Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) (18 page)

“It’s just poker.”

“Those games are dangerous. Guns, Elli.
Guns
. Lots of cash lying around. The mob runs secret poker games. They draw all kinds of unsavory characters.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen to me. It’s no place for a girl like you. You can’t go driving around in that kind of neighborhood alone,” Sid said and leaned across the table to grip my arm. “Who knows what type of slimy lowlifes will be there.”

“It’s in Haverhill Plantation. I’m pretty sure it’s a safe neighborhood.”

“In a house bought with illegal gambling money,” Sid argued. “Filled with desperate gamblers risking their paychecks. What happens when they lose? They see a pretty little thing like you, way out of her element?”

I pictured Milo Hickey in his beige Tommy Bahama. He didn’t seem so desperate. But I relented. “Fine, I’ll skip it. I can’t get in anyway. I’ll meet with Milo in a nice public place. Maybe the cereal aisle at the supermarket.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Sid said.

I excused myself to go to the ladies room and heard her mutter behind me, “When she’s not lying in the gutter from a gunshot wound, then she’ll thank me.”

On the way back to the table, I spotted her boyfriend, Marco, at the take-out window at the bar. He was dressed in tan slacks and a loose linen shirt. He spun his keys around his finger while he waited.

I slipped into my chair and whispered, “Isn’t that your date?”

He was handsome in a movie star way with thick brown hair and bright green eyes. He had a rakish mole on his cheek. I met him two weeks earlier over dessert. It was supposed to be for dinner, but he and Sid didn’t make it on time. Something about an emergency surgery, but I figured it was an operation of a different kind, judging from Sid’s mussy hair and glowing cheeks.

“Why did he cancel on you tonight?” I asked.

“Sick mother. I guess she’s been ill for a while now. This is his second cancellation this week.”

We both leaned forward to the center of the table with our heads low, instinctively ducking beneath his sightline. Though he had no interest in the dinner crowd. Not with a young barmaid in a tight short skirt standing next to him.

“He’s dressed awfully fancy for visiting a sick mother,” I said. “And it’s kind of late for dinner.”

Sid didn’t say anything. She just watched him, leaning against the bar, spinning his keys. “Maybe I should say hello.”

“Maybe we should follow him.”

She slid her gaze to me. “Follow him?”

“See what he’s up to. If you say hello now, he’ll obviously tell you he’s going to his mother’s. Doubt will stick with you like a song you can’t get out of your head.”

“I’m forty-five, Elliott. I can’t follow him.”

“Of course you can. There’s no age limit.” I grabbed my wallet and threw forty bucks on the table. “Every girl over the age of sixteen has the right to follow her man when he’s out where he shouldn’t be. It’s practically expected.”

“It’s stalking,” Sid said. “Would you follow Ransom?”

“No.”

“Matty?”

“Look, woman, this isn’t about me.” I slung my hipster crossways over my shoulder. “It’s now or never.”

Marco laughed at something a cute young waitress said, then watched her walk away.

“Fine,” Sid said.

We inched out of our chairs and snuck out the door. Cut through the shops, straight to the lot, avoiding the center entrance.

“That’s his car,” Sid said as we passed a black Porsche 911 at the curb.

“Perfect. Now we have a starting point.”

Sid walked to the left, while I went to the right.

“Where are you going?”

“To my car,” she said. “It’s more comfortable than yours. And faster.”

“And more obvious.”

“What about drinking, are you okay to drive?” Sid said.

“Yep. I’m more worried about the six glasses of water I drank. Come on, he’ll be here any second.” We hustled to my car and climbed in to wait.

“Well, at least put the top down,” she said.

“Sure, Sid. With your five feet of hair billowing around next to my bright red head, we might as well hook onto his bumper and honk the horn all the way down Cabana Boulevard.”

“Well, excuse me for not knowing the proper way to stalk someone.”

“Look, there he is.”

Marco appeared around the corner of the last shop carrying a white takeout bag. He hopped into the Porsche. Twenty seconds later he pulled out of the lot.

“Hurry up, you’re going to lose him,” she said as I slid between two cars on Cabana. “Shouldn’t you turn off your headlights so he can’t see you?”

“A car without headlights grabs attention. Every oncoming car will flash their brights at us.”

He drove south on Cabana in the left lane. I stayed one car back. He drove sedately through traffic, then punched the gas and cut to the right. He passed a mini-van on the left, then cut back over.

“Shit,” I said. “Do you think he saw us?”

“No, that’s just the way he drives.”

The Porsche flew into the turn lane at Ocean Boulevard. He swung a U-turn and passed us going the other direction.

By the time I got to the light, it was already yellow. I floored the gas and zipped into the turnaround. “Do you see him?”

Traffic cleared and I sped north on Cabana.

“Up ahead, four cars on the right,” she said.

I passed an enormous sedan on the left, trying to make up the distance as fast as the Mini would let me.

“He’s turning into Sugar Hill. Hurry, Elli, the light’s going to turn again.”

“For someone who didn’t want to follow him, you sure are into this.” I hit the right curve, barely slowing as I popped onto Sugar Hill Drive.

“It’s a rush,” she said. “No wonder you love your investigations so much.”

We approached the security hut directly behind Marco, but I kept back at least thirty feet. He rolled through while the guard waved him on.

“That’s a good sign, right?” I said. “He must come here a lot, probably has a sticker. You can do that if your relatives live here.”

But I didn’t have a sticker or a pass or a relative and had to stop.

A guard in a tan uniform ambled forward. “Yes, ma’am?” He was ninety years old if a day and resembled Buddy Hackett.

“We’re here for drinks at Molly’s on the Beach,” I said.

“Okay, then. Nice night for it. Let me get you a ticket,” he said and slowly entered the guard shack.

“He’s getting away, Elli. His taillights are almost gone.”

I watched the two red pinpoints shrink in the distance. Then they disappeared. “I think it’s just the curve in the road. We’ll catch up.” I willed grandpa Buddy to move faster. Come on, come on. My palms were sweaty from gripping the steering wheel and I had to pee like a racehorse.

Buddy finally moseyed over and held out the pass. It took the willpower of a saint not to snatch the pink paper from his grasp.

“Now, you know how to get—”

“We’re good, thank you,” I hollered and slammed the gas.

“He’s gone,” Sid said. “We lost him.”

“We didn’t lose him, just keep looking.” I floored it, speeding around the curvy road at fifty-two with a posted limit of twenty-five.

“There, there, there,” Sid said and tapped the windshield at a pair of taillights. They flashed bright red as he braked. “Might be someone else, but it looks like his lights.”

“I think so, too.” I reached the side street he turned onto and followed. The street was deserted. I slowed. “Look in the driveways.” The homes were dark, very few had their porch lamps on. The only street light was at the corner stop sign where we had turned.

We rounded a sharp curve and I spotted his car. “On the right, Sid. Duck, quick.”

“I can’t duck in this car. It’s smaller than a soup can.”

“Well, turn around then for shit’s sake.”

He was just climbing out of his car as we passed, but he didn’t pay attention to us. I whipped into a driveway six houses down on the left for another U-turn, then parked on the opposite side of the street, facing Marco. He carried the takeout bag to the porch and rang the bell.

“I’m going to feel like an idiot when his mother answers the door,” Sid said.

I didn’t say anything because I knew what was coming. Who rings the doorbell at their mother’s house?

A short woman in a silky black slip answered the door. Five seconds ticked by with smiles and gestures. Then he kissed her. Passionately. Hands in her hair, then all over the slip. He pushed through the front door and kicked it shut with his foot.

“Well, shit.”

“I’m sorry, Sid.”

“Screw this. Let’s go to the poker game.”

SEVENTEEN

“Really? Are you okay?”

“Sure. I felt something coming anyway, just didn’t want to see it,” Sid said. “But screw him. Let’s make a night of it. I’m all hopped up on adrenaline and margaritas.”

I squeezed her hand, then reached for my phone to dial Tod.

“You calling the poker guy?”

I shook my head. “We’re uninvited guests. We need to start with a pass to get through the gate.”

“Hello,” Tod said.

“Hey Tod, did I wake you?”

“I haven’t been asleep before midnight on a Saturday since I was thirteen. You should try it some time.”

“So it’s a no, then?” I said.

“Can we put the top down now?” Sid said, reaching for the button.

I slapped her hand away. “No, Sid, not yet.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because Casanova over there might see us. He may be a shit, but it’s still bad form to get caught out front.”

“Elli, what are you doing now?” Tod asked.

“I need a gate pass for Haverhill Plantation,” I said to Tod. “Can you get me in?”

“Like I said, what are you up to? A little B and E, kidnapping a suitor, perhaps another food fight?”

“Nothing like that. Exactly. Can you get me the gate pass or not?”

“Of course. Try not to get arrested.”

“I’ll do my very best.”

“By the way, we’ve had twelve cancellations for the Gatsby, and I expect more tomorrow,” Tod said.

“What? Why?”

“Seems some folks don’t want to mingle with a murderer. You’re not doing so well on your investigation.”

“Alleged murderer, Tod, and I’m working on it,” I said and clicked off.

I started the car and drove to the stop sign with the headlights off. Once we cleared the guard shack and stopped at the light, I put the top down.

We drove down Cabana to Haverhill Drive, a short ride to the guard gate. Unlike our last destination with ace security officer Grandpa Buddy, Haverhill Plantation was locked down tighter than a military base, complete with an intimidating soldier defending the entrance.

A tall black man in full dress uniform, including service bars and a stiff hat, greeted us. “Ma’am?” he said with an expressionless face.

I noted the Glock on his utility belt and cleared my throat. “Yes, hello. You should have a pass for me. Elliott Lisbon.”

“Identification?”

I rifled through my hipster. My driver’s license was tucked in a zipper pouch. I handed it to him and he disappeared into the hut.

“How can Tod get us a pass?” Sid said.

“Shhh. Discretion,” I whispered. “I don’t ask, he just does.”

The sentinel approached the car. “It’s good for tonight only,” he said. He slid a blue pass onto my dash.

“Thank you.”

I cruised past the raised gate arm, maintaining the speed limit down to the mile. Massive live oak trees lined the main drive on both sides. The branches met in the middle, creating a canopy of leaves and dangling moss. Landscape lights rested at the base of every tree to light our path.

I turned right on Magnolia Avenue, then another right on Cypress Court. Each house we passed was a different architecture: Georgian, Charleston, Tudor, Colonial. The last one on the block was a sprawling French country estate with a stone front and ivy covered courtyard wall. Milo Hickey’s house.

We were definitely late to the party. I counted seven cars parked in the drive. Each with a sticker price higher than my annual salary times two.

“So far the neighborhood doesn’t look so bad,” I said as I slowly drove past the house.

“No kidding.” 

I parked at the end of the cul de sac, switched off the headlights and turned to Sid. “Can you climb a wall in those shoes?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We can’t just stroll up the walk. They’ll never let us in. Did you see the bruiser out front? Looks like he could smash my car just by leaning on it.”

“No, I’m not climbing a wall in my Josef Seibels.”

“Well, flip them off, because we’re going over.” I shoved my keys in my pocket and my hipster under the seat. I switched off the interior light as a precaution, then slid out.