But even I made exceptions in dire straits. And as long as I felt fairly certain my mother would never hear about it.

  Elspeth turned to walk away. “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way down here for nothing.”

  It wouldn’t have been for nothing had she just had the – pardon me – balls to overcome her ladylike vapors, but there didn’t seem to be any sense in pointing that out. All I could do was watch, with my hands curl
ed into frustrated fists, as she walked away with all four hounds on her heels. The ornately carved door closed behind her with a thud.

  * * *

  I ended up going to Beulah’s Meat’n Three by myself. It was on the way back to the interstate, I was hungry, and frankly, I was so angry I had a hard time seeing straight. A break for some food and time to gather myself might do me good. So I pulled into the graveled lot beside the cinderblock building, and walked in.

  Beulah’s Meat’n Three has been a fixture for longer than I’ve been alive. Nobody named Beulah has anything to do with the place anymore, or has for as long as I can remember, but when I sat down at a table by the window, I saw another familiar face.

  Yvonne McCoy was someone else I’d gone to school with, but whom I’d barely known. Like I’d told Lila that last time we’d gotten together, my mother had been particular about the schoolmates Catherine, Dix and I were allowed to associate with. Rafe was unacceptable because he was a Collier, with all that that embodied, as well as because he was a handful in his own right. Drinking, fighting, joyriding… he’d been in trouble with Sheriff Satterfield practically from the moment he could walk. Elspeth was unacceptable because her father was a weird, fundamentalist preacher, while the Martins and the Calverts – mother’s people in Georgia – were good old-fashioned Southern Baptists. And Yvonne had been unacceptable because she was, not to put too fine a point on it, common as dirt, and a tramp to boot. Not that I’d ever considered the possibility of becoming friendly with any of them. Rafe was three years older than me, and Trouble with a capital T. Even at the tender age of fourteen, I had been aware of that. Elspeth had been so quiet and unassuming that I’d barely noticed her existence, and Yvonne was her total opposite. There was nothing shy and retiring about Yvonne. She was loud, raucous, and fun-loving, with flaming red hair and the dubious distinction of having had the biggest breasts at Columbia High. She was also, in her own way, a decent person who’d never take advantage of another human being or deliberately hurt anyone. And at the moment, she was exactly the person I needed. I greeted her with a brilliant smile.

  “Hi, Yvonne.”

  She squinted at me for a moment or two, or even longer, before she seemed to recognize me. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, Yvonne. “Hiya, Savannah. It’s Savannah, ain’t it? Dix Martin’s little sister?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t realize you knew my brother.”

  Yvonne grinned. “Not as well as I’d like. We were in the same class in school, but he’d never look twice at somebody like me. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine,” I said. “Married, of course. He and his wife have two little girls. Abigail and Hannah. They live just outside Sweetwater, in that new subdivision. Copper Creek.”

  Yvonne nodded. “Shoulda known he’d be married. How ‘bout you? I remember your wedding. Never saw such a to-do. How’s your hubby?”

  “Remarried,” I said succinctly. “You?”

  “Oh, I’m single again. Can’t seem to keep a boyfriend to save my life. But you don’t wanna know ‘bout that. What can I get you, sugar?”

  Actually, I did want to know about that, so I ordered quickly – “Water with lemon and a Chef Salad, please,” – and returned to the previous subject. “Would you mind if I asked you a question?”

  “Shoot,” Yvonne said, without hesitation.

  “You remember Rafe Collier, right?”

  “Who could forget?” She said it with what I can only describe as a lascivious grin.

  I smiled. Just as I’d hoped. “How about Elspeth Caulfield?”

  “Sure. Saw her just a coupla weeks ago, down at the post office. Mailing a book or something to New York City.”

  “I just came from her house,” I said. “I was trying to find out what happened between them back in high school, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

  Yvonne squinted at me. “Between Rafe and Elspeth?”

  I nodded.

  “Hang on a second.” She turned and walked away. I watched her walk across the floor and go behind the counter, where she placed my order on the little wheel in the kitchen window. Then she filled up a glass with water and popped in a lemon wedge and carried it back to me. “What d’you wanna know that for?” she asked, as if she’d never left. “You thinking of getting involved with him?”

  “Lord, no!” I said.

  “I didn’t think so. So why?”

  I took a breath. “A friend of mine in Nashville was raped and murdered last weekend. She knew Rafe. The police think he might have done it.”

  “Lord’a-mercy!” Yvonne said, and crossed herself piously, although I doubted very much that she was a Catholic, let alone a practicing one.

  “Someone suggested that whatever happened between them wasn’t consensual.”

  “You mean he raped her?” Yvonne shook her head. “Knowing him, I can’t imagine he’d have to. Usually, she was the one running after him, not the other way around. Although she did keep moaning about being ruined, afterwards.”

  “Yikes,” I said, although my mind was, regrettably, tangled up elsewhere. “When you say you knew him, do you mean…?”

  Yvonne grinned. “Hell, yeah.”

  “You were… um… intimate?”

  “Sugar,” Yvonne said confidingly, “were we ever.”

  “Wow,” I said. “So… there was no persuading necessary? For you?”

  She put her head back and laughed, red curls bouncing. “Are you kidding?” A couple of the other customers turned to look at her, curiously. Yvonne didn’t seem to notice. “I wasn’t about to say no to him, sugar. Although Elspeth was different. She didn’t sleep around. I never saw her so much as look at anybody else.” She fixed me with a stare. “You sure you’re not wanting him for yourself?”

  “Positive,” I said. “So when he slept with Elspeth – that was after you and he slept together, right? – didn’t it bother you that he was with somebody else?”

  She smiled, and it was a particularly patient smile, the sort of smile one gives a slow but well-intentioned student who just doesn’t get it. “It wasn’t like that. It was just sex. Something to do one night when nothing else was happening. He never suggested it again, and then there was the whole thing with Elspeth, and then summer vacation, and then he went to jail. I ain’t seen him since. How’s he looking these days?”

  “Good,” I said, and then caught myself. “I mean… healthy, you know?”

  Yvonne nodded. “You used’ta date Todd Satterfield, right?”

  I nodded.

  She didn’t say anything else about it. “I guess I’d better go get your salad. Unless you got something more you wanna ask?”

  I shook my head. “I think that’s it. Although if you remember anything else, or hear anything, would you mind getting in touch with me?” I handed her my business card. She squinted at it.

  “Realtor, huh? I always figured you’d end up marrying Todd and driving a station wagon with three kids in the back. But good for you, sugar.” She stuffed the card into her apron pocket, where I hoped it wouldn’t get lost among the credit card slips and tips, and wandered off.

  * * *

  When the phone rang shortly after I arrived home, and Tamara Grimaldi’s number appeared on the display, I accepted the inevitable with nary a grimace. “Hi, Detective. I was just thinking about you.”

  “You don’t say? Do you have a minute?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I muttered, and added, more loudly, “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  I could hear the shuffling of papers in the background. “I just received the results of the physical evidence from the Fortunato residence.”

  “Anything surprising?” I asked, my voice reasonably level.

  “Actually, yes. Your fingerprints are all over the place, of course – we took them back when Mrs. Puckett was murdered, so they’re in our files – and so are Mr. Collier’s.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything different,” I said. “He was there, he helped me clo
se up, and he wasn’t wearing gloves, so it’s not surprising he should have left prints.”

  “Of course.” The detective’s voice was smooth. “The DNA in the bedroom is the most interesting, however.”

  Oh, Lord! My heart stuttered for a second, or maybe it just felt that way. Maybe it was indigestion. “How so?”

  Tamara Grimaldi hesitated. “We found traces of semen on the carpet in the master bedroom. It didn’t match Mr. Fortunato’s. Would you happen to remember anything about a young man by the name of Hodges, who visited your open house?”

  I blinked. “Gary Lee? Of course. He and his wife are clients of mine. Why?”

  The detective’s voice was studiously unemotional. “The sample matched his DNA.”

  “You found Gary Lee’s semen in Connie Fortunato’s bedroom? But...”

  And then the brick dropped, as I recalled the giggling and whispering behind closed doors, and Charlene’s misbuttoned blouse and their search for the most mind-blowing bedroom in Nashville. I had to resist the temptation to thunk my head against the kitchen counter. The bump that would result, wouldn’t be worth it. “Oh, God!”

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just damning myself for a fool. Again.”

  “So you can explain the semen?”

  “I can try,” I said, with a wholly unladylike giggle, “although you may want to give them a call yourself, and talk to them about it. They’d be more likely to come clean with you than with me, I think. But for what it’s worth, here’s what I think has been going on: I’ve spent the past week showing them houses, and I think they’ve been having sex in all the bedrooms.”

  The detective was silent for a beat or two. “I see,” she said. “Why would they do that?”

  “No idea. They’re newlyweds, so maybe they just can’t keep their hands off each other. Newlyweds do that, I hear. Or maybe they read about it somewhere and decided to give it a try. Like people having sex in airplane lavatories and elevators and dressing rooms. Or maybe there’s an internet chat-room for maniacs who lead their realtors on in order to have sex in other people’s houses.” As I was speaking, my initial amusement was giving way to annoyance.