Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) (36 page)

Fifteen minutes later, as she reached Highway 17, she still mulled over Pauley’s lack of concern about an intruder in his house, on top of his aloofness and insensitivity about Papa’s murder. The stereotypical sociopath.

But if he had been in Florida as he said, and not been involved in the crimes that preceded his arrival, a devious personality remained on the loose, one whose skills she couldn’t help but respect.

Pauley could have killed Papa for the estate and chose to harass Callie for reasons she couldn’t fathom. However, she didn’t see him being discreet enough to vandalize all the other homes. His return to the island would’ve been noticed.

She reached the mall. Inside the electronics store, the wall of cams dumbfounded her. Technology was not her forte, but she held an above average knowledge. As many wires as she’d run and surveillance toys she’d used, the cams seemed excessive.

A freckle-faced college kid appeared in his uniform of khakis and blue polo shirt. Five minutes later she held out a credit card, turned down the warranty, and headed out the door.

Two hours after she’d left Edisto, she returned across the marsh to the beach carrying two bags. An hour after that, she’d read the instructions and strategically installed five wireless nanny cams around her house, all Wi-Fi driven with internal DVR and the option to check the footage via her smartphone. Technology could make anyone feel slick.

And she’d found no other cams hidden in her efforts to install her own. Thank heaven. Now she knew how easy it had been for someone to set up the cam in her bedroom. Wireless. Phone apps.
Please don’t let my nudity show up online
.

New locks on the doors, again, she now scanned the street for Peters. Callie couldn’t afford to put all her money on Pauley as the serial intruder, which meant subtly communicating her new message to all the other players.

She didn’t see a hint of him on Jungle Road, so for efficiency’s sake, she got in her car and located him two blocks up and three blocks over installing coach lamps at a residence. She stopped on the grass’s edge, the engine still running. “Hey, Peters. Did you find your check in my mailbox?”

He grinned and approached the car. “Sure did. Thank you kindly. Sandwich was good, too. Ain’t nobody given me a steak since you did, though. How’re the steps working for ya’?”

She hesitated, which made his smile dim. “My mother fell down the front steps yesterday,” she said. “Near the spot where I cut my knee.”

His mouth went agape. “Not sure how that could happen. Is she bad hurt?”

Burglar or not, criticize Peter’s hammer, and he was hooked.

Callie shook her head. “She’s fine, but could you check the stairs again, just in case?”

“Oh, be glad to.” Peters thought a moment. “Tomorrow okay?”

“Sure. How can I thank you?” Callie halted and raised a finger, as if she recalled more overlooked items. “While you’re there, think you could install new lights in the storage room, secure a couple shutters, and rig motion sensors outside the two doors? These burglaries have me spooked.”

His brows met together. “Motion sensors? Out here? They’ll be going off every time a critter steps on your porch.”

“Absolutely. I go to bed every night listening for a burglar to the point I can’t sleep. At least this way I can sleep until woken up, know what I mean?”

He sucked on his teeth. “Guess I can see that, you without a man and all.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied, knowing damn well she had more self-defense skills than any man on this beach. Why didn’t she tell herself that two weeks ago, when panic was her trip switch? Why hadn’t she installed sensors and cams then?

“There’s a gift certificate at Dockside in it for you, too,” she said, adding another worm to the hook. “Of course, that’s if you can get to those tasks within the next couple of days.”

“You beat all, Callie.” He grinned wide. “You got me for at least two days, maybe three.”

The better she fed him, the longer he’d stay. Easier to watch him. Easier to see him misstep if he was inclined to do so.

“Wish more out here was like you,” Peters said as she put the car in drive to leave.

Me, too, Peters. Me, too
.

INSTEAD OF HOME, she drove to the Edisto Police Department.

She was feeling her oats today, the only downside being she couldn’t share the rush with Stan. Once he mended fences with Mindy, and he was released into the wild again, maybe he’d call. God, she hoped so.

“Can I help you?” said the receptionist as Callie entered.

“Callie Morgan, remember? Officer Seabrook asked me to come in about a stolen item.”

“Sure,” she said, with a professional shyness. “Let me get him for you.” The woman punched her phone. “Mike, a Ms. Morgan is here to file a report. Where are you?” She listened. “Sure thing.”

Callie creased her brow. “He’s not here? I can come back.”

“No need,” the receptionist said. “He’ll be along in a couple minutes.”

Seabrook entered the office five minutes later. “Sorry,” he said. “I prefer to troll instead of waiting for something to happen.”

He ushered her past the swinging door to his desk, his musky scent apparent from his day in the summer humidity. They sat positioned as before. He pulled up a screen on his computer, much like the sympathetic yet effective Seabrook she’d first met on the beach. He typed introductory information about her missing Glock.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Good.”

“Did I hear something about your mother?” he asked, focused on the screen. “She fell down your steps?”

Sophie had fed the grapevine. “Yes, but she’s fine. Sore, but okay.”

“Glad to hear it.” He typed, tabbed, typed, then tabbed again.

“Where’s Raysor?” She glanced around the small station, as if the big man could hide that girth.

“Off today.”

“He checked my background, you know.”

“Yeah, and I bet you checked on him, too. I also bet both of you were disappointed about what you found.”

She smiled. “Yeah.” However, she hadn’t heard from Stan about Raysor’s background. Not like she could call and ask about it now.

“Dammit,” he whispered, clicked a few times, then seemed to start over. “Heard you had a guest.” He glanced up then went back to his work.

She was no longer surprised at what people said they
heard
anymore. “My former boss came to give his condolences.” She kept the answer brief to avoid another sour reaction.

“That was nice of him. Sure he wasn’t worried about your . . . um . . .”

“Mental state?” Callie checked her ruffled feathers. “Raysor can surmise what he likes, but Stan and my late husband and I go way back. I’d fly to Boston if Stan lost someone. You know how it is when you work with a person. They’re like family.”

Seabrook turned his attention from the report. “You could stand a few more pounds on your bones, but you sound good, Callie. In spite of everything.” He smiled with what appeared to be sincerity, and it was like a wall melted between them. “You seem to have settled into your life.”

“I think I have, Seabrook.” She wanted to open up, to call him Mike. He was easy to like, but was he too convenient to trust? She stuck to her plan. Show no worry. Show no concern. “I’ve decided
you people
out here have the right idea. I’m trying to shift my paradigm.”

He chuckled lightly at the reference that had sparked the last argument between them.

“Thanks for being concerned,” she said. “You still sound like a doctor sometimes.”

He turned back to the computer. “Well, let’s get that report filed.”

CALLIE LEFT THE station and parked her Escape in the drive after a quick one-bag run to the grocery store. Peters walked around under the house. “You got here fast,” she said.

He scratched his head. “You sure you want these motion sensors?”

“Positive.”

“Let me see what kind’ll work best, then I’ll go find them tomorrow.”

She climbed the stairs, happy with Peters’ eager desire to fulfill her wishes. And if he dared come into her house, her own cams would seal his fate. “What would this beach do without you?” she said.

He laughed. “Fall completely apart, Callie. Piece by piece, it would just collapse into ruin.”

She went inside. The cams remained asleep, with no recordings triggered in her absence. Jeb continued with his hourly check-in schedule. He was still with Zeus, meaning Sprite, since most fishermen would be back by now, but he’d be home by dark.

She changed clothes. It was hot, and she wasn’t fond of jogging at six in the evening. Too many people on the beach, the sun vicious in a runner’s eyes, but run she must. After a small glass of water and half a banana, she made her way in shorts, sneakers, and a long-sleeve, dry weave shirt. Ninety degrees would make her sweat like a plow horse in those sleeves, but she didn’t display her scars to the world. These people weren’t entitled.

The first mile zapped her enthusiasm sooner than she preferred, probably from all the reasons Seabrook alluded to: little sleep, not eating well, and stress. The tide was high, so her path was also littered with bathers, sand pails, beach towels, and kids, with the occasional dog cutting her off in spite of the summer leash law.

At the end of mile two, she slowed to a mild jog, chastising her deconditioned state. Her calves would remember this tomorrow, and after another half mile, she slowed to a walk, her body drenched.

Water dowsed her head as a wet floppy hat threw shade on her face. She smiled.

“I’m so glad you decided to walk,” Mason said, not nearly as sweaty as she. “I paid my dues this morning, like a sane person. What the hell are you doing out here in the afternoon?”

“I’ve missed almost a week,” she said. “I was bored, and Jeb wasn’t home. The sweat is my price to pay.”

He started to put an arm around her and changed his mind. “Yuck,” he said. “So not attractive right now.”

“No charm, huh?” she said.

“Every man has his limits. You finished?”

She readjusted the hat. “I believe so. This run sucked the crap out of me, but I still feel better today than I have in weeks. Maybe that’s why I came out here. Like when you get over the flu and overdo it the first day.”

“Want a lift back, or will you torture yourself with more penance?” he asked.

Callie wiped off her forehead with a sleeve. “Since that’s your place two piers down, I believe I’ll let you chariot me home, kind sir.”

Callie made Mason cover the Jag’s passenger seat with a towel and then leaned back to enjoy the convertible’s short drive to her door. “Thanks for saving me with the lift.”

“No problem.” He pulled to a stop. “You’ve got company.”

The truck was still in her drive. Good, Peters hadn’t left.

Mason watched the handyman reach for something in his truck. “What’s he doing here?”

“Installing motion sensors outside and repairing a few more items. My mother tripped on the steps he repaired, so he feels beholden to me.” There, he knew as well as Peters that she wasn’t bowing down to the fear. The more people knew, the better. And Mason chatted up the beach almost as much as Sophie.

Peters jotted on a pocket notepad, jumped into the truck, and took off.

Mason craned his neck as the truck turned the corner down the street. “You shouldn’t let him do the work if he botched it up the first time.”

She opened her car door, eager to head inside. “Mother most likely tripped herself, Mason. She tried to carry too much.”

The sun was making its dive behind the palmettos across the street. So much for the rain forecast, though the breeze still acted up more than usual.

Following her out of the car, Mason walked her up the freshly painted stairs. “I gave you more credit than Sophie. With Peters’ habit of entering homes unannounced, how can anyone not consider him a threat?” He shook his head. “It’s just not how things are done where I come from.”

“He’s outside, and my house’s locked.” She opened the door and turned to him. “You won’t ruin my day, Mason. It’s the first good one in forever.”

He bowed. “My apologies, m’lady.”

She grinned at the fake accent. “So, you want water or not?”

His nose crinkled. “I’d love it, but from the pungent aroma of your clothing, it’s best if you go take your shower. Somehow, I don’t see you letting me watch.”

“Another time, then,” she said.

“To watch?” he asked, brow raised mischievously.

“To share a drink.”

“Ah.” He headed down the stairs and halted at the landing, just a step away from where Beverly had fallen. “Don’t be alone in your house with Peters,” he warned. “This street is attracting a serial criminal, and the victims are your neighbors. He may not be done.”

Callie kept smiling until he drove away, the engine noise of that Jag so sweet.

In the bathroom, she peeled off wet clothes and turned on the shower taps. Her reflection made her do a double take. She agreed with Seabrook that she needed to gain a few pounds. She stretched to turn on the shower and allowed the spray a moment to get warm.

As she studied herself again in the medicine cabinet’s mirror, she grinned. Now the suspects were in play, short of Raysor. The cameras were in place to catch whoever dared to enter her home. Everyone would construe her behavior as stronger, on the mend. Sophie would sense the difference, too, and label it for the better.

And whoever she missed, the rest would tell. That was the Edisto way.

Callie was not suffering the victim role any longer.