Savannah Sleuth

by Alan Chaput

  Alisa’s brother was the clerk of court, so Patricia knew the information was legit. “Did he say who?”

  “Someone using the public computers at the main library. There were several searches, the first about a week ago.”

  Why wouldn’t someone search from their home or office? To hide their identity? And multiple searches? What on earth? “What were they looking for?”

  “Everything in the online records related to Trey.”

  “Is there much there?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Public information is public for a reason. Trey’s a good man. If someone wants to research him, so be it. “Thanks for the heads up, Alisa.”

  “No problem.”

  A change of clothes and a splash of lavender cologne later, Patricia glanced out the window. The ladies, including her three closest friends, decked out in elegant tea dresses, hats and gloves so different from the somber black they all wore to the memorial, gathered in the formal courtyard outside her front door. They always waited outside until all had arrived. Normally, Patricia looked forward to entertaining the women, but not today. Her mind was elsewhere. They’d known each other for ages and got along famously. She knew they would understand if she wasn’t quite herself. At precisely eleven, she opened the door and greeted them all with, “Welcome, everyone, to our home.”

  Like fillies going to the starting gate, the thirteen other members and their guests entered the double doors and swarmed down the wide hall to the rear parlor, their designer heels clicking on the black Italian marble floor.

  Established in the 1890’s, the bridge club was an umbilical cord to the past. But the fourteen carefully vetted members lived very much in the present. And, as a group, they wielded immense political and economic power in Savannah. Power measured by social action rather than social standing. Power measured by cunning rather than coyness. Each woman possessed more confidence than an alligator stalking lunch, and just as much patience.

  An hour of duplicate bridge followed. Patricia’s game suffered because her mind continued to run in circles. There was no focus to her thoughts and no end to the recycling.

  Precisely at noon all playing ceased, champagne was served and the ladies conversed while the bridge tables were transformed with linen, china, crystal, and her heirloom vermeil flatware.

  Patricia joined a clutch of three women who stood like entwined vines at the back of the room. They exchanged cheek kisses. What a special team they were. A fortress against life’s abuses. The four had accomplished so much together. Having her three friends with her seemed to ease her sadness somewhat.

  “I’m so sorry your mother passed,” Judy said. “Such a lovely lady.” She was decked out in white chiffon with a white on white print. Her red hair was coiffed in a simple pageboy cut. She was the newest member of the club. Tenderhearted, outspoken and stunningly beautiful.

  Filled with sadness and unable to reply, Patricia nodded.

  “If there is anything, anything at all, you need please call me,” Judy said.

  “Thank you.”

  Judy threw her arms around her and gave her a warm hug, an understandably complex maneuver in the wide-brimmed crimson hat she wore.

  As soon as Judy retreated, Meredith surged forward. She had selected a pink floral number for the luncheon. Her dark hair hung in waves down her back, a sultry look Meredith frequently cultivated. She swept Patricia into a bear hug that seemed entirely appropriate coming from Meredith. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to talk. Maybe we could do lunch later in the week.”

  “Thank you,” was all Patricia could squeak out.

  Meredith stepped back and took Patricia’s hand. “Your mother will be missed, but her fine work will go on and be a vivid memorial to her.”

  Alisa was next to embrace Patricia. “Your lovely mother and your family are in my prayers,” Alisa whispered. When she stepped away, Patricia saw tears in her eyes. Not much of a surprise. Of the three, Alisa was the most emotional. She wore a gauzy dress in powder blue that accentuated her big blue eyes and blond hair. She had a marvelous body and an off-the-charts IQ.

  “God, my husband’s a jerk.” Judy’s green eyes narrowed. Judy and Alisa were partners in the same boutique law firm in central Savannah. Though Judy was still searching for her social role, Alisa had gained a reputation for impressive fund raising for charities.

  Alisa shifted her tall, willowy frame as her Botoxed eyebrows arched as high as possible. “What has Beau done now, besides cheat on you?”

  “He’s being a chauvinist, as usual.” Judy flashed her laser-whitened teeth. “He doesn’t think Alton’s daughter, or any women for that matter, should be permitted to serve in the Cotton Coalition.”

  “It’s the twenty-first century.” Patricia shuddered at the thought of Hayley ever being invited to join that brutal bunch, but Trey had assured her over and over the Coalition was a males-only organization.

  “That’s what I told him.” Judy’s porcelain cheeks reddened. “He told me I didn’t know what I was talkin’ about. Can you imagine?”

  Meredith, CEO of her own bank, looked incredulous. “Doesn’t he think women are capable of killing?” She patted her purse.

  Meredith’s marksmanship was well respected among the four women. Patricia had no doubt that Meredith wouldn’t hesitate to use her concealed gun to protect herself. Of the four, Meredith would be the only likely candidate for the Cotton Coalition. But Meredith as an assassin? Nah.

  “Apparently, Beau underestimates us.” Judy let out a puff of disgust as she ran her hand over her designer purse. “Why does he think we tote these things?”

  Alisa tossed her nose into the air. “You gonna give your man a good old-fashioned comeuppance for his discourteous remark?”

  Thank God for Alisa and common sense.

  “He’s not getting into my garden until he’s done a whole bunch of weedin’ and feedin’ and growin’.” She turned to Patricia. “Has Trey mentioned Lucius Alton’s proposal to have Isabel replace him on the Cotton Coalition?”

  “No, he hasn’t.” The things Trey had done for the Coalition played in her head. How he’d broken the law and the commandments. How he’d ordered the killing of those who had chosen wrong. The guilt he carried. The mountainous stress. The sleepless nights. Did she really want to see Hayley subjected to that?

  Yes, Patricia carried a gun. Yes, she occasionally broke the law to rescue abused women, and, yes, she occasionally threatened to hurt people who tried to prevent her from transporting the women. But, no, she really didn’t want Hayley to be like her ... or her three friends.

  Judy raised her eyebrows. “How do you feel about the idea of women in the Coalition?”

  “As I said before, it’s the twenty-first century,” Patricia said, her tone flat and devoid of emotion.

  “I’d say we need to remind the boys of that,” Meredith said.

  “I’m up for that,” Alisa chimed in.

  Judy smiled. “Ladies, are we in agreement on this?”

  Meredith, Alisa and Patricia nodded.

  The ladies raised their champagne flutes and clinked them.

  * * *

  Shortly before five, Patricia headed down the sidewalk to the corner florist to thank Sheila for the lovely bouquets she made for the luncheon, and to drop off some leftovers.

  Patricia loved Falcon Square. Its historic homes and their residents were antique charms on the bracelet of love that lined the square. Clouds, born and raised over the Atlantic Ocean, bejeweled the dazzling blue sky.

  Halfway down the block, a sensation that someone was watching her pestered like a mosquito. She glanced around and saw no one staring, other than a bushy-tailed gray squirrel, so she forced her focus back to the entrance of Sheila’s small shop.

  Patricia opened the door and went in. The store always smelled fresh and fragrant. Sheila sat in a worn armchair. She put aside her paperwork, stood, and greeted Patricia with a smile.

  “Leftov
ers from the luncheon,” Patricia said as she handed the box to Sheila.

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “They’d only go to waste.”

  Sheila took the box and put it in the fridge. “I was about to have tea. Would you care for a cup?”

  Tea being just the thing she needed, Patricia nodded.

  “How was the luncheon?” Sheila poured tea into china cups and handed one to Patricia.

  “Your bouquets were a hit with the ladies.” Patricia took a sip of tea. “Just the right touch.”

  Sheila looked down into her cup. “Why thank you, Patsy. Thank you very much.”

  Calm silence followed.

  Sheila raised her head and gave Patricia a searching look. “Are you okay?”

  Torn between the desire to be comforted and the urge to be private, Patricia bit her lip. “Just thinking about Mama.”

  Sheila put her teacup down and touched Patricia’s hand. “Sure enough, she took a piece of your heart with her.”

  Patricia nodded. Though her eyes burned, she held back the tears and took a calming breath. “I know. I miss her so much.”

  “Everyone leaves us sooner or later. We never fill that void, but we still go on with life.”

  “She didn’t leave, she was taken from me. Someone killed her.”

  Sheila’s hand darted over her gasping mouth. “Oh my God.”

  “It’s the only logical explanation,” Patricia said.

  “Any idea who or why?”

  “Might be her accountant, Sonny Carothers. He’s missing and so is her money.”

  “Oh my. Don’t rightly know the man. I’m sure the police will take care of everything. Meanwhile,” she touched Patricia’s shoulder, “you should do your best to get on with your life.”

  Patricia sighed. “It’s hard.”

  “It’s necessary.” Sheila patted Patricia’s hand.

  “I know.” Patricia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She took a long sip of tea and put her cup on the table. Sheila’s wisdom and kindness helped. Helped a lot. Feeling a bit better for Sheila’s understanding and words of comfort, Patricia stood. “I should be going. Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  Patricia nodded and walked to the door with Sheila by her side.

  “Can you come for tea tomorrow?” Patricia asked. “Say two o’clock?”

  “I’d like that. And if you get to fretting again today, you hurry back, Patsy.”

  “Thank you so much. You’re a wonderful friend.” Patricia gave Sheila a hug, opened the door and stepped out.

  As the door swung closed, she looked up and down the street. The feeling of being watched returned with the force of a lightning bolt. She swiveled her head, checking the street both ways as her fingers touched the hard lump in her bag, the Kimber 45. She saw nothing suspicious on the street, but the goose bumps remained. She had learned to trust her instincts—not a pain-free education. She compressed her lips and scurried down the block straight toward her home.

  Though no one seemed to be out, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being observed ... or stalked. Thank God she had the presence of mind to carry her purse this time. But could she use her gun so soon after her failure at Faith’s house? She quickened her pace up the stairs and across the shaded porch to the front entrance. She keyed the lock, stepped inside, and bolted the door.

  A glance in the foyer mirror revealed eyes deep with concern and a stern face framed by wild strands of blond hair. A vein on the side of her temple pulsed. She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension, armed the security system, and went to the kitchen. Leftovers were stacked in insulated containers on the counter.

  She wished Trey were home. Hoped Hayley’s time at the beach was helping her make her mind up. Suddenly, she felt so very alone. Alone and scared.

  Chapter 11

  “Good morning. Sorry I’m late,” Judy said from the doorway of the bank conference room. She walked to Patricia and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I still can’t believe it. I just played tennis with her.”

  Judy hugged the remaining women, stopping at Meredith. “I’m so glad you gathered us to support Patricia.”

  Meredith, dressed in red, pushed her chair back and stood. “OK, ladies. Now that Judy is finally here, let’s get down to business. The possible murder of Mrs. Snyder and the embezzlement of her estate,” Meredith said without emotion. “Let’s start listing names of people with a motive.”

  “Don’t you think we should let the police do this?” Judy asked.

  “Of course,” Meredith said. “But it doesn’t hurt for us to look into it too. Now, who has a motive?”

  Patricia took out a notepad. “Well, there’s Jamie Gilcrest. He never forgave Mama for the foreclosure.”

  “And there’s Willie Maye,” Alisa said, “the reporter who hated Henrietta.”

  Though Patricia’s mind was swamped with revenge, she was proud she could keep herself externally composed while they added four more names to the list.

  “Any more people with a motive?” Meredith asked.

  Patricia shook her head, amazed that her mother had made so many enemies.

  “Okay. Let’s move on,” Meredith said. “A week ago, all your mother’s funds at my bank were transferred to an account at the main branch of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. I’m sorry I didn’t detect the transfer earlier, but we have so many accounts and unless I’m—”

  “I understand,” Patricia said.

  Meredith’s face was red, which was common when she was agitated. She took a deep breath. “The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank is a major institution my clients deal with regularly, and one where I have excellent relationships. I called in some favors and was advised that once the funds were received the money was immediately transferred back to an account at a private bank on Hilton Head Island.” She twisted her hands up. “A facility I’ve never heard of and can find no record of. So far.”

  “What’s the name on the Hilton Head Island account?” Patricia asked.

  “I only have an account number,” Meredith said. “And if I don’t know someone important at the institution, that’s all I’ll have. But don’t go fretting, Patricia. Private banking is tight-knit and chances are I’ll know one or more of the directors, or someone who knows them. I just have to track down who owns the institution.”

  Maybe Mama’s money was safe and sound. Maybe they were overreacting. “It’s a relief her money is so close.”

  Meredith shrugged. “We don’t know if it’s her money anymore or even that it’s still at the Hilton Head Island bank. That’s why I need to determine if I have any contacts there who could help.”

  “And if you don’t have a friend or a friend of a friend?” Patricia couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice.

  “Then we go to our Treasury sources. They closely monitor all major fund transfers.”

  Patricia stiffened and forced a smile. “Another friend?”

  “Like I said, we’re a tight-knit group.” Meredith nodded. “Okay, Alisa, what do you have on Henrietta’s bonds?”

  “Henrietta requested bearer bond certificates from her broker six weeks ago. The certificates were issued and delivered to her shortly afterward.”

  “Delivered to her home address?” Patricia asked.

  “Yes,” Alisa said.

  “I’ve inventoried her safety deposit box and there are no bonds there,” Patricia said, impatience building.

  “Did she have a safe at home?” Alisa asked.

  “She never mentioned one.”

  Alisa’s pale eyes flinched. “What did she do with her jewelry?”

  “Safety deposit box.”

  “How inconvenient.” Alisa scrunched her nose.

  “That was Mama,” Patricia said. “She was very careful with all her assets. That’s why I know something is terribly wrong here.”

  “I’ll have her credit card records printed out for you,” Meredith sa
id. “When you have time, go through them and see if she had transactions with home security firms in the past five or ten years. They’d do the install of a home safe, if there is one.”

  “If there’s no safe?” Patricia’s jaw tensed at the thought.

  “Then, as far as the bonds go, we’re out of luck,” Meredith said. “Bearer bonds are virtually impossible to trace.”

  Judy lifted an eyebrow. “Do you suppose this has anything to do with some sort of get-rich-quick scheme?”

  Patricia glared at Judy. Where was she going with a question like that?

  Meredith’s eyes widened. “Oh, I hope not.”

  “Let’s not speculate,” Patricia said. “Let’s concentrate on getting facts before the trail goes cold. What do we know about her accountant’s whereabouts? Sonny Carothers.” She pronounced the accountant’s name with distain, like it was Lee Harvey Oswald.

  “I’ve looked everywhere. Planes, trains, rental car, buses and boats. I can’t find any trace of Sonny anywhere,” Alisa said, returning her coffee cup to the saucer. It settled with a loud clunk, courtesy of the missing little finger she had lost as a little girl on a go-cart. Her normally sparkling sapphire eyes seemed troubled. “His disappearance doesn’t make sense at all. Unless he’s done something wrong and he’s hiding.”

  They were silent for a few seconds.

  “Or if he’s dead,” Judy said.

  “I searched his personal and professional credit reports,” Alisa said. “Nothing unusual.”

  “That’s okay, Alisa,” Judy said. “We can only do our best. And sometimes our best isn’t enough.”

  Alisa glared at Judy.

  Seeing the elevated emotions, Patricia clenched her teeth and ran fingers through her hair. “Let’s go back to before the beginning on Sonny. Parents. Grandparents. Siblings. Let’s dig into his formative years. Education. Early career. No assumptions. All facts. Let’s know him better than his own mother. Let’s pick through his background like vultures on road kill. Focus on finding motive, as well as a possible hiding place. Who wants to do the background on Sonny?”

  Both Alisa and Judy put their hands up.