“How can you be sure of that?” I asked.
“Because I’m highly trained to read people,” she said. “And because he was at a Chris Botti concert at the Charleston Music Hall Monday evening.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have ways of finding out, okay? And you need to remember, I was a helluva lot closer to Zeke than you, so if you think I’d cover for anybody, you’re crazy as hell.”
“And he’s here as your date?”
“Hell no,” she said. “He’d like that, yeah. He’s here to pay his respects, like everyone else.”
I mulled all of that for a minute. It would’ve been easier if Zeke had been killed by a foreign agent of some sort. That would’ve meant someone we all knew hadn’t killed one of our own. But my instincts told me that was exactly what had happened. “We’re at that table in the corner.” I pointed, wondered briefly what the etiquette rules were for wives and ex-wives at funerals, and decided all that went out the window when Zeke hired the DJ.
“We’ll stop by and pay our respects to Tammy.” Her eyes were glued to the stage. No, the picture of Zeke above it. “I’ve never seen these.” Her voice was softer than I’d heard it, seemed almost wistful. “Who is that?”
The photo was of Zeke at maybe thirteen with another blonde. Both kids were barefoot, all tanned legs and arms and sun-streaked hair. His arm was wrapped around her shoulder and she looked up at him, her expression averted. He grinned at the camera. Was that Brenda? It was hard to tell, but I’d bet it was Brenda, the original sassy blonde in Zeke’s life, the root of the attraction. The picture changed.
“I didn’t recognize her,” I said.
“Some things never change.” She seemed to snap out of her reverie. “What the hell is that DJ playin’? That Zeke.” April shook her head. “He loved Fleetwood Mac. Only the Stevie Nicks years, though. We got to get this guy to play some dancin’ music. Ima go talk to him soon as I get my drink. Then I’ll see you over there.”
“I need another margarita myself.” I moved towards the bar.
As I made my way through the crowd, I caught sight of Crystal Chapman. In a black dress, she hovered near the edge of the dance floor across the room from our table where Tammy Sue sat. Crystal seemed to be keeping her distance, which was a good idea. Who was she talking to? The person to her right leaned in as if to hear her better. Price Elliott. Good grief, what were the two of them talking about?
John Glendawn was behind the bar with Coy. He also had two extra bartenders that night. They all stayed plenty busy. I ordered my margarita and continued scanning the crowd.
Margie Robinson stood beside me, waiting for her drink. She smiled. “Hey, Liz.”
“Hey, Margie. How are you?”
“Like everyone else, I guess. A little sad, but I want to celebrate the way Zeke wanted. Honor his wishes.”
The bartender set down both our drinks at the same time.
“Want to get some air?” she asked.
“Sure.” I’d been trying to talk to her for days, but hadn’t been able to get to it. This might be better. She’d be less guarded since she’d asked me to walk outside with her. I wasn’t interviewing her, exactly.
We walked through the crowd, out the french doors to the deck.
“That’s better,” Margie said as the doors closed behind us.
The night was clear and warm. The sky looked like diamonds on black velvet.
She picked a spot against the rail overlooking the ocean. It was too dark for much of a view, but moonlight reflected off the waves, and their cadence worked a soothing magic.
“I’ll miss Zeke,” Margie said.
“Me too.”
“I’m in a melancholy mood, I guess,” she said. “To be expected under the circumstances. But…”
Clearly, Margie wanted to talk, which worked out well for me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just feel somehow responsible,” she said.
“How could you be responsible for Zeke’s death?” I asked.
She laughed softly. “I didn’t kill him, I promise. It’s just…everything changed after this party we had back in March.”
“The bonfire?” I asked.
“You heard about that?”
“Just that Crystal snared Zeke there,” I said.
Margie nodded. “She did. I thought maybe I should talk to Tammy about it. But I figured she knew. And how do you talk to a friend about that kind of thing, especially if you feel liable.”
“Crystal and Zeke were both adults,” I said. “I hear that was quite a party.”
“It was.”
“I heard you played some interesting games,” I said.
She closed her eyes. “Who told you about that?”
“I can’t reveal my sources.”
“We were all having fun. But things went sideways after the Truth or Dare.”
I was right. “I haven’t played that since high school.”
“Yeah, none of us had either. It was stupid. It was my idea. I thought it would be a bonding thing. It seemed to have the opposite effect.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“We all trotted out stuff better left unsaid. Humphrey’s in love with a married woman—like no one knew that. Winter has some wild fantasies I’m betting Spencer wishes she’d kept quiet about. And poor Zeke…”
“What did he tell?”
“Do you remember Harold Yates, the plumber who died a few years ago?”
For simplicity’s sake, I said I did.
“Zeke told us a story about tricking him into standing in a field all day. Zeke was only thirteen. Harold believed in UFOs. It’s a long story. He missed a whole day of work. Zeke still felt guilty after all those years. He thought he was the reason Harold died a lonely man. I personally don’t think it was that simple. But after he told that story, the group just broke up. He went for a walk on the beach. Crystal went after him. The mood of the party changed. Honestly, I don’t think any of us have been the same since.”
“I’m sure you’re reading too much into it,” I said. “It just seems that way because something happened to Zeke.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said.
“Margie, how long did you know Zeke?”
She shrugged. “Most of my life. He was four years ahead of me in school.”
“How about Brenda Carter?” I asked.
“Brenda? She’s one of my closest friends.”
“I understand she and Zeke dated all through school.”
“They were inseparable as far back as I can remember. It started way before dating. They always had a special bond. Zeke’s first wife, April. I saw her earlier. She reminds me of Brenda.”
“Did Zeke have a thing for blondes?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that exactly. It’s more the fire inside. They are both blonde, of course.”
“So is Crystal,” I said. “And that just confuses the hell out of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything points to Zeke adored his wife,” I said.
“I think he did,” said Margie. “But Zeke had a restless spirit. He was happy coming home, building a life here. And he was happy with Tammy Sue. But once in a while, I think he just got a little crazy. And yeah, Crystal was his type.”
“It’s just hard for me to understand a man who loves his wife being unfaithful.”
“People often do things that make no sense to the rest of us,” she said. “The challenge is to love them anyway. I like to think Tammy Sue would’ve forgiven Zeke.”
“I think she has,” I said.
We enjoyed the air and the stars for a few more minutes.
“I’m going to head back in,” I said.
“I’ll be in shortly.”
I
rubbed her arm and went inside.
The DJ was playing “Watch Me” by Silento, and the dance floor was full of folks doing the whip and nae nae.
I didn’t see April at the table as I made my way back. Were things awkward between her and Tammy Sue? Where was Crystal, and what was she up to? I scanned the room, then took my seat.
“Where’d Blake run off to?” I asked.
Nate said, “He went to dance with April.”
Mamma looked profoundly unhappy.
Daddy grinned from ear to ear. “Red Bird, you’d better have a sip of that strawberry daiquiri.”
“What about Calista?” I asked.
“She’s dancing with Sergei, that foreign fella with April,” said Daddy.
TWENTY-TWO
Our morning runs are therapeutic. More than that, sucking in all that oxygen helps me process things. The next morning, it was still pitch black as we sprinted past Sullivan’s Bed & Breakfast, around the north point of the island, and then south along the Intracoastal Waterway towards the marina.
“We’re not racing here,” said Nate.
I ran faster, not to be contrary, but to work out my tension. Nate matched my pace. Rhett raced on ahead, as was his custom.
It was only a little after five. We hadn’t been running long. I was still pent up.
“What’s eating at you?” asked Nate.
“I’m missing something,” I said. “It’s not Sergei. It’s not Price. And it’s surely not Tammy Sue. And I really don’t think it’s Coy. Or Crystal, for that matter.”
“This is a hunch?” said Nate.
“Yeah.” My feet pounded the sand, then the asphalt as we cut across the marina parking lot. I suppressed a shudder as the dream flitted across my mind. I shoved it aside.
“I’m normally a fan of your hunches,” said Nate. “But in this particular case, we have several good suspects, and one of them had access to our murder weapon.”
“I know,” I said. “But I won’t rest until I kick over a few more rocks.”
“What can I do to help?” asked Nate.
“I’m pondering it,” I said.
We crossed back into the sand beyond the marina. It was far enough behind us that the lights from the parking lot no longer broke the pre-dawn dark. The blackness was thicker here on the west side of the island, but our path was well-worn, familiar. Nothing stirred but us in the soft morning air.
Before long we approached Heron Creek. Weeping willows, live oaks, and mimosa trees crowded its banks, their mass turning the horizon in front of us a deeper shade of black. The sand gave way to grass. This was where we turned around every day. I pulled up to take a sip of water.
Nate stopped too, but Rhett ran past us and darted through the tree line to the creek.
“He’s going to get all nasty,” I said.
“Rhett,” Nate called.
Rhett went to barking like a hound of hell.
“What in the world?” I turned back to face the creek.
Crack. The noise pierced the morning quiet.
Something whizzed by my head.
A bullet.
Another crack.
Rhett barked relentlessly.
“Get down,” yelled Nate.
There was nowhere to take cover. I flattened myself to the ground. “Nate?”
“Are you all right?” He was to my left.
Crack.
“Yeah. You good?”
“For the moment. Hard to tell where it’s coming from,” he said.
“The creek. Rhett! Come!” I couldn’t see him for the trees. I only knew he was okay because he was still barking.
Crack.
“We’re pinned,” said Nate. “Keep your head down.”
Crack.
A bullet hit the grass next to my ear.
“Shit,” I said. “Rhett! Here boy.”
“We can’t stay here,” said Nate. “We’ve got to move.”
“All right,” I said.
“Roll towards the water. Fast. Go.”
I rolled hard. I rolled as fast as I could. Scrubby grass, stones, and sticks littered the ground. I plowed over everything.
Crack.
“When you hit the water…dive and swim towards the marina,” said Nate. He was still to my left. I would go into the Intracoastal Waterway first.
Crack.
It seemed like I rolled for an hour. I was disoriented. Was I even moving in the right direction anymore? Finally, the ground tapered off and I spun down a bank and into the water. Thank God it was high tide. If we’d landed in mud and swamp grass, it would’ve been over right then. I wriggled around and pushed myself farther into the waterway, then pushed off the bottom and scooped big circles of brine with my arms. I dove and swam north.
Seconds later I felt movement in the water beside me. Nate.
I broke the surface and gasped for air.
“Stay down,” he said.
I ducked back under and kept swimming. The current was with us, but the water was black. I felt claustrophobic in a way I never do in the water. I tamped down panic. Panic could get you killed in the water.
The next time I surfaced, I flipped onto my back and looked towards Heron Creek. We’d put two piers with Boston Whalers tied off between us and whoever was shooting at us. There was no sign of anyone. Rhett was still barking. I flipped and swam in an adrenaline-fueled fast crawl towards the marina.
When the boat slips at Robinson’s came into view, my tension eased.
“Second pier,” Nate called.
I swam past the first row of boat slips, towards a ladder at the end of the second dock.
I grabbed the ladder and pulled myself to it, gasping.
Nate pulled up beside me, sucking in air. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I’m fine. Let’s move to the houseboat. Stay low.”
We climbed the ladder and crouched as we moved quickly onto Blake’s floating home. I sat on the teak rail and swung my legs over. Nate climbed over behind me. I banged three times on the wood and glass door, then tried the knob.
It was locked.
I rattled the knob and banged harder. Had our assailant pursued us?
“Coming.” The door swung open. Blake gaped at me. He was dressed, but his hair was still wet from the shower. “The hell? Liz?”
We pushed past him.
“Close the door,” I said.
We collapsed on the built-in sofa.
“Are you guys all right?” Blake asked.
“I think so.” I was still panting. “Rhett.” I looked at Nate.
“What happened? You’re soaking wet, scraped all over…” Blake stepped into the bathroom and returned seconds later with a stack of towels. “You’ve got…” he leaned in, looked closer “…sand spurs in your hair.”
I wrapped a towel around me. “Thanks.” My teeth chattered, more from shock than cold.
Nate held his side. “Our morning run was rudely interrupted by a shooter beyond the tree line at Heron Creek.”
Blake looked me up and down. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Whoever that was, the gunshots were muffled. I mean, they were loud, but not as loud as they should’ve been.”
“Definitely a sound suppressor,” said Nate.
Guns weren’t always silenced as much as it seemed on TV. It depended on the equipment. But the sound could be deadened significantly. “The shots came from above,” I said. “He was in a tree.”
Nate said, “And he must’ve had night vision goggles or a scope. It’s too black over by Heron Creek this time of morning to hope to shoot somebody otherwise.”
“You rattled somebody’s cage,” said Blake. “Whose?”
“I don’t know,” I sa
id. “Price Elliott is likely the most perturbed. But this doesn’t feel like something Price would do. The last person I interviewed was Humphrey Pearson, but it’s hard to imagine him with a gun.”
Blake turned to Nate. Alarm washed over Blake’s face. “You’ve been hit.”
I spun to Nate. His towel was turning red, his hand bloody where he’d been holding his side. A stain spread across his shirt.
White hot pain hit me in a wave. I tasted metal. We were at the marina. Nate was in trouble. Dizzy. I was so dizzy. Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip.
“Oh my God,” I said. “We’ve got to get you to the hospital.” I stood.
Shock bleached Nate’s tanned face. He stared at his hand unbelieving.
Blake grabbed his keys with one hand and his phone with the other. “Doc Harper’s closer. Nate, you okay to get to the car?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head, seemed dazed. “I didn’t realize I’d been shot.”
Blake spoke into the phone. “Coop, get over to Heron Creek. Take Rodney and Sam with you. We had a shooter this morning. Up in a tree. Find him. And be on the lookout for my sister’s golden retriever.”
Blake took Nate’s arm and ducked under it. “Let’s move.”
Nate staggered to a stand.
I moved in on his other side. He kept his right arm close to his body, his hand pressing the towel against his abdomen. The blood. Oh dear God. The blood. I slipped an arm around his waist.
“I’m the first one through that door,” said Blake.
The three of us moved sideways out the door, looking for movement. The sky was lightening. A boat engine started. I craned my neck to see. Just a fisherman heading out. The lights inside the marina store were on now. Clay Cooper’s siren howled, still blocks away.
We moved as quickly as we could to Blake’s Tahoe. Nate was getting weaker, slowing down. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear Blake’s voice.
“Nate, let’s get you in the back.” Blake swung open the back passenger door.
“Roger that.” Nate’s voice slurred. He winced as he lifted a leg to climb inside the SUV.
Blake helped him in, then he was on the phone. “Doc, I’ll be there in five with my brother-in-law. He’s got a gunshot wound to his right side.”
Lowcountry Bonfire Page 17