LOWCOUNTRY BOOKSHOP

by Susan M. Boyer

  Nate reached out, brushed my hair back from my face. “We were hired to do a job. This one sucks on all sides.”

  “She has to be the sole support of that family,” I said. “That has to be why she drove away. She couldn’t risk being charged.”

  Colleen appeared in a burst of white light. She sat in the backseat, poked her head between the seats, and touched my arm. “Be strong.”

  “Why did you get us involved in this?” I asked. “There’s no justice to be had here. A man is dead—he was an abusive husband, but he didn’t deserve to die. Three women, who do nothing but good, are in big trouble. And then there’s Emma, who—Colleen, this hurts my heart.”

  “It hurts mine too,” she said. “But remember, I can see alternate scenarios. Better for people who are responsible in some way to pay for Phillip Drayton’s death than someone as innocent as Poppy. So much is going on that we can’t know. Too many intersecting stories are unfolding simultaneously for mere mortals—or mere guardian spirits—to comprehend the greater good. We have to have faith in grace.”

  “And we need to talk to Fraser again,” said Nate.

  Hope rose in my chest. “He’s a good attorney.”

  “The best,” said Nate.

  “Faith and the best attorney.” I nodded.

  “There’s my girl,” said Nate.

  “Sorry, but I have to go.” Colleen faded out.

  “I’m thinking Tess Hathaway ought to step up for Emma Williams,” I said.

  Nate shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

  I dialed Tess. “We’ve found the blonde driver and the SUV.” I explained Emma’s situation. “I was hoping—”

  “Say no more, my dear,” said Tess. “That poor girl. Her bad luck was initiated by ours. This just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said. “It does indeed.”

  “There are a great many problems in this life that money cannot solve. And then there are those that it can mitigate. Offer her my assistance, won’t you? And Fraser’s as well.”

  “I will,” I said.

  I called Fraser to let him know we’d found the car and communicate my conversation with Tess.

  “I have a three o’clock open,” he said. “Tell Mrs. Williams to be here then. Please also advise her to be here in the morning at eleven o’clock. Mrs. Hathaway and her cohorts will be here as well. After we discuss more pressing matters, I am told that these ladies have elaborate plans to assist the Williams family in their time of need.”

  Ridgetech’s offices were on the second floor of the Bank of America building. Nate waited in the parking garage and I went inside and loitered in the lobby until Emma came out at a few minutes past twelve carrying an insulated lunch bag. I followed her downstairs and out the front door and onto the Meeting Street sidewalk.

  “Looks like she’s having her lunch outside.” I wore an earwig, with a thin transmitter coil under my shirt which allowed me to communicate with Nate without holding my phone to my ear, and also allowed him to record any conversation I might have. Though it wouldn’t be admissible in court, it might serve another purpose. And there was no way Emma would consent for me to record the conversation I planned to have with her, thereby making it admissible.

  She went left on Meeting Street, then made another left onto North Market. I followed her on foot to Concord Street where she turned right. For a moment I wondered if she were headed to Buxton Books. But she walked past it, continuing on to the fountain at the north entrance of Waterfront Park. She smiled at the children frolicking under the streams of water as she climbed the steps.

  She crossed the slate walkway and headed out onto the pier. Here, three shelters shaded tables and porch swings from the midday August sun. She walked all the way to the end and settled onto the front swing, facing out across the Cooper River. Here she pulled out a bottle of water and a sandwich.

  There would never be a good time for what I had to do. I approached the swing. “Mind if I join you?”

  She looked startled, glanced around, probably asking herself if there weren’t an empty swing somewhere. Finally, she said, “Sure,” and slid over.

  “My name is Liz Talbot.”

  “Emma Williams.”

  “I know who you are,” I said.

  The bottle of water stopped partway to her mouth.

  “I know what happened to Phillip Drayton.”

  She hopped up, ready to dart back down the pier.

  “Please,” I said. “If there’s any way I can help you, anyway at all, I will. Please trust that. But I can’t let an innocent woman go to jail.” Poppy was off the hook, but Emma didn’t know that. I needed her to tell me everything.

  She stopped, looked at me, eyes large. “The mail carrier?” It came out as a wail. Then she realized she’d spoken, drew back her head, as if trying to suck the words back in.

  “Yes,” I said. “Her name is Poppy Oliver. I know you’ve been watching her. Please sit down.”

  “I have to go back to work. I think you have me confused with someone else. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Please sit down and talk to me,” I said.

  She took three long strides back down the pier.

  “There was a witness who can identify you,” I called.

  She froze in mid-stride, turned slowly.

  “What do you have to do with this?” Her voice trembled.

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  Perhaps somewhat relieved that I couldn’t arrest her on the spot, she walked back over, sat back down on the swing. “What do you want?”

  “What I want is for none of this to have happened. I’m betting we share that wish. What I need is to give my client a complete and accurate report as to exactly what did happen. He is an attorney. A very, very good one.”

  “I can’t afford any kind of attorney.” She stared at the boards on the pier. “Much less a good one.”

  “I know, but there are some extenuating circumstances to this situation. If you will tell your story, an attorney will be provided for you. Very likely other help as well.”

  She stared at me. “What circumstances?”

  “You first,” I said. “Start with why you were driving Samuel Ridgeway’s Range Rover.”

  She wrapped her arms tightly around her mid-section, rocked back and forth.

  “You cannot let Poppy Oliver go to jail,” I said. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who could live with that.”

  She shook her head. Tears rolled down her face. “I would never have let that happen.”

  “Talk to me. Tell me about the Range Rover.”

  “My car wouldn’t start,” she said. “After work that Thursday. Sam lives a few blocks away. He knows…he knows my situation. The weather was so bad. I needed to pick up the kids. He insisted I take his car. He called someone to come get mine and fix it.”

  “So you went home,” I said.

  “Yes. I picked up the kids, made dinner, got them to bed. But, it was my best friend Karen’s birthday. I haven’t been out with my friends in years. And I wouldn’t have gone that night. But I missed her last two birthdays. We always celebrate at The Blind Tiger. Robert wanted me to go—I could tell it was important to him. He wanted me to do something fun. So, I went. Just for one drink.”

  “And you left a little after nine.”

  “Yes. I couldn’t find a parking space when I got there. A friend of mine has a business across Broad, with a small lot in back. Off Elliott Street. I parked there. But when I came out, the Church Street end of Elliott was blocked. There was a disabled vehicle. Its flashers were on. I had to go the wrong way just as far as Bedons Alley. When I got to Tradd Street, I had to go left, and then I was back to East Bay.”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “It was a crazy nig
ht—so much water in the streets. Accidents. I shouldn’t have gone out. I should never, ever, ever have taken that risk.” She rocked back and forth.

  I waited.

  Finally, she made a little hitching sound, then continued. “There was a police car. It had someone stopped on East Bay, a little ways up towards Broad. I’d only had one glass of wine. I wasn’t even a little bit tipsy. But I was paranoid. I turned right and followed East Bay. I was going to just go around the peninsula, follow Murray, make my way to Lockwood, then get on the Crosstown and head home.

  “On Murray, just before Lenwood, I saw blue lights in my rearview.”

  “You were pulled over?” I scrunched up my face.

  “No,” she said. “I thought I was being pulled over. I turned onto Lenwood. I thought it would be better to stop there. Murray is busier, and there was so much water. But then the spots at the curb on Lenwood were all taken. I sped up. I was looking for a place to park. I couldn’t believe it when the police car accelerated behind me, went on past me down Murray. And then, Mr. Drayton ran out into the street right in front of me so fast—there was no time to stop.” She dissolved into tears, keening, rocking back and forth.

  I gave her a minute. “What happened next?”

  “I got out of the car. I tried to help him. He was unconscious—maybe he was already dead. You have to understand. My husband has Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. We have two children. Without my paycheck, my insurance, my family would be on the streets. Literally.”

  “I understand.” What would I have done in her place? If Nate were sick, and those two children in my dream were real?

  “I couldn’t call with my phone. It was an accident. But I’d had one glass of wine. One. Glass. But I couldn’t run the risk of my blood alcohol testing above the limit. I was driving my boss’s car. I found Mr. Drayton’s phone in his pocket. I called for help. And then I left.”

  “What did you do with his phone?”

  “I turned it off right after I called. Later, I pounded it to smithereens with a hammer and put it in the trash.” She looked up at me. “You don’t know what you’ll do to protect your family. Nobody knows. Until they have to make that decision. Until it’s their family or someone else’s.”

  I knew she was right.

  She shook her head rapidly. “I had no way to know someone else would pull up behind me, get caught up in this. I never would’ve let an innocent party go to jail. When I heard the letter carrier was at the scene, I figured they’d know she was a witness, not the person who’d hit him. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t in trouble, but I couldn’t just call her up. So I checked on her a few times, to make sure she was still on her route.”

  “Did you know Phillip Drayton? His wife?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve never met either of them.”

  “Then why would you risk going to the funeral?” I asked.

  Her eyes grew and she raised her hands to the sides of her face, as if she were gripping something inches from her head. In a loud whisper she said, “Because I killed that man. He’s dead because of me.”

  She bent over double, wracked with sobs.

  I put my arms around her, comforted her as best I could.

  After a few moments, through a swollen throat, she said, “You know I could go to jail for twenty-five years? I looked it up. My husband will be dead and my children grown when I get out.”

  “Listen, that is the absolute worst-case scenario if you are charged with leaving the scene of an accident involving a death,” I said. “Let’s take this one step at a time, not get too far down the road worrying about things that might never happen. I’m not an attorney. But given that there are witnesses to the fact that it was an unavoidable accident, I seriously doubt you’re looking at a worst-case scenario. Also, you called for help. I would imagine that will factor in your favor. There are many factors that will be considered. Honestly, I think the outlook may be much brighter than you think.” I prayed hard that was the case. Surely this woman would not be held more responsible than the ones who’d sent Phillip Drayton running blindly into the street. Emma’s fate would be tied to theirs no doubt. Tess had money and a damn good lawyer. I had to believe Fraser could keep them all out of jail. They might be doing community service for a great many years. But these women had hearts for community service anyway.

  She said, “What happens now? I am begging you for mercy. Not for me—for my family. Please.”

  “As someone often in need of grace, I tend to offer it when I can with both hands. But in this instance, grace is not mine to give. As far as the justice system is concerned, the best I can offer is this.” I pulled out Fraser’s card. “This is your attorney. His office is on Broad Street. He’s the best. You have an appointment with him at three today. Can you make that?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. You need to tell him exactly what you told me. Then tomorrow morning, there’s another meeting at eleven in his office. You’ll meet a few more ladies who can maybe help you with some practical matters. I may be wrong, but I would bet the worst of this is behind you. At least you don’t have to lie awake at night and wonder when this is all coming down around you.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  After dinner that evening, we took our wine onto the deck and watched and listened to the surf from the Adirondack chairs. This case had taken a lot out of me. I needed for the bad guy to pay. This case had too many grey areas to suit me.

  “You okay, slugger?”

  “I will be,” I said.

  My phone rang. Sofia.

  “What now?” I sighed and answered the phone.

  Sofia said, “When you asked me if Anne Frances was still at my house yesterday, she was. I thought you might want to know. A little while ago she asked one of the drivers to take her back to Cumberland garage to pick up her car. I guess her ex left town.”

  “Thanks for letting us know.” I hung up and told Nate.

  “We know Mrs. Drayton and her playmate didn’t kill Phillip. I’m not sure this is our concern any longer.”

  “I’d really like to know what was going on with those two. We never did interview the widow. I think I’m ready now. How about you?”

  He was quiet for a few minutes, then said, “Best to be thorough. We shouldn’t close this case until we talk to her. She can corroborate what Tess and the others told us at least. Grab a jacket.”

  I looked at him, raised an eyebrow.

  He nodded. “Best to be safe too.”

  We went inside and hustled upstairs where we both slid into holsters for our weapons and topped them with blazers.

  We pulled into Anne Frances Drayton’s driveway right beside an alarm company truck.

  “Hmm,” I said. “Maybe she decided to up her security since she knows Ryan must’ve broken in to get ahold of what he needed to get himself inside The Planter’s Club.”

  Nate winced. “It’s after nine p.m. Maybe she paid them extra to stay late and finish. If they started an install this afternoon.”

  “Or maybe that’s Ryan’s missing white van with a magnetic sign on the side.”

  “That’s by far the most likely scenario,” said Nate. “We should record audio and video. Just in case.”

  I switched on my earwig. Nate set up the base unit between the seats. We both flipped on body cameras pinned to the lapels of our blazers.

  We climbed out of the car and walked around to the front door.

  A loud crash came from inside.

  Nate and I exchanged a glance.

  Another crash. A man bellowed with anger.

  Nate pulled out his phone and called Sonny. “Get over to the Drayton house, now.”

  He ended the call. “He’s on his way back from the detention center. Might be a few.”

  Something glass broke.

  “You bitch.” Ryan? Maybe.
/>   Another loud crash.

  “It sounds like they’re throwing chairs at each other,” I whispered.

  “We need to go in,” said Nate. “One of them could kill the other before Sonny gets here.”

  “I’ll go around the side,” I said.

  “Be cautious.”

  “You too.”

  We both pulled our weapons out of our jacket holsters.

  Nate eased open the front door.

  I darted down the steps, around the side of the house, and in through the pool gate. I crouched low and approached the French doors, which stood ajar. Anne Frances and Ryan were in the large family room just inside. It looked like they’d broken all the furniture they could lift.

  She held a gun on him. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”

  “You kiddin’ me? You owe me, bitch.”

  “For what? Why on earth would I owe you anything?”

  “Because I let you live.” He snarled the words.

  “Hold up there,” Nate said in my ear.

  “Roger that,” I said softly.

  “You are a leech,” said Anne Frances. “A despicable leech. I’ve kept you up for the last five years. Bought you a freakin’ condo. And all I have to show for it is a stack of hospital bills. I am all done with that. You have hit me and you have violated me for the last time. Do you hear me, you bastard?”

  He laughed.

  “You should never have come here,” said Anne Frances. “You should’ve stayed in California.”

  “You should be grateful to me. At any time, any time, I could’ve picked up the phone and called Lucious Carter and told him exactly where to find the girlfriend he’s been pining after all these years.”

  “If Lucious is still alive, he’s most likely rotting in jail,” said Anne Frances.

  “If you believed that,” said Ryan, “you’d have sent me packing years ago. Enjoyed your new life with your perfect husband. Lucious has moved up in the world, I hear.”