“What about the next one?”
Poppy swiped again, to Emma’s photo. Poppy bit her bottom lip. “I’ve seen her several times recently, but we’ve never spoken.”
“Where did you see her?”
“On Monday, when you and I were talking and she drove by with the windows down.”
“Right.”
“She did that again yesterday. Rode by slow and looked at me like that. On Murray. It’s weird.”
Yes, it was. Very weird. “Is that it?” I asked.
“And at the funeral home. She was there. Also, the funeral.”
“Anywhere else?”
She winced. “I don’t think so.”
“Swipe once more.”
Poppy stared at Mallory Lucas. “Oh yeah. Her, I’ve definitely seen.”
“At the funeral home and the funeral?”
“There too, but I think she stalked Mr. Drayton.”
“Stalked him?”
“I like to come to White Point Garden in late afternoons, if the weather’s nice and it’s not too crowded. I ride my bike down, put out a quilt, watch the boats, watch the sunset. It’s lovely. This woman, she liked to watch Mr. Drayton. Several times, when I was riding my bike to the park or home, I noticed her parked along the Lower Battery, watching for him to come home.”
“How did you know that’s what she was doing?” I asked.
“It’s like she wanted him to see her. She’d wait ‘til he pulled in the driveway. Watch him drive inside the garage, then leave.”
“Did you ever see her waiting for him to leave? Follow him?”
“No. She just watched him come home. Well, that’s all I saw, anyway. The Draytons had enough problems. They didn’t need that…that…whatever she was up to.”
“What kind of car was she in?”
“A red convertible.”
“Did you tell Detective Ravenel about this?” I asked.
“Yes, but he didn’t seem very interested. I think he’s made up his mind.”
I was very much afraid she was right. “I’m sorry to keep you from your lunch. Please, eat.”
She took a bite of her sandwich.
“What kind is it?”
She swallowed, sipped her water. “Peanut butter.”
“I love PB and Js.”
“I was out of the J. I need to get to the store. Just peanut butter today.”
“Dinner will taste good tonight,” I said.
She chuckled. “I live alone. It’s hot. I’m not cooking tonight. Dinner will be a bowl of cereal.”
I thought about the platters and bowls filled with home cooked food that would be waiting on me at Mamma’s house that evening. Then I watched her take another bite of that peanut butter sandwich and wash it down with water that was very likely tepid at best.
“Poppy, do you like country fried steak with gravy?” I asked.
“Oh man, I love that stuff. I haven’t had it since…” She looked down. “That was my mother’s specialty.”
I swallowed hard. “Will you do something for me?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“You haven’t met my husband, Nate—he’s my partner, too. I want you to tell him about Mallory Lucas. Do you think you could come to our house this evening and do that, maybe help us brainstorm a few things? It would really be a big help.” Of course, I didn’t need her to tell Nate this story—I could tell him just fine. But I didn’t know Poppy that well. She’d likely consider a dinner invitation to my parents’ house odd.
“I guess…”
“Listen, it will be kind of a pain because we live on Stella Maris. You’ll have to take the ferry—” I stopped. Poppy didn’t have a car. “Never mind. What time will you get home from work today?”
“Five, if I’m lucky.”
“I’ll pick you up then,” I said. “And by no means should you eat cereal. In fact, don’t eat anything else today. I’d stop eating now if I were you.”
She knit her brow. “Okay.”
SIXTEEN
Despite the advice I’d given Poppy about not eating before dinner, I was sorely tempted to head over to Closed for Business on King Street. I craved a spicy chicken sandwich and some gravy fries. Sometimes tricky cases made me crave food that was not necessarily healthy, but surely tasty. I curbed my urges, saved my calories for Mamma’s gravy, and popped into Verde a couple blocks farther down King for a quick salad.
I put my earbuds in and called Mamma as I munched on my Southern Harvest salad.
“Hello?” I could hear the stress in her voice. Besides, she had caller ID just like most everyone else. She knew exactly who was calling before she picked up the phone. The fact that she pretended she didn’t know it was me was a tell.
“Hey, Mamma. Is everything all right?”
“Peachy keen,” she said in a voice that let me know everything was far from all right. “I hope you aren’t calling to tell me you and Nate can’t make it for dinner. I’ve thawed five pounds of cubed steak.”
“No, we’ll be there.”
She drew a ragged breath. “Well, good then. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if it would be all right if I brought a guest?” I bit my lip. This was an inexcusable breach of etiquette—asking Poppy before checking with Mamma. I don’t know what had come over me.
“Liz darlin’, I’m sure you know this is not a good time for company in our house.” I could feel her struggle. It was against Mamma’s nature to be inhospitable. “Who is it?”
I sighed. “A client. I wouldn’t ask, but the poor girl has no family whatsoever. I just watched her eat a peanut butter sandwich for lunch in her mail truck, and she’s planning on having cold cereal for dinner. I feel bad for her.”
“You are exactly like your father, you know that.” It was her turn to sigh.
“What? Where did that come from?”
“Do you know who is riding some sort of tractor around my backyard right this very minute?”
“Oh no.”
“Yes, exactly. It’s Ray Kennedy. Your daddy’s cousin Ponder is spreading mulch.”
“Mulch. That sounds like progress,” I said.
“Well, you’ll see it for yourself this evening. You might as well bring your friend. I can’t abide the thought of someone having cold cereal for dinner. Your sister does that. She thinks I don’t know it. Drives me batty. I have a cake in the oven. I’ll see you at six o’clock.”
“Thank you, Mamma. I appreciate it.” As we said our goodbyes I couldn’t help thinking that having company might be the only thing that saved us all that evening. There was a limit to how much any of us would act out in front of guests.
While I had my phone out, I pulled up the tracking app to see if Anne Frances had decided to leave the house. I really wasn’t expecting she would—she’d just buried her husband the day before. No matter what their relationship had been, she was probably emotionally exhausted, and from all indications she didn’t go out much under normal circumstances.
I stared at the display for a moment. There was a blue blinking dot where I was, and a red blinking dot where Anne Frances Drayton’s car was. My dot was stationary. Hers was not. She was on Ashley Avenue, between Tradd and Broad. Was she headed back to the bookstore?
She turned left on Broad. Where was she going?
I tapped Nate’s photo in my favorites list, stuck my phone in the outside pocket of my cross-body bag, and cleared my place. Then I was out the door.
Nate wasn’t answering.
I opened the Find My Friends app. Nate was at Market Pavilion Hotel. Was that where he’d met Mallory?
I texted him: AFD on the move.
Then I dashed down King Street to my car, climbed in, and put my iPhone on the magnetic disc that held it in place so I could see the sc
reen. The red blinking dot was on Highway 17, halfway over the Ashley River. I double tapped the dot. This would route directions from me to my target. I started the car and pulled into traffic.
Following the directions the British woman with impeccable enunciation gave me, I took King Street to Broad. At the stoplight, I was behind a UPS truck and a Prius. I willed the light to change. Anne Frances was on Folly Road. I watched the dot blinking along the line. Finally, the UPS truck turned right and the Prius crossed Broad. I turned right and urged the UPS driver to go faster. After an eternity, he turned right on Logan.
I zipped ahead as fast as traffic would allow, grateful when the outbound lane of Broad Street split into two lanes, just before Rutledge. I passed the Malibu in front of me and sped up, flirted with a speeding ticket. It wouldn’t be my first.
I followed Broad until it turned into Lockwood, then turned left on 17 South and crossed the Ashley River. Anne Frances was on Maybank Highway, headed towards Johns Island. I wouldn’t be able to catch her without driving recklessly. But wherever she was headed, I wouldn’t be far behind her.
I followed the voice directions, kept my eyes on the road, and glanced occasionally at the screen. By the time I crossed the Stono River, Anne Frances was on Bohicket Road. Was she going to Kiawah or Seabrook?
Forty-five minutes after I left the peninsula, I followed Anne Frances onto Kiawah Island Parkway, just as her blinking dot came to a stop at The Sanctuary at Kiawah Island. This could be anything from a lunch date with a girlfriend, to an afternoon at the spa, to a romantic rendezvous. Daniel had said Phillip suspected—no, he was certain—Anne Frances was having an affair. Was her lover her accomplice?
I found her Lexus in the parking lot. If only I had a tracker in her purse. I took my phone off the magnet.
I’d missed a text from Nate: I see you. Done here. Want me to join you?
I called him. “I’m still thinking about how to find her. She could be anywhere. No telling how long she plans to stay. Could be the afternoon or the week. What’d you find out from Mallory?”
“She has no alibi. She stayed in that night. It was so nasty out she curled up in front of the TV.”
“Hmm, I wonder how long her condo building saves security footage.”
“Ahead of you there. They still have it saved digitally. They’re happy to share it as soon as law enforcement shows up with a subpoena.”
“I wonder how secure that server is,” I said.
“My plan is to impress you with my investigative and technical prowess by scaling that particular wall,” said Nate. “That’s next on my agenda. Mallory was unsettled enough by my interview that she called Daniel as soon as she was in her car.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Well, I watched her walk back to her car. As soon as she started the engine, she was issuing voice commands. I could see her lips moving. She could’ve been singing, I guess. But she wasn’t. Remember the code I installed on Daniel’s phone?”
“I do.”
“I activated the feature that turns his phone into a listening device. I couldn’t hear her end of the conversation, of course, but from his end, I could tell she was upset and he was comforting her. Clearly, she repeated the story I told her about Anne Frances using her as an alibi. He’s beyond pissed about that—more convinced than ever that she killed his brother. Has a call in to Sonny. I need to give him a heads up. And Daniel plans to further comfort Mallory over dinner this evening at seven.”
“Interesting. We should eavesdrop on that as well. Can you record it? We’ll be at Mamma and Daddy’s house.”
“Sure thing. I’ll set it up before we leave.”
I told him what Poppy had said about Mallory stalking Phillip.
“Seems she had an obsession with him at the very least,” said Nate.
“What did Sonny say about Daniel?”
“He likewise has no alibi.”
“Damnation. I just wish we could eliminate one suspect. Just one.”
“I feel your frustration. Want me to head your way? We can beat the bushes over there together. I can hack into the security footage later.”
“I have a better idea.” I smiled at him through the phone.
I heard him smile back. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“It’s that black mess in your hair.”
“You’ll watch to see if she heads home?”
“Yeah. I’ll monitor the app in case she leaves. Poppy’s already delivered her mail for today. Unless the lawn service or some such shows up, you should have the place to yourself.”
“Roger that.”
“But be out by four. You need to be on the four thirty ferry home to get cleaned up for dinner.”
“I’ll set an alarm,” said Nate.
“Oh, and Poppy’s coming with us.”
“With us where?”
“To Mamma and Daddy’s for dinner.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But maybe she’ll be a calming influence.”
He blew out a long breath. “See you at the house.”
Enough time had passed that Anne Frances had checked in if she planned to. I called the hotel and asked for her room.
“One moment please,” said the operator.
The phone rang twice.
“Hello.” A man’s voice.
Hell’s bells. “Yes, good afternoon, sir. I’m calling to confirm your room service order.”
He chuckled. “Damn, you folks are good. I haven’t placed one yet. But since I’ve got you on the line, send us up a bottle of your best champagne and some strawberries.”
“Right away sir. Two flutes?”
“That’ll be plenty.” He hung up the phone.
Holy shit.
Phillip Drayton had been right. There was no way his widow had met someone and gotten close enough to share afternoon champagne and strawberries with them in the just over twenty-four hours since she’d buried her husband. She had been having an affair. I needed to know with whom.
I’d never been inside The Sanctuary at Kiawah before—had no idea what the layout was like. But Google knew. I pulled up a satellite view. Damnation. The hotel was a huge complex consisting of three main wings, with various restaurants and amenities tacked on.
When the champagne and strawberries didn’t arrive, Anne Frances or her friend would call to inquire about it. He or she would be disgruntled, so the hotel would rush to get the order filled. How long did I have to figure out which kitchen room service was sent up from? I pulled up the website.
The Ocean Room was the fine dining option on-site, and it wasn’t open in the afternoon. I’d start with Jasmine Porch, the full-service restaurant onsite. I hopped out of the car and jogged partway down the path in the direction of the hotel lobby, then slowed. If I knew what room they were in, what would that buy me?
What I needed was the name of whoever she was with and a photo. A photo of them together would be even better. There was no way to take photos, even with the Nikon and a long lens, inside any of the rooms on this property during the middle of the afternoon without attracting the attention of management.
I decided to pass some time sitting in the impeccably decorated lobby. It was two o’clock. If Anne Frances and her paramour were only here for a couple of hours, I could wait them out. Otherwise, I’d need a plan B. I opened the app just to verify her car was still parked outside—it was.
If I were her, I’d make my secret lover leave by one of several paths around the property that didn’t go through the lobby. I’d’ve made him park half a mile away and walk down the beach. Anne Frances struck me as a smart lady. The question was, how smart was her side guy?
From my spot in a comfortable arm chair flanking a sofa, I could alternate looking right out the front
entrance, and left across a wide lawn flanked by walkways. For two hours, I watched people come and go—couples, families, golfers—a random sample of folks relaxing and enjoying the gorgeous surroundings.
At almost straight up four o’clock, just as I was about to formulate a quick plan B, Anne Frances Drayton walked out the front door of the hotel by herself. Dammit. I was hoping she’d be careless. I glanced out the window across the lawn. No sign of a man walking down a path by himself.
I texted Nate: She’s leaving.
When I looked up from my phone, a mid-to-late thirties guy ambled into the lobby in the general direction of the front door. Maybe just shy of six feet tall, he had sun-streaked medium brown hair, a beard that was scruffy in the way some women found attractive, a mustache, and muscles and a tan that were both well-tended. He wore khaki shorts and a long-sleeve button-down with the sleeves rolled up. If he wasn’t someone’s boy toy, he was auditioning for the part.
He watched something in the general direction of Anne Frances Drayton’s retreating derrière. When he walked out the front door, I rose and followed. He headed down the path to the left of the trees in front of the hotel, towards the lot opposite the one I’d parked in, then sauntered across the parking lot to a blue Ford Fusion that might not’ve been the first one ever made, but it sure looked like it. I held my phone down as I passed behind it and snapped a photo of the plate. He backed out of the space and drove past me on his way out.
I pretended to be texting with my thumbs, held the phone just below chest height, and got a photo of him in profile. It was the best I could do without attracting his attention. I couldn’t care less about that if he hadn’t spent the afternoon with Anne Frances Drayton. But I knew in my gut he had done exactly that.
SEVENTEEN
Poppy and I swung by the house, parked my car, and hopped in with Nate.
“Poppy, this is my husband and partner, Nate. Nate, this is Poppy.” I checked his hair, making sure there wasn’t a trace of the black gel.
Nate raised an eyebrow at me, then did a double take on Poppy. She looked quite a bit different this evening. Her rich brown hair was loose and hung below her shoulders, and her bangs were swept to the side. She wore a lovely yellow sundress and sandals. She’d added perhaps a touch of mascara and lip gloss. She was lovely.
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