Lowcountry Book Club by Susan M. Boyer

Author:Susan M. Boyer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, private invesstigators, Ghost Stories, detective novels, British Cozy Mystery, Cozy Mystery, murder mystery series, Women Sleuths, english mystery, female sleuth, mystery series, ghost novels
ISBN: 9781635110456
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2016-07-04T22:00:00+00:00

TEN

Tallulah Poinsett had agreed to speak to me at three. I had some time to kill, so I cruised East Battery, Water, Meeting, and South Battery with the moonroof open until a parking spot opened up on East Battery. Charleston was dressed in her prettiest spring frock—colorful blooms burst from planters, beds, and bushes. Deep green palm fronds danced against the bright blue sky. I parked and rolled the windows down.

I tried calling Sonny. He was apparently avoiding me. I left him another message and beat down my anxiety. I knew Sonny. If Shelby’d had an affair—and whether I liked it or not, it was looking more like she had—it wasn’t with him.

I pulled my iPad out to check on Paul Baker. He had changed locations—or at least his van had. The map on my GPS locator screen had him at a spot on a back corner of Oak Plantation Campground, about seven miles down Savannah Highway from his house. Was he working a case, or hiding out? He surely wasn’t vacationing that close to home. Was that where his wife and kids were?

I mulled the note someone—who?—had left in my purse. Delta, from all appearances, was a proper Southern lady, not a zombie alien Sasquatch loon after all. Divorce had become so commonplace it wouldn’t diminish her reputation in the slightest. Would she covet her friend’s husband? And if she did, was it an innocent crush she’d never act on? Or was it one of those boil the rabbit scenarios from Fatal Attraction? Maybe Colleen would pick up on something, spend some time browsing Delta’s mind.

I opened the Numbers app on my iPad and created a spreadsheet with a list of all the book club members, my initial impressions of each, and the alibis I’d gathered already. Being at home with your kids was not a particularly strong alibi. That said, I wasn’t keen on questioning the children to verify their mothers’ alibis. I’d leave that as a last resort. With a couple of quick phone calls, I verified Erin, Anne, and the other Liz’s whereabouts on the night Shelby died. Unless there was a conspiracy—too unlikely to spend time on at this point—they were all in the clear.

At three o’clock, I got out of the car and crossed the street to the Poinsett home. It was a lovely three-story, rosy-taupe colored masonry structure with stacked side verandahs and a front balcony with lacy wrought iron railing. I passed through the street-level gate and took the sidewalk to the door at the front of the house. I rang the bell and waited. Presently, a woman opened the door.

“Ms. Talbot?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Poinsett.” This beautiful creature could only be Shelby’s mother. The resemblance was striking, though time and grief had lined Tallulah Poinsett’s face. She wore her muted blonde hair in a bob. Her soft knit outfit might’ve come from J. Jill. While neat and attractive, nothing about her personal appearance screamed I have tons of money.

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