04 Lowcountry Bordello(2)

I held his gaze. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“This is confidential, right?”

I tilted my head. “Of course. Assuming you haven’t committed a crime, aren’t planning one, have no knowledge of one, et cetera.”

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows and give me a look that said, Really?



“Robert, how long have we known each other?”

“You see?” He gestured dramatically with both hands, a thing he was not prone to doing. “That’s the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“We’ve known each other most of our lives. In some ways, that makes this easier. In other ways it makes it harder.”

“I’m listening.”

He sat back in his chair. “Olivia’s up to something.”

“Olivia?” Olivia Tess Beauthorpe Pearson would stand as one of my four bridesmaids on Saturday. “What do you mean?”

“She’s behaving oddly.”

Exercising considerable restraint, I refrained from guffawing. I loved Olivia like a sister. But she’d never lived a commonplace day in her entire life. She thrived on high drama. She was a force of nature—a very well-bred one. “What do you mean, exactly?”



 “She’s going out more at night. She’ll say it’s to do with the wedding or book club or the Christmas program at church, but it’s something all the time. And she stays out far too late. The kids ask me when Mommy’s coming home and I don’t know what to tell them half the time.”

“Is that all?”

He screwed his face up into a powerful scowl. “No, that’s not all.”

I waited.

“She’s on the phone all the damn time. Talking real low. When I come in, she’ll raise her voice and say, ‘Bye-bye now,’ and hang up.”

Gently I asked, “Do you suspect she’s having an affair, is that it?”

The scowl got tighter. “No, of course not…hell, I don’t know.” He propped his elbows on his desk and rested his forehead on his clasped hands. “I don’t want to ask a stranger to do this. Will you please just follow her for a few nights when she leaves the house and see where she goes? Who she sees? She’s going out again tonight. Claims it’s a committee meeting for the Charleston Library Society.”

I pondered this for a few minutes. I cared deeply about both Robert and Olivia. As a general rule, I’d do anything to help a friend. But I was not about to put myself between two friends in the midst of marital discord.

“Robert, I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t possibly.”

He looked perplexed.

“Why not? Isn’t this what you do for a living?”

“We do accept a fair number of domestic cases. But think this through. Heaven forbid, but what if I find out she’s involved in something illegal? Or that she is having an affair? I’d maybe end up having to testify against one of my oldest friends in court. I just can’t get in the middle of this. I think you should talk to Olivia.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?”

“Well, what does she have to allow?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m imagining things.” His scowl melted into a crushed look.

I could read the pain on my friend’s face. Damnation. I stood. I had to get out of there before my sympathy for him outsmarted my common sense. “Robert, I’ll be praying that you are, in fact, imagining things. I’m so sorry. Please try talking to her again.”

I walked over, reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, and patted it. Then I got the heck out of there.





Two





After dinner that night, in my favorite pajamas, I curled up in the oversized chair in the sunroom with a glass of pinot noir and a Harlan Coben novel. White lights twinkled on the Christmas tree, illuminating crystal and clear glass ornaments collected over the years, many of them angels. Gold mesh ribbon spiraled from the bow on top all the way down. Here and there, magnolia blossoms rested on the branches. A pile of wrapped gifts waited for me to put on ribbons and bows. I’d been waiting until I finished my Christmas shopping, and I had yet to think of something for Daddy.

Nate had built a fire in the fireplace before heading out for a bit of surveillance related to the Andy Savage case. I snuggled under my favorite quilt. Rhett, my golden retriever, snoozed by my side. I was settled in for the night, is what I’m saying.

Naturally, the phone rang. Nicolette, the wedding planner. I sent her to voicemail. I’d spoken to her five times that day already, and Mamma six. I picked up my book.

The phone rang again. Sweet reason. I needed a few minutes’ peace. I reached for my iPhone and glanced at the screen. Olivia Pearson. Hell’s bells. Maybe she had additional outrageous ideas for my bachelorette party.