Abigail Bounetheau stared at me like she was trying to melt me where I sat. “Our financial affairs are private family business.”
And most of the time when folks went missing their family was behind it. “Of course,” I said. “I’d just hoped that since we all want the same thing—to find Kent—that perhaps you would give me the big picture.”
“The only people who would have anything whatsoever to gain are family members who adore Kent and would never dream of harming her.” Abigail straightened her back, which I would have thought impossible, as it appeared to have a rod in it to begin with.
The twins went to whispering again. Charlotte spoke softly to Virginia. I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“Naturally,” I replied to Abigail. I buttered my question and slid it in with a smile. “So, you have trust funds set up for each of the grandchildren, and the children as well, I expect?”
The four siblings stilled and looked at their mother. Mrs. Bounetheau pressed her lips together.
Before she could order me out, I said, “If you prefer, I could speak to Mr. Bounetheau. I suppose it’s better to ask him about financial matters, anyway.” My statement hung suspended in the air. It seemed everyone in the room had stopped breathing.
In a regal tone, Mrs. Bounetheau said, “Do not bother Mr. Bounetheau with your outlandish ideas. He has no time for this nonsense. If nothing else will satisfy you—and I assure you, it has no relevance whatsoever—Mr. Bounetheau and I have established a family trust, which owns all of our holdings. Professionals manage it all, of course. There are separate trusts for each child and grandchild, but should tragedy befall any of them, their assets would revert to the family trust. When Mr. Bounetheau and I have both passed on, after charitable bequests, the family trust will be split equally between our children. Are you quite satisfied?” Mrs. Bounetheau was the only person I’d ever met who shot more lethal death rays with her eyes than my sister, Merry.
“Quite,” I said, reflecting on just how far from satisfied I was. “Mrs. Heyward, what becomes of your and your husband’s estate should Kent be unavailable to inherit?”
She took a moment to draw herself together. “Everything is divided between several charities.”
I kept my voice low and gentle.
“I asked your husband this, but if you don’t mind, I wonder if anything has occurred to you that may have been bothering Kent before she disappeared?”
Mrs. Heyward looked over my right shoulder for a moment, then squared her eyes to mine, seeming to rally. “She and Matt were having problems.”
I felt my face scrunch up. “I thought they were getting ready to move in together?”
“What?” Abigail Bounetheau cast an accusing glare at Virginia.
Virginia Heyward kept her eyes on mine, as if I were her lifeline. “That was their plan. I don’t think that had changed. Kent would have married him, I think. Except he wasn’t ready to make that commitment. That was the source of the friction between them.”
“Virginia.” Abigail spoke sharply, as she would to a disobedient child, which I suppose is how she saw her, but Virginia Heyward was fifty-three years old. “Why on earth did you not tell me about this?”
Slowly, Virginia turned her head towards her mother. She was looking away from me, so I couldn’t read the message she was sending. For a split second, I would have sworn I saw fear in Abigail’s eyes. Then her face went completely expressionless. Damnation. Where was Colleen? I seriously needed a peek into a few of these gentrified heads.
Virginia looked back at me. She took several deep breaths, swallowed hard. “Forgive me for not meeting with you yesterday. I should have been there. For Kent. I’m holding on as tight as I can to the idea that she has run away. She’ll call any day, I tell myself. But I know that isn’t right. Colton is right. We need your help, Miss Talbot. Thank you.”
Abigail brought a hand to her temple and remained quiet.
Maybe Virginia wasn’t on drugs. Seemed like that would be harder to rally through than emotional distress. You can’t turn drugged on and off that fast.
“Of course,” I said. “You have my word. I’ll do everything I possibly can. Did you mention this to the police? That Kent and Matt were having problems?”
“No,” Virginia said. “At first it seemed so…prejudicial. Colton was giving them all sorts of ideas, pointing the finger at Matt. I didn’t want to make more trouble for him. I really don’t think he’d hurt Kent.”
“Did your husband know Matt and Kent had been quarreling?” I asked.
“No, that’s not the kind of thing she would confide in him. I didn’t dare tell him. He’s convinced as it is that Matt is guilty of something, even if it’s just exposing her to the wrong element, putting her at risk.”
“Just to clarify, by the ‘wrong element,’ do you mean her artist friends?” Matt hadn’t introduced Kent to those folks. He’d never even met them.
Her forehead wrinkled. “Colton doesn’t approve of what he refers to as the service crowd. Restaurant workers. We weren’t aware that Kent had artist friends until Ansley mentioned that’s who Kent was meeting.”
“Mr. Heyward indicated that Ansley didn’t know who Kent planned to meet.” I didn’t mention how Ansley had a different story.
“Well, she didn’t, actually,” said Virginia. “I think she gave the police officers one name. Ansley doesn’t know that group.” Her words were dismissive.
Under the circumstances, I could understand why Kent wouldn’t bring her artist friends home for dinner. Still, there was something odd about the way Mr. and Mrs. Heyward were eager to dismiss the fact that Kent planned to meet a group of artists the very night she vanished given their distrust of the entire vocation. Naturally, this piqued my curious nature. “Is there anything else that has come to you—anything you’ve remembered that might be helpful?”
“I’ve wracked my brain. Kent and I are close. If there’s anything else, I don’t know the significance of it. I keep going over and over everything in my head. There’s something I should have done differently. I just don’t know what it is.” The helpless look in her eyes touched me. But there was something else swimming around in there. Guilt.
Charlotte put her arm around her sister. “Virginia, that’s nonsense. You’ve done nothing wrong. Kent’s just blowing off steam. She’ll be home soon.”
Virginia collapsed into her sister’s embrace and sobbed softly.
I looked over at the twins, who were staring at Abigail. I followed their gaze. She seemed to be calculating a difficult equation. They seemed to be waiting for her to come up with an answer.
I took that as an opening. “Gentlemen, what do you all do? For a living, I mean?”
They both jumped a little. The one on the left said, “We manage our personal portfolios.”
“That must be very time consuming,” I said.
Two sets of identical eyes widened. The other twin said, “You cannot possibly imagine.” He looked down his aristocratic nose at me. Good grief, how did they tell themselves apart?
“Peyton?” I inquired.
“Yes?” said the one on the right.
They should be required to wear nametags. “Are you close to your niece?”
“Kent?”
“Do you have another niece?”
“No. That is, I do not have another niece. I suppose we’re as close to Kent as any uncles would be, wouldn’t you say, Peter?”
Peter was already nodding. “Absolutely.”
“Are you aware of anything that was troubling her?”
They looked at each other, then me. Simultaneously they said, “No.”
I couldn’t decide if I agreed with Ansley that they were creepy, or if I simply found them comical.
I turned to Charlotte. “Mrs. Pinckney, how about you?”
“Kent and
I are very close. I have four boys. She’s like the daughter I never had.” She stroked her sister’s arm.
Virginia quieted, seemed to pull herself together.
“Have you met Matt?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Virginia, Kent, and I had dinner at FIG once. We went on a Monday night, so it was slow. He made a special appetizer for us, and he came out to say hello. He seems like a nice young man. I don’t disapprove of their relationship, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I kept my tone soothing. “Mrs. Heyward…what do you think of Matt?”
“He loves Kent. That’s good enough for me. My only fear is that he doesn’t want the same things she does. I worry he’ll hurt her.”
“What kinds of things?” I asked.
“Kent wants a home, children. I think his priority is his career,” said Virginia.
“They’re so young,” said Charlotte. “They have plenty of time for children.”
I looked at Abigail, who was still curiously quiet. I kept waiting for her to interject. I turned back to Virginia.
“So it’s your husband who strongly objects to the relationship?”
Virginia’s gaze returned to her hands.
“We both object, but for different reasons. Colton wants a more appropriate match for her—someone with a similar background. And he’s not wrong that certain things would be easier. I worry Matt will hurt her in the end.”
“You said they’d been having problems,” I said. “Do you think Kent was upset enough that she would leave?”
Virginia and Charlotte both shook their heads vehemently. Charlotte said, “She would never put us through this. Family is important to Kent. She could just break things off with Matt. Why would she leave town?”
“I can’t come up with a single reason…yet,” I said. “Mrs. Heyward, I apologize in advance. This will seem an insensitive question. But I have to ask it, or I wouldn’t be doing my job. You want me to do my job, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Is there any trace of a possibility in your mind that when Mr. Heyward was beside himself—not himself at all—perhaps during a heated argument with Kent, that he could have unintentionally hurt her?”
Virginia Heyward looked at me levelly.
“That’s the one thing that is simply not possible. Colton never raised a hand to anyone to my knowledge, least of all Kent. He positively dotes on her. In time, he will make his peace with Matt. Please, don’t waste precious time pursing that scenario. I gave birth to her. If I thought for a second…no.” She shook her head.
“Thank you. I had to ask.” I trusted a mother’s instincts. She had me convinced.
“Is that all, Miss Talbot?” Abigail Bounetheau had found her voice, but she’d dialed down the imperious tone.
“Yes,” I stood. “I think that’s all I have for today.” I handed each of them a card. “If you think of anything at all that might be helpful, please call me. I’ll see myself out.”
“Please find her.”
Virginia’s voice was thick with tears shed and more pent up.
“I will do my best.” I walked out of the room and down the hall with my bag in one hand and my pad and pen in the other. William Palmer waited by the front door. I was certain he’d overheard every word. “Do you have a moment, Mr. Palmer?”
“It’s William, miss. Of course. At your service.” He gave me a precise half nod. I half expected him to click his heels together.
“If I recall correctly, you mentioned you were out the evening Kent went missing?”
“Correct.”
I moved over to a chest and set down my bag and pad. “What time did you leave?”
“Just after five. I had dinner with my family, read for a while, and turned in early.” He seemed well-prepared.
“You don’t live here?” Why had I thought that?
“No, miss. None of the staff lives in. Cook—Alice George—arrives at six, the maid, Loretta King, and I at seven each morning, Monday through Friday. Loretta and I leave at five. Cook stays until after dinner is served. She has a break in the afternoons.”
“So they’re both here right now?” I looked up at him from my pad.
“Yes, miss.”
“Would it be possible to speak with them as well?”
He hesitated, no doubt wondering how Mrs. Bounetheau would react. Loyalty to his employer won out. Finally, he nodded. “Of course. Please, come with me.” He headed down the hall and made a left.
I followed. A few turns later, we were in a large, sunny, modern kitchen. It looked like what I envisioned a Southern Living test kitchen would look like—high ceilings, industrial appliances, and all the modern conveniences folded into a warm décor, complete with a large stone fireplace. Two women were seated by the fireplace, one on a yellow and white checked sofa, the other in a slipcovered chair to the left. They stopped talking as we entered the room.
William did the introductions.
“Miss Talbot, please meet Alice George, the cook…” The woman on the sofa stood. I pegged her at mid-forties. She was plump, with short brown hair and a warm smile.
“…and Loretta King, the maid.” The other woman stood. She seemed of a similar age, though she was trim, perhaps from cleaning this huge house. She wore her blonde hair short as well. Both women wore black pants and black blouses.
William continued, “Ladies, this is Miss Talbot. She’s been retained by Mr. Heyward to find Miss Kent.”
We all said hello, shook hands, and all that. The women wore somber expressions. William remained inscrutable.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” William settled into one of the wingbacks and motioned that I should take the other.
I sat and jotted names on my pad. “Thank you all for taking time to speak with me. This shouldn’t take long. First, how long have each of you worked for the Heyward family?”
“I came from the Bounetheau home with Mrs. Heyward when she married Mr. Heyward. That was in nineteen-eighty-two.” William’s posture was as good as Abigail Bounetheau’s.
Alice said, “I came five years later. I’ve worked here twenty-seven years.”
“I’m the newbie,” Loretta said. “I’ve only been with the Heyward family for fifteen years.”
“So all of you have known Kent for a very long time,” I said.
They nodded and murmured agreement.
“Do any of you have any reason to believe that Kent left home and moved elsewhere, possibly due to tensions or disagreements with her parents?”
The women looked at William, as if asking permission to speak freely.
William nodded.
“Not in a million years,” said Alice.
“No way,” said Loretta. “That is the sweetest, most compassionate young woman I’ve ever known. She would never worry her mamma and daddy like that. Sure, they had ideas she didn’t go along with. But these folks care about each other.”
“Exactly,” said Alice. “Now they did argue, and I won’t say different. It’s like I told the police. Sometimes the arguments got hot. But nobody ever hit anybody—nothing like that.”
I looked at William. He seemed content to let the women talk. I continued to look at him expectantly.
“No, I do not believe Miss Kent would leave and not tell anyone where she could be reached,” he said.
“Loretta, how often did you clean Kent’s room?” I asked.
“Every day. Well, except Sunday. I’m off on Sunday. Wednesdays and Saturdays I work half days.”
“You’re familiar with what she keeps in her room and her closet?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Are any of her clothes missing?” I waited with my pen poised.
“No,” she said. “Maybe a piece or two I wouldn’t miss. If she took anything—and I’m not sayin
g she did—it was only enough for overnight.”
“Did she generally keep her laptop on her desk?” I asked.
“I dusted it three times a week,” Loretta said. “She rarely took it anywhere. Kept her iPad and her phone in her purse. If she took her laptop, she put it in a backpack she kept under her desk.”
Why did I not just talk to the help to begin with? Surely the police had questioned everyone in the household. But I’d gotten information through the filter of what Colton Heyward deemed important enough to retain in his frazzled state. “Do you remember if it was there that Friday when you cleaned?”
“It was,” said Loretta. “I remember noticing it was gone the next day, when she didn’t come home.”
I turned to Alice. “You were the only member of the staff here when she left that Friday?”
Alice said, “Yes. I made dinner for Mr. and Mrs. Heyward, then left after I cleaned up the kitchen.”
“Did you see Kent leave?” I asked.
“Yes.” Alice nodded. “She came through the kitchen on her way out. The garage is down that hall.” She pointed across the room at a short glassed-in breezeway. “She stopped. Asked me about my kids, my new grandbaby.” Alice’s eyes moistened.
“What did she have with her?” I asked.
“Her backpack—the one she carried the computer in. She could’ve had an extra change of clothes in there, too, I guess. And her purse.”
“Did anything seem amiss?” I asked. “Did she seem upset about anything? Give you any indication that she wouldn’t be coming home that night?”
“No,” Alice said. “She seemed happy.”
I looked at William.
He gave me a look that said, honestly, don’t you think I would have mentioned it? Then he cleared his throat and said, “Although I did not see her that Friday, I did not observe anything unusual about Miss Kent’s behavior in the days leading up to her disappearance.”
“Did Kent confide in any of you? Talk to you about her friends, her boyfriend, that kind of thing?”
William didn’t dignify that with an answer.
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