04 Lowcountry Bordello

by Boyer, Susan M.

  “Who did Robert hire to defend her?” Mamma handed me a casserole dish of chicken dressing.

  “Charlie Condon.” I added the dressing to the double-sided, u-shaped buffet Mamma was building in the kitchen.

  “And Sonny actually arrested her?”

  “Yes, Mamma, he did.” I was so mad at Sonny I couldn’t see straight. But a little part of me knew he’d had no choice. I wished mightily I hadn’t gotten involved. I’d handed him information that had ultimately led to Olivia’s arrest.

  “Well, I have just never in my life…what is that boy thinking?” Mamma’s loyalty ran deep, as did mine.

  And Blake’s. “He was probably thinking it would be better for him to arrest her and make sure she was taken care of than to let strangers go pick her up.”

  “Do not defend him,” I said.

  “Hell, Liz, there’s a mountain of evidence against her. She’s my friend too, but Sonny can’t help that.”

  “It’s all circumstantial,” I said.

  “Circumstantial evidence is still evidence,” said Blake.

  “Enough,” said Mamma. “Blake, kindly do not leave your father unsupervised with our…guests.”

  “Nate’s in there. So is Joe,” said Blake.

  Mamma gave him the look.

  “Fine. When’s dinner going to be ready? I’m starved,” said Blake.

  “I will notify you immediately,” said Mamma. “Liz, check on Merry. See if she needs help.”

  I went upstairs to the room that had been Merry’s before she bought her own cottage a few blocks away. “How’s it going?”

  “I’ve found something from the gift closet for everyone except Dana. Can you look while I wrap Amber’s gift?”

  “Sure.” I walked back out to the hall and opened the shelved walk-in closet. Mamma was always prepared. Throughout the year, when she found sales, or unique things she liked, she stocked her gift closet. Then whenever four extra people showed up on Christmas, all we had to do was match a gift to the recipient. I picked out a set of lavender body butter, body wash, lotion, and bubble bath for Dana and took it back to Merry’s room, where Mamma had set up the wrapping table.

  I said, “It’s just like Mamma to pitch a fit about having four refugees from a bawdy house for Christmas dinner, but then make sure they each have a gift under the tree.”

  “Yep,” said Merry. “Let me have that. I wrap better than you. You have no patience.”

  I handed her the gift set.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just have to find something Sonny can use for evidence against the much-more-likely killer.”

  “And you think you know who that is?”

  “I have a few ideas.”

  I watched Merry measure paper for the gift.

  Gifts. Bridesmaid’s gifts. “Sonavabitch,” I said.

  “What?” Merry’s eyes widened with alarm.

  “I’m such a poor excuse for a bride.”

  “What on earth are you babbling about?”

  “Girls,” Mamma called from downstairs. “Dinner.”

  Mamma prayed extra that night. Blake stirred beside me, impatient to fix his plate. Finally, the buffet was open. We all piled our plates high with turkey and dressing, ham, and a dozen of Mamma’s favorite casseroles and side dishes. And yeast rolls. We went outside to the tables Daddy, Blake, and Joe had arranged for Christmas dinner. Mamma wouldn’t hear of us eating at two separate tables.

  The entire backyard had been covered that afternoon with a series of tents that formed one massive tent. The tent opening overlapped the side of the house, and propane heaters took the chill off the air. Tomorrow, Nicolette and a small army would begin decorating it for the wedding reception. Tonight, it was all about Christmas.

  We ate until we couldn’t move, then went inside and crowded around the Christmas tree to open presents. This takes longer in our family than most, as Merry demands what she calls “present respect.” We all have to watch as each gift is unwrapped and admire the contents before the next package can be handed out.

  Amber, Dana, Heather, and Lori seemed touched to have gifts under the tree, modest and somewhat generic though they may have been. They got into the spirit of things, teasing Daddy occasionally under Mamma’s watchful eye. But it was clear they were all thinking of their own families. I wished so hard that night that by Christmas Eve they’d all be home and safe.

  “What is this thing?” Daddy said when he opened his gift. “It’s a hound dog. But what is that, his dish?”

  “No, Daddy, that is your own personal salt dish and spoon,” I said.

  “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” He grinned with pleasure. “Look here, Chumley.”

  Chumley woofed his approval. Mamma rolled her eyes.

  We continued opening, oohing and ahhing. Nate loved the leather desk set I’d found, and the desk to be delivered. He’d been working off his lap for a while. Mamma and Merry loved the spa day packages.

  Merry, as the youngest, was playing Santa Claus. She handed me a small package. “This is to Liz, from Nate.”

  It was too big for jewelry, but too small for anything else I could think of. I smiled at him. “What have you done?” I unwrapped the package. It was a Slinky box—the children’s toy. I laughed. “What?”

  “I wanted to get you something slinky,” he said.

  Blake, Joe, and Daddy laughed like fools, likely in part due to the look I must’ve had on my face. No one appreciates a gag gift more than my daddy. Our guests also appreciated the joke. Chumley gave it three woofs.

  But this was our first Christmas…I turned the box over in my hands.

  “Open it,” said Nate.

  Inside the coiled wire toy was a Tiffany blue velvet bag. I pulled it out and emptied it into my palm. A stunning emerald ring with side diamonds glimmered in the soft light. “Ohh, Nate. You shouldn’t have.”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let that family piece be your real engagement jewelry, did you? This ring is for your right hand. I want both of them.”

  I hugged him tight. “I love you so much,” I whispered in his ear.

  Despite our best efforts, we were all a bit subdued that evening. After dessert—Mamma’s Christmas trifle—we called it a night. Nate and I took our guests back to our house. No one was much in the mood to go to bed, so we settled into the sunroom with the Christmas tree.

  I went into the kitchen to get some tea, and motioned for Amber to come with me.

  “Is everything okay,” she asked.

  “Honestly, no,” I said. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve been told William Calhoun has a type.”

  “I think that’s true,” she said.

  “How long have the two of you been together?”

  “Right at three years.”

  “Is he good to you?”

  “Very.”

  “Do you know who he was with before you? I think it may have been another College of Charleston student. Possibly also a business or finance major—something in the same field.”

  Amber’s eyes grew. “Yes. Her name is Victoria Baker. She was a year ahead of me. She dropped out of school when she and William broke up. I think she took it really hard.”

  “How well did you know her?”

  “Pretty well. We were friends. I guess that sounds weird.”

  “Have you stayed in touch?”

  “Honestly, no. I think she’s mad at me because I’m with William now. It’s not like that with his other exes. There’s almost a sorority. You go into it knowing it isn’t going to last. At least I did.”

  “But maybe Victoria didn’t?”

/>   “Maybe.”

  “Do you know where she was from?”

  “A small town in Virginia. Abingdon.”

  “So you never spoke with her again?” I asked.

  “I tried to call her once. The woman who answered the phone told me she wasn’t there and hung up. I took that to mean she didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “Think back. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Gosh. That was more than three years ago. I was a freshman. It was before Thanksgiving break. Maybe a month before? We went to a football game with a group of friends.”

  “And you never saw her again? Who told you she was dropping out of school?”

  “Her roommate. She said someone in the family came by to get her things and said she wouldn’t be back.”

  “And you never saw or spoke to her again?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Thanks, Amber. You’ve been a big help.”

  I needed to get to my computer.

  She started out of the room.

  “Amber?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you said William treats you well, but there’s another side to him. I barely know him and I made him angry and he almost ran me down in his car. Don’t go anywhere near him. Promise me.”

  She looked at me like maybe I wasn’t quite right, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  I went about the business of making tea. Amber went back into the sunroom. After a moment, Heather came into the kitchen. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” I said.

  “I’ve been thinking about all the things we talked about the first night we were here.”

  “Okay.”

  “You asked us if we’d ever heard the name Thurston Middleton. And I told you Henry had asked me about him—if he’d been bothering me.”

  “Right.”

  “That’s the way I remembered it. But I was shook up, and I think I misremembered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Henry didn’t ask me if Thurston had been bothering me until after I mentioned that he’d approached Lori near her car.”

  “So you told Henry that Thurston was asking questions about the house?” I’d wondered how he’d known.

  “That’s right.”

  “Thanks, Heather. I appreciate you telling me.”

  “There’s one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but I was expecting Henry the Monday night when Thurston Middleton was killed. He never showed up, and when I asked him about it, he acted like he’d never told me he was coming. But he comes every Monday night, usually around six. Any other night it’s much later—anywhere between nine and eleven.”

  Something tightened inside me. “Heather, no matter what happens, stay away from Henry. He may be very dangerous.”

  “Henry?” She screwed up her face.

  “I could be wrong. But please don’t bet your life on it. Would you take tea into the others?”

  “Sure.”

  I took my cup into my office. Nate lounged on the sofa, away from all the estrogen in the sunroom. I filled him in on my latest information while my laptop powered on.

  Then I logged into a subscription database and started looking for Victoria Baker. Her digital footprint ended in October 2011. The closest living family I could find were an aunt and uncle and a few cousins. It was late. I’d call them tomorrow.

  Next, I opened my photo stream folder and pulled up the photos I’d taken in the parking lot at Rut’s the afternoon before. I logged into another database and ran every plate. Many of them belonged to Prioleaus, including Henry’s Ducati. Rut’s New South Cuisine was truly a family business. But the 2005 Honda Accord belonged to Tyler O’Sullivan. With any luck, this was our waiter from Wednesday night. It had been after three when we’d left that afternoon. Did waiters come in that early?

  I started a profile on Tyler O’Sullivan. The address on the tag was on Bonieta Harrold Drive, which turned out to be in an apartment complex, Woodfield South Point, in West Ashley. Within a few minutes, I knew Tyler was driving on a suspended driver’s license owing to a year-old DUI. While he was allowed to drive to work, the provision was that he had to be at home by eight p.m. He also had a few possession charges the Prioleau family may or may not have known about. I had leverage.

  Twenty-Six

  Friday morning, Mamma was on my phone first thing. Nicolette and her crew had shown up at dawn and Mamma wanted me to come watch with her and offer input. She wanted to spend the day with me, and I wanted so badly to go. I was getting married the next day. Tonight was the rehearsal dinner, followed by my bachelorette party. But Olivia was in jail, and I had to get her out. I hadn’t seen Colleen since before my lunch with Sonny. I took comfort in knowing she’d told me she’d be there when Olivia needed her.

  Before I headed to Charleston, I had to call Victoria Baker’s family in Abingdon, Virginia. I took a deep breath and typed in the phone number I’d found the night before.

  “Hello?” The woman sounded older, or perhaps weary.

  “Mrs. Hawkins?”

  “Yes. But I don’t need a credit card nor an extended warranty, either.”

  “Ma’am, I’m not selling anything,” I said. “My name is Liz Talbot. I’m calling about your niece, Victoria Baker.”

  “Vicki?” Her tone seemed skeptical.

  “Yes, ma’am. Your sister’s daughter, right?”

  “Well, yes, but we haven’t seen that girl in…I guess it’s been four years. She’s in Charleston. It hurts me I can’t see her. But my husband doesn’t hold with the way she’s living.”

  “Did you know she stopped going to school at the College of Charleston in October of 2011?”

  “Why, no. I don’t understand. We paid for her first semester. She had a job to help out. Then that man…he was paying for her school. He was paying for everything. William Calhoun. My husband looked into him. Saw he was married. He told Vicki she had to stop seeing him or never come home. It like to broke my heart. She’s all I have left of my only sister. She and her husband died in a car wreck more than ten years ago. Vicki’s like mine. Why would she quit school?”

  Tears ran down my face. I hurt so badly for this poor woman. I took a deep breath. “Ma’am, I don’t know for sure. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t there with you. Her friends here haven’t seen her in a while. Is there any other family she could be living with? Any friends that you know of?”

  “No.” She started speaking faster, her voice rising. “The last we heard she was living in a big house with some other girls in Charleston. She doesn’t have any other family. Just me, my husband, and our children. They all live around here. None of us have seen or heard from her.”

  “Mrs. Hawkins, I think you should report her missing. Please contact the Charleston Police Department.”

  “Let me talk to my husband.” Her voice broke with a sob.

  I gave her my number in case she needed to reach me. Then I pulled myself together.

  Nate held down the fort, watching over our guests. I was on the nine o’clock ferry to Isle of Palms, and in West Ashley by ten fifteen. The apartment complex was off Savannah Highway, behind the Jehovah’s Witness hall. It was a typical three-story, multi-building complex with a pool, fitness center, et cetera. I drove around back to Tyler’s building.

  His apartment was on the third floor. This was good news, as there was only one way in and out, unless he cared to jump off a balcony. I knocked on the door and waited. He’d likely gotten in late and was sleeping. Restaurant hours were notoriously bad, and many of the food and beverage crowd went out afterwards, so I was told. I knocked again, harder.

  “Okay, okay.” A voice came from inside. />
  The door swung open. A young man who wasn’t Tyler opened the door. “What?” He was half-asleep and highly agitated. Likely a roommate.

  “I need to speak with Tyler.” I held up my PI license. Fifty percent of the time, folks don’t even look to see what it says. If you flash an ID and look stern, they assume you’re law enforcement of some sort. People really should be more careful.

  “Hang on.” The roommate closed the door, which was a mercy. From what I could see, I didn’t want to go inside.

  Moments later the door swung open again. Tyler wore baggy jeans, a ratty t-shirt, and a bad case of bed-head. “What do you want?”

  “I need to ask you some questions.”

  “What? Look, I know you people were in a foul mood last night, but you can’t stalk me. If you have a complaint, you need to talk to the restaurant manager.”

  “Who is that, exactly? Who’s in charge?”

  “Mr. Prioleau.”

  “Which one?”

  “Rut Junior. But look, I did my best. I really don’t need trouble. Can’t you just let it go? Karma and all that, dude.”

  “Rut Junior, is he one of the men who wanders tables talking to people?”

  Tyler screwed up his face. “He works the floor downstairs. Mrs. Prioleau is in charge upstairs.”

  “She’s the woman who stands at the upstairs hostess station and greets people?”

  “Right. And she works the room, like all the rest of them.”

  “All the rest of who—the family?”

  “Yeah. Lady, I haven’t had much sleep. What do you want from me? The old man gave me a nice tip. Do you want it back?”

  “No. I don’t want your money. I have a few simple questions. I want answers. But first, I want your word that you will not mention I came here to anyone, especially anyone connected with the restaurant.”

  His scowl deepened. “No way. I’m not talking about the Prioleaus. You don’t know these people. They are crazy protective about the restaurant’s reputation, their ‘brand.’” He made air quotes. “I’ve seen Henry chase people down the street if they looked unhappy coming out the door.”