“This feels un-Zeke to me,” I said.
“Were you expecting taxidermied wildlife?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll go right if you want to go left,” said Nate.
“Sounds good.” I headed down the hall to the master bedroom at the end, then beyond that to the master bath. The forensics team hadn’t left too much of a mess. Fingerprint dust on surfaces was the worst of it. The medicine cabinet held nothing more interesting than cold medicine.
The tiled shower, jetted tub for two, dual vanities, and water closet were clean enough for a real estate showing. I ran my hands over the door and window trim. No keys stashed there.
I spent an hour in the master closet and had nothing to show for it except a hankering for a shoe rack like Tammy Sue’s floor-to-ceiling shelf unit that held an impressive sixty pairs of heels, boots, sandals, et cetera. I moved to the bedroom.
The window on the back of the house was actually a large bay window in the sitting area. Right off I could see that the magnolia tree completely blocked the view of the garage and the part of the driveway that accessed it. Tammy Sue couldn’t possibly have seen Zeke’s truck pulling in Monday evening from the master suite. But whoever had been driving it had no way of knowing she was back here primping. What would he or she have done if Tammy had caught them in the act of transferring Zeke’s body to the car? It was a reckless move.
I felt vaguely disappointed that none of the drawers in the dresser, chest, or nightstands had false bottoms. Nothing was taped underneath any of the drawers. The forensics team had taken the most interesting things—the guns. Zeke took prepared to a whole new level. But what on earth had he been prepared for? I scanned the master bedroom again, convinced it was holding out on me. Then I moved down the hall.
Zeke had made an office out of the smallest bedroom in the house. A wall of bookcases housed a built-in desk. I sat in his desk chair and tried mightily to get inside his head. Who were you really, Zeke Lyerly? I slid open the desk drawer—there was only one, just below the work surface. Paperclips, staples, a note pad, a flashlight, et cetera. It was so generic, it could’ve been anyone’s desk drawer. If Zeke had secrets—and he must have—his desk would not confess them.
Of course Charleston County Sheriff’s Office had taken the computer. I did manage to find a gun they missed—a Glock hidden in a hollow shelf in the bookcase. Aside from that, the room was shockingly normal.
I was surprised at the amount of memorabilia Zeke had—the bookcase held everything from high school yearbooks to baseball trophies and a wicker basket full of baseballs with dates written on them in ink. In the file cabinet, along with the usual files of receipts, insurance policies, and the like, I found a folder of newspaper clippings. I flipped through them. Zeke had been a high school baseball standout.
None of the mementoes seemed related to anything that happened after high school except a set of decorative glasses—the kind resorts put fruity liquor drinks in—from Iberostar Grand Bavaro in Punta Cana. I knew the story behind those.
I went back to the newspaper articles. Most were about baseball victories. But The Citizen, the Stella Maris local paper, was a small-town paper. They still printed the honor rolls from the local schools. And Zeke had made straight A’s all through school. He’d been his class valedictorian. That was unexpected.
The three most recent clippings in the folder were obituaries. Zeke’s father had passed away in 2004, and his mother in 2005. The final obituary, from 2014, was less yellowed with age than the others. I felt my face scrunching. Harold Yates died October 23, 2014. He’d been seventy-four years old. No survivors were listed. He’d lived in Stella Maris his whole life, a plumber by trade. What had been his connection to Zeke?
I returned the file to the cabinet and picked up the high school yearbook from 1987, Zeke’s senior year. I flipped through, stopping at photos of Zeke—his class picture, with the baseball team, the National Honor Society, student council. Then I scanned what people had written when they signed his yearbook.
The longest entry was signed with hearts, “Love always, your TB.” Zeke’s high school girlfriend had clearly expected to be Mrs. Lyerly. But everyone thought high school love was forever in the moment. There was a time when I was sure I’d one day be Mrs. Jackson Beauthorpe. Who was TB? I scanned the senior girls, then the juniors, sophomores, and freshmen. No one’s initials fit.
I skimmed a few more entries. Half a dozen other girls wanted Zeke to “come see me this summer before you leave.” The guys congratulated him on a great baseball season, mentioned specific games and home runs. Stella Maris High was a small school. Virtually everyone had signed Zeke’s yearbook. He’d been popular.
“Run across any guns the forensic team missed?”
I looked up. Nate leaned against the doorframe.
“Just one. You?” I closed the yearbook and returned it to the bookshelf.
“One inside a fake box of cereal. He was definitely afraid of someone. It’s not like we live in a high-crime town by any stretch. His fear feels specific.”
“Agreed. Have you gone through the guest room?” I asked.
“Yeah. Tammy has a small desk in there, some needlework. The household bill files are there. Nothing of note really.”
“Did you check out the garage?”
“Yes, I basically retraced the steps the Sheriffs’ Office took yesterday. I specifically looked in the garage for anything that had strychnine in it. I also looked again in the pantry, laundry room, and under the kitchen sink. There’s nothing.”
“I feel like we’re missing something. On the surface, this house doesn’t seem to have as much potential for hiding places as some of the places we’ve searched. But since Zeke had it custom built when he moved back here in 2007, anything’s possible. He could’ve had the contractor build in a secret compartment.”
Nate thought for a moment. “He probably used a local contractor.”
I winced. “He did. I know because Mamma and Daddy—”
Nate nodded. “Live right across the street and this is a small town. Of course. I guess you’d better call him.”
“Him” was Michael Devlin. The local contractor. My former boyfriend. We had a complicated history, one that involved him being tricked into marrying my scheming cousin when we were all but engaged. And I might have pined for him a few years, but that was pre-Nate, and a whole nother story.
I would rather have had a root canal than call Michael. Nevertheless, I pulled out my phone, opened contacts, and tapped the “D.”
“He’s still in your contacts?” asked Nate.
I shrugged. “I’ve known him my whole life. I haven’t called him in years. Do you want to call him?”
“Probably not productive. I doubt he’d come if I asked.”
“There’s that.”
Michael answered on the second ring. “Liz?”
“Hey, Michael. How are you?” My voice sounded fake-nice to my own ears.
“I’m good. How are you?” His tone was overly casual, like we talked all the time.
Could this possibly be more awkward? “Fine, fine. Hey, listen. You built Zeke Lyerly’s house, right?”
“Ah, yeah. I heard about Zeke. Damn shame.”
“I’m helping Blake investigate. I’m going through Zeke’s house right now.”
“Oh. Oh. Right.”
“Did he have you build in hidden storage?” I asked.
“He did. I’ll have to show you. You going to be there a while?”
“Yeah. I’ll wait here for you. Thanks for coming. This could be important.” I ended the call.
Nate said, “I noticed how you didn’t mention I was here.”
“It seemed counterproductive.”
Nate shook his head, studied the ceiling.
Fifteen minutes later, Michael pulled into the drivew
ay.
“He came quick.” Nate looked out the window of Zeke’s office.
“Well I told him it was important.” I rose from the leather office chair. Nate knew I loved him and only him. I was sure of that. But how could he ever forget the sight of Michael in our living room on one knee with a diamond? I could not have dreaded seeing Michael more. But we needed his help.
The doorbell rang.
“You want me to get that?” Nate asked.
“Let’s both go.” I kissed him on the cheek.
We walked together to the door and Nate opened it.
Michael pulled back like maybe he’d been punched.
“Bonjourno!” Colleen picked that moment to pop in. “He’s still pining for you. He needs to find a wife. And he needs to be building houses somewhere else. We’re full up here.”
He’ll likely leave town soon enough since you’re putting him out of business. I threw the thought at Colleen. Michael had been unable to sell his most recent spec house due to Colleen’s poltergeist antics.
Nate and I both smiled. It flashed across my mind to wonder if Nate was smiling at the idea of Michael leaving town.
“Thanks for coming so soon,” Nate said.
Michael seemed to try to parse Nate’s expression, but looked confused. “Liz said it was important. But she didn’t mention you were here.”
“Is that a problem for you? Me being here with my wife?” Nate asked.
Michael looked away, took a step back.
“It is important.” I stepped back, allowed him room. “Please come in.”
Michael hesitated, then ambled through the doorway. “Shame about Zeke.”
“Yes, a real shame,” I said.
“A shame,” said Nate at the same time.
Colleen blew the door closed just for fun.
Nate closed his eyes.
Michael looked at the door. “The wind pick up?”
“Must have,” I said.
Colleen held out her hands, palms up. Silvery clouds formed in her hands and grew. They were kinetic—lit from within, with sparkling flecks of light.
Nate stared. He wasn’t as familiar with Colleen’s theatrics.
She flew up above Michael’s head and poured the clouds out over him like a bucket of soap suds.
Michael shuddered, then looked over his shoulder and squinted. “There’s something odd about this house.” He swallowed hard, looked at me like maybe I was to blame.
I offered Michael my sunniest smile. “Right? Like I said. We need to know if Zeke had you build in any secret storage compartments.”
“That’s not what I—” Michael rubbed the side of his neck, seemed to shake off his misgivings. “Yeah, he did. Three. I’ll show you. First one’s in here.” He moved quickly into the kitchen and opened the broom closet. “This has a false back.” He moved several brooms and mops and a vacuum into the kitchen floor. “You just press on the top right hand corner of the sheetrock and it will release.” He stepped out of the closet so we could see.
Well hell fire. The sheetrock in the back of the closet had swung open, revealing a closet behind the closet. A built-in, fully stocked gun rack filled the space. I counted a dozen guns, including six automatic rifles and two big-ass handguns. Sound suppressors in varying sizes along with night vision scopes and goggles laid on a shelf to the left. Ammunition lined another on the right. “Sweet reason.”
Nate examined the opening. “That’s well done. It recess into the garage?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. Now he was complimenting Michael’s craftsmanship?
“Yeah,” said Michael. “But you’d never know it. I’ll show you.”
“He was prepared,” said Nate.
“For what?” I asked.
Michael shrugged. “Whatever, I guess.”
“I’ll let Blake know these are here. I don’t have any reason to think they’re illegal. But still.” I was accustomed to guns. Daddy had a cabinet full in the den. The fact that Zeke had these hidden was what put me off. That and he’d already had an arsenal under the furniture.
In rapid succession, three kitchen cabinets banged shut.
“What was that?” asked Michael.
“What?” asked Nate.
Colleen burst out laughing—her signature bray-snort peals. I declare it sounded like a donkey cross-bred with a pig.
I shook my head at Colleen, but the look on Michael’s face told me he’d interpreted it that I hadn’t heard the cabinet doors slamming.
“You said there were three hidden compartments?” said Nate.
Michael nodded. “Next one’s in the master bedroom.” He moved in long strides through the family room and down the hall.
Nate and I followed. Colleen hovered above Michael’s head.
Michael looked up, seemed to cower a bit.
What are you doing? I threw the thought at Colleen.
Helping him make a decision.
“This is actually a hidden access to the attic.” Michael opened the walk-in closet and turned on the light. “This shoe rack swings out.” He demonstrated, pulling on the shelf of shoes I’d admired. Then he pressed on the sheetrock. The panel swung in revealing steps that led up. “The roof is really high. Zeke coulda had a whole nother floor of house up here. Said he didn’t need it.”
Michael led us up the steps. At the top he flipped a switch and light flooded the attic. Plywood flooring ran the entire length of the house, but the area was mostly empty. There was a stack of half a dozen boxes to our left.
“I wonder what’s in here,” I said.
Nate pulled the top box off, opened a pocket knife on his keychain and cut the second box open for me. Then he cut open the box he’d removed from the stack.
I pulled up the flaps on the box in front of me. “This is kitchen stuff.”
“Same here,” said Nate.
Colleen flipped the light switch off and on.
Cut it out.
“Y’all need help?” Michael moved back towards the steps, clearly eager to leave.
“No, thanks,” I said. “We can come back up here later. Where’s the third hiding place?”
“In the garage.” Relief flooded his face. He practically ran down the steps.
We followed him to the garage, where only Tammy Sue’s cream-colored Buick Enclave was in its spot. Nate admired the way Michael had recessed the hidden closet in the kitchen between two built-in storage units in the garage, but Michael wasn’t interested. He was clearly eager to tell us what we needed to know and get out of there.
The third hiding place was a fake air return in the garage. “This was easy,” said Michael. “Anyone can recess one of these between a couple studs. Piece of cake.” He pressed the top of the metal grill and it popped out. He stepped back so Nate and I could see what was inside.
Yet another Glock and a bundle of hundred dollar bills. I fanned through them. “It’s a full strap. There’s ten thousand dollars here.”
Michael whistled low.
I looked at Nate. Normally we don’t like other folks witnessing a search, but we likely wouldn’t’ve found this stash without Michael.
“Doesn’t seem very secure,” said Nate.
I was thinking how maybe this was Zeke’s get-out-of-town-quick stash and he needed it handy. But why?
“Michael, thanks for coming out.” Nate offered him a handshake.
Michael waited a beat, realized he was being dismissed, and seemed grateful. He shook Nate’s hand. “Not a problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”
He pressed the garage door opener, waited for the door to raise enough for him to duck under, and lit out of there like something was after him.
“What was all that about?” I asked Colleen.
“I told you. Michael builds houses. We don’t nee
d more of those here. I’m helping him make a difficult decision—to move. Besides, there’s too much history here for him, some of it painful. He’ll be much happier starting over somewhere else.”
I studied her for a moment.
“You’re not sorry to see him go, are you?” asked Nate.
“Of course not,” I said. “It’s just, I hate to see anyone run off from their home.”
“This isn’t his home,” said Colleen. “It’s his history. He needs to find his home.”
“Arrivederci!” She faded out in a pouf of sparklers.
Nate and I looked at each other for a long moment. We’d gone a round or two over where exactly home was for us. In my heart, I knew Stella Maris was both my history and my home. Nate didn’t have the roots here that I did.
“Why is she speaking Italian all of a sudden?” asked Nate.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
He lowered the garage door. “You want to finish going through those boxes?”
“Sure.”
We made our way back to the attic. But there was nothing but ordinary household stuff in the boxes upstairs—a complete, almost new set of Lenox Stoneware, flatware, kitchen linens, et cetera. “It’s like this stuff is a spare set of everything,” said Nate.
“When Zeke moved in here, he was married to April. Not much more than a year later, he married Tammy Sue. She would’ve picked out her own things.”
“And April didn’t want this stuff? It all looks new.”
“Well, I heard she left in a hurry. There was drama.”
“Marital drama?”
“I’m afraid so. Zeke took a few shots at the other party involved sneaking out of this very house.”
“Is the other party involved still in town?” Nate asked.
“Well, yes.” I sighed. “But that all happened nearly ten years ago. Surely it can’t have anything to do with Zeke’s death.”
“Who is it?”
“Jackson Beauthorpe.”
“Jackson…wait. Isn’t that another one of your old boyfriends?”
“Well, it was high school, Nate.” I loved living in a small town, truly. But some days it complicated things.
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