“C. C. never tried to find Holly?” I asked.
“Nah. C. C. was a skirt chaser when he was young. Come to think of it, I guess he wasn’t all that young at the time. It wasn’t like he thought he was in love or anything. He had no idea she was pregnant. Once he saw Tallulah, well, like I said, there’d been quite a few affairs. Holly wasn’t the only candidate for Tallulah’s mother by a long shot.”
Did Virginia lie when she told me she didn’t recognize the name Holly Spencer? Or had she been insulated from the drama because she was out of the house at the time and wrapped up in all the excitement of preparing for her child? Once again, it seemed she’d left out something pertinent. Could Virginia have been the second woman walking away from the marina?
TWENTY-ONE
The crowd outside the police station had dispersed, but Elvis still played his guitar in the doorway between the lobby and the cell block.
Nell looked up as we walked in. “He’s expecting you.”
Blake had called and asked us to come. We went straight back to his office.
He had his ball glove out and was tossing the baseball up in the air and catching it, a thing he did when he was deep in thought.
Nate and I slid into the two visitor chairs. “You get ballistics?” I asked.
He caught the ball and held onto it, nodded. “Yep.”
“And?” I asked.
“Of the four weapons turned in by the Hartleys and the Aikens, the two men gave me forty caliber Glocks, and the ladies Glock 380s. All four are registered, and they all have concealed carry permits. The four of them go to the gun range together, I understand. But the bullet that killed C. C. Bounetheau was fired from a nine-millimeter.”
“Dwight Goodnight’s gun was a 45 caliber Sig,” said Nate.
“Yep,” said Blake. “He’s clear too. At least as far as that particular gun is concerned.”
“I knew it,” I said.
Nate said, “But for some reason, the folks in your cell block each think one of the others did this thing.”
“That’s the only thing that makes a lick of sense to me,” said Blake. “Although every one of them had to know full well ballistics would prove they didn’t do it.”
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I spoke to Holly at length. She was believable. And she doesn’t strike me as a natural liar.”
“Yeah, well, they were all pretty convincing,” said Blake.
“I think Holly convinced the others she did this, and they all panicked. Maybe they’re stalling until they think of something else.”
“Or until the lawyers get back from their fishing trip,” said Nate.
“Let me talk to Holly again,” I said.
Blake said, “Before I charge them all with obstruction and whatever else I can think of for wasting my time and causing a town panic and a casserole avalanche?”
I gave him my best imitation of The Look patented by Mamma. “Blake Talbot, please do not tell me you plan to charge these good people with some piddling thing right here at Christmas. Especially given the extra helping of grace you yourself have received this year.”
He regarded the ceiling. “If you can get this mess figured out and get me one person in a cell so we can leave town on Sunday as scheduled, maybe I’ll let it go. Poppy’s excited.”
“Let me have the room and send me Holly,” I said.
We went over it again.
Her story didn’t change, not one bit.
“Holly,” I said. “The thing is, the gun you gave me didn’t kill C. C. Do you maybe have another one?”
Her eyes got huge. “But…but…I…why, no. That’s the only handgun I own. Drum and I each have just the one. We have a shotgun…”
“C. C. wasn’t killed with a shotgun.”
“I just don’t understand. Although…” The expression on her face was a mixture of confusion and reflection.
“Although what?”
“Two things,” she said. “The first, I thought I imagined. Everything was exactly like I told you. But right as I fired the gun, it felt like someone bumped my arm. I convinced myself the gun just kicked more than usual, or I imagined it. But…maybe I missed him? He did stumble backwards and fall into the boat. Something stopped him from coming after me. I promise you, I really did try my best to shoot him. Of course, I sincerely regret that. He was trying to kill me, after all.”
“And your husband and friends, they’re trying to protect you?” I asked gently.
“I’d better not comment on that,” she said.
“What was the second thing?” I asked.
“I remembered this later, after we spoke. It just came to me. I’ve had a good bit of time to think, sitting back there in the cell. Someone was on the boat. Not the little wooden one, but the big boat it was tied to.”
“Right, Dwight Goodnight was onboard. He towed the boat in the parade.”
“No,” she shook her head. “Dwight I had seen earlier, remember? I know what he looks like now. And anyway, this was a young person, looking out through the porthole. I’d say in he was in his twenties.”
Griffin Ellsworth? Could he have been on the boat and Dwight not known it?
I believed Holly had tried to kill C. C., but she’d missed. Maybe the shock of being shot at had sent C. C. tripping backward in the boat. And then someone else had shot him for real.
This was one of those cases I would lose sleep over. I couldn’t see anything that would be better in our world if Holly went to jail for attempted murder. I was more concerned about who actually had killed C. C. Bounetheau and why.
“Holly, if I were you, I’d talk to an attorney—any attorney with criminal defense experience—right away. I highly recommend Robert Pearson. I’m going to give you his number. This was a clear case of self-defense. He should be able to convince Blake and the solicitor not to pursue charges.” I jotted the number down and handed her a piece of paper. “And I strongly suggest you get your husband and friends to withdraw their confessions right away.”
“I’ve been trying to do that,” she said. “Drum’s not leaving here without me unless they haul him out. And I really hope that doesn’t happen.”
“Please call Robert,” I said. “Do it right now. Tell him to come as quickly as he can. But first, I have one more question.”
“Okay?”
“When you worked for the Bounetheaus, were you aware that Peter Bounetheau had a crush on you?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head, mystified. “He never said anything. If he did, I never knew it. It’s sad, how he and his brother turned out. They were nice young men back then. Why would you ask such a thing? What possible difference would it make after all these years?”
“I’m not sure yet. You’d best make that phone call.”
TWENTY-TWO
“I need thinking food,” I said when we were back in the Navigator.
“Pirates’ Den?” asked Nate.
“Perfect.”
It was a slow Thursday at the Pirates’ Den. I guess that close to the holidays, everyone was home wrapping presents and whatnot. Presents. Oh my stars. I hadn’t bought the first gift and we were leaving Sunday. I didn’t even have time to think about what to buy—much less shop.
When we walked through the door, Kenny Hartley was sitting by himself at a table in the corner peeling a label off a beer bottle. I sighed deep and long.
“What?” asked Nate.
“I just feel so bad for him.”
“His parents will be out of jail soon enough.”
“It’s not just that. What do you suppose happened with him and Tallulah?” I asked.
“Slugger,” said Nate, “that’s not our department. Where do you want to sit?”
“With Kenny.” I headed across the room. “Hey, Kenny, how’re you hanging in?”
; He looked up from the beer bottle. “About as well as can be expected, I guess. Has there been a development?”
“No,” I said. “We’re just grabbing dinner. Would you like some company?”
“Sure.” Kenny gestured to the chair in front of me. “Have a seat.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about your parents if I were you,” I said. “Something tells me things are going to work themselves out pretty soon.”
“My head’s just spinning with all this. Tallulah…she’s a wreck. She adores her dad. Drum, he’s just the salt of the earth. Greatest guy you’d ever want to meet. And Holly…Holly’s one of God’s angels if ever there was one.”
I pondered the notion of pistol-packing angels. I doubted God had a problem with self-defense. It’d been a miracle Holly had missed. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I remembered Janet Batrouny and the reindeer. Colleen had been at the marina that evening. Had she grabbed Holly’s arm to keep her from killing C. C. Bounetheau? Pushed him backwards into the boat?
And as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I knew in my bones it was the truth of the matter.
“How are the twins?” I asked Kenny.
A smile lit his face. “Archer and Arden? Ah, they’re fine. They don’t know a thing about any of this, of course. They just think they’ve been spending extra time with the sitter because mamma’s got Christmas shopping to do.”
Casey came by to take our order and we all ordered shrimp and grits. Nate ordered a pitcher of margaritas and three glasses. Kenny didn’t object.
We talked about this and that. Kenny was taking over his dad’s construction business. He asked how we came to be private investigators. We chatted and went through one pitcher of margaritas and our dinner, then Nate ordered another pitcher.
Somewhere along the line we started talking about relationships.
Kenny said, “Y’all seem to have things together. I really messed up.” He took another long swallow of his margarita. “If I had it to do over again, I’d do a lot of things different, that’s for sure.”
“But you and Tallulah,” I said, “y’all look like the perfect couple. Your divorce isn’t final yet, is it?”
“It will be Tuesday.” He looked perfectly miserable.
Nate said, “I’m sorry, man. I hate to hear that.”
Kenny said, “Oh, I don’t blame her. I can recite the reasons I’m alone by heart.” He shook his head. “I tend to learn things the hard way.”
Nate was pouring the last of the margaritas into our glasses when Janet Batrouny approached the table. “Excuse me?” She put her hand on my arm. “You remember me?”
“Of course,” I said. I introduced her to Nate and Kenny. “Are y’all having dinner here again tonight?”
“Yes, we had fried seafood Monday night. We came back tonight for the shrimp and grits. Out of this world. Listen…I thought of something else.”
“Tell me,” I said.
“Remember when you had me close my eyes and visualize those women walking away from the marina?”
“Yeah…” I nodded encouragingly.
“Well, I’ve been doing that a lot.” She demonstrated, closing her eyes and tilting her head back like she was looking at the ceiling with her eyes closed. Her eyes popped open. “And this may be nothing. It’s such a small thing, really. But I wanted to mention it.”
“Okay.” Now I was on the edge of my seat.
“The second lady, the one in the black wool coat, right? There was something quite distinctive—to me anyway—about her walk. I mean, it’s not like she had a limp or anything. Just the opposite. She had the most perfect posture I’ve ever seen on anyone. And her head…she walked like she had a book on her head, you know? Like they teach girls in charm school or whatever? She glided.”
My brain started buzzing. “I know exactly what you mean. Thank you so much.”
We said our goodbyes and she walked back to her table.
Nate looked at me, a question in his eyes.
“Abigail.” I nodded, then canted my head sideways. “It could’ve been Abigail, Charlotte, or Virginia. My gut says it was Abigail, after all. We need to go.” I went to stand.
Nate laid a hand on my arm. “We’ve had two large pitchers of margaritas. We need to catch a ride home with someone and pick up the car in the morning. Then we need to go through all of this with clear heads.”
Kenny said, “I have no idea what that was all about, but I hope it’s good news for my parents and the Aikens.”
“I’m pretty sure it was,” I said.
And then something popped into my head and came straight out my mouth with no filter whatsoever. “You know, if you want something, you’ve just got to find a way to make it happen. It’s too easy to let life just float by while you’re busy doing other things and you pretend there’s nothing you can do, but really, it’s always been in your power to make things right.”
Nate looked at me like he’d swallowed a goldfish.
Kenny gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t have one damn thing to lose by trying.”
TWENTY-THREE
We skipped our run the next morning. At five a.m., we were guzzling coffee and having Christmas cookies for breakfast in the office.
After I had adequate caffeine in me, I said, “I keep going back to the conversation I had with Virginia. It nags at me. She lied to me at least once—by omission, anyway—when she failed to mention the certified letters from Sam Witherspoon, the Abigail Clause being added to all their trusts. She may or may not have known about Peter’s crush on Holly and the reasons her brothers stayed in England for a year. But the thing I woke up remembering this morning is her telling me—and these were her exact words—‘Mother would kill for Peter or Peyton.’ ”
Nate whistled. “Seems like you would’ve remembered that before now.”
“At the time, we were talking about them being in jail and all—how hard that was for her mamma. At the time, I had no idea about Peter’s crush on Holly and the rift that caused in the family, nor the DNA test that proved Tallulah was C. C.’s daughter. These puzzle pieces came to me slowly, and at different times. I’m putting it all together now.”
“Walk me through it.”
“Okay, Janet gave us a perfect description of the way the Bounetheau women walk, right?”
“Agreed.”
“All three of them have powerful disincentives to kill C. C., as they’re well aware. They got the certified letters. It would take one hell of a motive to overcome the threat of being completely disinherited—and, as you pointed out, enough experience with murder to believe you can get away with it. Neither Charlotte Bounetheau Pinckney nor Virginia Bounetheau Heyward have any sort of motive at all to kill their daddy.”
“And neither has a history of murder, as far as we know,” said Nate.
“Right,” I said. “Abigail, on the other hand, is an old hand at it. Remember what I told you about Dwight and Abigail?”
“She seduced him and tried to get him to kill C. C. for her. You’re thinking maybe she tried that again?” asked Nate.
“Not exactly the same play. I do think she used Griffin, but given their age differences, I doubt she seduced him. She probably offered him a great deal of money, which we know he needed.”
“I’m not following you,” said Nate. “You’re thinking it was Abigail who Janet saw leaving the marina after Holly. Griffin was the face Holly saw in the porthole of the Chris-Craft, right? Why would they both be there if Abigail paid Griffin to kill C. C.?”
“I don’t think she paid him to kill C. C. I think this was so personal, she decided to do it herself. She probably paid Griffin to routinely rifle through C. C.’s office. I think she somehow knew about the DNA test. The thing about Griffin, that’s a guess. But the only motive powerful enough to make Abigail risk everything is that DNA test.
“Once she knew Tallulah was C. C.’s daughter, she likely hired her own investigator. Or maybe she paid his off. Somehow, she found out that Holly was Tallulah’s mother. I keep hearing Dwight’s voice in my head telling me how that was a turning point for Peter and Peyton. By all accounts, they were nice young men before they left for London. After that, they started getting into trouble. And now, they’re likely looking at life in prison.”
Nate mulled all of that. “Abigail blamed C. C. for the boys’ downfall?”
“Exactly. For every night she lies awake thinking about her two darling sons—who she dotes on—in prison, and all the horrors they face there.”
“That’s sufficient motive,” said Nate. “We need to establish means and opportunity. If that was Griffin who Holly saw on the boat, Abigail has no alibi.”
TWENTY-FOUR
At ten o’clock that Friday morning, I parked across Atlantic Street from the Bounetheau home. I didn’t bother calling Abigail. I called Griffin.
“I have information you’re going to want,” I said when he answered.
“Really?” he said, like he couldn’t care less.
“What exactly were you doing on the Chris-Craft the night C. C. Bounetheau was killed?” I asked.
He inhaled sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll go talk to the police,” I said.
“I thought you were the police.”
“I’m a private investigator,” I said. “I get paid to solve problems for people. I think you have a problem.”
“Interesting,” he said. “You can come in. I’ll meet you at the back door.”
I got out of the car, crossed the street, and met him at the door Tess and I had gone through.
“Let’s talk upstairs,” he said.
LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY Page 20