When he pulled onboard the ferry, I parked right behind him. Then I ran the tag through our subscription database for vehicle registrations. The black Navigator was registered to ACM Enterprises, which was owned by ACM, Inc. in Delaware. I had no luck finding the name of a person associated with ACM.
Frustrated, I got out of the car, walked to the driver’s side window of the Navigator, and knocked on the glass. The driver was so large he looked stuffed into the oversized SUV. He switched on the ignition and rolled down the window. We regarded each other quietly for a moment.
“Why exactly are you following me?” I asked.
“Who, me?” He looked at me like maybe I had a couple screws loose.
“You tailed me to Edisto and back,” I said. “Who is ACM?”
“Lady, you followed me from out in the country back here. And you pulled onto this boat behind me. You following me?”
“Who. Is. ACM?” I propped both hands on my hips. “And who are you? Did Abigail Bounetheau hire you?”
He shook his head the way one does at people behaving badly. “You have a nice day now, ma’am.” He pressed the button to roll up the window.
I was not about to be deterred. I knocked on the glass again.
He turned his music up and started singing “Where is the Love?” with the Black Eyed Peas, doing a little dance in the car seat.
I made a loud indignant noise, got back in my car, and called Nate. If he could meet us at the ferry dock, perhaps the two of us together could convince this guy to talk. We’d had so many discussions about on-the-job safety lately, I knew Nate would be put out with me if I pursued this any further alone. I also knew he’d want to know who’d been following me and why.
I got an automated text to let me know he was on another call.
Fifteen minutes later, when the ferry docked, I hadn’t heard back from Nate. I drove off the ferry and followed the black Navigator downtown. The driver parked, got out, and strolled down Main Street.
I banged the steering wheel in frustration. I knew precisely what he was doing. He would walk me all over this town if I played along. I honked and waved as I drove past him on the way home.
FIFTEEN
Nate and Rhett were in the kitchen grabbing a snack when I came in through the mudroom door. Nate was into the tin of Mamma’s reindeer food—an addictive treat she made at Christmas from Chex cereals, pretzels, mixed nuts, M&Ms, and white chocolate—while Rhett chewed on a jerky stick.
“Sorry I couldn’t answer the phone, Slugger, I was in the middle of something,” said Nate. “Everything all right?” They both followed me into the office.
I proceeded to tell him all about Holly and Drum and finished with a recount of my encounter with the gentleman in the black Navigator. “…and now I’m going to find out exactly who ACM is.” I settled into my desk chair and powered up my computer.
“I don’t like this at all.” Nate’s face wore a worried expression.
“You can bet your mamma’s pearls Abigail Bounetheau hired him.”
“I knew I should’ve gone with you to Edisto,” said Nate. “We can’t take any chances whatsoever with Abigail.”
“Did Mercedes call her?” I asked. “Does Abigail think we’re classifying this as a robbery?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Nate. “I told Fraser we needed to misdirect her, just in case she started feeling threatened, since we all know how she deals with that sort of thing. He was fine with that as far as it went.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was not helpful in terms of pointing me in the right direction to find out the terms of the Bounetheau estate. In fact, he said we needed to create a firewall to avoid all appearance of a conflict of interest. He can’t discuss anything related to this case with us.”
“Hell’s bells. We’re on the same side here. I thought when he sent Abigail to a different attorney, that would mean—since we’re all looking out for C. C.’s interests, he’s the client—that Fraser could just tell us what we need to know.”
“I’m afraid he doesn’t see it that way.”
“Now what?” I asked. “We need to know the terms of C. C.’s will—all these trusts. Holly is almost certainly involved, but I’d like to have all the facts we can before I question her directly again.”
“I’m not following,” said Nate. “If Holly killed C. C., it probably was to protect her daughter from him, not because she expected an inheritance.”
I’d had some time to mull this. “I’m thinking it’s more likely Holly’s a witness than the shooter. Maybe she recognized C. C. and went to try to talk to him, saw something she doesn’t want to have to testify about. Remember, she knows who she’s dealing with. She was scared enough of the Bounetheau clan to give up a career she went to college for, leave town, and hide Tallulah from them all. We need to know who all gets the money, and how much.”
Nate shrugged. “Lowcountry Premiere Janitorial is Fraser and Eli’s cleaning service.”
“You’re thinking Tommy and Suzanne should join the cleaning crew?” My face may have reflected something less than enthusiasm.
“We don’t have to actually clean anything.” Nate chuckled.
“It’s a solid plan,” I said. “You want to go in tonight? Oh wait. I can’t tonight. There’s a town council meeting.”
An odd look crossed his face. “I thought those were the second Tuesday. Shouldn’t that have been last week?”
I shrugged, shook my head. “John and Darius wanted to move this month’s meeting after the parade. Last week they were still decorating the float.”
“Ah,” said Nate. “Well, the sooner we get a look at C. C. Bounetheau’s will, the better. I’m hoping we can wrap this case up by Saturday.”
“Sweetheart, I hate to say it, but you know that’s not realistic,” I said.
“All we can do is try,” said Nate. “Let’s plan to hit Rutledge & Radcliffe tomorrow evening.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I turned my attention back to the screen and ACM, who I was convinced was some holding company of Abigail Bounetheau’s.
After a minute, Nate said, “I had a strange dream last night.”
I looked up, studied him. He seemed pensive to me. “About what?”
“Ah, it’s stupid. Not worth talking about, really. But do me a favor, will you?”
“Anything,” I said.
“This will sound ridiculous. Just chalk it up to my stupid dream,” said Nate.
“Okay…” Where was this headed?
“If Scott should ever turn up here, unexpected, no matter what I say in the moment, I want you to promise me you’ll call Blake, or text him, or even better—go get him.”
“You had a dream about Scott?” Nate’s brother—my ex-husband—hadn’t crossed my mind since I could recall, and I preferred it that way. “This is the last place Scott would ever show up. Do you even know where he is?”
Nate shook his head. “Not a clue. I haven’t heard from him since the day he skipped town.”
Scott was wanted on charges related to a case we’d had a few years ago. Blake had him in custody, but before all the charges could be finalized, Scott’s attorney had arranged bail. To Blake’s everlasting chagrin, Scott disappeared before the most serious indictments were formalized. As far as we knew, he was in some tropical locale with no extradition treaty.
I said, “Of all the things we have to concern ourselves with, I’d say Scott doesn’t even make the list.”
“I know it’s crazy,” said Nate. “It was just a nightmare, but.…”
I knew a thing or two about nightmares.
Nate said, “Humor me. Just promise me. No matter what I say, get Blake.”
He looked so serious he was scaring me a little bit. But Scott show up here? He’d have to be crazy—and of course he was, just not the kin
d of crazy where he’d risk his freedom.
I crossed the room, curled up on the sofa beside Nate and hugged him close. “I can’t just shoot him?”
He held me at arm’s length, looked me in the eye. “If anyone gets to shoot him, it’s me. Promise me you’ll call Blake to come arrest him if he turns up. I know there are outstanding warrants.” His eyes held mine. He waited.
“I promise.” Heaven knows he’d been more than indulgent as far as my nightmares were concerned. I knew this was irrational—we were never going to lay eyes on Scott the Scoundrel again—but it was a small promise to make.
He hugged me close. “Thanks. I’m sorry—I know how crazy this sounds.”
We held each other close for a few minutes, then I pulled away. “I need to get back to work. I’m determined to get to the bottom of ACM.”
“Remember when we tried to get to the bottom of all those companies Peter and Peyton had set up? It was impossible. Although I do have a contact on the task force now. He may have some insight into the tangle of Bounetheau shell companies. Why don’t you let me look into ACM? In the meantime, I say we go back to watching each other’s backs. If your friend in the SUV turns up again, well, the two of us can ascertain his intentions. Right now, we need to put a plan together for tomorrow night. We need to find out what the janitorial service company uniforms look like.”
“And the schedule,” I said. “I’m on it.”
For the next hour and a half, we worked on our strategy. I was scanning Lowcountry Premiere Janitorial’s Facebook page for pictures of the employees in uniform when Blake called.
“Y’all better head over to the station,” he said when I answered.
“What—”
“Hurry.”
He hung up.
Drum Aiken’s grey Ford Explorer was in the parking lot at the police station, as was Maitland Hartley’s F-350.
“This is interesting,” I said.
“Indeed.”
“How did I not get an alert that Drum Aiken’s Explorer was on the move?” I asked.
“Driver’s side?” asked Nate.
“Yeah.”
I watched the parking lot while he checked under the wheel well.
“It’s still here,” said Nate. “Could be a battery issue. Hang on and I’ll swap out the unit.”
He went back to the Navigator and made the switch, then handed me the tracer that failed and I slid it into my purse. “We got lucky. That unit could’ve failed while one of us was inside someone’s house.”
Nate opened the door to the station and held it for me. The noise level nearly knocked me down. What in this world? Nell Cooper sat at her desk. Holly Aiken was in the visitor’s chair to the left. Drum Aiken stood behind her chair, leaning and talking over her. The Hartleys—Maitland and Dahlia Jane—stood alongside Drum and leaned over the front of Nell’s desk. Blake and Clay stood behind Nell.
Everyone was talking, and the volume was gradually getting louder.
Blake raised his fingers to his mouth, and a shrill whistle rang out.
In the quiet that followed, Blake said, “Everyone be quiet and take a seat. Now please.”
Drum Aiken and the Hartleys reluctantly sat.
Nate and I approached the group.
Blake looked at me. “We have conflicting stories here.”
“Let’s divide up, shall we?” I noticed they hadn’t brought the attorney with them. “Blake, if I could take Mrs. Aiken’s statement in your office?
“No,” said Drum. “Mrs. Aiken is here against my express wishes and advice. Our attorney was not available to accompany us, and I will not—I will not—be separated from her.”
“Mr. Aiken,” said Blake, “we just need to get statements from each of you.”
Drum stood, bowed up, stuck this chest out. “You’ll have to take her statement with me in the room.”
Nate gestured towards Clay Cooper’s desk, spoke in an easy tone. “Mr. Aiken, if you could just step over to this desk in the corner with me, this shouldn’t take very long.”
Drum’s eyes got a little wild and he let fire a string of curse words. “You heard me. She is not leaving my side.”
Blake shook his head. “I didn’t want to do this. Coop.” Blake nodded towards Mr. Aiken.
Clay approached Drum. “Mr. Aiken, you’re under arrest for disturbing the peace and interfering with a law enforcement officer—”
“This is outrageous,” shouted Drum.
“Let’s leave, Drum,” said Maitland Hartley. “Come back with the lawyers.”
“I’m afraid things’ve gone a little too far for that, sir,” said Blake.
Coop commenced reading Drum Aiken his rights.
“Drum.” Holly grabbed ahold of him. She looked beyond frightened.
“This is not right,” said Dahlia Jane. “I’m telling y’all—”
And suddenly everyone was shouting again.
Blake nodded towards the door that lead down a hall where there were exactly four cells.
Clay took Drum’s arm and nodded in the direction of the door.
“I’m not leaving my wife,” hollered Drum.
“Sir, I would purely hate to have to add resisting arrest to the charges,” said Clay.
“We’ll sue,” said Dahlia Jane.
“Yes, ma’am.” Blake nodded.
“I’m calling my attorney,” said Maitland. “Drum, don’t say anything else.” He pulled out his cell phone and squinted at it, maybe searching his contact list.
Clay pulled Drum with him, and they disappeared behind the heavy door, Drum hollering the whole way.
Nate said, “I’ll see if he’ll give me a statement.” He crossed the room and passed through the door where Coop had just escorted Drum Aiken.
I leaned down and spoke softly. “Mrs. Aiken, would you come with me, please?”
Holly looked at Blake, then at me. Then she turned to Dahlia Jane. “I have to do this.”
Dahlia said, “Holly, if that’s what you want. But you understand, I have to do what I have to do as well.”
Maitland Hartley gestured wildly. “Will both of you please just keep quiet for a few minutes while I get the attorney on the line?”
Holly put a hand on Maitland’s arm. “You’re so sweet to offer, Mait. But please, just let me get this over with, would you?” She smiled sadly at him and nodded, patted his arm.
He huffed and puffed.
Holly stood and turned to me. “I’m ready.”
I led her into Blake’s office and closed the door. “Have a seat.” I gestured to the visitor chairs in front of Blake’s desk, then sat behind it in his chair. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” She took a deep breath, seemed to steel herself.
I opened a Voice memo and laid the phone on the desk between us. “I’m going to record our conversation, if that’s all right with you.”
“Yes, that’s fine.” She looked at her hands.
“Are you ready to tell me what happened Saturday night?” I asked.
She nodded, took a minute. She stared at a spot in the corner as she started to speak. “Did you know I went to Savannah College of Art and Design?”
“I did.”
“It was my dream to be a designer, and I was good at it, you know?”
I nodded sympathetically. “It must’ve been hard to give that up, after you’d worked so hard, and your parents had paid for your education.”
“Oh, it was,” she said. “But the Bounetheaus gave me no choice. They stole that from me. But, I’d do the same thing if I had to do it again. I had to protect my daughter from those people. Do you understand?”
“I do.” My heart went out to her. She wasn’t the only one whose life had been altered—or lost—because of something one of the Bounetheaus
had done.
She told me the story. It was exactly as Tess had said. C. C. had forced her into a relationship she hadn’t wanted. She’d gone home and her parents and Drum Aiken had helped her cover up what had happened.
“Tell me about Saturday,” I said.
“We first saw C. C. at The Pirates’ Den. I didn’t recognize him, of course. It had been more than twenty-five years, and he was in a Santa suit. And who would’ve expected him to show up out of the blue? I stopped looking over my shoulder for him years ago. But he was watching us—staring at the girls, at Tallulah. He came over to the table, ‘Ho Ho Ho’-ing, playing it up. The girls loved it, naturally.
“Then later we saw him again, at the marina, after the parade. We’d taken a stroll to look at the boats. So many of them had docked. The girls were all excited—all the lights were so pretty.
“I didn’t realize who he was yet, but this guy was helping Santa out of the wooden boat. And then Santa was just there, right in front of me, staring me in the eyes, staring me down, angry. The man with him said something, and then it hit me who he was. Of course he was much older, but I recognized Dwight Goodnight, and then I knew the Santa Clause had to be C. C. Bounetheau, and I knew exactly why he was there. He’d come for my daughter. He probably wanted to throw money at Tallulah. She would’ve been devastated to learn Drum wasn’t her father. They’re quite close. And Tallulah’s been through so much this past year.
“Don’t you see? I couldn’t let him take her away from me. She would’ve gotten wrapped up in his world. All that money. It does things to people.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“I turned my back on C. C. Bounetheau. Told my family I thought we should hurry to the park so we didn’t miss the singing. We headed for the trolley, and C. C. and Dwight followed us. I told Drum quietly that I thought something was off with him—maybe he was a child snatcher or something. I was worried. C. C. tried to talk to the girls again on the trolley, and Drum and Maitland put a stop to it, had the girls sit by them.
“I kept an eye on him. He followed us off the trolley and into the park. And when he came up to the girls again, told them he had presents for them, Drum told him to take a hike. He mouthed off at Drum. Mait got into it. Before you know it, the three of them were running through the park.
LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY Page 15