Lowcountry Bonfire

by Susan M. Boyer

  Her face lit with recollection. “Coy.”

  “Coy Watson? What was that all about?” Did Coy find out about Zeke’s relationship with Crystal after all?

  “It was stupid. I’m not saying Coy would’ve hurt Zeke. But if you ask me who he had trouble with…that was Coy.”

  “Okay. What was the problem?”

  “Coy had one of those stupid drones. It looked like a little spaceship. He flew that thing all over the island. You must have seen it…”

  “I can’t say I have.”

  “Well, he seemed to like to torment Zeke best. He’d fly that infernal thing into the backyard in the evenings while we were outside having a drink, enjoying the breeze. It made Zeke so mad. He tried talking to Coy about it. Coy told him it was a free country.”

  “You said Coy had a drone? Did something happen to it?”

  “Well, yes, actually. Zeke took his shotgun and blew it out of the sky Thursday night. Coy came running over here. He was livid. He said that drone cost thousands of dollars.”

  “What did Zeke do?”

  “He told him to get out of our yard before he blew him to kingdom come just like his toy. He said that’s what Coy got for spying on people.”

  “The drone had a camera? Did Coy tell you that?”

  “Zeke said it had to have one. That’s the only way Coy could know for sure who he was aggravating the fool out of.”

  “Did Coy show either of y’all any pictures he’d taken with it?”

  “No. Well, he didn’t show them to me. Zeke never mentioned it.”

  “Did Coy leave then? When Zeke told him to get out of your yard?”

  “He did. But on his way, he told Zeke he was going to kill him. It was just loose talk, is all. At least, that’s what I thought at the time.”

  “Can you think of anyone else Zeke had trouble with?” I asked.

  “Not a soul. He was a good man.”

  “I know,” I said. “What about his friends? Who was he closest with?”

  “Well, he was friendly with everyone. He played poker with your Daddy and that bunch. He and Pete Carter were good friends. Spencer Simmons. Skip Robinson. Humphrey. I think he was closest to Humphrey Pearson.”

  “Really?” I scrunched up my face.

  “Elizabeth.” Mamma flashed me The Look.

  I smoothed my face. Mamma worried a good bit over me getting wrinkles. She was forever telling me not to crumple up my face like that.

  I said, “I wouldn’t have thought he and Humphrey would have much in common.” Robert Pearson’s older brother Humphrey was a poet. He’d arrived too late for the sixties, but most folks thought of him as a flower child. He played guitar, sang in a few local bars, and was an activist for environmental causes and drug legalization. Occasionally he did carpentry work to pay the bills. He was also an avowed nudist, though typically not in public.

  “It does seem strange, doesn’t it?” said Tammy. “But they had lunch a couple times a week. Zeke asked me every so often if I had a friend we could introduce Humphrey to.”

  I mulled that. “Can you think of anyone else?”

  “No, but I’m not functioning well right now. I’ll think about it. Right now I can’t get it out of my head that when I drove that car into the driveway and lit that fire, poor Zeke was in the trunk the whole time. What if I killed him? What if he was alive until he breathed in all that smoke?” The wailing began in earnest.

  Mamma and Grace came and took up positions on either side of Tammy Sue and shooed me away. But I had enough to get me started.

  FIVE

  Back in the car, I grabbed my iPhone and cued up a playlist I’d named “Thinking Music.” The opening beats of “Be as You Are” by Kenny Chesney wafted through the car’s speakers via the Sync system. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  The Sheriff’s Office’s forensics unit was still on site.

  I simply had no choice. I called Blake.

  “Before you send the forensics team over to Zeke’s shop, have them process Tammy’s hands and nails. My guess is they’ll find Zeke’s skin cells. They had a hell of a fight yesterday.”

  “I’m going to have to arrest her. You know that, right?” he said.

  “She’s not a flight risk.” I prayed I was right about that. “Give me a little more time. I’m relatively certain she didn’t kill Zeke. And I have a few other suspects.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “I need more time. Hey, listen. I’ve got Price’s set of keys to Zeke’s shop and Zeke’s iPhone. Both are evidence. I’ve bagged and labeled them. I’ll drop them off at the station and log them in as soon as I’ve had a chance to dig through the phone.”

  “Fine, but—”

  “I’ve got to run. Talk soon.” I ended the call before he could press me for details on my other suspects. The investigation was only hours old. Casting suspicion on anyone was premature.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep moving.

  It was nearly one thirty. I headed to the island’s information hub.

  The doorbells pealed a cheery welcome as I stepped inside The Cracked Pot, Colleen in tow. She was in transparent mode that afternoon—her default setting. But since she’d learned to solidify, an advanced skill, and could eat while in that form, she never missed a chance to score ham biscuits.

  “I wondered why you didn’t show up at Mamma’s house,” I said. “She and Grace had a massive spread going on.”

  “I had business to take care of,” she said. “Order me two ham biscuits to go?”

  I gave her the side eye. “Okay, but you’ll owe me.”

  She rolled her eyes with drama only teenagers could muster.

  “Hey there, Liz.” Moon Unit Glendawn was in the weeds. She and two waitresses in starched pink dresses hustled between the counter, a row of booths by the window, and a section of brightly painted, mismatched tables and chairs in the middle. “Sit wherever you can find a spot. I’ll be right with you.”

  I spotted Connie Hicks by herself at the end of the counter. She was roughly my age, with smooth, medium brown shoulder-length hair. Her crisp navy skirt suit was likely a size sixteen.

  “Hey, Connie,” I said. “Have you already ordered?”

  “Hey. How are you? Yes. I’m just waiting on my cheeseburger.”

  “Would you mind joining me in a booth?”

  Connie and I weren’t close enough to be lunch buddies, but she didn’t seem surprised by my suggestion, which meant word about Zeke had spread. “Sure, if one’s empty. This place is even more packed than usual today.”

  I scanned the room. Everyone in town knew this was where you came to get the scoop. Humphrey and Robert Pearson looked like they were finishing up, but they were at a table in the middle of the room. Brenda Carter and Margie Robinson stood at the third booth. Brenda was what Mamma would call willowy. She had a graceful way about her. Her ash blonde hair was cropped short and chic. Brenda said something I couldn’t hear. Margie looked at me, then quickly away.

  “Gossipers,” said Colleen. “Like everyone else in here.”

  To Connie I said, “I see a booth. I’m going to grab it.”

  “I’ll just ask them to send my food over,” she said.

  I started towards Margie and Brenda. They had their heads together in conversation. Before I reached the booth, they had wended through the crowded room towards the door.

  Within moments, the table had been cleared and my tea was on the way. Colleen situated herself beside me, next to the window. I’d placed an order for her ham biscuits. Satisfied, she studied something on the other side of the glass.

  “I don’t understand what you’re doing.” I followed her gaze, spoke under my breath.

  “I’m looking out the window,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  You know what I mean. This time I thr
ew the thought. You just got through telling me you’d gotten in trouble for meddling in my cases. And you turn right around and pull that stunt with Price Elliott. You’re gonna end up reassigned if you’re not careful.

  She was quiet for a moment. “I’m not gonna let that happen.”

  I know you won’t mean to. But what if you cross the line one too many times? That stunt this morning was completely unnecessary. Colleen…I’d miss you something awful. Please be careful.

  She turned a mulish look on me. “Here comes Connie.”

  Connie settled in across the table from me. With violet eyes, delicate features, and creamy porcelain skin, Connie was a classic beauty.

  “Did you hear about Zeke?” I asked.

  “I did. It’s just awful. I saw him only yesterday. It gives me cold chills. Poor Tammy Sue.” Connie shook her head. “Bless her heart.”

  “I wanted to ask you about yesterday,” I said.

  “What about it?”

  “What time did you drop your car off?”

  “On my lunch break. I went early. Around noon.”

  “And you were supposed to pick it up yesterday at six?”

  “That’s right. I was late. My drawer didn’t balance. I got there about twenty minutes past six. Zeke said he’d wait ’til I got there. But the door was locked and no one answered when I knocked.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  She shook her head. “Not a soul.”

  “Was there a Subaru out front?”

  “Price Elliott’s car? No, I gathered he’d gone for the day.”

  “Did you look in any of the windows?” I asked.

  “I tried. I was thinking maybe Zeke couldn’t hear me, but since he knew I was coming, he must still be there. I was going to try to get his attention. But I never saw him.”

  “Did you walk around back?” I asked.

  “No. I had on heels. I called a friend to come get me. Figured I’d missed Zeke and I’d get my car today.”

  “Did you see anything that struck you as out of the ordinary?”

  “No. I wish I could help.”

  “That’s the gospel truth.” Colleen startled me.

  Reflexively, I looked at her.

  Moon Unit set my tea and Connie’s cheeseburger on the table. “Ham biscuits will be up in a minute.” She whirled away.

  “You know this place is busy when Moon Unit doesn’t have time to gossip on a big news day,” said Colleen.

  What’s the gospel truth? I threw the thought at Colleen.

  “Connie here wishes she could help. She’d love to know something—anything—she could tell you to be a part of things. I feel bad for her. I know how that feels.”

  Guilt washed over me. As a teenager, I hadn’t been a model friend to Colleen.

  “Is it true what they’re saying?” asked Connie.

  “What are they saying?”

  “That Zeke was murdered?”

  “It’s early yet. Doc Harper will tell us the cause of death.”

  “Come on, Liz. You surely must know if he was murdered.”

  “Well, he was in the trunk of his car,” I said.

  “That’s what I heard. It’s a safe bet he didn’t crawl in there and shut the trunk himself.”

  “Stranger things have happened.” I didn’t believe he’d done any such thing. But I was on a fool’s errand to stem the tidal surge of gossip.

  “You know,” said Connie, “I might know something that could help after all.” She took a bite of her cheeseburger.

  “Really? What’s that?”

  She raised a finger, finished chewing, and took a sip of her Coke. “You should talk to Spencer Simmons. Wait…isn’t he your cousin?”

  “Once removed. His father is my Gram’s brother. Spencer and Zeke are—were—friends, I think.”

  “That’s right. They were friends. I was at this party back in late March over at Margie and Skip’s?”

  “Okay?”

  “Oh boy,” said Colleen.

  Hush up. I gritted my teeth. I’m trying to hear what she’s got to say.

  “Spencer and Winter were there. Winter was flirting with Zeke, making a real show of it. Spencer was livid. He got all up in Zeke’s face.”

  “Wait. Winter was doing the flirting you said. But Spencer was mad at Zeke?”

  “I didn’t say Zeke didn’t like it. He ate it up with a spoon. He flirted back. Ask Tammy Sue. She wasn’t one bit happy about it.”

  “I’ll ask her. Was there a fight or anything?”

  “No, but you could tell tempers were flaring. Zeke went for a walk on the beach to give Spencer a chance to cool down, I guess. Things blew over after that. But there might be something there. With Zeke being murdered and all, you might want to look into it.” She picked up her cheeseburger.

  Colleen looked down her nose at me, all superior like. “She’s resorted to mudslinging. That’s always a mistake. When you start slinging mud, there’s no way to predict who it’s going to stick to. More often than not, it’s all the wrong people.”

  I kept my eyes on Connie. “I’ll check it out. Thanks. You’d better make arrangements for someone to take you home this afternoon. I don’t think they’ll let you take your car until they finish processing the shop.”

  “Processing?”

  “Looking for evidence. The forensics team will be there soon. Nothing can be disturbed until they’re finished.”

  “You don’t think Zeke was murdered there?”

  “I didn’t say he was murdered at all.”

  “But if they’re looking for clues, they must think something happened there. I could’ve been there when it happened.” Connie set her burger down and grabbed her Coke glass with both hands. She took a long gulp.

  I didn’t think she missed it by much.

  SIX

  After I left the Cracked Pot, I checked in with Nate. He was still with Blake and the forensics team from Charleston County. I headed home to organize what we knew thus far—and to spend quality time with Zeke’s phone. Rhett, my golden retriever, greeted me out front with a frisbee.

  “Hey, Buddy.” I petted him thoroughly.

  He jerked his head, waved the frisbee at me.

  “I wish I had more time to play.” I tossed the toy a half dozen times, promised Rhett a walk later, then climbed the steps to our front porch. Several of the potted gardens and hanging baskets drooped in the heat. I stopped long enough to water them, but ignored the call of the waves crashing on the beach out back and the lure of the hammock in a shady corner of the porch. I headed inside.

  I poured myself a Cheerwine—regular, I’d given up artificial sweeteners of any kind—and took it to my office. Nate and I had considered renting office space in the business district, or even in Charleston, where most of our cases came from. But we struggled to pay taxes, insurance, and upkeep on the fifty-plus-year-old beach house Gram had left me as it was. We didn’t need the extra expense of an office.

  The dry erase boards we used for complex cases were still in place in what used to be Gram’s living room, but now served as my office and the place where Nate and I worked together. His office was on the second floor in a former guest room, but he rarely worked there. I settled at the desk, turned on my laptop, and created an electronic case file.

  Since we had an ongoing agreement with the Town of Stella Maris, we didn’t need a new contract. I typed up my account of what had happened that morning—I’d been there when Zeke’s body was discovered, so I was technically a witness. Then I transcribed my interviews with Crystal Chapman, Price Elliott, Tammy Sue Lyerly, and Connie Hicks.

  Next I set to creating profiles of everyone involved in the case, starting with Zeke. Here’s what I knew about Zeke Lyerly to begin with: he’d lived across the street from Mamma and Daddy for the last
nine plus years; he was well-liked; he was a decent and honest mechanic; most folks in Stella Maris considered him to be a loose cannon, but I wasn’t so sure.

  From public records and subscription databases, I pulled the parameters of Zeke’s life. He was born on Stella Maris, April 14, 1969, and graduated from Stella Maris High School. He enlisted in the Army straight away. That much was in the local newspaper archives.

  His parents, Zane and Emily Lyerly, were both deceased. He had no siblings. He married his first wife, April Lynne Fox, in Arlington, VA, in June 1997. They divorced in 2007, not long after they returned to Stella Maris and Zeke opened the auto repair shop. He married Tammy Sue the next year.

  There was not one word, aside from his marriage to April, about the years between him joining the Army in 1987 and him opening Lyerly Automotive in March of 2007. What had he been doing for twenty years?

  He and Tammy Sue jointly owned their house and the shop. There were no mortgages on either and no claims for collection. The Lyerlys seemed financially solid. Zeke had no children with either of his wives.

  I pulled up Tammy Sue’s Facebook page. She and I were “friends.” I was Facebook friends with a few dozen people from Stella Maris who I knew but didn’t spend much time with. As far as I could tell, Zeke didn’t have his own Facebook profile. I would’ve been surprised if he had. I scrolled through Tammy Sue’s photos—she’d posted hundreds. Zeke wasn’t in a single one of them.

  I went to the website for Lyerly’s Automotive. It was bare bones—just a home page with an address and phone number, and no smiling photo of the owner. I went on a mission to find a picture of Zeke online and couldn’t. Lots of folks were shy about the internet. My sister, Merry, had a fit when I posted a picture of us together at Christmas. Still.

  We’d taken dozens of recent photos of Zeke for Tammy Sue, but most had Crystal in them as well. Finally I found a headshot of just him, one I’d snapped Sunday evening as he climbed out of his truck at Crystal’s apartment. Now his expression struck me as thoughtful, even conflicted. I printed the picture and attached it to the center of the dry erase board.