Lowcountry Boneyard (10 page)

Nine

By the time I drove off the ferry onto Stella Maris, it felt like that day had lasted five years. But I knew I couldn’t rest until I’d cleared up a few things. I called Ansley and asked her to meet me at the Pirates’ Den for a drink. It was just after five and I needed one.

The Pirates’ Den was a favorite local hangout. The restaurant and bar had a tropical décor and served great local seafood, lowcountry dishes, and burgers. A stage provided a venue for local bands like my brother’s, The Back Porch Prophets—Blake played pedal steel guitar and keyboards and wrote some of their music—and the dance floor was well worn from use.

John Glendawn stood behind the bar. He had the look of a salty old sailor right out of central casting—tanned and wrinkled, curling gray hair underneath an old captain’s hat, twinkling blue eyes. “There’s Lizzie,” he said. As always, his warm smile let me know he was happy to see me. Very few people got away with calling me Lizzie. The owner of the Pirates’ Den and his wife, Alma, had been close friends of my grandmother.

“Hey, John. I need a margarita.” I slid a hip onto one of the barstools.

“Coming right up. Bad day?” His calloused hands went to work mixing my drink.

“Long day. And it isn’t over yet. I’m meeting Ansley Johnson.”

“How did the judge’s daughter get mixed up in your business?”

“She’s not really. Just a friend of someone who is.”

“Eh law. That’s a blessing.”

I knew what he was thinking. If Ansley were directly involved in a case, I’d have to deal with Nell Johnson, a notoriously protective mother and bona fide nutcase.

“That it is,” I said. “I’m treading closer than I’d like to Nell’s family.”

John sat my drink on a napkin in front of me. “You’ll likely need another.”

Ansley walked through the door and approached the bar. Her heels clicked on the floor. She looked very professional in tailored black slacks, a blouse that brought out the blue in her eyes, and a striped scarf. “Hey y’all.”

“Afternoon, Ansley. What can I get you?” John asked.

“A glass of Chardonnay, please.”

“Let’s grab a table,” I said.

We paid for our drinks and carried them to a quiet corner by the wall of windows overlooking the Atlantic. Ansley’s eyes were bright with anticipation. “Have you found something already?”

“Unfortunately not. I just have a couple follow-up questions. I spoke with Matt—twice today, actually.”

“Okay.” Ansley looked surprised, curious.

“Before we get to Matt, I’m trying to figure why you would leave out that you and Kent are second cousins.”

Ansley blinked. “Once removed. And I wasn’t trying to hide it, if that’s what you mean. It’s just something I don’t think about. We don’t associate with the Bounetheaus at all. I’ve never considered them family. Hell, Liz, everyone on this island is related if you go back far enough.”

I sipped my margarita. “The other thing that’s niggling me…” There was no good way to ask this. “Ansley, did you know Kent was expecting?”

A sip of her wine must have gone down the wrong way. She sputtered and coughed. “
What?
”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

“I can’t believe she wouldn’t tell me. Are you sure?”

I studied her for a long moment. “Very.”

Ansley propped her elbow on the table and her head in her hand. “We’re like sisters. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“She and Matt were having problems. Maybe she wasn’t sure she was going to keep the baby.”

“But still. And
he
never mentioned it.”

“Is that something you and Matt would discuss?” I remembered what had eluded me that afternoon at Matt’s house. Ansley.

“Well…probably not, I guess. But still.” Confusion and disbelief swirled into an odd expression. She took a long sip of wine.

“Matt does seem to be in love with Kent,” I said.

“I told you. He adores her.”

“He said they were totally committed to each other.” I glanced out the window.

“Exactly.”

“Have been, since the moment they met.”

“They have.”

“He said I should ask anyone who knew them, mentioned you specifically.”

“Stands to reason.…” She nodded.

“Except you told me just yesterday that you and Matt went out before he dated Kent.”

Ansley jerked slightly. She moistened her lips. “Well, okay. We did go out, that’s true. I mean, we met for drinks a couple of times. And at first, I thought maybe…I mean, Matt’s ridiculously hot. You saw him. Who wouldn’t be interested in
that
?”

I tilted my head left, then right, weighing that statement. I saw her point.

Ansley continued. “He made it clear from the start he only had eyes for Kent. I guess I like to think of it as dating. It’s good for my ego. Except he was chatting me up trying to see if I thought she’d go out with him. They didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“But you and Kent did. What made you more approachable?”

Ansley shrugged. “I guess I tried to be approachable. Things like that don’t occur to Kent. She isn’t class conscious at all. She doesn’t understand that she can be intimidating.”

“So there was never anything between you and Matt?”

“No. He wanted to be with Kent from the night we first met him. I was a little jealous, I admit.” She had the grace to blush, look sheepish. “I wished it’d been me he wanted. But Kent is my best friend. I was happy for her, too.”

I pondered that a bit. “Okay. So think about this for a minute. Kent is pregnant. She decides she’s either going to give the baby up for adoption, or she’s going to have an abortion. Either way, she doesn’t want anyone else to know about the baby. Given that scenario, doesn’t it seem more likely to you that she simply left town to deal with this?”

Ansley was quiet for a long moment. She shook her head. “I still don’t see it. She’d tell us something, even if it wasn’t true, to account for her being gone. I mean, Kent is not typically a liar. But in that situation, she’d lie before she’d just leave without a word.”

“I know y’all are close. Think about it. She didn’t tell you she was expecting.”

“That’s different. She’s very private. But you’ll never convince me she left without a word to anyone.”

“I’m not trying to convince you, Ansley. I’m just ruling it out.”

I considered calling Evan Ingle, but often I learned more from watching how people react to a question than their words. I drove down Palmetto Boulevard. The gallery was closed. I circled around back and saw the Prius parked behind the building. I pulled back onto Palmetto, parked on the street, and called him. He answered the phone and agreed to speak with me. He didn’t inquire, and I didn’t offer a reason, why I couldn’t just ask him what I wanted to ask on the phone.

A few moments later, he unlocked the front door of the gallery and held it open for me.

I stepped inside. “Thanks so much for seeing me. I purely hate to bother you again so soon.”

He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled a bit. “Not a bother at all. Can I get you anything?”

I was thinking he looked happy to see me, and about catching flies with honey and all. I returned the smile. “No, thank you. I won’t take but a moment of your time.”

“Well, have a seat at least.” He led me back to the conversation area. This evening his well-worn jeans were accompanied by a faded blue t-shirt. His feet were bare.

I followed and sat in the same gold chenille wingback I’d occupied a year ago that morning.

He sat at a right angle to me and slid back into the sofa, getting comfortable. “Do you have new information?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s just that often, when I start asking questions one person at a time, something comes up that prompts another question for someone I’ve already spoken with.”

“I can see that.” He smiled again, slow and warm.

I wondered what he was thinking about, and had an idea I knew what sort of thoughts he entertained. “Remember how I couldn’t think why Kent would take her laptop to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Her boyfriend told me that you were helping her with a website for her paintings.”

Evan raised both eyebrows. “Yes, of course. I did offer to help her with that now that you mention it. We hadn’t planned on working on it that night. I don’t recall settling on a specific plan for when we’d get started.” He appeared relaxed, his arms open, one on the arm of the sofa, the other by his side. His body language said he was being forthcoming with me.

“I see.” I conjured my best confused look and waited to see if he’d offer more.

“Perhaps she misunderstood something I said? Or maybe she was hopeful that we would get to that project? Certainly if she’d asked after dinner, I would have done whatever I could given the setting.”

“A wine bar slash restaurant wouldn’t be the best place to work on a website, would it?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Well, I feel silly. I should have just asked you that on the phone and saved you the trip downstairs.”

“Nonsense. It’s a pleasure to see you again. In fact, if you don’t have dinner plans, I’m making chicken piccata. I could use some company.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate the offer. It’s been a long day. Another time, perhaps?” I smiled like I was hoping he’d ask again. He seemed to like me. I needed to keep it that way. While I didn’t plan on ever having dinner with him, I didn’t need to tell him that just then.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Ten

Driving home I had three things on my mind. I needed to talk to my partner. I also needed to talk to my guy, but he didn’t want to talk to me, which made matters messy. And I had half a bottle of pinot noir left from the night before. As soon as I parked the car in the garage, with Rhett in tow, I climbed the stairs to the mudroom, went straight to the kitchen, and poured a glass of wine. Rhett sat on the heart-of-pine floor, tongue hanging out, and cocked his head at me like he was inquiring about my day.

“It’s complicated,” I told him. “Let’s check your kibble supply.” I went back into the mudroom, or, more aptly, Rhett’s lounge. A huge bed with his name embroidered on it took up most of the far end. I’d taken no small amount of abuse from Nate and Blake, who thought it hilarious to point out Rhett can’t read. A mat in one corner held his personal water cooler—the upside down jug replenishes the bowl—his elevated kibble dish, and the airtight container where the kibble is stored. I opened it and added a few scoops of Blue Wilderness Salmon Recipe to his dish.

Rhett chowed down, and I wandered back into the kitchen. With a sigh I pulled out my iPhone. I looked at it for a minute and took another sip of wine.

Then I texted Nate: I need to talk to my partner, please.

While he might not want to talk about us, he would talk to me about the case. We could start there.

It took him an inordinate amount of time to reply: Be there in 30.

I was weak-kneed with relief. He was coming. Oh my stars, I had thirty minutes to freshen up. I dashed up the stairs, took a quick shower, dressed and reapplied makeup faster than I have since I was a teenager. What to wear? Casual. Keep it casual. Just going over the case. What would I have worn before—when he was my partner and my friend, but not my lover?

Oh hell no. No yoga pants and comfy tee tonight. I slid into a pair of ankle-length jeans that fit me real good. Next I pulled out my cute Anthropologie blouse with the cartography print. Perfect—casual, but elegant. I rolled up the sleeves to my elbow, and added a group of delicate silver chains that dripped towards my cleavage. Silver hoop earrings…ballet flats or sandals? I checked my toenail polish. No chips in the Cha-Ching Cherry. I slipped on my favorite blue Kate Spade sandals and buckled the straps.

I fluffed my hair, applied mascara and reached for the lip gloss. My hand hovered over it a moment, then I grabbed the tube of Chanel Passion lipstick—I love it when pretty colors have evocative names. Mamma popped into my head with an approving smile. After a generous coat, I applied the gloss. I glanced in the mirror. Not bad for thirty minutes, if I ditched the needy look. I squared my shoulders.

Nate was pulling into the drive as I walked downstairs. I waited for him at the door. As he climbed out of the car, something clutched at my stomach and my eyes glistened. Sweet reason, how much I missed him. I’d barely had half an hour with him yesterday before things blew up. I inhaled slowly, savoring the view—broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs. Nate did wonderful things for a chambray shirt, faded jeans, and boat shoes.

As he got closer, I could read the look in his eyes. The blue in them looked more like steel this evening. I opened the door as he walked up the steps. “Hey.” I reached for casual and missed by a mile.

“Hey.” His voice was curt. His gaze dropped to the porch by the door. “You have a package.” He picked up a large cardboard box and handed it to me.

“I came in through the garage. I didn’t see it.” I glanced at the label. It was from Omaha Steaks. “Who would be sending me beef?”

He stepped inside and walked straight to my office. “I spoke with all of Kent’s friends—the ones Ansley gave you, anyway.”

I followed him into the room and placed the box on the corner of my desk. Since we were keeping things all businesslike, I sat in my desk chair. I steeled myself not to show how much I was hurting. “Any of them give you anything?”

Nate settled into one of the club chairs in front of my desk, extended his legs, and crossed his ankles. “No. Of course, every last one of them had already been contacted by Charleston PD, local law enforcement, and Ansley. I spent the most time on three college friends who’ve moved west of Amarillo. Nothing. Could be someone’s had plenty of time to get their story straight.”

“Maybe.”

“I also told every one of Kent’s friends that they could be in legal trouble if they were hiding her. That’s a stretch of the truth, but I guess if Colton Heyward wanted to sue them for pain, suffering, and what-all, he could. We live in a litigious society.”

“Any of them sound worried?”

“Not a one. My instincts say they were telling the truth. They all sounded scared for Kent. Got a lot of ‘Please find her,’ and the like. Sounded sincere.”

“Still…”

“It’s covered. I subcontracted investigators in Memphis, Amarillo, and the three cities where the west-bound college friends landed—Denver, LA, and Seattle. Too much ground for us to cover in a timely manner. They’re going to run surveillance on those three friends, look for any sign of Kent. And the Memphis and Amarillo PIs are re-interviewing the service station staff, talking to local law enforcement. I know Sonny said Charleston PD covered that, but it seemed prudent to double check.”

“Agreed.” I rubbed the spot above my left eyebrow. “Things got more complicated today.”

“Did they now?”

I gave him the highlights: Kent’s secret pregnancy, the tension that created between her and Matt, the Heyward-Bounetheau family dynamic, et cetera. “I’ve got a glass of wine in the kitchen.” I stood. “Bourbon?”

He looked away from me and then back, his gaze stopping at the package on my desk. “Who puts holes in a box with perishable food?”

I studied the box. There were three round holes on the side facing me. I stood and examined the box more closely. All four sides had holes. “Could be fruit or something. Is Omaha Steaks like Harry and David? Do they sell other kinds of food gifts?”

“I have no idea. Are you expecting a gift?”

“No, but I have gotten thank-you gifts from clients on occasion.”

“Really? No one sends me gifts. Come to think of it, I do recall the occasional fruit basket when we both worked in Greenville. I’m not sure what to think about that. Hurts my feelings.” He stared at the box.

I shrugged. “You can have half of whatever it is.” I reached in my desk drawer for a letter opener to slit the packing tape. I opened the cardboard and lifted the Styrofoam container inside. “Hold on to the cardboard.”

Nate did as I asked. “There are holes in the Styrofoam, too.”

“Well it wouldn’t make any sense to put holes in the cardboard and not the Styrofoam, would it?” I set the thick-walled container on my desk.

“I’m just wondering what kind of food you pack in something designed to keep it cold or hot, and then poke holes in it.”

I gripped the lid, ready to lift. “Let’s find out.”

“Wait,” Nate said.

I gave him my
oh puh-leeze
look. “What, you think there’s a bomb in here?”

“No. Bombs don’t need air. Let’s take this outside.” He picked up the box and headed towards the hall. “Get the door.”

“This is ridiculous.” I humored him and opened the front door.

He walked down the steps and set the container in the driveway. He studied it for a few moments. “Do you own a shotgun?”

“Granddad had one. It’s in the hall closet. What on earth do you think is in there?”

“Something that needs to breathe. Pets are not a typical thank-you gift.”

“Good point.” A bomb seemed like such an outlandish idea I hadn’t taken it seriously. The prospect of something alive that would be quiet inside a box was a whole nother thing. That seemed credible. Dread crept up from the pit of my stomach and lodged in my throat.

“Turns out it’s not a pet you want to keep, I may need to dispatch it. Depending on what’s in there, a shotgun is likely a better choice than my Glock.”

“I’ll be right back.” I dashed inside, verified Rhett was in the mudroom, and slipped in the panel that would prevent him from going out through the doggie door.

Naturally, this aroused his curiosity. He followed me through the kitchen and down the hall. I grabbed Granddad’s twenty-gauge Remington and headed towards the front door. Rhett followed.

“Stay,” I said.

He cocked his head at me, but sat on the hall floor.

“Good boy.” I slipped out the front door and closed it behind me.

Nate waited at the bottom of the porch steps.

I handed him the gun.

“Now bring me something with a long handle—a hoe or a shovel.”

I sprinted to the garage and brought back a gardening hoe.

“Stay on the porch,” Nate said.

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

With the gun cradled in his right hand, he overturned the box with the hoe in his left. The lid didn’t come off. “Shit.”

He used the edge of the hoe to pry the lid open on one side. Once loosed, the lid fell over.

The biggest rattlesnake I have ever seen slithered out. It looked to be six feet long. And it was highly pissed off.

Someone screamed. I realized it was me. Dear Lord, I purely hate snakes.

Inside the house, Rhett went to barking.

Nate dropped the hoe, chambered a round and raised the gun to his shoulder. “I got this.”

The snake coiled and rattled its tail.

Boom.
My ears rang. Too late, I covered them.

Nate chambered another round.

We stared at the snake. It lay in several pieces near the Styrofoam container, which had also sustained damage.

My hands still covered my ears for no good reason. I was shaking.

“I’ll take that bourbon now,” Nate said. “Go on inside. I’ll clean up out here.”

Rhett jumped up and down inside the front door, barking like crazy. “It’s okay, boy.” Carefully, I opened the door and slid in. He scampered around me. I knelt and hugged him, patted him a few times. Still in a daze, I went inside, wandered down the hall, passed through the dining room, and stepped into the kitchen. Rhett trotted after me, as if looking for an explanation.

I picked up my wine glass, held it with both hands, and drank deeply. Then I refilled it. Nate typically drank his bourbon on the rocks. I fixed his drink and dropped onto a counter stool.

Rhett paced the room.

No doubt someone would report a gunshot. I made a preemptory call to my brother and told him simply that I’d had to kill a snake, which was the truth, if not the whole truth. He could pass the word along to whoever was working at the station that night. I ended the conversation before Blake could interrogate me to his satisfaction.

I heard Nate come in and go back out, then come back in and close the door. “All clear,” he called as he walked down the hall. He came into the kitchen, walked over to the island, and picked up his drink. He sipped the bourbon. “I got rid of the cardboard box on your desk. Knowing how you feel about both germs and snakes, I figured that was best.”

“Thank you.” Shudders crawled up and down my spine. The thought of that snake right there on my desk the whole time we’d been talking…Deep breaths.

“Nothing else inside the box. I did save the shipping label. Nothing helpful on it. Someone took a used Omaha Steaks carton and put a new delivery label on it. Looks like a UPS delivery, except the barcode is missing. I think it was personally delivered.”

“I’ll check the security system footage directly. My outdoor cameras should’ve caught whoever brought it.” I pondered that for a moment. “I didn’t get an alert, which is odd.”

He took another sip, rolled his lips in and out, then stared at his glass. “Are you working any cases aside from the Heyward case?”

“No.”

“Any dissatisfied customers, angry subjects of investigations—anything like that you haven’t told me about?”

“None that aren’t locked up somewhere.”

“Then, Slugger, I would say that someone just served notice of their displeasure that you’re looking for Kent Heyward. What say we go back over all the things that got more complicated today?” He rubbed my arms, then pulled me up and into a hug. “Come on, let’s go relax a bit. You’re still looking a little pale.”

I snuggled into him. Oh dear heaven, it felt so good to be close to him, to have him touch me. He reached around and picked up my wine glass, and then gentled me down the hall. Rhett passed us. He seemed to know where we were headed.

We went back into my office and settled on the green velvet sofa facing the wall of windows that looked out on the front porch. I curled my feet under me on the end. Nate propped his on the tufted ottoman. We sipped our drinks for a few minutes. Rhett checked out the room, then lay down at my feet.

“Why did it have to be a snake?” I said. A shudder made its way up my spine. “I hate snakes.”

“Can’t say I know many folks who have a fondness for them. I’m sure that was the point—to rattle you. No pun intended.”

I flashed him a look that said
very funny
. “You’d think in the interest of clarity they would’ve at least enclosed a note. What if I did have an angry client or some such thing?”

“They went to a lot of trouble. I’d say they counted on the timing making the message clear. You aren’t second-guessing who was behind it, are you?”

“Nah. I just would’ve expected specific instructions: ‘Stay away from the Heyward case’—
something
.”

“Seems to me they delivered the message they intended.”

“Well, all they succeeded in doing is making me bound and determined to repay the gesture with something equally unpleasant.”