LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB (15 page)

FIFTEEN

  

Walking back to my car, I tried Sonny again. Miracle of miracles, he answered the phone.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“I have nothing more to say about Shelby Poinsett. To be honest, I'm a little pissed off that you think I was fooling around with a married woman.”

“I don't think that.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Lookit, Sonny. I was doing my job, just like you do yours every day. I needed to ask you a question. You answered it. I apologize if, in doing my job, I have hurt your tender feelings.”

He blew out a breath. “You made your point. What's up?”

“Meet me for lunch at the Pavilion Bar?”

He hesitated. “Why there?”

“Because it has gorgeous views of downtown and it's a lovely day.”

“Right.”

“I'm headed there now.”

“I'm tied up until two.”

“I'll wait. I've got some work to do.”

  

The Market Pavilion Hotel sat on the corner of East Bay and South Market. I'd stayed there a time or two for special occasions. The accommodations were exquisite—Italian marble bathrooms, mahogany poster beds, and soft-toned bedding and drapes with sumptuous touches. I passed through the brass-framed revolving door.

The dark-paneled lobby bar was to my left, and the restaurant, Grill 225, to my right. A wide, elegant corridor with a few wingbacks, a couple tables, and an occasional chair served as the hotel lobby. I made my way through, then past the registration desk to the brass elevators. The concierge desk was situated just in front of the pair of elevators for guest use.

I took the elevator to the rooftop and scouted a table next to the railing overlooking Market. The umbrellas were up, providing shade. For once, instead of taking the chair with my back to the rail, I chose the one with the view of the Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge, or, as I would forever call any bridge over the Cooper River, the Cooper River Bridge. Arthur's was the third one I'd crossed in my lifetime. It was a modern engineering marvel—an eight-lane, cable-stayed bridge, with two diamond-shaped towers completed in 2005—that had already become an iconic part of Charleston's skyline.

A waitress stopped by and I asked for unsweet tea for now, but told her someone was meeting me for lunch. I had work to do, and didn't want her to think my intentions were to tie up her table all afternoon drinking tea. Management would not be amused.

I pulled out my laptop and updated my notes. This case so far had moved so rapidly I hadn't had the time to do the extensive profiling of everyone involved that I ordinarily would, and that made me edgy. I had procedures that had served me well.

After I'd completed all the case notes forms, a clone of the FBI's FD 302, I started digging into Delta Jewel Reeves Tisdale. According to real property records, I'd nailed the value of her house, which had been deeded to her alone for one dollar last year, which I assumed was when her divorce from George Thomas Tisdale was final. There was no mortgage.

A subscription database gave me access to her basic information. She had no criminal record, but if there were domestic disturbances, they may not have ended in charges. Newspaper archives and another subscription database provided her educational background—she'd attended Agnes Scott College in Decatur, Georgia and graduated with a degree in Classical Civilization. What did one do with such a degree? No doubt there were opportunities I was ignorant of, or the college wouldn't offer the program. In any case, it had taken her five and a half years to earn her bachelor's degree. Had her education been interrupted by medical issues?

I pulled up the photo of the prescription drugs and commenced Googling. In addition to a few allergy medications and an antibiotic, Delta had in her arsenal: Lithium, a mood stabilizer; Abilify, a drug used to treat schizophrenia and bipolar disorders; Prozac, Paxil, and Cymbalta, all antidepressants; and Valium, most commonly prescribed as an anti-anxiety drug. Sweet reason, she couldn't be taking all of these at once, could she? The same doctor had prescribed them all. Perhaps he'd tried different drugs, moving from one to another to find what worked best.

Clearly, Delta had problems. But she'd seemed perfectly fine the day before. Perhaps the doctor had found a drug, or a combination of drugs, that controlled her symptoms.

I called Jane, who answered on the second ring.

We said our hellos and all that.

I said, “I know you and Shelby were best friends.”

“Right.”

“Who is Delta's?”

“Hmm…you know, I don't really think she has a best friend. I mean, she's friends with all of us, but she's really focused on her boys. And book club means a lot to her. I think she's a member of several other service organizations, but I can't recall which ones.”

“How well do you know her?”

She paused. “Pretty well—I've known her most of my life. Why do you ask?”

“Does she have problems?”

“I guess we all do, don't we?”

I huffed an exasperated breath. Here was another one of those ladies who disliked gossip. “Good grief, Jane. You know what I mean. You must.”

“How is this related to Shelby?” she asked.

“Well, now, I can't say until I know what
this
is.
Have you ever known Delta to have violent mood swings, lash out at people?”

Jane was quiet for a long moment. “She's been doing real well lately.”

“How long has she been doing ‘real well?'”

“For the past six months or so. She had a bad spot during the divorce. But the doctors have her on medications that seem to be working. You have to understand, when Delta is herself, she's one of the sweetest people you'd ever meet. Well, you met her. Would you have ever known she had issues?”

“No. But the fact that she does might be relevant.”

“I just can't see how,” said Jane.

I didn't mention Delta's crush or whatever it was on Clint. If Jane knew, I wanted her to tell me. “If she was really angry at Shelby, maybe about book club, maybe about something else…and she was off her meds—”

“No, just…no. I don't want to hear this. I don't want any part of it.”

I glanced around me, kept my voice down. “But what if that's what happened? Don't you want the truth to come out? Or would you rather see an innocent man go to jail or death row?”

“This is preposterous. There must be another explanation.”

“Can you think of any issue Delta had with Shelby aside from the book club controversy which they disagreed on?”

“No,” she said. “And I refuse to believe Delta would've killed Shelby over such a small thing.”

“But she could've if there were a bigger thing?”

“Excuse me, please. I have to go. I'm very sorry I can't help you.” She hung up.

Hell's bells. I mulled Delta and her possible motives. The more reasonable of the two was her possible obsession with Clint. But if she was off her meds, reason wouldn't necessarily enter into it.

It was almost two o'clock. The waitress came by. I was sorely tempted to order a pomegranate martini. I could've used one just then. I sighed and asked for more tea, a glass of sweet for Sonny, and some food menus.

I made a few calls and verified Angela's alibi. In addition to her friends, I called a friend in the food and beverage crowd who promised to call friends at Charleston Grill and The Belmont to see just how tight that alibi was. But truthfully, it made no sense for Angela to kill Shelby. Shelby was her only hope of getting what she wanted.

I glanced over my shoulder, past the pool. Right on time, the elevator opened, and Sonny Ravenel scanned the rooftop before walking my way. If Sonny and I hadn't practically grown up as brother and sister owing to him being my older brother's best friend, I might've gone out with him. He was a good-looking man, tall, lean, and toned, with broad shoulders and just enough of a bad boy vibe to attract the eye of most of the women between fifteen and eighty at the Pavilion. Sonny had never actually been a bad boy. He was one of Charleston PD's best detectives.

He slid into a chair at the wrought iron table. His dark brown hair was neatly cut, his hazel eyes wary. He eyed my laptop. “I hope you're researching better leads than ‘Shelby was having an affair.'”

“Hey to you too, Sonny.”

He grinned. “Hey, Liz. How's married life treating you?”

“Just fine, thank you. I ordered you a sweet tea,” I said just as the waitress set it down.

He nodded at her. “Thanks.”

She moved to the next table. I put my laptop away.

“
I'm having the burger, no foie gras.” I handed him a food menu.

He looked it over. “Eighteen dollars for a burger.”

“We're paying for the view.”

Sonny looked around, took in the view.

“Don't act like you've never been here before. You tell me you and Shelby were just friends? Fine. I believe you. But explain to me exactly why her husband never heard your name come out of her mouth, but her best friend and her mother know that y'all were tight.”

“Fine,” Sonny said. “Shelby knew Clint had insecurity issues. He got anxious about her spending time with friends who happen to be men. Shelby being Shelby, she didn't want to worry him. At the same time, she couldn't live her life like a teenager on restriction. End of story.”

I reckoned on that for a moment. It fit. “Okay. Now tell me the rest of the story.”

The waitress came back and took our order.

Sonny met my gaze and held it. “I don't know what you mean.”

“According to her best friend, Shelby would never have had an affair with anyone inside their circle. You spent a lot of time with her, and you're not a part of that group. So, who else was she keeping company with?”

“How would I know? We were friends. I wasn't her social secretary.”

“Was there anyone else at One80Place who she was especially close to?”

He thought for a minute. “No.”

That confirmed what Nate had already gleaned. “Do you think it's possible she was trying to help some of the folks at Tent City?”

Sonny sighed. “She wanted to visit, talk to people, try to get them to come inside. I had to persuade her some folks just aren't going to come inside a shelter with rules. Those who want to come inside will. Other organizations are working on how to help the rest. Shelby going out there to try to convince people just wasn't a good idea.”

“And you're sure she never went?”

“Reasonably certain. I think she would've told me, even knowing I disapproved,” said Sonny.

“When you and she had lunch, did you come here?”

“Sometimes. We had lunch at a number of other restaurants.”

“Who did she talk about?”

“Mostly people we were working with—clients. Some of them had legal problems, some of them needed protective orders, things like that. She'd ask my advice.”

“Who else did she talk about?”

“Clint mostly. Occasionally her parents. Jane. Fraser Rutledge. That's about it.”

“So you don't have a clue of anyone she might have been seeing, really?”

“I told you. I don't think Shelby was having an affair. Shelby was in love with her husband.”

I sighed, sat back in my chair. I didn't want to push him any further until after we'd eaten. We moved on to small talk, catching up on family. “Who's the girl you brought to The Pirates' Den a few weeks ago?”

“Nobody.”

“You seeing anyone else?”

“As a matter of fact, I'm having dinner tomorrow night with someone you know.”

“Really? Who?”

“Moon Unit Glendawn.”

My jaw dropped. That's what was up with Moon Unit. She'd given up pining after Blake altogether. Did he know that? “You're not serious.”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

I couldn't think of a reason. Moon Unit was smart, beautiful, successful. “I don't know, it's just—”

“You thought one day Blake would settle down with her.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“When's the last time you spoke to Blake?”

“I had breakfast with him yesterday, why?”

Sonny clamped his lips shut, made a face that said,
Too bad. I know something you don't know.

“What?” I leaned across the table towards him. “Sonny. I mean it, you'd better spill.”

Sonny's face took on a mulish look.

“You cannot seriously mean to leave me hanging like that.” Who was Blake seeing? How could Sonny know more about my own family than I did?

The waitress delivered our food.

“Talk to your brother. Until then, it's in the vault.” Sonny picked up his cheeseburger.

I was starving, so I followed suit. I would handle Blake later. I'm not sure any burger is worth eighteen dollars, but that one surely was good. When we'd finished eating, I leaned in a bit and asked, “Do you know of any black men Shelby was friends with?”

People that didn't know him well might not've caught the look that flashed across his face, then quickly disappeared.

He shrugged. “Lots of them, actually.”

“Who?”

“Folks she volunteered with, some of the clients…” He gave his best imitation of an innocent face.

“Anyone in particular?”

He sighed. “Look. You and me? We've been friends for a long time. I don't like keeping things from you. But this, what you're chasing right now, it has nothing to do with Shelby's death. Can you please trust me on that?”

“I could if you would tell me exactly what you're talking about, and how you know for sure there's no connection to Shelby's death.”

“I can't do that without violating another friend's confidence,” he said.