04 Lowcountry Bordello (16 page)

Blake scowled. “People don’t want to hear original music at a wedding. They want stuff they can dance to. We don’t do that many covers.”

“Raylan, could I trouble you to let me out, please?”

He complied.

I stood. “Blake, folks’ll have plenty of opportunities to dance. Haven’t you heard? Mamma and Nicolette hired Big Ray and the Kool Kats. But I’m the bride. And I want my big brother to play.” I leaned down to hug him bye.

He submitted, but muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “God, why couldn’t you have given me brothers?”

Seventeen

Arthur Russell, notorious philanderer, owned a King Street antiques shop. He came from money and had the luxury of spending his days as he chose. The store had only been open five minutes that Wednesday morning when I walked inside.

“Good morning.” He smiled and walked towards me from a roll-top desk in the middle of the store. Nate was right. Something about him was sleazy, though he was handsome and well-groomed.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Are in you in the market for a Christmas present, perhaps?” he asked.

I had no time for pleasantries, though I did still need a Christmas gift for Daddy. I wouldn’t be buying it from Arthur. “Not today, thank you.”

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee while you browse? I just made a fresh pot.” His smile was more than a Charleston-friendly smile.

Was he flirting with me? Eeew.

“No thank you.” I pulled out my PI license and photo id. “My name is Liz Talbot. I’m a private investigator.”

His expression changed to one more guarded. “What can I do for you, Miss Talbot?”

“I have some questions regarding the house at 12 Church Street.”

“Willowdean Beauthorpe lives there. Sweet lady. She’s in her eighties, I believe. Her sister lived there with her until a few years back when she passed.”

“And you had the occasion to visit someone in the house on Monday evening and again on Tuesday evening of this week.”

“I drop by occasionally to check on Miss Dean. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

“Did you see anyone else while you were there?”

He squinted at me for a moment. “Who, for example?”

“Did you run into Thurston Middleton?”

“Thurston? No, I most certainly did not. What would give you such a wild idea?” He either was practiced at looking bewildered or the expression was genuine.

“Who else, besides yourself, was aware that Thurston Middleton was investigating the house on Church Street?”

“Thurston. Such a shame—ugly mess, that. What have you to do with Thurston? Are the police not adequately investigating his unfortunate demise?”

“I’ve been retained on another matter. It’s my understanding that before his death, Mr. Middleton was investigating the house on Church Street, and that you were made aware of his line of inquiry.”

Arthur stared at me for a long moment.

I stared back.

Presently, he said, “I don’t believe I’m obliged to speak with you, Miss Talbot.”

I lifted a shoulder. “You’re not. I can always turn what I have over to the Charleston police detectives investigating Mr. Middleton’s murder. They can swing by.” Of course I would give Sonny everything anyway. But Arthur didn’t know that.

I meandered farther back into the store, letting my hand glide across the top of a mahogany chest. “How long have you kept a room at Miss Dean’s house? Lori isn’t your first girlfriend to live there, is she? The one before her—what was her name?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what business is it of yours if I have a harem?”

“None whatsoever. And frankly, I couldn’t care less. But I wonder…does your wife know? I’m guessing she does. But she likely prefers your infidelities not provide fodder for the local gossips. It would be a shame for all this nonsense to get tied up in with Thurston’s murder investigation and come out in the newspaper.”

Arthur’s eyes glittered with controlled rage. “Very well, if you must know the details of my private affairs, I mentioned to James Huger and William Calhoun that it had come to my attention Thurston was poking his nose into our business. The three of us are old friends. We have common interests to protect.”

“The three of you have tenure, so to speak, at the…establishment.”

“I guess you could say that, if you like.”

“So Miss Willowdean Beauthorpe would turn to one of you if she had trouble—needed help with something?”

“I believe that is Seth’s job,” he said.

I tilted my head, gave him my best try at a quizzical look. “Yes, but what if Seth were the problem?”

The top of Arthur’s upper lip trembled, as if he were trying to quell a sneer.

“In that case, I suppose Miss Beauthorpe would call upon one of us.”

“And has she called upon you recently?”

“She mentioned that Seth needed to be spoken to about discretion, family loyalty, that sort of thing. He’s a grown man, but he never has quite matured. Sometimes we step in to assist her with matters related to Seth.”

“And who exactly is John?” I asked.

Arthur threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Willowdean is the soul of discretion. John is whichever one of us she happens to be speaking to her on an untraceable phone.”

How appropriate.

“When you were checking on Miss Beauthorpe Monday and Tuesday evening, did you notice anything unusual in the house—anyone there who didn’t belong, anyone behaving in a suspicious manner?”

“Nothing like that at all. The only mildly remarkable thing was Olivia Pearson’s car parked out front. It was there when I came in and when I left. It’s not unheard of for her to visit her aunt, but it doesn’t happen every week.”

I said, “One more question, Mr. Russell. Has Seth or anyone else ever attempted to blackmail you regarding your affiliation with Miss Beauthorpe’s establishment?”

“Fortunately, no one has been that foolhardy.”

Eighteen

“Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” was playing on the downstairs sound system at the bed and breakfast. At least it wasn’t “Hard Candy Christmas.” That song was a little too close to my heart just then.

“Hey, Slugger.” Nate had a hug waiting for me just inside the bedroom door. “I was watching for you.”

I hugged him tight. I needed a hug. “Arthur Russell is a creep of the highest order.”

Nate pulled away just enough to look me in the eyes. “What have you been up to?”

“I drove right past his antique store on the way here. I figured why not stop. I had questions.”

“Did he have answers?”

“Not very satisfying ones. I need to finish that timeline.” I moved to my workstation in the corner, pulled my makeshift lap-desk onto my lap, and opened the spreadsheet I’d started earlier.

“We need to speak to Sonny,” said Nate.

“Yes, we do. But I need to sort this out a bit more first.”

Nate sighed. “We’re pushing it now. We need to get Sonny on board before Blake has to release Seth.”

“Seth is the least of our worries.”

“Is that a fact? Correct me if I’m wrong, but he threatened Olivia and her children, and poses a threat to Julia Middleton. That was our working theory, last I checked.”

And he’d killed at least four people who were buried across the street. “Okay, Seth is a problem, but he surely wasn’t the burglar with the big knife, and he couldn’t’ve killed Thurston Middleton, so he may not be a threat to Julia, at least.”

“Walk me through that last part.” Nate stretched out on the bed and leaned back on a stack of pillows.

“Hang on.” I created a minute-by-minute timeline for Monday evening. “Everyone in the house had dinner together at six, after which they all went to their rooms. Olivia arrived at seven, and went through the foyer, up the front stairs to Miss Dean’s bedroom.”

“Okay.”

“Almost immediately after Olivia, Robert arrived.” I reached into my tote, pulled out my phone, and made a quick call to Robert to verify exactly where he’d parked and the time. I typed the info into my spreadsheet. “He drove around the block after he saw Olivia go inside, then he parked half a block back, at approximately seven-oh-three. He did not see anyone turn into the drive. So James must have arrived while Robert was circling the block. He drives in, using an automatic opener. So we’ll say James arrived at seven-oh-two.”

Nate shrugged. “Okay, James pulled in after Olivia, but before Robert arrived.”

“Right. So Robert arrives and stays in the car for fifteen minutes—that’s what he said, right?”

“That’s how I remember it.”

“Then how does he miss Arthur Russell coming in the street side door at around seven-oh-five?”

“It was dark. If Russell approached from South Battery like he did last night, and Robert was half a block away, he could’ve easily missed him.”

“Maybe so. Arthur comes in and takes the front porch around to the keeping room doors and goes up the back staircase. He and James never cross paths, and neither of them are ever near the foyer. Neither of them leave their rooms until well after the murder—there’s a caveat on James, but we’ll come back to that—so if we believe Lori and Dana, neither of them could possibly have killed Thurston.”

Colleen’s voice echoed in my head.
Dana has a secret. But it’s not relevant
.

“That is a damn shame. I wanted it to be Arthur.”

“Me, too,” I said. “The next thing we can document is that Robert went inside between seven fifteen and seven twenty, but mere moments before William Calhoun, who arrived just before seven twenty—he arrived upstairs around seven twenty, anyway.”

“Robert is wandering around downstairs looking for Olivia, Calhoun comes in the front door and goes upstairs. That’s who Robert heard.” Nate said.

“Right. Then Raylan arrives shortly after William Calhoun, but Raylan never goes inside the main house. He walks down the porch, around back to the guesthouse to see Seth. I’ll assign Raylan seven twenty-five. He parked on Murray and walked. And Raylan heard someone walking on the front porch right after he turned the corner.”

“And we don’t know who that was, but it could’ve been Thurston.”

I said, “I think it must’ve been. The timeline is too tight for him to’ve already been in the house. Someone would’ve surely seen him. Robert claims he didn’t. Neither James nor Arthur would have. We need to speak with William Calhoun. For now, I think we assume it was Thurston who Raylan heard on the way in.”

“All right,” said Nate.

“The next thing that happened is right around seven thirty. Robert gives up looking for Olivia, walks through the foyer and out the front door. Heather is coming downstairs and sees him leave—sees someone leave. Based on the timeline, I think it had to be Robert.”

“Makes sense.”

“Heather is in the kitchen drinking a glass of milk at the counter, and she hears a noise in the front of the house. She doesn’t investigate. I’m thinking this was when someone conked Thurston on the head—likely someone who followed Thurston into the house. This happened sometime between seven thirty and seven forty.”

“Proceed.”

“At approximately seven forty, Raylan comes out of the guesthouse and sees a man walk around the back side of the garage and climb over the brick wall to the neighbor’s driveway.”

“When did he tell you that?” Nate asked.

“This morning at breakfast. I ran into him at The Cracked Pot.”

“Description?”

“Just that he was about the same height as Raylan—and not for nothing, but virtually every man involved is within an inch of six-foot-tall—and had on what appeared to be khakis and a sport coat.”

“So, not your average prowler or whatnot. And possibly our murderer.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Right after Raylan left, Seth walked through the keeping room door and joined Heather in the kitchen. Heather tells him she heard a noise. He makes a joke about the house being haunted, and Heather, who doesn’t want to pass time with Seth, goes up the back staircase to her room.”

“And since Seth cleaned up the mess so quickly, he must’ve gone straight to the front parlor to investigate, where he found the body.”

Nate got up and moved to my quilt display. “Nathaniel Gibbes and Wendi Hill were in Austria. Still are.” He picked up their index cards.

“Right.”

“Julia Middleton was serving dinner to the homeless. I ran across a photo online this morning. Thurston’s death is all over the news, of course. She is as well. I made some calls to the folks who run the soup kitchen. She was there from four-thirty until eight. Helped clean up.” He added Julia’s index card to the ones in his hand.

“And we know James, Arthur, William, and Seth couldn’t have done it.” He picked up the index cards for those four men.

“Hold up on James,” I said. “Dana claims she was with him and he never left the room. But remember, last night you heard James and the mystery woman mention sneaking out two nights in a row. If he always entertains them one at a time—and I seriously hope that’s the case—Dana was in her room while James Huger was in the playroom with the mystery woman. We’d need to speak to her to confirm his alibi.”

“That’s true.” Nate returned James’s card to the quilt.

“Assuming all our other facts are solid, we know neither Lori nor Amber could have done it.”

“Right.” Nate picked up their cards. “That leaves us with James Huger, Dana Clark, Henry Prioleau, Heather Wilder—she could’ve done it on her way to the kitchen and made up the story to get Seth to investigate…” Nate’s face creased. “Who are William Rutledge and Roxanne Trexler, both deceased, and how could they have killed Thurston Middleton?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Keep going.” How in the hell was I going to explain that? What had I been thinking laying those cards out? I hadn’t been thinking. I had wedding brain.

“All right…Robert Pearson, Raylan Beauthorpe—he also could’ve done it on his way out and made up the story about seeing someone hopping the brick wall to throw us off—and of course Olivia Beauthorpe, who you seem not to have a card for.” Nate’s gaze locked on mine.

“Right. I assume she’s innocent. Robert and Raylan too. I don’t know why I made cards for them or the dead folks. Those are people who used to live there. One of the, umm, girls told me their story. William Rutledge was found dead about a year ago in North Charleston. Roxanne Trexler was his mistress. She lived in the empty room over the garage, and Seth was crazy about her. The girls were told she went home. I’m thinking there’s a possibility whoever killed William killed her too, but the body hasn’t been found.”

I kept my gaze neutral.

Nate said, “Occasionally, more and more often, in fact, I have a strong notion you’re leaving things out that you don’t want to tell me. It’s an unsettling feeling for a man about to make a trip to the altar.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled, then opened them and looked directly at Nate. “I give you my word I’m telling you the truth.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said. “I’m just not so sure it’s the whole truth.”

A little piece of me withered every time I had to lie to him. “What, about William Rutledge and Roxanne Trexler? Why would I withhold information about people who are dead and/or missing, who likely have no connection to our case?”

“There’s a reason you put those cards out,” he said.

I held out my palms.

“They
could
be connected.”

Nate looked away, was quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “Let’s finish our timeline. We left off at seven forty, which is approximately when Olivia found the body and ran back out to her car to call you.”

“Right. That call came in at seven forty-five. That we have documented. And sometime soon after that, Seth discovered the body and commences cleanup.”

“So Raylan—and the killer—must’ve left before seven forty, or Olivia would’ve crossed paths with at least one of them.”

“He wasn’t exact on the time—no one was, really. But I think we have the order right.”

“What came next?” Nate asked.

“Around eight fifteen, James left through the garage entrance. Olivia was still parked outside. He, Arthur, and William—possibly the others, too—know Olivia owns half the house now.”

“Who left next?”

“Arthur, through the keeping room door, also at about eight fifteen. He could’ve seen Seth carrying Thurston out wrapped in a rug, but claims he didn’t see anything unusual. One would hope such a thing would be unusual. He did say he saw Olivia’s car, both when he was going in and coming out. Then William left through the front door. He also could’ve witnessed Seth’s cleanup, and would’ve seen Olivia’s car out front. I arrived at eight forty-five. All traces of a crime were gone.”

Nate said, “From what the ‘young ladies’ told you last night, we can infer all four of the men who pay for rooms in that house who were in the country when Thurston Middleton died knew he was asking questions and would likely make trouble for them. Three of them—Calhoun, Huger, and Russell—were in the house the night Middleton died. Two of them—Calhoun and Russell—have firm alibis for the time of death. Which leaves us with James Huger.”

“From our remaining suspect pool on the quilt,” I said, “our theoretical motives fits
four
people. James Huger, Dana Clark, Henry Prioleau, or Heather Wilder. I’m not sure Dana or Heather could’ve done it, given their height and Thurston’s, and the weight of that pineapple.”

“Which means,” said Nate, “that either James Huger or Henry Prioleau is our culprit. Neither Robert nor Raylan would’ve had a motive to kill Thurston—nor would Olivia.”

“We need forensics to tell us for sure if the women can be eliminated.” I knew they could because Colleen had told me. But I couldn’t tell Nate that.

“Which is why we’re going to call Sonny right now.”