LOWCOUNTRY BOOKSHOP

by Susan M. Boyer

  “Shall we try the parlor on the right?” asked Nate.

  I nodded my assent. He escorted me into what looked like a gentlemen’s club room. More dark woods, comfortable leather sofas and chairs, and a bar at the far end. Nate escorted me to a club chair with a view of the room. “I’ll get us drinks,” he said.

  He returned shortly with club soda for me and bourbon for him, which he would nurse. We needed to fit in, but not get sloshed. I surveyed the room. There were half a dozen other couples having cocktails, most of them somewhat older than us, with one couple maybe in their seventies. All the ladies wore floor length gowns. In another room, someone played “As Time Goes By” on the piano.

  “One of us needs to get a look upstairs,” I said. “That’s no doubt where Anne Frances and the Paxton woman are staying. I don’t want to confront them—just get evidence that they’re here.”

  “And then use it when we confront Tess and the others,” said Nate.

  “Exactly. If we happen to come across anything else helpful, so much the better.”

  “I take it you want to go upstairs.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Naturally.”

  “I’ll wait here,” said Nate. “When you get back, let’s get a table in the main dining room. We’d be poor detectives if we didn’t check out the cuisine.”

  “James said the food was divine.” I stood, set down my glass.

  “Be cautious, Slugger.”

  “Always.”

  He flashed me a look that said Give me a break.

  I walked back into the main hall like I knew what I was doing. Two other couples hovered, chatting. I’d need to wait until the hallway was deserted to make my way up the grand staircase at the far end undetected. Regulars would know the upstairs was private.

  I wandered into the next room on the right, where the piano music emanated from. Double damn. Mallory Lucas and Daniel Drayton sat near the piano. Thankfully they were engrossed in conversation and didn’t notice me. Wait. Neither of them had ever seen me without my brown wig and contacts. I stepped back into the hallway and returned to the front parlor to alert Nate.

  “That’s interesting,” he said. “Though to be honest, at the moment, I’m much more suspicious of the widow and her lover than I am of them.”

  “Me too,” I said. “But how are we going to play this?”

  “Aw hell, that’s right. They know me as Tommy, but they don’t know you at all and think my wife is a brunette named Suzanne. This is inconvenient.”

  “Both of our voices are familiar, mine to Daniel, and yours to Mallory, from when we’re in costume.”

  Nate said, “If Mallory drinks as much as Daniel, that shouldn’t be a problem. My sense from having lunch with her is that she does. Still, this could get really tricky.”

  “As long as they don’t run into you, we’re good. They’re in the next room with the piano. Maybe move so that your back is to the door. I’m going to try again to get upstairs unseen.”

  “Roger that.”

  I made my way back into the main hall. But it was even more crowded now than before. I circulated through the crowd, smiling at everyone who met my gaze. The piano player teased a slow, jazzy “Summertime” from the keyboard.

  I returned to Nate, who now sat on a sofa facing the far wall.

  “I think my best chance to get upstairs might be later, after the floor show starts,” I said. “Everyone who’s here will likely be in the main lounge then.”

  “Shall we get dinner then?”

  “Let’s.” I smiled.

  He stood and offered me his arm. We walked down the hall to the second room on the left, where a maître d’ escorted us to a table by the window. Nate helped me into the chair on the left, then took the one with his back to the room, which was never his preference, but necessary tonight.

  Nate surveyed the wine list while I perused the menu.

  “They have a tasting menu as well as standard courses,” I said. “What’s your preference?”

  Nate grinned, shook his head. “My preference is that you have your way this evening. And we both know that you want the tasting menu.”

  “Well, it does take the stress out of choosing what to order.”

  “That’s never stressful for me.”

  “But it always is for me.”

  “I know.” He laid down the wine list. When the waiter returned, he said, “We’d like the chef’s tasting menu, with the recommended wine pairings.”

  Moments later, the maître d’ escorted Daniel and Mallory to a table across the room. “They’re seated,” I said. “He’s facing the same wall I am—I think we can relax.”

  For the next two hours, we enjoyed a parade of pretty food that tasted as good as it looked.

  “I’m hoping James will invite us back when we’re not working and can enjoy more than a taste of each wine,” I said.

  “I’m betting all you have to do is drop a hint.”

  At nine thirty, we could hear the music change in the main lounge across the hall.

  “Sounds like the show’s about to start,” said Nate. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, let’s see if we can find a table near the back. It’ll be easier for me to slip in and out.”

  He escorted me into a room that looked like it might be a club in a movie with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers. There was a stage with curtains and tables clustered several deep all around a dance floor. We made our way to a table near the back.

  Just as Nate pulled my chair back, Daniel Drayton entered the room, Mallory on his arm. His first expression read like he thought he’d been caught. He looked at Mallory, then back at Nate. Then at me. He looked confused. “Tommy.”

  “Well, hello. Nice to see you.” Nate smiled a thin smile. “This is Liz.”

  “Hello.” Daniel nodded in my direction. “I’m Daniel Drayton. This is…Mallory Lucas.” He seemed to feel better once he’d gotten that out. He gave Nate a look that asked for an explanation.

  Like any man caught out with a woman who was not his wife, Nate offered him none. He also declined to invite them to join us. After an awkward moment, they moved to a table across the room.

  “That could’ve gone worse,” said Nate.

  “I’m just glad it’s over with,” I said. “Maybe they’ll keep to themselves now.”

  We watched the first show number, which might’ve been a part of a Broadway musical. The singers and dancers were first rate. As the performers transitioned to the next number, I excused myself.

  The hall was empty now, thankfully. I hustled towards the staircase.

  I noticed movement on my left. Someone had come from one of the other rooms and was also headed towards the stairs. I pivoted my head and smiled.

  It was Ryan Sutton.

  How had he gotten in? Why was he here?

  He was dressed in a tuxedo, like every other man there. He looked like he belonged.

  He returned my smile. From a room behind the staircase, a large man emerged, dressed in a suit like the doormen and the burly guy who’d come with the driver to pick us up. I veered right, in the direction of the ladies’ room. I wondered if they had a camera trained on the hallway approaching the staircase. I paused just out of their line of sight, in the shadows.

  Ryan kept moving towards the steps.

  “Excuse me sir,” said the man who worked there. “What can I help you find?”

  “I believe my girlfriend is upstairs,” said Ryan. “I need to check on her. She’s not feeling well.” He kept walking.

  The burly guy placed himself between Ryan and the stairs. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken, sir. The second floor isn’t open to guests.”

  “That may be so, but my girl is up there, and I’m going to get her.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.” He touched his ear, said someth
ing. He was wearing an earpiece. Of course. Someone would be coming to help him dispense with Ryan.

  “Who’s going to stop me?” Ryan stepped around the man and put his foot on the first step.

  Another employee appeared. How many of them were in the room where they watched the cameras?

  The two men each took ahold of one of Ryan’s arms.

  “Get your hands off me,” he said.

  “Could you step outside, please, sir?” The employee kept his voice low and calm.

  They walked towards the door, dragging Ryan between them.

  He struggled and cursed all the way to the door. When they were outside, I looked all around and ran up the staircase.

  From the top of the stairs, a wide hallway ran left and right, but also partway back around towards the front of the house, forming a U shape. All of the doors I could see were closed. I needed to get out of sight. Anyone entering the hall downstairs could see me on the landing. I darted down the hall to the right.

  French doors opened into a sitting room where two women watched television. On closer inspection, they were watching a feed of the floorshow downstairs. I could only see the backs of their heads, but one was blonde and one was brunette. I opened the door on the right and walked in. Anne Frances and the Paxton woman looked up at me. Neither seemed alarmed.

  “Excuse me.” Before I got to explaining myself, I casually raised my right arm and rubbed a spot just below my heavy tennis bracelet. It looked expensive, and it was, but not because it was made of diamonds. The cubic zirconia stones were good enough to pass for diamonds if one didn’t have a jeweler’s loupe handy. What made the bracelet expensive was the camera hidden in the center stone. I pressed a button to snap several photos.

  The women still looked at me. Should I warn Anne Frances about Ryan? Clearly, he had some sort of tracker in her purse or her overnight bag. That’s the only way he could’ve found her, wasn’t it? Where was our hostess? She was surely smart enough to figure out how Ryan had gotten here. But I didn’t know everything there was to know about these people and their situation.

  Colleen said another life was in danger. Was that one of these women?

  “Y’all don’t know me,” I said, “and I don’t have time to explain myself. But I believe someone looking for one of you placed some sort of tracking device in your purse or your luggage—maybe your clothing or a piece of jewelry. They just hauled a man out downstairs. He was trying to get up here. Said he was looking for his girlfriend. I thought someone should know.”

  Both women looked stricken.

  I turned around and made my way back downstairs.

  One of the burly men watched me coming down. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, “could you direct me to the ladies’ room? I seem to have lost my way.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. It’s right this way.” He escorted me to the ladies’ room and watched me go inside. Perhaps since he saw me coming down the steps, he figured I was truly lost.

  When I came out of the ladies’ room, he stood at the bottom of the stairs. With posture that would’ve made Mamma proud, I glided right by him and returned to our table in the main lounge. Currently performing were scantily clad women doing a Rockette-style kick line.

  I glanced from the stage to the table. Daniel and Mallory had joined Nate. Daniel was in his face. For his part, Nate wore a bored expression.

  “I thought better of you,” said Daniel.

  Nate remained silent.

  “How could you cheat on a sweet girl like Suzy? The week you bury an old friend—my brother. How could you do that?” Clearly, Daniel had been over-served bourbon.

  Nate saw me approaching the table and stood.

  Daniel and Mallory looked my way. Daniel scowled. “D’you know he’s married?”

  I covered my face with my hands and ran out in fake tears.

  Behind me, I heard Nate say, “Thanks a lot, pal.”

  He followed me out. Thankfully, Daniel and Mallory did not.

  Nate alerted one of the doormen that we were ready to leave. We waited on the porch. There was no sign of Ryan Sutton.

  “You find what you were looking for?” Nate asked.

  “That and more.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  The next morning, I woke up to Nate gently stroking my forearm. “Slugger?”

  “What time is it?” Disoriented, I struggled to sit up and prop against the pillows. The Belmond. That’s right.

  “Seven-thirty. Here.” He handed me a cup, wrapped my hands around it. “I brought emergency coffee.”

  I moaned with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Least I could do.” He grinned lasciviously. “I’m the one who kept you up so late.”

  A slow smile slid up my face. “I don’t recall objecting.”

  “I have breakfast too.” He pulled an almond croissant from a familiar bag.

  “Christophe’s?” I might have squealed a little.

  “That’s your favorite isn’t it?”

  “Thank you, Sweetheart.” What had I ever done to deserve this man?

  “Eat now,” he said. “I’ve got news.”

  I bit into the croissant.

  “I put a tracker on Sutton’s Fusion. It’s parked at his condo. I can’t be sure he’s there, unfortunately. Wherever he parks the van, it isn’t anywhere within a mile of his building. I did a grid search.”

  “What time did you get up this morning? The beds here must be made of down from angel wings or something. I declare I didn’t stir until you woke me.”

  “My internal alarm went off at five o’clock. I didn’t want to disturb you. Thought I might as well get something accomplished.”

  “I can’t figure these two out,” I said. “Sutton and Anne Frances. Clearly, they’re having an affair. She snuck off to Kiawah to meet him the day after she buried her husband. But, she was not one teeny bit happy he turned up at The Planter’s Club.”

  “Well, we know where she is. I figure after we get what we need from Tess, Jacynthe, and Sofia, we talk to her next.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “We know the right questions to ask now, anyway.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Nate. “But it’s Sunday morning. Tess is headed to church, as is Jacynthe. Sofia had a late night.”

  “I have photos of Anne Frances and the Paxton woman at Sofia’s, in the private part of the club. But I think we may need more to convince Tess and the others to tell us everything. Today isn’t the best day to confront the three of them together.”

  “Agreed. We need to plan that carefully.” I chewed thoughtfully. “Would you hand me my iPad?”

  “Sure.” Nate crossed the room, pulled it from my tote, and handed it to me.

  “Why don’t we see if we can figure out what role Emma Williams plays in this drama, if any? We may be able to cross her off our case board.” I opened the Facebook app.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Give me a second.”

  While she hadn’t updated her page in months, many of the people who tagged Emma with posts offering thoughts and prayers for her husband were from her church, Bethel United Methodist.

  I said, “Let’s see if she and her family are headed out to church as well.”

  Nate thought for a moment. “You finish eating and get dressed. It’s early-ish yet, not far from here to Wagener Terrace. I’ll slip over there and see if I can get a tracker on the Honda.”

  It was always good to know when folks were heading home if you were searching their house. “Sounds like a plan.”

  While church bells all over the Holy City called the faithful to worship, Nate and I watched the Williams’s modest white bungalow on the corner of Darlington and Maple. We’d parked on the street along Maple, where we could see the front yard, the side of the house, and the small backyard. Nate had succes
sfully hidden a GPS tracker under the front wheel well of the Honda.

  I laid my iPad on my lap. “I’ve searched every way I know to search. That rickety old Honda is the only car this family has owned in the last three years. They did have a 2012 BMW X3, but they sold it a few months after they bought it.”

  “What color?” asked Nate.

  “Blue, but what difference does that make? They sold it three years ago.”

  Nate shrugged. “Who’d they sell it to? They’d maybe be upside down in a new car they only had a few months. Maybe they sold it to family.”

  “Nah—they sold it back to the dealership.”

  “When did they buy this house?” asked Nate.

  “Two thousand ten,” I said. “They paid two seventy-nine for it. In this neighborhood, that’s a fixer-upper. There’s a mortgage for two twenty-three.”

  “From the outside,” said Nate, “doesn’t look like they’ve done much in the way of renovations yet. When the husband got sick I guess a lot of things changed.”

  The backdoor opened and two pale-haired children stepped out onto the small covered porch. The little girl looked about four, the boy five or six. They were both dressed for church, her in a red flowered dress with matching Mary Janes and lacey white socks, him in a checkered shirt and shorts with a belt.

  “What cute kids,” I said.

  They both looked up as if someone had called from inside. They scampered back into the house. A few moments later, they emerged from the front, followed by Emma, who helped her frail-looking husband down the steps. His suit hung on him, like maybe it was three sizes too big.

  “Something is bad wrong with Robert Williams,” I said. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Nate.

  The family rounded the front of the house toward where the car was parked along the far side.

  A heaviness settled in my chest. The children. “We are going to hell for this,” I said. “Those poor people.”

  “We’re only looking for the truth,” said Nate. “I get that these are sympathetic looking folks, but—”