Lowcountry Boneyard

by Susan M. Boyer

  Alice said, “When she was younger she did. Not since she turned thirteen.”

  “Loretta?” I looked at the maid.

  “Not me,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said. “I think I have what I need. Thank you all so much. Here is my card.” I handed one to each of them. “Please call me if you think of anything that might be helpful.”

  Alice said, “We’re just praying you find her, and that she’s safe.”

  William showed me out. I noticed that Virginia and her family had cleared out of the living room. Did they notice I’d gone to the kitchen? If they did, apparently they were okay with it. William opened the front door for me. “Good afternoon, Miss Talbot. Godspeed.”

  I climbed into the Escape. Colleen waited in the passenger seat.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. “I needed you in there.”

  “I was having tea with Sue Ellen. You remember, the debutante ghost.”

  “How nice,” I said.

  “It was, actually. Her two sisters were here today, and several of the servants. We actually did have tea. With little sandwiches and cakes.”

  I tried to parse that.

  Colleen continued, “Sue Ellen doesn’t understand part of what she knows. She said Kent cried a lot at night lately, and that she talked to herself a lot about Matt. Sue Ellen mentioned strings Kent put in her ears. I think she’s talking about earbuds. I think Matt and Kent were fighting on the phone.”

  “About what?”

  “Kent is expecting.”

  “What?” Oh dear heaven, no. I needed to rethink everything. “Are you sure? Wait…is? Does that mean she’s alive?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” Colleen faded away.

  Eight

  The first person I needed to speak to was Matt Thomas. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he wasn’t taking my calls, so I decided to pay him a visit. I pulled out my laptop and activated the Wi-Fi hotspot on my phone. A quick search of the Charleston County real property database yielded Matt’s house number on St. Margaret Street. I like to know if potential suspects are in debt, and if so, just how far in debt—money being the root of so much evil and all. I checked public records. Not only did I not find civil judgments and the like for unpaid bills, I couldn’t find a mortgage recorded against the house. Interesting.

  I headed down Legare and made a right on South Battery. A few blocks later, I turned right on Ashley Avenue and drove two miles northwest, to the other side of Highway 17. Ashley more or less parallels Meeting Street, but this way I’d miss the tourist traffic. A few quick turns later, and I was on St. Margaret Street.

  A mix of frame and brick homes lined the street, some clearly renovated, others not. Matt’s house was on the right, a few houses past Tenth Street. I pulled to the curb. Well, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home. Matt was on the front porch, shirtless, touching up the trim paint on what appeared to be a nicely renovated, well-maintained frame bungalow. He’d added some craftsman touches—shingle accents, stained shutters, and square porch pillars which were stone at the bottom with tapered wood columns at the top.

  He set down the paint cup and put the brush inside it. Then he crossed his arms and stared at me. Hostility radiated off him.

  I got out of the car and walked around the front end towards the sidewalk.

  “Unless you have news for me, you can get right back in your car.”

  I glanced up and down the street. A woman with a stroller was a block away on the other side of the street. Two houses up, an older couple sat on their front porch. I kept quiet and continued towards Matt. I hadn’t expected him to be happy to see me.

  “Okay, you’re trespassing now,” he said as I passed through the vine-covered pergola that framed the walkway to his house.

  I kept walking. When I was close enough to speak in a conversational tone, I said, “If you’d like to make a scene for the neighbors, I’m game.”

  He screwed up his face and shot missiles at me from his eyes.

  It wasn’t the first hateful look I’d received that day. “We can talk inside or out. Your call.”

  Without a word, he turned, opened the wood-and-stained-glass front door, and walked through it. I followed, but he stopped in the cozy den just inside.

  He said, “You’ve got five seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t call my attorney and get some sort of restraining order against you. I asked you to speak to him.”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute,” I said. “First maybe you could tell me why I shouldn’t call the Charleston Police Department and tell them about all the fighting going on between you and Kent, and how she’s pregnant and you don’t want children.”

  He drew back like I’d taken a swing at him. “Who told you that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Is this what you were hiding from me this morning, or is there more?”

  “I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “You’re mighty right. You don’t. I can call up my friend Sonny—he’s a Charleston PD detective—and have him come on over and you can talk to him instead.”

  Matt dug a hand through his hair.

  “So what’s it going to be?” I tilted my head. “I guess technically it wouldn’t be Sonny who showed up. He’d no doubt call those nice detectives you spent so much quality time with before and send them over to pick your ass up.”

  He rubbed his face with his hands, covered his eyes. Then he drew a deep breath and let it out. “Fine.” He walked over to the leather sofa and plopped down. “Sit wherever you want.”

  I sat at a right angle to him on the loveseat that matched the sofa. I pulled out my pad, pen, and phone, and tapped record. I dictated the date, time and parties present. “Is it true that Kent Heyward is pregnant?”

  “Yes. At least she was the last time I spoke to her.”

  I slid back in the loveseat, stared at him for a moment. “Do you have reason to believe she’s gone off somewhere to get an abortion?”

  “It occurred to me maybe that’s what she did. But she never told me she was going to do that. Last I heard, she was dead set against an abortion.” His tone softened. “Kent wants this child.”

  “You don’t?” I kept my voice neutral.

  “No. I’m not sure I ever want kids.” He worked his jaw. “I had a perfect childhood. I know exactly how lucky I am, because way too many of my friends didn’t have what I had. Two parents who loved me, who were involved. Every. Single. Day. Two brothers who’ve always had my back. Dinner with the family every night. Church on Sunday. Grandparents—the nineteen-fifties textbook ideal childhood. I know what raising kids takes. And I know I don’t have that to give.”

  “That’s the life Kent wants?”

  “It’s not that simple. Kent thinks we can make it work—it’ll be all right. She’s willing to take what I can give her and the baby and be happy with it. She deserves more. So much more. I thought we could make it work, too—just the two of us. But kids…that’s a whole nother thing.”

  “You want her to have an abortion?”

  He jabbed his finger at me. “I never said that.”

  “Then what, exactly, do you want?”

  He tilted his head back, looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know, all right?” It was almost a howl from an animal in pain. “Right now, all I want is Kent. Safe. Here with me.”

  I processed that for a moment. “How much do you make a year?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like to know everything. I’m nosy like that.”

  “Forty-five thousand.”

  Single guy. Probably ate in the restaurant a lot. “This house is completely paid for?”

  “Yes,” he ground out.

  “How—on forty-five thousand dollars a year—can you afford this house? Why do you have an attorney? And how can you afford C
harlie Condon?”

  “How is any of that related to Kent?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s been giving you money?”

  “I never took a dime from her.”

  I shrugged. “Then answer the questions.”

  He rolled his entire head. “I have an attorney because my girlfriend’s family sicced the police on me. I have no idea where Kent is, but innocent people like me have been railroaded into prison plenty of times by people like them. I can afford Charlie Condon only because my father knows him. Dad’s a contractor. He’s done work for him. They aren’t friends, exactly. But Dad asked, and Charlie said he’d help.”

  I had to admit that was a smart move, getting a high profile attorney any way you could. If I were in Matt’s shoes, that’s what I would’ve done. “And the house?”

  “My grandmother left us each a CD—me and my brothers. She pinched pennies like you couldn’t believe. My grandparents lived below their means. She left us each a hundred thousand dollars. Not a fortune, but a lot of money to us. I lived at home for years and worked my ass off. I saved my money, added to what she left me. A couple years ago I bought this place for a hundred and fifty thousand. It was falling down—probably should have been torn down. But, like I told you, Dad’s a contractor. I worked summers for him since I was fourteen. He helped. My brothers helped. We fixed the place up.”

  I was starting to feel bad. The more I knew about Matt Thomas, the more he seemed like a good guy. Sonavabitch. I hated when Colleen was right. “It looks great.”

  “Thank you.” He sighed, brushed a hand through his hair. He rolled his shoulders like he was working tension out of them.

  “Are you absolutely certain Kent’s child is yours?”

  “Oh my—arrrgh.” He held both hands in front of him, close together, like maybe he wanted to wring my neck. I fully expected him to breathe fire.

  “Last question,” I said.

  “And then you’ll leave?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Yes. I am absolutely certain. Kent and I are committed to each other. Have been since the day we met. Ask anyone who knows us. Ask Ansley Johnson. She’s Kent’s best friend.”

  “I already have.” I stood and walked towards the door. Did Ansley know Kent was pregnant? If so, she was holding out on me. Something else tickled the back of my brain, but I couldn’t quite grab it.

  “Wait,” he said.

  I turned.

  “You’re not going to tell the police about the baby, are you?”

  I sighed. “It’s a moot point. I’m obligated to tell my client. He will tell them, and likely demand your head on a platter.”

  “Look…God, this is the last thing I even want to think about. I just want you to find Kent, okay? But I need my job. This is my life. If they arrest me, even if they never convict me of anything, it will destroy my reputation—my future—in this city.”

  He could be right. Then again, if he was innocent, the scandal might make him a tourist attraction. It could go either way. A bikini wax was more appealing to me than telling Colton Heyward his daughter was carrying the “cook’s” love child. But Mr. Heyward was my client, and I would tell him. I just needed more than Matt’s word and that of a guardian spirit before I had that conversation. “I’ll wait a day or so, see what else I come up with. If I can locate Kent, that’s all her daddy’s gonna care about.”

  He closed his eyes and let go the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

  He followed me out and waved goodbye as I pulled away from the curb. Though I believed Matt, it seemed prudent to be able to find him in a hurry if I needed to. I parked one block over and sneaked into his backyard through the adjoining property. Then I slipped through the gate to the driveway out front. No one in sight. I attached a GPS tracker under the back driver’s side wheel well of his ten-year-old Ford pickup truck.

  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.
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br />   “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.”