Lowcountry Bombshell (A Liz Talbot Mystery) (18 page)

Gladys started to cry. Nate released her and she ran up the stairs.

I looked at my plate. Why hadn’t they waited until I’d finished eating before they started the food fight?

My godmother sipped her tea. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready for dessert. I made a strawberry shortcake, and the berries are simply luscious.”

Nate ran a hand through his hair. “That went well.”

“One thing is clear,” I said. “None of those three had a hand in trying to kill us last night. Their weapons of choice are on a whole nother level, and their violence of a more spontaneous nature. These folks aren’t planners.”

“Agreed,” Nate said.

“None of them has the head for that sort of thing,” Grace said.

“What else can you tell us?” I asked.

“I sense Mr. Davis and Ms. Monroe feel genuine remorse for the past, and would like to have Calista back in their lives in any way she’ll go along with. That McKee woman is a fine piece of work. But she’s mostly harmless.”

“So who is playing all these tricks on me, if not them?” Calista asked. “Who killed poor Harmony and nearly killed the two of you last night?”

Grace’s forehead creased. “Elizabeth and Nate will figure that out, I’m sure. But you are in danger. I’m certain of it. There’s a dark-haired man in your past who thinks you owe him quite a lot of money.”

TWENTY-THREE

After dessert—the strawberry shortcake was a divine combination of sweetened strawberries, freshly whipped cream, and buttery shortcake—Nate, Calista, and I helped Grace clean up the aftermath. Then Nate and I climbed into his rental.

I said, “The only people in this whole mess who appear anywhere near equipped to pull off a professional hit and commandeer a ferry are our friends at Security Solutions.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Slugger. Shall we shake their tree and see what falls out?”

“Let’s.”

  Nate and I stopped by the house to change and pick up stakeout essentials. I’d had Granddad’s old landscaping van repaired and retrofitted in May. With its new tinted back windows, captain’s chairs, and built-in desk, it made the perfect surveillance vehicle.

I packed the cooler with water, Diet Cheerwine, and sandwiches. For snacks, I grabbed nuts and trail mix bars. For stress, I snagged a bag of dark chocolate. Our swim the night before had me exercising an abundance of caution. I added an extra clip to the toys in my tote—my shiny new Taser, pepper spray, and telescopic steel baton.  I checked Sig and snugged him into the holster on the waistband of my jeans. Everything else we’d conceivably need was stored in the van.

I flipped through my stack of magnetic door signs. “I’m thinking for the neighborhood we’re headed to, caterers and pet groomers are out. Wanna be electricians, security system techs, or plumbers?”

“Security system techs,” said Nate. “It’s ironic.” 

It was almost five-thirty when I parked across the street from Security Solutions. I turned the engine off, and turned on the auxiliary camper air conditioner I’d had installed.

Nate said, “Now that’s handy. We’d cook in here without it.”

“It runs off a battery. We’ll have to run the engine periodically to recharge it, or else plug in the extension cord somewhere.”

“I’ve never done surveillance on a security company before. Feels strange.”

“Yeah, it is a little weird. But I’m telling you, of all the people I’ve run across since I met Calista, the ones most equipped to pull off that stunt last night are inside that building.”

“You don’t have to convince me. They also know she’s very wealthy, even if they don’t know about the jackpot.”

“That’s the thing that bugs me. All their clients are ridiculously wealthy. And their reputation depends on keeping them safe.”

“Only takes one guy who wakes up one morning and decides he wants to live that good life he’s been guarding all this time. Figures he’ll take the cash and disappear. He’s not worried about the company’s reputation anymore.”

I raised my left eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that the same thing I told you two hours ago?”

“Yeah, but arguing both sides must get exhausting. I figured it would help you out if I took one of ’em.”

“It’s a good thing you’re easy on the eyes. I might be tempted to put you out on that sidewalk I could fry an egg on.”

“Am I now?” He grinned.

“Don’t be letting it go to your head. Conceit is most unattractive.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Do you want the binoculars or would you rather run the tags?”

“Lady’s choice.”

“I’ll run the tags. I can keep an eye on Calista at the same time. That’s easier on my laptop than my iPhone. Camera is in the console.” I slid out of the driver’s seat and back to the desk. I initialized my hotspot and opened my laptop. According to both the cell phone tracking software and the pendant, Calista was at home.

For the next thirty minutes, Nate zoomed in on the license plates of every car in the Security Solutions parking lot and read them to me. One by one, I logged them and searched my subscription database for the car’s owner. We could depend on the cars in SSI’s lot being employee cars. Their clientele did not visit SSI’s operational headquarters—SSI representatives went to them. And it was Saturday evening.

After we had a list of everyone in the building, I started on profiles. Mack Ryan wasn’t on duty, but I profiled him as well. Everyone I checked was a former member of the military. Most were not married. None of them appeared to have ties to the community going back further than a few years. Unless some of them walked to work or carpooled, there was only one woman in the building.

At quarter ’til seven, Nate said, “Shift change. We just got the first arrival.”

“Get a picture.” I stopped typing and spun towards Nate.

Of course, he’d already framed the shot. He clicked away. “Every time we work a case together, I’m surprised anew that you let me wander around on my own. I’m concerned you don’t hold my common sense in high regard.”

I threw Nate a level two
oh puh-leeze
look, which was lost on him because he was snapping pictures. “You know that’s not it.”

“Really now? Because if that’s not it, all we’re left with is that you’re a control freak.”

I tried to look offended and failed. “I’m just dotting my i’s.”

“You have trust and control issues.”

“It’s possible I’m a bit of a type A personality. This isn’t news to you, so quit acting all injured.”

His voice was velvet. “We may have to work on your issues later. Perhaps I can help you, in the interest of your well-being, of course.”

Something warm flowed through my core. I shook myself. “Nate. Would you stop distracting me? Did you get that guy’s plate?”

“No,” he said mildly. “I’m taking pictures of everyone who comes and goes. After all the cars are swapped out, I’ll get the plates.”

I was glad he was focused on folks across the street and couldn’t see how flushed I must be given how hot my face felt. I downed half a can of Diet Cheerwine. “Good idea.”

The corners of his mouth curled up. Had my voice quivered? Damnation, that man knew the effect he had on me. Stakeouts had developed a whole new dimension.

I turned back to the computer and tried to remember what I’d been doing. Right. Mack Ryan. He’d struck me as such a squared-away, Boy-Scout type. But his background was almost abnormally neat. I had the basics. Date of birth, social security number, home address, education—he’d graduated from The Citadel—and dates of military service.

He’d never been married. His credit was squeaky clean. He owned his house in West Ashley outright, no mortgage. He was only thirty-six. Private security must pay better than private detecting. Somehow, I’d’ve felt better if one thing about the man had been less than perfect.

Nate said, “Okay, Slugger. Ready for the next batch of plates?”

I flagged Mack for follow-up. His background smelled manufactured. “Ready when you are.” I clicked back to the plate search window.

As I was running the third plate, my iPhone trumpeted the news that Calista had a text. Not surprisingly, her phone and text traffic had been light and unremarkable. I switched screens. “Hang on,” I said to Nate.

The text was from Niles:
I know u had a trying day, dear one. R u all right?

Calista replied:
I’m fine. Sweet of u 2 check.

Niles:
Sorry I can’t b there 2 pet u.

Calista:
I understand. Hope all is well w/ u & Kyle.

Niles:
Don’t u worry abt me. I’ll b fine. We just need 2 spend some time 2gether. C u 2morrow.

“Oh, please,” I said.

“What is it?” Nate asked.

“Just the yoga instructor. Fawning over Calista and making up with his boyfriend. It’s nothing. Let me run that last plate.”

As soon as I’d run all the plates from the second shift group, I put together basic profile data on them. I was running employment background checks when I found what I was looking for.

“Got you.” I felt cold all over, as if someone had flash-frozen me.

“What did you find?” Nate slipped out the captain’s chair and came to look over my shoulder.

“Ryder Keenan. He’s ex-Charleston PD. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Sounds like a porn star. Is that his real name?”

“I’m checking.” I accessed four additional databases, piecing together Ryder Keenan’s life. I had all the basics of his digital footprint, beginning with his birth certificate.

“Looks like,” I said. “He was born in Summerville—his parents are still there, too. He’s lived in the Charleston area his whole life. He worked for Charleston PD from two thousand two until two thousand eleven. Then he went to work for Security Solutions. He was on the job when the gun that killed Harmony was logged into the evidence room.”

“That would be a remarkable coincidence.”

“He has a wife and three kids. Damnation.” I hated it when one person’s greed and stupidity destroyed innocent family members’ lives. I’d seen it all too often.

“Best have Blake contact Sonny.”

“Let me run the rest of these names first.”

“All right. But I think you have your man.”

“So do I, dammit.” What in the name of sweet reason made men who had everything throw it all away for money? I finished running the employment profiles. Marine. Army. Marine. Marine. “Hells bells.”

“Well. What do you know about that?” Nate was still looking over my shoulder. The last name, Tim Poteat, was also an ex-Charleston police officer.

I finished outlining his background. “This guy grew up in Summerville, too. He went to high school there, anyway. I can’t find his birth certificate. His military service records indicate he was born in Florida. That’ll just take a little more digging. But, he also went to work for Charleston PD in two thousand two. Poteat left in two thousand ten, a year before Keenan. He was also still there when that gun went into the evidence room. At least he’s not married.”

“These guys have history together and with the Charleston PD. And they’re working together now. Could be they’re both involved.”

“But how in hell are they connected to Calista?”

“I’d say by virtue of the fact they work for SSI.”

I scrunched up my face. “When the life coach told Calista a dark-haired man from her past thought she owed him a lot of money, I didn’t pay it any mind. I didn’t know Harmony. I wrote her off as a scammer. But when Grace said the exact same thing…”

“You’re thinking the connection preceded the security system contract?”

“Yeah. My instincts are screaming there’s more to it. Also, I trust Grace.”

“Let’s have Calista take a look at the photos. See if she recognizes anyone.”

I opened the pictures folder on my laptop. Photos taken with any of our cameras automatically uploaded via the cloud to our computers. “I want to look at these myself.” I scanned the fourteen snapshots and cross-referenced the cars they were getting into or out of to pick Keenan and Poteat from the group. Ryder Keenan was walking away from a black Chevy Traverse. Tim Poteat’s photo was by a silver Nissan 370Z.

“Sonavabitch.” At seven o’clock on a July evening in the South Carolina lowcountry, it was still bright enough for sunglasses. “With those ball caps pulled low and the aviator sunglasses, they could be anyone. You can’t even tell what color hair they have.”

“Can’t you pull their driver’s license photos?”

“No, the system I use has data, but no photos. But Sonny can get us copies. There may be other photos of them online. I’ll have to do some digging.”

“If nothing else, we follow them until they take off the caps and sunglasses. Getting photos of them won’t be hard. We know where they work, where they live, and what they drive.”

“You’re right. We need to talk to Sonny.”

We were still operating under the assumption someone was watching and possibly listening to Sonny. Someone with access to better toys than us could have paired his phone. Nate and I kept the Bluetooth and Wi-Fi access turned off to prevent pairing. Out of an abundance of caution, I opened the Burner app on my iPhone, created a new phone number, and labeled it “Suzette.”

With this app, I could create new numbers anytime and delete them when I was finished with them. Once deleted, it was as if the numbers never existed. This was more convenient than buying burner phones.

Sonny wasn’t as enthusiastic about technology as I was. He’d bought a burner phone, and Blake had given me the number when I’d checked in earlier.

From my newly created number, I dialed Sonny’s burner. He answered on the second ring and I immediately hung up. Ten minutes later I called back. By now, he should be someplace safe from eavesdropping. Just in case, we talked in code.

This time he answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”