“You don’t seriously suspect these ladies in the book club, do you?” he asked.
“Of killing her?” I weighed that. “Probably not. But these women were Shelby’s closest friends. A book club whose members have ties that go back generations? These women know all each other’s secrets. I need to infiltrate the group. See what I can find out.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “I guess that makes sense. It’s an efficient way to gather information.”
“The problem is there are no good suspects. We have to eliminate them all one by one.”
“I see your point, but some are more likely than others. Maybe we should prioritize.”
“We can rule out random violence,” I said. “Since we know what happened, and we have a finite list of suspects, it’s a matter of figuring out which of those suspects had motive, means, and opportunity.”
“No, this definitely wasn’t random,” said Colleen.
Nate and I both stared at her.
“What?” she said. “I’m picking up this stuff from you guys. If the Guardian Spirit thing doesn’t work out, I can be a detective.” Her laugh, a bray-snort racket that I maintained sounded like a donkey cross-bred with a pig, filled the room.
I rolled my eyes and tossed Nate Shelby’s address book. Then I moved to the whiteboard and picked up a marker. “We need a list of possibilities. The way I see it, the most likely scenario is Shelby was having an affair, and her lover killed her either in a crime of passion or to keep the affair secret.” Below and to the left of Shelby’s photo, I started our list with “Unknown lover” in the suspect column and beside it made motive columns, “Crime of Passion” and “To Keep a Secret.”
“At present, the candidates for lover are Charles Kinloch and Sonny,” said Nate.
I cringed, but wrote the two names under “Unknown Lover.”
“Jealousy would be a related motive,” I said. “It could’ve been a wannabe lover, or maybe a different kind of jealousy.”
“You mean like one of her friends was jealous that she…what…was beautiful, wealthy, popular, president of the book club?” Nate’s face contorted with high skepticism.
I said, “I doubt that scenario would’ve been a premeditated murder, but it’s possible jealousy led to an argument that ended up with Shelby in the courtyard.”
“I guess if road rage is a thing, book club rage makes just as much sense,” said Nate.
“So much more sense,” said Colleen. “You have no idea how mean girls can be to each other. Women, I mean.”
I swallowed a hot bundle of regret I carried for not standing up better for Colleen in high school. She’d gone through an awkward stage. If I’d been a better friend, she might not have gotten desperate enough to take her own life. “Colleen’s right.”
“You ladies understand the species much better than I ever will,” said Nate. “But could a woman have pushed Shelby with sufficient force to send her over a waist-high railing at the velocity the coroner stipulates?”
“If she was mad enough?” I said. “I think so. Another possible motive for the book club women would be to maintain the status quo—anger, for shorthand. Shelby was open to changes many of them didn’t want.” I added it to our board.
Nate said, “Also in the jealousy column, it could’ve been the spouse of someone who pined for Shelby.”
“Good point,” I said. “That would be the Jane Kinloch column.”
“Or what if Sonny had a jealous girlfriend?” said Colleen.
I lifted a shoulder. I was still feeling tender towards Colleen. “It’s a long shot, but possible.”
Nate said, “My opinion, after hearing what Clint told you, the most likely scenario is Shelby got in the middle of a domestic violence situation and the husband of one of the women in the shelter came looking for Shelby.”
I wrote “Angry Shelter Husband” in the suspect column and “Revenge” and “Prevent intervention” in the motive columns. “I think we have to check into it, but Clint was adamant Shelby wouldn’t’ve let anyone connected to the shelter in the house.”
“You mentioned that,” said Nate. “But you and I both know people do things you don’t expect them to all the time.”
“Agreed. We have to run it down. Did you sign up to volunteer again tomorrow at the shelter?”
“Yes, and Friday. I’m also having a late lunch with some of the other volunteers tomorrow.”
“Would you see what the folks at One80Place know about this Sonya and her daughter Kelly?”
“Sure thing,” Nate said. “So, working from the people closest to her out, the people we know Shelby would’ve let in the door, but who have no known motive to kill her, are her parents, her brother or his wife…”
We batted names back and forth. Nate flipped through Shelby’s address book and I listed her remaining friends and family on the board.
“I see the roommate—Lark Littleton,” said Nate. “If this is current, she’s in San Francisco. But there are a few females I can’t place. They could be college friends, local, or from anywhere Shelby’s been her whole life.”
I sighed. “I need to go through that with her mother. I’d hoped we could leave Shelby’s parents in peace. I’ll put them on my priority list.”
When we thought we had everyone on the case board, I stepped back to review.
Suspect Motives
Unknown Lover Crime of passion/Keep a secret
Charles Kinloch
Sonny Ravenel
Unknown Wannabe LoverJealousy
Spouse of Lover/WannabeJealousy
Jane Kinloch
Girlfriend of Sonny’s
Girlfriend of Unsub
Book Club MemberJealousy/Anger
Delta Tisdale
Mary Bernard
Mariel Camp
Anne Spence
Erin Guidici
Liz Bell
Evelyn Izard
Nine other members
Angry Shelter Husband Revenge/Prevent interference
Williams or Tallulah Poinsett
Thomas or Deirdre Poinsett
Cliff or Lisa Gerhardt
Bill or Brenda Gerhardt
Fraser or Constance Rutledge
Members of St. Michael’s Church
Clint’s army buddies
Evelyn or Edward Izard (Neighbors)
Nick or Margaret Venning (Neighbors)
Board, staff, volunteers, clients at One80Place
Resident of Tent City
Board, staff, members of Charleston Library Society
Board, staff of Charleston Animal Society
Lark Littleton
Other college friends
Anyone unaccounted for in address book
“Damnation,” I said. “That’s crazy. I say we work the most unlikely ones first and eliminate them. Looking at that long list is making me itch. We need to erase some names fast.”
“Try not to look at it too much. I think we have to start with the most likely scenarios,” said Nate.
“You’re right,” I said. “It just looks so overwhelming.”
“Most of these people we’ll never even have to talk to,” said Nate. “How about this? You work from the inside out—the people closest to her—and I’ll start at the outer edges, with the long shots and the folks associated with the shelter.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“Who’s Unsub?” asked Colleen.
“What, you don’t watch Law & Order and whatnot?” asked Nate.
“It means ‘unknown subject,’” I said. “It’s shorthand. The board’s getting crowded. I didn’t list out Clint’s army buddies and their wives either, but I have their names and contact info.”
Nate said, “I’d say those are outliers. I’ll take
them. But…someone is notably missing.”
I glanced at Colleen. “My instincts tell me Clint is innocent.”
Nate grimaced. “I’m as big a fan of your instincts as Colleen here. But I’d prefer to have something a bit more concrete before we rule him out completely.”
“Fair enough.” I added Clint’s name with “Jealousy,” “Money,” and “Freedom” as possible motives. “From a purely clinical standpoint, if Clint killed her, and I don’t for a single moment believe he did, his motive could’ve been to be free of Shelby but keep her money. If he divorced her—no. Nate, her trust, the one her parents set up for her? He told me it was redone when they were married. He jointly owns it. In that case, if they divorced, he’d get half. Right?”
“That likely depends on the way the trust was set up,” Nate said. “That’s a question for whoever modified it. Or her parents could tell you. But what if he wanted it all?”
I shook my head. “I think we’re wasting time on Clint.”
“We need to keep him on the list until we can cross him off.” His expression changed. He stared into space for a moment. “Upon further reflection, our job—what we were hired to do—is to find alternate theories of the crime.”
I flinched. “I’m well aware of who’s paying our bill and what he wants. But I will always see Shelby as the client. I want justice for her no matter what. But if looking at it that way makes you okay with crossing Clint off our list, then let’s go with that.”
“As you wish,” said Nate. “But I don’t like it. That’s the one bad thing about working with attorneys. You’re not necessarily hired to find the truth.”
I erased Clint and all his possible motives.
“What if it was an accident?” asked Colleen.
“That’s just not possible,” I said. “Her injuries are inconsistent with an accidental fall.”
Colleen persisted. “But what if someone was arguing with her and in the heat of the argument, they backed her up against the rail and she tripped?”
I pointed to “Anger.” “Then whoever that was can tell it to the judge, but they’re still responsible to some degree for Shelby’s death.”
“Gotta go,” said Colleen. She faded out.
“What does she need to do at…” I looked at my watch. “Nine fifteen at night?”
Nate’s expression said, You can’t seriously be asking me that. “We need to talk about money. Shelby had a lot of it.”
“That is one of the more common motives for dispatching someone to the hereafter,” I said. “But Clint was very clear that he was the only one who benefitted financially from her death.”
Nate rolled his lips inward, tilted his head, raised an eyebrow. He wanted Clint’s name on that board, no doubt. “Well, all right, then.”
“All right then. Our plan of attack is this: I’m chasing down the uncorroborated affair with improbable or unknown subjects, and you’re looking for Sonya’s husband, sussing out if anyone at the shelter had a motive, and clearing some of the improbable names off our board.”
“Looks like,” said Nate.
We both stared at the board for a few moments gathering our thoughts.
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “Paul Baker. Something’s not right there.”
“What do you mean?” said Nate.
“We know him by reputation, right?”
“Right.”
“But he’s always had a good reputation. Why all of a sudden is he taking ridiculous trips to London and spending four months spinning his wheels?”
Nate was quiet for a moment. “You’re thinking someone paid him to find nothing. He took Fraser’s money and someone else’s as well.”
“All I’m doing right now is wondering.”
“Fair enough. Maybe we should investigate the investigator.”
“This feels like a lead,” I said. “Everything on this board, it’s the result of starting from nothing and puzzling out possibilities. But this feels like a thread we can pull. Maybe Paul Baker can be persuaded or tricked into pointing us in the right direction. I think I’ll talk to him after the book club meeting tomorrow.”
“And I think we’ve done enough for tonight. We were up ’til the wee hours last night going through those files. What say we turn in early?” His eyes told me exactly what was on his mind, and it wasn’t sleep. He stood, set his wineglass on the coffee table, and walked towards me with intentions.
“I need to type up my interview notes while they’re fresh. So do you.”
He was standing in front of me. He touched my face, his eyes claiming mine. For a long moment, we stood drinking each other in. “That’ll keep ’til tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed me so sweet, I lost all inclination to press my case.
Rain hammered the roof. Wind tore at the windows. I sat up in bed. What time was it? The room was dark. No glowing numbers on the alarm clock.
“We have to go.” Nate, fully dressed and wearing his raincoat, strode towards the bedroom door.
“What do you mean?”
“The storm changed path. All the forecasts were wrong. It’s gaining strength. Nearly a hundred and sixty mile-an-hour winds now. Category Five. This island will be underwater in a few hours. Storm’s gonna make landfall at high tide. I’ll get the kids. Get dressed and meet me downstairs. Hurry.”
“Kids?”
“Hurry, Liz.”
I threw on jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a jacket.
I dashed to the bottom of the stairs.
Nate waited with two children I’d never seen before. A boy maybe five, a girl about three.
“Nate…”
“Let’s go.”
He opened the door, picked up both children, and dashed for the car.
I followed him into the jowls of a great howling monster of a storm, the likes of which I’d never seen. Trees were down, others bending near to breaking in the wind. I could barely walk against it. Rain pummeled us.
“Get in.” Nate yelled over the wind. He put one child down to pry a back door open.
I tugged at the passenger door. When I got it open a crack, the wind caught it and flung it all the way open so hard I thought for a second it had blown off.
Nate was in the driver’s seat, his door closed. “Can you get it?”
“I think so.” I climbed out and pulled it with me as I climbed back in.
As soon as the door was shut, Nate hit the gas. The car flew out the driveway. Nate dodged downed trees and branches.
“Rhett!” I screamed. “Where’s Rhett?”
Nate cast me an astonished look. “You’re not good and awake yet.”
I turned to the children in the backseat who couldn’t possibly be mine, no matter how groggy I was. I wasn’t able to have children.
Their bright eyes were round with fright, but they were silent.
“You must be right,” I said.
Nate turned right on Ocean Boulevard and drove hell-bent around the north point of the island.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The ferry went down in the channel. It was overloaded. Everyone’s trying to get off the island. We’re going to have to take our boat.”
“We have a boat?”
Nate kept his eyes on the road. We plowed through debris in the road, and more of it flying at the car.
A lawn chair hit the windshield.
Instinctively, I held up my arms.
Nate drove on.
We pulled into the marina parking lot. It was so crowded with cars I couldn’t even see the docks.
Hundreds of people were fighting against the wind to reach boats.
“Where did all these people come from?” I asked.
“Can you take Emma Rae?”
The girl was named for my grandmother—for Gram.
I nodded, tears in my eyes. I had no idea who this child was.
I somehow managed to get out of the car, open the door, and gather her in my arms. Nate appeared at my side with the little boy without a name. “Link your arm through mine.”
I did as he said, then clutched Emma Rae to me. We moved forward, locked together against the storm.
After what felt like hours, we made it to what I supposed was our boat slip. We boarded a thirty-foot cabin cruiser. The wind and the waves pounded and tore at us. The boat bobbed, slammed against the dock.
Nate said, “Take the kids below. I’ll get us underway.” He sat the boy on the deck and the boy wrapped his arms around my legs.
Then people I’ve never seen before started pouring onto the boat.
On all sides, every boat I could see was being rushed by throngs of people.
“The boat will sink,” Nate hollered. “It can’t hold all of us.”
A wall of water surged over the deck and we started to sink.
Then Nate was gone.
Had he washed overboard?
The children screamed.
“Nate!” I howled. “Nate!”
“Slugger. What is it?”
I was sitting in our bed, Nate beside me. I gulped in great lungfuls of air, clutched at him.
“You must’ve had a doozy of a dream,” Nate said gently. “Are you awake now?”
“I know. I know.”
“What, sweetheart?”
“I know why she’s here.”
“Who?”
“Colleen. I know why she’s here. It’s nothing to do with the environment. It never has been. There’s no bridge. How will we all get off the island in a storm if there are too many of us?”
SEVEN
Thursday morning came early. I hadn’t slept well at all after the nightmare woke me. I was quiet during our run. Nate waited patiently for me to be ready to talk about it. Normally this time of year I’d grab a quick swim. But I was shaken in a way I’ve seldom been. I looked at the ocean with suspicion, reluctant to get in. I’d always loved the water. As a child I fantasized about being a mermaid.
I wanted to dismiss the dream as simply a garden-variety nightmare. But the truth was, all my life I’d had dreams that foreshadowed the future. Not all of them, of course. But I’d learned to tell the difference. This was one of those dreams. It meant something. I needed to talk to Colleen.
LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB Page 8