Lowcountry Bombshell (A Liz Talbot Mystery) (12 page)

Unfortunately, Niles Ignacio was the squeakiest-clean name on the list. He’d been born in Vermont, and except for his stint in the Peace Corps in Mozambique, he’d lived there until March of 2011, when he moved to Mt. Pleasant. He’d worked in a series of yoga studios in the Burlington area, the most recent a wellness center that offered yoga, massage, and the like, for five years. A few of his client testimonials were still posted on the website: “Niles changed my life… Niles helped me achieve peace and strength for the first time in twenty years… Niles is an old soul… Working with him has taught me so much.”

“Oh, good grief.”

“What’s wrong, Slugger?” Nate looked up from his laptop.

“I just hate it when my instincts are off.”

I called Serenity, the yoga studio in Mt. Pleasant. The owner there thought Niles walked on water, too. Her only complaint was that he’d cut back on his group classes since he started giving Calista private lessons at home and volunteering as a Big Brother.

Just to be sure, I checked his financials. He lived simply, it appeared, and within his means. He’d rented a studio apartment in Mt. Pleasant. No criminal record. Clean credit. He was everything Calista believed him to be.
Damnation
.

I needed to get moving. I made a quick call and scheduled an appointment with Mack Ryan at Security Solutions in Charleston. Then I tried Dr. Gadsden, but his receptionist informed me that due to patient confidentiality, regardless of whatever release Ms. McQueen might sign, Dr. Gadsden would not meet with me. We’d see about that.

I grabbed my tote, kissed Nate goodbye, and headed to see Robert Pearson.

Robert came around the mammoth desk when I walked into his office. “Liz, good to see you. Have a seat.”

I made myself comfortable in a supple leather chair, asked after Olivia and the kids. We spent the next ten minutes on pleasantries. Robert was handsome—good bones, brown hair, blue eyes, and an easy smile. I’d always thought of him as a Boy Scout, honorable and all. The idea that he might’ve been a blackmail victim still troubled me. But, as all the parties involved in the underlying scheme were either in jail, in the ground, or in another country, I’d decided to leave it alone. Finally, he sat back in his chair and asked me what I had on my mind.

“I need to know who would get the money if anything happened to Calista McQueen,” I said.

Relief flashed across his face. He quickly hid it with a half-chuckle. My instincts told me he was relieved I wasn’t asking him questions of a personal nature. “Interesting question. That one keeps things close to the vest. Uncanny, isn’t it? The resemblance?”

“Yes, it is.” So, Calista had dressed normally when she met with Robert. I’d wondered about that.

“I handle oversight of her charitable foundation and manage the trust that cares for her mother, along with several other charitable trusts. The foundation raises and donates money to children’s charities—orphanages, children’s hospitals, et cetera. It has its own staff. It’s well funded. Along with the trusts, it will survive Calista and keep right on giving where they currently give. All the trusts are revocable until she passes, at which point they convert to irrevocable trusts. Every beneficiary gets exactly the same thing whether Calista’s alive or dead.”

“No motives there.”

“Has someone tried to harm her?”

“Not yet.”

Robert squinted at me.

“It’s complicated. Let’s just say she hired me to make sure no one does.”

“And you’re following the money.”

“That’s where these things usually lead. What happens to the foundation and the trusts when the money runs out?”

Robert shook his head. “Everything is funded through earnings on the money and fund-raising campaigns. The principal is never touched. That kind of money, properly managed, doesn’t run out.”

“Wow.” I pondered that for a moment.

Robert tapped the desk with a pencil. “The money in those trusts represents—and I’m guessing here, you understand—maybe half of her wealth. The rest she manages herself. She has a background in banking and finance. Oh, she pays a wealth management advisor good money, but I don’t think she pays him much mind. He doesn’t have power of attorney. Neither do I. I doubt anyone does. She took the lump sum payout option on the jackpot. From what I gather, her investment strategy has been quite lucrative. Conservatively, she’s made more money investing the lump sum than she would’ve if she’d taken the annuity. You’d never guess it—she seems a little ditzy—but apparently she has a head for money.”

“Is it unusual for someone with her assets not to have someone hold power of attorney?”

“Yes. Calista has trust issues. That’s why she hired me, and why she’ll only keep me for a year or so.”

“So, what happens to the rest of the money if something happens to her?”

“She’s cagey. But to the best of my knowledge, everything is owned by a trust she’s established, similar to the ones I manage. She is the grantor, the trustee, and the beneficiary. When she passes, the trust department at First Federal becomes the trustee. The remainder beneficiary list is a long one, but they’re all charities.”

“Are they real charities? Or are some of them scams to take her money that resemble charities?”

“I asked that very question, more delicately, perhaps. She invited me to research them if I was of a mind. Not only are they all legitimate, every one of them spends seventy-five percent or more of their donations on programs that directly benefit their causes. They all have transparent reporting and low operating costs.”

“So how would anyone benefit from her death?”

Robert shrugged. “You’re the detective. I haven’t any idea.”

“The mother, Gladys Monroe. Is she currently in an institution?”

“She’s living with her friend, Grace. That’s where I send money, anyway, and she’s cashing the checks.”

“She just comes and goes at the nervous hospital whenever she feels like it?”

“For all intents and purposes. I mean, of course, the doctors give their opinions, but she’s never been a danger to anyone. Involuntary commitment is almost unheard of anymore. If she wanted to leave and her doctors had a serious problem, they’d call me. My two cents? She’s not as crazy as she thinks she is.”

“It’s all part of the game.” Marilyn’s mother had been crazy—or maybe not, according to Marilyn’s biographer. Oddly, Calista’s mother could be more like Marilyn’s mother than either she or Grace McKee realized, in that she wasn’t really crazy at all. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Does she know the money she receives is from Calista?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know where Calista is, or even her current legal name. The checks are drawn on my account, and a series of other attorney’s accounts before mine.”

“Back to the money. If Calista’s the trustee of a trust she established, she can do anything she wants with the money while she’s alive, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So she has an investment portfolio, owned by these trusts, and she makes the investments herself?”

“That’s right.”

“Seems like there’d be a lot of accounting involved, if only for tax purposes.”

“Dixon Hughes Goodman handles all of that. But trust me, no one has access to her money. They just file the paperwork.”

“Robert, I declare, you’re not giving me much to work with here.”

“If she’s in some sort of trouble, hard as it may be to believe, I doubt it’s about the money.”

I dug both hands into my hair thinking about Calista’s crazy family and their bizarre preoccupation with molding her life after Marilyn Monroe’s. “Things would be so much simpler if it was about the money.”

SIXTEEN

Steel-drum music and cool air greeted me as I stepped from the midday heat into The Pirates’ Den. John Glendawn called out a greeting from behind the mahogany bar and told me to sit wherever I liked.

I chose a corner table between the wall of aquariums and the glass wall overlooking the Atlantic. A medley of savory aromas laced with island spices made my mouth water.

I was hoping Calista wouldn’t be long when she walked through the door. I waved her over.

“I see you’ve given up disguises,” I said as she lifted her polka dot skirt and slid into the chair across from me.

“If this is going to be home, people here will have to get used to me, won’t they?”

“Folks here are friendly and accustomed to the unusual. Trust me. You’ll get a few stares for a couple weeks and then you’ll just be one of us.”

She gave me a skeptical look and picked up a menu. “So far I’m still getting a lot of stares. We’ll see. What’s good here?”

“Maybe people are just staring at a beautiful woman. You could have worse problems. I like the cheeseburgers, but I’ll probably have a salad. The jerk chicken is good, but spicy. And you can’t beat the shrimp and grits.”

Calista regarded me gravely. “Any news about Harmony’s death?”

“Not specifically. Nate and I are eliminating suspects with ties to you one by one. I haven’t heard anything new from Sonny. Are you using the alarm system?”

“Yes, and they came to check the system out. They were there for hours.”  

John came from behind the bar to take our order. Lunch wasn’t as busy as dinner at The Pirates’ Den. “Eh law. That sun’s like to cook us all. What can I get for you ladies? Something cool today?” To his credit, he didn’t stare at Calista.

We both ordered salads with grilled chicken and iced tea. John brought our tea, then ambled towards the kitchen just as Nate appeared to pick up Calista’s keys and security code.

Calista grinned as we both watched Nate walk towards the door. “He’s cute.”

I returned her grin. “Yes, he is.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“I’m aware. But how did you know he’s more than my partner?”

She smiled slyly. “The way you two look at each other screams, ‘we’re having sex.’”

“Really?”

“Why do you look so alarmed? Neither of you are married are you?”

“No, but we’re having dinner with my parents on Sunday.”

“That sounds fun.” She looked wistful.

“It will be. When things settle down—after we’re sure you’re safe, and all guilty parties have been dispatched—I’ll invite you over for Sunday dinner. Meeting my family might help you see how everyone has nutty relatives.”

She shifted her eyes and raised her eyebrows in a look that flashed doubt like a neon sign. “I’d love to come to dinner,” she said. “But my family will always take the blue ribbon for dysfunction.”

I couldn’t argue that point. I took a sip of my tea.  

“So,” she said and smoothed her napkin. “You think someone bugged my house?”

“It’s possible. Checking is a reasonable precaution.”

“Why did you want Niles and Elenore to leave? You don’t suspect them, do you?”

“Until we know who is trying to make you and everyone else think you’re crazy with those gaslight stunts, I suspect everyone who has access to your house. Which brings me to my first question. I’ve been reading the biography of Marilyn you suggested—call it curiosity. Given her history with her therapist, the fact that
you
suspect he had a hand in her death, and your…
situation
, why are you seeing a therapist, and why on God’s green earth does he have access to your house?”

Calista paled. “Dr. Gadsden has been treating me off and on since Joey died. He helped me through all the deep, dark blues. Helped me cope. He’d never hurt me. And I told you, I don’t take pills. He’s a therapist. He doesn’t give me drugs. He has a key to my house in case of emergency. He’s one of the few people I trust.”

I absorbed that information. “Exactly how much do you trust him?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure if
I
know your whole story yet. Does anyone? Know everything, I mean. About the money, your family issues…” I rolled my palms toward her.

“Dr. Gadsden knows everything. He’d have to, wouldn’t he? You can’t hold back with your therapist and expect to make progress.”

“You don’t take pills?”

“None. Well, just my vitamins, but Elenore gets those at GNC.”

“You told me you’d been treated for mental illness.”

Calista grimaced and waved a palm at me. “That was a joke. I thought you knew that. I mean, yes, I’m in therapy. I get blue sometimes. What of it?”

“How often do you see Dr. Gadsden now?”

She looked out the window at the surf. “Three, sometimes four times a week.”

I stared at her, waiting for her to tell me that was a joke, too. She didn’t. After a moment she said, “He helps me keep things in perspective.”

“We’ve got to get you some girlfriends.”

She gave me another wistful look. “I never have had girlfriends. I’ve always thought that would be the most wonderful thing, to chat about normal things. Giggle. Have a girls’ night out…”

My heart hurt for her. Screw professional boundaries. “Let’s do that. Let’s have a girls’ night out. I’ll bring my sister, Merry. You’ll like her. Maybe we’ll ask Moon Unit. You know Moon Unit? From the diner?”

“That sounds like fun. What would we do?”

“Probably come here. They have karaoke on Friday nights, and my brother’s band plays.”

“I thought your brother was the police chief.”

“He is. He also plays in a band—The Back Porch Prophets. He plays pedal steel guitar. Keyboards. He writes some of their music.”

“Your brother sounds like an interesting man.”

I shrugged. “He lives on a houseboat, just so you know,” I said by way of warning.

From the glint in her eyes, I couldn’t tell if Calista was warned off or more intrigued.

“So are we on?” I asked. “Next Friday? I have a date tonight.”

“Sure.” She pressed her lips together and smiled.

John delivered our salads and topped off our iced tea. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“We’re good, John. Thanks.”

I put together a bite of salad. “I think, for your safety, it would be a good idea for me to stay with you until we’ve figured out who is behind the barking dog, the pills, et cetera.”

“I think you’ll have better luck getting to the bottom of all of that if you’re not trying to babysit me.”

“You hired me to keep you alive. At first, I wasn’t convinced there was a real threat. But your life coach has been murdered. And not by a relative or a burglar either. She was executed. We both believe there’s a connection. Why take a chance?”

“I’m perfectly safe until the evening of August fourth. If you haven’t figured this out by then, you can stay over that night.”

“Calista, it makes no sense that someone would try to kill you only on that night. If they want you dead, that’s going to be the priority, not when you get that way.”

“I know how it sounds, but please. Just focus on proving who is behind all of this. Stop them before they get to me.”

I sighed a long-suffering sigh that called Mamma to mind. Reigned, I reached inside my handbag. “I was afraid you’d mule up. If you won’t let me stick close, put this on and don’t take it off—not even to shower.” I handed her a silver pendant.

“It’s not very attractive, is it?” She wrinkled her nose.

“It’s not that bad. A little clunky maybe. But it’s not supposed to be a fashion statement. Take it. Put it on. You can wear it inside your blouse. It has a GPS inside, and if you press the center swirl, it sends an alert to my cell phone. I can tell where you are and I’ll know you’re in trouble.”

She took the necklace from my hand. “It’s like those things they give senior citizens in case they fall?”

“Sort of. But you can’t talk into it. May I have your cell phone?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to install some software on it that will allow me to spy on your phone calls, texts, emails—pretty much anything you do on your phone. I can also track the phone’s location this way. The pendant is in case you get separated from your phone or can’t call for help.”

Very slowly, she pulled her phone from her purse. She placed it on the table and slid it to me. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. “I’m a very private person.”

I searched for the website I needed from Calista’s phone, logged into my account, and downloaded the app.  “This is a very temporary arrangement. As soon as the threat is neutralized, you can watch me remove the software.”   

“If I survive August fourth—when she actually died—and August fifth, which is when she was officially declared dead, then that’s the end of it. There’s nothing left for them to try to pattern.”

“You’re assuming that your Aunt Grace, your mamma, and your ex-husband are behind this. I think that’s a dangerous assumption.”

A commotion broke out near the doorway. Two women of a certain age with big sunglasses and teased hair headed our way with open arms, making all kinds of racket.

Calista said, “It makes perfectly good sense to me.”

“No.”

“I’m afraid so.”

The brunette pulled the fake blonde towards the table. “I can’t believe it, Gladys, here’s our girl!”

“Oh, honey, I can’t believe it’s you. It’s just so good to see you,” said the blonde, who didn’t look a bit like Calista in my opinion.

Calista was unnaturally calm. “Mother, Grace, this is Liz Talbot. Liz, Gladys Monroe and Grace McKee. Or do you prefer Gwen and Donna?”

That shut the women up. They both stepped backward. Grace, or whoever she was, gave Calista an appraising look. Gladys looked at Grace for her cue. After a moment, Grace regained her composure and continued her act. “Sweetheart, we’ve missed you so much. Why, you’re just as beautiful as always. Look at her, Gladys, isn’t she gorgeous?”

“Gorgeous,” Gladys echoed.

I couldn’t think of a thing to contribute to the conversation.

“Why are you here?” Calista asked.

“We came to see you, of course,” Grace said.

“We came as soon as we got the postcard,” added Gladys.

“We’ve been looking for you ever since you left California. We kept thinking you’d come back to us…”

“Excuse me, ladies,” I said. “But did you say you received a postcard?”

“Why yes,” said Grace. “Postmarked right here in Stella Maris. It said, ‘Norma Jeane is here.’ It was so pretty. Had a picture of a beach.”

“Who sent it to you?” I asked.

“We don’t have any idea. It wasn’t signed,” said Grace. “I hoped maybe you’d sent it, Norma Jeane.”

“I certainly did not send it. And my name is Calista. Don’t either of you dare call me by that other name. I won’t stand for it, do you hear me?” She had steel in her voice, her eyes, and her spine.

“Ladies, pardon me, but I’m curious how you came to be right here, at The Pirates’ Den right now,” I said.

They looked at each other. “We asked the woman at the bed and breakfast for a recommendation. We wanted a restaurant overlooking the ocean. Neither of us have ever seen the Atlantic Ocean before this trip. She recommended this place. When we walked in the door, the first thing we saw was our girl.”