Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) (21 page)

“An hour or so. It’s out on Summerton Parkway, near the Poplar Grove turnoff. You’ll see a narrow drive leading to a dilapidated shack, the old Delafield House.”

“Sure, I know where that is. I’ll see you there.” 

It might not be very productive to visit a piece of land Leo might have bought had he lived, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.

I cleaned up my desk so it looked as if I had put in a full day. I pedaled home in the bright sunshine and exchanged my bike for my car. I kept my raffia hat, then cruised out onto Cabana with the top down. I was over the bridge and around the traffic circle in downtown Summerton shortly before three-thirty.

The old Delafield House was actually more of a crumbling clapboard house. From what I could remember, Walter Delafield was a prominent figure during the Civil War, but his family built the small house many years later, either after he was knocking on the pearly gates or at least walking up the drive. And I thought the land was larger than the five acres Sid mentioned over the weekend. The Delafield fronted Summerton Parkway near the downtown shopping district, which consisted of tiny boutiques, old-fashioned ice cream shops, and the Piggly Wiggly grocery.

I pulled into the long drive and parked next to Jane’s infamous black Sebring convertible. There were two other cars. I recognized one as Sid’s and the other was a shiny black SUV. I figured it belonged to Chas Obermeyer, since he and Jane were arguing on the front steps of the house.

I greeted Sid as I stepped out of the car. “What’s going on? Where’s the developer?”

“Apparently Chas Obermeyer
is
the developer.”

“Chas is? But why is Jane here?” I asked, but we reached the argument before Sid could answer.

“I don’t care if Mr. Delafield rose from the grave and signed over the deed himself,” Jane said. “As president of the Historic Society, I can assure you that no amount of huffing and puffing is going to tear this sucker down.”

She and Chas faced each other on the rickety porch. The dusty planks appeared rotted and nearly broken through. I, personally, had no intention of stepping foot on them.

“This house is a dump, Jane, and you know it. It didn’t even belong to Delafield. It was his nephew’s kid’s house. It’s like you: old and decrepit with no historical value.”

“Be careful. The veneer of Southern civility you’ve worked so hard to coat is cracking,” Jane said. “It’s a shame your temper is as fragile as a soap bubble. Must make it difficult to keep up appearances.”

“What’s going on?” I asked from the walk.

“Oh, gee, Elliott, what a surprise. It figures you’d stick your nose in the middle of this,” Chas said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because Leo tricked Chas into buying this property,” Jane said. “He’s now the proud owner of ten acres of prime historic land. Why, he could turn this beauty into a nice museum, donate it to the county. I’d approve that.”

“Tricked you? What happened?” I asked Chas.

His face was tomato red. “Leo lied, according to Jane. But I don’t know how reliable she is. She killed him, right? Isn’t that why you’re here? Ready to confiscate the broom and whisk her off to jail?”

“The property, Chas,” I prodded.

“None of your goddamn business,” he said.

“I’ll tell her if you like,” Jane said. “I do enjoy telling it.”

“Leo and I had a deal,” Chas said before Jane could tell her version. “I would subsidize the Delafield land for the new Buffalo Bill’s location. Act as developer and owner, he’d sign on a twenty-year lease. So I bought the property, free and clear.”

“But Leo was playing both sides,” Jane said.

“It’s bullshit and you know it,” he yelled. “You won’t get away with this!”

“Oh yes, he played you like a fiddle at a rodeo,” she said sweetly. “You see, Leo had more than a bale of hay beneath his ridiculous cowboy hat. He signed with Chas, metaphorically speaking. You don’t actually have a written agreement, right, Chas?”

She smiled while he kicked the front door. The wood splintered and dust billowed, dirtying his neat tan slacks.

“Anyhoo,” Jane continued. “Leo told me all about his expansion plans for this land. I objected, of course. But we struck a deal last week. He would back out of his proposal, and in exchange, I wouldn’t fight his renewal to the board, in fact, I would endorse his seat. All legal, mind you, before you get any wild ideas, Chas. I personally believe Leo never intended to go through with building on this land, but I can’t prove it.”

It explained Leo’s mood at the party on Saturday night. And Whitney’s comments on Leo, how confident he was that his seat would be guaranteed.

“Did you find out about this just now?” I asked Chas.

He didn’t answer, only glared.

“Leo told him at the party on Saturday night,” Jane said. “Chas overheard us finalizing our little deal out on the terrace. No Buffalo Bill’s, no development fees, no recurring rent stream for Chas.”

“You bitch. You’re not ruining this deal. I’ve already contracted my home expansion. The pool, the deck, the cellar. Dammit, what am I going to tell my wife?”

“You’ll see her in twenty to life? You’re the new suspect, Chas. I feel fantastic, really. Nothing can bring me down now.”

“Watch me,” Chas said. “I’m building the new Buffalo Bill’s on this land. I’ll tear down this crumbling shack with the biggest bulldozer I can rent. You and your pansy-ass women’s club can watch and weep, but no way you’re going to stop me.”

“Try it, Obermeyer. I’ll own you,” Jane said. “Or what’s left of you, anyway. I always wanted a house in Pelican Beach.”

Chas stepped toward Jane, but tripped on a knot in the wood plank. He fell forward and caught himself on the porch rail, skinning his arm in the process. “This isn’t over, Jane. Not by a long shot!” He marched down the steps.

I jumped out of the way before he could plow through me and nearly knocked down Sid. Then tires screeched on the asphalt out at the road. Two police cruisers and Ransom’s silver McLaren flew up the dirt driveway and parked caddywhompus behind my Mini.

“Wait, Chas,” Jane hollered. “It looks like word has spread. Don’t worry, sugar, you look good in orange.”

Ransom nodded at Chas as he passed, but kept walking with two officers on his heels. They stopped a foot from me at the base of the steps.

“Jane Walcott Hatting,” Ransom said. “You are under arrest.”

TWENTY

“Is this a joke?” she asked.

“You have the right to remain silent,” an officer said. He continued spelling out her rights as he handcuffed her hands behind her back.

“What are you doing?” I asked Ransom, trying to bite down the panic. “You can’t do this.”

He ignored me as he escorted Jane down the walk.

“What about Chas?” I yelled. “And this land deal? He was furious with Leo!”

Ransom kept walking. “Chas has an alibi, unlike Jane here. Right, Jane?”

“Moron,” Jane spat out. “I didn’t kill Leo. Seriously, all this time, and
I’m
the one you arrest? You can’t do this. My auction is tomorrow.”

“You better cancel it,” Ransom said.

“Like hell,” Jane said.

I caught up to Ransom. I tugged his arm and pulled him away from the other officers. “Wait. What’s wrong with you? So focused on Jane, so determined to show me you’re the big detective, that you ignore everything else? It’s bullshit, Ransom.”

“This may surprise you, Elliott, but this isn’t about you. Jane Hatting killed Leo Hirschorn. There are no other suspects.”

“Oh, and what about Cherry Avarone? You know she was inside Leo’s house right before he was murdered. You can’t seriously buy her flimsy alibi. Really solid, Ransom. One lover covering up for another.”

He stopped and stared at me. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Cherry. Was. There. At the time of the murder.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The red VW bug in the driveway. The witness across the street who saw everything. Cherry who admits she fought with Leo minutes before he was bludgeoned to death. It’s called evidence,” I yelled. “Certainly you’ve heard of it.”

“You’ve crossed a line, Lisbon,” he yelled back. “You’re obstructing this investigation. I should arrest you right now, right here. I told you not to withhold information.”

“So now it’s my fault I’m better at this than you? I can’t help it if I uncovered the truth while you were out chasing Jane, come hell or high water. Not! My! Fault!”

Ransom stormed off. He got to his car and whipped his door open. “Your discreet inquiry is over. It’s over, Lisbon,” he shouted. “You get to the station now. I want you in my office in five minutes.”

He slammed the door and sped down the driveway in reverse. He spun around in the grass, then peeled out onto the highway with the two patrol cars behind him.

“Holy crap, Elli,” Sid said. “Your life is way more exciting than mine.”

My hands were shaking as I walked to my car. “It’s overrated.” I fumbled for my keys, dropped them in the dirt. Then remembered I hadn’t locked my car.

“So that’s Nick Ransom, huh? He’s sexier than I imagined. And more passionate.”

“You mean pissed,” I said and opened the car door.

“That, too. You headed to his office?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Technically. I’m going to let him cool down first. Maybe a day. Or a week.”

“Sure, sweetie. Nothing will cool him down like ignoring him.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Thanks for the heads up on the property. I’d better get out of here.”

She squeezed my hand. “You take care. Call if you need me.”

I nodded and backed out of the drive, using the same patch of grass Ransom used to turn around. Well, I’m in the muck now. Jane better not be guilty or I’ll strap her to the chair myself.

I couldn’t ignore Ransom’s demand outright, but I certainly didn’t have to walk into the lion’s den, either. I pulled out my phone and dialed the police station. My fingers still trembled and I took a deep breath.

I hit Parker’s extension and said a quick thank you prayer when she answered.

“Parker, it’s Elliott,” I said. I was speeding down the road as I spoke. “You got a minute?”

“Are you kidding? The Lieutenant is raging mad. I mean livid, Elliott. I could barely make out every third word he said. I would not want to be you.”

I choked out a laugh. I remembered my thoughts from earlier: I live on an island, right? Who doesn’t want to be me? Apparently there are caveats.

“I hear you, but it’s not my fault. Please say you’ll meet me. I have to give you my account of what happened.”

“No way. Ransom expects you in his office. He may not get to you until tomorrow, but he’ll kill you if you don’t show up. I should be pissed, too. You promised not to withhold evidence. I should hang up right this minute.”

“Please don’t,” I said, whipping onto Cabana Boulevard into busy traffic. “Just hear me out. I swear I didn’t withhold anything. Not intentionally, anyway. Besides, it’s you or nothing, Parker. I’m not facing Ransom. So if you want to hear it, it’s you or nothing.”

I changed lanes and passed a motor coach hauling a trailer full of bikes. I foot-slapped the gas pedal and rocketed into the left lane.

“Fine, Elliott,” Parker finally said. “But this better be good.”

“Thanks, Parker. Meet me at the library, along the path by the back lot. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes or less.”

She clicked off without saying goodbye.

If I could sequester Parker while Ransom tangled with Jane, I had a decent chance of getting my statement on record while avoiding Ransom altogether. I wasn’t about to show up at his office and have him scold the shit out of me in front of every uniform in the station.

The Island Civic Complex is on the north end of the island, close to Oyster Cove Plantation and the airport. The police station occupied the east end of the property, the county library took on the west. I pulled into the drive just as a sporty little MG roadster cut across the lot, nearly swiping the Mini. Tate Keating waved from the driver’s seat and zipped out onto the road.

Oh God. The
Islander Post
.

I parked in the very last spot on the farthest end. I hopped out of the Mini and ran over to a bench tucked beneath the trees. Parker walked up as I sat down.

She opened her flip-top notebook. “Go.”

“Was Tate Keating here about Jane?”

“Go.”

“Okay, right. Remember when I called you about the dog? I had just finished talking to Owen Dobbs, Leo’s neighbor. That’s what led me to the dog. I couldn’t understand where he was. Turns out he’s a she, and Cherry took her the night of the murder.”

“Cherry stole Leo’s dog?”

“Not exactly. It’s her dog—according to her. But we’re jumping ahead.” I took a deep breath. “So while I was in the neighborhood, I decided to see if anyone else saw anything. Someone did. A tiny lady named Olivetta Jones in the last house near the corner.”

“With the doll house and the tea party?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” I said. “She told me she saw a red VW bug in Leo’s driveway on Saturday night. And it wasn’t the first time she’d seen it.”

“How can she be sure it was Saturday night?”

“She watched a movie, ate some banana bread, drank a cup of cocoa, peeked out front. She was certain.”

“Seriously,” Parker said. “I interviewed her myself. She never mentioned anything about a red car.”

“You should’ve drunk the tea. After two scones and some reassurances, she told me all about it.” I leaned against the bench arm with one leg tucked under me, facing Parker. “I specifically asked if she’d spoken with you about the car. She said yes, Parker, and I believed her.”

“Okay, so how’d you figure out it was Cherry?”

I couldn’t expose Milo Hickey or his poker game. Not after he graciously answered all my questions. So I fudged. “I went to her house to ask about the dog. The car was parked under her carport and the dog, Donald, was running around the backyard.” 

She scribbled notes as fast as she could. “So what did she have to say?”

“After I revealed my clever deductions, she admitted to sleeping with Leo. He helped her with expenses, paid her mortgage. When he refused to take her to the party at the Big House Saturday, she flipped. Met him after the party. They argued. She stormed out and took the dog with her.”

“And after that?”

“Went to Joseph Hirschorn’s house.”

“Well that was fast.”

I snorted. “That’s what I said. She called me judgy. Anyway, I told her she absolutely had to call Ransom. She promised, said she had his number and would call him as soon as I left. I swear, Parker, and this was only just yesterday.”

She finished writing and looked up at me. “The Lieutenant is furious. There’s no way he’ll believe you weren’t keeping this from him.”

“I know, that’s why I’m talking to you. But I have no reason to hold this back. This clears Jane, my pseudo-client. Why wouldn’t I want to share that? I already called Jane’s attorney.”

“Elliott! You told her attorney before the Lieutenant?”

“I didn’t know he didn’t know.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Her attorney hasn’t called me back yet, but I have to tell him. You’ve arrested Jane, but it will never hold up with an enraged Cherry sitting on Leo’s doorstep two minutes before he was killed. Unless you have more you aren’t telling me?”

“This doesn’t work both ways.” She tapped her book against her knee. “Man. I’m going to have to tell Ransom.”

“Better you than me.”

“That’s not funny,” she said.

“Who’s joking? Now what happens?”

She stood and brushed the dust from her uniform. “You’re going to have to face him at some point, you know. But for now, I’ll pass this along. Jane will probably be out by dinner.”

“And Keating?”

“Sorry, Elliott. That cat is out of the bag and racing to meet a deadline.”

“Son of a bitch.” I put my head in my hands.

“Listen, anything, and I mean
any
thing comes up, you call me first. First, Elliott. Not the attorney. Me. Are we clear?”

“Yes, I promise,” I said. She walked toward the police station and I climbed into my car. I rested my head on the steering wheel. My heart continued to pound, but the shaking had all but stopped. The tremble in my hands felt like little more than the result of an overdose of Pepsi and a one pound box of chocolates.

I called Tate, but he wouldn’t deal, only gloat. I couldn’t think of a single defense, so I ended with “No comment.” I didn’t dare mention Cherry’s car in the driveway. Ransom might actually kill me.

I raced home and tucked the Mini into the garage. It was not yet six o’clock, but it felt like midnight. Ate a big bowl of cereal for dinner. I had no idea when Ransom would be home and I didn’t want to risk take-out.

The phone rang eleven times over the next three hours. I finally unplugged it when I went upstairs.

I made sure all the lights were off. Grabbed a book and crawled into bed with a compact book light attached to the cover. An hour later the doorbell rang. And rang. Then came the knocking.

I knew I was right and I knew he knew I was right. But there was simply no way I was answering the door, because by the pounding nature of his knock, Ransom wasn’t dropping by with cupcakes and an apology.