04 Lowcountry Bordello (21 page)

Twenty-Six

Friday morning, Mamma was on my phone first thing. Nicolette and her crew had shown up at dawn and Mamma wanted me to come watch with her and offer input. She wanted to spend the day with me, and I wanted so badly to go. I was getting married the next day. Tonight was the rehearsal dinner, followed by my bachelorette party. But Olivia was in jail, and I had to get her out. I hadn’t seen Colleen since before my lunch with Sonny. I took comfort in knowing she’d told me she’d be there when Olivia needed her.

Before I headed to Charleston, I had to call Victoria Baker’s family in Abingdon, Virginia. I took a deep breath and typed in the phone number I’d found the night before.

“Hello?” The woman sounded older, or perhaps weary.

“Mrs. Hawkins?”

“Yes. But I don’t need a credit card nor an extended warranty, either.”

“Ma’am, I’m not selling anything,” I said. “My name is Liz Talbot. I’m calling about your niece, Victoria Baker.”

“Vicki?” Her tone seemed skeptical.

“Yes, ma’am. Your sister’s daughter, right?”

“Well, yes, but we haven’t seen that girl in…I guess it’s been four years. She’s in Charleston. It hurts me I can’t see her. But my husband doesn’t hold with the way she’s living.”

“Did you know she stopped going to school at the College of Charleston in October of 2011?”

“Why, no. I don’t understand. We paid for her first semester. She had a job to help out. Then that man…he was paying for her school. He was paying for everything. William Calhoun. My husband looked into him. Saw he was married. He told Vicki she had to stop seeing him or never come home. It like to broke my heart. She’s all I have left of my only sister. She and her husband died in a car wreck more than ten years ago. Vicki’s like mine. Why would she quit school?”

Tears ran down my face. I hurt so badly for this poor woman. I took a deep breath. “Ma’am, I don’t know for sure. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t there with you. Her friends here haven’t seen her in a while. Is there any other family she could be living with? Any friends that you know of?”

“No.” She started speaking faster, her voice rising. “The last we heard she was living in a big house with some other girls in Charleston. She doesn’t have any other family. Just me, my husband, and our children. They all live around here. None of us have seen or heard from her.”

“Mrs. Hawkins, I think you should report her missing. Please contact the Charleston Police Department.”

“Let me talk to my husband.” Her voice broke with a sob.

I gave her my number in case she needed to reach me. Then I pulled myself together.

Nate held down the fort, watching over our guests. I was on the nine o’clock ferry to Isle of Palms, and in West Ashley by ten fifteen. The apartment complex was off Savannah Highway, behind the Jehovah’s Witness hall. It was a typical three-story, multi-building complex with a pool, fitness center, et cetera. I drove around back to Tyler’s building.

His apartment was on the third floor. This was good news, as there was only one way in and out, unless he cared to jump off a balcony. I knocked on the door and waited. He’d likely gotten in late and was sleeping. Restaurant hours were notoriously bad, and many of the food and beverage crowd went out afterwards, so I was told. I knocked again, harder.

“Okay, okay.” A voice came from inside.

The door swung open. A young man who wasn’t Tyler opened the door. “What?” He was half-asleep and highly agitated. Likely a roommate.

“I need to speak with Tyler.” I held up my PI license. Fifty percent of the time, folks don’t even look to see what it says. If you flash an ID and look stern, they assume you’re law enforcement of some sort. People really should be more careful.

“Hang on.” The roommate closed the door, which was a mercy. From what I could see, I didn’t want to go inside.

Moments later the door swung open again. Tyler wore baggy jeans, a ratty t-shirt, and a bad case of bed-head. “What do
you
want?”

“I need to ask you some questions.”

“What? Look, I know you people were in a foul mood last night, but you can’t stalk me. If you have a complaint, you need to talk to the restaurant manager.”

“Who is that, exactly? Who’s in charge?”

“Mr. Prioleau.”

“Which one?”

“Rut Junior. But look, I did my best. I really don’t need trouble. Can’t you just let it go? Karma and all that, dude.”

“Rut Junior, is he one of the men who wanders tables talking to people?”

Tyler screwed up his face. “He works the floor downstairs. Mrs. Prioleau is in charge upstairs.”

“She’s the woman who stands at the upstairs hostess station and greets people?”

“Right. And she works the room, like all the rest of them.”

“All the rest of who—the family?”

“Yeah. Lady, I haven’t had much sleep. What do you want from me? The old man gave me a nice tip. Do you want it back?”

“No. I don’t want your money. I have a few simple questions. I want answers. But first, I want your word that you will not mention I came here to anyone, especially anyone connected with the restaurant.”

His scowl deepened. “No way. I’m not talking about the Prioleaus. You don’t know these people. They are crazy protective about the restaurant’s reputation, their ‘brand.’” He made air quotes. “I’ve seen Henry chase people down the street if they looked unhappy coming out the door.”

“I’m not going to tell them anything you say. But you’re going to want to talk to me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I know you’re not supposed to be driving past eight p.m. And about the possession charges. Out of curiosity, are the Prioleaus aware of your legal troubles? As protective as they are of their reputation, I somehow doubt it.”

He looked away.

“Aw, man. Look, I need this job. I have bills to pay. Child support.”

“I have no desire to make trouble for you. Honestly.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Does Henry normally work on Monday nights?”

“No. The restaurant is usually closed on Mondays. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas they’re open seven days a week.”

I nodded. “But when the restaurant is open, he’s there on Monday nights?”

“Yes.”

“Was he there this past Monday night?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always work upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Does Henry always work upstairs?”

“Yes—except he works the door from five ’til seven. Then Rut Junior takes over,” he said.

“Now think back to this past Monday. Was the restaurant busy?”

“Yeah—like insanely busy. It’s been that way all week. People going out for holiday dinners.”

“Did Henry come upstairs at seven like usual?”

Tyler thought for a minute. “I remember seeing him come up. It was probably around seven.”

“How many of the Prioleaus were working the floor, going around talking to people, Monday night?”

“All of them. Three downstairs, four upstairs.”

“Is it possible Henry could’ve left for a while and no one would’ve noticed?”

Tyler blinked at me.

“Think about it,” I said.

“That would’ve taken real balls. His mamma would’ve eaten him alive. She’s serious about making folks feel welcome. That’s one mean woman.”

“But
could
he have slipped out of the rotation, gone down the elevator and left for thirty minutes, came back, slipped back in, and she wouldn’t’ve noticed?” The folks having dinner would’ve no doubt been grateful for the break.

“I don’t know…”

“All I want to know is was it possible, not if you think he did that. I’m not asking you to accuse him of anything.”

“Yeah, it’s possible.” He looked at the deck flooring, then off to the left.

“Is there something else you want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Think carefully. This is important. You really don’t want me to come back, do you?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, all those people are a little crazy.”

“I get that.” Boy howdy, as Colleen would say.

“Mrs. Prioleau did ask me once if I’d seen Henry. She was looking for him. I don’t know why.”

“What time was that?”

“It would’ve had to’ve been after seven, or she wouldn’t’ve been looking upstairs. But it was early. Maybe seven thirty? I’d seen him, but I didn’t know where he was right then. It was a madhouse up there. Between people being seated, the waitstaff, and the family, it was wall-to-wall people. It was hard to get back and forth to my tables.”

“One more question. What does Henry usually wear?”

“A sport coat, khakis, usually a solid colored shirt. Expensive loafers.”

“Thanks, Tyler,” I said.

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t say a freakin’ word.”

From the car, I called Sonny.

“Lookit, I am still mad as fire at you. But I have some things for you.”

“I’m listening.” His tone was even.

“First, I think the girl buried behind the garage is Victoria Baker. She’s from Abingdon, Virginia. Parents deceased. She has an aunt and uncle and a few cousins still in Abingdon, but they’re estranged. Victoria’s uncle didn’t approve of the older man she was seeing. He was giving her money. Sound familiar? Victoria was one of William Calhoun’s lady friends. Miss Dean told me she left in the middle of the night about three years back. You can connect the dots. The family’s name is Hawkins. Mrs. Hawkins is Victoria’s mother’s sister. I’m sending you the phone number.”

“I appreciate you doing my job for me. Makes my days so much easier.”

“Sarcasm isn’t becoming. A simple thank you would suffice. Never mind. This is important. Promise me you’ll get right on this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I ignored his attitude. “Henry Prioleau was expected at the bordello Monday night. Monday is one of his normal nights. He works for his family’s restaurant group, Rut’s over on East Bay.”

“I know the place. I’m aware of his connection.”

“I think he slipped out and went over to see his girlfriend, Heather. But when he arrived, he saw Thurston in the parlor, looking for the rent ledger. Heather told him Thurston was asking questions. He didn’t want his apple cart upset, but more than that, he couldn’t have his involvement become public. The Prioleaus are insanely protective of their image.”

“You have my attention. But this is just a theory.”

“Which is why you need to get over to Miss Dean’s right this very minute. If he was the person Raylan saw slipping over the fence, his very nice loafers would’ve likely left footprints in the yard. And he was wearing a sport coat, which could possibly have snagged on the brick wall, or a bush. And he wouldn’t have been wearing gloves. He didn’t plan on committing a murder. He didn’t know he’d run into Thurston. There could be fingerprints somewhere along his trail.”

Sonny sighed. “Liz, the solicitor is moving forward with a case against Olivia. My lieutenant considers this case closed.”

“
Which is why you need to hurry
. This is Olivia. What is wrong with you?” I may have been verging on hysteria, or sounding like it.

“You know me. You have to know how much I want to help Olivia. But I’m accountable to my lieutenant. I can’t just go running around doing whatever the hell I please. That’s where my job is different from yours.”

I hung up on him. I called James Huger on his private cell.

“Miss Talbot. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Huger, I take you for a romantic. Would I be right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Nate and I are getting married tomorrow.”

“Congratulations. I had no idea. I wish you both all the happiness Beatrice and I have found.”

I stumbled over that—couldn’t quite get the toys out of my mind. “Here’s the thing. Olivia Pearson has been arrested for Thurston Middleton’s murder.”

“Yes,” he said. “I heard about that. Utterly ridiculous, of course. I’m certain it will be straightened out very soon.”

“Olivia is one of my bridesmaids—one of my oldest friends. The wedding rehearsal starts at six p.m. this evening. I was wondering…do you perhaps know the solicitor?”

“In fact, I do. You would like me to expedite Olivia’s release on these frivolous charges?”

“Could you?”

“I believe I can.”

I took a deep breath. “It would mean so much to me. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. Call me any time, for any reason.”

My instincts were rarely wrong. They told me I could trust him, mostly because he was trusting me. “Mr. Huger?”

“Yes?”

“I’m almost certain it was Henry Prioleau. It might’ve been William Calhoun, but my money’s on Prioleau.”

“Do you have evidence against either of them?”

I shared with him my theory of the crime—the one I’d just shared with Sonny. I also told him about Victoria Baker.

“That is sad news, indeed,” he said.

“Of course, the autopsy hasn’t been done. There’s no proof it’s her. But…”

“But she’s unaccounted for.”

“That’s right.”

“Very well. I’ll see what I can do for Olivia and encourage the authorities to scrutinize Henry Prioleau and William Calhoun. As you know, Thurston was a close personal friend. I don’t believe for a second Olivia killed him, and I would consider it a privilege to play a small role in bringing his killer to justice.”

It was almost eleven o’clock. I could check on Miss Dean, catch the twelve-thirty ferry, and still be at Mamma’s by one. On the drive from West Ashley into Charleston, I called and updated Nate.

“Well done, Slugger. Are you on your way home?”

“As soon as I check on Miss Dean. And buy bridesmaids’ gifts.” Holy shit. “And pick up my dress.” How had I almost forgotten that?

“See you soon.”

I took a few deep breaths, then called Robert, who was frazzled but holding it together for the kids. I shared with him everything except my conversation with James Huger.

He said, “I’ll call Charlie Condon and give him all of this. He should be able to make a case for the solicitor that there’s a better suspect than Olivia.”

That would be perfect. Two powerful men lobbying for the same thing. “I’ll be praying hard on that,” I said. “With any luck, I’ll see you both tonight. I’m going to stop and check on Miss Dean before I head back.”

“Thanks, Liz. I know Olivia will appreciate that.”

I parked right in front of 12 Church Street. The door to the porch was unlocked. I walked up the steps and rang the bell.

William Calhoun opened the door, a satisfied smile on his face.

I stepped backwards. “Where is Miss Dean?”

Like an alligator snatching his dinner from the riverbank, he grabbed me, pulled me in the door, and slammed it closed.

I swung my tote at his head.

He ducked, grabbed my arm, turned me around.

He wrapped me in his arms from behind.

I threw one elbow punch before the handkerchief descended over my face.

Chloroform. I held my breath and stomped the top of his foot.

“Bitch.” He held the handkerchief tighter over my face.