LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB

by Susan M. Boyer

  “You don’t know a damned thing about me or my life. Impudent bitch.” He thrust at me.

  Again, I parried.

  “So why are you trying to kill me again?” I asked.

  In answer, he charged at me.

  I spun away, put a chaise lounge between us.

  “You should’ve brought your gun,” I said. “That would’ve been much easier. I’m younger and quicker than you are. If you were actually running as much as you pretended, it would be a whole nother story. This could take a while. But you had no idea I’d be here, did you? You probably brought the knife just in case, right? Did you bring it along the night you killed Shelby?”

  He darted around the chair.

  I danced away.

  He crouched, spread his arms and legs.

  “Had you planned to stab her?” I asked. “So much easier, I imagine, to shove her out the window. Much neater. No chance of getting blood on you. Of course, she would never in a million years have expected such a thing from you.”

  I circled him, stayed out of reach.

  “Damnable women,” he muttered.

  “I know, right? First there’s Evelyn. She drinks a lot these days, bless her heart. Do you think that’s because she knows you’re having an affair?”

  “Evelyn’s been an alcoholic her entire life. She drank too much long before we married.”

  He lunged at me again.

  I scooted out of reach.

  He was breathing hard, disheveled. “And if you think I’m going to let you or that damned do-gooder Shelby Poinsett rob me of everything simply because I sought comfort in the arms of a sympathetic companion—refuge from the disgusting drunk my wife has become—you, my dear, are sadly mistaken.”

  I lunged towards him.

  He stepped back, surprised.

  “So you, what, rang the bell, asked Shelby if she had a moment to talk? I bet you feigned crying on her shoulder. She probably couldn’t resist helping a neighbor.”

  “She had a soft heart. It was her undoing. Just as your overestimation of your own abilities will be yours.” He lunged at me again.

  I juked right.

  “Did she see it coming? When you pushed her out the doors?”

  “That was the best part. The look of shock on her face. I really didn’t expect to enjoy it quite so much, the element of surprise. On the other hand, I’m going to enjoy killing you even more.”

  The courtyard flooded with light.

  “Drop the knife and lay down. Hands behind your head.”

  Bissell’s voice came from above, from the very french doors where Edward had pushed Shelby out. He and Jenkins had filmed everything.

  Nate stepped from behind Belly’s house, gun drawn. “Drop the knife and get the hell away from her.”

  Sonny came from the walkway behind the house. “On the ground. Now.”

  Edward looked from Sonny to Nate. He froze, but didn’t drop the knife. I could see him seething. “I don’t think I will.” He let out a guttural cry, leaned forward, and charged me.

  I dropped to the ground.

  Sonny fired one shot.

  Edward Izard fell in front of me.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Before Mamma could read about what had happened in the paper, I called and gave her the high points. Blake knew we’d been working the Shelby Poinsett case, so I called him too. No use in anyone worrying unnecessarily. Nevertheless, come Sunday, Nate and I had to retell everything gathered in Mamma’s kitchen with the whole family. And Heather Wilder, who’d been invited before we knew we’d have drama.

  Mamma had to hug me close, then fuss at me long and vehemently about taking chances. She gave Nate what for too.

  “Carolyn, I promise you, I was there the entire time. Sonny too. Plus two other veteran Charleston Police detectives. We had three guns trained on Izard. Liz was wearing body armor under her clothes.”

  Mamma had tears in her eyes. Her stony expression telegraphed I trusted you with my girl.

  Nate blew out a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “That said, I aged two decades in the split second I waited for Sonny to take that shot. I would’ve taken Izard out the next instant. There’s no way he was going to hurt Liz.” Nate looked to Blake for support.

  Blake stared at him, shook his head. “Mom, you know how hard-headed Liz is. There was never anything Nate could do to keep her from doing what she damned well pleased. And he had to let Sonny take Izard down if at all possible. Sonny has the badge.”

  “Language, Blake.” Mamma turned her displeasure on him.

  Heather cast Blake a sideways glance. “I hope you don’t mean you think Nate should be able to control Liz. She’s a grown woman.”

  I knew for a fact Merry and Blake were both happy I’d done something to distract Mamma from their love lives.

  Blake swallowed hard. “Now that’s not what I meant.”

  “Well, I hope not,” said Heather. “Because Liz can take of herself just fine. I think it’s exciting.”

  Slowly, Mamma turned to look at Heather. It wasn’t The Look she gave her. But there was definitely a warning there.

  Heather averted her gaze.

  “How is the Izard man? He going to make it?” asked Blake.

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “He’ll live to stand trial. Charges against Clint have already been dropped.”

  Merry shook her head. “It’s just so awful. Shelby Poinsett was literally killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she was there doing such a loving thing. Those poor children.”

  “Eli Radcliffe is a stand-up guy,” I said. “He’ll take good care of his sister’s kids. But you’re right about Shelby. Wrong place, wrong time. It’s heartbreaking. She was such a force for good in the community. And Clint…it hurts my heart to think about him.”

  “Are you two Rutledge and Radcliffe’s new in-house investigators?” Blake asked.

  Nate and I exchanged a glance.

  “We might work cases for them in the future,” Nate said. “But we declined their offer to work for them exclusively.”

  Joe said, “I bet that was a nice offer. They’re one of the top defense firms in town. Why’d you turn that down?”

  “Well…” I said. “It’s complicated. Mostly we like being our own bosses. Fraser Rutledge is a sharp guy, but I wouldn’t want him for an employer. Something tells me that would be as stressful as it would be lucrative.”

  “Merry, call your father in for dinner,” Mamma said.

  Merry started out the backdoor, then stopped. “What in the—”

  “Oh,” said Mamma. “That’s your father’s new pet.”

  Merry said, “It’s—”

  “Yes,” said Mamma. “I know. A Vietnamese pot-bellied pig. You can thank your sister.” She swiveled The Look in my direction. I knew then if not for a near-death experience, at least in Mamma’s eyes, I would’ve already been skinned alive.

  Merry and Heather commenced with a chorus of “Oh, how darling,” and all such as that. They hurried out the back door.

  “Oh no. Mamma, I’m so sorry,” I said. “Where—”

  “Your father went out Thursday night with Zeke Lyerly and that crowd. To play poker. He’s been captivated by the idea of a pig ever since you told him last Sunday about the one you saw. He apparently mentioned this to Zeke.”

  “And Zeke gave Daddy a pig?” I moved to the window.

  “As I understand it, Zeke knew someone who had a pot-bellied pig who had recently given birth to piglets. Through some strange transaction, your father won the pig in the poker game. The piglets had been weaned and spoken for.”

  “Kinky,” Daddy’s voice carried into the kitchen.

  “What’s he calling it?” I scrunched up my face.

  “Kinky,” said Mamma. “Kinky LeCoeur. That’s
what your father and Zeke were drinking at the time.”

  “What does Chumley think about the pig?” I asked.

  “He’s nearly as enthusiastic as I am,” said Mamma.

  “Poor Chumley,” I said.

  Mamma looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  I moved to hug her. “Poor Mamma.”

  She hugged me tight one more time for good measure. Then she said, “Just remember, if your daddy aggravates me to a stroke, one of you girls is going to have to take care of him. Your sister could well be in Patagonia or some other exotic locale. And your daddy comes with a Basset Hound and a pig.”

  About the Author

  Susan M. Boyer is the author of the USA Today bestselling Liz Talbot mystery series. Her debut novel, Lowcountry Boil, won the Agatha Award for Best First Novel, the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and garnered several other award nominations, including the Macavity. The third in the series, Lowcountry Boneyard, was a Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) Okra Pick, a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist, and short-listed for the Pat Conroy Beach Music Mystery Prize. Susan loves beaches, Southern food, and small towns where everyone knows everyone, and everyone has crazy relatives. You’ll find all of the above in her novels. She lives in Greenville, SC, with her husband and an inordinate number of houseplants.

  The Liz Talbot Mystery Series

  By Susan M. Boyer

  Read all about them at www.henerypress.com

  LOWCOUNTRY BOIL (#1)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOMBSHELL (#2)

  LOWCOUNTRY BONEYARD (#3)

  LOWCOUNTRY BORDELLO (#4)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB (#5)

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