04 Lowcountry Bordello (20 page)

Twenty-Three

Of all the men associated with the best little whorehouse in Charleston, James Huger seemed the most normal. His taste in bedroom entertainment maybe should’ve given me pause, but I don’t judge. As long as folks weren’t asking me what I do in mine, I couldn’t give a tinker’s damn what consenting adults did behind closed doors. There were just some things I didn’t want to know about.

I called and he agreed to see me right away, shocking his secretary yet again.

“Miss Talbot, what a pleasure,” he said. He led me to the seating area where he, Nate, and I had spoken the day before. “What can I do for you?”

“You may have heard what all was found at the house on Church Street.”

“Yes. I think they finished up too late to make the print newspapers, but we live in a twenty-four hour news cycle, don’t we? I sometimes lament that circumstance.”

“I spoke with Miss Dean this morning.”

“How is she? I’ve been quite concerned.”

“She seems in shock. Olivia is trying to get her to come stay with them for a while, but she’s resistant. Perhaps you could speak to her? I think she respects your counsel a great deal.”

“I’ll do that very thing,” he said. “Perhaps I can get her to see reason. She has no business being in that big old house by herself.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I wonder if I could ask you to search your memory a bit.”

“Certainly.”

“Do you recall a couple of young ladies—former residents—who moved out three years or so ago? One was a redhead, and the other a black-haired girl named Victoria.”

“You’re thinking these are the women found buried in the yard?”

“One of them. The other has been tentatively identified.”

“Arthur’s redheads tend to run together in one’s mind. He has a type, I guess you could say. All local girls. He loves that Charleston accent. Can’t abide anything else. I’m afraid I don’t recall much about that particular girl except that she did leave rather abruptly.”

“And the other girl?”

“Ah. Victoria. Yes, I do remember her. Striking young woman. William has discerning taste. His wife is a blonde. Former Miss Georgia. Finicky sort. He says she’s frigid, but what do I know?”

James seemed awfully chatty today.

He gave me a rueful smile. “This is all coming out in the newspaper tomorrow. Most of it anyway. The gossips will feast on it for months. There’ll very likely be a movie—you wait and see. I’m happy to tell you anything that proves helpful in identifying that unfortunate young woman.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “If memory serves, the lovely Victoria had a falling out with William. I don’t recall the particulars. Only that she left in the middle of the night and no one heard from her again. Now, I’m not suggesting anything here. Make of it what you will.”

“How long have you known William Calhoun?”

“All my life. We grew up together.”

“Are you close friends?”

“I wouldn’t say that, no. We’ve always run in the same social circles. We’re friendly. But I wouldn’t invite him over for a dinner party. My wife and his don’t get on well.”

“Have you ever known him to be violent?” I’d only known him since Tuesday, and I knew he was violent. I wanted to know how forthcoming James was actually being.

He paused for a long moment. “I have reason to suspect he has that tendency.”

I nodded. “Do you know anything about Victoria? Where she went to school? If she was local? What her real name might’ve been?”

“William has a type as well. He likes very bright women, often in financial studies. Several of his alums are now successful investment bankers. She may or may not have been from Charleston, but she went to school here, likely at the College of Charleston.”

“That’s a start. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He didn’t stand.

“Can you think of anything else I should know?”

He was quiet for a moment.

I waited.

Presently, he said, “Be careful, Liz. May I call you Liz?”

“Yes, of course. Be careful of what—of whom?”

“This whole thing began as a way to help two spinster sisters keep their family home. Everyone had the best of intentions. Property values here—I don’t have to tell you. Folks moving in from all over pay top dollar for trophy houses they live in a month out of the year, if at all. Now that’s not to say there aren’t perfectly nice new folks buying here as well. But the nouveau riche, as it were, they’ll pay anything for a historic Charleston home. It makes it difficult for the families who’ve lived here for generations to stay. Property values rise, and with them taxes. And it costs a fortune to maintain these historic mansions—not to mention heat and cool them. It’s a shame, really. Parts of this city—South of Broad in particular—have very few children anymore because young families can’t afford to live here. Everyone’s moving to West Ashley, Johns Island, Daniel Island.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I mean, of course I understand what you’re saying, and I agree—it’s a problem. But how does that connect to why I should be careful?”

He leaned towards me. “Because that house is worth a great deal of money. In many neighborhoods, all this scandal—bodies buried in the yard, for heaven’s sake—why, that might make it difficult to sell a home. But this is Charleston. Spirits are a given. Ghost tours are big business. Don’t encourage Olivia to sell that property. It’s a goldmine, to be sure. But if she’s of a mind, it would be lovely to have a family with children live there.”

“Oh…I…”

“You thought I was about to caution you concerning your personal safety?”

“I did.” I smiled.

He looked at me very seriously. “You’re a professional investigator. Bodies and secrets are being dug up all around you. I figure you already know you’re in grave danger, as are Olivia and Miss Willowdean. Here’s my card. It has my cellphone number. Call me at any time for any reason.”

Twenty-Four

I made a stop by George C. Birlant Antiques & Gifts on King Street to look for something for Daddy. The silver antique hound dog statue that looked just like Chumley, Daddy’s basset, would’ve been cute enough. The fact that it was also an open salt server with a spoon would appeal to his love of the unusual. Thank heavens that completed my Christmas shopping.

Sonny called and asked me to meet him for lunch at Closed for Business, a pub on King Street that he knew I particularly liked. He was there when I walked in, and motioned me over to a table by the wall. He’d already ordered my iced tea. I had a bad feeling. The kind you get when a guy takes you out to break up with you so you can’t make a scene.

“Hey.” I slid into a chair facing the wall.

“I don’t have much time,” said Sonny. “I took the liberty of ordering your usual.”

“Thanks.” I loved the Southern fried chicken sandwich with a side of fried green beans.

“I have bad news,” he said.

“I figured. Just tell me.”

“Seth is talking. Once he found out we were charging him with William Rutledge’s murder, he started trying to make all kinds of deals.”

“So the rug you found Rutledge in—”

“We don’t have the tests back. But all we had to do was mention that rug and he tripped himself up. His attorney—high dollar, sharp lady from the Savage firm—like to’ve choked him to get him to shut up.”

“The Savage firm?” I hated like hell to be on the opposite side of anything from them. Nate and I wanted to grow that relationship.

“Yeah. Anyway, she wants to negotiate a deal. Seth can give us Thurston Middleton’s killer.”

I felt sick on my stomach. “
No
. He’ll say anything to save his sorry ass.”

“Liz, he says he saw Olivia leaving the room right before he found the body. He believes Olivia killed Thurston. And the solicitor is considering making a deal.”

“There’s just no way Olivia did this.”

The waitress put food in front of us. I didn’t touch mine.

“I understand she’s your friend. She’s my friend, too. And Robert. This makes me sick.”

I shook my head. “All you have is the word of a known killer. And not just William Rutledge. You wait. I’ll bet you anything he killed those girls too.”

“The solicitor will certainly take that into consideration. But understand. I can’t refuse to arrest her. And right now, I have a witness. Olivia has motive. She—”

“Wait. What motive? What motive could she possibly have to kill Thurston Middleton?”

Sonny sighed. “You know that’s a brothel, right?”

“We’ve covered that.”

“Olivia owns half of it and stands to inherit the other half.”

“Yes, but she didn’t want it. Seth was blackmailing her. She wanted to sell the house, but her aunt wouldn’t agree to it.”

“And her attorney can bring all of that up in court. But the way Seth tells it, Thurston was likely looking for that ledger. He was getting ready to run for office. And he was going to make a big public deal out of closing that place down. Everyone with anything to do with it would’ve been in the newspapers. And Olivia owns half. She was trying to keep it quiet. Thurston was going to bring it all crashing down.”

“That is all twisted around.”

“Maybe so. But her fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”

“Sonny, was there blood on the murder weapon?”

“No. Could’ve been wiped off.”

“And fingerprints left behind? I saw her pick that pineapple up Monday night. She was showing me what had been on the floor beside a body she was convinced was Robert’s. I thought she was hallucinating. But she picked it up to show me.”

“That doesn’t mean she hadn’t picked it up earlier and smashed Thurston’s head in.”

“Could she even have done that?”

“Was she wearing heels?”

I thought back.
Damnation
. “Yes. But. She. Did. Not. Do. This.”

“I don’t want to believe it either. I hope she didn’t. Maybe we’ll find another piece of evidence. But as of right now, I have to pick her up for questioning, and unless she has some very good answers, I’m going to have to arrest her.”

“Oh God. Sonny, no. Please don’t do this.”

“I don’t have a choice. Where is she? I thought she was with you.”

“You son of a bitch. You asked me to bring her over here knowing you were going to arrest her.”

“That’s not exactly true.”

“Find her yourself. I’ve done enough of your work for one week. I will not do your dirty work too.” I stood up so fast my chair fell over. I didn’t stop on my way out to pick it up.  

Twenty-Five

It was hard to say what upset Mamma more: One of my bridesmaids being arrested for murder two days before my wedding, the fact that said bridesmaid was half owner of a bordello, or the presence of courtesans at the family Christmas party. But Mamma was definitely unhappy.

“Who did Robert hire to defend her?” Mamma handed me a casserole dish of chicken dressing.

“Charlie Condon.” I added the dressing to the double-sided, u-shaped buffet Mamma was building in the kitchen.

“And Sonny actually arrested her?”

“Yes, Mamma, he did.” I was so mad at Sonny I couldn’t see straight. But a little part of me knew he’d had no choice. I wished mightily I hadn’t gotten involved. I’d handed him information that had ultimately led to Olivia’s arrest.

“Well, I have just never in my life…what is that boy thinking?” Mamma’s loyalty ran deep, as did mine.

And Blake’s. “He was probably thinking it would be better for him to arrest her and make sure she was taken care of than to let strangers go pick her up.”

“Do
not
defend him,” I said.

“Hell, Liz, there’s a mountain of evidence against her. She’s my friend too, but Sonny can’t help that.”

“It’s all circumstantial,” I said.

“Circumstantial evidence is still evidence,” said Blake.

“
Enough
,” said Mamma. “Blake, kindly do not leave your father unsupervised with our…guests.”

“Nate’s in there. So is Joe,” said Blake.

Mamma gave him the look.

“Fine. When’s dinner going to be ready? I’m starved,” said Blake.

“I will notify you immediately,” said Mamma. “Liz, check on Merry. See if she needs help.”

I went upstairs to the room that had been Merry’s before she bought her own cottage a few blocks away. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve found something from the gift closet for everyone except Dana. Can you look while I wrap Amber’s gift?”

“Sure.” I walked back out to the hall and opened the shelved walk-in closet. Mamma was always prepared. Throughout the year, when she found sales, or unique things she liked, she stocked her gift closet. Then whenever four extra people showed up on Christmas, all we had to do was match a gift to the recipient. I picked out a set of lavender body butter, body wash, lotion, and bubble bath for Dana and took it back to Merry’s room, where Mamma had set up the wrapping table.

I said, “It’s just like Mamma to pitch a fit about having four refugees from a bawdy house for Christmas dinner, but then make sure they each have a gift under the tree.”

“Yep,” said Merry. “Let me have that. I wrap better than you. You have no patience.”

I handed her the gift set.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I just have to find something Sonny can use for evidence against the much-more-likely killer.”

“And you think you know who that is?”

“I have a few ideas.”

I watched Merry measure paper for the gift.

Gifts. Bridesmaid’s gifts. “
Sonavabitch
,” I said.

“What?” Merry’s eyes widened with alarm.

“I’m such a poor excuse for a bride.”

“What on earth are you babbling about?”

“
Girls
,” Mamma called from downstairs. “Dinner.”

Mamma prayed extra that night. Blake stirred beside me, impatient to fix his plate. Finally, the buffet was open. We all piled our plates high with turkey and dressing, ham, and a dozen of Mamma’s favorite casseroles and side dishes. And yeast rolls. We went outside to the tables Daddy, Blake, and Joe had arranged for Christmas dinner. Mamma wouldn’t hear of us eating at two separate tables.

The entire backyard had been covered that afternoon with a series of tents that formed one massive tent. The tent opening overlapped the side of the house, and propane heaters took the chill off the air. Tomorrow, Nicolette and a small army would begin decorating it for the wedding reception. Tonight, it was all about Christmas.

We ate until we couldn’t move, then went inside and crowded around the Christmas tree to open presents. This takes longer in our family than most, as Merry demands what she calls “present respect.” We all have to watch as each gift is unwrapped and admire the contents before the next package can be handed out.

Amber, Dana, Heather, and Lori seemed touched to have gifts under the tree, modest and somewhat generic though they may have been. They got into the spirit of things, teasing Daddy occasionally under Mamma’s watchful eye. But it was clear they were all thinking of their own families. I wished so hard that night that by Christmas Eve they’d all be home and safe.

“What is this thing?” Daddy said when he opened his gift. “It’s a hound dog. But what is that, his dish?”

“No, Daddy, that is your own personal salt dish and spoon,” I said.

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” He grinned with pleasure. “Look here, Chumley.”

Chumley woofed his approval. Mamma rolled her eyes.

We continued opening, oohing and ahhing. Nate loved the leather desk set I’d found, and the desk to be delivered. He’d been working off his lap for a while. Mamma and Merry loved the spa day packages.

Merry, as the youngest, was playing Santa Claus. She handed me a small package. “This is to Liz, from Nate.”

It was too big for jewelry, but too small for anything else I could think of. I smiled at him. “What have you done?” I unwrapped the package. It was a Slinky box—the children’s toy. I laughed. “What?”

“I wanted to get you something slinky,” he said.

Blake, Joe, and Daddy laughed like fools, likely in part due to the look I must’ve had on my face. No one appreciates a gag gift more than my daddy. Our guests also appreciated the joke. Chumley gave it three woofs.

But this was our first Christmas…I turned the box over in my hands.

“Open it,” said Nate.

Inside the coiled wire toy was a Tiffany blue velvet bag. I pulled it out and emptied it into my palm. A stunning emerald ring with side diamonds glimmered in the soft light. “
Ohh
, Nate. You shouldn’t have.”

“You didn’t think I was going to let that family piece be your real engagement jewelry, did you? This ring is for your right hand. I want both of them.”

I hugged him tight. “I love you so much,” I whispered in his ear.

Despite our best efforts, we were all a bit subdued that evening. After dessert—Mamma’s Christmas trifle—we called it a night. Nate and I took our guests back to our house. No one was much in the mood to go to bed, so we settled into the sunroom with the Christmas tree.

I went into the kitchen to get some tea, and motioned for Amber to come with me.

“Is everything okay,” she asked.

“Honestly, no,” I said. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been told William Calhoun has a type.”

“I think that’s true,” she said.

“How long have the two of you been together?”

“Right at three years.”

“Is he good to you?”

“Very.”

“Do you know who he was with before you? I think it may have been another College of Charleston student. Possibly also a business or finance major—something in the same field.”

Amber’s eyes grew. “Yes. Her name is Victoria Baker. She was a year ahead of me. She dropped out of school when she and William broke up. I think she took it really hard.”

“How well did you know her?”

“Pretty well. We were friends. I guess that sounds weird.”

“Have you stayed in touch?”

“Honestly, no. I think she’s mad at me because I’m with William now. It’s not like that with his other exes. There’s almost a sorority. You go into it knowing it isn’t going to last. At least I did.”

“But maybe Victoria didn’t?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know where she was from?”

“A small town in Virginia. Abingdon.”

“So you never spoke with her again?” I asked.

“I tried to call her once. The woman who answered the phone told me she wasn’t there and hung up. I took that to mean she didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Think back. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Gosh. That was more than three years ago. I was a freshman. It was before Thanksgiving break. Maybe a month before? We went to a football game with a group of friends.”

“And you never saw her again? Who told you she was dropping out of school?”

“Her roommate. She said someone in the family came by to get her things and said she wouldn’t be back.”

“And you never saw or spoke to her again?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Thanks, Amber. You’ve been a big help.”

I needed to get to my computer.

She started out of the room.

“Amber?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you said William treats you well, but there’s another side to him. I barely know him and I made him angry and he almost ran me down in his car. Don’t go anywhere near him. Promise me.”

She looked at me like maybe I wasn’t quite right, but she nodded. “Okay.”

I went about the business of making tea. Amber went back into the sunroom. After a moment, Heather came into the kitchen. “Got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?” I said.

“I’ve been thinking about all the things we talked about the first night we were here.”

“Okay.”

“You asked us if we’d ever heard the name Thurston Middleton. And I told you Henry had asked me about him—if he’d been bothering me.”

“Right.”

“That’s the way I remembered it. But I was shook up, and I think I misremembered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Henry didn’t ask me if Thurston had been bothering me until after I mentioned that he’d approached Lori near her car.”

“So you told Henry that Thurston was asking questions about the house?” I’d wondered how he’d known.

“That’s right.”

“Thanks, Heather. I appreciate you telling me.”

“There’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s probably nothing, but I was expecting Henry the Monday night when Thurston Middleton was killed. He never showed up, and when I asked him about it, he acted like he’d never told me he was coming. But he comes every Monday night, usually around six. Any other night it’s much later—anywhere between nine and eleven.”

Something tightened inside me. “Heather, no matter what happens, stay away from Henry. He may be very dangerous.”

“Henry?” She screwed up her face.

“I could be wrong. But please don’t bet your life on it. Would you take tea into the others?”

“Sure.”

I took my cup into my office. Nate lounged on the sofa, away from all the estrogen in the sunroom. I filled him in on my latest information while my laptop powered on.

Then I logged into a subscription database and started looking for Victoria Baker. Her digital footprint ended in October 2011. The closest living family I could find were an aunt and uncle and a few cousins. It was late. I’d call them tomorrow.

Next, I opened my photo stream folder and pulled up the photos I’d taken in the parking lot at Rut’s the afternoon before. I logged into another database and ran every plate. Many of them belonged to Prioleaus, including Henry’s Ducati. Rut’s New South Cuisine was truly a family business. But the 2005 Honda Accord belonged to Tyler O’Sullivan. With any luck, this was our waiter from Wednesday night. It had been after three when we’d left that afternoon. Did waiters come in that early?

I started a profile on Tyler O’Sullivan. The address on the tag was on Bonieta Harrold Drive, which turned out to be in an apartment complex, Woodfield South Point, in West Ashley. Within a few minutes, I knew Tyler was driving on a suspended driver’s license owing to a year-old DUI. While he was allowed to drive to work, the provision was that he had to be at home by eight p.m. He also had a few possession charges the Prioleau family may or may not have known about. I had leverage.