Murder on Edisto (The Edisto Island Mysteries) (32 page)

Seabrook dropped his chin to his chest in thought.

Callie saw where this was going. If she were Seabrook, she’d have doubts, too, but she’d ream Peters for being so stupid. And Sophie for being so lax. Damn these people being so loose out here. Nobody thought crime could happen to them.

“Go call in,” Seabrook ordered Dickens. “I got this.”

Callie caught a small grin on the young man’s face as he exited.

“Oh,” Seabrook added louder. “Have Sophie come here so we can wrap this up.”

The officer waved two fingers.

Walking over to Callie, Seabrook spoke down an octave. “This won’t stick, you know.”

“It could if you wanted it to. He had no business in here. Let Sophie inspect her house for anything amiss. Then check Peters’ pockets. But Mike, this man has got to stop making himself at home in peoples’ homes.”

Crow’s feet crinkled in doubt, the lawman shifted his weight toward her. “It’s what he’s been allowed to do,” he almost whispered. “You hire him, you feed him, and let him use the shower. I agree he went too far here, but he might not be guilty of anything other than being thirsty. I’ll talk to him.”

Harmless or not, one day Peters would upset the wrong person, get accused of theft, or worse, walk into someone’s bullet. “That’s the problem with small towns,” Callie said. “They let personal relationships interfere.”

Seabrook closed the space between them. “Maybe Boston taught you to keep it in overdrive, but here we factor in who’s who. It’s a positive, not a negative. Maybe you don’t know how to work a small town.”

She leaned in. “Says the man who hangs out in empty houses and thinks the bad guy will walk by and wave.”

Seabrook narrowed eyes at her and turned to Peters. “You can’t just enter someone’s house, Peters. If they aren’t home, don’t go in. Someone might shoot you. Now empty your pockets on the table.”

Callie moved closer, sliding her gun in her pocket. No silver dollar fell out amidst the pocketknife, change, and various wadded bits of Peters’ receipts and stubs.

“When did you try the door to my house?” she asked.

“About a half hour ago,” Peters said. “I waited until your gentleman friend left.”

“Which one?” she asked.

Seabrook eyed Callie. She pretended not to notice.

“That big guy,” Peters said. “Never seen him before.”

Peters could be telling the truth, or he entered her house, did the damage, planted the cam, and left before she arrived home. The man could practically build a house. Surely he could break in to one with little trace.

“Well, you seem to have a good measure of activities,” she told Peters. “What else did you see?”

He seemed confused, his face a blank slate.

“Was there a car you didn’t recognize? Did you see anyone else who didn’t make sense? At least try to help yourself here. Sometime while you were rattling doors, somebody broke into my place.”

Seabrook scowled. Callie glanced over and raised her chin in acknowledgment, but they had to deal with the handyman first before they got into a discussion.

Peters mashed his lips together and scratched his head. “Not that I noticed. Your man was the only odd thing. Sure he didn’t do it?”

“He was with me, Peters. Did you see anyone go into Henry Beechum’s house?” To put a note in a window, by chance?

He gazed at the ceiling, as if to scavenge through his junkyard of thoughts, then answered, “Uh, no, ma’am.”

Sophie halted in her kitchen doorway. “Peters,” she cooed, as if soothing a hurt child.

With a gasp, Peters spun around, flustered. “This is all screwed up, Ms. Bianchi.” He reached out and spread his things across the table for all to see. “That little pocketknife isn’t dangerous,” he said to Seabrook. “And I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said to Sophie. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Awww.” Sophie rushed over. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. You just caught me unawares, is all. But you need to watch yourself with this robber on the loose. You could run into him.”

Callie walked toward her. “You could have saved us all this trouble, Sophie.”

Sophie shrugged. “I came in, saw the back of a man in my house and hauled butt to your place.”

“I think we’re done,” Seabrook said. “Soon as you pick up there, you can go, Peters.”

“Gotcha, thanks,” the man replied. “Hey, Callie, while you’re here . . . can I collect my money?”

She frowned at his nonchalance. “I’ll put it in my mailbox when I get back.”

He jammed his belongings in his pants pockets.

“Peters?” Callie asked. “You’re not bothered we suspected you?”

“Not really. I didn’t do it,” he replied. “Y’all would figure that out. Now what about dinner?”

“Can’t.” Callie had no desire to let this guy grow accustomed to the inside of her home now. He already admitted he’d tried her door. She motioned for Seabrook to follow her to the back porch. “Can we talk?”

As the glass door closed, Seabrook touched her elbow. “Sorry again about your daddy.”

She reflected back to that night Seabrook had broken the news to them. He’d been so calm, so sympathetic, and had followed Jeb and her most of the way to Beverly’s place. “Yeah, thanks so much for how you handled it. I asked them to reanalyze the details. Daddy doesn’t drive into trees.”

Seabrook just listened, much like the Middleton chief had.

“Anyway,” she started.

“How’d you injure the arm?”

She pulled it against her body. “Old wound, bad habit.”

His words hung up, as if he changed what he had to say. Callie sensed a waffling conflict between cop and doctor, and under other circumstances, would’ve appreciated the concern.

“Regardless how Sophie’s break-in turned out,” Seabrook continued, “I’m glad you called us. The guy might not have been Peters.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you held a town meeting?” While Edisto needed its tourists, it also needed to be vigilant and let tenants and residents alike know about the break-ins.

“Already did,” he replied. “While you were in Middleton. Had to keep it pretty general, though. Just told people to lock their doors and report anyone unusual. What else we going to tell them?” He seemed to gnaw the inside of his cheek.

“What?” she asked, noticing he held something back.

“Your name came up.”

She wasn’t surprised. “So?”

“Some think you have the talent to do these burglaries yourself.”

Seriously? “And the murder?”

“That too.”

She shook her head, raking her scalp with her nails. “Un-friggin’ believeable.”

“Stand in their shoes, Callie. Nothing happened until you arrived. I know that’s happenstance, but they—”

“I smell Raysor all over this.”

With pursed lips, he shook his head. “Nah, he wasn’t even there.”

“Still . . .”

“Ignore the rumors,” he said. “Nobody that matters suspects you.”

Like nobody suspected Peters. Great. She was in such good company. She so wanted to trust Seabrook. He made more sense than anyone else out here. She just couldn’t comprehend the law enforcement methods on this beach. “Listen, I’m not some high-strung idiot. And somebody really broke into my place this morning,” she said. “For real.”

Seabrook’s expression turned dark. “Steal anything? Leave a coin?”

She described the box and the destroyed contents. “But I want you to see the rest.”

Together they returned to Chelsea Morning. Callie led him toward the spot in her living room that gave her the window view of Papa’s house. The light was off. The paper gone. Pauley’s car not there. Embarrassingly, she couldn’t recall if it had been there before.

“There was a sign . . . crap.” Callie hurried back to her bedroom. The box was still on her bed, the items broken and damaged.

“This”—she motioned to the debris—“happened while I was out on the beach.”

Seabrook bent over the items. “Junk’s all broken.”

She yanked his arm and spun him around. “It’s not junk. It’s Papa’s stuff. That matters, don’t you think?”

His raised arms in concession. “Okay, calm down.”

She picked up the smashed cam pieces and pressed them into his hand. “And this has been watching me in my bedroom.”

He turned the broken unit over. “A camera? This the only one?”

“I haven’t checked yet. Found it about the time Sophie beat down my door.” Why wasn’t he more upset?

You liked his calm, remember?

“Wish you hadn’t busted it,” he said. “I’m surprised you even touched it for fear of messing up prints.”

“Sorry I didn’t pull out my gloves and fingerprint kit, Mike.” But he was right. She’d freaked. Feeling inept, she studied the indentation on the wall where the cam hit.

Seabrook held the pieces up. “Why would someone do this to you and nobody else?”

“If I knew, would I need your help?” she exclaimed, her etiquette filter gone. Then she snatched out her smartphone, punched buttons, and held up the picture of the sign. The screen outlining her porch made the word
whore
illegible.

“What’s that say?” he asked, almost as if fearful of asking.

Twisting it around and deeming it worthless, she shook her head. “You people beat all I ever saw.”

“Wait. Who are
you people
?” Seabrook asked, his mouth tighter.

“Raysor, Sophie, Pauley, the Edisto PD. You think I’m flawed, or damaged, or, or, whatever.” She fingered the gun in her pocket, the only sense of solace she had. No point in putting it away while he was still in the house, either. He might take it away again.

Damn it, nobody seemed to be trying hard enough.

She snatched the cam away from Seabrook and shook it. “This is perverted! This is dangerous! This stands for something far more sinister. Get your act together, acting chief. Do something!”

Seabrook dipped to her level. “I’ve been as tolerant as anyone can be with you in light of all your . . . demons. I let you keep your precious mementoes. I agree this hidden camera needs our attention, but—”

“You’ve had a homicide, an assault, and multiple burglaries.” Arms now stretched out to each side, she shook with emphasis. “I dealt with that on a daily basis for years, and all you can see are my
demons.
You have demons too, from what I hear,
doctor
.”

The minute she said the words, she regretted them.

“That was mean, but I’m still on your side,” he finally said. “Settle down if you want to think clearer. If you were in my shoes, you’d tell your victim the same thing.”

Victim?
She sucked in air, wanting to believe him. And goodness knows she wanted to settle down.

“I’ll let you know if we come up with anything,” he added. “What else?”

With nerves stretched thin and too little sleep, quivers traveled across her back and shoulders. “My Glock was stolen.”

“Well, damn.” Lines deepened across his forehead. He extracted his memo book. “That’s definitely not good. Come down and file a report. I’ll put out a notice.”

That was it? Apparently, the laid-back air of Edisto came with an ability to not express excitement. And the more frustrated she became about it, the crazier she knew she appeared. Her blood began to boil. “Listen to me, Seabrook.”

“I’ve
been
listening,” he replied.

“I tell you my gun’s gone, and it’s a problem.” She wished he weren’t so tall. “But when I show you broken mementoes, you think I’m nuts. I tell you about a sign in the window, and you don’t care. The cam and the gun barely got a rise out of you.”

“You’re overwrought, Callie,” he said. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” She shifted her wide stance. “Either I’m crazy or not. You believe me or you don’t. Because my little
signs
and broken
junk
might be real clues, chief. Or I could have lied about the gun or planted the cam myself. Am I credible or not? Make up your damn mind.”

Callie’s jaw ached.
Damn him!
It took a murder and a stolen gun to get Seabrook to just raise his brow. And instead of finding a burglar, Raysor wrote traffic tickets like they were Class A felonies. Maybe she’d install her own security cameras and record the proof they needed, because they sure wouldn’t deduce anything on their own.

“I’m not drunk, by the way,” she said. “Get that out of your head.”

“Didn’t think you were.”

Sure he didn’t. She bet he gave her a few good sniffs and analyzed the whites of her eyes before he came to that conclusion.

“Bet you didn’t check the nanny cam at the Maxwell place like I suggested, either,” she said.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“They said they didn’t have one.”

“And you believed them?” she jeered. “Of course you did.” An affluent couple with an only child and no nanny cam. Maybe paranoia ran thicker up north, but these days she’d post a camera on people who kept her toddler.

Seabrook gave Callie a glance she couldn’t read. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like anything anymore.

“Callie?” Sophie appeared at the base of the stairs.

Callie turned. “What, Sophie.”

In bare feet, Miss Yoga padded up to them, having slipped in the back door.

“Before I leave, you want me to help you hunt for more cameras?” Seabrook asked low.

“No,” Callie said sternly. “I’ll take care of myself, like I’ve already been doing.”

He blew out. “Call me if you find anything else.”

What would he do about it if she did?

Seabrook turned to leave, halting long enough to say to Sophie, “I’m tired of telling you to lock your doors.”

“It was a false alarm, Mike,” she said.