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CHAPTER SIX

By the time I closed the shop and headed home, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the island.

Following Walt’s advice, I took a circuitous route, watching carefully for the dark sedan in my rearview mirror.

My eyes darted between the road ahead and the reflection behind me, tension coiling in my shoulders with each passing minute.

“Really? Those are just starting to bloom,” I said with a sigh.

I unlocked the door, stepped into the mudroom, and secured the dead bolt behind us.

Then I immediately started checking windows and drawing curtains, humming “Mind Your Own Business” by Hank Williams under my breath.

Nothing like a pointed musical warning to set the mood for a clandestine meeting about murder.

The phone rang just as I finished closing the living room drapes.

“Mabel, dear, is everything all right?” Mrs. Pembroke’s voice crackled through the line, her concern as transparent as plastic wrap. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re drawing all your curtains. At six thirty in the evening. On a Saturday night. You never close your curtains.”

“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Pembroke,” I said, moving to close another set of curtains while I talked. “Just getting a headache and wanted to keep the light out.”

“A headache? Are you sure you’re not preparing for a gentleman caller? I saw the sheriff’s car drive by twice earlier.”

I rolled my eyes. “No gentleman callers, Mrs. Pembroke.”

“Well, if you need anything—aspirin, a casserole, an alibi—you just let me know.”

After hanging up and changing into my favorite high-waisted navy swing trousers with white side buttons, a soft white button-down, and white tennis shoes, I tied my hair back with a red scarf. Comfort with a dash of vintage—my at-home armor for facing conspiracy.

I had just finished setting out glasses for Bea’s inevitable bourbon when I heard someone pull into my driveway, followed by the sound of multiple car doors slamming.

“Showtime,” I muttered.

The doorbell chimed three times in quick succession—a pattern that could only be Walt.

I opened the door to find all five Silver Sleuths on my porch, looking like they were ready for battle.

“You’re late,” Walt announced, checking his watch as he breezed past me.

“I live here, Walt. I can’t be late to my own house,” I replied, accepting Deidre’s kiss on the cheek.

“Did you know Mrs. Pembroke’s at her window with what appears to be opera glasses?” Deidre asked.

“She said it was for my protection,” I said, trying not to grimace.

Dottie shuffled in behind Deidre and handed me a tin of homemade cookies. “Those contain dark chocolate. Good for the heart.” Her hair was as black as an inkpot and I wondered if she’d been to the salon earlier in the day.

Everyone had been to my home enough times that they felt comfortable going through my cabinets for plates and cups. Bea swept in with a large casserole dish of jambalaya, and Walt arrived carrying what appeared to be surveillance equipment.

“Walt made us all meet at the library and condense to one vehicle in case we were being followed,” Dottie explained as they settled around my dining room table. “Took us twenty minutes to get here because he took every back road on the island.”

After everyone had filled their plates with Bea’s excellent jambalaya, Walt pulled out a manila envelope and slid it across the table to me like a scene from Mission: Impossible . Nervous laughter bubbled up inside of me, but I managed to tamp it down so no one thought I was insane.

“Your copy so you don’t have to use the original,” he said. “I delivered everyone else’s copy earlier so they had time to review it before this briefing.”

“And what fascinating reading it was,” Bea said, her brash voice cutting through the room. “Poor girl. So young, so bright. A woman who knew what she wanted and what she liked.” Bea waggled her eyebrows. “Especially in bed. Some of those pages were quite racy.”

“She had the makings of a fine romance novelist,” Deidre agreed. “I read the juicy parts twice.”

“Who cares about that crap?” Dottie said.

“Some poor fella whose name starts with C is cemented in history as an enthusiastic, but quick, lover. And the guy whose name starts with a J was a stallion.” Dottie dug into her jambalaya.

“I skimmed most of those pages so I could get to the good stuff. That last entry about the lighthouse gave me chills,” she said, shivering delicately.

“Poor girl was scared down to her toes.”

“Which is why we need to keep these diaries hidden,” Walt said. “If Elizabeth hid something in the lighthouse then we can bet it’s something her killer doesn’t want us to find. Trust no one.”

“Not even each other?” Bea asked, arching a perfectly penciled eyebrow.

“Especially not each other,” Walt replied without a hint of irony.

“Bunch of baloney, Walt,” Dottie muttered. “Maybe you need to ask Doc Givens to adjust your medication before you turn into a full-blown conspiracy theorist.”

“My medication is fine, thank you very much,” Walt said stiffly.

“Oh, lighten up, Walt,” Deidre said. “You know she’s teasing. And obviously those of us in this room can trust each other. Right?”

Deidre gave Walt a pointed stare and he glowered at her, caught between his training and good Southern manners. His eyebrows came together like a long bushy caterpillar and he sucked in his cheeks as he stared Deidre down.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll trust on a case-by-case basis.”

“Good,” Deidre said. “Now we can get down to business.” She wasted no time clearing the table and spreading blueprints across the mahogany surface, anchoring the corners with crystal candlesticks that had been a wedding gift from Patrick’s side of the family.

“The lighthouse plans,” she announced. “Original construction from 1879 and renovations from 2002.”

“Six years after Elizabeth died,” I noted.

“Exactly,” Deidre nodded. “She says in her diary she hid something there in 1996. We need to figure out what spaces might have existed then but been changed during renovation.”

“Or what might still be there that no one’s noticed,” Dottie added.

I turned through the copied pages Walt had given me until I got to the section I was looking for and then I read—“ If anything happens to me, the proof is in the lighthouse. They’ll never think to look where I’ve hidden it. J doesn’t even know. It’s safer that way.

“So we know she hid something in the lighthouse, but I’m more curious to know who J is. If we can figure it out maybe he could give us some clues as to what we’re looking for.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Bea said immediately. “Jason Brooks. If I remember right, and I always do, they were seen together quite a lot that summer. There was a lot of speculation over their relationship, especially since she’d recently broken up with her boyfriend of several years. The Harrington boy.”

“Harrington,” I said, the name ringing a bell. “Clint Harrington?”

“The very same,” Bea said. “Harrington Construction. Junior took over the business a few years after Elizabeth’s death. Built this island into the juggernaut it is today.”

“I guess now we know who C and J are,” Dottie said, shaking her head. “Poor Clint.”

Bea scoffed. “Poor Clint? You mean poor Brenda,” she said, referring to his wife. “She’s the one who has to be married to Mr. Speedy. No wonder the woman always looks so grumpy.”

“Maybe he learned a thing or two over the last thirty years,” Deidre said, though the frown on her face indicated she doubted it. “He was always a smart kid if I remember right.”

“He’s also rich, powerful, and connected,” I said. “Was he close to Milton?”

“They detested each other,” Walt said. “Which shows Harrington has a heck of a lot more sense than his father did. If I remember right old Clinton Sr. did some business with Milton in the early days. Land development stuff, but all that ended when the son took over.”

“But he and Elizabeth were lovers,” I said. “We can’t take him off the suspect list. So what about Jason Brooks? I don’t recognize that name.”

“Ah, the stallion,” Bea said lasciviously.

“You probably wouldn’t recognize him,” Hank said. “Brooks was the assistant DA for the island at that time. Young and brilliant. Good looking like a Kennedy. Built for politics. Wasn’t he a distant cousin or whatnot of yours, Bea?”

“He was the cousin of my second husband Leonard’s niece,” Bea said offhandedly.

“I don’t think they were blood relatives, but at least he had a tie to the island so it gave him an in when he started at the DA’s office.

We should put him on the suspect list too, even though he is family.

No allowances can be made. That’s how Milton got in the pickle he was in. ”

“Among other things,” Dottie said slyly. “I think the problem was his pickle was getting dipped in too many jars.”

Deidre snorted out a laugh and Hank downright guffawed, slapping his hand on his knee until he turned red in the face. The corner of Walt’s mouth quirked in what could have been a smile. I realized at that point how little I knew about the goings-on around the island.

“I just want it noted that I broke several scandals about Milton over the last forty years and the people on this island chose to ignore them,” Bea said indignantly.

“Told me I had no credibility because I was just a gossip columnist. Didn’t I have pictures of him shimmying out the window of Sharon Carter’s bedroom window?

And the very next day all the charges against her son were dropped.

Biggest drug dealer on the island and everyone knew it. ”

“Well, Milton’s first wife must have believed your reporting,” Deidre said. “Because everyone remembers the morning Lucinda Milton packed her bags into the sheriff’s Cadillac and drove right through his prized flower beds on her way out of town.”

“They lived next door to me,” Dottie said. “I got a front row seat from my bedroom window. Of course, I got a front row seat to a lot of things happening in that house. Milton wasn’t the only one sneaking in and out of windows in the middle of the night. Can’t believe you missed that, Bea.”

“Oh, I knew,” Bea said, waving a hand. “But I always liked Lucinda. And figured she deserved what happiness she could get considering she had to wake up next to that bloated know-it-all of a man every morning. Roy Milton probably looked like a stuffed sausage naked. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. ”

“Maybe if we could get back to more important matters,” Walt said primly. “I want to know if Mabel has heard from our sheriff.”

“Wouldn’t mind seeing him naked,” Bea muttered under her breath and I choked on my water.

I coughed and sputtered while Hank pounded on my back. “Not since his call cut off this morning,” I replied, eyes watering. “I went by the station, but he was in meetings with the mayor.”

“Probably getting his behind chewed over that break-in,” Hank observed.

“Mayor Cromwell’s been looking for an excuse to undermine Beckett since he arrived.

You know the county council went over Cromwell’s head and appointed Beckett without his input after Milton was arrested.

The mayor wanted to install one of his cronies, but the corruption ran too deep.

You know Cromwell and Milton had been fishing buddies for decades. ”

“Dollars to donuts Cromwell loses the election in November,” Dottie added. “Too much stink on him from Milton’s scandal. No direct evidence against him, but mud sticks when you play in the pigpen too long.”

“Cromwell knows it too,” Bea said with a knowing nod. “That’s what makes him dangerous. Nothing worse than a politician with nothing to lose.”

“Speaking of dangerous,” I said, lowering my voice despite being in my own home, “Someone tailed me today after I left the station. Dark sedan, tinted windows, the whole cliché.”

Five pairs of wizened eyes widened simultaneously.

“Did you get a plate number?” Walt demanded, suddenly all business.

“No. I was a little busy trying to outmaneuver him.”

“Amateur,” he muttered.

Dottie patted his hand. “We can’t all be James Bond in orthopedic shoes, Walt.”

Walt looked like he might argue but couldn’t quite deny the accuracy of her description.

“I can only assume it’s connected to Elizabeth’s diary,” I said.

“Someone should talk to Jason Brooks,” Hank said. “He’s still an attorney in Charleston. If anyone knows what Elizabeth was investigating, it would be him.”

“Sounds like you need to make a trip to Charleston, Mabel,” Bea said, her bangles jingling as she reached for the bourbon bottle.

“Me? Why me?” I asked.

“You’re the least conspicuous,” Walt pointed out. “Young, attractive widow paying a courtesy call versus five senior citizens showing up asking questions about a decades-old death.”

“I know Jason Brooks,” Hank said, straightening in his chair. “He appeared in my courtroom from time to time. He’s a good attorney. I could arrange an introduction, go with you as backup.”

“Who’s going to run my tea shop?” I asked. “I only have part-time help.”

“We will,” Dottie and Deidre said together, their smiles indicating they saw working at the tea shop a new adventure.

“Don’t look at me, dear,” Bea said. “I like being served. Not serving others. My husbands spoiled me rotten. I know where my giftings lie.”

Since I actually wanted to keep customers and make money, I was fine with Bea bowing out of running the shop.

Just then, Chowder’s head snapped up and he rolled to his feet.

Walt immediately went for the weapon he was undoubtedly hiding in his jacket. “Intruder,” he whispered.

I held my breath as the distinctive sound of my mudroom door opening echoed through the house.