Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) by Kendel Lynn Read Free Book Online Page A

Quite a night to be away. Why wasn’t she being dragged to the police station?
    I found Bebe’s number in the Ballantyne directory and dialed; it rolled straight to voicemail. I silently debated whether or not to mention Leo. I wasn’t sure she even knew he was dead. In the end, I simply asked her to call me.
    My stomach gurgled and I realized it was time for my lunch with Zibby Archibald. I grabbed my hipster handbag and left the Big House.

      
    Molly’s by the Sea was tucked behind a row of sand dunes in Sugar Hill Plantation, a large rambling residential community with hotels, condos, restaurants, and two bike rental shops. I sped up to the guard house for a day pass. It’s much easier to enter a plantation when they have a restaurant behind the gates. I drove down Sugar Hill Drive two miles to the sea, arriving at the three-story Victorian house-turned-restaurant only five minutes late.
    The hostess escorted me to a table for two on the back porch with long views of the ocean. Zibby was waiting for me. She had placed her hat on the railing and tucked a pale pink napkin under her chin.
    “Zibby, I’m so happy you were free,” I said after I scooted in my chair.
    “Always for you, dear. Lovely day to lunch by the ocean.”
    “I haven’t been to Molly’s in months. I’ve forgotten the selection.” I scanned the three-page menu. Everything sounded delicious.
    A waitress appeared with a bread basket, then rattled off the specials. I ordered a honey roasted turkey and brie on brioche with raspberry mayonnaise; Zibby tried the catch of the day: fresh fillet of flounder. Deep-fried.
    “What an exciting meeting today! Can you imagine Jane being dragged in? Maybe they put her in handcuffs. Here we are dining by the beach, and she’s probably being served bread and water,” Zibby said. She grabbed two pumpernickel rolls from the basket. Buttered one, stuck the other in her purse.
    “Jane wasn’t arrested. They only needed to ask a few questions. With her being the board chair, it’s probably routine,” I said, trying to dampen the gossip the best I could. I also didn’t point out that they stopped serving bread and water to inmates in the 1800s.
    I steered the conversation to safer territory once the server delivered our lunch. Zibby was an old Southern luncher—gossip over lunch, business over dessert. I ate quickly.
    “Were you friends with Leo?” I asked.
    “Oh, not really. Nice young man, though. Promised me a good deal on a new refrigerator. I never did get over to Buffalo Bill’s. And now I’m not sure I ever will,” she said. She stirred her iced tea with a fork and ate her catfish with a spoon.
    “Did you see him at the party Saturday night?”
    “You know, I don’t think so. Mr. and Mrs. Fetterbush kept us entertained with stories of the pirates off Sullivan’s Island near Charleston Harbor. We hardly even left the table.”
    We settled into a comfortable conversation, chatting about the rise of piracy in the Atlantic and how the island needs more shopping trolleys and a better surf shop.
    The waitress finally arrived to clear our plates and offered dessert. I wanted to pass—I did, really—but I needed to get on with Zibby’s tiny transgression. I chose something light: lemon cookies with a thin layer of white icing. Barely any calories, I’m sure.
    “Mr. Ballantyne tells me you need my assistance with a small matter,” I said.
    “Oh yes, dear. I’m so happy you brought that up.” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered loudly. “It’s the Wharf. I’ve been banned! Escorted me right out the front.”
    It hurts to swallow a cookie whole. “Banned you? Whatever for?” Who bans an eighty-seven year old woman? She might be eccentric, but she had more money and manners than necessary, even for the South.
    “It’s a bunch of twaddle, Elli. One time I left without paying. One time!” She ripped open a sugar packet and sprinkled the crystals into her water glass, then