“Good grief,” said Blake. “I thought it was something serious. Relax. It’s fine. I’ll run over and get it. I can probably still make the seven o’clock ferry.”
“That’s going to be tight if we go back to your parent’s house and you go from there,” said Nate. “It’s ten til. If I go straight there, we can make it no sweat. If you don’t mind the company, we’ll all ride over.”
“Nah,” said Blake. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t,” said Nate. “I offered. It’s no big deal. Everybody else okay with that?”
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” said Mamma. “Think of all the Christmas lights we’ll see. The island is beautiful at night from the water this time of year.”
“Fine with me,” said Merry.
“Sure,” said Joe.
Blake sighed. “I can’t believe we’re taking this smelly hound to Charleston.”
“Chumley don’t smell bad,” said Daddy. “What’s the matter with you? Wouldn’t be a bad thing to let our supper settle a little more before we have cake, would it?”
Nate drove straight to the ferry dock and pulled onboard right behind Tallulah Hartley’s Honda Pilot. We all got out of the car and went up to the middle deck, which was enclosed. We found seats facing the rear and admired all the glittering lights on Stella Maris. It was a lovely sight any time of year, but especially during the holidays.
Tallulah was by herself and had taken a spot across the aisle from us. As my family chitter-chatted about Christmas lights and houses for Blake and Poppy, I watched Tallulah. Her head was down, like she was looking at something on her lap instead of the festive display. Her countenance was unbearably sad. I decided it was time we met.
“I’ll be right back,” I murmured to Nate.
It was a slow night on the ferry. There were maybe a dozen people including the eight of us. Tallulah was in a row by herself.
“Hey.” I held out my hand. “I’m Liz Talbot. I don’t think we’ve met, but I hear you’re the culinary genius who made the vegetable soup at The Cracked Pot yesterday.”
Her face lit with a smile and she extended a hand. She wore her chin-length blond hair in a layered bob. Her eyes were bright blue, and there was something familiar about her, though I was certain we’d never met. “Tallulah Hartley. I’m so happy you enjoyed it. It’s my mamma’s recipe.”
“Family recipes are the best,” I said. “Mind if I sit?”
“Sure—I mean, no. Of course not. I’m happy to have some company.”
“I saw you at the festival last night. Your daughters are adorable.”
“Aww, thank you,” she said. “I’m on my way to pick them up now. It’s their dad’s weekend, but the girls wanted to see the boat parade, so he brought them over yesterday. Seems like all we’ve done this weekend is ride the ferry back and forth.”
“How long have you lived in Stella Maris?” I asked.
“A little more than a year.”
“And you’ve worked at The Cracked Pot that whole time?” I asked.
“Yeah, I got the job before we moved.”
“I just can’t believe we haven’t met,” I said. “I eat there several times a week.”
“Well, I do stay in the kitchen most of the time,” she said. “I pick up shifts waiting tables sometimes when the girls are with their dad. Extra money comes in handy.”
“I can only imagine.”
“You have kids?” she asked.
“No.” It wasn’t something that I brooded about. Though sometimes, maybe especially during holidays, I felt a little sad that we’d never have kids. “I’ll be an aunt soon, though.”
“Is that your family?” Tallulah nodded across the aisle.
“Yeah. I think you may have met my brother, Blake. He’s the Stella Maris police chief.”
“Riiight.” Tallulah nodded. “You’re the private investigator.”
I laughed. “I see my reputation precedes me.”
“I think it sounds like the most interesting job in the world.”
“It is, most days,” I said. “Hey, what was going on last night with all the Santa Clauses? One ran through the crowd and knocked me winding. Another was chasing him, and then a third ran after them. I couldn’t help but notice you bringing up the rear.”
She shook her head. “My daddy. And my father-in-law. Mamma and Daddy came to be with the girls at the parade. Kenny’s—my…the girl’s dad’s parents—came too. Daddy and Maitland—my father-in-law—both dressed up like Santa. Neither of them knew the other was going to do that, so the two of them were cranky to begin with. They both wanted to be Santa for the day. Anyway, there were other Santas. A lot of other Santas. I’m sure they were all just there to have fun with the kids. But you don’t really know, do you?
“I can’t be sure it was the same guy, but every time we turned around, there was another Santa hanging around. In the restaurant, on the trolley, and then the last straw was at the park. We were singing, and when we finished with ‘O Come All Ye Faithful,’ he was talking to the girls, telling them he had gifts for them. Now, of course I know, every Santa says that, right? Daddy and Maitland completely overreacted. At least I hope they did. Daddy told the guy to get lost. He wouldn’t budge, told Daddy he needed a bit more Christmas spirit or something like that. They all started arguing, and Daddy went to punch him, but he dodged and then he took off running. Daddy chased after him, Maitland too. They had on lots of padding and heavy boots. It was pretty funny, actually. They were slow, which is probably a good thing. I was even slower. I had Archer and Arden. Anyway, it was just a misunderstanding, I’m sure.”
“So they never caught up to him?” I asked.
Uncertainty washed over her face. “No, at least I don’t think so. Daddy and Maitland came back together later—during the fireworks. To be honest, I didn’t even ask. I was just glad they found us in the crowd. Mamma and Dahlia Jane—that’s Kenny’s mamma’s name—had gone to get some of my hot chocolate and we’d found a spot for the fireworks and spread out a blanket. It just felt like I was having a hard time keeping everybody together, you know? The girls were tired, but they wouldn’t hear of leaving as long as there were fireworks. It was chaotic.”
“Wait—Moon Unit’s World Famous Hot Chocolate—that’s your recipe?”
She grinned. “Shh…whatever you do, don’t tell it. That could cost me my job.”
I laughed. “Well, I’m glad everything was all right, anyway,” I said. “Did you see him anymore after that? The other Santa?”
“No,” said Tallulah. “Not as far as I know. But you know, he was wearing a Santa suit.”
“Did you see anyone with him?” I asked. “Before the chase? Anytime during the evening?”
Tallulah squinted. “There was another guy standing there in the park. He might’ve been with him on the trolley. It’s hard to say. There were a lot of people there—well, you saw.”
“Early sixties?” I asked. “Receding hairline?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“One of the Santas met with an unfortunate end last night,” I said. “Stella Maris is a small town. We don’t have a detective squad. Nate—my husband—and I do contract work for the Stella Maris Police Department on an as-needed basis.”
“Oh, wow. I hope it wasn’t the same guy,” said Tallulah. “I mean, I don’t know him, but whoever he was, I think he was just celebrating the holidays like the rest of us.”
“I guess I should get back.” I said. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you.” She smiled. “Maybe we can get together sometime. I have every other weekend to myself, but I haven’t really met a lot of people in town. The girls keep me busy, and when they’re with their dad…well, somehow I end up cleaning house the whole time.”
“You should get out more
. Wait—aren’t you seeing someone?” I laughed. “According to the official town information network you are anyway. I got that tidbit with the intel about the soup.”
“I am—Oliver Flynn?” she said. “You might know him. He’s an environmental lawyer. He travels a lot on business. I’d love it if we could have dinner or something week after next.”
I’d heard of Oliver Flynn, but I hadn’t met him. He’d bought Michael Devlin’s house in Sea Farm, the neighborhood on the Southeast corner of the island, after Michael’s mother died and he moved into her house briefly before selling it to Darius and leaving the island altogether. That was a whole nother story—or two.
Tallulah and I exchanged phone numbers and I moved back to my place beside Nate. He gave me a questioning glance.
In a low voice, I said, “C. C. was hanging around her and her girls all evening. I can only think of one reason why he’d do that.”
Nate’s eyes locked onto mine. “You’re thinking there’s a family connection.”
I nodded. “Heaven only knows how, but I think he must’ve at least thought that. Whether it’s true or not is another thing. But I’d be shocked if Dwight Goodnight didn’t know all the details. He’s just being loyal to C. C. Closed-mouthed.”
“Depending on the circumstances, this could put Tallulah and her daughters at risk,” said Nate. “Abigail…” He shook his head.
Abigail Bounetheau would go to any lengths to protect her family name—which was arguably destroyed anyway at this point due to Peyton and Peter’s epic arrest. Although, that situation might serve to make her even more vigilant. It was hard to predict.
“We’d best get this all figured out quick,” I said. “There could very well be more lives in danger.”
As we pulled off the ferry, I watched as Tallulah drove to a far corner of the parking lot and pulled into a space beside a parked white Ford F-350 pickup. The lift gate on the Honda rose. Nate parked the Navigator a discreet distance away. “Anyone need to go inside? Can I get anyone anything?” Poppy’s apartment was about thirty minutes away, on the Charleston peninsula.
“Well, as long as we’re stopping,” said Poppy.
“I could use a bottle of water,” said Merry.
And before you know it, everyone except Nate and me had piled out and meandered towards the small green-roofed building that housed the ticket office, restrooms, vending machines, et cetera.
Nate and I watched as Kenny unstrapped Archer and Arden from their booster seats in the backseat of his truck and lifted them gently to the ground. Tallulah knelt and the girls rushed her and hugged her like they hadn’t seen her in months. She wrapped them in her arms and hugged them tight. They chattered happily, telling her everything that had happened since last night.
Kenny transferred backpacks, stuffed animals, and a bag of what was probably toys, to the back of Tallulah’s car. As he went about the business of transferring the girls’ things, he watched Tallulah as if he were hungry for the sight of her, averting his eyes when she looked his way. Was that longing in her eyes as well?
Then Kenny knelt and hugged the girls, and they clung to him as tightly as they’d held on to their mamma. After a few moments, he patted them on their backs, squeezed them one last time, then stood and opened the backdoor of Tallulah’s car and helped them into their booster seats. Tallulah watched as he strapped the closest twin in and kissed her goodbye, then closed the car door and walked around to repeat the process. When he closed the passenger side rear door, Tallulah averted her gaze and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Kenny and Tallulah didn’t say a single word to each other that I could hear. He held up a hand in a wave as she backed the car out of the parking place, then stood, hands in his pockets, and watched as Tallulah pulled back onto the waiting ferry. Nate and I watched him watching them leave. The unguarded expression on Kenny’s face was heartsick longing. He walked over to a live oak near the water, propped against it, and waited, then watched as the ferry slipped out of sight.
“Kenny Hartley is still in love with his wife,” I said.
“I wouldn’t bet against that,” said Nate. “The question is, did C. C. Bounetheau believe the twins were related to him through Tallulah or Kenny?”
“Tallulah.” I nodded, certain.
“What makes you say that?” asked Nate.
It had taken me a while to place it. “She reminds me of Evan Ingle.” Evan Ingle was the first unofficial Bounetheau we’d run across, and he’d tried his best to kill me once. “She favors him, and she’s every bit as charming as he was.”
EIGHT
The next morning, we ran off as many of Mamma’s dumplings as we could, then showered, and went about the business of breakfast. I put together fruit and yogurt parfaits while Nate ground beans and started the coffee.
“You’re going to have to tell us what to pack, you know,” I said. “For the trip. I can’t believe Mamma didn’t mention it last night at dinner. She’s been driving me crazy.”
“Hmm, I suppose you’re right,” said Nate. “Pack for someplace warm. Comfortable, casual things. Just one nice dress to celebrate our anniversary the night we arrive.”
I pressed my lips together, tried not to grin.
“What?” He scrutinized my face.
“Oh, nothing.” I chuckled, shook my head.
He grabbed me playfully from behind, wrapped me in both arms, kissed my neck, and spoke right into my ear. “What are you laughing at, Mrs. Andrews?”
“Just that you’ve forgotten our anniversary already, and we haven’t even had the first one.”
He spun me around, a confused look on his face. “How can you say I’ve forgotten our anniversary when I have the celebration of the century planned?”
“And I would love to know exactly what all you’ve arranged one day late.” I shook my head, still smiling.
A stricken look washed over his face. “Nah, you’re messing with me.”
“No, I’m not.” My tone was lighthearted. His expression perplexed me.
“Our anniversary is Monday, December twenty-one,” he said. “Everything’s arranged.” Panic rose in his eyes.
“Sweetheart, you’ve gone to so much trouble, and it’s fine. I’m just playing with you—really. But our anniversary is actually Sunday, December twenty.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am. Look at a calendar. We got married on a Saturday, remember? It was the twentieth. But it doesn’t matter—”
He nodded, large-eyed. “Yes, it does. We’re leaving on the morning on our anniversary.”
“What? No—”
“I’ll get everything straightened out. You’d better talk to your mother and your sister. Let Blake and Poppy know. I’ll explain everything later. I cannot believe I did that. Oh my—” He looked at the ceiling, grabbed his head in both hands, then took a deep breath and let it out. “It’ll be fine.”
“Why can’t we just leave on Monday like we planned?”
“Because I can’t wait. We get to celebrate one day earlier.” He poured our coffee. “I’ve got a lot to do today. I’ve got some things to take care of in Charleston anyway, why don’t I talk to Sonny? Maybe he can put me in touch with someone from the joint task force that investigated Peter and Peyton Bounetheau. No one on the task force would talk to us before, but now that the arrests have been made, they might.” Sonny Ravenel was a dear friend and a Charleston police detective.
So far, we had three workable theories: C. C.’s death was related to Peter and Peyton’s criminal enterprise and its implosion; or, it was connected to C. C.’s interest in Tallulah Hartley and her daughters; or, it was a simple case of robbery.
Nate spooned a bite of fruit and yogurt. “If this is related to the Bounetheau sons, it’s likely because someone saw C. C. as a threat—a potential witness to their involvement. If that’s the
case, C. C. might not’ve been the only threat. Other witnesses could potentially be targeted. There could be a hit list of unindicted co-conspirators.”
I pondered what in this world was up with my husband while I added fat free half and half and a sugar and stevia blend to my coffee. Why would one day make a difference?
He picked up his parfait and climbed onto a stool at the island. “You going to look into Tallulah?” He flashed me a wide-eyed, innocent look.
I raised an eyebrow, put him on notice I knew he was up to something. But then I’d known that since September when he announced he was planning Christmas this year—a combined celebration of Christmas, our anniversary, Merry and Joe’s wedding, and Blake and Poppy’s marriage and the child they were expecting.
I closed my eyes, sighed. I would find out the details soon enough. We were leaving in less than a week. I just hoped he wasn’t spending every last dime we had between us. I spoke sternly to myself, got my head back into the case. “Yes. I’m convinced C. C. Bounetheau’s death is related to Tallulah and her daughters. There’s a reason he died in Stella Maris, a place he’d likely been to one other time in his life.”
“Want Chinese for dinner? I could pick up takeout.” Again, with the innocent look.
Things had happened so fast, I was behind on documentation for the case. I put a few peanut butter treats inside Rhett’s favorite Kong Extreme chew toy, and carried it and my second cup of coffee to my office. He skipped along happily behind me. I tossed the toy and he caught it, then took it to his favorite spot by the fireplace and settled in for a nice long chew.
I powered up my laptop. When I’d typed up notes from our interviews with Abigail Bounetheau, Griffin Ellsworth, and Dwight Goodnight, I pulled the profiles I’d done on C. C. and Abigail and their family more than a year before. They’d married in 1953, right after C. C. graduated from University of Virginia. Abigail was only eighteen, and she hadn’t gone to college.
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