“I know, right?”
“You seen the Bounetheau place over on East Bay?”
“I’ve driven past. Haven’t been inside. Have you?”
“I’ve been inside the gardens. Mansion is easily twice the size of this one.”
We climbed out of the car and hustled towards the front door. Mr. Palmer let us in and showed us to the living room. Thankfully, today only Colton and Virginia Heyward were waiting for us. They both stood as we came in the door.
“Mr. and Mrs. Heyward,” I said, “this is my partner, Nate Andrews.”
Nate shook hands with them. Since I’d already done that once, on two separate occasions, I didn’t feel compelled to repeat the process.
“Please, have a seat.” Mr. Heyward gestured to the sofa facing the one he and his wife stood in front of.
Nate and I sat. Mr. and Mrs. Heyward both perched on the edge of the sofa across from us, dressed in what I supposed passed for casual wear for them. He wore pressed khakis and an open-collared blue oxford shirt. She looked elegant in a fine gauge cream-colored sweater, pearls, tan slacks, and flats.
“You have news.” Mr. Heyward said.
“Yes,” I said. “We’ve located Kent’s car.”
His eyes bored into mine, his face hard, hope and dread battling for the upper hand. “Where?”
Mrs. Heyward raised a hand to her mouth.
“It was hidden in a marshy area, in the woods, at Magnolia Cemetery.”
“And Kent?” Mr. Heyward’s voice was ragged.
“There is no sign of her,” I said.
Mr. and Mrs. Heyward seemed to be holding their breath. Neither of them moved.
“Mr. Heyward, Mrs. Heyward. This is good news—Kent not being in the car. She could easily have hidden it there herself before leaving town.” I was trying hard to sell this to myself as much as them.
“Why on earth would she do that?” Mrs. Heyward reached for her husband’s hand.
He wrapped her tiny, pale hand in his much larger pair.
“Because she doesn’t want to be tracked and the car has a built in GPS,” Nate said. “The police can find the car if it’s turned on. She couldn’t drive away in it and hope not to be found.”
“So this supports the police department’s theory?” Mr. Heyward lowered his chin and looked at me from under dark eyebrows.
“It could,” I said. “We’re still looking at several possibilities.”
“And they are?” Mr. Heyward asked.
“We’re talking to all of Kent’s friends. Everyone from college and high school—even her Facebook friends,” I said.
“You found her laptop?” Mrs. Heyward was far more functional when her husband was in the room as opposed to her mother.
“No,” I said. “Ansley helped us access Kent’s account from my computer.”
“I see,” she said.
Nate said, “So far we haven’t had any luck in locating her, but we have eliminated a lot of possibilities. And we are also looking at other scenarios.” He looked at Mr. Heyward.
Mr. Heyward nodded.
The three of us silently agreed not to discuss those other scenarios in front of Mrs. Heyward.
“What happens now?” Mrs. Heyward asked. The hope in her voice, combined with how much she looked like Kent, ate at me.
“The police have secured the area,” Nate said. “They’re bringing in crime scene technicians to go over every inch of the car and the area around the car to see if there’s any further evidence. We would appreciate it if you would share that information with us.”
Colton Heyward jerked his head up. “Are they not cooperating with you?”
Oh boy. I sighed.
“Well…actually, no. Honestly, we didn’t want to mention it. I know you can make a call and fix this—”
“And I shall,” he said. “As soon as we conclude our meeting.”
This would no doubt be a mixed blessing. “Thank you.”
“Our daughter’s well-being is all that matters. This is no time for pettiness.”
“Agreed,” I said. I searched for the right words to break the news of Kent’s pregnancy. It made no sense to come back tomorrow. Nate and I had discussed it on the drive across town. I hadn’t had enough time to figure out how to make this easier. Likely there would never be enough time to work that out.
Nate must have sensed my hesitation.
“We do have some more information to share with you,” Nate said. “This may not be welcome news.”
Mr. and Mrs. Heyward looked at him expectantly.
Nate leaned forwards, his face solemn. He spread his hands wide. “In the course of our investigation, we came across a piece of personal information about Kent that we are assuming you are not aware of.”
Two creased foreheads looked back at us.
“Kent is expecting a baby,” Nate said, his voice soft.
Colton Heyward blinked rapidly.
Mrs. Heyward gasped, flattened both hands at the base of her throat.
“What?” Colton Heyward asked.
Very gently I said, “We learned from Matt Thomas that Kent is expecting.” While this was not the first place we’d heard the news, I was not about to tell my clients a Civil War-era debutante had told me through my guardian spirit.
“I can’t believe it,” Mr. Heyward said. “I don’t believe it. You can’t take his word for something like that.”
“She didn’t tell me,” Mrs. Heyward said.
“Virginia, for goodness sake, we can’t take this seriously.”
I said, “Ansley confirmed it. I suspect Kent was nervous to tell you because of the tension regarding her relationship with Matt.”
They both fell silent and stared at us. Finally, Colton Heyward said, “The fact that he withheld this is very suspicious.”
“I was afraid you might feel that way,” I said.
“That’s what they’ve been arguing about,” Virginia said.
“They’ve been arguing?” Colton Heyward looked at his wife.
“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d think it just confirmed what you already thought—that he’d hurt her.”
Colton worked his jaw. He looked from me to Nate, his face hot with controlled anger. “Do you have further news?”
I debated with myself for a long moment. “I don’t think this is related, but I did learn that Ansley was at Matt Thomas’s house the night Kent disappeared. They’re all friends, and as Kent had other plans, Ansley was there to visit with Matt.”
“But he was working.” Mrs. Heyward’s brow creased.
“Yes,” I said. “Ansley took an early ferry and waited for him to get off work. They spent some time together, and she stayed in the guest room as the ferry service back to Stella Maris stops at midnight.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Heyward, disappointment in her voice.
“So do I.” Mr. Heyward appeared both livid and satisfied that he had proof Matt was not to be trusted.
Nate said, “I think it’s important we don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Have you shared this information with the police?” Mr. Heyward asked.
“No,” I said. “As Kent’s condition is of a personal nature, and Ansley’s visit isn’t evidence of anything, we haven’t. Unless we come across direct evidence, like the car, we bring everything to you. You are our clients.”
Mr. Heyward nodded. “I appreciate your discretion. My wife and I will discuss this. However, I’m inclined to share every shred of information with the police. Just as I want them to share what they have with you.”
“Whatever you decide. We’re still working on several angles.” We had discussed it again, and still both felt we were better off not sharing information on Peyton and Peter and their nefarious pursuits with Co
lton Heyward. It left us too exposed. I brushed Nate’s leg. We both rose.
“We’ll be in touch as soon as we have anything else,” I said.
Mr. and Mrs. Heyward stood.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Heyward. “You’ve given us more information in just a few days than we’ve had in a month. Thank you.” Her eyes told her story. She was clinging to every scrap of news as somehow proof her daughter would be coming home.
We headed back to Nate’s hotel room. He needed to finish the documentation on Peyton and Peter’s suspicious activities and cohorts before we met with Sonny. Since Kent wasn’t Sonny’s case, he likely wouldn’t be tied up long at Magnolia Cemetery. I stepped out to the courtyard to call him while Nate worked.
“We have some information for you,” I said when Sonny answered the phone. The courtyard was empty. I settled into a chair in the far left corner, my back to the planting bed that bordered the garden wall.
“For me? This isn’t my case. And you’ve done enough for one day, really.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, perhaps a tad sarcastically.
“I meant what I said. You did real good. It’s just…I hate to see the shit storm Jenkins and Bissell are going to have to deal with because you found that car and they didn’t.”
“I played a hunch, got lucky. Anyway, this other thing may not be related to Kent. It’s something we stumbled across along the way.”
“All right. Kudu’s got live music tonight. Not the best place for talking. Where do you want to meet?”
“How about Bin 152? I’m feeling like some prosciutto, a few creamy cheeses, and a glass of pinot noir. It’ll be quiet there on a Sunday night.”
“That’s fine. What time?”
It was nearly six-thirty. “How about eight?”
“See you there.”
It was a nice evening. No use in me rushing back upstairs to look over Nate’s shoulder. I relaxed and let my mind drift. Huge crape myrtles and live oaks shaded the courtyard. The pool called to me, but I didn’t have time for a swim. It had been a long day. Things were happening faster than I could properly analyze them. While it was possible Kent had dumped her car like I’d suggested to Mr. and Mrs. Heyward, it was more likely she would’ve simply dropped it at the airport or in a Walmart parking lot if she were ditching it so she couldn’t be tracked. I hadn’t wanted to give them false hope, but at the same time, there was no sense in having them believe the worst until we knew it for a fact.
The door to the hotel lobby opened and closed. Two hulk-like figures ambled my way. One was Caucasian, the other of African descent. Both wore caps low on their heads, obscuring their faces. They were dressed in jeans and t-shirts with long-sleeved collared shirts over the top, long tails hanging out. My skin tingled and my heart picked up its pace to a trot.
I hadn’t brought my purse outside with me. No gun, no Taser, no pepper spray. Sonavabitch. All I had was my phone. I reached for it to shoot Nate a quick text.
“Thas jus rude,” said the white hulk. They stopped on either side of the table, effectively boxing me into the corner.
“Your mamma din’t teach you no better than to text when folks are right in front of you, tryin’ to conversate?” said his friend.
I laid the phone down, smiled, and tried to keep my tone light. “I wasn’t aware you gentlemen wished to speak with me. What can I do for you?”
They stepped closer.
My claustrophobia kicked into high gear.
“It’s not what you can do for us,” said black thug.
“We’re here to do you a favor,” said white thug.
“Do tell?” I said.
“Thas right,” said black thug. “See, you’re fixin’ to get yosef hurt.”
White thug pulled a very large automatic weapon from the back of his jeans. He didn’t point it at me. He just held it with one hand and stroked it with the other. “We jus wanna help you stay safe.”
I licked my lips, steadied my breathing. “How’s that?”
“You’ve been stickin’ your nose where it don’ belong,” said black thug. “Walk away. We done tried sending you a nice, gentle warnin’.”
These thugs had sent the snake? Who did they belong to? “Just so I’m clear, because, you know, my nose has been lots of places lately, where specifically do I need to keep it away from?”
The thugs looked at each other.
“Shee-it,” said black thug.
White thug smiled, his face shining with pure evil. “Watch yourself, sweet thang. We don’ have to be nice to you. We ain’t paid to be nice, you feel me?”
I nodded.
“Just keep your nose outa Bounetheau business, and it might stay above ground a while longer,” said black thug.
“Fair enough.” I held my hands up in surrender. “So, you want me to stop looking for Kent Heyward?”
White thug scowled at me. “We don’ care nothin’ about you hunting for that girl. Jus keep out the Bounetheaus’ private business. It ain’t got nothing to do with her.”
“Got it,” I said. But I so did not get it. Nate had been poking around the Bounetheaus, not me. And these hoodlums hadn’t said word one about Nate or his nose.
“Now, we gone go back inside,” said black thug. “And you gone sit your pretty ass right there for at least ten minutes before you get up. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said.
“This gone be the last warnin’ you get, sweet thang. Third time you dead.” White thug caressed my face with his gun. “After we have ourselves a party.” He grinned like he was looking forward to that.
They backed away a few steps. White thug put his gun back in his jeans and pulled his shirt down over it. They turned and walked back towards the hotel door.
I gasped for breath but didn’t move. As I watched them retreat, I memorized as many details as I could. Their shoes were wrong. Both of them wore loafers too nice for the rest of their look. Their swagger shifted to a smooth stride. Something was off. They disappeared inside the hotel.
I replayed the scene in my head. I couldn’t be sure, but I had a strong suspicion these were the men I’d seen on the ferry Friday morning. They’d seemed heftier this evening, and they were dressed very differently. But I’d bet money those were the same shoes.
After I was sure ten minutes had passed, I picked up my phone and went inside. My head swiveled in every direction. The lobby was deserted except for an older couple looking at brochures and the cheerful desk clerk.
She smiled and said, “Have a good evening.”
I nodded and walked towards the elevator.
Once I calmed down, I realized I’d never been in any danger. Colleen hadn’t showed. Or maybe she was making a point. Nate was not one bit amused by the incident, nor mollified by my protestations that these were wannabe gangsters. He held forth on the matter during our eight-tenths-of-a-mile walk to Bin 152, alternately checking who was around us on the sidewalk. Nate was on high alert, agitated. Sonny waited at the table by the front left window.
“Light staff tonight,” he said. “Order at the bar and they’ll bring it out.”
Nate and I glanced at the menu. He went to the bar and made short work of placing our order. I settled into a chair across from Sonny. Nate took the chair in the middle, facing the street.
“Any news on the car?” Nate asked. He seemed to be settling down a bit.
Sonny looked at him for a long moment.
“Not my case. Only thing I heard is that it’s wiped clean inside. No prints anywhere.”
“That’s not encouraging,” said Nate.
“She could have done that to throw us off.” I realized immediately how outlandish that sounded. I was clinging to hope we’d find Kent alive.
Nate nodded in my direction but looked at Sonny. “She had a scare a little while ago,” he said by wa
y of explaining my irrational statement.
Sonny raised his eyebrows.
We started with Peyton and Peter, pausing when a waiter delivered wine, bread, and an array of meats and cheeses. Then we dug in and took turns talking and eating. Finally, I told Sonny what had happened in the courtyard at the hotel right after I’d spoken to him.
“Can you describe these guys at all aside from their clothes and skin color?” Sonny asked.
“They weren’t right,” I said.
“Come again?” Sonny said.
“First, they both had really short hair, because not one strand of it was visible under their ball caps.”
Sonny shrugged. “It’s Charleston. It’s hot here. Not all criminals have long scraggly hair.”
“I’ll give you that, but…Did you ever see that movie with Steve Martin and Queen Latifah? Bringing Down the House?”
The menfolk looked at each other and then back at me. “No,” they both said.
“Okay, there’s this scene in it where Steve Martin tries to go all gangster-homeboy, but he’s horrible at it.”
“You’re saying these were inexperienced criminals?” Nate asked. “Because you were pretty shook up not an hour ago. You don’t shake up easy.”
“Fine. I’ll admit, I was scared out of my mind at the time. They took me by surprise. In hindsight, I think they were trying a little too hard to sound like uneducated thugs. And their shoes were totally wrong. They were businessmen shoes—polished loafers.”
“But one of them threatened you with a gun and they told you they’d kill you if you didn’t stop nosing around the Bounetheaus. Do I have that right?” Sonny asked.
I sighed. “Yes.”
Nate said, “So, you think they are a legitimate threat, just not uneducated.”
“Yes. And I think they were trying to disguise their appearance.”
“You think maybe you’ve seen them before?” Nate asked.
“I can’t be positive,” I said. “But I think they were on the nine o’clock ferry leaving Stella Maris Friday morning. I saw two guys I didn’t recognize, and they didn’t look like tourists. Them I snapped a photo of.” I pulled it up on my iPhone and texted it to Nate and Sonny. “See? They’re dressed much nicer. No ball caps. They don’t seem as large…Shit, the shoes aren’t in the photo.” I sipped my pinot noir.
Lowcountry Boneyard Page 18
