Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) (13 page)

“No problem. These boys are always at one house or another.”

“Anyway, I’ll call Derek next week about that project. Thank you,” I said and replaced the receiver.

At least my instincts were working. But why would Travis provide such a flimsy alibi? Simple naïveté, assuming I’d take the word of his best bud? Or did he want to get caught?

I made a quick list of people I had interviewed and who had lied to me: Jane, Cherry, Joseph, Bebe, and now Travis. Yep, that’s everyone so far.

But who was lying about murder?

Matty arrived at my cottage at seven-thirty wearing his usual summer uniform: khaki shorts, faded surf tee, and his Oakleys on his head, tucked into his soft curly hair. “Hey, El, you ready?” he said with a light kiss on my cheek.

“Almost.” I slipped on my tennis shoes, then locked up the cottage. We walked to the drive where his truck was parked, an old sixties Land Cruiser FJ40 with the hardtop off. He held the door while I climbed into the cab.

“What’s with the moving boxes?” Matty asked. “Mr. Wallaby cleaning out the garage?”

“He sold the place, maybe two weeks ago,” I said as we drove away.

“Meet your neighbor yet? Maybe he’ll be friendlier than old Wallaby.”

“Um, yep. I’ve met him. Semi-retired, took Sully’s place at the department. Not sure about friendlier, though.” Not many people knew about my history with Ransom, including Matty, even though he knew just about everything else about me. I wasn’t ready to share this. At least not yet. I needed time to figure Ransom out for myself first.

“You get some sun today?” I asked. His nose was sunburned, dark pink and covered in freckles.

“Tide was out so I went fishing down off the Sound. Took my kayak out from Sandhill Beach and caught two red fish. You should join me sometime.” He reached over and squeezed my hand, sensing the fret face I was about to make. “Don’t worry, I throw them back. You won’t have to eat them.”

“I’m less worried about that than the kayak. Don’t those things flip over a lot?” I did not want to land in the creek. Matty took me snorkeling once. I did fine until I stuck my face in the water and saw all the creatures swimming around. I nearly walked on water to get back to shore.

He laughed. A low sweet sound with a big grin. “Not in my kayak we won’t.”

The sun was near setting when we walked to the back deck at the Tidewater where fifteen or so tables with white linen toppers were arranged between the hotel and the ocean. Pretty blue china settings with painted lobsters decorated the tables and colorful paper lanterns dangled above, crisscrossing the patio.

Matty spotted his brother near the jazz band. Pete was two years older and looked like the fireman he was. Athletic build with daredevil looks and the body of Mr. October in some sexy firefighter calendar. His wife, Kyra, was his perfect match. Cheerleader-pretty with the temperament of a yoga instructor. They had two girls at home and another on the way—in about ten minutes by the look of her.

“Kyra, you look ready to pop,” I said after a round of hugs and kisses and handshakes.

“If only. The little bean’s been giving her mama a hard time. And I’ve still got six weeks to go.”

Matty rubbed her belly. “Don’t you listen to her, little bean. You act any old way you please.” He pulled his hand back. “Hey, there, she kicked me. Gonna be champion swimmer, I bet. Maybe a surfer, too.”

“Already got her a board, brother,” Pete said as he grabbed his plate and headed for a long buffet spread opposite the band.

We settled into the dinner with plenty of beer (juice for Kyra) and several trips to the buffet. The evening progressed rapidly while the brothers Gannon cracked, shucked, and slurped oysters—steamed, fried, and raw on the half-shell. An oyster roast is so much more fun if you like oysters. Or shellfish. Or seafood of any kind. Which I don’t. Especially the kind you eat raw. That’s just gross.

But I did just fine with a filet, sliced thick with sides of bleu cheese potatoes, baked beans, and a basket of pecan cornbread. Plus, the view was spectacular. The ocean was on my right beyond the sea grass and the sand dunes, and the band played a jazzy tune beneath the dangling lights and rising moon.

As dinner moved into its second hour, I slipped into a reverie watching Matty with his family. He was thirty-five to my forty. I think his biological clock may have been ticking like a time bomb, whereas my clock didn’t even have batteries in it. Matty needed a real date. Find himself a wife, have a little bean of his own.

Small slivers of pain sliced through my belly. Guilt at keeping him to myself or jealous he might want someone else? Or perhaps too many helpings of bleu cheese potatoes? I was leaning toward the potatoes when a flicker of brassy blonde hair pulled me from my ruminations.

Bebe Hirschorn. She walked across the patio with a handsome man by her side. He was no New Jersey cowboy. More like a Wall Street shaker, and not one on the desk. The guy had the easy, confident stride of a man running the floor, wearing casual slacks and a tan Tommy Bahama. They were having a pretty friendly conversation by the looks of it. She put her hand on his arm, he smiled in return.

“Taking up voyeurism?” Matty asked me.

“Do you know who that man is, the one talking to Bebe Hirschorn?”

“No, but she doesn’t look happy.”

And she didn’t. Their friendly conversation must have turned decidedly unfriendly because Bebe spun on her heel and hurried toward the hotel.

“Excuse me, I’ll only be a minute,” I said to Matty.

I crossed the patio and into the lobby, catching up to Bebe at the base of an elegant staircase leading to the second floor gallery.

“Bebe, wait, it’s me, Elliott.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m at the oyster roast. But I could ask you the same thing. I thought you were flying home.”

“Tomorrow. We had to wait for Joseph. He couldn’t leave the store.”

“Who was that man you were speaking to?”

She glanced around. “Who? Milo Hickey? He’s nobody.”

“Didn’t look like nobody.”

“He’s nothing. A guy from some stupid poker game on Saturday nights. A linebacker crab game Leo goes to. Trust me, he’s a nobody.” She fluffed her big hair and the bracelets on her arm rattled. “I don’t trust him. Gambler. What does he know?”

What
does
he know? “I left you a message earlier, but you didn’t call me.”

She shrugged.

“Where’s your dog?”

“I don’t have a dog, and Leo finally got rid of his. Filthy dog was a nuisance. Look, I gotta go.” She turned to click up the stairs in her high heels.

“Wait. Do you know a Dee? Someone who drives a red VW bug? Often parked in your driveway late at night?”

Bebe paled, leaving only two splotchy spots of orange blusher. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and marched up the stairs.

Now why didn’t I believe that?

“Did Mrs. Hirschorn offer up any scraps to clear your client? A stolen necklace, a jealous lover?” Ransom asked from behind me.

I turned around. “Nope. Just saying hello.”

“Liar.”

“What are you doing here? An oyster roast seems lowbrow for a gadabout like you.”

He smiled. “Just enjoying the scenery, taking in the local color.” He stepped closer. “Like you, Red. Your cheeks have pinked up two shades since we’ve been standing here. Care to try for a third?”

“I don’t think your girlfriend would approve.”

He smirked. “Probably not. But I find you kind of irresistible. Like a peach.”

“A peach? Who’s the liar now? You just want to know what I learned from Bebe Hirschorn.”

He stepped even closer, so close I could count his eyelashes. As if I could pull off that kind of concentration with his breath on my face and his lips within kissing distance.

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Though if I was, you could never tell. Unlike you.”

“Ha. I’m a great liar.”

“Your face is a movie screen playing out every thought in real time. And God help me, I can’t resist the show.”

I placed my palm on his chest to push him back. I met a warm brick wall covered in silk. “Stop. We’re not doing this here.”

“Doing what?” Matty asked, walking up to us.

I dropped my hand, startled. “Hey Matty.”

Ransom remained two inches from me, but stretched out his hand to Matty. “Lieutenant Nick Ransom, Island Police Department, former Special Agent FBI. Ex-boyfriend and new neighbor of Red’s.”

“Mattias Gannon, Headmaster of Seabrook Prep,” Matty said. “And a very close friend of Elli’s.”

They shook hands. They held on too long. The men were nearly the same height and their eyes locked together tighter than their hands. Seconds ticked by, then they finally released.

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up,” I said.

It was kind of interesting, actually. To see men stripped down to their natural competitive instincts. Both vying for the top prize. Which I think was me in this bizarre scenario, considering neither man actually wanted me. Matty and I weren’t even dating and Ransom had a girlfriend.

I put my hand on Matty’s arm. “We should be getting back.” I wanted to get out of there before the tension swallowed me whole.

Ransom tipped his head. “Of course. Have a good night.”

I felt his eyes searing into my backside as I steered Matty through the lobby and over to our table. The waiter had delivered fresh pots of coffee and slices of pineapple upside-down cake while we were gone. A perfectly centered pineapple ring and cherry topped each one. Pete and Kyra had already finished; only crumbs remained on their pale blue saucers.

“You failed to mention your new neighbor is your ex-boyfriend,” Matty said. He chopped off a slice of his cake, but didn’t eat it.

“He’s not my ex-boyfriend, Matty. We spent one night together. Maybe five. Well, not like the whole night, every night. We kissed, made out, rounded a few bases.”
Jesus, Elliott, what are you saying?
I stuffed a piece of cake in my mouth.

Matty wouldn’t even look at me. I felt my cheeks pink up. Which made me think of Ransom, which made them pink up another shade. Five more minutes and my head would explode.

“What did you mean by ‘we’re not doing this here’?”

“I didn’t mean anything, Matty. He’s probably on a
date
for Pete’s sake.”

“
You’re
on a date for Pete’s sake.”

A date? The stomach slivers returned. How did I miss that signal?

I saw Kyra elbow Pete, then give him a look. “Honey, it’s late. I told the babysitter we’d be home by ten-thirty.”

Pete protested. “Kyra, she’s there as late as we want, you told her—”

“We’re leaving, hon. The baby’s kicking up a storm. Didn’t like that last glass of lemonade, I think.” Pete helped her up. They kissed us both and scurried off.

“We know how to clear a table,” I said.

Silence.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset, Matty. We’re not on a
date
date.”

“I picked you up, I’m paying for dinner, I’m driving you home. That’s a date, Elliott.”

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. The music grew louder. Couples danced close, swaying to the sultry beat in the soft glow of the lanterns. Matty leaned over. “Let’s get out of here.”

He paid the check. I hadn’t felt so awkward staring at a dinner bill since my first date in the tenth grade. Sometimes Matty and I split the check, sometimes we don’t. This seemed like one of those don’t times. I didn’t want to make things worse by offering up my share of the ticket after he made such a point of it, so I sat in silence until the waiter returned with the receipt.

Then we walked in silence to the front of the hotel. Then we stood in silence while the valet brought the truck up. Then we drove in silence all the way home, pulling up to the cottage without saying a word.

Ransom’s porch light glared like a spotlight and he had parked his car sideways in the drive as if it was on display in a showroom. Great. Batman had an ego.

“Matty, Nick Ransom was twenty years ago. Now he’s just the police lieutenant working on a case I happen to be involved in,” I said quietly as we sat in the truck.

He didn’t answer. He leaned back and looked up at the sky.

I looked up, too. It was black as pitch with millions of stars glittering in the sky like rhinestones on velvet. A warm breeze carried the scents of pine and briny sea spray and the sweet smell of wood smoke from a distant fireplace.

He put his hand on my arm. “Wait here,” he said and climbed out of the truck. He walked over to my side and opened the door. He took my hand to help me out, then shut the door behind me. “This
is
a real date,” he said and kissed me.

His lips were soft and warm and unexpectedly sweet. His tongue met mine and the heat cranked up from steam to sizzle.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed into the side of the truck as Matty pressed against me.

His hand slid down my chest, then under my shirt. I felt his fingers on my ribs, his palm against my skin. Hot and smooth. His hands and his body.