“Everyone gather round.” Mamma stood behind her chair at the end of the table closest to the kitchen. “Let’s say grace, then we can fix our plates.” She said that like maybe we were new here and needed directions.
We took our places behind our chairs. Mamma held out to her hands to me on her right and Merry on her left. We all joined hands and bowed our heads. As is her custom, Mamma returned thanks.
“Heavenly Father, thank you for this food which we’re about to receive from thy bounty. Bless it to our use and us to thy service. And Father, thank you for bringing Esmerelda and Joe safely home from their wedding trip. Bless their marriage, Father. And please take good care of our Poppy as she nurtures the next generation. Please keep Blake, Elizabeth, and Nate safe as they go about their dangerous jobs. Help them all to use the common sense you’ve blessed them with on a more customary basis. In Your Heavenly name we pray, amen.”
I caught Merry’s eye, read how she was grateful Mamma hadn’t petitioned the Lord yet again regarding the legitimacy of Merry and Joe’s wedding vows in a foreign land. They’d spent three weeks in Patagonia on a bucket-list trip and gotten married while they were there. Mamma’d been upset by the wedding photos which featured indigenous people, non-standard clothing, and a pack of guanacos, which Merry had explained are cousins of the llama.
Mamma said, “Poppy, fix your plate, Darlin’.” Poppy and Blake were expecting their first child—Mamma and Daddy’s first grandbaby—in June. Poppy would likely be fixing her plate first for the foreseeable future. Mamma’s restraint was admirable. Until Blake had pulled her aside and asked her not to, she’d taken to fixing Poppy’s plate for her.
Poppy blushed, smiled, and picked up her plate to do as she was told. The rest of us fell in line and piled our plates high. I loved every dish on Mamma’s traditional Christmas Eve buffet. However, when faced with such a feast, one has to eat strategically. My plate was mostly filled with chicken and dumplings, with just a taste of everything else.
When we were settled into our customary places and had taken a few bites and sufficiently praised the food, Daddy turned to Blake. “Awful shame to have dead bodies turning up on the beach right here in the middle of Christmas. And after such a pretty parade.” He shook his head.
Blake had just delivered a bite of chicken and dumplings to his mouth. He chewed slowly, likely waiting for Mamma to veto the topic of dead bodies as inappropriate dinner table conversation. Apparently concerned herself, Mamma stayed quiet and waited to see what Blake had to allow.
He took a long drink of wine. “I’m not a fan of bodies on the beach in any season. And I’m curious what crime prevention methods you think I let slip.”
Daddy made a face that said, well, I don’t know, but clearly you dropped a ball somewhere and took a bite of dumplings.
“You think this is related to the Bounetheau twins being arrested?” asked Joe.
“Hard to say,” said Blake. “Probably. I’ve got my two best investigators on it.”
“How many people did they arrest with them?” asked Merry. “Seems like I read it was more than a couple dozen.”
Nate nodded. “Twenty-nine people. And they seized more than a hundred firearms of various sizes, an unspecified amount of cash, fentanyl, meth, marijuana, and some of pretty much every other illegal drug. The task force had been building their case for years.”
“Even the Bounetheaus don’t have enough money to buy their way out of that mess,” I said. “Peter and Peyton had their fingers in multiple nefarious pies. Money laundering, gun trafficking, drug trafficking…who knows what all else.”
“Makes you wonder if their father was involved too,” said Joe. “Him being shot and all.”
“Nah,” I said. “If there was any chance he was mixed up in all that, they’d’ve arrested him at the same time. Talk about a flight risk.”
“That doesn’t mean his death wasn’t somehow connected,” said Blake. “Could’ve been some kind of revenge thing.”
“Maybe so,” said Nate. “It’s early yet. We’re pursuing multiple leads.”
“I hate to think we had that sort of criminal hanging around town during our Christmas festival,” said Mamma. “That poor man. You think they followed C. C. Bounetheau over here? If that’s the case, there’s no reason for them to come back, is there?”
Nate said, “Whatever happened, I really don’t think there’s any danger to the community.”
“Except the members of the community who are chasing after whoever’s responsible.” Daddy’s look put Nate on notice that he hadn’t forgotten my recent close encounter with an armed killer. “I hope you’re doubling down on precautions. There’s safety in numbers. If you need an extra hand, just let me know.”
Now that’s exactly what we needed. Daddy riding shotgun with a literal shotgun—and Chumley, no doubt. I gave my head a slight shake to clear the image.
Daddy squinted at me, gave me a look that inquired exactly what was my problem.
Nate nodded, and to his credit, did not shout, Oh hell no. “Thanks, Frank. We’ll bear that in mind.”
“Mamma, exactly what do you mean by, ‘That sort of criminal?’” asked Merry.
“The kind who kill people, Esmerelda.” Mamma gave Merry a weary look. “I’m afraid I have an aversion to murderers. I couldn’t care less about their demographics or philosophy. I’m equally opposed to all murderers.”
“Carolyn, these dumplings are the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Poppy wore a rhapsodic expression.
Mamma smiled at Poppy. “I’m so happy you like them, Sweetheart. Have some more, why don’t you? Blake, get Poppy some more dumplings. And some more sweet potatoes too. Sweet potatoes are so good for you. They have all sorts of antioxidants. I was just reading about that this past week.”
Blake scrutinized Poppy’s plate. “Mom, she hasn’t even finished her first plate of supper yet. Don’t pressure her.”
“Pressure her?” Mamma cut Blake a look like maybe he’d accused her of a war crime. “Why I would never in this world. Poppy, Darlin’, please have as much—” She glared hard at Blake. “—or as little of everything as you would like.”
Poppy looked mortified. She’d no doubt been trying to soothe Mamma, not upset her further. She set down her fork, picked up her iced tea glass, and gulped. Poor Poppy. A distraction. We needed a distraction.
“Mamma, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said. “Do you know the family in town with the twin little girls, maybe five or six years old? They have long blonde curly hair.”
Blake shot me a look of gratitude.
Mamma turned to me, tilted her head, considering. “I haven’t met them, but I know who you’re talking about. They’ve visited at church a few times.”
“You talking about Moon Unit’s new chef?” asked Blake.
“New chef?” This was the first I’d heard of it.
“Elizabeth,” admonished Mamma. “Wrinkles.”
I focused on smoothing my face. “I thought Moon Unit was the only chef at The Cracked Pot. I know she has a rotation of line cooks. And they only stay as long as they follow her directions precisely.”
“That’s the way things used to work,” said Blake. “Until Tallulah. She started out as one of the line cooks right after Thanksgiving last year. One day Moon Unit was strapped for time and she let Tallulah make the special. And she sold out of it. Ever since, Tallulah’s been gradually taking on the role of chef—unofficially, of course. I’d never let Moon Unit hear me call Tallulah the chef. It’d probably get her fired. She made the vegetable soup today.”
“Reeeally?” I asked. “That soup was divine.”
Blake nodded slowly, with a look that said Yep—that soup.
“I know her,” said Merry. “She lives in my neighborhood, across the street and a couple doors down. Precious little girls.”
“Wh
at’s her last name?” I asked.
“Why?” Blake made a face, but Mamma did not bring up wrinkles to him.
I shrugged. “I was just curious. We saw them last night at the Christmas festival. There aren’t many folks in town I don’t know.”
“It’s Hartley,” said Merry. “Tallulah Hartley. The little girls are Archer and Arden. Tallulah’s separated from her husband. I think they’re getting a divorce soon.”
Blake eyed me like he suspected me of withholding information.
“That’s awfully sad,” said Mamma. “And right here at Christmas. I’ll have to take her a cream cheese pound cake.”
Merry said, “She has a boyfriend. I don’t think she’s in mourning or anything.”
Mamma lifted her chin at Merry. “One doesn’t need to be in mourning to enjoy a nice pound cake. I haven’t properly welcomed her to town yet.”
“Speaking of your neighborhood,” Poppy said in a tentative voice. She glanced at Merry. “Tammy Sue Lyerly told me today there’s a house getting ready to come on the market.”
“That’s wonderful news.” Jubilation sprung onto Mamma’s face and commenced dancing. Getting Blake and Poppy off his houseboat before the baby came was Mamma’s top priority these days.
Daddy raised an eyebrow at Merry. “It’s not your house, is it?”
“Of course not, Daddy,” said Merry. While she’d told us they’d be living in Stella Maris part time and Charlotte part time due to Joe’s job, we were all hoping he’d find something closer to home.
“How’s that new job coming?” Daddy asked Joe.
Joe said, “I’m working on it. There’s nothing I’d like better than to live here full time.”
Daddy chewed thoughtfully, kept looking at Joe. After a minute he smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was putting Joe on notice that there was a limit to his patience.
“So which house is it, Poppy?” I asked. “Do you know?”
“I haven’t had a chance to go by there,” said Poppy. “It’s not officially on the market yet. But she said it was the Fortson house? It’s a craftsman bungalow. Three bedrooms, she said.”
Merry said, “I didn’t know Bobby Lee and Kendra were moving. That’s almost right across the street from me. It’s a beautiful house—great yard for kids.”
“Oh!” said Mamma. “Let’s all go ride past there and take a quick look, why don’t we? Son, you’ll want to get an offer in fast. Houses in that neighborhood go quick. We don’t want to lose it. And don’t make them a low-ball offer either.”
Blake inhaled slowly, raised both eyebrows. “We don’t have any idea yet what they’re even asking for it. Real estate’s gotten crazy. We’ll have to see. Hopefully, it’ll be in our budget.”
“Frank-lin Blake Talbot.” Mamma drew back, straightened her spine, and placed a palm on her chest. “Please don’t tell me you mean to let an opportunity slip by to provide a home for your family in one of the best neighborhoods on the island.”
Blake sighed at the forkful of Pernil that had almost made it to his mouth. “Can I finish my dinner first?”
“Of course,” said Mamma. “We can have dessert when we get back.”
“Dessert?” asked Daddy. “What do you have for dessert?”
“Chocolate cake, of course.”
SEVEN
The Navigator was the only vehicle in the family fleet that would carry us all. Mamma deputized Nate to help Poppy into the front passenger seat, then she, Merry, and I climbed in the back. This left Joe, Blake, and Daddy in the middle row, with Chumley half on Daddy’s lap and half on Blake’s.
“This is insanity.” Blake massaged the back of his neck.
“Why shouldn’t the hound dog go for a ride?” asked Daddy. “He likes to ride, especially in the truck. This Navigator sits up high like my truck, don’t it?” He patted Chumley, who yawned and groaned.
“No sign of Claude, I guess,” said Daddy.
We all scanned the yard.
“Nope,” said Poppy. “Should we wait for your friend?”
“Nah,” said Daddy. “Claude’ll either be here or he won’t. What are we going to do? Let’s go see your new house.”
“Dad.” Blake’s voice held a caution and a plea. Things were moving awfully fast for my brother. He’d lived by himself on a houseboat since he graduated college more than fourteen years ago.
“What?” Daddy tried to sound innocent.
“Everybody buckled in?” asked Nate.
We all chimed yes, Chumley woofed, and Nate executed a three-point turn and headed out the driveway. It was a short drive to the established neighborhood between Palmetto Boulevard and Marsh View Lane where Merry lived—well, Merry and Joe now. Live oak trees with sprawling canopies shaded the streets. Brick sidewalks, mature landscaping, and an eclectic mix of architectural styles lent the area a charming vibe. Nate turned down Magnolia Lane, so named because virtually every yard had at least one Magnolia tree.
“Nate, honey, slow down, would you please?” asked Mamma.
“Certainly,” said Nate.
“Oooh,” said Poppy. “All the houses are decorated so pretty. I love all the luminaries. Did y’all coordinate that?”
“Oh yes,” said Merry. “There’s a committee that organizes that every year. There’s a luminary every four feet on the sidewalks throughout the neighborhood.”
“That’s it right there,” Blake pointed to a cottage with white vertical siding, a deep, wrap-around porch, and a shiny metal roof.
Poppy gasped. “It’s so beautiful. Oh! It’s got a porch swing. I’ve always wanted a porch swing….” She was quiet for a moment. “But…you know, we should look at it? I think we have a few more to look at too, don’t we, Sweetheart?”
“Really?” Mamma’s voice was artificially bright. “Where?” She was smiling, but I knew—we all knew—that Mamma was sold on this neighborhood for her grandchild.
Things got quiet in the car. It was a great neighborhood, which made it quite popular. The price per square foot tended to be higher here than some of the other neighborhoods on the island. And the town didn’t pay its Chief of Police an extravagant salary. Until recently, Poppy had been a mail carrier in Charleston. As far as I knew, she hadn’t found a job in Stella Maris yet.
Mamma and Daddy had a lovely home, but they’d started out living with Gram and Granddad. Daddy had worked hard selling tools and valves and all such as that, commuting to work in North Charleston for many years. They had a nice retirement nest egg, though not the kind of money where they could subsidize a house for Blake and Poppy—for any of us.
Nate and I had a fabulous house, but Gram had left it to me. The land both homes were built on had been in the family for generations. And there was plenty more land to build a house for Blake and Poppy. But new construction in a coastal area was also quite pricey.
We were blessed beyond measure, and we all knew it. While our greatest blessing was each other, compared to many families in the world, we were wealthy. The land we owned as a family was worth a princely sum—but only if we sold it, which none of us would ever dream of doing. Paying the taxes on it was a challenge. It might not look that way from the outside looking in, but we were a middle-class family, is what I’m saying—with mostly inherited real estate. Blake loved Stella Maris, and I couldn’t imagine him ever living anywhere else. Still, reality was that real estate in our hometown was increasingly out of reach for folks who’d lived there all their lives.
“Tammy Sue has a list of places, Mom,” said Blake. “Don’t worry. Of course we’re going to see this one. It’s a great house.” I could tell by my brother’s tone there was a “but” to that statement.
“Never discount a miracle,” said Poppy. “Especially at Christmas.”
Mamma didn’t respond at first, perhaps realizing that in her enthusiasm she may have
put pressure on Blake. Then she said, “I’m certain you’ll find the perfect place. I’m so excited for you.”
“That’s where Tallulah Hartley and her daughters live.” Merry pointed to a similar bungalow painted yellow a few doors down.
“That’s pretty too,” I said. “Did she buy that house?”
“No,” said Merry. “She rents from Mackie Sullivan.”
“He’s bought up several houses as rentals,” said Daddy.
Nate drove to the end of Magnolia Lane. “Back to the house for dessert?”
“Turn around and go back by,” said Mamma. “The Christmas lights are so lovely.”
Nate did a U-turn and rolled slowly down the street while we all oohed and aahed over the festive yards and houses. As we neared Tallulah’s house, a deep blue Honda Pilot, maybe several years old, backed out of the driveway and pulled into the street.
“Is that her car?” I asked Merry quietly.
“Yeah,” she gave me a curious look.
“Well, lookie there,” said Daddy. “It’s Claude!”
And there he stood, in Tallulah’s front yard, next to the three lit reindeer sculptures, munching Spanish moss off yet another live oak.
“Oh my stars,” said Mamma. “Is that creature following us?”
“Oh no.” Poppy sounded panicked.
“What’s wrong?” asked Blake.
“I can’t believe I did that.” She slapped her forehead with her palm several times.
“Easy there.” Blake reached into the front seat and placed a hand on her arm. “What’s the matter?”
“I forgot the insurance paperwork. It’s in my apartment, and we have to turn it in tomorrow or I won’t be covered on your policy. I’ve got job interviews all day tomorrow.” Poppy hadn’t let her studio apartment on Wentworth Street in Charleston go yet. She and Blake had decided to keep it until they found a house. She didn’t have a lot of stuff, but even still, there wasn’t room on his houseboat.
LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY Page 7