by P. J. Vernon
I was doing it. I was on my way to meet Paul’s Annie. Not Paul’s Annie, rather, but the Annie who wanted to help Paul. The woman who wanted to help bring Paul home and ensure he’d be in good shape for the race, too.
I had so few allies in life that the idea of finding one so unexpectedly renewed my resolve in more ways than one. Four days without a drink. The third night was behind me now. No reason I couldn’t keep this up. No reason I couldn’t keep away from drinking, and then maybe … maybe Paul would come home.
We’d be on our way. Away from Piper Point. Out of Elizabeth. Old Hattie nestled warmly in a comfy carrier. I’d never look back—perhaps for good this time. The thought made me smile. Nothing forced or strained about it.
As pines and tall grass whirled by on both sides of the highway, a road sign told me I’d almost reached town. The rain had slowed to a constant drizzle. Not even a drizzle, really. More of a misting. I turned the windshield wipers down.
Cirilo’s sat on the corner of Oleander and Percy. A yellow brick building that looked plain enough, but the barrel-tiled roof made it the most exotic in Elizabeth. As far as food went, it was probably the fanciest, but that bar wasn’t high in this town. Most folks cooked at home. Nice meals were usually worth the drive into Charleston proper.
None of that mattered. I wasn’t here to eat. I was here for answers.
My wrist watch was a rose gold and leather piece I rarely wore, but it was important to be on time today. One fifteen PM. Fifteen minutes to go. I planned to take no chances with Annie. Not when I was finally set to meet her.
People ate lunch early in the Low Country, so I pulled into the near vacant lot framed by crooked palm trees. Their green fronds snapped in intermittent gusts, warning of worse weather to come. A couple pickup trucks by the dumpster likely belonged to the wait staff. The gleaming Cadillac, Luca Cirilo’s. Annie had probably come from out of town, so I looked for signs of a rental. I found none in the puddled lot.
A blonde hostess no older than fifteen parted the door as I half ran up the steps and inside. Following her to a back table, I shook my umbrella dry and removed my trench coat.
“Will this be okay?” she asked as she placed a single menu on top of the white linen tablecloth.
“Two,” I told her. She paused. “Two menus, please. I’m meeting someone here. A friend.”
“Sure thing, ma’am,” she replied, setting down a second menu.
I took my seat in the chair she’d pulled out for me. As soon as she’d sauntered off, I concluded this seat wouldn’t do at all. For starters, it faced the bar, flanked by row after row of wine bottles. Worse even, I couldn’t see the front door.
As soon as I’d switched to the other side of the small table, a college-aged guy in a white button-down and black vest approached me, notepad in hand.
“Welcome to Cirilo’s,” he said. His dark hair was parted clean down the center. “Have you ever been…”
I stared blankly at the young man’s face in the sudden silence. Awkward.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he resumed. “You’re Gray King, aren’t you?”
“Godfrey,” I corrected him, “but yes.” I shifted uneasily in the lacquered chair.
“Mr. Cirilo will be pleased to know we’ve got a King in the house for lunch,” he said, a wide grin etched across his face.
“That won’t be necessary. To tell him, I mean. I appreciate it, but I’m meeting a friend, and it’s quite a private luncheon.”
He stiffened his back. “Oh, we’ll make no fuss about it. Can I get you something nice to drink?” he asked, handing me a piece of cream-colored paper. A wine list.
I glanced it over from top to bottom out of habit, but I barely stopped to read a word. The young man continued, “We have a nineteen-ninety Riesling import on special today. A great price. Goes well with any of the shellfish pastas.”
“No,” I answered tersely. It seemed to startle him, so I softened my voice. “No, thank you. I’ll have a water, please. With lemon.”
“You got it, Mrs. King … Godfrey, I mean,” he said, scratching my order down. “Sparkling or still?”
“Still,” I answered. The waiter snapped his notepad shut with an eager nod and darted off to the kitchen.
* * *
By one thirty-five PM, I still hadn’t touched my water, and I’d told the waiter I wouldn’t be ordering until my friend arrived. He’d brought a basket of buttered bread, but I wasn’t hungry. Anticipation squashed my appetite.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t eaten much of anything in a couple days now. No wonder my pants hung so loose around my hips. Anxiety was likely masking any light-headedness I might’ve otherwise felt.
I wiped my damp palms on the table linen for the second time. She’d be here any moment. My eyes stayed glued to the front door. The hostess stood at a podium off to the side. Each time the phone in front of her rang, my pulse spiked. Was it Annie calling? Perhaps to let me know she’d be late?
No, that was nonsense. She had my number. I checked my phone. No missed calls. Do not let Annie leave here today without getting her number, I repeated to myself.
“Mrs. Godfrey?” a voice spoke from behind me.
I jumped and turned. The waiter.
“Ma’am, Mr. Cirilo asked me to inform you that, regretfully, he had to leave for a family matter. He won’t be able to greet you.” He held a tray with both hands.
“I said that wouldn’t be necessary—”
“I didn’t tell him, ma’am.” He frowned. “He recognized you from the galley.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
The young man’s eyes twinkled. “But he’s asked me to serve you this.” He took a stemmed glass from the tray and sat it before me. His motions sent the wine it carried swirling in circles. “The Riesling. On the house,” he announced proudly.
“Thank you,” I murmured, stomach twisting at its pale golden color. It’s smell, pungent to my heightened sense. I’m the Spider-Woman of booze.
As soon as he was out of sight, I pushed the glass to the empty place setting in front of me. It wasn’t worth it. I breathed a deep sigh and eyed the door to the ladies room. I could pour it down the sink. I started to slide my chair back but stopped short of standing.
Or I could leave it on the table. I’d let Annie have it. Perhaps she’d think it was a show of goodwill on my part. Maybe it would relax her. From how she sounded in her messages, she could certainly use some relaxing.
One forty-five now. I turned in my seat and spied a side door. If she parked in the opposite lot, she’d probably come in through that one. As I turned back around, the television behind the bar caught my attention. The picture displayed on it did, anyways. It was Paul. The same photograph from before. The one from the Jefferson Hotel gala.
In the bistro’s stark emptiness, the voice-over spoke clear as day: “Still no sign of missing Washingtonian, Paul Godfrey,” a man’s voice announced. “Calls to the King family have gone unanswered, but a source within the police department has confirmed that a crime scene unit arrived from Charleston. They’re sweeping the area where Mr. Godfrey’s rental car was found abandoned early Christmas morning.”
A crime scene unit? My heart seized. Nina never said anything about a crime scene unit. My right hand began to tremble. I grabbed hold of my thigh to still it and released a staggered breath. Protocols, I reminded myself. Nina said the report would initiate protocols. A crime scene investigation would be one of them, no doubt.
On the television, Paul’s image had vanished. The voice-over continued: “Our D.C. affiliate obtained the following video statement moments ago from Cooper and Waters, Mr. Godfrey’s lobbying firm.”
A balding Laurence Cooper appeared, lined face appropriately sullen. He wore a small microphone attached to his pressed lapel, adjacent to an American flag pin. Judging by the granite steps behind him, he stood in front of the firm’s building.
“All of us at Cooper and Waters extend our thoughts and prayers to t
he Godfrey and King families during this time of uncertainty. Most importantly, we expect Paul’s whereabouts to be uncovered soon and a speedy return to his wife and family to occur. To my knowledge, there is no reason this cannot happen quickly.”
The gaggle of off-screen reporters began to shout questions. I couldn’t make out any of them specifically, but I did catch a reference to Mark Sandford, the disappeared politician Nina had mentioned when Mamma and I filed the report. Another asked something about when Paul planned to announce his bid.
Laurence pressed on, “I won’t comment on or speculate regarding the circumstances of Mr. Godfrey’s absence. I will say, however, that Cooper and Waters is doing absolutely everything in our power to facilitate his return. To that end, I’m happy to announce that we have offered our own investigatory services, and the King family has accepted. Our security contractor is traveling to Elizabeth as we speak.”
My head spun as blood drained from it. I grabbed the glass of water and swallowed several gulps, the icy cool down the back of my throat offering little relief. Crime scene investigators. Security contractors. Hell, Annie. It was all too much.
“Excuse me,” I called to the bartender who’d appeared beneath the television as Laurence spoke. My voice choked as I did.
The woman creased her brow. I must’ve looked as anxious as I felt. “Yes, ma’am? Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” I answered, words shaky. “Just the television. Could you—do you mind shutting it off?”
She glanced at the screen above her head and back at me, pausing as her mind connected the two. “Oh yes. Of course, ma’am. I’m so sorry.”
I struggled to smile. “Thank you,” I said, casting my eyes down to my lap. It was nearly two o’clock. Annie was late. Very late.
My eyes darted from one side of the restaurant to the other and back again. Where the hell was she? Calm down, I told myself. She’s likely not from Elizabeth. She probably got turned around trying to find the place. It’s a small town, but it’s old. The streets hardly make any sense.
My heart beat in erratic fits and starts. The discomfort in my chest grew and spread to my limbs as an itchy tingling. I looked down at my watch again. A glaring red caught my attention. My thumb was bleeding. I’d torn the scab from it without realizing.
Christ, my nerves were fraying. Fast.
I wrapped my finger in a napkin and looked around for Annie again. When she did arrive, this was no state for her to find me. Trembling and bleeding. It might scare her off.
The waiter had lit a tealight candle in the center of the table as he’d announced the day’s specials. The tiny flame’s reflection on the wineglass, the warm undulations across the curved surface, stole my gaze.
It was only Riesling. Practically a dessert wine with hardly any alcohol in it. Pushing all other thoughts aside, I reached for the wine and took a healthy swallow.
17
Nina
I drummed my fingers against the pharmacy counter as the technician turned from the rack behind her. She had a freckled face. A redhead in clean white coat.
“Matilda Palmer. I’ve got it right here,” she announced, scanning the barcode taped to the crinkled baggie. “I’ll just need your license and your signature.” She slid a clipboard towards me.
“What?” I asked. My thoughts had been wandering from Gray to Auntie and back again while waiting for the refill.
“I need your signature and license, ma’am,” she answered. “It’s the law. Opiates are controlled substances.”
“Right,” I replied, collecting my thoughts. “Of course.”
Moments later, I was out the door and on Main Street, Auntie’s drugs in the book bag slung over my shoulder. I began the brisk walk to my car through a curtain of icy rain. The station was well within walking distance, but I’d driven anyways. I seemed able to control so little of life these days, but wet socks were entirely preventable. As I approached the corner where I’d parked, a man called my name from the sidewalk behind me.
“Nina Palmer?” His tone was as deep as it was snappy. “Detective Nina Palmer?”
I turned to see a well-built man in a knee-length rain coat, coal-colored like his slicked hair.
“Can I help you?” I asked. Something about this guy rubbed me wrong. Maybe it was the interruption. Spending my lunch collecting Auntie’s meds meant I’d be eating at my desk. If I ate at all. His dress heels clicked against the pavement as he approached. They must’ve been expensive. He extended his hand.
“Andrew Huang,” he introduced himself. His handshake was firm. I had trouble returning the forcefulness he put into it.
“And am I supposed to recognize your name?” I tried to restrain my annoyance.
Crow’s feet formed in the corners of his eyes as he smiled too wide. “Of course, not. I’m an investigator with Security Solutions. We’re on contract with Cooper and Waters.”
“Paul Godfrey’s firm,” I added.
“Yes, Detective Palmer, that’s correct.”
“Nina. You can call me Nina.” I gave up on reaching my car quickly and pulled out an umbrella.
“Thank you, Nina. We’ve been retained to provide…” he hesitated a moment as I finished opening my umbrella, “support for your investigation into Mr. Godfrey’s whereabouts. The King family has endorsed the effort.”
I recalled Laurence Cooper’s press conference from earlier today. Private investigators owed loyalty to their clients. Sometimes they were helpful, but things could quickly get out of control, critical information leaked. I thought of Annie. We’d kept that detail out of the press, and I didn’t need anyone else deciding otherwise. “I can’t comment on ongoing investigations.” I needed to lose this guy and get back to work. “Have a nice day, Mr. Huang.”
“You can call me Andrew,” he replied, repeating my words back to me. It was clear he had no intention of ending our encounter so soon. “I’m a private contractor now, but I have eight years of federal work under my belt.”
“FBI?”
“That’s correct.” He took a step closer. Personal space was important during polite conversation, and he closed in far too fast.
I threw an edge into my voice. “I’m sure the Kings appreciate your coming down, but it’s always been a belief of mine that too many cooks in the kitchen spoil the chicken bog.”
He chuckled. At least he tried to. I could see the reference to South Carolina’s signature dish was lost on him. “That’s cute. Elizabeth is every bit as charming as I imagined it would be. I’m a Pittsburgh guy myself, so this is all quite a treat.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Huang.” I started to turn around.
His shoes clacked on the sidewalk again. “Hold on, Nina. Support is the word I believe I used. I’m only here to support your investigation.”
It wasn’t that this guy couldn’t take a hint. He simply didn’t care. “We’ve got all the support we need. If we didn’t, there are channels to acquire more. Official, non-private sector channels.”
“Nina—”
“You say you’re a former Bureau boy? You should know all about chain of command and how obstructive outside interference can be.”
“Cooper and Waters is a powerful firm. Mr. Godfrey’s bosses are powerful people. If I was you, I’d welcome the extra hands. Might make your, what did you call it, chicken bog, taste better after all. Might get it done sooner.”
“I appreciate the offer. And the power card. But this conversation is over. Nice to meet you.”
His lips curved into another grin. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a golden money clip. He slid a white business card from it and offered it to me between his index and middle fingers like a cigarette. “Feel free to get in touch at any time.”
I snatched it and stuffed it in my own pocket.
“Have a nice afternoon, Nina,” he said as I backed away. He infused his next words with a phony drawl. “I’m going to see if there isn’t a spot around here that serves chicken bog. I don’t
know what the hell it is, but nothing beats Southern cooking.”
“Good day, Mr. Huang,” I shouted and walked straight to my car without looking back.
* * *
At the office, every phone in every cubicle seemed to ring at once. Since we’d broken the news, the tips had been rolling in steadily and mostly useless, but this was something else.
I sat my book bag on the floor beneath my desk. Sammie must’ve spotted me walk in and sprinted to catch up because by the time he appeared, he seemed out of breath.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I logged onto my computer.
“Crime scene guys,” he replied in staggered breaths. “They’ve asked for a dog unit.”
“What? Why the hell wasn’t I informed immediately? Has Burton been told?” A request for dogs meant there was something to be found. Something or someone. The run-in with Andrew Huang had startled me, but a major development? This knocked me right off-balance.
“Request only just came in. A minute or so before you walked through the door,” he answered. “Haven’t had a chance to tell Sheriff Burton, yet.”
“What was the reason for the request?”
“They found upturned foliage leading from the car through the woods. Said it looked like somebody walked down to the marsh.”
I released my held breath. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, then. “They could see that even with all the downpours we’ve had?”
He shrugged. “They must be pretty good, I guess. Anyways, it’s a hunch on their part. That’s why they asked for the dogs.”
“Alright. Then let’s see what happens from here.” I looked back at my computer, but Sammie still lingered in the corner of my eye. I swiveled my chair back to him.
“There’s something else I’ve been thinking about, Nina,” he said, worry in his eyes. “If this turns out … if this turns ugly, I’m concerned about the timeline between finding Mr. Godfrey’s vehicle and calling it a crime scene.”
“I don’t follow you, Sam,” I replied. It was a lie. I knew exactly where he headed.
