Lowcountry Bonfire Page 16

  “I understand. I’m sorry for your loss. We weren’t close, but I always liked Zeke. Nate and I are helping Blake with the investigation. Do you know of anyone Zeke had trouble with?” I perched on the end of a lounge chair. Before I talked to April and tailed her to her meeting with Sergei, I would’ve maybe asked Humphrey if he thought his friend was a spy or some such thing. I was reasonably sure I knew the answer to that.

  “Throw me a towel, would you?” He pointed to a stack of thick blue beach towels.

  I grabbed the one on top and handed it to him, then averted my eyes as he climbed the steps.

  “You’re safe now.” He wore the towel the same way he’d worn the sarong.

  I returned to the lounge chair and sat on the end. He took the chair beside me, sat facing me, with his legs between the two chairs. It was unnerving, knowing he had nothing on beneath that towel. I tried not to think about it.

  “I can’t think of anyone who would’ve killed Zeke,” he said. “I’d like to think I don’t know anyone capable of that.”

  “I hear you. But unfortunately, it’s likely we both do. When was the last time you saw him?’

  “Saturday night. It’s been less than a week. It’s hard to believe I’ll never see him again.”

  “What did y’all do Saturday?” I asked.

  “I went to The Pirates’ Den. He and Tammy were there for dinner. They asked me to join them. Later Connie came over to the table. It was an ordinary Saturday night. Like a hundred others.”

  “Are you and Connie seeing each other?”

  “Nah. We’ve been friends for years. She’s like a little sister to me. I look out for her, I guess.”

  “Did you take her to a party at Skip and Margie’s a while back?”

  “You mean the bonfire?”

  “Yeah. The bonfire.”

  “Sure. But it wasn’t like a date.”

  “What do you remember about that night?” I asked. “Did anything happen out of the ordinary?”

  A shade seemed to lower over his eyes. He shrugged. “Not really. Friends, food, too much alcohol maybe.”

  “Tell me about that.”

  “What do you mean?’

  “Did anyone have too much to drink, act out?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No more than usual. We were cutting up, sure.”

  “Did you play any games?” I was fishing, of course.

  “Sure. Corn hole, football, we tossed a frisbee around. Typical stuff.”

  “Nothing else? Anything involving a wine bottle?”

  “A wine bottle?” He rolled his lips in, shook his head. “Not while I was around. Not that I remember.”

  I switched directions. “You went to school with Zeke, right?”

  “Stella Maris High class of 1987. Go Dolphins.” He grinned.

  “I heard that Mustang was his first car.”

  “It was. Sweet ride. Zeke’s daddy bought it for him on his fifteenth birthday.”

  “It was sentimental for Zeke to hang onto it,” I mused.

  “I guess. It was a collectible. Zeke was always into cars. His daddy was too.”

  “Did he ever wreck that car?” I continued my fishing expedition. Humphrey was more cooperative than many of the folks I’d talked to in the last few days.

  “Wreck it? No. He nearly drove the wheels off it. But he never wrecked it. Not that I know of. Hard to imagine I wouldn’t’ve.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out why someone would’ve put him in the trunk of the car. Seems like a statement to me.”

  “I can’t help you there.”

  “Zeke hung onto a lot of things from high school. His yearbooks are on his office shelves. Trophies, all like that.”

  Humphrey shrugged. “I guess he was sentimental.”

  “Who did Zeke date in high school?” I’d run out of things to ask him about, but wanted to keep him talking. And I was curious, I confess.

  Humphrey chuckled. “That would be Brenda. Dated her all through school.”

  “Brenda Carter?”

  “She was Brenda Williams then. Barely knew Pete Carter. He went to private school. One of the church schools I think.” Humphrey seemed lost in the memories. “Brenda was a firecracker. Tom Boy.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That was Brenda’s nickname. Her first name is Tyne. Some fancy notion her mamma had. Brenda hates it. Always went by Brenda. But her initials were TB. And she was a tomboy from the word go. That’s what everyone called her. Tom Boy. Always thought she could outrun us, out whatever us. And she was three years younger. But she tagged along from the time she could walk.”

  “With you and Zeke?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You and he were close back then?” It was one thing to be friends since kindergarten. It was quite another to have a close friendship that endured through the years.

  “Most of our lives, I guess.”

  I smiled. “Did you play baseball too?”

  “Third base,” he said. “I never had the bat Zeke had. I wasn’t as serious about it. Zeke coulda played in the big leagues.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “I always think of you as the artistic type, not the jock.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I was a bit of both when I was a teenager.”

  “Would you say you and Zeke were best friends?”

  “Not really. If Zeke had a best friend in school, it was Brenda. Zeke was friends with everyone. But he spent every spare moment with her.”

  “It must’ve been hard on both of them when he joined the army,” I said.

  “It was,” he said. “At first they planned to marry after boot camp. But life happens, you know? Zeke went to school. They drifted apart. Brenda married Pete. I guess the rest is history.”

  I nodded. “Have you seen Zeke talking to anyone you don’t know? Anyone who isn’t from here?” Had Sergei been to Stella Maris?

  He shook his head slowly. “Not that I can recall.”

  “So, how did you end up in the crowd at Zeke’s house Tuesday morning?” I kept my voice nonchalant.

  He looked at me sideways. “Like everyone else. I went to see what was going on.”

  “Could you hear it from here?” I squinted at him.

  “I went for a walk after breakfast. I do that most mornings. When I walked down Sweetgrass, Tammy Sue already had the fire lit and a crowd was gathering.”

  “Are you and Tammy close?”

  He hesitated. “I’d say so.”

  “Why didn’t you come over and try to talk to her? Calm her down? Especially after we found Zeke…”

  “I wanted to.” He looked away. “But it seemed like a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t say anything, looked away.

  “Was there more than friendship between you and Tammy Sue?”

  “You see?” Frustration crept into his voice. “That. That right there is why I did not go over there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m very fond of Tammy. But there has never been anything inappropriate between us. Clearly, she and Zeke were having trouble. I didn’t want to add fuel to the gossip fires. You know how this town is.”

  “I see what you mean,” I said. “You said the last time you saw Zeke was Saturday night. Did you talk to him after that?”

  “No.”

  Had he forgotten that Zeke called him Sunday afternoon, or was he hiding something?

  “He didn’t call you?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  Interesting. “I just have one more question, and please don’t take this the wrong way.”

  “What?”

  “Where were you Monday between five and eight p.m.?”

  He drew back like I’d slapped him. “
I can’t believe you’d ask me that. Surely you can’t think—”

  “No, of course not. It’s just what we do. We ask everyone that. Even Tammy Sue. It’s like a check list thing.”

  He regarded me from under lowered brows. “I was walking on the beach.”

  “Nice day for it.” I nodded, gestured with an open palm as if to say, well, there you go. “You run into anyone?”

  “No. No, I didn’t.”

  I would have been way less concerned about that if he hadn’t been surreptitiously watching Tammy burn Zeke’s belongings from across the street. And if he’d told me about Zeke calling him Sunday afternoon. And the game involving the wine bottle in the sand. Then there was the cap, which proved absolutely nothing but could still mean something.

  Humphrey had moved up on my suspects list. But he wasn’t the only friend of Zeke’s I needed to take a closer look at. I mulled Brenda’s relationship with Zeke as I drove home. It sounded like they’d had an uncommon bond. She and Pete had built a good life for themselves. But what if she’d never gotten over Zeke leaving her here when he joined the army? Was she holding onto feelings for her first love? The Carters had been at the Robinson’s bonfire. And they had been inside the Elliott garage.

  Nate called to let me know he was going to have lunch with Blake at The Cracked Pot. I made myself a tomato sandwich and took it with a glass of Cheerwine to my office. I ate while I updated my case notes. Then I created profiles for Brenda and Pete Carter, starting with basic background data.

  Tyne Brenda Williams was born on Stella Maris, April 4, 1970. She was nearly a year and a half older than Peter Nash Carter, who’d also been born here, on August 23, 1971. Neither of them had gone to college. They’d gotten married the June after Pete graduated from high school. He was only eighteen and she was barely twenty. That was awfully young. I wondered what the story was there. Was she getting back at Zeke?

  Pete’s parents, Ingram Carter and the former Robin Smith, had no other children. Robin Carter died June 22, 1982, when Pete was only ten. Brenda’s parents had moved to The Villages in central Florida five years ago. Like Pete, Brenda was an only child.

  Pete and Brenda had two sons. Aside from Brenda and the boys, his only remaining family was his mother’s sister, Rita, who married Boone Newberry. Rita and Boone Newberry still lived in Stella Maris.

  The Carters jointly owned the Exxon station. They had a mortgage on their house, but it had never been late. Neither of them had ever been charged with a crime, nor been a defendant in a civil complaint. Their digital footprints held little of interest. Certainly I’d found nothing that would suggest a long-buried motive for murder.

  After digging for a couple of hours, I stared once more at the case board. Tammy Sue, Crystal, Coy, Price, Sergei, Humphrey, Spencer, Pete, or Brenda? Humphrey was definitely at the top of my list, with Crystal and Coy tied for the second spot. But there was enough circumstantial evidence against Price Elliott that I knew I wouldn’t be able to persuade Blake to hold off. At least it wasn’t Tammy Sue he’d be arresting.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The Pirates’ Den was packed to capacity for Zeke’s memorial party. Under strict orders from our host, there was no eulogy.

  To kick things off, Humphrey read a simple note from Zeke: “Y’all this is the last party I’ll get to throw. Have fun, and if anybody tries to give a speech about me, toss ’em out for me, would you?” Humphrey wore a sad smile. Something about him seemed broken. Could he possibly have killed his friend?

  When Humphrey climbed off the stage, Blake and his band, the Back Porch Prophets, started playing. They alternated sets with a DJ so they could enjoy the party too. John and Alma Glendawn had put together a buffet to Zeke’s specifications, and it had all his favorites: Caribbean shredded pork, black beans, saffron rice, fried plantains, shrimp and grits, cold peel-and-eat shrimp, Lowcountry Boil, and fried oysters. For dessert there was pineapple pudding or homemade ice cream. And there was an open bar. As Zeke had wanted, there was food, revelry, dancing, and liquor. Mamma didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  Tammy’s one contribution to the event, which Zeke had perhaps not thought to forbid, was a photo montage of Zeke projected on the wall above the stage. Because he’d been so camera shy for the last thirty years, most of the pictures were from the first eighteen years of his life.

  Zeke at about eight or nine with a group of kids in front of a massive sandcastle. Early teen Zeke, tall and lanky, with a proud grin and a big fish. Zeke in a baseball uniform, jumping and stretching to make a catch. Zeke in the same uniform sliding in to home plate. The images changed every ten seconds. From the distance of time, Zeke’s childhood and teenage years looked idyllic. Were they?

  Nate and I sat at a table overlooking the ocean with Mamma and Daddy, Blake, Tammy Sue, and my friend Calista, who was the most recent in a long line of Blake’s former girlfriends. The DJ was playing, so Blake had a break, and we were feasting off plates piled high. Tammy’s family hadn’t made it to town after all, according to Tammy, because she wasn’t having a “real funeral.”

  About the only person in town not at the party was Clay Cooper, who was still tailing the Elliotts, who were at the party. Clay was across the street in a rental car. Judge Johnson had told Blake he’d take his request for a search warrant under advisement. He wasn’t a fan of anonymous tips, and Charlie Jacobs was an old friend. We were in a holding pattern, which made me antsy. Whether Price or Humphrey had killed Zeke or someone else had, it was almost a certainty the killer was in the room.

  I took a sip of my margarita.

  Mamma eyed me from across the table, her porcelain features drawn with consternation. “I declare, I’ve never heard of such. Serving liquor at a memorial service? This is sacred. But I don’t want to be rude.” Her strawberry daiquiri remained untouched.

  “We have to honor Zeke’s wishes, Mamma,” I said. “But you surely don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. Zeke wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  “Wouldn’t make any sense to be the only sober people here,” said Daddy, always the pragmatist.

  Mamma looked at him sideways, shook her head. “Zeke was a character, sure enough. But he was a good-hearted soul. I declare I’ll miss him.”

  “Carolyn, you’d best be careful not to make a speech,” Daddy said. “I’d hate to have to escort you out.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” she said mildly.

  Calista’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Let’s get the DJ to play that Don Henley song Liz likes so much…‘All She Wants to do is Dance.’”

  “No,” Blake and Nate said together.

  I might’ve gotten a teensy bit tipsy and danced on a table to that song a time or two. But never when Mamma was around. I was in no danger of getting that relaxed with Mamma here. I rolled my eyes at Nate and Blake.

  “Is Heather not coming?” I asked Blake.

  “Nah. She didn’t know Zeke,” he said.

  I caught Calista’s eye as I stood. Was she going to take advantage of an opportunity to reconnect with Blake? “I’m going to get another margarita. Anyone else want one?”

  “I’ll get it,” said Nate.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. But I need to stretch, walk around.” I rubbed his arm.

  The DJ was taking requests but had been filling in with Zeke’s favorites, which were heavy on Genesis and Fleetwood Mac. At that moment, he was playing “The Chain.” It was a great song, but nobody could dance to that. Everyone was clustered around chatting over the music.

  Heads turned when April walked in the door. She wore a skin tight black dress that Mamma would no doubt tsk over and red cowboy boots. She looked fabulous. And she had Sergei the Georgian on her arm—or she was on his.

  I made my way through the crowd to say hey and get an introduction. April caught my eye and grinned. She said something to Sergei and they heade
d towards me.

  “Hey, April,” I said. “Good to see you.” I offered Sergei my sunniest smile.

  Sergei was tall, dark, handsome, and smooth. “Sergei Ivanov. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sergei.” I offered him my hand. “I’m Liz Talbot.”

  “Sergei knows Zeke from way back,” said April.

  “Really? How far back? Sergei, did you meet Zeke when he was in the army?”

  “Yes.” He smiled and nodded.

  “And you came all the way from—where are you from, exactly?—for Zeke’s service?” I kept smiling. Butter wouldn’t’ve melted in my mouth. But I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.

  “Originally from Georgia,” said Sergei. “But I live in Charleston at present.”

  “Do tell?” I tilted my head, looked up at him. “What brings you to the South Carolina Lowcountry?”

  “Job relocation. April, dear, would you like a drink?”

  “Yeah, thanks, Sergei. That’s a good idea. I’d like a shot of Patron—or the best Tequila they have. Zeke and I used to drink shots of Patron. Seems fitting.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back.” Sergei smiled and moved towards the bar.

  “He was a friend of Zeke’s?” I asked.

  “They had a complicated relationship,” said April.

  “Is that why you went to meet with him yesterday after I left your apartment?”

  “Well.” She gave me an appraising look. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Yes, that’s why I went to meet him. I needed to make sure he had nothing to do with Zeke’s death.”

  “Why would you think he might?” I asked.

  “Listen up,” she said. “There’s a bunch I can’t tell you, okay? But what you need to know is this: Sergei’s interest here is me. Period. He’s had the hots for me for years, and most of the drama between him and Zeke was related to that. But he would’ve had no reason to want Zeke dead. We’d been divorced for years, and Zeke was a happily married man.”

  Well, mostly happy. “You’re absolutely convinced he had nothing to do with Zeke’s death?”

  “Absolutely,” she said.