Lowcountry Boneyard (3 page)

I took a last look around the room as I backed out, then made my way downstairs. Colton Heyward sat behind his desk, his chair at an angle. He examined the air in front of him intently.

“Mr. Heyward?”

He swiveled his head towards me. “Did you find anything helpful?”

“It’s too early to know what will be helpful. Did the police take Kent’s laptop?”

“No. As I told the police, she must have taken it with her.”

“Is it typical for her to carry it along with her to dinner?”

He stared at his hands. “I don’t know. She owns a variety of handbags, many large enough to accommodate a laptop. Sometimes she leaves with a backpack.”

“Do you know what type of cellphone she has?”

“An iPhone.”

“Are you aware of any other electronic devices she owns?”

“She has an iPad—the new one. I’m not aware of anything else.”

“Was she taking any prescription medication—something she wouldn’t have left behind?”

“Not so far as I know, but unless she’d been ill—and she hasn’t been in a very long time—I probably wouldn’t know. Mrs. Heyward may be able to assist you with that when she’s feeling better.”

“Kent has some beautiful artwork in her room. Could you tell me who the artist is?”

He was silent for a moment. “Kent.” He looked away, his tone dismissive.

I absorbed that. “She’s extraordinarily talented.” Why on God’s green earth was she working for an advertising agency? This woman should have a gallery on King Street.

“Yes. She is. But my daughter wasn’t meant for the world of artists. That world eats its young. She studied marketing in college so as to develop a vocation which would be helpful in charitable work once she marries. She paints for her own pleasure. She’s done that since she was a small child. It’s a hobby. My father-in-law has a similar interest.”

Astounded that he could dismiss such beautiful work as a hobby, I gaped at him. “I’ll show myself out.”

Colleen waited for me in the car. I climbed in, closed my door, and started the engine. She stared at the house thoughtfully.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Did you find anything in the rest of the house?”

“Kent’s mamma was upstairs in her peignoir set sipping coffee.”

“That’s odd. Did she seem distraught?”

“Only over her nails. She called to make a manicure appointment.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me.” My mamma would’ve been downstairs giving marching orders. “Downright strange that she didn’t meet with me along with her husband. Maybe she agrees with the police and thinks Kent simply moved out. Anyone else?”

“A cook, a maid, and a butler—calls himself a ‘household manager’—who are still breathing. And a debutante named Sue Ellen in a hoop skirt carrying on about carpetbaggers. She invited me to tea.”

“Does she know anything about Kent?”

Colleen winced.

“She’s worried about her. Seems anxious that she hasn’t been home. But Sue Ellen suffers from time confusion.”

“Care to explain that?”

“She hasn’t left the house since eighteen sixty-seven. That’s when she died. Some kind of fever. She’s waiting for her beau to come home from sea. Him and the carpetbaggers are pretty much all she wants to talk about.”

“Are you going to tell her she’ll need to pass on over to the Other Side to find her true love?”

“Not until I’m sure she can’t help us find Kent. If anything was going on in that house that’s connected to her disappearance, Sue Ellen might have seen or overheard something that can help.”

“Are you going to tell
me
why you were in such an all-fired hurry to get here this morning?”

“I needed to make sure you got across the Cooper River Bridge before nine-thirty-five. That’s earlier than you strictly needed to be on the peninsula in order to be on time.”

“Why?”

“Turn on the radio. Or check the news alerts on that phone of yours.”

I picked up my iPhone and scrolled through the notifications. All inbound lanes on the Cooper River Bridge were closed due to debris in the road. I tapped in my password and pulled up the article. A flatbed truck hauling lumber had lost its load that morning at nine-thirty-five. Miraculously, no one was injured, though a few vehicles suffered damage.

Something thickened in my throat. “I could have been stuck on that bridge for hours.”

“You could have been.” Colleen’s tone was gentle. Her eyes told me the truth.

I could have been killed.

Two

Colleen went to wherever Colleen goes when she’s not saving my hide or working my nerves. As I rolled through the gate and turned left on Legare, I voice-dialed Mamma and scored Nell Johnson’s cell number. Nell required way more by way of explanation than I cared to give as to why I needed to reach her daughter. I pulled to the curb on Meeting near the Calhoun Mansion. Twenty minutes later I had Ansley’s number. I called and arranged to talk with her when I got back to the island.

My next call was to Sonny Ravenel, a family friend and Charleston homicide detective. Happily, he was free for lunch and agreed to meet me at the Blind Tiger Pub at noon. It was early, but I figured I could take my laptop out to the courtyard and type up my notes from my meeting with Colton Heyward while I waited.

I lucked out and scored a parking place on Broad a few blocks down from the Blind Tiger. My mouth was already watering in anticipation of white corn fritters with secret sauce and crab cakes. I slipped in my earbuds. I’d taken to wearing them most of the time in public. That way, when Colleen popped in, folks assumed I was on the phone instead of Not Quite Right.

I pulled out my black Kate Spade computer bag and headed back up the street. I was the first person through the door for lunch. The hostess escorted me to my favorite spot, tucked into the back corner of the brick-walled courtyard. I ordered iced tea and pulled out my laptop. I transcribed my conversation with Colton Heyward, typing the salient facts into an interview form. Nate and I had cloned an FBI FD 302 a few years ago due to its popularity with attorneys and judges, who become familiar with the format in law school. If we ever had to give testimony regarding a case, this gave our work product an instant pedigree.

I pulled a notebook and pen from my computer bag. I start every case with a list of questions. I began my list for the disappearance of Kent Heyward with, “What happened to her laptop? Did she take it with her to dinner? If so, why?” If I were leaving and not planning on coming back, I would take my laptop, no doubt. If Kent hadn’t taken it with her, someone else had removed it from her room. I added the question, “Was she taking any prescription medications?” If prescription meds were missing, it would also point to her leaving with no plans to return.

Sonny took a seat across from me. The redhead at my ten o’clock went on high alert. She stared at his back, no doubt appreciating his broad shoulders and the way his jeans fit. I smiled into his kind, hazel eyes and admired the neat cut of his dark brown hair. I would enjoy telling Nate I had lunch with Sonny. Served Nate right if it got his back up a little. He’d dilly-dallied in Greenville far too long. He might know in his head Sonny was like a brother to me—he was my brother Blake’s best friend. But other parts of Nate liked Sonny best at a distance.

“Your timing is impeccable.” I stowed my laptop in its case.

“You order yet?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

Sonny flagged down our waitress. We both knew what we wanted, so ordering was quick business. With lunch on the way, he leaned back in his chair and raised his chin. “What are you into now?”

“Kent Heyward. That’s a Special Victims Unit case, right?”

“Yep. Technically, she’s a missing person. A high-profile missing person. Daddy hire you?”

“Yep. Do you know anything about the case—anything that hasn’t been on the news?” I was counting on departmental gossip.

“I’ve heard a few things. No evidence of foul play whatsoever. No ransom demand. No witnesses to an abduction have come forward. Special Victims handled the case like a crate of C-4. But…” Sonny winced, tilted his head. “You know how these cases play out. After a month there are no more leads to follow.”

“She’s just gone and not likely coming back. That’s got to be a singular kind of hell for the family—not knowing.”

“I would imagine it is precisely that.”

“Colton Heyward told me the investigators think Kent left home due to family discord?”

Sonny raised both eyebrows, blew out a long breath. “That’s one theory. I’m not surprised he latched on to it.”

I felt my whole face squint. “See, here’s the thing. The way he tells it is exactly the opposite. Like he’s mad as all get out at Charleston PD because he
doesn’t
believe she ran off. Says he believes something terrible has happened, and he wants me to find out what.”

  “Hypothetically, in this type situation, we’d be looking at one of two scenarios. Either she decided it was time to get out from under Daddy’s thumb, he disagreed, so she left surreptitiously—this being both the best-case scenario and the least likely. Or, she was taken by a person or persons unknown. You ask me, Mr. Heyward can’t tolerate the notion that nothing more can be done. He’s in denial, wants to hear us say that maybe she’s run off, but doesn’t believe it for a minute. He hires you because he can.” He held his hand out and seesawed it back and forth, indicating things could go either way. His grim expression told me what he really thought.

“Handled?”

“Say what?”

Our waitress dropped off Sonny’s iced tea, refilled mine, and moved on to the next table.

“You said they ‘handled’ the case with care. Past tense. That mean they’ve stopped working it?”

Sonny lifted a shoulder. “It’s still an open case.”

“But there wouldn’t be any harm in me poking around.”

He turned down the corners of his mouth in a facial shrug. “Nobody’s going to make any noise about you looking into it. Anything that keeps Colton Heyward—and Abigail Bounetheau, the grandmother—off the chief’s phone line is good for all of us. It’s not like Kent isn’t a priority. We’ve just exhausted our leads on this one. And every day brings a new batch of victims.”

The Bounetheaus had been in Charleston as long as pluff mud. Philanthropic and civic-minded, family members were frequent subjects of newspaper and magazine spreads. Any case involving them would bring an added layer of complexity.

“You think I should mention that I’m looking into Kent’s disappearance to the case detectives?” I asked.

“Maybe let me fill them in.”

“Thanks.” I kept my disappointment out of my voice. While I was grateful for Sonny’s help, I would rather have spoken to the detectives myself, maybe find out what leads they’d already worked and discarded.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Will you ask them if they’ll meet with me?”

“I can ask. Not all detectives are as open-minded as me as regards private investigators. Could be, due to the sensitive nature of the parties involved the lieutenant won’t allow it. Department told the family there are no more leads to pursue. Lieutenant likely wouldn’t want to send a mixed message.”

Lunch was served, and for a few minutes, corn fritters and crab cakes got my undivided attention. Sonny dug into a cheeseburger.

We caught up on family and friends while we ate. After all the usual suspects were accounted for, Sonny said, “Hey, you might want to take five-twenty-six back to Mount Pleasant.”

I stilled. I wasn’t ready to think too much on the bridge accident.

Sonny cocked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of East Cooper. “The Cooper River Bridge is closed heading into town. Flatbed lost a load of lumber. It’s a bona fide miracle no one was killed. Northbound lanes are open, but folks have been sitting there for a couple hours. Rubberneckers got themselves into a chain reaction of fender-benders. It’s a god-awful mess.”

“I’ll do that—thanks.” It was a miracle all right. Hearing Sonny tell it, it finally sank in. If not for Colleen, I would be dead right now. I’d seen it in her eyes. I couldn’t catch my breath. I focused. In…out. In…out. How many times in the past seventeen years had Colleen intervened to save me that I wasn’t even aware of?

“You okay?” Sonny scrutinized me.

I smiled and shook it off. “I’m fine.” I forked another bite of crab cake and dabbed it in lemon aioli. “What do you make of the phone call her daddy got from her cell?”

“Could support either theory. Proves nothing. Detectives flew to Memphis and Amarillo to canvas the areas around the gas stations. No cameras. No one saw her. No evidence she was ever there. But nothing to prove she wasn’t, either. Hard to prove a negative.”

“It looks bad, her not using her credit cards—except for the two tanks of gas—or bank account. She walked away from her job. Her boyfriend is still in town, right? How is she supporting herself?” I set down my fork and added the question to my list.

“Yeah, the boyfriend’s still here. Theoretically, she could be staying with any one of fifty college friends who scattered all over the country after graduation.”

“But Ansley—her best friend—called everyone they hung out with.”

“And the case detectives called every name on the list she gave them. Local departments followed up. Doesn’t mean one of the friends wasn’t hiding something.”

I weighed that. “This is probably about as much use as a snipe hunt, but I promised Colton Heyward I’d try my best to find her.”

“Then do just that. Who knows? Maybe something new will pop.”

“Maybe.”

He gave me what I guessed was his best try at a stern look. His eyes grew large, his tone emphatic. “Goes without sayin’, you find
anything
, you call me first off.”

I tried looking earnest and nodded. “Will you keep an ear to the ground for me in case Special Victims gets new information?”

“Not a chance.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

He gave me his signature tilted single-nod-with-a-grin, signifying I’d gotten all I was going to get from him that day. “The first person they’ll tell will be Colton Heyward. I feel sure he’ll share.”

On the way back to Stella Maris, I called Nate to check in. Typically, when he was in Greenville, we talked on the phone at the end of the day over a glass of wine. But I was struggling to remain objective about the case, and shaken by my own brush with disaster. I needed to hear Nate’s voice. Thoughts of taunting him about having lunch with Sonny had flown clear out of my head.

“Well, hey there, Slugger.” His voice was sweet and warm, like hot syrup.

“Hey,” I said, reaching for casual.

“I sure do miss you. Why don’t you leave now and head on up here? You could be home in time for dinner. It’s nice outside. We could get a table at The Lazy Goat.”

It wasn’t lost on me that he still referred to Greenville as home. This was our ongoing tug-of-war—where were we going to live? I couldn’t leave Stella Maris, and I didn’t want to anyway. For Nate, Greenville was where we’d started our business—our base. It was also his hometown. “Nate…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…had a rough morning. I took a new case. I can’t leave right now.”

He was quiet for a moment. I knew he was disappointed. The last several times he’d asked me to come to Greenville I hadn’t been able to get away. “What’d we catch?”

“Kent Heyward.”

“Twenty-something woman missing from South of Broad?”

“Her father hired us.” I filled him in on the basics.

“Well, I just wrapped up the work for the Fayssoux divorce. It’s all over but the testimony, and that won’t come for months. I could head down, give you a hand if you like.”

“That sounds real good.” I smiled, but felt tears in my eyes. I had frayed nerves and raw emotions on simmer. The complexities of our relationship got folded into the pot. How long could we maintain this not-so-long-distance relationship? Greenville was only three and a half hours away, but it may as well be a thousand miles if he was there and I was here most of the time.

“All right then. I’ll see you for dinner. In or out?”

“I’m fine either way.”

“Is that a fact?” His voice dropped an octave. He’d read my pensive mood and taken it as a challenge. “Well now, I have to tell you Slugger, I have a preference myself. Why don’t I pick something up on the way? Something flexible.”

“Flexible food?”

“The kind we can eat whenever it suits us.”

“I like the sound of that.” My pulse and my spirits picked up. This was part of the problem. I was always so happy to see him it was too easy to sweep the big things under the rug when he was standing in front of me.

“I’ll see you around seven.” How in this world did that man make the most mundane sentences sound like foreplay?

“I’m looking forward to it.” I pressed the end call button on the steering wheel.

Ten minutes later, as I parked on the ferry from Isle of Palms to Stella Maris, I realized I’d forgotten to call Ansley to let her know what time I’d be back. I voice-dialed her. When she picked up, I asked her to meet me at The Cracked Pot at two. Hopefully she had some sliver of information that would give me a solid grip on optimism for finding Kent Heyward.