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  Praise for the Liz Talbot Mystery Series

  “The authentically Southern Boyer writes with heart, insight, and a deep understanding of human nature.”

  – Hank Phillippi Ryan,

  Agatha Award-Winning Author of What You See

  “Boyer delivers a beach read filled with quirky, endearing characters and a masterfully layered mystery, all set in the lush Lowcountry. Don’t miss this one!”

  – Mary Alice Monroe,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of A Lowcountry Wedding

  “A complicated story that’s rich and juicy with plenty of twists and turns. It has lots of peril and romance—something for every cozy mystery fan.”

  – New York Journal of Books

  “Has everything you could want in a traditional mystery…I enjoyed every minute of it.”

  – Charlaine Harris,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of Day Shift

  “Like the other Lowcountry mysteries, there’s tons of humor here, but in Lowcountry Boneyard there’s a dash of darkness, too. A fun and surprisingly thought-provoking read.”

  – Mystery Scene Magazine

  “The local foods sound scrumptious and the locale descriptions entice us to be tourists...the PI detail is as convincing as Grafton.”

  – Fresh Fiction

  “Boyer delivers big time with a witty mystery that is fun, radiant, and impossible to put down. I love this book!”

  – Darynda Jones,

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  “Southern family eccentricities and manners, a very strongly plotted mystery, and a heroine who must balance her nuptials with a murder investigation ensure that readers will be vastly entertained by this funny and compelling mystery.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  “Lowcountry Bombshell is that rare combination of suspense, humor, seduction, and mayhem, an absolute must-read not only for mystery enthusiasts but for anyone who loves a fast-paced, well-written story.”

  – Cassandra King,

  Author of The Same Sweet Girls and Moonrise

  “Imaginative, empathetic, genuine, and fun, Lowcountry Boil is a lowcountry delight.”

  – Carolyn Hart,

  Author of What the Cat Saw

  “Lowcountry Boil pulls the reader in like the draw of a riptide with a keeps-you-guessing mystery full of romance, family intrigue, and the smell of salt marsh on the Charleston coast.”

  – Cathy Pickens,

  Author of the Southern Fried Mystery Series

  “Plenty of secrets, long-simmering feuds, and greedy ventures make for a captivating read…Boyer’s chick lit PI debut charmingly showcases South Carolina island culture.”

  — Library Journal

  “This brilliantly executed and well-defined mystery left me mesmerized by all things Southern in one fell swoop... this is the best book yet in this wonderfully charming series.”

  – Dru’s Book Musings

  The Liz Talbot Mystery Series

  by Susan M. Boyer

  LOWCOUNTRY BOIL (#1)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOMBSHELL (#2)

  LOWCOUNTRY BONEYARD (#3)

  LOWCOUNTRY BORDELLO (#4)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOOK CLUB (#5)

  LOWCOUNTRY BONFIRE (#6)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOOKSHOP (#7)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOOMERANG (#8)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOONDOGGLE (#9)

  LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY (#10)

  Copyright

  LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY

  A Liz Talbot Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | November 2020

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2020 by Susan M. Boyer

  Author photograph by Mic Smith

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-631-1

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-632-8

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-633-5

  Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-634-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my readers…

  Merry Christmas, y’all!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Heartfelt thanks to…

  …each and every reader who has connected with Liz Talbot.

  …Jim Boyer, my husband, best friend, and fiercest advocate.

  …every member of my fabulous sprawling family for your enthusiastic support.

  …Janet Batrouny, who appears with her “main squeeze,” David Merritt, her son, Jeff Doggett and her daughter-in-law, Kayte Doggett because Janet won a contest during the launch of Lowcountry Boondoggle. Writing y’all in was such fun! I so hope you enjoy being a part of the story.

  …all the members of the Lowcountry Society, for your ongoing enthusiasm and support.

  … Marcia Migacz, Pat Werths, and Paula Bonner, whose sharp eyes found my mistakes when I could no longer see them.

  …MaryAnn Schaefer, my able assistant, who handles All the Things with grace.

  …Christina Hogrebe at Jane Rotrosen Agency for being the best sounding board around and for your ongoing encouragement.

  …Kathie Bennett and Susan Zurenda at Magic Time Literary.

  …Jill Hendrix, owner of Fiction Addiction bookstore, for your ongoing support. I can’t imagine being on this journey without you.

  …Kendel Lynn and Art Molinares at Henery Press.

  As always, I’m terrified I’ve forgotten someone. If I have, please know it was unintentional, and in part due to sleep deprivation. I am deeply grateful to everyone who has helped me along this journey.

  ONE

  The dead are silent. Perhaps that silence is most deafening during the holidays, when all the world is so exuberantly merry and bright. The last I’d seen or heard from my best friend Colleen was before sunrise on Halloween, in the moments after she saved Nate’s life, when she disappeared in a spectacular white and gold fireworks display. She’d crossed a line she wasn’t meant to cross in saving Nate, and she’d known what it would cost. But she loved me, and she knew how much I adored my husband. I was profoundly grateful to her. But the hole she’d left in my life was deep and wide with jagged edges.

  Colleen had been gone six weeks. Most years I loved Christmas. It was my favorite holiday, with all the joy, peace, and goodwill of the season. That year, I struggled to hold onto my holiday spirit.

  It was five p.m. on a Saturday in mid-December, the sun on the verge of setting on a cold day in the Lowcountry that felt better suited to Vermont. Nate had gone with Mamma, my sister, Merry, her brand-spanking-new husband, Joe, and Poppy, my sister-in-law, to the spot on the bank of the Intracoastal Waterway out by Heron Creek where they’d watch the annual Stella Maris Christmas boat parade. My brother, Blake, had set up their chairs before daybreak to make sure they had front row seats. As chief of police, Blake was always first in the parade. Every inch of his houseboat—top, sides, bottom, windows, doors, railing, et cetera—was decked out in brightly colored C
hristmas lights for the occasion.

  Daddy and I headed on over to the marina to board the official town council barge. This was tradition. The council rode together in every parade, either on a float or a barge depending on the venue. The mayor and his wife traveled under separate cover, in this case in a chauffeur-driven pontoon boat covered in eight-foot tall candy canes right behind us. You might wonder about a parade being held after dark, but the whole point of the boat parade was all the Christmas lights—everything was covered with them, and it wasn’t nearly as dramatic during daylight hours.

  John Glendawn and Darius Baker, two of the other council members, had spent the last three weeks decorating the council barge. They’d strung colored lights along the perimeter and mounted half a dozen six-foot stars covered in white lights on the deck, one as a place marker for each of us. Just to be certain we were properly illuminated, we each had our own spotlight. I fully expected all that wattage bathing us in radiant light to blow a breaker or possibly ignite the barge, requiring us to jump into the dark, frigid water. But John and Darius were so earnest in their efforts and so joyous about the results, I kept my reservations to myself.

  The plan was for all of us to dress in red, smile, and wave as the barge floated along the parade route, towed by Mackie Sullivan in a Boston Whaler. The whole point was to put faces to names for any of the Stella Maris residents who didn’t know us. Of course, we were at a bit of a distance, but still, it was a good idea, I thought. As is always the case, Daddy had his own ideas.

  We made our way down the floating dock towards the barge, me with Chumley on a leash in his light-up reindeer antlers, while Daddy tugged on the reins to an actual reindeer named Claude. Both the dog and the deer wore bright red sashes studded with bells that jingled all the way.

  I felt quite festive in my red wool peacoat, plaid scarf, and winter white slacks with red flats. It was a rare thing for the weather in our part of the world to require such attire, and somehow that lifted my spirits. Daddy was dressed in the Santa suit he’d donned to take pictures with the kids at our church that afternoon. As we got closer, Darius, John, Robert Pearson, and Grace Sullivan (Mamma’s best friend and my godmother), the other council members, stopped chatting and gaped at us.

  Darius, in jeans, his red sweater vest, and Christmas bowtie, propped both fists on his hips and cocked his head at Daddy, his face contorted with exasperation. “Frank, have you lost your mind?”

  “Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Daddy asked.

  Mamma had inquired several times.

  The reindeer balked.

  Darius gaped in apparent horror, then threw back his head and consulted the Heavens.

  The response was dramatic, even for Darius, who had a flare for that sort of thing, him being an ex-TV star and all. What was that all about? Of course the reindeer was ridiculous. Who expected anything else from my daddy?

  “On, Claude,” said Daddy, like Santa calling his herd.

  Claude puffed out a long snort through his lips at Daddy.

  John and Robert shook their heads and went back to talking amongst themselves. Darius continued his conversation with the Lord.

  Grace walked down the pier in our direction. “Elizabeth, what were you thinking?”

  “Me? I didn’t borrow the reindeer from the petting zoo.” Through a series of events involving pygmy goats and a pot-bellied pig, Daddy had a relationship with a petting zoo in Mt. Pleasant.

  “Clearly, you’ve enabled your father.” Her tone was playful. Grace was well acquainted with my Daddy’s shenanigans.

  “That’s absurd and you know it,” I said. “Be thankful there’s only one of them. This was a compromise.”

  An odd expression crossed Grace’s face as she studied the reindeer, like she was puzzled about something. She petted Claude, cooed at him. “My goodness. He’s precious. Aren’t you the sweetest thing?” Chumley woofed, unaccustomed to being slighted.

  “Yes, yes, you’re darlin’ too,” said Grace. “Frank, why are you tormenting this poor creature?”

  “Tormenting him?” Daddy sounded indignant.

  “Do you imagine reindeer enjoy boat trips?” asked Grace.

  “Well, sure,” said Daddy. “Doesn’t everybody? I figured the little children would enjoy seeing one of Santa’s reindeer with him. It adds to my authenticity, don’t you think? I bet there’s a hundred Santas running around town today, half of ’em in the parade. But I’m the only one with a reindeer.”

  Darius wore a slightly crazed look in his eyes. “How in this world are folks supposed to know who you are dressed up in that Santa Claus outfit?” he asked. This was Darius’s first parade as a council member, and he clearly took his role quite seriously.

  “They’ll know I’m the one in the Santa suit by process of elimination, won’t they?” said Daddy.

  Grace sighed, shook her head. “Come along, Claude, we may as well get this over with.” She took the reins from Daddy and headed towards the barge.

  Claude followed.

  “Lookie there,” said Daddy. “He likes you.”

  “You are not putting that animal on the barge with us.” Darius shook his head emphatically. “Unh-uh. No way.”

  “Why certainly I am,” said Daddy. “Where’s your holiday spirit, Darius? Think of the little children.”

  Darius shook his head, muttered something. He seemed to be talking to himself. Then he gestured wildly. “This is beneath the dignity of the council.”

  “You got poop bags for that thing?” John asked.

  “We’re going to hold up the parade,” said Robert. “We’re supposed to be in line already.”

  “Well, I can’t just leave Claude here on the dock by hisself,” said Daddy.

  “Come along, Claude.” Grace gentled the reindeer across the gangway and onto the barge.

  Chumley registered another protest as he moseyed aboard.

  “This is outrageous,” said Darius. “All the time John and me put into decorating this barge, turning it into something with some class, and you are making a mockery of all of us.”

  “Aw, Darius, lighten up,” said Daddy. “This is for the children. It’s Christmas. Ho, ho, ho. Bring up the rear, would you? Make sure Claude here didn’t leave anything on the deck.”

  Darius bit back something, rolled his lips in and out, and shook his head again. Robert saved us all from further debate by turning on the music. Bluetooth speakers were affixed to the front two corners of our float. “Joy to the World” rang out. Daddy moved to the bow of the barge, and Grace and I helped settle Claude and Chumley in front of the lit star front and center.

  When we turned around, Darius, John, and Robert had taken their positions as far away as possible, leaving Grace and me a few feet back on either side of Daddy. We stepped in front of our stars and grabbed ahold of the mounted handrails to steady ourselves. John gave Mackie the signal and he pulled us into our spot in the parade lineup.

  Dozens of decorated vessels of all types and sizes made their way slowly from the marina down the Intracoastal Waterway to the ferry dock and back. We had everything from shrimp trawlers to speed boats to Jon boats to barges to Jet Skis. Some of the boats were covered in lights, others rigged with a spotlight for a Nativity scene, Santa, gingerbread men, seasonally dressed dancers, et cetera. Our barge was near the front, behind Blake’s houseboat and the fire department’s Sea Ray speedboat. Most of the town was lined up along the bank. We smiled and waved at everyone. On the whole, Claude was much better behaved than Chumley, who went to howling about the time we turned around at the ferry dock and began making our way back to the marina.

  Nate waited for me at the dock when we pulled back in.

  Darius was the first one off the barge. He walked away shaking his head and muttering.

  “What’s with him?” asked Nate.

  “I’m not sure
,” I said. “He didn’t take to Daddy’s reindeer at all, but I have to say, his reaction was a bit over-the-top.”

  Nate shrugged. “Holiday stress maybe.” He called out to Daddy, “Frank, we’re going to go grab some hot chocolate. See you later in the park.”

  “You’re not going to leave me here by myself with Claude and Chumley, are you?” Daddy grinned at Nate like surely he wouldn’t do such a thing.

  Nate put a hand at my waist. “We know you’ve got this, Frank.”

  “Are you sure about this?” I murmured.

  Nate smiled, spoke softly. “Quite sure. I bet you’re chilly. Let’s warm you up.”

  He’d parked his silver Navigator in the marina parking. We drove back downtown, parked at the police department, and crossed Main Street to The Cracked Pot for a cup of Moon Unit Glendawn’s (John’s daughter’s) world famous hot chocolate. We took it with us and strolled towards the park in the town square.

  Stella Maris looked like it had been put together by set designers for a Hallmark Christmas movie, a perfect Christmas village of a town. We’d decorated the forty-foot blue spruce near the gazebo as we always did—the Saturday after Thanksgiving. In colored lights and sparkly ornaments, the tree was the centerpiece to our town’s holiday display. Let me tell you, the precise species of that tree was carefully selected and we babied it year-round to keep it healthy in our subtropical climate.

  Eight palm trees on the perimeter of the park covered in white lights added to the festive vibe, but those lights stayed up year-round now. The streets of our town were strung with crisscrossed strands of clear lights, with three-foot lit wreaths on every streetlight pole along Main Street and Palmetto Boulevard.