Lowcountry Boneyard (20 page)

I brought my hands to my face in a show of horror and waited to see if she had more to say. After a moment I lowered my hands and said, “For some reason, I thought Evan had a sister.”

Mrs. Mitchell dipped her chin, tilted her head, and raised an eyebrow at me. “Sounds to me like maybe you and Evan have more than just a business relationship.”

“I’m sorry?” Holy shit. I’d stepped in it.

“All those years, I never knew he’d had a twin sister. Poor little child didn’t even live a day. I guess Talitha’s heart was broken and she just couldn’t talk about it. Must have buried the baby girl the same day she buried her brother. Evan never knew he had a sister, either. He and I both found out at the cemetery the day we buried his mamma. He was in shock—just too much to take in at once.”

So Eva hadn’t been stillborn. Evan appeared to have rebounded quickly from his discombobulation.

“Tell me,” Mrs. Mitchell said, “are you and Evan seeing each other socially?”

“Oh, my, no,” I said. “I can’t think where I heard that about a sister. I may be confusing him with another client. I’m so terribly sorry to have brought back painful memories.”

She made a tsk-tsk noise. “It’s a pity. He’s a looker. You could do a lot worse.”

“Well, maybe after we finish our business we’ll have to see about that.” I gave her a sly grin, like we were plotting romance together, she and I.

“I do like a happy ending.” She grinned back at me.

“Me, too. Oh, not to change the subject, but do you know Mr. and Mrs. Spencer over on Tynte?”

“I’ve known ’em forever, bless their hearts. Say a prayer for them, will you? Poor Margaret is back in the hospital. It’s her heart. I don’t think she’ll be with us much longer. Howard spends every minute by her side. Only comes home to take a shower. I try to keep him fed, but he won’t eat much.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that. I will keep them in my prayers. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.” I stood. “Thank you so much for talking with me. You’ve been a big help.”

She put Mabel down and stood to follow me out. “I don’t see as how I’ve been any help at all. But it’s a good neighborhood. Find me some nice neighbors, you hear me?”

“I’ll do my best.”

I smiled and waved, then turned to walk down the steps. I made my way back to Gram’s caddy more convinced than ever that I was on to something. Talitha Ingle had a boatload of secrets. Whether or not uncovering them would help us find Kent remained to be seen. But I sensed a connection, a wisp of something glimpsed perhaps by my subconscious. Or was it a thought planted by Colleen?
Hell fire.
It irritated me to no end that I could never be sure if she’d been messing around in my head.

I slammed the car door closed. “Colleen?”

For once she appeared when I called her. “What’s up?”

“Are you throwing thoughts into my head?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know the half of why you do anything. But I’ve watched while you threw thoughts into other people’s heads—planted ideas. Do you do that to me?”

She rolled her eyes elaborately. “No. I can
talk
to you. Before I could materialize, the only way for me to communicate with others was by throwing or planting thoughts. Now I can talk to other folks, but only people I’m absolutely sure won’t recognize me.”

“So my instincts…they’re all mine.”

“Of course,” she said. “What’s for lunch?”

“I’ve got to go by the police department and give a statement. I was supposed to do that first thing this morning, but I could hardly go there in disguise.”

“Well hurry it up. I’m hungry.” She disappeared.

I drove out of the neighborhood and into a parking lot on Savannah Highway where I slipped the brown wig off, fluffed my hair, and used a cotton round to dial my eye makeup back a bit. Then I headed to the Charleston Police Department.

Colleen insisted on lunch at Poogan’s Porch. We both loved the food, and she wanted to play with Poogan, the ghost dog. I had no business taking a long lunch that day—or eating fried chicken—given that I was going out for a nice dinner that evening. But some days Colleen is a bad influence. The corner table in the courtyard was a glorious venue for lunch, I’ll give her that. The sky was postcard-blue, the breeze warm. As always, the food was decadent.

“Enjoy your chicken,” she said. “And have some of this macaroni and cheese. I ordered it for us to share. Things are unfolding as they should.”

“Is this a philosophy lesson, or is there a cryptic message for me there?”

She forked a bite of chicken breast and swirled it in gravy. “Both.”

“Could you give me just a teeny bit more information? Where to find Kent would be helpful.”

Colleen chewed thoughtfully.

“I can’t tell you where to find her, but you will. Two things to remember. One, rational people often do irrational things. Two, use the angel to smite the enemy.”

“Smite? I’m smiting people now?”

“Do you like the word clobber better? I thought smite sounded more mysterious—and classier.”

I deliberately ignored her and delivered a bite of macaroni and cheese to my mouth. They made it with country ham and Gouda. I closed my eyes and savored the combination.

“Let’s order dessert,” she said.

“No. Absolutely not. I’ve got work to do and a date tonight.”

A grin slid all the way up Colleen’s face.

“What’s that grin for?”

“I notice Nate is warming up to island life.”

“
When
did you notice that? Have you been popping into intimate moments? There’s a line, Colleen.”

She bray-snorted out loud. “No, I have not been spying on your ‘intimate moments.’ But I did happen to overhear him mention selling his condo. Seems to me he’s coming to his senses.”

“We have not settled that issue. I have no more desire to take my happiness at the expense of his than he does mine.”

“Oh no. Please tell me you are not going to mess this up yet.”

“I told you. I will spend plenty of time in Stella Maris. I love that island as much as you do. We’re going to spend some time in Greenville, too. But I will do whatever I need to do to protect my council seat.”

“I’ll be holding you to that,” she said. “And don’t forget about the angel.”

Nineteen

By the time I’d driven home, seen to Rhett, showered and primped, it was nearly time for Nate to arrive to take me back to Charleston. There was no way he’d gotten us a reservation at FIG, but we’d go someplace equally nice. The cobalt blue dress that matched my eyes with the draped neckline would be perfect. I slipped into it and buckled the thin black belt. The hem hit just above my knees, and the V in the back was suggestive without issuing improper invitations for a public venue.

I hooked Gram’s pearls around my neck and tried several pairs of earrings before deciding on the drop pearl beauties Nate had given me for my birthday. My nude peep-toe pumps completed my ensemble. I was checking the results in the mirror when I heard Nate in the driveway.

He was coming in the front door as I started down the stairs. He closed the door behind him and didn’t say a word as he watched me descend. But his eyes were telling me how much he appreciated the care I’d taken in dressing that evening, as well as the way I placed each step very precisely on the stairs, moving slowly, so he could enjoy the view. I don’t know what message he could see in my eyes, but the one I was sending said,
I am one lucky girl because you are the best looking thing I have ever laid eyes on
. He did wonderful things for that steel grey suit and white shirt with an open collar.

When I was two steps from the bottom, he said, “You’re so damn gorgeous.”

I smiled real slow, took the last two steps, and crossed the foyer until I stood right in front of him. “You always make me feel that way. You look mighty fine yourself.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” He planted a soft kiss on my lips. “I think we’d best hurry along before I change my mind about taking you out this evening.” He opened the door and I walked through it and waited while he set the alarm and locked up. Then he helped me down the steps and into the car like I was some fragile treasure.

Neither of us spoke much at first. Nate drove towards the ferry dock and I watched him, appreciating the profile. Finally, he said, “How was your day?”

“Confusing,” I said. “Do you want to talk business?”

“I figure that’s inevitable under the circumstances. Why don’t we get it over with now, then I can try to distract you during dinner?”

I smiled. “Sounds good. Where’re we headed?”

“FIG.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I guess I should make something up to impress you with my ingenuity, but truth be told, I called and asked for a table at seven. It happens they’d had a cancellation.”

“Well, our good fortune.”

“Indeed. So, I found nothing of any consequence regarding Charlotte and her family. No red flags in any of the usual databases. Bennett Pinckney doesn’t appear to have a mistress. Kids have never been in any trouble. All four boys are out of college, all have jobs in the father’s investment firm. Aside from being, best I can tell, slightly snooty, they’re the embodiment of the American dream. And the Bounetheaus have so much money to spread around, it’s hard to imagine Charlotte offing her niece for a bigger share. Any of them for that matter.”

“How could you tell they’re snooty? I met Charlotte, and yeah, she gave me that vibe. But did you meet any of them face-to-face?”

“Nah, I just arranged to sit at the next table while Bennett had lunch at the Yacht Club over on East Bay with three of his cronies. Shameless name-dropper, that one.”

“Exactly how did you get into the Yacht Club for lunch? That’s a private club, membership by invitation only.”

Nate sighed. “Here again, I’d love to regale you with my cunning, but I simply called Colton Heyward and he arranged a reservation. Then I asked for the table I wanted right by Bennett. I’m a big fan of the asking nicely strategy.” He parked the car on the ferry. “Want to ride up top?”

“Sure.” We climbed out of the Explorer and made our way to the top deck. The wind made a mess of my hair, but I had a comb in my purse and it felt good.

“By way of wrapping up my day, I stopped by the Martech Agency. Small outfit. I emailed you a list of employees. Only five in this office. Four women and one guy. Company’s headquartered in Columbia. Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything there. They all like Kent, seemed real concerned about her. None of them socialized with her outside of work. I figure we can profile them just in case and put them on the back burner unless we come up with any red flags.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you handling that.” 

“Had to be done.” Nate brushed my hair out of my face. “Now tell me what about your day was confusing.”

“I played realtor. Visited Talitha Ingle’s house over in West Ashley. Apparently, Evan has already removed any paperwork that might’ve been helpful in determining how she supported herself and him, sent him to private school, college, to study abroad, et cetera.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Exactly. There’s a whole lot of unaccounted-for money that flowed to Talitha and Evan over the years, presumably in the form of child support from the unknown father.”

“Have you tried asking Evan about that nicely?”

“No, because I can’t connect it to our case aside for the fact that Evan knew Kent and he was supposed to meet her the night she disappeared.”

“There is that. Slugger—”

“There is a connection. I just haven’t found it
yet
.” Some cases required a bet on instinct to solve. This felt like one of them. My instincts told me there was a connection. I just needed to find it.

“Okay, so what else did you get into today?”

“I had a lovely chat with one of the two neighbors still living there from when Evan was a baby. Sarah Mitchell. Sweet lady. Anyway, according to her, Talitha came home from Greenville with a newborn baby—Evan—and the body of her brother to bury. Turner Ingle. Incredibly, he also died in a car accident, by the way. Sarah never knew Evan had a twin until Talitha’s funeral when Sarah and Evan and anyone else who cared to see saw Eva’s grave. And Sarah said Evan never knew he had a sister.”

“And his birth certificate said he was born in Charleston?”

“Yes. A home birth with a midwife. I had planned to try to find her, but that would be a fool’s errand since the twins were actually born in Greenville. There’s a reason why Talitha falsified that on the birth certificate.”

“Could still’ve been a home birth. Almost would had to’ve been if there’s no birth certificate filed in Greenville County. The hospital wouldn’t’ve just let her waltz out of there with two babies and no paperwork.”

“Hmm. She worked at Greenville Memorial. Maybe she somehow did away with her own records.”

“Possible. But why?”

“I think everything she did was to hide the identity of the baby’s father. And it must’ve been someone with deep pockets, because he paid her a fortune over the years to keep his name out of it. I think they had a deal. Both parties kept up their end.”

“Sounds solid as far as it goes.”

“So there are three things I want to know. Who is Evan’s father, why was it so critical for him to be anonymous, and what became of Turner Ingle’s family after his death?”

“Why are you so sure he had a family?”

“Because his tombstone said he was a ‘beloved husband, father, and brother.’”

“I know this sounds distasteful, to say the least, but have you considered that maybe Turner was the twins’ father? Maybe we’re looking at incest here, which is why everyone wanted to hush it up.”

“See, there’s the problem. Evan Ingle is literally the last person alive in that family. There was no one to hush it up aside from Talitha. The money had to come from somewhere. Turner was a welder at GE who died in a car accident—no lawsuit with a big settlement.”

“Fair point. Always follow the money.”

As buildings go in downtown Charleston, the one that housed FIG—Food is Good—was unremarkable. It sat on the corner of Meeting and Hasell, a one-story brick building painted creamy white, with flat, modern-looking brown awnings and accents. The sign was three simple squares with round cutouts for orange letters that spelled the name.

Inside, the décor was simple—earth-toned walls in brown and gold, with stained concrete floors. The artwork was understated, seascapes in tones that complemented the walls. I had the impression that the interior design had been carefully planned to never compete with what was served. The artisans at FIG framed their work with plates and bowls.

The hostess seated us at a window looking out onto Meeting Street. A waiter appeared and Nate gave him our standard cocktail order: two fingers of Woodford Reserve on the rocks for Nate, and a Grey Goose Pomegranate martini for me.

We studied our menus.

“I love the John’s Island Tomato Tarte Tatin,” I said. “I’m tempted to order one for my appetizer and another for my entrée.”

“What the lady wants, the lady gets,” Nate said.

“On the other hand, the poached salmon is calling to me. I’ll say this, Matt must be very good at his job. To be a sous chef here? Everything I’ve ever tasted is fabulous.”

“I’m feeling the Alabama Pork Schnitzel. Want to share some of the skillet okra on the side?”

“Sure.” I’d never been known to turn down okra. “Are you going to get the tomato tarte?”

“The gnocchi looks good to me as a first course.”

“Fine,” I said with a lift of my eyebrows.

“What, you were going to have your appetizer and then some of mine?”

“Maybe just a bite.”

He chuckled and shook his head. The waiter arrived with our drinks. When he’d slipped away, Nate lifted his glass. “To whoever made that gorgeous blue dress. The color is nearly as amazing as your eyes.”

“Thank you. I declare, you Southern boys purely know how to turn a girl’s head.” I sipped my martini, my eyes locked on his. The connection between us was far more intoxicating than the liquor. I felt the happy wash over me. The rough spot had passed. We were going to be fine.

Another waiter arrived to take our dinner order. Nate spoke to him and I glanced out the window. Sticky Fingers, a chain barbecue restaurant, was directly across the street. Pedestrian traffic was light. A bicycle taxi rode by with two passengers. The traffic light changed and cars stacked up at the intersection. A large truck with ads for Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum stopped in front of the window.

I stared at the truck for a minute and turned back to Nate, who was still speaking to the waiter. “That’d be great, thanks.” The waiter retreated.

“Could you put a Mini Cooper in the back of a truck like that one?” I nodded towards the window.

Nate turned to look. “Sure. You’d just need a ramp to drive it up. Could’ve been what happened. Do any of our suspects distribute rum?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Theoretically, any large truck would do the job—some vans even. But I don’t see that happening. Why go to that much trouble when you could just drive the car away? Most criminals are basically lazy.”

“Because there are a lot of security cameras downtown. The culprit could have been caught on camera driving Kent’s car.”

“Criminals with that much forethought and imagination are generally the ones you see in movies,” Nate said. “Matt is working tonight. I asked the waiter. Told him we knew him. He’s going to let him know we’re here. I’d like to look him in the eye. See if he impresses me as innocent the way he does you.”

“Well, he hasn’t been arrested and he hasn’t left town.”

“Thus far.”

The waiter brought bread and wine glasses for the pinot noir Nate had ordered to go with dinner. A few minutes later, I saw Matt headed our way. He looked profoundly anxious.

“Good evening,” he said. “I hope everything is all right.” He was in professional mode, inquiring about the food, which was off, because we hadn’t had any yet.

“Everything’s great,” I said. “Matt Thomas, this is my partner, Nate Andrews.”

They shook hands.

Matt said, “I heard on the news they found Kent’s car.”

“Yes, well, actually, I found her car.” The news accounts had left me completely out of the story, which was as I expected and fine by me.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Anger and fear flashed across his face.

“Because that would’ve been a conflict of interest. I informed my client.”

“What else did you tell him?” Matt asked.

I looked at Nate. If I told Matt I’d left out the pregnancy, he’d never believe me. And he’d run or he wouldn’t, no matter what I said at this point. A mixture of pain and frustration seemed to radiate off him and he was fidgety. He looked wound pretty tight, is what I’m saying.

I said, “I gave Mr. Heyward a full report, as I’m obligated to do.”

Matt nodded. “I understand. Guess I’ll update my attorney.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Nate said. “Always good to keep them in the loop.”

“Enjoy your dinner,” Matt said. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.” His tone was practiced. He turned and headed back to the kitchen.

“Well?” I looked at Nate.

Nate looked at his bourbon, the hint of a smile on his lips. Then he raised his eyes to mine. “I’m just wondering if the fact he looks like a model for men’s underwear has any bearing at all on your steadfast belief in his innocence.”