“It’ll be mobbed. They only have about 20 tables and they’re always full.”
“It’s late enough. I’ll bet the dinner crowd is gone,” Flynn said, taking my hand and leading me off the pier.
We strolled hand in hand down the block and turned into the alley toward the restaurant. Flynn was right, the dining room, usually buzzing with conversation and the clatter of servers, was half empty and quiet. When Flynn told the maître d’ that we only wanted a nightcap, he waved us to a table.
Once seated, I looked around out of habit, to make sure none of Charlie’s victims who might recognize me were in the restaurant. Seeing no one I knew, I relaxed and sipped my bourbon. Flynn raised his own glass in a salute, but, as he was about to drink, his eyes widened.
“What?” I asked.
“Sissy Mead is here,” he whispered. “She just sat down at the table behind us with her back to you. She must have been in the ladies’ room when we came in.”
“Is she alone?”
Flynn shook his head. “There’s a lady with her.”
“What’s she doing here?” I hissed to him. “I thought she was in Atlanta.”
Before Flynn could respond, the maître d’ walked past us and approached Sissy’s table.
“Mrs. Mead,” he said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Thank you, Don,” she said.
“I hope we’ll see you back on the island more often.”
“I’m just here to check on things at the house. Try to decide what to do, you know.”
“Of course. Let me know if we can help in any way. Please enjoy your evening.” His duty done, the maître d’ returned to his station.
Flynn and I focused an unnatural amount of attention on the swizzle sticks in our drinks, neither of us speaking. After a pause long enough for me to wet my lips with bourbon twice, the conversation behind me started again.
“Sissy,” a woman’s voice said, “why don’t you stay with Bill and me while you’re here? You’re very welcome.”
“Thank you, Anne,” said Sissy. “But I’m at the Cloister.”
“The Cloister? Aren’t you staying at the house?”
“No. I just couldn’t. Freddie is there, you know.”
“That odd fellow? I know he’s been with you a long time, but, really... Are you concerned he might overstep?”
“Ugh. No. Not for a minute. That’s not the issue. It was Cutler who always wanted Freddie around. Cutler felt some obligation to him. I intend to tell Freddie to move out as soon as I see him.”
“What do you plan to do about the house? You’ve never spent much time there. You could sell it in a New York minute.”
“I’m not sure what will happen to the house,” Sissy said.
“Drew will have some good advice about that, I’d imagine. He’s still your lawyer, isn’t he?”
“For some things.”
There was silence, then the other woman spoke. “How are you doing, really? I know this all happened so suddenly.”
“Naturally I miss him, Anne.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.
“I understand it’s a shock, but, Honey, you two haven’t lived together in years. And if even half the rumors about him are true…” Anne’s voice trailed off.
Someone’s knife and fork clanged against a plate.
“I haven’t heard those rumors,” said Sissy. “They’re obviously floated by someone who is not my friend.”
“Oh, but…”
“Did you know, the Governor and his wife accepted our invitation to the gala,” Sissy said. “I had hoped my closest friends would join me at the head table.”
“I see. That would be an honor.” The tone of the answer was placating. Apparently the dinner companion understood the implied threat from Sissy.
Flynn and I nursed our drinks, but the rest of their conversation seemed to be about the vendors and budget for the gala Sissy had mentioned. I was reduced to licking the bottom of my glass before the screech of chair legs warned they were departing.
The two passed our table without a glance. Sissy looked good, beachy chic. She wore a sleeveless white sheath that ended above her knees, her arms and legs nicely tanned. A cloying scent of gardenia with a spicy undertone drifted in her wake.
“What a nasty perfume,” said Flynn, waving his hand in front of his face.
“Yes,” I agreed. “She probably paid a fortune for it, but money can’t overcome that smell.”
14
Theo Goes to Church
By Sunday, despite Flynn’s determined efforts to keep our spirits up, I was frustrated and beginning to think we were never going to get anywhere. Flynn took himself off to play golf, hoping to pick up some scuttlebutt about Cutler’s friends on the course. I was lounging in the sunroom when I heard the clatter of Theo’s heels. I looked over to see her headed for the front door of the cottage.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“Church.”
I eyed her outfit. “Since when do you go to church?”
“I go occasionally.”
I swung my feet off the sofa and sat up. Theo turned around and faced me. She was dressed in a maroon two-piece suit that did nothing to hide her figure. The bows on her Ferragamos looked like butterflies had landed on her feet.
“You never go to church when you visit Atlanta.” I said.
“Drew Littlefield goes to the early service by himself every Sunday,” Theo said. “George used to joke that Drew was the only Christian he knew who went to confession before he played golf.”
“I’m guessing you’re headed to Christ Church,” I said. Moneyed islanders worshiped, married, and mingled at Christ Church Episcopal.
“It’s a good place to corner him,” Theo said.
“You’re right,” I said. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll tag along.”
“No.”
I was surprised at her uncompromising tone. “Theo, one of these duffers might be a murderer. You’re not going by yourself.”
“Oh, come on Annie. I’m not in any danger. It’s a church. Besides, do you remember the last time we went to church together?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I do. You talked nonstop and not quietly. You mocked the sermon, organized religion, and the hypocrisy of the people around us. As it is, I can barely endure the snubs I get from people who think I’m a murderer. I don’t need more freezing looks because you’re so rude.”
I was moderately ashamed of myself for making her uncomfortable. “Sorry. I react badly to the odor of sanctified money.”
The glare she gave me would have wilted a feebler woman.
“Look, tell you what—let me ride with you,” I offered. “You go into the service. I’ll hang out at the back of the church where nobody will notice. I promise not to make a sound. I can keep an eye on you, and I’ll stay out of sight.”
“As long as you let me talk to Drew by myself,” Theo said, heading towards the door. “He’ll need some sympathetic coaxing—that’s not your strong suit.”
* * *
The white clapboard church sat toward the back of an emerald lawn, circled by moss-trailing live oaks. Built before the church had been air conditioned, the deep grey roof was steeply pitched above tall windows to provide maximum ventilation in the muggy climate. A walled cemetery stood next to the church.
We had arrived in plenty of time in order to keep an eye out for Drew Littlefield. The tires of Theo’s Mercedes crunched over the crushed shell driveway that led to the church parking lot. Nudging the car close to a magnolia tree, Theo parked the Mercedes so it’d be in the shade by the time the service was over. I scooted out and hung around the magnolias while Theo picked her way through the treacherous shells up to the church portico. I now understood why she had chosen the low-heeled Fe
rragamos instead of her usual stilettos.
Once Theo entered the church, I followed her inside. The warm chestnut walls and pews had been rebuilt after the Civil War, when a fire had destroyed the original building. Only the center aisle was carpeted, a dark red runner that reflected the dark crimson and golds of the stained glass windows, one of them fabricated by Tiffany and touted by local guides as a “must see” for tourists. The carpet’s burgundy hue echoed the costume chosen by Theo, which I suspected was no coincidence.
The early service at Christ Church drew a surprisingly good crowd, elderly ladies who couldn’t sleep late, kids and families who wanted to get out to the beach before the sun got too high, and middle aged men in golfing attire who wanted to get church over with before they teed off. Drew Littlefield was seated alone about a third of the way back from the altar, on the end of a pew. Theo strolled down the aisle and stood next to where he sat. He glanced up and moved over far enough for her to gain a seat. The plush cushions were velvet and almost impossible to slide on, so she was able to sit down elbow to elbow with her quarry.
She settled herself, and I found a place in the back row, expecting to suffer through the service before Theo would be able to talk to him. Instead, when the soft music of the organ prelude began, I saw Drew lean over and whisper to her. She gave a start and turned to look at him.
He leaned closer and said something else. Without waiting for an answer, Drew stood up. He spoke politely to the octogenarian seated at the other end of the row, slipped past her and tiptoed up the side aisle. His movements were so quick and furtive that I would’ve sworn that only me and the old lady noticed him go.
Damn. He must have heard that we were asking questions and is bolting.
Theo scrambled out of the pew, and I trailed the two of them. Drew had disappeared by the time I got outside, but I caught a glimpse of Theo going around the building. I followed her to a gate in the walled cemetery. There was Drew, with Theo close behind, headed toward a stone bench in the northeast corner. I stayed back so that I could watch through the opening in the wall. Theo caught up with him, and they sat down with their backs to me, Drew leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
The two of them sat in the midst of weathered headstones that narrate the history of the island. In 1820 yellow fever struck the low country. Two angels spread their wings over a young mother and infant who died three days apart. An extended family with seven sons slept in a walled enclosure of tabby, a concrete made on the island since the eighteenth century with lime from oyster shells, sand and water. Nearby, an unusual black headstone honored the island founder who had managed to thrive—or at least survive—despite fevers, poor crops and hurricanes.
Whether it was the pathos of the cemetery or a ploy to encourage Drew, Theo started to sniffle. She dug into her purse for a tissue, and Drew put his arm around her shoulders. I crept closer, wishing Episcopalians were more like Baptists, singing loudly enough to drown out my steps on the mossy brick walk, but Theo and Drew showed no sign that they heard me. I kept moving nearer, trying to find a listening post. I finally squatted behind a large double headstone that loomed behind the bench where they sat. I was close enough to see Drew was clean shaven and wore a crisp white shirt, but his eyes were bloodshot and his sport coat was rumpled as if he’d slept in it.
“I miss him,” Drew said.
“I know. Me, too,” answered Theo.
“I’d never have survived Vietnam if Cutler hadn’t been my lieutenant.” Drew sighed. “I don’t know what I’d have done. When we got back he damn near forced me to go to law school, take the bar. He introduced me to Linda, told me to marry her.”
I couldn’t tell from Drew’s voice whether he was grateful or bitter over Cutler’s role as matchmaker. Theo handled him well, murmuring sympathies as they sat shoulder to shoulder.
“What am I going to do?” Drew said.
“You’ve got friends here. Cutler’s friends,” said Theo. “You should get together with them. That might make you feel better.”
He pulled away from the cozy huddle and gave her a hard look. I didn’t like his body language. I didn’t know how, or even if, this guy was involved with Cutler’s murder, but he could be a lot more dangerous than he looked. I gathered my feet under me, preparing to stand up, when he spoke.
“They hated him. I was the only one who cared about him.”
“But you all golfed together every week,” Theo said.
“They were afraid not to. They were all terrified of him, what he could do to them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, Theo,” Drew said. “I can’t tell you. I just can’t. It’s not my secret.”
“But you know?” So Cutler’s buddies were hiding something. I pressed myself tighter against the headstone, straining to catch every nuance of the conversation on the other side. Theo had lowered her voice, trying to seduce an answer from him.
“Yes.” It came out as a whisper, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“Would it help to talk about it?” she asked.
“No. Nothing can help. It’s over now. Cutler’s dead. That ended it for all of us.” Drew stood up. “I’m sorry, Theo.”
She sat there and watched him walk out of the cemetery. I kept my head down below the top of the headstone, but I needn’t have worried. Whatever Drew Littlefield saw as he trudged away, it wasn’t me.
15
Flynn Meets an Old Friend
After the emotional scene with Drew, Theo and I returned to her place. By late afternoon Flynn hadn’t returned from his golf game at Seaside. I’d checked my watch several times, wondering why it was taking so long to play eighteen holes. Maybe Flynn was slow-playing the round while he tried to squeeze information out of his fellow golfers. Theo had started to doze off when we finally heard the front door open and Flynn dumping his golf bag in the hall. He stuck his head into the sunroom.
“Hey, what’re you guys doing?” he asked.
“Drinking tea and chewing over Theo’s conversation with Drew Littlefield,” I said. “We’ll fill you in over dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Flynn said as he reached for the tall pitcher of iced tea.
“In the meantime, how was your golf game?” I asked, watching him. He was a little too quiet, simmering with something. I expected him to boil over with complaints about the heat, fashion faux-pas amongst male golfers and other silliness that Flynn is a master of turning into conversation.
“Not too bad,” he said. Flynn poured himself a glass, added lemon and sat down. You’d never know he’d spent hours outside in the sun. Not a drop of sweat darkened his lavender golf shirt, embroidered with the Brooks Brothers sheep logo. He’d left his golf shoes in the car and wore neat loafers without socks. The effect was quintessential Flynn, cool and collected, an impenetrable façade worn by a gay man in a homophobic society.
“Did you pick up anything useful at the golf course?” Theo asked.
“Yes and No. Nothing from the golfers,” Flynn said. “None of the players would open up about Cutler even after I mentioned I’d heard one of their members had been murdered last week in Atlanta.”
“That’s pretty direct,” Theo said, looking away from us and watching some birds on her lawn.
“I’d already tried more subtle approaches, to no affect,” said Flynn. “They all knew him, and some of the men had invested with him. But they veered off the subject when I asked about his deals.”
“I’m surprised,” I said. “If he was as generally disliked as Scot Raybourn implied, you’d have thought the golf course would be the perfect place for guys to talk about him.”
“So maybe Raybourn is an outlier,” said Flynn.
Flynn might be right. It was possible that Raybourn held a grudge against Cutler that wasn’t shared by others. “Maybe,” I said.
“If you couldn’t get the
golfers to gossip about Cutler, at least you got in a round of golf,” I said. “So it wasn’t a total waste of time.”
“To the contrary,” Flynn said. “I had an illuminating conversation after the game.”
“Illuminating?” I perked up.
“We stopped into the bar for a beer after the round,” Flynn said.
Theo and I looked at each other and laughed. “You don’t drink beer,” she said.
“I can if the occasion warrants it,” Flynn said, defending himself. “It was damn hot on the course, and it was too early to have a cocktail. I wanted something to drink when my foursome adjourned to the bar.”
“Good strategy,” I said.
“Yeah, but it was wasted. The guys were friendly, and we talked a little business once they found out I was an investment banker, but nothing to interest you.”
“So another dead end.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Flynn, “until I recognized the bartender.”
“Who was he?”
“His name’s Chad. Good looking. Very smooth. I’m not surprised he got hired at Seaside. Says he’s writing a novel—bartenders are always writers—so he pays a lot of attention to how people act. He used to work at the Rooster, on Juniper in Midtown. Don and I like to sit at the bar there, and we talked to Chad all the time.”
“Never heard of the place,” said Theo.
“It’s a gay bar, hon,” I told her.
“Did he recognize you?” I asked Flynn.
“Oh yeah,” said Flynn. “I stalled around until the others had left. No one else was in the bar by then. We got to talking. He wanted to know if I had a place down here. I explained I was staying with the gorgeous Theo Humphries.” He grinned and winked at Theo.
“Didn’t that put him off?” I asked.
“To the contrary,” Flynn said. “It was a genius move. He was intrigued, because he recognized Theo’s name.”
“Oh great,” Theo said.
“Not to worry,” said Flynn. “I told him I was here to help you and ask around about Cutler. Once Chad heard that, he couldn’t wait to tell me what he knew.”
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