“Dorcas?” Holland Sr.’s tone held a warning. “The detective isn’t interested in hearing all this ancient history.”
“Actually, what I’m interested in is knowing who killed Lanier Ragan,” Makarowicz said. “And right now, unless I hear something different, your son is my prime suspect. He’s already admitted he was at the house on Chatham Avenue the night she disappeared.”
“He told you that?” Creedmore asked.
“Yes. He said Lanier texted him the day of the Super Bowl and wanted to meet up. Because she was pregnant.”
Dorcas Creedmore’s body sagged in the chair. She clamped a hand over her mouth and let out an agonized wail.
“Dorcas!” Holland Sr. said. “Control yourself.”
She shook her head. “I c-c-can’t. Enough. Enough, Holland! We have to tell what happened. We have to.”
Makarowicz took his cell phone from his pocket, placed it on the small tea table beside him, and pressed record.
“You saw that text message, didn’t you, Mrs. Creedmore?”
She nodded. “We had friends over. Everyone was watching the game. But I was watching my son. He kept texting someone, right as the game was starting. I knew it was her.”
“Lanier Ragan?”
“Yes.”
“Dorcas!” Creedmore said. “Not another word until I call our lawyer.”
Makarowicz looked over at Holland Sr. “Mr. Creedmore, I’m speaking to your wife, here at your home, strictly as a courtesy. If you prefer, I can transport her out to the Tybee police station, and she and I can talk there, in private.”
“You can’t do that,” Creedmore blustered.
“Actually, I can,” the detective said calmly. “Your presence seems to be upsetting your wife. I’d suggest you find something else to do, in another room of the house, while we talk.”
“This is my house,” Creedmore protested, heaving himself out of his armchair. “You can’t tell me what to do. In fact, I want you to leave my home, right now.”
“If I leave here, I leave with your wife,” Makarowicz said. “Is that really what you want?”
Dorcas placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Holl, please. I want to tell him what happened that night. I have to. Why don’t you go out to your office?”
He brushed her hand away. “I’ll go out to my office and call Web Carver.”
* * *
Dorcas Creedmore waited until she heard the slam of the back door. “I need a drink,” she announced, getting up and walking out of the room. When she returned she was holding a large glass tumbler with a straw protruding from it. The glass was full of a clear liquid that smelled like vodka. The ice cubes clinked as she walked.
“You were saying,” he prompted her.
She arranged herself on the same little French chair near the fireplace, and sucked down a third of the drink.
“Mothers know when their children are in trouble,” she began. “I knew something was wrong, that Super Bowl Sunday, and I knew I needed to see what that text was about. I sent him into the kitchen to take out the garbage, and I grabbed his phone while he was gone.”
“You saw the texts?”
She sucked down more vodka and nodded. “She told him she was pregnant. Little Holl texted her to meet him at the beach house.
“I didn’t tell my husband about that text message from Lanier Ragan right away,” she said. “I was beside myself, and I knew he’d say I was overreacting. Maybe if I had…”
“What did you do?” Mak asked.
“Little Holl left right before halftime. He said he was going to his friend Scotty’s house, but of course I knew he was going to meet her. Our friends left too. It was starting to storm, and everyone wanted to get home before it got worse. I made some excuse to Holl. I can’t remember what, and I got in my car. I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I had to go.”
Dorcas gulped down another swallow of vodka. The glass was nearly empty now. She looked down at it and shook the ice cubes, as though to wring out one last ounce of liquor.
“It was storming so hard. When I got to Thunderbolt, there had been an accident on the bridge. The police had the bridge closed down. Fire trucks and ambulances, and the state patrol. I had to sit in my car, waiting, for nearly two hours! I was absolutely wild with anxiety. By the time I finally got to the beach house, I saw Holland’s car was parked in the driveway. The house was dark. I checked and it was still locked up tight. There was no sign of her. I sat in my car and waited for maybe half an hour.”