Deadly Southern Charm

by Mary Burton

  “No, I haven’t seen anything unusual,” Mrs. Landry said. “Well, except for a couple of nights ago. I did notice someone leaving pretty late when I was looking out the kitchen window. But it was dark, and I couldn’t make out who it was. It looked like a man, though. She seemed fine, happy. Actually, happier than usual the past couple of weeks. I don’t know why, she never said.”

  “Was she a good neighbor? Did y’all get along okay?”

  “Oh yes, she was delightful. We had a problem when she first moved in, but that’s all taken care of now.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “She was planting a garden and fixing up her backyard when she dug up a hydrangea bush on the property line. It was mine. I was quite upset about it. I’d had that bush for a long time, but she apologized and took it right down to the nursery to see if it could be saved. Fortunately, the roots were mostly intact, so someone from the nursery was able to replant it. She even paid for him to come back a few times to check and make sure it was growing strong again. She felt terrible about it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Landry. I’m sure the police will be here soon, and we’ll all be able to go home. Until then, Jonah and I will get everyone some more tea while we wait.”

  “Thank you, dear, that would be lovely.” Mrs. Landry wobbled back to the rest of the group.

  Tess went to talk to Jonah. “Let’s get everybody some fresh tea and maybe a few sandwiches while we wait for the police. Some of our guests hadn’t had lunch yet when this happened, and you know I don’t like for anyone go hungry. I was raised with better manners than that.”

  “Sure. Is everything okay? Was anyone able to tell you anything?” Jonah asked.

  “Something’s bothering me,” Tess replied. “I’m not sure what, but I’ll figure it out.”

  Jonah nodded. “In the meantime, I’ll get the hot water and put together a couple of plates of sandwiches.”

  “I’ll pass the tea box so our guests can decide what they’d like.”

  As Tess started to walk behind the counter for the tea box, Phyllis’s purse caught her eye. She noticed the stain Phyllis said was a few days old. It wasn’t faded but looked fresh. How could it be fresh?

  In a flash, Tess understood.

  She knew who killed Kate and why.

  Leaving the tea box behind, she walked over the guests gathered together near the window.

  “Phyllis, you said you took Marcus his lunch today, right? At his office?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “And you spoke to Kate while you were there. You mentioned coming here for lunch and suggested she do the same, am I right?”

  Phyllis stiffened. “Well, yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “It has everything to do with what happened to Kate. If I’m right, you saw your opportunity this morning.”

  “I don’t understand, Dear.”

  “You slipped Kate’s EpiPen out of her purse while you were at the office. Everyone knew where she kept it so it would have been easy. Then, you planted the idea for her to come here for lunch, when you mentioned you were meeting a friend here. But you never planned on meeting anyone here.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about?” Phyllis said tensely.

  “You wanted to get near Kate while she was eating. I’m guessing that you distracted her for a minute and poured almond extract over the Devonshire cream.”

  “That’s crazy!” Phyllis looked to the other patrons and then laughed as if this was a bad joke. “Why would I do something like that? Kate was a sweet girl, I had no reason to hurt her,” she argued.

  “Considering all the late nights at work, I’m guessing there wasn’t much actual work going on when she was with your husband Marcus. Daniel said it was dark when he drove by Kate’s office, which makes me think Kate and Marcus were holed up somewhere else. That’s why she broke up with Daniel and why Ms. Landry said she’d been so happy lately. Am I right?”

  “No, you are not!”

  Tess grabbed Phyllis’s purse off the floor and sniffed the stain. “This spot isn’t from putting it on the floor. It smells like almond extract. You were in such a hurry, you didn’t put the cap back on tight, and it leaked everywhere.”

  Phyllis burst into tears. “My stupid jerk of a husband! How could he have an affair with that tramp, after all I’ve done for him? He was going to leave me for her! I found the divorce papers in his office, and I knew I had to do something to keep him from her.”

  Just then the front doorbells jingled, and a police officer walked in. “Hey y’all, sorry for the delay. I got here as quick as I could. The ambulance shouldn’t be too far behind. Who wants to tell me what happened?”

  As if rehearsed, everyone turned in unison and looked at Tess.

  “I guess that would be me,” Tess said.

  BURN, by K.L. Murphy

  “You called 9-1-1,” Greg said.

  Lillian Parker pursed her lips. “Was that a question?”

  The wooden chair creaked under his weight. “I guess not.”

  She peered at him over her glasses. He was the fire chief now, grayer and heavier than when she’d taught him in high school but still the same—easily led, eager to please. “That’s what I thought.”

  He lowered his chin, the flesh bulging over the collar of his starched shirt. “The 9-1-1 call came in just after 3 am.”

  “I know what time it was, Greggie.”

  “It’s Greg now.” Silent, Lillian shrugged and sipped her tea. “Three in the morning is pretty late to be awake, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Lillian was often awake during the night, rising when the throbbing pain came. It happened more often now, but he didn’t need to know that. “I do mind.” She smiled. “Greg.”

  He rubbed his large hands against his thighs. His nails were bitten to the quick, the skin around them red and ragged. “The house was owned by Trudy Trimble. Do you know her?”

  “Of course, I know her. Being old does not make me stupid.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  She cut him off. “Trudy Trimble is her married name, but she’ll always be Trudy Horning to me. Carter Horning was her granddaddy. You might remember him. He and my daddy built these houses together.” Both houses, splintered and worn by decades of wind and salt and sea, had been standing longer than Lillian had been alive. How many times had she wandered down to the beach as a girl and seen the two men standing knee deep in the sea, fishing rods in their hands, heads thrown back in laughter? She shook away the memory. “Trudy’s grandmother—that was Millie Horning—we were best friends when we were girls. Stayed close all our lives, too. Even after she passed, the Horning family kept coming.” She paused. “Trudy’s like a granddaughter to me.”

  Greg’s head bobbed. “I remember the Hornings. Brent and I got to be pretty good friends one summer when we worked at that sandwich shop on Main, the one next to the Stop ’n’ Go Shop.”

  “Ben McCardle’s place.”

  “Right. I think it’s a Chipotle now.”

  Lillian set her cup on the side table. Ben McCardle had made the best pimento cheese in the county, maybe even the whole state of South Carolina. His grilled pimento cheese and bacon sandwiches had been famous for a while, but that was before the heart attack and the medical bills. There’d been at least a dozen places there since Ben had been forced to pull up stakes. She didn’t know what a Chipotle was and figured she never would, but she did miss those sandwiches.

  “Brent is Trudy’s daddy. He lives in Atlanta now,” she said. “He gave the house to Trudy as a wedding present.” Her gaze drifted to the window, to the black shell that had been the Horning house. Dark wisps of smoke curled up and faded into the gray sky. The fire had been extinguished—their expression, not hers—yet the air still smelled of ash. She swallowed the burning lump in her throat.

  Past the Horning house, she stared at the monstrosity the Manns had built. Massive in size, it loomed over the other ho
uses on the street. Lillian frowned. How many times had she tried to argue against such a monstrosity? Modernize, she’d agreed. Enlarge, she’d said. But no one had listened.

  “We need a vacation home for our children and grandchildren,” Regina Mann had said, no apology in her voice. “Seven bedrooms, minimum. It’s so much better if everyone has their own space, don’t you think?”

  Regina had torn down the old house with its tin roof and charming porch and built—well, Lillian didn’t really know what it was. The outside was pink, the color of that horrible medicine. It had king-sized double doors, Mediterranean arches, and dozens and dozens of lights. They came on like clockwork every night, the glare blinding. She’d often thought it was a wonder they couldn’t see that house lit up clear to Charleston. The lines between her brows deepened. Except for last night. While the fire had raged at the Horning house, the Mann mansion had sat dark, like an ominous shadow against the night sky.

  “Miss Parker?” said Greg.

  “I’m sorry. Were you saying something?”

  “I was asking if you’ve spoken with Trudy since the fire.”

  “Oh, no, I haven’t.” Lillian had tried, phoning both Trudy’s home and cell numbers but getting only voice mail. “I don’t know what to say. Her husband was let go from his job last year, her son broke his leg in a car accident, and now this,” she said, lifting her palms. “That house meant everything to her. She might be the only other person on this island who loves this place as much as I do.”

  He was quiet a moment. “You told one of my men that the fire wasn’t an accident.”

  She sat up straighter. Now they were getting to it. Good. “It wasn’t. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  He ran a hand over his head and brushed back his thinning hair. “We don’t get many fires like this. Whole place burned to the ground. Only other one I can think of is the one out at the old Crosby place.”

  She remembered. The Crosby fire had been a doozy, the talk of the town for weeks. Some said Skeet had it coming, but Lillian had never been one to spread gossip. Smokin’ Skeet they’d called him, even before the fire. Every day except Sunday, he’d park himself on the bench outside the grocery, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, a brown paper bag in his hand. Most days, he’d nod off in the heat, waking only long enough to take another drink and smoke another pack of Luckys. She’d always thought it was a wonder he hadn’t burned down the whole town and not just the pile of wood he called a house. He’d moved off the island after that. Good riddance was all she’d had to say. “Skeet Crosby was an idiot, but he didn’t mean to burn down his own house.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he did.”

  “This one wasn’t an accident,” she said again.

  “I’m interested to hear why you would say that, Miss Parker.”

  “Because I know who set it.” His gaze met hers. “Regina Mann. Do you know Regina?”

  “We’ve met.”

  She pointed out the window. “Then you also know that horrific thing she calls my house. Regina Mann wants every house on this street, you know. She plans to turn them all into little versions of her house for all her guests. Can you imagine? She probably wants to rename the street Mann Road. She might even get away with it.” Her nose wrinkled as she spoke. “The Thurmans sold last month. I did everything I could to talk them out of it, but they said they were planning to move anyway. Going to live with their daughter down in Orlando.”

  “She wants to buy all the houses on the street?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  His face flushed pink. “Has she offered to buy your house?”

  “More times than I can count.” Lillian wagged one finger. “I told her I wouldn’t sell to her if I was taking my last breath. She’d do anything to get her hands on every house on this block. Anything.” Lillian’s voice shook. Regina wasn’t above strong-arm tactics and a fire was right up her alley. “That includes the Horning house.”

  “You don’t like Regina Mann.”

  “The feeling is mutual. I promise you that.”

  “Any reason other than that she wants to buy your house?”

  “No one around here with an ounce of sense likes that woman.” Lillian looked him in the eye. “She’s not an islander, Greg, and you know it. She doesn’t belong here.”

  He held her gaze a moment, and then he shook his head. “Who belongs here and who doesn’t isn’t our decision.”

  Lillian opened her mouth to argue, saw the look on his face—as though he’d eaten something sour or rancid—and thought better of it.

  “Look, I’ve spoken to most of the owners on this street, including the Manns, to let them know about the fire. Mrs. Mann is in New York and has been for the past week. She didn’t set that fire.”

  Lillian shrugged. “Then she hired someone to do it for her.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “To force Trudy to sell.”

  “Miss Parker, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Mrs. Mann seemed quite upset about the fire. I believe her when—”

  “Of course, you believe her. Regina Mann could skin a coon without it even knowing. I’m telling you, that woman cannot be trusted. After this block, it will be the whole neighborhood, then the whole island.” Lillian shuddered. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t.”

  He leaned forward, the space between them shrinking. “Would it surprise you to know that Mrs. Mann expected you to accuse her?”

  “Nothing that woman says or does surprises me.”

  “You can’t blame Mrs. Mann for everything. You’ve sent countless letters to the editor about her.”

  “Your wife tell you that, Greggie?” Lillian didn’t wait for an answer. “Shouldn’t she be out reporting instead of reading my letters?”

  “I didn’t say she read them,” he said.

  “Well, I sure wish someone would. Not one of them has been printed. Carl Jenkins is a weak excuse for an editor if ever there was one.”

  He let out a long breath, plucked at the fabric of his pants. “It’s not just the letters. You’ve phoned the radio, hounded your neighbors.” He paused. “You’re lucky Mrs. Mann doesn’t have you charged with slander.”

  “She doesn’t dare. She wants my house.”

  He shook his head. “How far are you going to go with this vendetta, Miss Parker?”

  The blood rushed to her face. Even if she had sent letters and made calls, so what? She’d done nothing illegal. “You have no right to speak to me that way.”

  Outside, the wind whipped up and flecks of ash floated past the window and out to the dunes. She squeezed her eyes shut, blinking back the tears. She couldn’t smell the ocean air or the sweet summer breeze, only the acrid odor of charred timber and melted plastic. It wasn’t right. She couldn’t let Regina get away with it. She couldn’t let Regina win.

  When he spoke again, there was sadness in his voice. “The island has changed, Miss Parker. It doesn’t matter whether we want it to or not. Nature does her thing and we do ours. Families come and go; new houses are built. Old houses are bought and sold. There are new businesses to replace the old ones. That’s just the way it is. We can’t stop change any more than we can stop time.” He hesitated. “You can’t stop it.”

  Lillian stiffened. He sounded like Regina.

  Greg cleared his throat and she raised her eyes to his. The pain in her back throbbed and she winced. The doctors had said the tumor was inoperable, terminal. They’d offered chemotherapy, of course, but she’d declined. Why did she need it at her age? Regina had been right though. She wouldn’t live forever. She wouldn’t live out the year.

  Out loud, she said, “I’m an old woman, Greg. Set in my ways. Isn’t that what they say? When you get to be a certain age, you just get set in your ways.”

  “Maybe, but you can’t stop change. It happens whether you want it to or not.” He paused. “When was the last time you saw Trudy Trimble?”

  Lillian sat back, dizz
y with the change in subject, dizzy with the pain that never stopped. “Friday, I guess. I took her some zucchini bread when she got in for the weekend. It’s her favorite. I’ve been making it for her since she was a girl.”

  “Did you talk about Regina Mann?”

  Lillian frowned again. They’d talked about Regina several times before, but not that night. “No. It was late by the time she got in. After ten already.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  Lillian’s shoulders drooped. They hadn’t talked about anything. Trudy hadn’t invited her in, claiming she was tired. “Nothing.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure,” she snapped. “I gave her the bread, and I went home. When I woke up the next morning, she’d slipped a note under my door saying she’d had to go back home.”

  He rose, moving to the large window that faced the ocean. The waves crashed and washed over the sand, stopping only feet from the tall grasses that protected the dunes. Behind the dunes, the houses hugged the narrow strip of beach.

  “It’s high tide,” he said.

  Gray clouds hung low over the horizon. An afternoon storm would blow in and out again, leaving a stretch of rainbow over the sea. Like the dramatic tides, the storms were a way of life. Lillian wouldn’t have had it any other way. Looking past him, she could see the orange marker protruding from the tallest dune, marking a nest of sea turtles. They needed protecting now, the baby turtles. That’s all she was trying to do with the letters and the phone calls. Protect this way of life she’d grown to love. Protect her home. Protect Trudy.

  Greg looked over his shoulder. “Did you know that the Manns have a security system?”

  She exhaled, wincing. “Of course, they do. They have everything.”

  “Their security system includes several cameras. One of them faces the Horning house.” He turned, searching her face, scrutinizing her as if he didn’t know her. His voice was flat, emotionless. “The footage we’ve been able to access gives us a pretty good idea of when the fire was started. And how.”