Worry made the minutes crawl, her stomach knot, and her fingers restlessly drum a pattern on the arm of her chair. Her best friend was missing, and here she sat, a prisoner of the debate about the best leaf-peeping cities!
By the time Paxton called back, she’d come to a decision.
“It wasn’t right to send me down here without letting me know about Vanessa upfront. She’s my best friend in the world.” Annabelle struggled to keep her voice steady. “Both you and Jack are aware of that fact.”
“You’re right, of course. All I can say is this whole mess with Tad’s got me in a tailspin. Throw in Vanessa, and I’m not on top of my game.”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to track her down for three weeks.” Annabelle whipped a slim notepad out of her briefcase and jotted down Tad’s name. “My guess is Jack knew as soon as I heard about this I’d be on an airplane anyway, with or without his permission.” She sighed in resignation. “I suppose he thinks he’s getting a story out of this?”
“Hey, those details are strictly between the two of you. The bottom line as far as I’m concerned is that the police have come up with squat. You’re the best investigative reporter I know and right now you’re my one and only hope. If you agree to help, it’d be a private arrangement with my family, not Wanderlust. This is purely personal.”
“For me, too, unfortunately.” Annabelle worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Personal involvement has a tendency to cloud an investigation, but this is one I can’t walk away from. There are no such things as coincidences—only connections which haven’t been made yet.”
Ralph sucked in a breath. “It sounds like you’ll help me.”
“Not so fast. We’re not quite finished. Why the warning about sending me out on a limb? You’re holding out on me.”
He cleared his throat nervously, obviously stalling. “I wasn’t holding out on you, Annabelle. I had to be sure you wouldn’t dismiss the entire thing before I filled you in on all the details.”
This was ridiculous. She didn’t have the time, patience or inclination to spar with him any longer. “You’re stonewalling me, and I don’t like it. You’ve strung me along this whole time. I don’t deserve it, and frankly I don’t have time to play games.”
“Damn it, this whole situation is difficult!” he bellowed. “I’m the one who asked Vanessa to help. She’s a terrific travel writer, but she doesn’t have your background in investigation. If anything’s happened to her, it’s my fault. Let me explain the rest of it.”
Somewhat mollified, and more than a little moved by the guilt in his voice, Annabelle waited in silence.
“The local cops have had some ugly incidents with the press recently. Right now they don’t have a very high opinion of anyone connected to this business. It took three tries before I could even get anyone to listen once they learned I work for a magazine. We’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to set foot near their investigation. If you dig into this, there can be absolutely no connection to Wanderlust magazine, official or otherwise. If you get into trouble down there with the police or otherwise, I’m afraid we can’t help you.”
Annabelle closed her eyes, tipped the chair backwards and leaned her head back against the wall, considering. He was right. There couldn’t be any connection. Not even incrementally. “I’m sorry, but I won’t work for you under those conditions. Neither you nor your magazine should be put at risk. But I swear I’ll find out what happened to Tad and Vanessa in Charleston.”
“At least let me pay you for an article in Wanderlust on Charleston. Vanessa never submitted her article, so we’ve still got a slot open.”
That would at least cover her hotel expenses. “Only because it’s a terrific cover. It’s the perfect excuse to try and recreate Vanessa’s trail. If somebody is here and watching, it should keep me safe.”
“Keep that in mind, Carlyle. Do whatever it takes to stay out of trouble. I can’t lose anyone else.”
“Trust me, I have no plans to go missing.” Annabelle tried to sound confident. But deep down, a healthy fear tugged at her belly. Hopefully, that fear would keep her on hyper-aware of any potential danger. She was cautious during every investigation. The urgency to finding her best friend, however, might tempt her to push harder, throw caution to the wind. This had just become the most important investigation of her career. Too bad she had almost nothing to go on….
CHAPTER FOUR
Annabelle reveled in the blast of cool air in the foyer of the Charleston Museum. Her previous stop, the Gibbes Museum of Art, was only a few blocks away but the humidity sucked the life from her. She was as drained as if she’d walked four miles.
“Welcome to the museum.” A short, balding man dressed in Civil War era clothes appeared beside her.
“Oh my - do I have the pleasure of meeting Robert E. Lee, or is it perhaps Jefferson Davis?” Annabelle queried with a smile. The man beamed at her, obviously tickled by her allusion to the Confederate war heroes. He smoothed his gray uniform jacket with a slow, careful gesture.
“I’m downright flattered you would compare me to those great men. But I’m afraid today you’ll have to settle for plain old Davis Shaw, curator of this fine establishment.” He pumped her hand vigorously.
“My name is Annabelle Carlyle. And as a matter of fact, Mr. Shaw, you are precisely the person I came here to meet.”
He harrumphed his surprise. Bushy, salt-and-pepper brows raised higher upon his wide forehead. “Really? This is indeed a red-letter day. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a beautiful young woman wander into my museum specifically to see me. Usually they find the antique silver collection far more entrancing,” he said, with a hint of self-deprecation. “Allow me to show you to my office.”
Moments later they were ensconced in what must have originally been a sitting room. Blue velvet drapes covered the floor to ceiling windows, and in keeping with the rest of the mansion, period pieces dotted the room. The only incongruity was the large computer which dominated the delicate escritoire. Annabelle carefully sank onto a blue brocade fainting couch.
“I see central air isn’t your only modern convenience.” She gestured at the laptop on his desk.
“Oh yes; the battle between practicality and authenticity never ends around here. I’ll know I’ve won the day when the Board of Directors lets me burn this ridiculous costume. Pure wool, you know, and dreadfully heavy.”
“I take it the period clothes were not your idea?” Annabelle asked, trying to stifle a smile.
“Gracious no! I’m a curator, not a mannequin. I would be blissfully happy in a suit and tie. Unfortunately, I’m only allowed to get away with it on Halloween.”
The polite small talk had established sufficient rapport to allow her to begin the interview. “Mr. Shaw, have you ever heard of Tad Thornton?”
“I should say so. He practically talked my ear off over lunch a while ago. It was quite a treat for me. Tourists are our bread and butter, but I must say it’s far more enjoyable to chat with someone as knowledgeable and enthusiastic as Mr. Thornton.”
Annabelle leaned forward in surprise. It wasn’t the answer she expected. “Exactly when did you have lunch with him?”
Davis flipped through several pages of his desk calendar, and then tapped it firmly with his index finger. “May twenty-second.” He pushed the calendar aside and clasped his hands on the desk. “But before I answer any more questions, I think I’d like to know why you’re so interested.”
“Fair enough.” Annabelle decided to tell him the truth. Investigative journalists learned early on to always trust their instincts, even if the facts were contradictory. In her judgment there was little risk in leveling with this man.
“Tad Thornton is missing. I have reason to believe he disappeared within a few hours of meeting with you.” She quickly summarized the facts, but without mentioning Vanessa’s disappearance. When she finished he was noticeably pale.
“I’d like to be perfectly clear, Miss Carl
yle; are you here because you think I had something to do with Tad Thornton’s apparent vanishing?”
Annabelle shook her head quickly to put him at ease. “Heavens, no!”
He smiled in response, but it did not reach his eyes. “In that case, I think a drink is called for before we continue. I’m afraid this is very disturbing news. Is cognac all right with you? It is almost five o’clock.”
Annabelle nodded her assent, and watched him pour their drinks into crystal tumblers. His hands shook and he banged the decanter against the glasses. She realized he was using the simple actions to collect himself. Davis Shaw was far more upset by her tale than she first anticipated, and his response was definitely not that of an uninvolved acquaintance. A quiver of excitement raced down her spine. Whatever he was about to reveal would be important.
“To Tad,” He clinked glasses with her, downed his drink, and poured another.
It was the perfect time to push him a little. “His visit here wasn’t a chance coincidence. You’ve known Tad Thornton for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Years,” he answered. “We met in school - and I don’t even want to think about how long ago it was.”
“And yet the police haven’t contacted you?” The pieces didn’t fit together. Friends, especially old ones, were always among the first questioned. Admittedly, the police gave Tad’s case merely cursory attention, but surely his sister would have thought to check with Davis. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
Davis pulled out a handkerchief and mopped the top of his head. “No one knew we were friends. It was a secret. Sounds childish, I know, but I guarantee you he did not tell his sister of our meeting.”
Annabelle heard the telltale bitterness in his voice. “I think I understand,” she said slowly. “You don’t get along well with Betty Paxton, do you?”
“It’s a ridiculously sordid story, and a little embarrassing, even after all these years.” He fortified himself with another sip. “As I told you, Tad and I met in college. We became close, and then...closer still. Do you grasp my meaning?”
Annabelle was oddly touched. Davis Shaw was a true Southern gentleman who didn’t want to offend her delicate female sensibilities by coming right out and stating he was gay. He stared, unflinching, but Annabelle noticed the hands holding his glass still trembled slightly. Suddenly she was sorry she hadn’t been more tactful in breaking the news of Tad’s disappearance.
“I’m beginning to, Mr. Shaw. But why keep your relationship a secret after all this time?”
“It didn’t start out as a secret. Tad’s sister also attended our school. She and her boyfriend discovered us at a, shall we say, indiscreet moment.”
Annabelle fully understood all he left unsaid. She pegged his college years as the late sixties. Free love was accepted back then, but homosexuality still was not. “I take it she was unaware of Tad’s sexual preference up to that point?”
“Completely. Betty was mortified, and ended up changing schools mid-year to escape the taint of being associated with the two of us.”
“Unbelievable!” Her voice swelled with indignation. “What a horrible way to treat her own brother.”
Davis shook his head. “Well, she didn’t for very long. You see, Betty ended up blaming me for ‘corrupting’ Tad. After the initial shock passed, she was very supportive of him. However, she did threaten to tell their parents if he ever saw me again.” He leaned back in his chair. “It would’ve killed his father.”
“So you began to meet in secret?” Annabelle asked.
“Exactly. And as we both rose through the museum ranks to become curators, it seemed wise to maintain a low profile. Wouldn’t want to do anything to offend the major donors, you know, especially here in the South.” He laughed, but it had a hollow sound.
“Are Tad and Betty’s parents both dead?”
“For several years now. But it could be unpleasant were the truth to surface. Betty’s made it clear over the years she still holds quite a grudge against me. I know she’d like nothing more than to see my career go up in flames.”
“Despite her influence, you and Tad have stayed in close contact all this time?”
“We certainly try. It’s a bit easier now with e-mail, but actual visits are rare. It was such a treat to see him last month.” His tone grew somber. “Do you think Tad is still alive, Miss Carlyle?”
Annabelle bit her upper lip. She didn’t want to lie, or give him false hopes. “I honestly don’t know. You never heard him talk about wanting to get away from it all?”
“Definitely not. He’s completely devoted to his museum. Tad genuinely enjoys going in to work every day. There’s simply no way he’d extend his vacation without making additional arrangements for his museum. And,” he cleared his throat, “I like to think he would at least let me know if he planned to be incommunicado for a few months.”
“Then it doesn’t look good, Mr. Shaw. When people are missing for more than a week, chances of their recovery drop dramatically.”
Davis Shaw tossed back the rest of his drink. “Is there anything at all I can do to help?” His voice was thick with emotion.
“That’s precisely why I came here today.” Annabelle pulled out her notebook. She was grateful to veer away from his painful reminiscences. “Both the Charleston Museum and the Gibbes Museum of Art were listed on Tad’s itinerary. I stopped at the Gibbes before coming here.” Annabelle squinted at her scribbled notes. “The staff had never heard of Tad Thornton, and couldn’t confirm if he’d visited last month.”
Davis held up a finger. “He did make a stop there. It was a working visit, to see if their American collection had anything appropriate for a fall exhibit he was planning. As I recall, he declared it a wasted trip, which would explain his not speaking with the staff.”
“Is the exhibit also why this museum was on his list?”
“Goodness, no!” he guffawed. “Our biggest claim to fame, aside from being the nation’s oldest museum, is a somewhat impressive silver collection. We’ve some nice pieces from the eighteenth century, but they’d be completely useless to Tad. He’s mounting a watercolor retrospective.”
Annabelle toyed with a lock of hair, trying to come up with another angle. “From what you’ve told me, if he planned to come to the museum solely to visit with you, he wouldn’t have listed it on his itinerary. There has to be some other reason.”
“He did ask me one rather odd question. Tad mentioned a story he’d recently heard at a party. Said he wanted to verify it. This I remember precisely because it was so strange. He wanted to know where to find a list of the Confederate Army.”
“Wait—what kind of a list?” Annabelle interrupted.
“Well, he was rather vague on the details—which is more than a bit unusual for a museum curator. Details are our life.” He chuckled at himself briefly. “As far as I could tell, it was a general list of everyone who served under the Confederate flag. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help him. And,” he said, as he sat bolt upright in his chair, “he was quite firm about my not helping him. Told me very emphatically not to look for it myself. At the time I was a bit put out, but in light of your story it sounds suspicious, don’t you think?” he asked, with an air of excitement.
“I try not to overlook any possibility.” She smothered a grin. The people she interviewed were invariably thrilled to think there was a chance they’d passed on an important clue. “It certainly gives me someplace to start. Was there anything else unusual?”
Davis pushed back from the desk and moved to the crowded bookshelf. He pulled out a slim, glossy volume and leafed through it before handing it to Annabelle. “There!” he said, his voice ringing in triumph. “Prescott Hall Plantation. Tad spent the morning there before we had lunch. I’m positive something happened while he was there. He was most agitated about the tour he took.”
“Did he say why?” Annabelle scanned the guidebook’s description of the renovated plantation house.
“I know
they have a remarkable library. Most of the books are kept in locked cases, but Tad mentioned using his curator privileges to get a look at them. That was all he told me. Then he became very quiet, and asked me about the list.”
Her mind raced. There had to be a connection between these random bits of information and Tad’s disappearance. “When he left, did he mention where he was going next?”
Davis dropped back into his chair, eyes bleak. “No. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can tell you.”
Annabelle stood and shook his hand. “Mr. Shaw, there’s no reason for you to apologize. Truly, you’ve been an enormous help. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Promise you’ll let me know if you find him. It would be all the thanks I need.”
An elderly woman on the sidewalk weaving a sweetgrass basket waved at Mark. “I wish my granddaughter was here. You two make quite a sight. Like handsome bookends.”
Mark looked over at his best friend. Both of them were dressed in cutoffs and T-shirts, one dark and the other surfer blond. “Guess I’ve been called worse.”
“Hey, what do you think our friendship is based on?” asked Ashby, out of the blue.
“What the hell kind of a question is that? Why are you channeling Dr. Phil in the middle of a parking lot?” Mark readjusted his grip on the gigantic box containing his new barbeque. He hadn’t seen Ashby Haley in months, but now wasn’t the time to catch up. “This thing weighs a ton. Can we please load it into your truck sometime this year?”
Ashby rested his end of the box on the tailgate. “Exactly my point. If I didn’t have a truck you could use any old time you need to haul things, would we still be friends?”
“Is that what this is about—why you’ve suddenly turned into a woman?” Mark gave his end of the box a hard enough shove to push it all the way into the truck bed. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, and he wiped his forehead with a ratty, red bandanna.
Carolina Heat Page 4
