2 Lowcountry Bombshell

by Susan M. Boyer

  “I wasn’t sure if I should knock or just come on in,” she said.

  “You only need to knock if it’s locked. Guests come and go all hours. We’re waiting in here.” I gestured to the parlor.

  “I see.” She sashayed into the room and perched on a Queen Anne chair. “I’m terribly worried about what happened last night. I never meant to put you in danger.”

  “We’re fine,” I said. “But for all our sakes, we need to drain this swamp PDQ. Nate and I would like to establish whether your family poses a threat to you in any way. Honestly, we don’t believe they do. It appears someone lured them here by telling them where you were. That created a distraction from what’s really going on.”

  “And what do you believe is really going on?” Calista asked.

  At the same time Nate and I said, “Someone wants your money.”

  Calista sat back in her chair. “So few people know about the money, that’s hard to believe. You can’t imagine the lengths I’ve gone to.”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” I said. “Right now, we want you to get a comfort level that neither Jim, your mother, nor Grace McKee mean you harm. We’re not suggesting what you should or shouldn’t do in terms of your relationships with these folks. That’s not our business. Let’s just try to eliminate them as suspects, okay?”

  “That’s going to take quite a bit of convincing,” she said.

  “Let’s have a nice lunch and see what they have to say for themselves,” I said.

  “Norma Jeane.” A man’s voice, filled with reverence, cracked.

  We all turned towards the door. I hadn’t heard Jim Davis come in.

  “My God, honey. Can it really be you?”

  “Hello, Jimmy.” Calista’s voice was neutral.

  Jim rushed towards her chair and stopped short three feet away. “I’ve been looking for you for eighteen years.” The adoration on his face was bare.

  Still, people killed the objects of their adoration at an alarming rate. Best to make sure he wasn’t a sociopath. “Mr. Davis, would you have a seat?”

  Jim looked around, as if realizing for the first time Nate and I were in the room for the first time. “Hello,” he said. “Of course, I remember you.”

  I nodded. “Good to see you.”

  Urgent whispers and creaking stairs alerted us to Gladys and Grace’s approach. Nate, Calista and I froze, bracing ourselves. Jim looked confused. Not nearly enough moments later, the women appeared at the French doors.

  “Baby girl,” Gladys squealed. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Norma Jeane, honey, we’re so happy you’re here,” Grace gushed simultaneously.

  They both rushed Calista’s chair and stopped short when Jim wouldn’t budge.

  “Jimmy?” Grace looked quizzically from him to me, searching for an explanation.

  “What the hell are those two doing here?” Jim demanded.

  “I don’t understand.” Gladys clutched Grace’s arm.

  Nate stood. “Would everyone please take a seat?”

  The three of them ignored Nate. The women’s chirping, harping, and squealing got louder. Jim grumbled something, but I couldn’t make out what. Then Gladys went to wailing. For her part, Calista sat perfectly still, chin up and ankles crossed. She didn’t utter a word.

  Nate looked at me. “Slugger, you are clearly more gifted at lunatic whispering than I.”

  “You’re taller. You be the bad cop. Get them seated and quiet. I’ll take over from there.”

  “That’s enough,” Nate yelled over the cacophony. “Everyone please take a seat. Now. And let’s all listen to what Liz has to say.”

  They didn’t look happy, but Jim, Grace, and Gladys found chairs.

  “Thank you all for coming,” I said.

  The three of them regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

  My godmother, Grace, breezed into the room, arms wide open. “Welcome everyone. I’m so happy to have you all here. If y’all don’t mind, I’ll visit with you for a while, and then we’ll have a nice lunch.” She slid into a side chair near the door.

  Of course I’d asked Grace to join us. I read people well, as did Nate. But Grace saw things no one else did. Her psychic abilities traced back to a near fatal drowning as a teenager, with white light and all the trimmings.

  “Let’s start by agreeing on some basics,” I said. “My client changed her name years ago. She’s Calista McQueen and would like to be addressed accordingly.”

  Muttering, averted gazes, and chair shifting ensued, but mutiny did not break out.

  “If I understand correctly, y’all received anonymous postcards alerting you to Ms. McQueen’s location approximately two weeks ago. Please nod if this is accurate.”

  Three heads bobbed.

  “And Mr. Davis, you did not contact Ms. Monroe and Ms. McKee to let them know you’d received a postcard?”

  “No way. Those buzzards ran my Norma—I’m sorry baby—Calista—off to begin with. All that star crap was their—”

  I held up my hands. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. We’ll get to all of that. Ladies, likewise, you did not contact Mr. Davis?”

  Grace McKee spoke for them, “No. We wanted to see our girl. To try to make things right. We didn’t think she’d want to see him.”

  By way of response, Calista directed a gaze at Grace that would have frozen napalm.

  “You ladies drove across country, and you did as well, Mr. Davis?” I asked.

  Nods and affirmative murmurs came from all three.

  I said, “So—one at a time, please, beginning with Mr. Davis—exactly what did you hope to accomplish by traveling across country without so much as a phone call first?”

  Jim said, “I’ve never loved anyone else. Never remarried. I wanted to try to win back my wife. It’s as simple as that.” If he was a sociopath, he was very good at it. But that was the trouble with sociopaths. Most were accomplished liars.

  Grace—my godmother—stood and crossed the room. She placed her hands comfortingly on Jim’s shoulders. “How very romantic. And gallant. A gentleman fighting for his love.” She held onto him for a moment, then patted his shoulder and stepped away.

  Jim nodded at Grace, the expression on his face telegraphing that he was unaccustomed to strangers laying hands on him. “Thank you.”

  “Ms. McKee?” I raised my left eyebrow.

  Grace McKee clutched her chest and looked at Calista. “I’ve loved you like a daughter from the day you were born. I wanted to see you again before I died. Tell you how much we miss you and just want you to come home. I’d hoped for a more private reunion, of course.”

  Calista pressed her lips together and crossed her wrists on her lap.

  Grace Sullivan stepped over and hugged Grace McKee. “It was very brave of you to come all this way. Two women alone. I bet the journey was quite an adventure.”

  Grace McKee submitted to Grace’s embrace, but sat stiff, eyes wary. After a moment, my godmother rubbed the woman’s arms and stepped back.

  “Ms. Monroe?” I asked.

  “Norma—Calista, honey, I’m so sorry. You’re my only child. We never meant to hurt you. We just got caught up in it all. Marilyn’s mother’s maiden name was Monroe. That wasn’t a made-up name. That was her family name. I’ve dreamed since I was a little girl about whether we might be related somehow. It was my one connection to someone important—someone who people will remember.”

  Calista looked at her mother. Her expression softened a bit.

  Encouraged, Gladys continued. “Grace and I watched her movies over and over. My favorite is Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Grace always liked How to Marry a Millionaire. Grace has worked for years on our family tree. It’s not out of the question. I mean we really could be re—” She seemed
to catch herself. “There I go again. We never meant to hurt you. Please believe that.”

  Grace Sullivan slid over to Gladys and wrapped her in an embrace. “There now. Bless your heart. I know it’s hard to be a parent. I never had children of my own, you understand, so I can only imagine how you must feel.”

  Unlike the others, Gladys hugged Grace back. She clung to her for a long moment, then pulled back and looked at her with gratitude. Gladys’s chin trembled. I glanced at Calista. She raised one shoulder and lowered it.

  Our hostess turned her attention to what she did best, getting us fed. “Everyone, why don’t we finish chatting over lunch. Everything is sitting on the table.” She gestured dramatically and led us into the dining room, where she waited by her chair at the head of the table.

  “Calista, come sit by me.” I smiled and guided her to a chair on the end between Grace and me.

  Nate took the chair to my right. Jim Davis claimed the end of the table, and the two women I’d started thinking of as harmless flibbertigibbets hesitantly settled into chairs across from Calista and me, leaving an empty spot between them and Jim.

  My godmother took her chair. “Isn’t this nice? Did you all have a pleasant drive from California? I hope y’all didn’t run into bad weather.”

  No one answered, and Grace continued with a stream of pleasant chatter, covering the flowers, the weather, and excursions our visitors might enjoy.

  I put my linen napkin on my lap, served myself a chicken salad croissant and passed the platter left. The California crowd watched me, then followed suit with whatever happened to be in front of them.

  Beside me, Nate scooped a large serving of potato salad onto his plate.

  “Better save room,” I said. “You’ll love Grace’s chicken salad.”

  For the next few minutes, the only sounds in the room were the soft ping of serving utensils on platters and bowls. There was a strained moment, after everyone’s plate was piled high. No one began eating. We all just looked at each other.

  Unflappable, Grace said, “Everyone dig in. Let me know if I can get anyone anything.”

  I picked up my fork. Whether anyone else ate or not, I needed sustenance. Near-death experiences took their toll on a person. Nate dug in, and Calista commenced pushing food around on her plate.

  Gladys took a bite of her chicken salad croissant. “This is quite good. I’d love to have your recipe.”

  Grace McKee rolled her eyes and propped an elbow inelegantly on the table. “When have you ever cooked?”

  “Ms. Sullivan,” Calista said, “thank you ever so for doing all of this for us. This is a difficult situation, and you’ve been such a dear.”

  Grace beamed and patted Calista’s hand. “You’re quite welcome my dear.” Her hand lingered on Calista’s for a moment. Then, Grace looked at me, her eyes wide with alarm.

  She’d picked up on something, no doubt about it. Figuring whatever it was would require sustenance, I focused on my food.

  Jim ate with little enthusiasm. He stared at Calista with hound dog eyes.

  Grace McKee sipped her tea, and finally put a bite of potato salad on her fork. “I’m still not clear what we’re doing here.” She slid the fork into her mouth.

  I patted my mouth with my napkin. “Ms. McKee, we are reassuring Calista, whom you profess to care about, that she is safe with the three of you.”

  Grace McKee’s face blazed.

  Oh, boy. I’d been too blunt. “What I’m saying is, Calista has concerns, based on all of y’all’s history. We want to put those to rest if we can.”

  Grace McKee shoved her fork into the potato salad. “Why is our private business any of yours, is what I’d like to know.”

  Calista leveled a look at her. “Liz represents my interests.”

  “Your interests?” Grace McKee scoffed. “All any of us ever did was tend to your interests. And what did we get for it?”

  Calista drew back and raised a hand to her face.

  Jim muttered something that sounded like, “Crackpot harpy.”

  My godmother tried to steer us toward a neutral topic. “Do you ladies know how to get your hydrangeas to come out blue?”

  “Let’s simmer down,” Nate said.

  Gladys looked bewildered. “This is such a nice lunch.”

  Grace McKee scowled at Gladys. “Is that all you care about? Lunch?”

  “I just thought…” Gladys looked at me, then Calista. She seemed lost.

  Jim said, “Heaven’s sake, Grace, can you just act civilized for one meal?”

  “Don’t you dare start with me. If it hadn’t been for you, Norma Jeane would never have left California. She’d be in her rightful place.”

  “And what is my rightful place?” Calista’s voice was cool.

  “Look at you.” Grace drew back her shoulders. Her eyes widened and seemed to swirl, broadcasting that her remaining screws were coming loose. “All these years later, you look more like her than ever. You’re fighting destiny, girl. You can’t do that. You can’t fight who you are. You were born to carry on Marilyn’s legacy. You’re a Monroe.”

  “Oh boy,” Nate said.

  Gladys said, “Grace, just eat your lunch and leave Calista alone.” It was the most forceful thing she’d said so far.

  Calista regarded her mother with a little smile.

  Jim said, “That’s what I’m saying. Good chicken salad.” With apparent effort towards enthusiasm, he took a bite of a sandwich.

  “You like the chicken salad so much, have some more!” Grace McKee flung her croissant down the table and beaned Jim in the head.

  Nate, my godmother, and I inhaled sharply.

  Jim stared at Grace McKee. “Didn’t take long for you to drop your act, did it?”

  “I don’t have an act. You’re the one playing all lovesick.”

  “I couldn’t care less what you think, you crazy old witch. I love…Calista. My mistake was letting you call the shots way back when. If I hadn’t listened to you, I might still be married to the woman I love.”

  Quietly, Gladys said, “It’s all my fault.”

  “What is all your fault?” Calista asked.

  “I should never have let her talk me into any of that fame nonsense,” Gladys said. “It cost me my daughter.”

  Grace McKee was incensed. “Let me talk you into it? You’re the one who thought you were related. You were every bit as excited as I was when she was born.”

  “Of course I was excited. I had a daughter.”

  “You couldn’t stop talking about the date and time,” Grace McKee said.

  “Well, it was interesting, I thought,” Gladys shrugged.

  “Interesting?” Grace screeched. “Interesting? I’ll show you interesting.” She grabbed a handful of potato salad and hurled it at Gladys.

  For a few seconds, we watched it slide off Gladys’s face.

  Then everything happened at once.

  Nate jumped up and headed around the table. “Okay, that’s all—”

  “Oh, my,” said my godmother.

  “What the—” I couldn’t believe that nut had thrown food at Grace’s beautiful table. I moved my chair back.

  Grace said, “Sit still, darlin’. Let the menfolk handle this.”

  Jim said, “That does it.” He pushed back his chair and rounded the table towards Grace McKee. But Gladys was closer than either of us. She put a hand behind Grace’s head and smashed it into her plate.

  Calista said, “Ms. Sullivan, I’m very sorry about this.”

  “Nonsense, dear,” said Grace. “This is quite entertaining.”

  “That’s the first time I ever remember Mother standing up to Grace,” Calista said.

  The two women smeared handfuls of food into each other’s
face, alternately caterwauling and cursing, until Nate and Jim separated them.

  “Well,” said my godmother, “she certainly did it in spectacular fashion.”

  Nate had ahold of Gladys. She drew close to him. Grace McKee struggled against Jim’s none-too-gentle grasp.

  Jim said, “I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome. In this nice lady’s home, and certainly in our lives.” He hauled her out onto the porch.

  Gladys started to cry. Nate released her and she ran up the stairs.

  I looked at my plate. Why hadn’t they waited until I’d finished eating before they started the food fight?

  My godmother sipped her tea. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready for dessert. I made a strawberry shortcake, and the berries are simply luscious.”

  Nate ran a hand through his hair. “That went well.”

  “One thing is clear,” I said. “None of those three had a hand in trying to kill us last night. Their weapons of choice are on a whole nother level, and their violence of a more spontaneous nature. These folks aren’t planners.”

  “Agreed,” Nate said.

  “None of them has the head for that sort of thing,” Grace said.

  “What else can you tell us?” I asked.

  “I sense Mr. Davis and Ms. Monroe feel genuine remorse for the past, and would like to have Calista back in their lives in any way she’ll go along with. That McKee woman is a fine piece of work. But she’s mostly harmless.”

  “So who is playing all these tricks on me, if not them?” Calista asked. “Who killed poor Harmony and nearly killed the two of you last night?”

  Grace’s forehead creased. “Elizabeth and Nate will figure that out, I’m sure. But you are in danger. I’m certain of it. There’s a dark-haired man in your past who thinks you owe him quite a lot of money.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  After dessert—the strawberry shortcake was a divine combination of sweetened strawberries, freshly whipped cream, and buttery shortcake—Nate, Calista, and I helped Grace clean up the aftermath. Then Nate and I climbed into his rental.

  I said, “The only people in this whole mess who appear anywhere near equipped to pull off a professional hit and commandeer a ferry are our friends at Security Solutions.”