LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB

by Susan M. Boyer

  I turned the corner and drove away, pulling off my ball cap and fluffing my hair as I went.

  NINE

  I hurried over to Delta Tisdale’s charming Colonial Revival mansion on Rutledge Avenue overlooking Colonial Lake. While the house was two blocks north of Broad Street, it was nevertheless no doubt worth a million and a half, maybe more. The double semi-circular porticos and grand columns made the large white house appear even larger. I pegged it at somewhere north of five thousand square feet.

  I might’ve been able to snag a parking spot on the street alongside Colonial Lake, except for the ongoing park improvement project. The landscaping, walkways, and the infrastructure of the lake itself, which was tied via underground pipe to the Ashley River, were all being redone. The entire park was a construction site, fenced for the duration with chain-link, the supports for which sat in what would otherwise be parking spaces.

  If things went the way I planned, I would be inside a while. Best not to chance street parking in a residential area without a decal. I made for the closest parking garage at 93 Queen. After I parked, I swapped out my sunglasses and took off my raincoat and left it in the back. It was a short walk back—less than half a mile straight down Queen.

  I loitered on the corner of Queen and Rutledge, faked a phone call for the benefit of child-strollers and dog walkers. I was early on purpose. To say the least, Jane hadn’t been enthusiastic about me joining their book club meeting this afternoon. I wanted to catch her on the way in, before Delta or one of the other ladies had a chance to complain to Jane about the intrusion. These were Southern ladies. I knew my people. They would not be ungracious to my face.

  I’d considered using a pretext, having Jane claim me as a relative or some such thing. The trouble was that Jane was unaccustomed to lying. At least that was my working theory. In this case, the truth would likely work best. I would be a novelty. These ladies had almost assuredly never met a private investigator.

  At eleven forty-five, Jane approached my corner from the same direction I’d come. I ended my imaginary phone call, set Voice Memo to record, and slipped my phone into my inside jacket pocket. I waved to Jane. She waved back, flashed a quick smile.

  “Good morning,” I called, when she was close enough that I didn’t have to shout.

  “Good morning. I started to call you several times. I’m not at all sure about this.” Jane wore a blue and white print skirt and a sweater set. She carried a copy of The Prince of Tides.

  “Did you get pushback?”

  “Not really. I spoke to Delta. We agreed not to mention it to the others. We’re going to introduce you together when everyone gets here. You have to understand. This is highly unusual. None of us know you. Well, I mean, I do, of course. Anyway, it will be easier for both of us if she and I are a united front, so to speak.”

  I grinned. “So we’re going to ambush a group of ladies who lunch.”

  Jane flushed. “I’m really not comfortable ambushing my friends. But Delta and I both feel that given the circumstances, it’s better this way. If we’d told everyone, some of them might’ve stayed home.”

  “You’re right. That was very smart of y’all.” I’d almost asked her to do exactly that, but she’d been so skittish I didn’t want to push my luck. “Do you know if everyone is planning to come? You mentioned something yesterday about not everybody showing up to meetings. That was why someone thought their daughter-in-law could join from the wait list?”

  “Mary Bernard. Yes. That was her logic for bringing Angela McConnell—her daughter-in-law to be—off the waiting list. But I think everyone is coming today. We’ve only met twice since Shelby…We took January and February off. March and April we had perfect attendance.”

  “Shall we go inside?” I asked.

  Jane’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. She squared her shoulders. “We might as well.”

  We crossed Queen Street together and walked up the sidewalk on Rutledge to the wrought iron walk-thru gate. A brick sidewalk led to wide brick steps, which led in turn to the lower portico. Planters at the top of the steps overflowed with large pink blossoms. As we walked up the steps, I noticed that the porch ceiling was painted a soft blue.

  “A haint blue porch.” I smiled at the tradition. Southerners often painted porch ceilings pale blue to ward off evil spirits.

  “You know that doesn’t work.” Colleen materialized on a wrought iron bench on the porch.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” said Jane. “Wait ’til you see the rest of the house. It was originally built in 1903, but a lot of the woodwork was brought here later from Belvedere Plantation when it was dismantled.”

  Jane rang the bell to the right of the double white doors.

  “I don’t know how long I can stay,” said Colleen.

  I’m just glad you’re here. I smiled at her.

  “You say that now.” She grinned.

  Colleen had a habit of messing with me, trying to provoke me into talking to her in front of others. It was her favorite game.

  I need to talk to you later.

  The door swung open. A lovely brunette with porcelain skin, dimples, and bright blue eyes stood on the other side. Her deep rose-colored skirt suit complimented her coloring. “Hey, y’all.”

  “Hey, Delta,” said Jane. “This is Liz Talbot. Liz, this is Delta Tisdale.”

  “So lovely to meet you.” I held out a hand. She didn’t look like a zombie alien Sasquatch nut.

  She took my hand and gave it a ladylike shake. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you too. Come inside. Y’all are the first ones here.”

  We stepped into the foyer. The house truly was gorgeous. If it was elaborate for my taste, I could still appreciate the ornate woodwork, crystal chandeliers, and antiques. We followed Delta into a living room to the left.

  “Please have a seat,” Delta said.

  A sofa faced the fireplace, above which a gilded mirror rose all the way to the ceiling. Fresh-cut flowers in a crystal vase sat in front of the mirror. Wingbacks flanked the fireplace, and a pair of parson’s chairs sat at a right angle to the sofa on each end. Additional chairs, perhaps from the dining room, had been brought in to accommodate the group.

  I chose one of the wingbacks by the fireplace. This would give me a good view of the room and the foyer beyond. Also, I liked having my back to the wall. It creeped me out to think of sitting on that sofa with my back to the door.

  “I appreciate you agreeing to me joining y’all today,” I said to Delta.

  “Well, my goodness,” she said. “When Jane told me you were looking into Shelby’s death, how could I say no? We all loved Shelby. And we know Clint would never have hurt her. The idea is preposterous. I’m just glad someone is working to clear his name. But I confess I am curious how we can help.”

  “You were Shelby’s closest friends. I need to learn as much about her as I can, as fast as I can. And it’s possible one of you knows something that you don’t realize is helpful to the case.”

  “Or maybe one of you pushed her out that door in a jealous rage.” Colleen popped in and perched on the corner of the massive fireplace mantel. Right above my head.

  This will be a big group. I’m going to have a hard time keeping track. Please don’t comment unless you pick up on something I need to know. Please. I’ll buy you as many ham biscuits as you like.

  “You’d take every bit of fun out of this if you could,” said Colleen. “But I would like some ham biscuits. Fine.”

  I smiled at Jane and Delta, who’d sat on the sofa across from me.

  The doorbell rang and Delta popped up and went to answer it.

  Jane smiled a nervous smile and looked out the window.

  We heard Delta make all the same welcoming noises she’d made when we arrived. Then a petite, fifty-ish, blonde woman dressed in a St. John pantsuit entered the room in front of Delta.
She carried a copy of The Prince of Tides.

  Jane and I stood.

  Delta said, “Evelyn Izard, please meet Liz Talbot. She’s a friend of Jane’s. Excuse me. I need to get the door.” Delta slipped back into the foyer, though the doorbell hadn’t rung.

  Jane’s eyes doubled in size. Pique and discombobulation danced across her face. The united front method wasn’t going to work as well in practice as planned. I couldn’t be sure if she was put out with me, Delta, or both of us. She pulled on a welcoming smile, and turned to face Evelyn across the sofa. “Hey, Evelyn. How are you?”

  Evelyn Izard. The runner’s wife. She was Shelby’s neighbor to the right. Her townhouse shared a wall with Clint and Shelby’s. Clint had described Evelyn as a lush.

  “Well, I’m fine, Jane. How are you?” Evelyn’s eyes lighted on me with interest. “Now who did you say this was?”

  “I’m Liz Talbot. So lovely to meet you.”

  Evelyn studied me for a long moment, a small smile on her face. “Are you applying for our waiting list?”

  “Oh, no…” I mentally calculated our age difference and decided against adding “ma’am.”

  Evelyn turned to Jane and lifted her chin, indicating Jane should clarify exactly what I was doing there.

  Jane said, “Delta and I thought we should just explain why Liz is here once, after everyone arrives.”

  “I think that’s best,” I said. “What a lovely outfit, Mrs. Izard. That shade of cream is so flattering to you.”

  “Oh, please. Call me Evelyn. Thank you. I got it on sale at the end of the season. I never pay full price.” She commenced rattling on and on about clothes and sales.

  I smiled, nodded occasionally.

  Evelyn seemed practiced at one-sided conversations.

  The doorbell rang again. Presently, Delta escorted a light brown-haired woman into the room. Her St. John pantsuit was navy, and of a slightly different style.

  Jane waited for Evelyn to take a breath, then introduced Mariel Camp.

  We said our hellos.

  Mariel looked at Jane. “Is she here for the waiting list?” Mariel’s tone announced her concern regarding the wait list.

  Jane assured Mariel I had no interest in joining the book club.

  Evelyn picked back up her monologue, but by now she was telling me about her children, who were positively brilliant.

  The next three members came in a group, and I had the impression they often traveled that way: Anne Spence, Erin Guidici, and Liz Bell. I pegged them as in their early thirties. Fit, attractive, well-maintained, and all sporting impressive diamond and wedding band sets, these young Charleston matrons appeared to have the world on a string. They said their hellos to Jane and Mariel, smiled politely when introduced to me, then walked on by. They moved to a corner of the room to chat amongst themselves.

  Next in was Mary Bernard, a tall, trim woman with shoulder-length brunette hair in a style that had involved curlers. She had Angela McConnell, her soon-to-be daughter-in-law in tow. I remembered from somewhere that Angela was twenty-eight. She was a dark-haired beauty with a sweet smile. Her diamond would compete well with those worn by the group in the corner.

  Delta kept delivering new arrivals. Necks were hugged, air-kisses exchanged. Everyone carried a copy of The Prince of Tides. Jane waited for an opening in Evelyn’s chatter and briefly introduced me to each in turn. Finally, counting me, there were nineteen of us in the room. One by one, I looked at each of the well-dressed women, remembering the names that went with the faces, imprinting it.

  Delta stood in the doorway to the foyer. “Y’all, I think everyone is here.”

  All of the ladies took a seat on cue.

  Delta continued, “Welcome everybody to the May 2016 meeting of the Ashley Cooper Book Club. As is our custom, we’ll begin with the collect.”

  I felt my eyes grow. A collect? At book club?

  Everyone stood.

  “This is different,” said Colleen.

  It was certainly very, very different from how my own book club meetings started. We opened the wine first thing. My only experience of collects was in church.

  All the ladies pulled a small leather-bound notebook from their purses, opened it, and looked up at Delta.

  I slid over to look with Evelyn.

  In unison, we said:

  “Keep us, O God, from pettiness;

  let us be large in thought, in word, in deed.

  Let us be done with fault-finding and

  leave off self-seeking.

  May we put away all pretense and meet each

  other face to face—without self-pity

  and without prejudice.

  May we never be hasty in judgment and

  always generous.

  Let us take time for all things;

  make us to grow calm, serene, gentle.

  Teach us to put into action our better impulses,

  straightforward and unafraid.

  Grant that we may realize it is the little

  things that create differences,

  that in the big things of life we are at one.

  And may we strive to touch and to know the great,

  common human heart of us all, and

  O Lord God, let us forget not to be kind!”

  The collect was attributed to Mary Stewart, and titled simply “A Collect for Club Women.” What a lovely sentiment.

  “They use that in Women’s Clubs—service clubs—all over,” said Colleen.

  How do you know that?

  “You know that thing you use to look stuff up on the computer?”

  Google?

  “Whatever. I have something like it in my head now.”

  Everyone closed their books and sat down. I slipped back over to my chair, smoothed my skirt, and sat.

  Delta said, “We’ll head into the dining room in just a moment. Francina has a lovely luncheon prepared for us. Everyone knows Angela, who is here today as Mary’s guest.”

  Angela smiled, gave a little wave.

  Delta continued, “I think you’ve all been introduced to Liz Talbot, our other guest. Liz, would you stand, please, and tell everyone a little about yourself? Perhaps you’ll have a chance to speak to some of the members individually during lunch.”

  I grabbed a small stack of business cards from my purse and stood. Neither Jane nor Delta would make eye contact. Delta sat down, ceding me the floor. So be it.

  They all looked at me with polite curiosity.

  “Good morning. As Delta mentioned, I’m Liz Talbot. I’m a private investigator, hired by Clint Gerhardt’s attorneys to assist in his defense. I know many of you were close to Shelby. I’m hoping to learn as much about her as possible. And I hope to discover if one or more of you has information important to the investigation that perhaps you don’t realize is important. I’d love to talk with each of you today. But I’m going to pass around my business cards. If you think of something later, please call me.”

  The nature of their gazes changed gradually as I spoke. By the time I’d finished, some were exchanging glances with each other. Others regarded me with avid interest.

  Delta said, “Y’all please share with Liz anything that might be related, even if you don’t think it’s important. We of course want her to get to the bottom of what happened to our Shelby. Now, let’s have some lunch, and then we’ll have our business meeting, followed by our discussion of The Prince of Tides.”

  Business meeting? What kind of business did book clubs have? The membership issues, but Clint mentioned something about a treasurer. What were these ladies up to that they needed a treasurer?

  Delta made her way through the room and opened a set of pocket doors that revealed the dining room. She stepped back, inviting everyone to go in front of her. “There are tables set up on the
side porch and in the front parlor. Please sit anywhere you like.”

  We all stood, left our things at our chairs, and filed towards the dining room. The decor was similar to the foyer and the living room—intricate, white-painted woodwork, crystal chandelier, expensive-looking rug over gleaming wood floors.

  I meandered towards Delta, who stood at the doorway to the dining room.

  “I wanted to ask you about something,” I said. “Perhaps after we get our lunch we can find a quiet corner?”

  “Of course.” Her eyes didn’t express the same enthusiasm her voice did.

  Slowly, the line moved along. As the ladies filled their plates and selected from urns of water infused with cucumber and mint and several varieties of tea, they made their way out of the dining room.

  I waited to take the next-to-last place in line, in front of the hostess. The spread of food on the table and sideboard was a work of art. A variety of small sandwiches, salads, spreads, cheeses, fruit, cakes, tarts—this looked like something my mamma had done. My mouth watered.

  “This food looks fabulous,” I said.

  “Francina is a wonder.”

  I picked up a china plate from the stack and selected food strategically. I was a guest, and needed to resist the urge to pile it full. I splurged on the peach tea, then waited for Delta. As we left the dining room, something in my peripheral vision caught my eye. I glanced over my shoulder to see Colleen, who had solidified in a kelly green shirtdress, fixing a plate.

  Hell’s bells, Colleen. What are you thinking? Behave. I threw the thought over my shoulder.

  “I’m starving,” she said. “They have ham biscuits—did you get one? No one will see me. Everyone’s busy eating.”

  If someone does, I don’t have the first clue who you are.

  “I’ll tell them I’m here about that waiting list.”

  Delta led me through the foyer into the parlor. Two ladies sat at one of three skirted tables. Otherwise, the room was empty.