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  “Did you ever hear anything about him maybe being rough with her?” asked Moon.

  Colleen stared at Moon. “They think Darius killed Trina Lynn.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What? I always thought he was like the court jester of his class. He wrapped the principal’s car in a ton of cellophane so he couldn’t drive to school the last day of final exams.”

  “I don’t think they actually proved that was him,” said Moon.

  “He and a couple of his buddies rearranged everyone’s Christmas yard decorations so that the reindeer were being frisky with each other. Mamma had a fit over that one.”

  “That was back before everyone had cameras in their doorbells, so no one was actually apprehended,” said Moon.

  “But everyone in town knew Darius was behind it,” I said.

  “Well, that was the rumor,” said Moon.

  “He was a clown,” I said.

  “Umm.” Moon shrugged, made a face that said she conceded the point. “A very handsome clown.”

  “He was a football player,” I said. “I seem to remember he had a reputation for being a bit of a tough guy…never backed down from a fight. But I never heard he hit Trina Lynn.”

  “It was probably just talk,” said Moon. “Everyone said she broke Darius’s heart and that’s why he left like he did, with barely a word to anyone.”

  “She kicked him to the curb,” said Colleen. “I remember that much.”

  “But again, Moon,” I said. “That was more than twenty years ago. They both moved on a long time ago.”

  “It’s interesting they both ended up on television, isn’t it?” asked Moon.

  “I suppose,” I said, “but there’s no connection at all. Trina Lynn was an investigative reporter at WCSC. She was a local celebrity, sure. But Darius…Darius is a household name. I doubt they’ve seen each other since the day he left town.”

  “I wonder if that’s true,” mused Moon. She gave me this encouraging look, like maybe she was steering me down the right track.

  “Sonny thinks after all this time Darius was jealous of some boyfriend of Trina’s or something?” I was highly skeptical of this notion.

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” said Moon.

  “And a week after he moves home, he tracks her to Philadelphia Alley and shoots her?”

  “There’s that Cecil look again,” said Colleen. “Kinda like a turtle. I always thought Cecil looked like a turtle after he shaved his head.”

  While Moon stared into space, I cut Colleen a warning look.

  “You know,” said Moon, “I don’t think he’s been home a single solitary time since he left. His poor mamma left not long after he did. I’m kinda surprised, to tell you the truth, that he came back here.”

  “There’s no place like home.” I shrugged. “It’s remote enough. I guess I can see the appeal for a semi-retired celebrity. Plus, he was always close to his aunt Nell. She and Bill practically raised Darius.” Nell Cooper, née Baker, Blake’s dispatcher and administrative assistant, was Darius’s aunt. Her younger brother, Marcus, had a wild streak a mile wide, and an out-of-wedlock baby with Jasmine King. By all accounts, Jasmine tried to be a good mother, but she was only seventeen when Darius was born, and Marcus didn’t stick around.

  “Hmmpf. They sure were good to him,” said Moon. “If you ask me, he coulda made life a lot easier for them. He must be right up there with Oprah in the earnings department.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Why do Sonny and his partner suspect Darius?” I asked.

  “That’s not entirely accurate?” Moon wore a pained look.

  I tilted my head, looked at her sideways. “Am I going to have to guess every single bit of this story you’re not telling me?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded, a pleased look on her face, as if she was proud of a slow student.

  “Hell’s Bells, Moon. Can’t you just tell me, in strictest confidence, of course, what it is you think Sonny wants me to know? I won’t breathe a single word of it. Although, if he wants me to know anyway—never mind. Just tell me for Pete’s sake.”

  “I can’t do that.” Moon reached across the table and grabbed my hands. Her large eyes pleaded with me to understand. She vibrated with tension. How much had the strain of not talking raised her blood pressure? “I’m so sorry.”

  “All right. Fine.” I stabbed my fork at my Cobb salad. “So, Jeremy Jenkins suspects Darius, but Sonny’s not on board? Or is someone pressuring both of them?”

  Moon beamed, nodded quickly.

  “Was Darius in Charleston Sunday night, around the time Trina was killed?” I asked.

  “That’s my understanding,” said Moon.

  “Was he with anyone?” I asked.

  “Exactly.” Moon made a rolling motion with her hands, the way people do when you’re on the right track in charades. “Someone…”

  “He was with Trina Lynn?” I asked.

  Moon clapped twice and pointed at me.

  “Where? Where was he with Trina? What time?”

  “Well…maybe you should ask Darius about all of that?” Moon had a hopeful look on her face.

  “Moon. The man is a celebrity. He probably has bodyguards. I can’t just waltz over there and interrogate him regarding the murder of his high school girlfriend.” When Darius left for Hollywood, he probably had dreams of being the next Eddie Murphy. He’d had a decent run as a standup comic, but his big break didn’t come until he landed the role on Main Street USA, a reality TV show where he visited a different small town each week, eating at local restaurants, visiting festivals, and interviewing old men swapping lies at the hardware store. He’d filmed ten seasons before retiring. He was also the brand ambassador for Best Dang Drawers, a high-dollar line of men’s underwear.

  “Sure you can.” Moon nodded emphatically. “And you’d better hurry.”

  Colleen stared at Moon Unit.

  What’s going on in there? Can you read her mind?

  “Sonny and Jeremy Jenkins are on the 1:30 ferry from Isle of Palms,” said Colleen. “They have an appointment with Blake at 2:15.”

  The only reason I could think of that both Sonny and Jeremy Jenkins would have an official appointment with Blake was they were coming to make an arrest. There’s no other reason they’d involve Blake in their case. Darius had been gone too long for Blake to have background information they needed.

  I stood, grabbed my tote. “I need my check, Moon.”

  “It’s on the house,” she said. “Go.”

  “Don’t forget my ham biscuits,” said Colleen.

  “Don’t forget your ham biscuits.” Moon jumped up, ran behind the counter and grabbed a takeout bag from under the hot lights on the pass-through bar to the kitchen. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” I took the bag from her and headed for the door.

  “Liz?”

  I stopped, pivoted back towards her. Moon’s face was washed in uncertainty. “Just in case I misunderstood…please don’t mention anything I said unless you absolutely have to, okay? I don’t want to mess this thing up…me and Sonny, I mean.”

  I grinned, shook my head. “Moon, I honestly can’t recall you telling me a solitary thing.”

  TWO

  From the outside, the home Stuart and Kate Devlin had built and raised two sons in looked the same as it always had. Two stories of white painted wood sat atop twin garages, with a central staircase sweeping up from the brick walkway to the wraparound porch. On each front corner, the porch jutted out into twin square porch rooms that might have been turrets were they round and on a Victorian home. The house and all its porches were topped with an array of shiny silver roofs. The woodwork was stained dark, the architectural details nautical. I had rarely been back inside the house since the night Kate Devlin died in front of me. At the bottom of the steps, I steeled myself, squa
red my shoulders, and climbed to the porch.

  “He’s here alone.” Colleen was behind me, her voice right in my ear.

  “Gah! Are you trying to give me an early heart attack?”

  “As if,” said Colleen. “I’d have to train a new POC. That’d be a pain. I figure your heart’s pretty healthy, as much as you run.”

  I was Colleen’s only Point of Contact right up until Nate and I got married. Now we shared that mixed blessing. I shook my head, rolled my eyes. “Go finish your ham biscuits.” She’d been in the back seat, out of sight, munching away when I got out of the car.

  “Mmm-kay,” she said in a singsong voice that notified me how I was going to regret that suggestion.

  The door swung open. “Can I help you?” Darius Baker looked around, his face screwed up in a confused look. Dressed in a designer warmup suit, he was tall, fit, and completely bald, his smooth skin the color of Belgian milk chocolate. “Thought I heard you talking to somebody out here. You by ya’self?”

  Colleen laughed and faded away.

  “I am. Mr. Baker?”

  “That’s me.”

  I held out a hand. “I’m Liz Talbot. You probably don’t remember me.”

  “Blake Talbot’s little sister?”

  I smiled. “That’s right.”

  He nodded, grinned. His teeth were brilliant white, perfect celebrity teeth. “You the one my cousin Clay was always sweet on.”

  I half laughed, shook my head. It was common knowledge Clay’d had a crush on me in high school, but he’d never asked me out. “Was he?”

  “Girl, if you didn’t know that, you was the only one. I heard you was smart, so I’m thinking you know that’s the truth. What can I help you with?”

  The way he spoke was some hybrid blend of down home Southern black laced with an occasional touch of Hollywood. It was relatable. It was his brand, the down-to-earth way he spoke on television to people across the country. I had no doubt that he could dial it up or down at will, just like I could my own Southern drawl.

  “I’m hoping I can help you,” I said.

  “Is that right? Well, don’t stand here on the porch, come on in and tell me all about it.” He opened the door wide, stepped back, and gestured elaborately with his left arm.

  “You’ve redecorated,” I said. The house was nearly unrecognizable inside, and I was grateful for that.

  “Uh-huh. The, ah, interior designer did all a that. Updated it. Just a nip here and a tuck there. Can I get you something to drink? I got a pitcher a iced tea in the kitchen. Fresh made.”

  “Sure, that sounds great.”

  “Right this way.”

  I followed him down the hall to the back of the house. It looked like Chip and Joanna Gaines had been hired and given an unlimited budget. The kitchen and dining room were now all one room with two dining areas, as well as a u-shaped row of high-back counter stools. Everything was white on white, except for the black marble counter tops, dark wood floors, and stainless-steel appliances.

  “Your decorator did an excellent job.” Whoever it was had worked fast. There’d been a swarm of workers on the property for the past two weeks, but I was nevertheless amazed at how much the place had changed.

  “Thank ya.” He handed me a glass of tea. “Grab a stool.” He settled into one on the corner and motioned me towards one across from him.

  “Welcome home.” I smiled.

  “Thanks,” he said. “There’s no place like home. Every small town I been to made me homesick for this place. It’s special.”

  “It is that,” I said.

  “My spirit’s at rest here, ya know what I mean?”

  “I do. I feel exactly the same way.”

  “Now tell me,” he said. “What kinda help do I need?”

  “Mr. Baker—”

  “Enough a that. Call me Darius. You’re making me feel old up in here.”

  I nodded. “Darius. First, I should tell you I’m a private investigator.”

  “Oh, damn. This don’t sound like good news.”

  “Honestly, it’s not. You’re aware that Trina Lynn Causby was killed Sunday night in Charleston?”

  He looked down at his glass of iced tea, drew a deep breath. “Yeah. I know about that.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?” I asked.

  He raised his head, his eyes wary. “I had dinner with her Sunday night in Charleston. We went to Hall’s Chophouse. Why do you ask?”

  “Is there any reason you can think of that the police might suspect you are responsible for her death?”

  “Me?”

  I nodded.

  “I jus’ got back into town, remember? I knew Trina in high school. We dated. First girl I ever loved. You might remember about that. ’Course, livin’ in Mt. Pleasant, she went to Wando, so maybe not. But back then, all a East Cooper was a lot smaller place. But Sunday night is the first time I seen that girl in more than twenty years. We hadn’t had time to get that mad at each other yet.”

  “I understand. And I know this sounds crazy—”

  “You right about that, now. This conversation is a waste a damn time. I know I mighta had a certain reputation when I was in high school, but hell, none of us are what we were in high school, now are we?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You mighta heard…I made somethin’ of myself.”

  “I know, of course. It’s just—”

  “And on top a that, I got myself three ex-wives—every one of ’em healthy as they can be. If I was ever gonna shoot a woman, it woulda been number two. Mean girl. Mmm-mm. But not a one of ’em ever been shot. Let me tell you something. They live well. I take good care of the women who hate my guts. Not that Trina did. It wasn’t like that. Naw. Unh-uh.” He shook his head vigorously.

  “So you and Trina didn’t have a disagreement Sunday night?”

  His eyes got big and round, his expression resembling that of a possum staring down a freight train. “Well, now, I didn’t say that, exactly.”

  “What did you argue about, exactly?”

  “We might have remembered certain things a little differently. I mighta said some stupid things…”

  I raised my eyebrows, inquiring.

  “Something along the lines of like maybe she threw me out like the damn trash ’cause I had dreams she was too immature to understand at the time. I mighta been all, ‘How do ya like me now?’ Like maybe I was showing her or something. Maybe she didn’t take all a that too well.”

  Go figure. “How did she react?”

  He shrugged, looked innocent. “Trina, she was a lady. I coulda said all that to some other woman, and they mighta been broke shit all over that restaurant. But Trina kept her cool. I mean, she let me know how I was an idiot and all a that. But she didn’t get loud or nothing.”

  “Did anyone overhear the argument?”

  “Well, uh…they could have.” He rubbed a spot above his right ear, like maybe he was smoothing his nonexistent hair.

  “What time did you leave the restaurant?” I asked.

  “It was about ten minutes ’til ten. Things had calmed down. We had a nice dinner. But she said she had to meet someone. A source for a story she’d been working on.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Naw, she didn’t say.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “Unh-uh. Naw.”

  “Do you have any idea what story it was related to?”

  He shook his head. “She was all tight-lipped about it.

  “Have you spoken to the police?”

  “Yeah, couple detectives came by yesterday. Sonny Ravenel. You know him?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “Him and his partner. Asked me about all a this. But they weren’t thinking like I had anything to do with hurting Trina.”


  “Did they say that?”

  “Not in so many words. But what kinda sense would that make?” He was getting louder, agitated. “We didn’t even barely know each other anymore. People don’t go killing strangers. Well, I guess some folks do, but I’m not a damn psychopath.”

  “Of course you’re not.” I used my calming voice.

  “I’m Mr. Main Street USA.”

  “Congratulations on all of your success.” I offered him my sunniest smile.

  He seemed slightly mollified. “You said you could help me. Tell me exactly how that is.”

  I sighed. “I have reason to believe you are a person of interest in the Charleston Police Department’s investigation. In fact, I think they may consider you their primary suspect.”

  “Say what?”

  “And if I’m right—”

  “That’s just crazy right there.”

  “Okay, but listen to me, please.”

  He eyed me for a minute. “I’m listening.”

  “Do you have a local attorney?”

  “Yeah, uh-huh. That was the first thing I did when I got home after twenty-one years, was hire myself a lawyer just in case somebody I knew got killed and I happened to look guilty. Who does that?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “I got contract lawyers and divorce lawyers, but they all in California. The only local lawyer I got is the one from when I bought this house.”

  “You need a criminal attorney. A good one. A local one. Charleston judges aren’t all that fond of attorneys from off.” I pulled one of Fraser Rutledge’s cards from my purse and laid it on the counter in front of him. “He’s one of the best. If it comes to it, call him.”

  “I don’t need no damn hoity-toity Broad Street lawyer.” Darius slid the card back towards me on the counter. “No thank you. This here is crazy, like I told you.”

  I didn’t pick it up. “My partner and I often work with Rutledge and Radcliffe—Fraser’s firm. The Charleston Police won’t make an arrest until they can make a case. At that point, you’ll need investigators to run down alternative theories of the crime for your defense attorney to present to the jury.”