“It’s an awful mess,” I said. “I feel really bad for Colton Heyward. He’s a little gruff, but a nice man. He’s having to deal with finding out his wife was married before, and not only did she have children, one of them killed his only child.”
Nate said, “I feel bad for the Ingles. That whole family was victimized by the Bounetheaus.”
I cut him a look. He and I had decided, after protracted discussion, not to raise our suspicions about Talitha’s death or Turner’s. It would be virtually impossible to prove their deaths were anything other than accidents. Our own story about being blinded had been quickly explained away by the investigating officers. Some unexplainable reflection, they thought. How much had that cost Abigail, and who had she paid off? My primary concern was keeping all of us safe.
I’d taken C.C. Bounetheau at his word when he said he’d put an end to Abigail coming after Nate and me. But either C.C. had lied to me, or he’d overestimated his control over his wife, because the thugs had tried to blow us up after that. We’d considered giving the recording of our conversation with C.C. to Jenkins and Bissell, but with C.C. in her corner, that would make us all targets for Abigail and her considerable resources. Since Evan’s arrest, and with Virginia’s first marriage in all the papers, Abigail had no reason to come after us now. We wanted to keep it that way. We’d agreed to let the task force handle bringing down the remaining Bounetheau criminals. Hopefully Abigail would be caught up in the indictments handed down. But we couldn’t talk about any of that until the task force finished its work.
“I heard Charleston PD released the boyfriend,” said Blake.
I nodded.
“Matt Thomas is free, but not doing well. He lost his girlfriend and his unborn child.” When I’d spoken to Matt, he was crumbling under the guilt, blaming himself because he hadn’t been excited about the baby. He was killing himself with “what ifs.” I’d told him, and I believed, it wouldn’t’ve changed a thing. Kent’s death had nothing to do with him. Ansley was trying her best to provide comfort, but she was in pieces herself.
Daddy said, “That poor little girl.” He shook his head slowly.
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Mr. Vanderhorst’s family had agreed at Mr. Heyward’s request to ask for an expedited exhumation. Kent’s body had been recovered on Friday, along with her laptop and iPad. Clearly, Evan had thought there was evidence there that could lead back to him. I hoped he was right, and I prayed it could still be recovered. The more evidence, the better.
I was glad we’d been able to give the Heywards some sort of closure. But I felt a darkness pressing in on me. How could family heap such cruelty on family? Watching news accounts of such chilling inhumanity to those closest to you was one thing. Witnessing it firsthand was another thing entirely.
“Autopsy report back yet?” Blake asked.
“No,” I said. “But there were no obvious wounds. The handkerchief he had at the cemetery when he came for me tested positive for chloroform. And they found two syringes of heroin in his car—fatal doses meant for Nate and me. I think it’s a safe bet that’s how he killed Kent. Though honestly, I’m surprised he knew where and how to buy heroin. There’s no evidence he’s a user.”
“That just creeps me out,” Merry said. “You came so close to being buried under someone else.”
“It was dicey, I admit. But if anything, I think this proves I can take care of myself.” I looked at Nate.
Mamma and Nate displayed similar looks of consternation.
Blake worked his jaw.
“With a little help from your friends,” said Colleen.
I smiled and thought, thank you.
Merry squinted at me. “What are you smiling about?”
Colleen bray-snorted.
I had to come up with something on the fly. I glanced at Nate. He shrugged as if to say, your call.
“I have happy news. I didn’t want to share it during this particular topic. Maybe after dinner?”
Mamma said, “I think we’ve already given far too much of our evening to discussing that poor girl and her family’s misery. We could all use some happy news.” Mamma smiled, like it was my choice, but her tone informed me otherwise.
I reached for Nate’s hand.
He wrapped his around mine.
“Nate and I are engaged,” I said.
The room erupted with happy sounds and congratulations. We all hugged. Mamma cried. Daddy slapped Nate on the back.
I overheard Blake say, “You take good care of my sister.”
Nate responded, “Always.”
Mamma said, “I need to reserve the church. Are you thinking May or June?”
“I like October better.” Nate grinned at her.
“A fall wedding?” Mamma asked. “Those can be quite lovely. I won’t have any trouble getting the church for next October. That will give us more time to plan.” She beamed a sunny smile at Nate. She was so happy with him in that moment.
“I was thinking this October,” Nate said.
Mamma’s smile evaporated. That quick, Nate fell from grace. “That’s just not possible.”
Merry and I exchanged grins.
Blake, a pot stirrer from way back said, “Sure it is. They could go to Vegas.”
Mamma looked horrified.
Nate looked grateful that Blake had drawn fire.
“How about a Christmas wedding?” I asked.
Mamma regarded me with displeasure. Her expression softened. “Not many folks are doing those. I could probably arrange for the church in December.” Her tone was a bit grudging, but I could tell she was warming up to the idea. Likely it occurred to her she should marry me off as quick as she could.
Daddy had slipped out unnoticed. He came back from the kitchen with two bottles. “Merry, get the glasses.”
“Champagne.” I smiled. “Thank you, Daddy. How sweet.” He hadn’t been at all in a celebratory mood the last time I’d announced an engagement.
He set the bottles down on the wet bar. Grinning, he said, “I like this one. I hear he knows how to handle a shotgun. Nate, do you fish?”
“Every chance I get.” Nate smiled back at Daddy.
“Oh yeah,” Daddy said. “This one’s gonna work out much better.”
About the Author
Susan loves three things best: her family, books, and beaches. She’s grateful to have been blessed with a vivid imagination, allowing her to write her own books centered around family, beaches, and solving puzzles wherein someone is murdered. Susan lives in Greenville, SC, and runs away to the coast as often as she can.
Her debut novel, Lowcountry Boil, won the Agatha Award for Best First Novel, the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, was an RWA Golden Heart® finalist, and hit the USA TODAY bestseller list. Susan’s short fiction has appeared in moonShine Review, Spinetingler Magazine, and Relief Journal among others. Visit Susan at www.susanmboyerbooks.com.
In Case You Missed the 1st Book in the Series
LOWCOUNTRY BOIL
Susan M. Boyer
A Liz Talbot Mystery (#1)
Private Investigator Liz Talbot is a modern Southern belle: she blesses hearts and takes names. She carries her Sig 9 in her Kate Spade handbag, and her golden retriever, Rhett, rides shotgun in her hybrid Escape. When her grandmother is murdered, Liz high-tails it back to her South Carolina island home to find the killer.
She’s fit to be tied when her police-chief brother shuts her out of the investigation, so she opens her own. Then her long-dead best friend pops in and things really get complicated. When more folks start turning up dead in this small seaside town, Liz must use more than just her wits and charm to keep her family safe, chase down clues from the hereafter, and catch a psychopath before he catches her.
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
In Case You Mi
ssed the 2nd Book in the Series
LOWCOUNTRY BOMBSHELL
Susan M. Boyer
A Liz Talbot Mystery (#2)
Liz Talbot thinks she’s seen another ghost when she meets Calista McQueen. She’s the spitting image of Marilyn Monroe. Born precisely fifty years after the ill-fated star, Calista’s life has eerily mirrored the late starlet’s—and she fears the looming anniversary of Marilyn’s death will also be hers.
Before Liz can open a case file, Calista’s life coach is executed. Suspicious characters swarm around Calista like mosquitoes on a sultry lowcountry evening: her certifiable mother, a fake aunt, her control-freak psychoanalyst, a private yoga instructor, her peculiar housekeeper, and an obsessed ex-husband. Liz digs in to find a motive for murder, but she’s besieged with distractions. Her ex has marriage and babies on his mind. Her too-sexy partner engages in a campaign of repeat seduction. Mamma needs help with Daddy’s devotion to bad habits. And a gang of wild hogs is running loose on Stella Maris.
With the heat index approaching triple digits, Liz races to uncover a diabolical murder plot in time to save not only Calista’s life, but also her own.
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
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Henery Press Mystery Books
And finally, before you go...
Here are a few other mysteries
you might enjoy:
BOARD STIFF
Kendel Lynn
An Elliott Lisbon Mystery (#1)
As director of the Ballantyne Foundation on Sea Pine Island, SC, Elliott Lisbon scratches her detective itch by performing discreet inquiries for Foundation donors. Usually nothing more serious than retrieving a pilfered Pomeranian. Until Jane Hatting, Ballantyne board chair, is accused of murder. The Ballantyne’s reputation tanks, Jane’s headed to a jail cell, and Elliott’s sexy ex is the new lieutenant in town.
Armed with moxie and her Mini Coop, Elliott uncovers a trail of blackmail schemes, gambling debts, illicit affairs, and investment scams. But the deeper she digs to clear Jane’s name, the guiltier Jane looks. The closer she gets to the truth, the more treacherous her investigation becomes. With victims piling up faster than shells at a clambake, Elliott realizes she’s next on the killer’s list.
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
PILLOW STALK
Diane Vallere
A Mad for Mod Mystery (#1)
Interior Decorator Madison Night has modeled her life after a character in a Doris Day movie, but when a killer targets women dressed like the bubbly actress, Madison’s signature sixties style places her in the middle of a homicide investigation.
The local detective connects the new crimes to a twenty-year-old cold case, and Madison’s long-trusted contractor emerges as the leading suspect. As the body count piles up like a stack of plush pillows, Madison uncovers a Soviet spy, a campaign to destroy all Doris Day movies, and six minutes of film that will change her life forever.
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
NUN TOO SOON
Alice Loweecey
A Giulia Driscoll Mystery (#1)
Giulia Falcone-Driscoll has just taken on her first impossible client: The Silk Tie Killer. He’s hired Driscoll Investigations to prove his innocence and they have only thirteen days to accomplish it. Talk about being tried in the media. Everyone in town is sure Roger Fitch strangled his girlfriend with one of his silk neckties. And then there’s the local TMZ wannabes—The Scoop—stalking Giulia and her client for sleazy sound bites.
On top of all that, her assistant’s first baby is due any second, her scary smart admin still doesn’t relate well to humans, and her police detective husband insists her client is guilty. About this marriage thing—it’s unknown territory, but it sure beats ten years of living with 150 nuns.
Giulia’s ownership of Driscoll Investigations hasn’t changed her passion for justice from her convent years. But the more dirt she digs up, the more she’s worried her efforts will help a murderer escape. As the client accuses DI of dragging its heels on purpose, Giulia thinks The Silk Tie Killer might be choosing one of his ties for her own neck.
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
BET YOUR BOTTOM DOLLAR
Karin Gillespie
The Bottom Dollar Series (#1)
(From the Henery Press Chick Lit Collection)
Welcome to the Bottom Dollar Emporium in Cayboo Creek, South Carolina, where everything from coconut mallow cookies to Clabber Girl Baking Powder costs a dollar but the coffee and gossip are free. For the Bottom Dollar gals, work time is sisterhood time.
When news gets out that a corporate dollar store is coming to town, the women are thrown into a tizzy, hoping to save their beloved store as well their friendships. Meanwhile the manager is canoodling with the town’s wealthiest bachelor and their romance unearths some startling family secrets.
The first in a series, Bet Your Bottom Dollar serves up a heaping portion of small town Southern life and introduces readers to a cast of eccentric characters. Pull up a wicker chair, set out a tall glass of Cheer Wine, and immerse yourself in the adventures of a group of women whom the Atlanta Journal Constitution calls, “… the kind of steel magnolias who would make Scarlett O’Hara envious.”
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
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