1 Lowcountry Boil

by Susan M. Boyer

  I was standing at the top of the stairs, one foot halfway to the first step, when Colleen appeared, perched on the banister. She was dressed for spring in a calf-length, yellow polka-dot dress that buttoned down the front. Startled by both her sudden appearance and the dress itself, I nearly fell down the steps. I grabbed the rail to steady myself.

  “It looks like the one I had junior year, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “Remarkably.”

  “That’s the great thing about being dead. You can wear whatever you want by just thinking about it.”

  “Think about something different.”

  Her face clouded. “I like this dress.”

  The dress had looked much different on Colleen when she was alive. The buttons had pulled across her ample chest and stomach. “Stuffed sausage,” Mackie Sullivan and his friends had called her. Teenagers were no less cruel in Stella Maris than anywhere else. Colleen had gone through an awkward stage starting at twelve and lasting until her death in the violent currents of Breach Inlet. She was my best friend, and the memory of the taunts, teasing, and pranks she’d suffered came flying back at the sight of that yellow dress.

  As a ghost, Colleen was svelte, her skin unblemished and radiant. “Deanna’s in trouble,” she said.

  “Deanna? First Merry, now Deanna?”

  “Stop by the hardware store.”

  “I’ve got to go to Charleston this morning—”

  “Please.”

  I glanced at my watch. I had plenty of time. I’d planned on dropping by to see Deanna before the day was over anyway, just to say hi. Besides, Adam Devlin would be at the hardware store, too. He was on my list. “All right,” I said. “But change your dress.”

  The hardware store had been in Deanna’s family since her great-grandfather first opened the doors back in 1903. It had been modernized over the years, but still had the look of an old-fashioned, small-town hardware store: wood floors, neat rows of tall shelves, and an eclectic mix of merchandise. Deanna had kept the books for Island Hardware ever since she and Adam were married, when her daddy started training Adam to take over for him.

  An electronic door chime announced my entrance. Deanna was busy behind the counter, preparing for the day’s business. Petite, with shoulder-length, honey-colored hair, Deanna didn’t favor Colleen at all, but she was her sister, and connected to all my Colleen memories. Well, the ones from before she died, anyway.

  Deanna’s face lit up when she saw me. “Liz, I heard you were home.” She rushed around the counter for a hug. “It’s just been too long. I barely got to speak to you at the funeral—so many people.” She held me at arms-length, but didn’t let go.

  “Hey, Deanna.” My eyes misted over. “It has been too long. But…I’m home to stay.”

  “Ohmygosh. I’m so glad.”

  I looked around, wondering where Adam was. “So…you’re still keeping the books and all?”

  “Yeah, but I prefer the ‘and all’ to the bookkeeping. Today we had a sales clerk call in sick, so I’m out front.” She patted my arm and released me. “I like the decorating department—you know, paint, wallpaper, floor-covering, stuff like that. I thought about going to school for interior design, but, well, there just hasn’t been time.”

  “How’s Adam?”

  Deanna’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s fine.” She glanced down and stepped back to the other side of the counter.

  “And the girls? Isabella must be, what? Six by now?”

  “Seven. She’s almost finished first grade. And Holly’s six.”

  “I can’t believe it. I guess I expected nothing would change while I was gone.”

  Deanna pushed up the sleeves of her lightweight cardigan and pressed a sequence of buttons on the cash register. “Most things are the same. We’re all just a little older.” When I didn’t respond, she looked up and caught me staring at her left arm. It was covered in bruises.

  “What on earth happened to your arm?”

  She pushed the sleeves on her sweater back down and focused on the cash register. “Oh, that’s nothing. I’m so clumsy sometimes. I accidentally slammed it in the car door when I was carrying the groceries in.” Her face bloomed crimson.

  I tried to visualize how that scenario might be possible and came up empty. “Deanna?”

  She wouldn’t look at me. “I’m fine, really.”

  I’ve spoken to too many abused women not to recognize the marks made when a man grips your forearm way too tight and jerks you around. But I also knew if she didn’t want to talk about it, I would only alienate her by pursuing it. “Well,” I said, in a tone as light as I could manage, “if that car ever attacks you again, just remember, I’m trained in martial arts. Also, I carry a gun.”

  Deanna laughed, so I did, too.

  I pulled out a business card and laid it on the counter. “Just in case you ever need my cell phone number. It’s a Greenville area code.”

  “I’ll need this to call you up so we can have lunch, won’t I?”

  I glanced at the floor. A palmetto bug—a roach on steroids—crawled along the edge of the counter. “Eeew.” I made a face. “I haven’t missed those things.”

  Deanna leaned over the counter and looked. “Oh my stars. We have got to call an exterminator. I’d better do it now, while I’m thinking about it. I saw a rat day before yesterday. Adam will have a fit. I’ll just be a minute.” She walked towards the office in the back of the store.

  I followed, pretty sure that was not her intention.

  Deanna glanced over her shoulder and smiled uncertainly. She stepped into the office and slipped behind the desk. For a moment we stood on opposite sides of the desk looking at each other. Her shoulders rose and fell.

  She motioned me into a chair. “Adam didn’t like the folks that did it last time. He said they charged too much, but I can’t remember which company that was.” She flipped through the Rolodex. “That’s odd. There are two exterminators in here.” She held one of the cards, frowned at it, and then flipped it forward, then back. “Bugs-R-Us is the company from Charleston that Adam said was too expensive. This card just says ‘Exterminator,’ and lists a phone number. I guess he found someone he wanted to try.”

  She pressed the speakerphone button and dialed. While we listened to the brrrrrrs, Deanna busied herself straightening the desk.

  “Yeah.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded neither courteous nor professional.

  “Hello,” she said, in a businesslike tone. “Is this the exterminator?”

  “Who’s this?” The male voice was low and hoarse.

  We looked at each other. What were exterminators supposed to sound like?

  “This is Mrs. Adam Devlin, from Island Hardware, here in Stella Maris?”

  “Ah…yeah, Miz Devlin, what can I do for you?” He sounded confused.

  “My husband may have spoken with you before, I’m not sure. But I have a problem here in the hardware store that requires your assistance.”

  “You want to hire me?”

  “Well, yes.” She stiffened. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  He laughed. “No ma’am. None whatsoever.”

  Deanna gave me a can-you-believe-this-guy look. “Did my husband agree with you on a price?”

  “Yeah. We agreed on a price.”

  “Well, I’d like this taken care of as soon as possible. I don’t want to see that rat in this hardware store again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand perfectly.”

  “Whatever normal treatment you use for bugs will be fine.”

  “Huh?”

  Deanna propped her arms on the desk and leaned in towards the phone, enunciating clearly. “Whatever process you normally use to get rid of pests will be fine. Just please
take care of it as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be in touch.”

  She shook her head as she pressed the button to end the call. “It seems like courteous servicemen are a thing of the past. I have a good mind to call up the owner of that company and have a word or two with him about the rudeness of his employee.”

  “That guy answered the phone. He probably works out of his house.” I would have told him never mind about three words into the conversation, but I didn’t tell her that.

  “Well, maybe we’ll wait and see. If he takes care of the bugs and the rat, who cares if he’s nice? Maybe working with vermin makes you cranky.”

  “Deanna.” Adam’s voice startled us. He must have come in the back door, because the chime didn’t ring. He stood in the stockroom doorway, his face creased with anger. Adam was a watered-down version of Michael: not as tall, not as dark, not as handsome. “It’s ten after nine, why aren’t you out front? Anybody could walk right in and steal us blind.”

  Deanna jumped up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I guess the time got away from me. I’m on my way. Look who’s home.”

  He spared me a glance. “Hey, Liz.”

  “Adam.” I didn’t feel like making nice with the jerk. I followed Deanna, but glanced at him over my shoulder.

  He watched Deanna walk out front, step behind the counter, and complete the process of setting up the register as if he didn’t trust her to do it unsupervised. Then he retreated into the back.

  She grimaced. “Sorry about all that.”

  I made a dismissive wave. “All what? He probably just needs more coffee. I know I do.” It galled me to make excuses for the bastard, but I could tell Deanna was embarrassed, and I wanted to put her at ease.

  Her smile was brave, resigned. “It sure is good to have you home. Let’s have lunch soon. We’ll catch up.”

  “I’d like that. You take care of yourself, okay?” I didn’t want to leave her alone with Adam, but I realized how ridiculous that was. She’d been alone with him for years.

  “Mmm-kay.”

  The prudent thing to do would’ve been to go talk to Blake. Maybe he could have kept an eye on things, maybe even talked to Adam about how it was bad form to bruise and bully your wife. Prudence, regrettably, is not one of the virtues I am acquainted with. I decided to gather more information before going to Blake.

  I exited stage left, circled the building, and eased open the back door. I heard a drawer in the office slide open and slam closed. I slipped into the stockroom across the hall.

  The stockroom, back office, and current restrooms were added to the original hardware store back before I was born. The result was a row of windows along the back wall that separated the sales floor from the stockroom. Deanna had hung curtains on the store side to block the view of the stockroom, but from my perch on a paint can, I could see her through the gap. Business was light that morning. Deanna busied herself on the computer terminal at the end of the counter.

  Thirty minutes later when Adam emerged from the back, his disposition had improved. “We got a new wallpaper sample book.” He smiled as he laid it on the counter. “I thought you might like to see it.”

  “Thanks.” She studied him for a moment and then returned the smile.

  “I’ve got some deliveries to make. Probably won’t be back, so I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Deanna stiffened, but her face remained passive.

  “Call one of the part-time clerks to fill in for you if you can’t get your mamma to pick up the girls, okay?” He swatted her behind.

  Deanna winced. “Mmm-kay.”

  Adam walked towards the hall.

  As soon as his back was turned, Deanna’s face transformed, the doormat look gone, replaced by resolve and something else. She watched him leave. I heard the back door open and close. She was still standing there staring after him. I was shocked, but encouraged, by what I saw.

  Deanna was one pissed-off lady.

  FOURTEEN

  By the time I snuck out of the hardware store, I was running late for my doctor’s appointment in Charleston. A friend finagled me a spot on Dr. Lombard’s calendar, which was a miracle on such short notice. I spent the entire trip composing an explanation that would garner sympathy from the police officer who would surely stop me for any one of the twenty-seven traffic violations I committed en route. It must have been a high-crime morning on the peninsula. I didn’t get the ticket I deserved.

  A trip to the gynecologist is right up there with root canals on the fun scale—if you had to undress and put your feet in stirrups for root canals. The ovarian cysts weren’t new, but Dr. Lombard wanted new lab work, and of course the results wouldn’t be in until next week. Same drill, different doctor. I underwent several tests that ratcheted up the humiliation factor to a point where I had a pressing need for a margarita by the time I got out of there.

  Then I passed Marci the Schemer on my way out and it became a straight tequila afternoon. As I came out the door, she turned down the front walk. For a moment, we both paused, like gunfighters on opposite ends of the street in an old western. I fixed her with a double-barreled stare, and she matched it. We both stepped deliberately forward. Just before we passed, her lip curled up in that sardonic grin my hand always itches to slap right off her face.

  I stared her down and walked on by, my posture perfect. Neither of us spoke. What a hellish coincidence, her turning up there.

  I was headed towards Hyman’s Seafood on Meeting Street, thinking an oyster po-boy was the perfect complement to Cuervo Gold, when I remembered I was supposed to meet Grace for lunch. Tequila would have to wait.

  While I waited for the tourists to clear the intersection at the corner of Meeting and Market, I grabbed my iPhone and selected the playlist dubbed “Play Before Loading Gun.” Music blared through the car’s speakers via the Sync system.

  Kenny Chesney. Guitars and Tiki Bars. Deep breaths… in…out.

  When I drove off the ferry onto Stella Maris, Colleen materialized in the passenger seat beside me.

  The doorbells jangled a welcome as I stepped inside The Cracked Pot with Colleen right beside me. Acoustical guitar music played just loud enough to be heard over the clank and bustle of the busy restaurant. Two efficient-looking waitresses hustled among the lunchtime crowd. Moon Unit must have stepped into the back, because no one was at the hostess stand.

  I took the opportunity to get a closer look at her pictures. The back wall was one colossal town-family collage. My gaze slid over the photos, taking in memories. Colleen stopped to stare at a picture of eight ten-year-olds in front of a giant sand sculpture of a turtle. She and I were two of the proud artists.

  “Liz!” Moon Unit appeared and gathered me into an enthusiastic hug. “I have a booth free, or you can sit at the counter. That would give us a better chance to chat.”

  “I’d love to, Moon, but I’m meeting Grace. The booth in the back would be great.” I had the ridiculous urge to hide Colleen, even though I knew no one else could see her.

  Moon Unit looked disappointed, but rallied. “Sure thing.”

  We followed her to the booth in the back of the dining room, and I waited for Colleen to slide into the bench facing the door.

  Moon Unit looked at me oddly, like she was unsure what I was waiting for.

  I settled in beside Colleen, and Moon Unit handed me a menu. “I love this place,” I said. “It is so home.”

  Moon Unit’s smile lit the room. “Well, aren’t you the sweet one? It’s the pictures, mainly, that do it, don’t you think? Those are my treasures. Anytime it looks like we’re going to get hit by a hurricane, I take every last one of them off the wall and pack them up when I leave town. They’re irreplaceable, you know.”

  “There are pictures of everybody who’s ever lived on this island, I bet. Why
Moon, you’re the town historian.”

  She smiled lovingly at the collection on the back wall. “That’s the idea. The whole town pitched a fit when I remodeled this place—folks here don’t care for change, you know. I figured everybody would feel more at home if they saw little pieces of their lives here. So I asked the lot of ’em for pictures. Been adding to it ever since.”

  I glanced at the menu. “Hmm.”

  “Well, bless my soul, here I am, rattling on, and you must be famished from all that excitement last night. Iced tea?”

  “Please.” Much to my great sorrow, they didn’t serve alcohol at The Cracked Pot.

  She whirled off to get my tea and seat another party.

  Sitting in a booth at The Cracked Pot with a ghost was unnerving. I had to glance out the window or down at my lap or discreetly cover my mouth so no one would see me talking to Colleen and conclude I had finally qualified for membership in the Southern Fruitcake Hall of Fame. She, of course, found this highly amusing.

  “Where’d you go this morning?” Colleen asked.

  I admired the flowers in the window box. “Charleston.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I had a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Why?”

  “Here you go.” Moon Unit slid a glass of iced tea in front of me. “I heard all about last night at the council meeting. I woulda liked to a been a fly on that wall. You Talbot girls stirred things up pretty good.”

  Colleen smirked. “Brilliant.”

  Ghosts shouldn’t smirk. I mean, really, what do they have to be smug about? I cut my eyes at her, wondering what she meant by that remark, and then turned to Moon Unit. “Too many people have worked too hard for too long to protect this island. Stella Maris is perfect just like it is. I’m not about to sit still while anybody starts putting up high rises.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted encouraging Moon Unit. It was Colleen’s fault—she distracted me.