I went back inside the cottage to find Theo in the sunroom. She handed me a glass of wine, and took another for herself before sitting on the couch and curling her feet under her. We settled down to fill the time before supper by revisiting what we’d learned so far, going over every conversation and tidbit of information. Theo wouldn’t let go of the Vietnam angle and my patience started to wear thin.
“Who cares if these guys are holding on to a secret that happened years—decades—ago in Vietnam?” I said, squirming to get deeper my chair.
“I know,” said Theo. “But you can’t help wondering….”
“We can’t go down every rabbit hole looking for answers, Theo. And the likelihood of finding out what happened to those guys decades ago and a world away from Georgia is nil. We need to find out what’s happened recently related to Cutler’s death,” I said.
“I know,” she repeated. “But don’t you think it’s weird how those guys stayed in touch? They didn’t like each other—didn’t like Cutler?”
“Yes. It’s weird. It’s also a good description of daily life in a small town,” I said. “Let’s look at something else before this makes us crazy. What about your business partner?”
“Rob?”
“When can we talk to him?” I asked.
“Tomorrow. I’ll call Mildred first thing in the morning and set it up.”
“Who’s Mildred?”
“Rob’s secretary. She’s one tough bird. You’ll like her,” Theo said.
“How much does her boss know about you and Cutler,” I asked.
“Why?”
“I just figured you might want to consider what you’re going to tell Rob, before we get there.” Rob Prescott and Theo’s husband George had worked together for decades. George would spot the potential in an investment and Rob managed their investments. According to Theo, it was because of Rob that Humphries Enterprises continued to thrive, even after George’s death.
“I’ll tell him about Cutler and me only if I have to,” Theo said. “It’s awkward. Rob was George’s best friend.”
“I get it,” I said. “You don’t want to make Rob uncomfortable. Let’s come up with some excuse for the visit.” We moved into the kitchen, and while Theo made her famous crab cakes with Remoulade sauce—she was a superb cook, along with everything else—we drafted a script for the visit with Rob Prescott.
* * *
Next morning we drove to the modern building housing Humphries Enterprises, weaved through the rotating doors into a shadowy lobby, and took the elevator to the top floor.
Mildred McIntire rose to greet Theo with a hug. Prescott’s long-time secretary was a bony sixty-eight-year-old in a sleeveless dress that showed off tanned arms. The definition on her biceps and forearms supported Theo’s story that Mildred routinely trounced tennis players thirty years her junior.
“Hi, Mildred.” She and Theo gazed fondly at each other while Theo inquired about Mildred’s latest tennis tournament and her grandchildren. Theo disentangled herself to introduce me.
“Let me stop yapping,” said Mildred. “I know you want to see Rob. He’s expecting you. Wait here a minute.” She disappeared into her boss’s office without bothering to knock.
In a few seconds the heavy door was opened by a bald middle-aged man, his doughy face smiling at us. Rob Prescott wore steel-rimmed bifocals that covered his face like goggles from above his eyebrows to his plump cheekbones. Horizontal worry lines sliced across his forehead, stopping only when his face merged into smooth bare scalp. He exuded a sense of calm competence, a feeling that everything would be okay. I understood why Theo trusted this guy to run the company she’d inherited.
We declined Mildred’s offer of coffee and sat down in the quiet office. Theo launched into the story we had concocted.
“We’re sorry to bother you about this, Rob. It’s silly, but Annie and I are invited to the Driscoll’s this weekend. After I accepted, I remembered a few years ago George got into a terrible argument there with Drew Littlefield—a real scene.” She paused and I watched his reaction.
“Uh huh.” Prescott leaned sideways in his tall leather chair, his right elbow on the chair’s arm while he massaged his ear lobe.
“I remember the scene, but I can’t recall what it was about. I don’t want to go to Marjorie Driscoll’s and accidently step on somebody’s toes.” Theo trailed off. I prayed Prescott would pick up the story and fill in the blanks.
“Theo, what are you asking me?” His voice sounded amused, but his eyes had sharpened. Rob Prescott would not be easily taken in.
“I’m asking if you know why George had a falling out with Drew. I know that he got mad at him, really mad, about something, and then George died before it got resolved. I’d like to know about that, Rob.”
Prescott glanced at me. I feigned polite indifference to Theo’s question.
“That’s all water under the bridge, honey. You don’t have to worry about it. Humphries Enterprises didn’t lose a dime, even though those guys threatened to sue us for breach of contract. George walked away from the deal before we signed the final paperwork.”
That was interesting. So there had been an aborted deal with Cutler. Theo had guessed right.
“I’m not worried. Just curious,” Theo said. “Drew Littlefield’s name has come up in connection with something else, and I’m trying to fit him in with what I remember.”
Prescott hesitated, then asked, “Has this got anything to do with Cutler Mead’s death?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Theo said. This, at least, was the truth.
“Well, it wasn’t Drew Littlefield who started it. It was Cutler.” Prescott quit tugging his earlobe and began to fiddle with an old fashioned fountain pen, popping the cap on and off.
I was sure he had more to say. I silently willed Theo to encourage him. She locked eyes with Prescott and raised her eyebrows.
He gave a big sigh. “It was like this.” He reached forward to pull open the bottom drawer of his desk and propped his foot up, tilting back his tall leather chair, preparing to tell the story. I could almost see him rocking on his front porch and whittling while he talked.
“Cutler came to George with an idea to develop luxury homes next door to the Seaside golf course. The project sounded good. He wanted Humphries Enterprises to buy the land. Claimed he was cash poor—probably true—but he said his company could handle construction.
“We were worried about getting the zoning approved, but Cutler had Drew Littlefield working on it.” He swiveled his chair in Theo’s direction.
“You remember how Drew used to be the chairman of the zoning commission. He could get projects approved, one way or another.”
This was news to me, and interesting. This sounded like the kind of stuff that Scot Raybourn had threatened Drew with when the men were with Freddie at the bar. My antenna was up and I was hoping that Rob would elaborate, but Theo murmured as if she was already aware of it.
“Here’s the good part. George goes to play the Seaside course on Wednesday. On the number four, he clips one w-a-a-a-a-ay beyond the rough. The ball is so far gone it’s onto that empty acreage next to the resort, the land Mead wants us to buy. Now this is the way George told it to me.
‘He’s pissed, pardon me, about his drive, so he stomps over there to find it, and, after he chunks his 7-iron into every clump of cane grass, he finds it alright. Sunk in an oily puddle.’”
He paused and seemed to be waiting for us to react. Theo looked sideways at me. I squinted at Prescott. I had an inkling where the story was headed, but I could tell that Theo was still in the dark. However, not for nothing had Theo learned to convince men that she understood what they were talking about. After a minute Theo formed her mouth into an “Oh,” giving Rob a wide-eyed look.
“You got it.” Prescott slapped his hands on his thighs, delighted at her e
ncouragement.
“George Humphries was nobody’s dummy. He scooped up some of that glop and sent samples to the environmental lab in Tampa. They confirmed what he already guessed. That land was soaked with creosote, oozing with it. Must have been a wood processing plant there at one time. This area was full of those plants as late as the 60’s.”
“So George was upset to find out that the land was polluted?” Theo asked.
“Upset? He was mad as hell, ‘scuse me, because he knew Cutler Mead was trying to con us.”
He sat up in his chair and, for the first time since he’d begun the narrative, he put both feet on the ground, leaning toward us to force our attention. “If Humphries Enterprises owned that property,” Prescott said, “we would have been responsible for cleaning up the pollution, and that would have cost millions of dollars. Millions,” he repeated, apparently to ensure that we heard him.
“Oh my God,” Theo said.
Unlike Rob Prescott, I knew that Theo’s exclamation was not about the scam. Theo had just learned she’d been sleeping with a man who’d tried to defraud the real love of her life—her late husband.
“We canceled the deal, of course,” Prescott continued, oblivious to Theo’s distress. “George was sure Cutler knew about it and had tried to sucker us. Drew Littlefield kept trying to convince George that Cutler didn’t know about the contamination. When George wouldn’t buy their B.S., Drew and Cutler tried to convince George to keep quiet about it. George thought they were going to try to sucker someone else. That’s why he got so mad. That’s probably what that argument you remember was about.”
“It’s lucky George found out.” I spoke up to distract Prescott from Theo. She looked like she might throw up, head down, her face pasty and a hand over her mouth.
“Lucky? I’ll tell you what was lucky.” As I had hoped, Prescott turned in my direction, away from Theo. “Those rascals were lucky George had that heart attack when he did, because we were planning to turn them in to the district attorney.”
I was staggered at Rob’s story. Here we were looking at Cutler’s death and maybe we had uncovered something else. I wondered how far George had gotten with his plan to complain to the authorities about Cutler. I wasn’t a fan of coincidences, and certainly not when two men had died.
Prescott must have sensed my thoughts. He deflated, seeming to lose his enthusiasm for the story. He shook his head and sat back with his hands in his lap. “George was the one with the evidence—he had all the conversations with them. Once he passed away, I let it go. With George gone, some of our investors were threatening to pull out. I was scrambling to save the business.” He paused a minute and said. “Those bastards got home scot free.”
18
Complication
Leaving the Humphries Enterprises building, Theo stumbled as she reached for the car door.
“Give me your keys,” I ordered.
Theo fished in her purse and handed them over. She took the passenger seat and leaned her head against the window while I backed the Mercedes out of the parking spot. I drove several blocks away from before casting a glance at Theo.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
We rode in silence, cruising down Frederica Drive, until we were slowed by the lunchtime traffic backed up around Southern Soul barbeque. The hot air around Southern Soul’s two outdoor barbeque drums shimmered, and the smell of sweet porky smoke billowed over the street and the idling cars. I’d often considered notifying the EPA about the pollution, but the blowback from local barbeque fans wouldn’t be worth it.
When we got home, I left Theo at the cottage, changed into my running shoes and took off down the beach. I desperately needed to process the information Rob Prescott had just dumped on us, and I needed to be alone to think. Nikes scrunching on the damp sand, I followed the wiggling line of scum that marked high tide. I jogged toward the point commanded by the ugliest house on Sea Island, a 20,000 square foot behemoth that crouched seaside as if embarrassed by its own scale. The beach was smooth, its unmarked surface waiting for the tide to return and bring feeding gulls, crabs and humans.
Since the revelation that George Humphries had thwarted Cutler’s real estate scam, my thoughts had pinballed from Sea Island to Vietnam to Atlanta and back. What bound those golfing bastards together? Was it something from their days in the army or was it a business deal?
I needed to talk to someone who could help me focus, but Theo was an emotional mess. Between finding Cutler’s body and discovering her lover had tried to bilk her husband, Theo was unreliable just now, or worse.
Sweet-hearted Theo, who never uttered a cuss word, could have a complete come-apart when she reached her limit. But not verbally—she’d pound on a sofa arm, stomp her foot, wave her arms. What if Cutler had told Theo he was getting back with Sissy? What if Theo grabbed for that golf trophy in a fury? I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility. I’d known Theo for decades, and she had a temper. I’d seen it for myself on occasion.
There had been that time she’d tossed the drink at Mildred Sartain’s creepy husband during that party—threw the highball glass at him, actually. He dodged. The crystal smashed against the wall of the Sartains’ great room, just missing a sofa-sized hunt print, the muscular rear ends of the horses bunched as if to jump away from the flying cocktail. The trigger for that episode was long forgotten, but there had been a few others. What if Theo already knew about Cutler’s attempt to defraud George Humphries? No. I was sure I would know about that, and Theo’s reaction today was one of shock. Unless she were acting. I refused to believe she was that duplicitous.
My brain was going around in circles. The sun was intense, and I hadn’t bothered to bring sunglasses or a hat, so I turned back. With the sun casting a shadow in front of me, I almost stepped into a convoy of ants dining on the corpse of a sea gull.
Cui bono? Who benefits? The ants were benefiting by the bird’s death, and if they could, ants would probably kill a sea gull every morning. If Cutler Mead hadn’t been killed in a temper tantrum by someone—say Theo, for the sake of argument—then who would have benefited from his death?
Head down, I almost bumped into Flynn, standing on the beach, waiting for me.
“Theo’s a mess,” he said, as a greeting.
“So you know what Rob Prescott told us?” I asked, as Flynn turned to walk alongside me.
“Enough. I thought you and I should talk without Theo. She’s gone from weeping girlfriend to revenge-minded widow. She’s calling Cutler names that even I have rarely heard. She’s mad, Audrey.”
“Yeah, that’s not helpful to her situation. The police already think she had a motive to kill Cutler because he was going back to his wife, and when this comes out....”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I want to go take a look at that land Cutler Mead planned to develop with George Humphries’ money.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling.”
We took Flynn’s car and headed toward the Seaside Golf Course. I directed him to the byways that led to the undeveloped land on the eastern side of the course.
“That must be it,” he pointed.
On a scrubby lot, a pair of elaborate iron gates stood forlorn between concrete pillars studded with shells.
“Looks like an abandoned movie set,” Flynn said. “Where’s Tallulah Bankhead wearing a turban?”
“You’re confusing your movies. Don’t you mean Gloria Swanson?”
“This is the deep South. I’m going with Tallulah.”
Beyond the gates, a sign too faded to read from where we were parked had lost the battle with weeds that had grown thigh high. We exited the car and picked our way between clumps of cord grass toward the placard.
“For God’s sake, Audrey,” Flynn said, trying to dodge the stickers on the grass a
nd the mounds of fire ants. “I came down here expecting to dress for the Cloister dining room, not the Everglades.”
“Stop whining. We’re almost there.”
We stood in front of the faded announcement of the development: “Coming soon. Estate Homes starting at $1 million.” There was more language touting designer finishes and top end amenities.
“Sounds like every other gated community on the island,” said Flynn. “I guarantee oversized plantation shutters, bleached wood cabinets, tropical print wallpaper—no wait, make that sea shells—and ridiculous amounts of marble tile.”
I was trying to put myself in Cutler Mead’s shoes. Considering its prime location, this property would have netted him a fortune. How did he feel when George not only walked out of the deal, but also threatened Cutler with criminal charges? The confrontation between the two men must have been nasty. Cutler could have bashed in George’s head in the heat of the moment. That wouldn’t have been surprising. Instead George died an unsuspicious death from a heart attack. Maybe George’s death was just that—unsuspicious. And yet….
When I didn’t say anything, Flynn turned to look at me. “You think Cutler Mead was killed because of this place,” he said.
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I think George Humphries was killed because of this place.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stifle them. I’d just made a crossing-the-Rubicon statement, and I couldn’t take it back. The feeling of being swept into something that I couldn’t stop was familiar. I remembered when the FBI had talked me into wearing a wire to record my own husband’s conversation. I wasn’t able to back out, and the consequences followed me for years.
“Oh, fuck,” said Flynn. “Audrey, how are you going to tell that to Theo?”
“I’m not—yet.” As soon as Flynn voiced the question I had decided to keep Theo in the dark for now, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Theo was no dummy. She’d figure it out eventually.
“Good. Agreed,” said Flynn. “It’s just speculation, for the time being. No sense in upsetting Theo further.”
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