by Nancy Grace
Hailey parked beside Billings and hopped out of her car, locking it instantly with her keychain remote. “This place is pretty swanky, huh? I looked it up at a red light. It says it’s the oldest golf club in the country. 1894. Could that even be true? It says the golf course was actually built along old Confederate war fortifications.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, Hailey. But I don’t think you came here for the historical value. So what’s up?”
“Well, you know Judge Bill Regard was having an affair with Eleanor Odom. You saw the autopsy report, right?”
“I saw it.” His smile faded.
“She died of a severe reaction to a pretty serious nut allergy, and I’ll bet your bottom dollar it came from that coffee cup, the one with her lipstick on it. She was fine when she walked in . . . she hadn’t eaten a bite, she got a cup of coffee, and then, boom . . . she’s dead.”
“Yes, I recall you gave me that scenario over the lost-and-found bin at the courthouse.”
“Well . . . in case she didn’t accidentally poison herself . . . then who did?” Hailey’s question dripped with sarcasm, and it wasn’t wasted.
“I know. I’ve already been working it. The state crime lab got me a rush on the cup . . . it was simple coffee . . . with a large helping of almond milk.”
“I knew it! So either Elle accidentally used almond milk versus regular milk at the coffee bar, or somebody switched the canisters or somehow doctored her coffee itself. Or they could have simply added almond milk to the milk sitting out at the coffee bar. But it’s too late to test those, right? They were probably cleaned out by the time we figured out the real cause of death wasn’t a heart attack or stroke.”
“Exactly.”
“What about cameras in the cafeteria? Any trained on the cash register?” Hailey stopped mid-stride.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but I can find out right now.” Billings pulled his shoulder radio out and radioed to the courthouse, asking a bailiff to check the cafeteria. “So what does the courthouse cafeteria have to do with a tennis tournament at the Savannah Country Club?”
“Well, if the rumors of Elle’s affair with the judge are true, I wanted to see Mrs. Regard . . . in action. She’s playing today. I got it from the horse’s mouth.”
“You talked to her?”
“Nope. I heard it from the judge.”
“Her husband? Bill Regard? I’d call him more of a jackass than a horse. You talked to him?”
“I didn’t talk to him . . . Eunah Mabry did and I heard every word.”
“Hmm. I’m not even gonna ask how you managed to overhear that. And if any laws were broken in order for you to eavesdrop . . . I don’t even want to know about it.”
“Don’t worry! No laws were broken . . . that I know of.”
Billings shot her a look just as the two rounded the corner of a huge stucco building with a pinkish-red tiled roof. They’d headed toward the sounds of tennis balls and they were right. Laid out beautifully in front of them were at least a dozen USTA tennis courts, seven Fast-Dry clay courts, and four Novacushion hard courts. Benches surrounded the courts, and for the tournament today, low bleachers had been erected.
The two blended in as best as they could. Climbing up to the back row, they actually managed to wedge in behind a group of female tennis players in tennis skirts and visors. At first, Hailey thought their constant chatter would be distracting in her search for Mrs. Victoria Regard, but it only took a matter of minutes to realize their play-by-play covered more than an analysis of the tennis game in front of them.
On the court nearest them, four women gathered at the net. They quickly dispersed, and as the shortest of the four turned to the baseline to serve, Hailey immediately recognized Victoria Regard. She was slim and muscled. Her dark hair swung when she moved. Her makeup was perfect, even in the morning heat at a tennis match, and her tennis outfit was coordinated, bearing a Nike logo on every spot possible. Facing the stands, she flashed a perfectly even, bright white smile at the crowd.
“I saw Vickie managed to drag Bill here today,” one of the women, a brunette with her long, silky hair pulled back in a severe ponytail flipping out the back of her visor, commented. The sound of the tennis ball being slammed by Regard’s racket punctured the air. “Nice serve.”
“Seriously? He’s here? He managed to get away from all that work at the courthouse?” a blonde whose hair was bleached almost white answered, sarcasm dripping nastily from her words.
“Yes . . . all that work is just piling up . . . if you know what I mean. It takes lots of late hours working to attend to it all . . .” All four of them started laughing at the inside joke.
“Hey. Didn’t you guys read the paper? There’s one less . . . let me say . . . legal problem the judge has to worry about . . . she’s dead!” The blonde on the end couldn’t wait to share the news.
The tennis match was heating up. It seemed like Victoria Regard and her doubles partner were winning. Hailey was straining to hear the rest of the conversation in front of her while appearing to be intent on the match, but the four women were so oblivious to everything but themselves, Hailey needn’t bother acting.
“What?” the other three exclaimed almost in perfect unison. “Dead?”
“As a doornail!”
Hailey had to suppress a grimace as the four ghouls in front of her nonchalantly laughed off Eleanor Odom’s death. But that certainly didn’t stop her from eavesdropping a second time that day. Her ears were practically aching she was straining so hard to hear over the crowd in the stands.
“What happened?” Ponytail asked first.
“I think she had a stroke or an asthma attack or something like that. I don’t really know. It happened at the courthouse. But I do know one thing, it’s a good thing the girl had an asthma attack . . . or whatever she had . . . because Vickie would have killed her!”
“I believe it! Nothing is going to get in between Victoria Regard and the governor’s mansion, and I mean nothing. And certainly not some little secretary at the courthouse. No way.”
“You know her parents were dead set against the marriage and she’s going to prove them wrong come hell or high water.”
“Oh, I heard the two of them have it out last Saturday,” Ponytail piped up again.
“What happened?” the short one with curly brown hair on the end asked. A ripple of applause went through the crowd and Hailey glanced up to see the other side had won a point. Victoria Regard didn’t look quite as cool, calm, and collected as she had at the beginning of the match.
“They were out on the patio . . . you know the one outside for casual dining, it looks out over the big pool?”
“That one looks out over the kiddie pool.”
“Right . . . the kiddie pool one. Well, anyway, whatever pool, they were out on the patio and she was letting him have it about being embarrassed he chases every skirt that walks by and if he didn’t end it pronto, she’d blow it all to the Savannah Morning News and divorce him to boot.” Ponytail spoke so rapidly and with such enthusiasm about Victoria Regard’s potential divorce, she actually sprayed spit on the tanned leg of the woman next to her. But it didn’t stop her.
“As if she’d ever divorce him. Fat chance with the primaries coming up. This is her ticket and she’s going for the ride.” They all nodded in unison, not wanting to derail the gossip train with interruptions.
“So she cursed him out and he acted sorry, but he never really admitted to anything. Said he loved her and blah, blah, blah, you know the drill . . . things would be different and he wanted to start over . . . you know, the same things they all say.”
“So, she knew about it the whole time? She never let on a thing and I play bridge with her in the ladies’ lounge every Thursday! She didn’t even tell me!” Mousy Brown actually acted hurt.
“Knew about it? She’s known about them all!”
Hailey and Billings gave each other a meaningful look. They obviously both thought the same thing.
Knew about them all? The implications were countless. But just then, a loud crack came from the court and all eyes were back on the match. Victoria Regard had just thrown her racket onto the court in anger. The match was over. She lost.
Without bothering to get her racket or speak to the other players, she abruptly turned and flounced off the court in a show of bad sportsmanship.
Hailey watched as Vickie Regard stalked out of the tournament area. Bill Regard appeared from somewhere in the stands and followed behind her for a few moments until she turned. Even at a distance, Hailey could tell his wife rounded on him and said something. Regard immediately took a right turn toward the parking lot and let her go off on her own.
Trouble in paradise. To put it mildly.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Well, that was some tennis match!”
Hailey and Chase Billings sat through the next match, but the Chatty Cathys sitting in front of them disbanded. Two went to play in the following match and the other two wandered off together, headed toward the bar.
Hailey and Billings didn’t say a word about what they’d seen and heard until they slammed the door shut to Billings’s squad car. “That’s an understatement!” Billings responded, cranking up the ignition.
The two made their way out of the jam-packed country club parking lot and past the gatehouse. “So, the Jackie O look-alike wife has political ambitions . . . for her husband, anyway.” The squad car was baking. Billings rolled down his window.
“And I’m afraid Elle Odom could’ve just been a speed bump along the way.” Hailey did the same as Billings, rolling down the window to let the breeze fill the cruiser.
“Hey, Chase, let’s go check out the courthouse cafeteria. I just want to figure out the logistics of entries, exits, where the coffee bar is situated . . . you know . . . the general lay of the land.”
“Wow. That’s a major development.” Billings didn’t look away from the two-lane in front of him as he talked.
“Are you kidding? Wait . . . is that sarcasm? You don’t think Elle was poisoned? You think it was what . . . an accident? Almond milk was accidentally put in the milk container at the coffee bar? Or do you think a direct dose into her coffee cup is logistically impossible?”
Billings turned to look at her across the front seat and smiled. “No . . . I wasn’t talking about Eleanor Odom.”
“Then who were you talking about?” Hailey looked at him, confused.
“You.” His eyes went back to the road. “I was talking about you, Hailey Dean.”
“Me? What major development has to do with me?”
“You called me Chase.”
“Yeah . . . and? I don’t get it . . .”
“I don’t know . . . I think it’s pretty major. That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my first name.”
For one of the few times in her life, Hailey searched for words. None came. It was too simplistic to say she was a little embarrassed. It was more than that. She’d let her guard down. And it was completely unintentional.
This guy, this . . . Chase Billings . . . was like a friend, someone who got her . . . someone who knew her history, understood where she was coming from, and didn’t want her to be anything more . . . or different . . . than what she was. Plus, he was funny, smart, a consummate lawman. He knew sports, fishing, cars, and every dirt road and farmhouse in Habersham County in the Georgia mountains and the very beginning of the Appalachian Trail straight down to Glynn at the shore. And he wasn’t afraid of a Broadway play or, more important, her win record in court.
But out of the blue, he saved her. “Hey, I know it’s no big deal, but it was to me. I don’t mind if you do it again someday.”
He was met with silence, and Hailey looked out the window instead of at him. “You know, you said you were going for a jog earlier. I’ve got a change of clothes and I need to get my blood pumping. Let’s see if I can outrun Hailey Dean. How about, uh . . . wanna go to Forsyth Park and see the fountain? How about the Waving Girl down by the water?”
“Isn’t the Waving Girl a little sad? Isn’t she waving good-bye to her dad or her brother or her sweetheart . . . something like that?”
“I always thought she was waving hello.” Billings took his eyes briefly off the road and looked at Hailey. In that moment, they locked eyes and something, she wasn’t sure what exactly, clicked inside her, almost like a key turning a lock. She could practically hear it.
“I’m pretty sure she’s waving hello, Hailey.”
“Yes . . . let’s go there, then.” The moment had passed, fleeting as it was, but the feeling did not.
The water on the river rippled in the morning breeze as they set off on foot, jogging along a brick path winding along beside the dark water. The waterfront still seemed sleepy, the Friday night revelers still in bed.
The party crew might still be asleep, but River Street vendors were wide-awake. The minute Hailey got out of the car, she was hit by the smells of Cajun food, caramel pralines cooking, and funnel cakes frying. Larger-than-life tall ships glided by on sun-dappled ripples.
Then Hailey spotted her, the Waving Girl, her arms held up in the breeze, waving a bittersweet message with her kerchief at the towering ships passing. Hailey paused to look at the young girl, her face to the horizon, and a deep sadness washed over her. A sense of longing, of loss, of yearning for something she couldn’t name filled her chest.
Billings jogged up behind her and stopped as well. Intuitively, he remained silent beside her.
“She’s lovely, right?” Hailey broke the silence.
“She is,” he responded simply.
“Who is she exactly? Do they know?”
“Oh, yes. She’s a celebrity of sorts, around here anyway. She’s Florence. Florence Martus. She was a sergeant’s daughter, used to live in a cottage with her brother at the harbor entrance, but then he got lighthouse duty over at Elba Island. It’s pretty remote. She started waving at every single boat with a handkerchief, a tablecloth, whatever she could find . . . she was fascinated with the ships . . . at night she’d wave a lantern. She did it for over forty years. The story is, she fell in love with a sailor who never came back.”
“What ever became of her?”
“I guess she kept waiting . . . but in the end . . . she died alone. They buried her over at Laurel Grove Cemetery, next to her brother, I think.”
A girl who waited her life away. The story tugged at her heart and even though she’d never met the girl who was now buried not too far away from where they stood, tears sprang into Hailey’s eyes. She had no idea why. Turning away, she called over her shoulder, “Where to?”
“Straight ahead and around the curve.” Billings took off jogging.
They headed up River Street and then beyond. After about forty minutes, they turned and walked back, laughing, commenting on the sights and sounds as the clock ticked on. There was no more mention of Florence, the Waving Girl.
“I’m starved. Do you like creole . . . Cajun?”
“I love it! I love to make a big pot of crawfish etouffee, but it takes me so long! So I hardly ever do it.” Hailey was smiling again. The run had done her good. The Waving Girl, the home on Victory Drive, Elle’s suspicious death . . . it all went to the edges of her mind, and instead the day was about the sunshine, the river, and all things light and bright.
Hailey followed Billings as he climbed a wooden flight of stairs up the side of a building. “Hey, you sure you know where you’re going? Is this a fire escape?”
“Ha! It is not a fire escape. Tip-off—it’s made of wood, number one. And number two, yes, I think I know where I’m going.” He opened a door for her, stood aside, and gestured her in.
The moment she walked in, Hailey agreed with him—it smelled incredible! “It smells just like the street food on Jackson Square . . . in New Orleans! Or Galatoire’s!”
“Wait a minute. You’ve been to Galatoire’s? That’s my favorite.”
“Me, too. It’s old, but a
wesome. Have you ever had the turtle soup? More sherry than turtle, huh? I love it.” They both started laughing and settled into a booth looking out onto the water.
They sat, eating crawfish etouffee, fried crawfish, and gumbo, telling courtroom war stories and laughing. She couldn’t remember a time she’d laughed more than she did that afternoon. They sat down at two o’clock and the clock ticked on unnoticed.
It was finally almost six when the waiter politely edged the check on the table and Hailey noticed the crew was changing to prep for dinnertime.
“What time is it?” She scanned the room for a clock.
“Believe it or not, it’s almost six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock? I can’t believe it! I must have been under the influence of crawfish pie! What about the courthouse?”
“You don’t have to go. Remember, I radioed back to the courthouse. They emailed me back. I got your answers right here.” He patted his iPhone, which was facedown on the table.
“Well, what does it say?”
“Pretty much what we thought. The cafeteria has two public entrances. One’s the ramp you said Eleanor Odom came down along with jury members. The other is directly across the cafeteria. It takes you on kind of a winding route out toward the street on the other side of the courthouse.”
“You said public entrances.”
“Good catch. There are two employee-only entrances. One is from a courthouse service elevator. Need a key card for that one because it leads through all the food stores, freezers, machinery. There’s also an entrance into that same kitchen area from the hallway, but it takes a key card too.”
“Hmm. So two public, two employee. Someone could enter a public entrance or if the perp’s an employee, they have a key card. Although somebody could always scoot in behind an employee with a key card. What about the coffee bar?”
“Well, it’s portable. They can roll it around. It gets stocked every morning. The cabinets underneath it include mini-refrigerators. That’s where all the milk for coffee is stored. Creamer, soy milk, skim, whole, 2 percent, cashew milk, and almond milk. So there you have it.”