Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) (14 page)

Oh boy.

He dipped down and kissed my neck, then whispered in my ear. “I guess it’s time I got in the game; rounded some bases of my own.”

“But we’ve always been more friends than lovers,” I whispered back.

He kissed me again and I thought I might just melt it was so damn delicious. When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine. “We’ve never been lovers, Elli. Not yet.” He reached past me to grab my handbag, hat, and sweater. He handed over my stuff. His other hand was still up my shirt, his thumb slowly stroking my ribs. “Wasn’t sure how I felt until I saw your hands on another man. Maybe I waited too long, but I’m here now.”

I nodded slowly in the moonlight.

“Goodnight, El,” he said with a low smile. Then he walked around to driver’s side and climbed in.

I watched him back into my driveway, then down the street. I walked to my front door, touching my lips. They were swollen and tingling.

Oh my.

Then Ransom’s porch light snapped out and I was left standing in the dark.

THIRTEEN

A combination of knocks and doorbells woke me. I pried open my left eye: 6:13. In the morning. I rolled over with the quilt wound tightly around my head.

More knocking. More doorbell ringing.

I flung back the quilt. Uttered a swear word or three. Slapped on a pair of sweats and marched downstairs.

Another knock.

“Stop it already,” I shouted. “I’m right here.”

I peeked through the peep hole. I may be cranky, but I’m not crazy. I can’t just open the door for some whacko killer and then yell him to death.

Ransom stood on my doorstep.

I swung open the door. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing here?”

“Look, I brought coffee,” he said. He pushed past me into the kitchen.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

He stared at me. I could almost see his mental wheels whirring, like a projector in reverse. “Pepsi, right? You still do that?”

“I’m sure you are very proud of your coffee purchase, but why are you here?”

He set two paper cups with plastic tops on the counter. “I’m interviewing actresses today. I thought you’d like to come.”

“Actresses?”

“From Leo’s commercial. It’s a long shot, but I’ve spoken to everyone in town, now I’m heading to Savannah.”

“I’m in. Don’t move. Drink your coffee, drink my coffee. I’ll be down in a minute.”

I took the stairs two at a time and ran into the bath. I knew the actresses wouldn’t net much—which is why he offered to include me—but I was sure I could get him to spill other details along the way.

Plus, I wasn’t ready to think about Matty and that kiss. And what it meant to our relationship. Things would be different now and I didn’t know if I wanted that. I liked being friends. But I also really liked that kiss. Too much to think about at the crack of freaking dawn.

I showered quickly. As quick as I could, anyway. I do things a certain way and it makes my skin itch if I change in any way. All very reasonable and not in the least obsessive. And not for everything, just certain routines. Like showers. Everything done in a particular way, in a particular order. Shampoo, body wash, rinse. Conditioner, shave, rinse. Face wash, face scrub, rinse. Done.

I made up some time with a fast blow-dry of my hair. We both drove convertibles, so either way I needed a hat. With my wavy hair, I don’t worry about hat head.

Forty minutes later I popped downstairs to an empty room. “Hello?”

I found Ransom on the patio with the two coffees and a newspaper. The rising sun painted the sky pink and seagulls flew low over the ocean searching for their version of scrambled eggs and ham.

“Shall we?” I asked.

He gathered up the paper and cups and tossed them into the trash can on the side of the cottage. “Mine or yours?” he asked.

We both knew he was only being polite because there was no way we would be driving to Savannah in the Mini Coop. Not when he had air conditioned lumbar seats and a kickass sound system. A girl has to live while she can.

Ransom helped me into the snug seat. The color was a smooth combination of Cabernet and tobacco. The car still smelled new, rich leather with the undertone of Ransom’s cologne.

I belted myself in with my bag and hat tucked by my feet.

“Hungry?” Ransom asked.

“Starved.”

I thought we might stop at the Squat and Gobble in downtown Summerton, but he flew by it. He pressed the gas pedal, opening it up as we hit the straightaway stretch of the highway. It was exhilarating.

Put the top down on the Mini, it’s all about adventure. Go where you want, when you want, and have fun getting there. But the McLaren was all thrill ride. Strap in, hang on, and feel the power beneath the soles of your feet as you rocket over the open road. Fabulous.

Ransom turned off at Poplar Grove, an elegant private community on the May River. The gate guard handed Ransom a day pass for the village five miles down a winding road. It felt as if we had traveled back in time. Tall flickering gaslight lanterns lined the streets. Climbing wisteria blanketed the trunks of towering oaks—forests of them for over twenty-thousand acres. I glimpsed rolling golf course greens and horse stables with black ranch fencing through the trees.

We passed over an iron and stone bridge into the village. Set on a square, quaint shops and restaurants served as the town center for a hundred homes built close together like a town in Cape Cod. They had their own post office and a one-room church facing the dock. A couple rode a tandem bike down the brick road, ringing the bike bell as they passed us.

Life at my parent’s summer house was not like this. It may have been only a few miles up the road, but it was at least one entire class division away.

Ransom pulled around the circle drive of the Grove Inn. An antebellum plantation house with white columns and floor to ceiling shuttered windows.

After the valet took the keys, we crossed the long lobby to the restaurant entrance. The hostess sat us at a table for two against the window overlooking the river. A fireplace burned behind us to vanquish any lingering morning chill.

I studied the linen menu, eventually choosing the lemon soufflé pancakes with raspberry puree. Ransom ordered their signature eggs benedict with blue lump crab cakes.

The server arrived with our meals a quick fifteen minutes later, beautifully arranged on creamy porcelain plates. When I tasted the pancakes, a burst of lemon blended with the sweet raspberry sauce and I nearly moaned. I reminded myself to eat slowly. It’s not polite to scarf when dining on real china in the presence of others.

“How’s your investigation going?” Ransom asked after the server walked away.

“So now we’re going to share, are we?”

“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Ah, but you don’t play fair. And you like to gloat. It’s quite unattractive.”

He put his hands up. “No gloating. I’ll even go first.” He leaned forward and dramatically looked around for eavesdroppers. “Jane’s the killer.”

I sipped my Pepsi. “You can’t think Jane did this. It doesn’t fit.”

“Have you met Jane? She’s a nasty person.”

“She’s unfriendly. There’s a difference,” I said. “This is messy and Jane doesn’t do messy. What else do you have to offer?”

“Plenty, Red. But let’s stick to the case.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ll give you this: Leo was taking cash, weekly withdrawals, and meeting someone. I don’t know who—yet—but it wasn’t his wife. I’m thinking Jane’s involved.”

I nodded. I was thinking a poker game and a woman named Dee was involved, but I kept that to myself. It’s not like he was sharing everything with me. He sure didn’t mention the red vee-dub in the driveway. I traded something easy. “Leo’s son, Travis, wasn’t at Derek’s house that night, like he said.”

Ransom looked up from his eggs. “Really? I spoke with Derek and the two other friends they met at the movies.”

“I spoke with Derek’s mother. Travis hasn’t slept over in months. The whole dinner and a movie line was just a ruse.” I tried not to look smug, but I was definitely sparkling on the inside.

Ransom speared a fresh raspberry from my plate. “Interesting. I hadn’t given junior much thought.”

“Exactly. Look around, Jane is but one of many.”

“But Jane fits perfectly.”

“That’s why I don’t like it. What about a jealous wife? Or maybe a crazy wife who kills her husband to make room for the hunky masseuse? Bebe was only in Savannah. It’s less than a thirty minute drive.”

Ransom watched me while I spoke. The interest in his eyes made my stomach flip. He leaned forward and wiped my cheek with his finger. “Raspberry sauce.”

“Thank you,” I whispered as the waitress arrived to clear our plates.

“You and Gannon been together long?”

I didn’t see that coming. I started nodding like a bobble head doll. “Year and a half. Not dating. Friends. Good friends. Best friends.” I thought of Matty’s soft lips on mine, his body pressing against me. “Well, we’re dating now. Maybe. You know, he’s in the game. After last night.”

Ransom watched me babble and squirm. His eyes were hard, but his lips were all smirky and amused.

“Whatever, Ransom. Just pay the lady and let’s get out of here already.”

We didn’t linger and within twenty minutes, we were screaming over the Talmadge Bridge into downtown Savannah.

“Who are we interviewing?” I asked.

“Brooke Norman and Jenna Hopper,” he said. “They both auditioned for Hirschorn three weeks before he was killed. I’m wondering if maybe they heard or saw something while they were in his office.”

“Like the fight he had with Joseph over the expansion.”

“Like a fight he had with Jane over the board.”

He turned onto Jones Street near the Savannah College of Art and Design. A row of walkups lined the street with small iron fences and gates trimming the properties. Large oaks and magnolias provided shade against the summer heat.

“They’re on the second floor,” he said and I followed him up the iron staircase on the outside of the building, a converted turn of the century home chopped into compact apartments. We entered a small foyer with chipped black and white tile flooring.

He knocked on apartment 2A. “I do the questioning. You are only here to observe.”

A young girl answered. She was maybe twenty-two with a dozen long blonde braids held back with a scarf housekeeper style. She wore leggings under a jean skirt and a men’s plaid suit vest. She greeted Ransom with a smile. “Hi, you must be the detective?”

Ransom showed her his badge. “Jenna Hopper? I’m Lieutenant Ransom, this is my associate, Elliott Lisbon. May we come in for a minute?”

“Sure. Like I said earlier, I have a class at ten, so I can’t talk long.”

She led us the two feet into the living room. It was furnished in early garage sale, a chapter of college life I remembered well. Lumpy tweed sofa, two mismatched chairs (one vinyl, one dining room with a rip in the seat). An old Magnavox was perched on a plank of wood held up with cinder blocks. Stacks of books, some opened with papers scattered around, sat off to the side.

“You wanna sit?” she offered. Jenna sat in the recliner, leaving us to the sofa.

“What can you tell us about your meeting with Leo Hirschorn?” Ransom asked.

“It’s been like four weeks ago, I guess. Brooke and I, she’s my roommate. We went together, but she’s not here now. She’s at her boyfriend’s up at UGA, she’ll be back next Wednesday, I think. Anyways, we drove to Summerton, only about thirty minutes if you go highway 46. My sister thinks I-95 is faster, but that’s only because the speed limit’s higher, right? But it’s so the long way around.” She hitched her thumb toward a galley kitchen at the back of the apartment. “You guys want some coffee? I drank the rest of the pot, but I can make another. I usually grab a large cup on campus, but it adds up, you know?”

“No, thank you,” Ransom said. “Please go on. You were saying about Buffalo Bill’s?”

“We were there about an hour. I spoke with Mr. Hirschorn for about fifteen minutes, Brooke for about forty-five. He definitely really liked her. But she’s much more serious about the whole acting scene. It just doesn’t pay the bills. I’m a waitress nights, but I pick up modeling jobs when I can. Helps with tuition. I’m a student at SCAD.”

Ransom took out a slim notebook. “Did Mr. Hirschorn talk to anyone while you were there?”

“Besides me and Brooke? His assistant, I think. Gal with big boobs and red nails? He spoke to her, too.” Jenna got up and started putting books from the cinderblock shelf into a worn backpack.

“Do you remember what they discussed?”

“Mostly the commercial. What dates for shooting, how many models he needed. The receptionist interrupted for an inventory question. A special closeout price on blenders, I think.”

“What did you and Mr. Hirschorn talk about?” Ransom asked.

“Usual audition stuff. My experience, my other jobs, any speaking roles, that kind of thing. Oh, and could I talk with a Texas accent.”

“Could you?” I asked.

“Why, sure thing, darlin’. Y’all come back here now,” she said with a perky western twang.