Choosing Charleston Page 18

  We chatted into lunchtime and the conversation migrated toward who could have done it. While I couldn’t fathom Trent to be a murderer, I fully believed he had to be behind the fire. He’d been furious about the woodpeckers and left the charity ball early. Then the fire had mysteriously erupted hours later. And it just so happened the toluene containers had been found near the nesting birds. The bottom line was that, without the birds, there would be no violation and Protter’s project could go on as planned. I guessed that Trent put one of his employees up to starting the fire, and the man had gotten himself killed in the process. I doubted that Trent actually lit the fire himself, because he wouldn’t have been so careless as to leave the toluene containers behind.

  I felt sick to my stomach, wondering how I could have enjoyed dancing with a man who would do such a thing. A man who put making a profit above the law, above endangered wildlife and above an employee’s safety. Mamma took the kids into the kitchen to help her make sandwiches and I explained my theory to the fire chief.

  “So the plan backfired,” I concluded. “The fire was to destroy the birds, and make it look accidental. Or maybe make it look like vandalism. But those toluene containers you found by the dead man?”

  “Yes?”

  “That flammable solvent wasn’t carried there to pour on the brush around the dead man. It was used to pour into the cavities where the woodpeckers make their nests, in the trunks of the trees. To burn them out, even if the trees didn’t actually catch fire. I’m sure of it. Ask the investigators to collect samples of wood around the nesting cavities, because I’ll bet they find residual toluene. They should look for a small hole in the trunk, about fifteen feet up. My ornithologist can help them locate the cavities.”

  He made some notes in a small spiral notepad. “It sounds a bit far-fetched, but okay. We’ll check it out.”

  “I don’t think it’s far-fetched. Somebody burned out the birds so the development can go ahead as planned,” I said. “But, if you prove the fire was arson, that’s not going to happen, right?”

  “Well, theoretically, there’s nothing to stop the development from moving forward, unless criminal charges are brought up against the land owner. And criminal charges won’t be filed unless we can prove arson.”

  Daddy sighed. “And, even that wouldn’t prevent the development from happening. Chances are, Protter would just take their losses and sell to another developer. The new developer would go ahead with the existing plans and honor all pending tenant agreements.”

  “But that’s not right. The Protter’s break the law by setting fire to their land and get off without even a slap on the hand? Who else besides Trent Protter had a motive?”

  “Well, Carly,” Chief Jim said slowly, “after listening to everything you’ve told me, any number of people could be a suspect, including you.”

  “Me? That’s crazy!”

  “Carly would never break the law!” Jenny jumped to my defense. “She doesn’t even break the posted speed limit!”

  “She’s been fighting the Protters,” the chief said. “Trying to stop the development. So she certainly had motive to set ‘em up and make it look like they did it.”

  “Not to be disrespectful, Chief,” I said, “but that’s ridiculous. It’s true I hate the Protters, but I would never resort to arson. Or murder. Good grief.”

  “My point is, in a situation like this, there’s always a slew of suspects.”

  I looked at Daddy and he was nodding. He’d known where Chief Jim was going with the conversation all along. It’s why he hadn’t jumped to my defense along with Jenny.

  “We add ‘em to the list as new information becomes available,” the fire chief continued, “and remove ‘em by process of elimination. Your theory about Trent Protter is reasonable, I reckon, but I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”

  Daddy agreed with his assessment. “Arson and destroying an endangered species are both serious offenses with serious penalties, Little Girl. Not to mention murder or involuntary manslaughter. As much as our business philosophies differ, the Protter men are good people.”

  “I don’t know what’ll become of the development,” Chief Jim said. “But my department has seasoned investigators and we’ll do our damnedest to find out what went on that night.”

  “And you,” he told Jenny, “need to sign on a safety coordinator for your TV program.”

  Properly reprimanded, my sister and I thanked the fire chief for his advice before everyone gathered around the kitchen table for grilled cheese sandwiches. Nobody ate much.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I didn’t have anything to do with the fire, Carly,” Trent said. “My immediate concern right now is to find out who did. I need to know how one of my men ended up dead.”

  The charred body retrieved from the debris belonged to Jerry Stillwell, one of Protter’s heavy equipment operators. And while Trent presented a strong front on the surface, he appeared genuinely distressed by the man’s death. Nevertheless, I wondered if he knew more than he was telling me.

  We were having a late lunch on the rooftop terrace of the Vendue Inn in the French quarter historic district. From our table, we had an incredible view of the city with its trademark church steeples and could see a slice of the nearby harbor.

  Lunch was my idea. Prodded by Lori Anne, I’d called Trent to ask if he would meet me to discuss a few things. I wanted to get him away from the construction site for an hour or so. I wanted to feel him out with hopes that I’d learn something to use against him. Jenny accused me of playing Nancy Drew, but Lori Anne told her I could get more information out of him than the fire chief could.

  Trent was hesitant but agreeable, and suggested his favorite Charleston lunch spot. I didn’t tell him the rooftop terrace was one of my favorites, too.

  I could smell thriving estuary life in the breeze and knew from the fertile scent that it was low tide. People who didn’t know always marveled at how those of us who lived on the South Carolina coast could tell whether it was high or low tide simply by sniffing the air.

  “He’s been with the company more than four years and has never missed a day. He was a hard worker… always taking overtime jobs because he had a wife and two little boys to support.”

  I cringed, thinking of the innocent man.

  Trent looked from his plate of food to me. “You’ve lost a few bird nests. But they’ve lost a husband and a father.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said. “Don’t lay a guilt trip on me. I’m terribly sorry a man died, but I had nothing to do with it. I’m not going to let you put me on the defensive.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew what Trent was thinking – that inadvertently, I was responsible. I’d been the one to bring in the ornithologist who identified the red-cockaded woodpecker nests on Protter’s land. Indirectly, I’d spurred an ugly course of events into action. On the other hand, if Protter’s new development hadn’t been about to put Mamma and Daddy out of business, I never would have entered the picture. I was simply pushing back so my family wouldn’t be pushed down and I had Newton’s third law of physics to back me up.

  Despite an empty stomach and the shrimp salad in front of me, my appetite was evasive. Trent didn’t appear to be hungry either. Watching him play with the pasta on his plate, it dawned on me that we were both just trying to satisfy our curiosity. Just like me, he was there to gather ammunition for the battle. Wait for the other to slip up and say something incriminating. Sort out feelings, maybe.

  I forced myself to look at the water so Trent wouldn’t catch me staring. Breathing in the view through my eyes, I decided that the physical attraction I’d felt toward him – since encountering him for the very first time when I was hungover and fetching breakfast – was finally dead, smothered by circumstance.

  But sitting across from the man that I alternately despised and dreamt of, I wasn’t sure how he felt. I had no idea if my body’s response to his on the dance floor two nights ago had been reciprocal. Althoug
h he had said I was beautiful, his mannerisms were entirely appropriate for any black tie social affair. Perhaps he simply danced with me to be polite, and perhaps the compliment was just that. A compliment.

  To Trent, I was probably nothing more than a business setback. No different than an uncooperative inspector, or inclement weather. To Protter Construction and Development, Carly Stone could simply be an annoying speed bump. And if that turned out to be the case, at least I was proving to be one heck of a huge speed bump.

  I returned my attention to the man who’d created havoc with my emotions. He stared at me with a calculating expression, possibly deciding whether he should slow down to go over the speed bump – or simply find a way around it.

  Had the situation been different, it would have been a delightful way to spend the afternoon. I knew if we’d met before Robert and I married, Trent and I would have been friends and maybe much more. I suddenly felt guilty about wasting the savory food in front of me. I began to feel like I was wasting the innocent view instead of relishing it. And I was no longer positive that Trent was the bad guy. But I had to find out.

  “I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on you,” he finally said, piercing a strip of chicken with his fork, but not eating it. “I guess it’s just important to me that you realize I wouldn’t do something like that. You may think I’m a horrible person because I’m a good businessman and a successful developer… and that’s fine. Hate me if you want to. I like what I do. But I am not an arsonist and I am not a criminal.”

  “Why did you leave the charity ball early?” I said, but answered my own question without giving him a chance. “Because you were angry. So mad, you went out and eliminated the problem.”

  A patio umbrella shaded his side of our table and I couldn’t gauge the reaction on his face.

  “We left the ball early because I wanted to get all the details about the damn woodpeckers. I wasn’t even going to stay and eat, but Pop insisted. So we ate and then we left. Me, Pop and Jack. We went to Jack’s house and talked for about an hour. This whole bird thing of yours had really turned into a huge problem.” He spoke slowly and cautiously, as if trying to keep his anger in check.

  “Had?” I said.

  “What?”

  “You said had turned into a huge problem. Past tense. As though it was a problem but you’ve solved it, so now it’s not.”

  “Do they teach you that in law school? How to twist somebody’s words to make something out of absolutely nothing?”

  “Okay,” I said. “So you had a meeting at your attorney’s house. Then what?”

  “Then Pop went home. And I… went out for a drink. Then I went home.”

  “You live alone?”

  He nodded.

  “So you don’t have an alibi.”

  Annoyed, he put down his fork and forgot about trying to eat. “Now who’s trying to put who on the defensive? I don’t know what you hoped to gain from our little lunch rendezvous, but I’m not going to sit here and take crap from you, Carly.”

  “I’m not trying to put you on the defensive,” I said calmly, plowing recklessly ahead. “If you’re feeling that way, you must have a reason. I’m simply stating a few facts. You found out one of your anchor stores had to be eliminated because of the birds. You left angry. There was a fire hours later. You don’t have an alibi.”

  “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

  “Well, who besides you would have motive to set the fire? I don’t care what Daddy or the fire chief says, I think you did it,” I said and paused to take a drink of pinot grigio. But the mood I was in made it taste flat. I didn’t feel triumphant like I thought I would.

  “Well, maybe you didn’t actually light the match, but after your meeting at Jack’s house, you got Jerry to do it for you. He needed the money, after all. He figures it’s like overtime pay. So you give him a few hundred dollars to torch some trees that he would have cleared anyway, if the woodpecker nests hadn’t been found. You probably didn’t expect him to kill himself in the process, but since he did, you’ll make it work to your advantage.”

  I knew I was pushing way too hard, destroying Newton’s theoretical scale of balance, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to force an admission out of him. Or perhaps I just needed to hear a denial.

  “I’ll bet Jack is already putting together a convincing case that Jerry had a beef with the company,” I said. “Like…maybe you were going to fire him or something? And he wanted to torch some equipment to get back at you. So he proves to be the unlucky arsonist and you get to finish putting up your development as planned. You’re happy. Handyman’s Depot is happy. Everybody’s happy. Except Mamma and Daddy. And of course, Jerry, who’s dead.”

  Trent abruptly stood up, but leaned over and held onto each side of the small table as he delivered his next words in a low, incensed voice.

  “First of all, if you want an alibi, I’ll give you one. I ran into a good friend at the pub that night. We had a few drinks together and went back to my place. Terry didn’t leave until the next morning.”

  Trent pulled some bills from his wallet and threw them on the table to pay for our food. It occurred to me that, even though I’d asked him to lunch and even though he was leaving angry, he was paying the tab. Southern manners aren’t precluded by circumstance.

  “And second, Jerry Stillwell was one of the most genuine, honest and hardworking men I’ve ever known. Say what you want to about me, but don’t disrespect him.”

  Trent disappeared, leaving me sitting at the table with two plates of uneaten food and the feeling that I’d just been slapped, hard.

  Of course he wouldn’t use the death of an employee to his advantage, whether he’d been involved in the plan or not. As much as I disliked Trent, I really didn’t believe he would stoop so low, even though I’d just voiced such an accusation.

  And of course Trent would have a girlfriend. To imagine otherwise was stupid.

  I’d been outclassed and felt foolish. The effect stung. I remained on the rooftop terrace for another hour, sipping the same glass of wine, staring at a view that had instantly become meaningless and wondering what Terry looked like.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I was still in a pensive mood when I got home from my disastrous lunch with Trent and Mamma’s maternal radar immediately picked up on it. I gave her a condensed version of my afternoon.

  “That man just riles me up,” I told her. “I lose my cool around him. If I was still working and he was a client, I’d have to pass the case to someone else. It’s ridiculous.”

  Mamma nodded.

  “I’ve worked with a lot of good looking men before. And I didn’t get stupid around them.”

  She nodded some more.

  “He’s trying to put my family out of business, for goodness sake. Besides, legally, I’m still a married woman. And besides that, Trent has a girlfriend named Terry. Not that I care. I hate him.”

  Mamma just nodded once more, her mouth forming an expression that was half grin and half frown, and kept her reply to herself.

  She has this way of nodding – solicitously yet silently – that rivals the most advanced interrogation technique. Under its influence, people felt compelled to talk and would often blurt out a confession. Without ever saying a word, Mamma could make an embezzler not only declare his guilt, but also return the money plus interest.

  Growing up, Jenny and I had admitted to numerous minor youthful offenses that should have been saved for adult ‘remember when’ storytelling decades later, like burning out the toaster by dropping buttered bread into it. Somewhere around age eleven or twelve, we decided to combat the effect of Mamma’s nod by closing our eyes until the subject matter changed and the urge to blurt out a confession had passed. Jenny and I held to our don’t-look-at-the-nod strategy for a month or more, until she got beaned in the head at a soccer match when the ball flew into the bleachers. Mamma was just trying to find out what happened to her jar of expensive face cream, and Jenny ended
up with a bruised nose.

  Even Lori Anne’s mother used to take advantage of Mamma’s nod. If she thought Lori Anne was hiding something, she’d give Mamma a call and send her child over. It usually took about twenty minutes before Mamma would call back with a full report.

  “Okay, ‘hate’ may be too strong of a word,” I said. “I actually really like him. Under different circumstances, he’s the type of man I could fall for. But it’s all moot anyway,” I confessed and shut my eyes, willing myself not to open them until the nod was likely over.

  “Why don’t you come with me on a drive?” she said after a few seconds. “I want to go over Minnie Beth and Patrick’s place.”

  I opened my eyes. “They’re home?”

  “I’m not sure. They still don’t answer the phone and the machine isn’t picking up. I called Robert on his mobile number to ask if they were out of town, but he didn’t know. He was awfully vague. All he wanted to talk about was you, and how you’re doing. But I figure if he wants to know how you are, he can call you.”

  “I’m not going to keep Robert informed of what’s going on in my life. He lost that privilege. I just want to be rid of him for good. Incidentally, where is he living now?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Wanting some attention, Taffy pushed a wet nose into my hand. I rubbed the spot behind her ears and thought about the two people Mamma was going to visit. People who must have loved Robert like he was their own son. People who, like me, deserved much better.

  “I wonder if he’s even bothered to tell them we’re getting a divorce?”

  “I don’t know,” Mamma said. “I just wonder how he can be so distant with the people that raised him.”

  “I don’t know either,” I told her. “Robert never talked about them, even back in high school. I’m beginning to think I don’t know Minnie Beth and Patrick or my husband very well. How could I ever have married him?”

  “Because you thought you were in love.”