1 Lowcountry Boil Page 6

  “Hey,” I said with a little smile. Then I asked him, “Do you know what Mildred Sullivan’s maiden name is?”

  “Not a clue. She’s from Charleston, I think. Why?”

  “Just curious.

  The air pressure in the room shifted. Before I turned to see him, I felt Michael Devlin walk into the room. He took a place at the table across from Robert Pearson. At thirty-three, Michael looked better than he ever had: six-foot-three, toned and tanned, with black hair and a chiseled face that called to mind the Cherokee in his family. He must have felt me staring at him, because he looked up and our eyes locked. Something in his soft brown eyes connected with something in the pit of my stomach and twisted it. I looked away first.

  “Oh boy.” Colleen rolled her eyes.

  I concentrated on breathing. Of course, I’d known he’d be here, but I’d thought I’d moved beyond the place where the sight of him physically hurt.

  Fortunately, my sister staged a distraction. Merry made her way around the table in our direction, followed by the most accessorized man I had ever seen up close. Gelled hair, three shirts, necklace, bracelet, two rings, and one of those man-purse things. Something about him was vaguely familiar. Blake, Colleen and I stood.

  “Liz, Blake,” Merry said, “this is David Morehead. He’s with the New Life Foundation. David, my sister, Liz Talbot, and my brother, Blake.” People that didn’t know us well would never have known from Merry’s gracious tone that she and I were on the verge of unladylike behavior.

  We all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Merry took the seat on Blake’s other side. He squirmed.

  More people filed into the room. I glanced at Colleen. Someone would soon be sitting on her lap. She must have had the same thought, because she took a seat at the table and swiveled around in her chair to face me. “They never use all of these chairs.”

  I gaped at her. I knew no one else could see her, but surely others could see the chair swivel. Nobody seemed to notice. From the other side of Blake, I could hear Merry talking to David Morehead.

  “Stella Maris is divided into six districts. Originally the districts reflected the parcels of land owned by the town’s founders. More recently the lines have been creatively redrawn as those families intermarried and then divided land in an estate,” she said. “But the council has always consisted of one member from each of those families. According to the town by-laws, any family member residing in District Three can fill Gram’s seat. If no family member volunteers, we’ll have a special election. Then anyone living in District Three can be elected, family or not.”

  Colleen spun around in her chair. “Problem is, most of the family is already on the council.”

  “Would you stop that?” I hissed at her.

  “Stop what?” Blake asked.

  I stared at him for a beat. “Jiggling your leg. That’s working my nerves.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “I just need a few minutes of peace, okay?” I turned back to Colleen and narrowed my eyes. She smiled and swiveled back to the table. She had a point. Daddy held the District Four seat, which was made up of the Talbot family land. Michael, a family member by marriage, represented District One, the Devlin district. Gram had held the Simmons’ seat. Before her death, our extended family made up half the town council. There was likely as much speculation about who would fill her seat as Merry’s nonsense.

  As police chief, Blake was ineligible. Up until the day before, I had lived in Greenville, several hours away. While Merry was a resident of District Three, she had expressed no interest in filling the vacancy, which was no doubt a relief to each and every member of the council. By Stella Maris standards, Merry was a subversive.

  It didn’t take much to be labeled a subversive in Stella Maris. Rumor had it—and I could have confirmed it—Merry had attended several anti-war protests and seen every Michael Moore movie. She turned up the volume on her favorite Dixie Chicks song and rolled down the windows of her car especially for Mildred Sullivan’s benefit whenever the mayor’s wife happened to stroll by within hearing distance. Mildred had organized a public smashing of Dixie Chicks’ CDs after that unfortunate comment one of them made regarding the former president.

  Colleen leaned back so far in her chair that she was nearly horizontal. Her head was in my lap. “They talked about it at lunch today. They have it all planned. There’s going to be a special election. First order of business.” She sat up before I could respond.

  Mackie Sullivan entered the room and negotiated his way in our direction, eyes laser-locked on David Morehead. Blake, Merry, and I stood up, having been raised to a certain standard of manners, even when dealing with the insufferably pompous. David Morehead followed suit as Mackie sauntered to a stop, way too close.

  Mackie extended his hand to David with a smile that reminded me of an eel. “Good evening, sir. I am Mac E. Sullivan, not Mackie. Mac. Short for Mackenzie. The initial ‘E’ stands for Emerson, a family name on my mother’s side. I am counsel of record of this venerated assembly, and it would be my great privilege if you would allow me to welcome you to our fair municipality.”

  Mackie—we called him that just to irritate him—was never one to use five words when he could get in a hundred. Blake studied the floor. With remarkable self-control, none of us laughed out loud.

  David shook the offered hand and smiled tentatively. “It’s a pl—”

  “Would everyone please be seated? It’s almost time to begin.” Lincoln Sullivan interrupted, magnolia syrup dripping from every word. He glared at his nephew, Mackie.

  Mackie would have ignored him, no doubt, but we sat down immediately, grateful for intervention. The mayor smiled and nodded at us. He glared again at Mackie, who reluctantly took a seat.

  Just as the grandfather clock in the corner struck seven o’clock, the last two members of the council, John Glendawn (Moon Unit and Elvis’s daddy—District Two), and Grace Sullivan (Mamma’s best friend and my godmother—District Five) took their seats. Plenty of folks in Stella Maris would give you an earful about having a psychic hold public office if you asked them, psychics being “of the devil” and whatnot. Fortunately, none of the other council members shared this view.

  I hadn’t seen Daddy come in, but he was seated on the far side of the table. He grinned at me. Blake might not be happy I was home, but my daddy surely was.

  Lincoln Sullivan cleared his throat. “Looks like everybody’s here. I guess we can get started.” He peered over glasses perched on the end of his patrician nose. His gaze danced around the room and settled with undisguised curiosity on Merry. “We have a lot to talk about this evening. Young lady, we’ll get to you in a moment.”

  The mayor paused eloquently, then continued. “You all are aware of our predicament due to the tragic passing of our dear friend, Emma Rae. Does anyone have a motion regarding the filling of her seat for the remainder of her unexpired term of office?” Lincoln looked directly at Robert Pearson (District Six).

  “I move we hold a special election, six weeks from today,” Robert said, apparently on cue.

  “I sec—” Daddy raised his hand.

  “I have something to say.” Merry stood.

  Daddy stared at her, irritation written on his face.

  Lincoln eyed her over the top of his glasses. “Young lady, you are out of order. I believe I mentioned we would address your business momentarily.”

  “But what I have to say bears directly on this issue,” Merry protested.

  Mackie blustered, his most remarkable skill. “Pursuant to—”

  “Mac.” Lincoln cut him off and turned to Merry with a look of patient kindness. “Well, ah, I’m sure we’ll all be glad to hear it. If you’ll let your daddy second the motion, as he was about to do, then I’ll call for discussion, according to the Roberts Rules of Order.” He smiled at her an
d then at the head of the Talbot family.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Merry smiled back at him. “It’s just that, I want to volunteer to fill the seat, so there’s no need to hold a special election. I was merely trying to save the council some time.”

  You could have heard a mosquito in that room.

  No longer smiling, Lincoln gaped at her.

  The room erupted in a clamor of murmurs, whispered conversation, and nervous shifting.

  Lincoln regained his wits and rapped his gavel. “Order, order everyone.”

  The room quieted.

  Lincoln addressed the group. “This assembly will take a fifteen-minute recess while council meets in executive session to discuss this most interesting development.”

  “But—” Merry started to object.

  “Elizabeth.” When Daddy uses my actual, full name, he’s serious. “Would you and your sister and her friend please give us a moment? You can wait in the lobby. I’ll come get you when we’re ready.” He nodded cordially at David Morehead.

  Merry collected her briefcase and her associate and stormed out of the room. Blake and I followed, along with the other spectators—all except Colleen, who stayed behind.

  Merry strode to a far corner of the lobby and whirled to face me.

  Fast on her heels, I glared at her, regaining my equilibrium and my voice. “Well, well, baby sister. You forgot to mention you were staging a coup.”

  “I have just as much right to that seat as anybody in this family,” she said. “No one else wants it, and by the way, you aren’t fooling anybody. You’ll stay in Gram’s house a week, max. Then you’ll be headed back to Greenville and the beach house will be on the market. So don’t pretend you give a tinker’s damn what happens here.”

  “The only reason you’re interested in that seat is so you have a better chance of shoving your big idea down everybody’s throat.” My nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists at my side.

  “How would you know what I’m interested in? You barely give me or anybody else here a passing thought anymore.”

  “I would hardly have to be a mind reader to know what’s going on. Since when have you given the first damn about town government? This is so transparent, please. You’re afraid I will stay—not that I won’t.”

  Blake stepped between us, placing what the casual observer might have mistaken for a consoling arm around each of our shoulders. “Let’s all just simmer down now.”

  “Stay out of this,” we said in unison, both glaring at him.

  “Afraid not, ladies.” He kept his voice calm, the way you do when you’re soothing a colicky baby—or a rabid dog. “As chief of police, I’m going to ask you once more, nicely, to simmer down. As your brother, I beg you on behalf of our entire family to please not embarrass us all by making a scene. You can brawl later.”

  I turned away from both of them and studied the painting on the wall to my left. It was a Civil War battle scene.

  Blake continued in his diplomatic tone. “Now, I am interested myself, Merry, in where this sudden interest in civic affairs comes from.”

  “I’m not particularly interested in town government. But a family member has held that seat ever since this town was born, and there isn’t anyone else to fill it.” Merry gave Blake that look sisters always give their brothers when they want something. “You are ineligible, and Liz,” she tossed her head and a glare in my direction, “won’t be sticking around long. Who else is available?”

  Blake looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the park across the street.

  “Do either of you really want to leave it up to a special election?” Merry demanded. “We could end up with somebody who isn’t from here.”

  The faint tinkle of a warning bell sounded in my brain. Simultaneously, something outside caught Blake’s attention. My eyes followed his and I gulped for air.

  Humphrey Pearson, Robert’s uncle, skated by on roller-blades wearing one of those body-sized placards strapped across his shoulders. The message was the same front and back: “New Laws, Not New Jails.” Humphrey was stuck in 1969, and his favorite political issue was legalizing recreational drug use. Apparently, he’d somehow gotten the idea that drug offenders were to be incarcerated at Devlin’s Point.

  Had he been wearing any clothes under the sign, his protest wouldn’t have gotten nearly the attention. A crowd was forming.

  Blake’s tone never changed. “Maybe we need to bus in a few more folks who aren’t from here. Freshen the gene pool.”

  Mildred Sullivan overheard Blake’s remark. She glared up at him. “And to think, I convinced Lincoln to promote you when Charlie Jacobs retired.”

  Blake turned and looked down to meet her stare. “All due respect, Mildred, I hope that’s working out better for you right now than it is for me.” He reached for his cell phone. “Excuse me, ladies.”

  With a haughty look, Mildred glided off to the other side of the lobby and missed Humphrey’s protest. Mildred considered it her duty, as the mayor’s wife, to hold the community to high moral standards. She didn’t hold with nudity.

  Blake turned back to the parade outside and spoke into his phone. “Coop, I need you to come over to the town offices and escort Humphrey home.” Clay Cooper was Blake’s second in command.

  I resumed trying to reason with my sister. “Hell’s bells, Merry. Half the people in this town are from somewhere else. Folks from the mainland brought us cappuccino, Pad Thai, and designer hair color.”

  “People without history here see things differently,” Merry said.

  Public nudity crisis handled, Blake rejoined the conversation. “It’s only a matter of time before someone whose great-grandfather was born elsewhere is elected to the council. Maybe we should let some new folks fool with it for a while.”

  “She’s just trying to hedge her bets with this gangbanger scheme of hers.”

  “Think what you want,” Merry said. “Just remember this: I care enough about what happens here to do something about it. You’ll be back in Greenville by this time next week. Maybe you should run for city council up there.”

  “This is just as much my home as it is yours. And if you think for one minute—”

  “Don’t you live in a loft in downtown Greenville?” Merry interrupted.

  Blake must have felt us regaining our momentum. “Liz, Merry isn’t going to do anything that would hurt this island. She lives here, too.”

  I was getting cranky at the repeated reference to where everybody lived. Hadn’t I just moved home? “I love this island just as much as the two of you. And you’re both crazy if you think that hauling a hundred members of rival gangs who have been convicted of violent crimes over here won’t hurt anything.”

  “I didn’t say that. Merry?” Blake tilted his head and looked expectantly at her.

  She examined her nails.

  He exhaled loudly and looked heavenward for answers. When none were forthcoming, he lowered his gaze to meet mine. “Just because she has a proposal doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be on town council. She’d still just have one vote.”

  “The idea of developing Devlin’s Point just turns my stomach, and I can’t imagine opening up our home to that kind of risk.”

  “Whose home?” Merry goaded me once more for good measure.

  “My home,” I ground out through squared jaw. “I’ll take the seat,” I said. “I own property here. And I moved in yesterday.”

  Without a backward glance to either of them, I stalked down the hall, knocked twice on the conference room door, and let myself in without waiting for an invitation.

  “…we have to seat a volunteer from the Simmons—” Lincoln stopped talking and they all stared at me.

  “Well, now you have two volunteers,” I said.

  Lincoln, Michael, Robert, J
ohn, and Grace all turned to Daddy.

  Daddy sat there for a minute, staring at nothing in particular, doing this thing with his hand that he always does when he’s considering something real carefully. He held his palm at a right angle and made a chopping motion on the table. Right, left, right left. Back and forth. Finally he looked at Lincoln. “Liz is older, and she inherited the Simmons estate. I move that we fill Mamma’s council seat by appointing Elizabeth to her unexpired term.”

  Robert nodded. “I second the motion.”

  “Any discussion?” Lincoln asked.

  No one said a word.

  “Well, then,” Lincoln said, “all in favor?”

  By unanimous vote, I became a council member. I took a seat at the table. “I’d like to make a motion myself.”

  Lincoln gestured for me to proceed.

  “I move we table the rest of tonight’s business and adjourn so that I can educate myself on other matters before the council.”

  Daddy seconded my motion, and it also passed unanimously. No one, it seemed, was eager to discuss fellowship halls, orphanages, or jails. I braced myself to face my sister as we filed out of the conference room.

  But the lobby was deserted.

  TEN

  After throwing the first Tuesday of every month on the bonfire of my sister’s insanity, I was starving. I zipped over to The Pirates’ Den—the restaurant John and Alma Glendawn owned on the north shore of the island. Since I was dining alone, I climbed into one of the high-backed stools at the mammoth mahogany bar that took up the entire street-side wall. I settled into the tropical print cushions and looked around in appreciation. I had missed this place.

  It looked like the inside of an old ship—all varnished wood and portholes. The glass wall to my back featured several sets of french doors that led out onto an oceanfront deck. Saltwater aquariums containing a variety of tropical fish lined the left wall. And everywhere you looked, parrots—stuffed, wood-carved, ceramic, you name it. Steel-drum music wafted through the restaurant. The rich aromas of Jamaican spices and grilled meats and vegetables infused the air. My stomach growled.