Lowcountry Boneyard (7 page)

Most Stella Maris residents viewed anyone with designs on our pristine beaches for resorts and the like as land grabbers. I looked at the pair again. Blake was probably right. If so, I could’ve saved them a lot of time by explaining our zoning laws. For some reason, certain types of businessmen always thought they could get around them. 

I put them out of my head and proceeded to Google the phone number for the parking garage on King and Queen Street.

A man answered and identified himself as the operations manager. I explained who I was and offered that he could look me up and call back to verify I was a licensed investigator.

“Nah, that’s all right.”

“I wonder if you could help me. Does the garage have security cameras?”

“Yeah. In all the potentially vulnerable places. Not every square inch is covered, but it’s covered.”

“Do you capture cars and plates going in and out?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been retained by the Heyward family to investigate the disappearance of their daughter, Kent. Has anyone contacted you regarding the case?”

“They contacted the hell outta me. Red Mini Cooper convertible, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Police called the day after she went missing. I went over the recordings with them several times. They have the footage. Still and all, not a single red Mini Cooper entered that garage that night.”

“I see. Thank you so much for your time.”

I tried the city garage at 93 Queen and got the same response. Those were the two closest possible places Kent could have parked—unless she’d scored street parking nearby, which wasn’t impossible, but unlikely on a Friday night.

I pondered that for a moment, then called Sonny.

He answered on the second ring. “What’s up, Liz?”

“Have you had a chance to speak with your buds about briefing me on the Heyward case?” It would save me so much time if they would share. There was a country mile between allowing me to poke around without making a fuss and showing me the file.

“I did. They won’t. Too high profile. Plus, they don’t know you.”

“They have to get to know me sometime.” A flock of seagulls flew by.

“I get the impression they don’t see it that way.”

“Did you vouch for me?” Clearly his enthusiasm had been lacking if he hadn’t convinced them.

“Of course.”

“Did you tell them my brother is the chief of police in Stella Maris?” I almost never traded on Blake’s official status.

“I did. That jogged their memories. They feel bad for Blake. One of them remembered the Jet Ski incident. Another recalled the hog story. Generally, they don’t like being in the paper associated with shenanigans. It’s just not a good career move.”

“Hell’s bells, Sonny. I’m trying to help them out. But I need information here. I’m not going to do anything to embarrass them.”

“I know you mean well. I told them that. They’re skittish.”

I sighed. “Mr. Heyward is not going to like this.”

“I would not recommend you play that card. Not if you ever want to develop a working relationship with these guys.” He used his big-brother voice. As Blake’s best friend, Sonny believed he had proxy rights.

He was testing my sunny disposition. “Well, Sonny? Exactly what would you recommend?”

There was a long pause in which I envisioned him studying the heavens for guidance. Finally, he said, “What do you need to know?”

“Was Kent’s car caught on camera any time after she left home the night she disappeared?”

“No. And they scoured every piece of footage available from every known camera on the peninsula—ATMs, bars, college feeds, traffic cams, parking garages, home security systems.”

“But there are plenty of blind spots, right?”

“Well, yeah. We don’t have city-wide video surveillance. Just the chronic problem spots. We have microphones that detect gunfire so we can respond quickly to trouble.” He sounded a bit defensive.

“So, there’s zero evidence she ever left Charleston?”

“Say again?”

I watched the horizon, where the ocean met the sky. “If there’s no trace of her after she pulled out of the Heyward driveway, and no credit card activity with her on camera or anything else tying her—not just her plastic—to another location, as far as we know, she’s still in Charleston.”

“That’s not the narrative they’re going with.”

“Well, it’s the first one I’m working.”

“I’ll let ’em know.” Sonny’s voice was calm as always. But I knew him well enough to read between the lines. He wasn’t happy and his buddies wouldn’t be, either.

My tone was so sweet, hearts and flowers floated out of my mouth. “You do that. Bye-bye now.”

I ended the call and growled at my phone in frustration. Nate was right about one thing. Some aspects of our job were easier in Greenville.

Six

Kudu was doing a brisk business that Friday morning. Classes were in session, and a great many College of Charleston students needed caffeine. I splurged on a cream cheese croissant with my mocha latte. I was stress eating.

Well, hello. A Hollywood-handsome guy walked through the front door just as I was picking up my latte from the barista. Our ongoing challenges notwithstanding, I loved Nate with all my heart, but I wasn’t blind. Hollywood looked to be right at six feet tall, and I’d bet he worked hard for the muscles. He had medium brown hair tousled in that I-just-got-out-of-bed look and a day’s worth of facial stubble—just enough to be sexy. Worn jeans, low around his hips, and a faded blue t-shirt did nothing to detract from the overall package. I pegged him at late twenties. He was headed my way. I realized I’d been staring, glanced away, and turned towards the courtyard.

“Excuse me,” he said.

I cringed, knowing what was coming next and suddenly feeling less-than-professional. He’d caught me ogling him.

“Are you Liz Talbot?”

I’m an idiot. I turned back towards him and flashed a smile. “I am. You must be Matthew Thomas.”

Intense green eyes sized me up. “Nice to meet you. My friends call me Matt.” He had a firm handshake.

“Is the courtyard all right?”

“Sure, just let me grab some coffee. I’ll catch up to you.”

“Sounds great.” I gathered my latte, the pastry I was no longer in the mood for, and my dignity and went outside. A table in the back corner was open. I chose the chair facing into the courtyard, laid my phone on the table, and pulled out the Purell, thankful for a moment alone. My fondness for good hygiene was often at odds with my sincere desire to avoid a disgraceful breach of manners.

I sipped my coffee. Ansley was right about one thing. It was highly unlikely Kent walked away from Matt Thomas without so much as a goodbye. Unless of course he was a sociopath and she was afraid of him. Or a jackass. No amount of handsome made up for being a jackass.

Colleen appeared to my left. “Boy howdy, he’s a looker.”

I jumped a little, spilling coffee on my white Michael Kors hammered satin shirt. “Shit.” I blotted the stain with my napkin.

“You don’t suspect him, do you?” Her tone allowed as to how she thought this was a foolish notion.

“I haven’t even interviewed him yet. On the face of it, no. He has an alibi, so I’m told.” I gave silent thanks I had my earbuds in.

“I haven’t been read in. But he looks innocent to me.”

“Read in? What are you, CIA now?”

“Ha. They wish they had my sources.”

I rolled my eyes, then turned my attention back to the subject at hand. “Matt Thomas looks a lot of things to me. I’m not sure about innocent.”

Colleen blushed, got all fidgety. “I mean I don’t think he hurt Kent.”

I raised my left eyebrow. “It would be ever so helpful if you could tell me that for certain.”

“For some reason, I can’t read his mind.”

“That’s unsettling. The last person you couldn’t read at all turned out to be a stone-cold killer.”

“I don’t get that kind of vibe from him.”

“Do you need to be rebooted? If you could just spend the day with me and read everyone’s mind, that would make my job so much easier.” I may have been just the teensiest bit cranky. But she made me spill coffee on my new shirt.

“It’s not my mission to make your job easy.” She raised her chin.

I heaved a deep sigh. “I know. When you throw me the occasional bone, I can’t help but think how I could close cases a lot faster if it was.”

“I help when I can. You know I can’t read minds reliably. Some minds are open to me, others aren’t. I get information on a need-to-know basis.”

“So you tell me. Here he comes.”

Matt set down a cup of coffee and took the chair across from me. “Sorry I made you wait.”

I waved my hand, shooing the thought away. “I’ve just been enjoying my coffee.”

He leaned across the table, arms circling his round mug. “Do you have any leads on Kent?”

Right to the point. “Not yet. But it’s early. I just caught the case yesterday.”

He ran a hand through his hair and sat back. “I never thought I’d agree with her daddy on a damn thing. But I wish she’d never gotten involved with this gang of artists.”

I squinted at him. “You don’t mean gang in the sense that they are involved in anything illegal, do you?”

“No, no. It’s just that they are the only new thing in her life. It’s hard for me not to suspect them of…
something
.”

“Hang on. Do you mind if I tape our conversation?”

“No.” He looked me straight in the eyes. His face was open. I couldn’t read a flicker of objection.

I tapped the record button and read in the interview particulars. “You were saying you have reservations about Kent’s new artist friends. Have you ever met them?”

Frustration flashed across his face. “No.”

“Why is that? I get the impression this part of her life is important to her.”

He shrugged. “It’s mostly a scheduling thing. I work nights. She works days. We don’t have much time together as it is. We tend to spend what little we have alone or with close friends.”

“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about you and Kent. When did you meet?”

His story matched what Ansley had already told me. When he talked about Kent, his voice went softer, his eyes bright. He looked and sounded like a man in love.

“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

“The night before she disappeared. I was off that Thursday. I made dinner for us at my place. She didn’t leave until after two a.m. Friday morning. I wanted her to stay. I didn’t want her out that late by herself. She wanted to be home for breakfast so her daddy wouldn’t lose it.”

Colleen piped up. “He’d’ve had a conniption fit.”

I bit back the urge to tell her to hush up. “Where do you live, Matt?”

“I have a bungalow over on St. Margaret. Wagener Terrace area. My house is about the size of Kent’s closet. Honestly, I’m amazed she agreed to move in with me. It’ll be a huge lifestyle adjustment for her. She doesn’t care.” He blinked and looked away.

While it wasn’t South of Broad, Wagener Terrace wasn’t exactly a low rent district. The area near the Ashley River, north of The Citadel was hip. Young professionals were snapping up houses built from the nineteen-twenties through the nineteen-fifties and renovating them.

“When are y’all planning on her moving in?”

“We talked about next month. Kent wanted to give her parents time to adjust. She was hoping they’d warm up to me. It breaks her heart, the way they act. I tried telling her it doesn’t matter to me. But it matters to her.”

Colleen said, “He’s just the sweetest thing.”

I ignored her. “I get that they have other plans for Kent, but is there any reason you can think of aside from that why they wouldn’t like you? I mean—and, not to put too fine a point on it, but I will verify what you tell me—have you ever been arrested? Do you abuse drugs? That kind of thing.”

“God, no.” He looked like he wanted to spit something out.

Colleen said, “What is wrong with you?”

“I have to ask. Nothing personal.”

He canted his head and blew out a long breath. “I work hard. I have plans. One day I’m going to have my own restaurant in this town. Everything Kent’s parents suspect I am, I’m the opposite of
that
.”

“Noted. So, she left your place around two that morning. Did you talk to her after that?”

“She texted me when she got home. I texted her back. We said goodnight, that kind of thing.”

“And you didn’t speak to her on Friday at all?”

“Yes, I did. We spoke briefly around lunchtime. She was excited about seeing her artist friends that night.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did about them. They’ve been very encouraging to Kent, and she needs this. The guy from Stella Maris—Evan Ingle—he was going to help her set up a virtual gallery website. Kent has plans, too. That restaurant I’m going to open? We’re going to showcase her work on the walls.”

“Wait. He was going to help her set up a website Friday night at dinner?”

His forehead creased. “No, not during dinner. I had the impression they were going to do that after dinner.”

“She told you that?”

He thought for a minute. “Yeah. I mean, she wasn’t specific about where they were going to do that. She just said she didn’t know how late they’d be when I asked her about coming over after I got off. I should’ve asked more questions. Damn. Do you think that’s important?”

Only because Evan hadn’t mentioned it. And I’d asked him specifically if he knew why she would’ve brought her laptop. “Probably not. It’s too soon to tell what’s important. I’m just figuring out a timeline right now. What she planned to do, and exactly where things went off track.”

“Seems pretty clear. She never showed up at Bin 152. That’s why I never gave much thought to what she had planned after, I guess.”

I pondered that, unconvinced that whatever had happened to Kent had occurred in the fifteen-minute window between seven forty-five and eight p.m. “What time did you get off?”

“Around one.”

“Is that typical for a Friday night?”

“Yeah. Restaurant hours…they’re hard on relationships. But I love it. I could never do anything else.”

“How long have you been at FIG?”

“Three and a half years.”

“What do you do there?”

“I’m a sous chef.” There was pride in his voice, and just a touch of prickly.

“You didn’t just walk into that job, I’m guessing.” I needed to fill in details I wouldn’t be able to get online about Matt. I needed a better sense of him, needed him to keep talking.

“No. I started in restaurants right out of high school, washing dishes at High Cotton. That fall, I started culinary arts classes at the Art Institute. By the time I finished, I had worked my way up to sous chef at High Cotton. I left in May twenty eleven. I really wanted to work with the team at FIG. I gave up a sous chef position for a job as a line cook at FIG. Don’t get me wrong. The folks at High Cotton were good to me. It was just time for me to move on.”

High Cotton was another popular fine dining restaurant, part of a small chain specializing in Southern cuisine. “The night Kent disappeared, what did you do after work?”

An expression I couldn’t put a name to slipped across his face and then evaporated. “I went home. I was exhausted.”

“Did you see anyone else that night?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Colleen said.

I swiveled my head so fast it felt like it might spin all the way around. “Hush up.” Ever so slowly, I eased my face back in Matt’s direction.

He was staring at me wide-eyed, his expression chiseled in shock. 

I beamed at him. In a real sweet, soothing voice, I said, “I mean, after you left the restaurant, did you see anyone else you know—a neighbor, a friend…”

“Why?” Irritation raked through the question.

At least I’d distracted him from my lapse. I dropped Little Miss Sunshine. “Because right now, I don’t have a timeline to work with. All I know for sure is that Kent left home at seven forty-five and didn’t show up where she said she was going. But she could have changed her plans. Women do it all the time—trust me. For all I know, she went shopping, browsed for hours, bought nothing, and met you at your place when you got off work.”

He looked at me with unvarnished horror. Clearly he understood the implications of Kent meeting him after work on that particular evening.

“Or,” I continued, “she could have driven straight to your house, let herself in, and watched TV until you got off from work.”

His enunciation was precise. “That did not happen.” His voice rose, and the words came out in a rush. “You’ve gotta believe me. I never saw Kent after she left at two that morning.”

“Does she have a key to your house?”

“Yes.” Clear green eyes met mine.

“You see my problem? Right now, all we know is the impossible. It’s impossible that she disappeared into thin air. She went
somewhere
. I have to examine everywhere that’s possible until I figure out what happened. Give me a reason why it’s impossible that she came to your house that night.”

He dropped his gaze. “I don’t have one. All I know is that she didn’t.”

He was hiding something. I could smell it. “Did the Charleston Police detectives interview you?”

“Are you freaking kidding me? I spent six hours in a little room at the police station. Kent’s daddy put the idea in their head I’d done something to her. I guess he gave you a load of that horseshit, too. I was at work. They talked to everyone else working at the restaurant that night to be certain I couldn’t have snuck out and come back. Clueless. None of them ever worked in a restaurant.”

I pondered this for a moment. “So their theory was that whatever happened to Kent happened before one a.m.?”

“How do I know what they thought?” Wounded, confused green eyes stared back at me. “I guess. When they accepted that I had an alibi, I never heard from them again.”

“What are you not telling me?”

He pursed his lips and glared at me like maybe he thought I was evil.

“There’s something. And maybe you don’t think it’s important. But let me tell you something, buddy. You don’t know what’s important. I need to know
e-ver-y-thin
g. You love her. I can see that. Tell me.”

He looked at the patio to his left and shook his head. “I’m not hiding anything. That’s the truth.”

“For your sake, I hope it’s the whole truth.” I wasn’t convinced by any means, and he would stay on my radar until I was. “Was Kent taking any medications she wouldn’t have left home without?”

“No. Kent doesn’t take pills.”

“What about birth control?”

He scowled. “We use other methods.”

“So what are you not telling me?”

He stood. “If you figure out what happened to her, call me. Please. But if you want to pursue the crazy-assed idea I had something to do with this—that
I
hurt Kent?—then you call my attorney. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name is Charlie Condon. He’s in Mount Pleasant.”

He strode across the courtyard without looking back.

I wondered what the salary range for sous chefs was. This one owned real estate in an up-and-coming area and could afford arguably the top attorney east of the Cooper—an attorney who’d served eight years as the South Carolina Attorney General, and ten as a district attorney. Why did Matt have any attorney’s name to whip out? Why did he hire an East Cooper attorney when he lived in Charleston? 

Colleen said, “He looks just as good going as coming.”

“Lookit,” I said. “You and I are going to have to come to an understanding where
you don’t talk
when I’m talking to other people. Do you want folks to think I have Tourette’s syndrome?”

“You were antagonizing him for no good reason.”

“You just think he’s cute. You and I both know that doesn’t make him innocent. How do you know what my reasons were?”

“Because I can read
your
mind.” Colleen shimmered and then grew transparent.  “See you at the Heywards’ house. Prepare yourself.” She disappeared altogether.

“I need some liquor in this coffee,” I said to no one in particular.

The gentleman at the next table turned around. I pegged him at roughly eighty. He wore a pink seersucker suit and a bowtie. “They don’t sell that here, darlin’, but I could spare a dash.” He opened his jacket to show me his flask.

“How nice of you to offer. Thank you so much.” I hopped up. “I’ve got to be running along. You have yourself a good day, now.”