by Kendel Lynn
“Nothing persuades an exit like a parting gift,” Zibby said.
Ten minutes into phone dialing, which was escalating from urgent to frantic, Juliette fast-walked into the house. She squeezed past the remaining Showcase stragglers and stopped at the sunroom doorway.
Millie Poppy nearly cried and hugged her tight. “Honey, where have you been?”
“Where’ve I been?” Juliette said. “What’s happening here? I received fifteen messages from the three of you. My phone keeps rolling straight to voicemail.”
“Daphne didn’t show up at your brunch,” Tucker said. “Tess called in a panic. Did you show up at your brunch?”
“I’ve been looking for Daphne all morning. Like since nine. I saw all the voicemails from you guys and thought the worst. Came right home.” She turned to me, distress coloring her features with a wash of pink. “I can’t drive and think and talk and text at the same time. I don’t have Bluetooth.”
“Tell us what you know,” I said.
“Daphne didn’t show up at the Wharf,” Juliette said. “She never answered my texts or answered anyone’s texts.” She ran her fingers through her hair and plopped into the sofa. “I checked our apartment. Her car’s gone. So is her purse and her phone.”
“Did you two have a fight, honey?” Millie Poppy asked. “Is she upset?”
“Any reason she wouldn’t go to the brunch?” I said.
Juliette shook her head slowly, confusion distorting the wash of pink. “It’s all been good. Hectic, but good.”
“What about this morning?” Tucker said. “Didn’t you guys go to the Wharf together?”
“I texted Daphne after the Ballantyne party last night to see if she wanted to meet up with me and Tess,” Juliette said. “But she said no. She was beat. Wanted to rest and be fresh for today.” She looked up at the four of us watching her. “I thought she was planning a surprise for the brunch, so I didn’t push it.”
Tucker sat down next to her and wrapped her in a hug. “It’ll be fine. She’ll turn up. Hell, she’s probably just late.” Juliette looked up at him and he held her hand. “Really, really late.”
“Thanks,” Juliette said and kissed him on the cheek.
“Honey, wasn’t Daphne home when you woke up this morning?” Millie Poppy Pete said.
“I wasn’t home last night,” Juliette said, then turned to me. “We’re roommates, me and Daphne. But last night I stayed with Tess. I started texting Daphne as soon as I got to the apartment and saw she wasn’t there.” She took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “We can’t just sit here. I can’t just sit here.”
“What do we do?” Millie Poppy asked me. “You’re the investigator. What’s our next step?”
“It’s only been a few hours,” Tucker said.
“Well, we have to call the police, that’s obviously the first step,” Juliette said. “But we have to wait forty-eight hours. Isn’t that what the rule is? But that seems like too long to have to wait.”
“It’s only twenty-four hours, honey,” Millie Poppy said.
“It’s actually neither of those things,” I said. “The rule is more fluid. It’s common sense and reasonable judgement. You answer two simple questions: Is this out of character? Is there a reason to think she’s missing?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Juliette said. “Something’s not right.”
“Or maybe not, Jules,” Tucker said. “We shouldn’t overreact. You know how she is. She’ll be back in a day or two. You’ll see.”
Sid leaned in from the doorway. “Almost cleared out, and I moved the Start Tour sign next door. I heard you talk about Daphne. Any news?”
I shook my head as Millie Poppy spoke up. “Elli, will you file a missing persons report? Can you do that today? It’s Sunday. Does that matter?”
“We should definitely file a report right away, right now, but, Juliette, you should be the one to call,” I said. “You’ll be able to answer all their questions accurately and quickly.”
Millie Poppy started swiping and tapping on her phone. “I think I have the non-emergency number on here somewhere. Part of the community beach watch.”
“Just call 911, Juliette,” I said. “Tell them everything. Starting with the last time you talked to Daphne, and don’t leave anything out.”
Juliette began dialing as Millie Poppy, Sam, Tucker, and I joined Sid in the living room. It was half-past two in the afternoon, so this part of the Showcase only shut down about two hours early. Zibby stacked the last four cake boxes and declared them tucked in for transport.
“Thank you, Zibby,” Millie Poppy said. “And you, Sid, and you, Elli.”
“We’ll clean up the rest,” Sam said.
“Please help us find Daphne,” Millie Poppy said.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll head to the police station after I leave here.”
Sid grabbed her oversized leather handbag, which resembled more of a satchel than a purse, and we walked out the front. Tucker ran up to meet us in the driveway.
“Do you really think you can find her?” he asked.
“Well, you said something about Daphne, like, ‘you know how she is,’” I said. “It implied she’s done this before. Taken off without telling anyone.”
“Yeah, she’s done it a couple times,” he said. “She goes off the grid. She’s a wanderer at heart. Puts her pack in the car and hits the road on a whim.”
“You told Juliette you thought it’d be okay,” I said. “Did you mean it, that Daphne simply left town for a few days, even though the wedding is approaching?”
Tucker looked back at the front door and lowered his voice. “No way. Daphne would never do that to Juliette. Not now. Not this week. Something’s definitely wrong.”
I thanked him and he walked into the house. I climbed into my blue Mini convertible while Sid walked to her Mercedes SUV.
“Why didn’t you call dispatch for them?” Sid asked. “Seems like you’re the one with all the connections.”
“Because 911 calls are recorded. If something’s really wrong, then the investigation has already started.”
TWO
(Day #2: Sunday Afternoon)
I drove north on Cabana Boulevard toward the top of the island. Sea Pine Island was shaped like a shoe, and Cabana ran from heel to toe and over the Palmetto Bridge to mainland South Carolina. South Pebble Beach, where Millie Poppy lived, was near the heel side of the arch, and I was headed to the police station, near the toe, not too far from the bridge. Though the entire island was only about seven miles long, so really, almost everything was not too far from the bridge.
The Island Civic Complex housed the police station on the east side and the library on the west. It resembled a park shaded by tall pines, blooming crape myrtles, and a smattering of magnolias. After parking and putting the Mini Coop’s top up to avoid tree-sapped seats upon my return, I crossed the quiet lot and entered the worn lobby. A pair of senior volunteers greeted me, then buzzed me straight through the unmarked door directly behind them. Being a PI-in-training under the tutelage of Captain Sullivan had its privileges.
A long hall papered with announcements and flyers (always a motorcycle or RV for sale or wanted) led into the main station room. Sets of cubicles filled the inner space while offices, interrogation rooms, and holding cells filled the outer. Phones intermittently rang low, fingers lightly tapped on keyboards, voices echoed from the break room at the far end. The entire building was bathed in a yellow hue courtesy of fluorescent lighting. I wound around the perimeter of cubes to a trio of offices, stopping at the one in the center.
Lieutenant Nick Ransom sat at a large desk, the metal kind found in every government office nationwide. Beat up, but sturdy, dark gray with plenty of scratches and dents. It contrasted with his tailored Italian dress shirt, stainless Patek watch, and Jamie Fraser good looks, minus the red hair and S
cottish accent. He was lieutenant of the Sea Pine Police, my next-door neighbor, and the newly rekindled love of my life. Though we were still working that last part out.
I hadn’t even said hello, had barely leaned a shoulder in the doorway, when he started talking.
“She hasn’t been missing very long,” he said. “We’re talking, what? Four hours? Also, not our jurisdiction. One Daphne Fischer, aged twenty-three, lives Summerton. Which, as you know, is unincorporated and belongs to the Summerton County Sheriff’s Office.”
“This has been an episode of facts with Lieutenant Ransom,” Parker said from behind me. Corporal Lillie Parker was cat burglar lithe and ballet dancer fluid. She was Ransom’s right hand on the force, and a force in her own right.
I took a seat across from Ransom and left the door-leaning to Parker.
“Our dispatch received the initial 911 call and then immediately re-routed it to the Sheriff’s Office,” Parker said. “She a friend?”
“Friend of a friend,” I said. “Her best friend’s grandmother is a longtime acquaintance of the Ballantynes. I’ve met Daphne maybe four times in the last couple months. She works at the Cake & Shake.”
“Brown Butter Peach,” Parker said.
“Strawberry Shortcake Custard,” I said.
“Mexican Chocolate,” Ransom said. “With Don Julio Real.”
“You win,” I said.
He took out a silver pen and his notebook and jotted a few lines. “I’m on a joint task force right now, but I’ll call Sheriff Hill, see if he can make this a priority.”
Parker handed me a thick manila envelope. “This is a missing persons starter kit. I know, bad name, but that’s what it is. It outlines the steps to take before starting a physical search. Who to call, where to look, hospital numbers, stuff like that.”
“I’ve never worked a missing persons case,” I said. “At least, not like this. Do we start hanging flyers?”
Parker nodded to the envelope. “Yes, definitely. That lists tips on how to make posters and where to place them. Sorry about your friend of a friend. Hope they find her soon.” With another nod, she pushed off from the doorway and returned to the clattering main room.
“Joint task force, huh?” I said. “Sounds fancy.”
“We have official credentials and everything.” He walked around his desk and leaned on the corner. “I’m sorry about your friend, too. But like I said, it hasn’t been very long. Just a few hours.”
“That we know of. But agreed, it’s still really early.”
I touched his hand. It was tan and strong. Fine scars stood out, marking time from his former life as an FBI agent. His secret crime fighting days, the ones that precipitated his sudden departure from our college romance, causing a twenty-year pause I was still adjusting to.
“I’m here if you need anything,” he said.
“Thank you.” I stood and smiled. “And I’m here if you need anything. Those joint task forces can be tricky.”
I left the hum of the station’s inner workings and thanked the volunteers at the welcome desk. Once outside in the sunshine of the late September day, I slipped into my Mini Coop and dialed Sid. “Have you heard anything?”
“Not a word,” she said. “The Home Showcase officially moved on from Millie Poppy’s, but her driveway is still packed. Friends and family have been trickling in all day.”
“I’ll reach out to Millie Poppy. She can talk to Juliette, see what they want to do. Parker gave me instructions on how to start a search.”
“What do you think?” Sid asked.
“I think it’s much too early to worry. Concern, yes. But worry? We’re talking about half a day. Tucker said she takes off every now and then. I mean, who hasn’t gotten caught up in something and run late for half a day?”
“Yeah,” Sid said, then waited a bit. “But if it was my bridesmaids’ brunch, you wouldn’t get caught up in something that day, right?”
I glanced at the missing person packet. “Right.”
Living on a small island meant everything was conveniently located. The Civic Complex was less than a mile’s drive to the front gates of Oyster Cove Plantation, the beachfront community that housed both my seaside cottage and the Ballantyne Big House. The large manse rose like a stately Southern estate on a hill at the crown of a residential drive. It topped out at close to seventeen thousand square feet, including Mr. and Mrs. Ballantyne’s private residence which spanned the entire third floor. Edward and Vivienne Ballantyne had converted the family fortune into the family foundation some fifty years earlier. They kept the seventy-five-acre grounds and massive estate, and hired management staff and formed a board to manage the operations. This left them free to travel the globe in search of additional charitable organizations—educational, environmental, social—to setup programs and donate money.
I joined the foundation fresh out of college. About ten years after that, Mr. Ballantyne renovated the music room to create my office when I officially became director. Not a huge surprise, as I’d been close to both Edward and Vivi since toddlerhood, but a huge responsibility, as I’d been close to them since toddlerhood.
I popped into the Big House on my way home from the station and no sooner reached my desk when Tod Hayes, Ballantyne Administrator, stuck his head through the open doorway. “Edward is on the line,” he said. “Also, Jane needs you to arrange additional musical entertainment for the BBQ, Carla needs you to order twelve dozen peonies, and Zibby needs a new hat. Preferably one with a flamingo feather. She specifically asked me to tell you that.”
“I’m not on the committee, Tod.”
“And that matters how?”
“Remind Jane, that’s how.” I waved him away and picked up the phone. “Mr. Ballantyne, what a wonderful surprise. How are you?”
“Elliott! My dear!” He shouted into the phone, his voice robust and welcoming. “The Rocky Mountains are magnificent. Next time, you must come with us!”
“I would love to, sir,” I said. “And the summit? It sounded like council was presenting real solutions. I hope it’s everything you wanted to hear.”
“Indeed, my dear. The Homeless Alliance is chock full of invigorating ideas. It’s been educational, and yet, quite heartbreaking.” He cleared his throat, and I heard Vivi’s voice in the background. “We’re all over it, my dear. Our Housing First Initiative will get off the ground this winter. This winter, indeed!”
“That’s exciting, sir. Please let me know what you need from me, and I’ll get it done. The board is looking forward to the presentation after the BBQ.”
“Of course, we know you will,” he said. “You’re our secret weapon in the fight against homelessness. Now tell me, what’s this I hear about Millie Poppy Pete’s granddaughter? She’s nearing a panic.”
“It’s her granddaughter’s maid of honor, Daphne Fischer. She didn’t show up for an important brunch today, and no one can seem to locate her. No calls or texts or any word of any kind. I’d like to spend some time on it tonight and tomorrow, if need be. The first twenty-four hours are vital.”
“Vivi already spoke with Millie Poppy and assured her she has our full support. As do you, my dear.”
“So no problem for me to use Ballantyne resources?”
“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said. “We’ll be home early Saturday, in time for the Beach BBQ. We’re bringing three members of the Alliance. You’ll make sure we have plenty of VIP seating on the sand, then? They’ve never visited this side of the Atlantic.”
“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to seeing you both.”
“It’s been too long on this outing,” he said. “It’ll be nice to spend some time at home with you. You telephone when you have news. See you Saturday!”
The Ballantynes had been close friends of my parents, who passed when I was in college. So now, Edward and Vivi were my only fam
ily. Though even as a small child, it sometimes felt as if they were my only family. My parents loved me, but the Ballantynes felt like home.
Sufficiently grounded, I started my investigation by calling the Summerton County Sheriff’s Office. I was routed to the desk sergeant who routed me to an investigator’s voicemail. I let him know who I was, why I was calling, and requested a return call as soon as possible. Sooner than that, if possible.
It was now after five. No messages, no texts. No word from or about Daphne.
I riffled through the missing person packet and hollered for Tod. Professionally, of course.
“We need flyers,” I said when he leaned into my office. “I’ll ask Juliette to drop off a picture of Daphne. Or maybe she can email it?”
“I’ll get it from the web.”
“Which web?” I asked.
“Juliette’s wedding website, the Cake & Shake website, Facebook, Instagram, any singular social media site—”
“Fine. You’re on it. I get it.”
“Offering a reward for information?”
“Definitely,” I said. “Let’s start with…I don’t even know. What price do you put on information?”
“Ten thousand dollars?”
“Sounds hefty enough to grab attention. I’ll talk to Mr. Ballantyne. You add it to the flyer.”
“We’ll have them printed and delivered within the hour,” he said and disappeared.
It was actually thirty-seven and a half minutes, according to the receipt. The delivery kid dropped off a banker’s box full of flyers. They landed with a thud on the antique sofa table near the staircase. He’d no sooner exited through the Big House’s massive double-doored front entrance when Sid arrived. She led a short line of people all hurrying inside behind her: Juliette, Tucker, Millie Poppy, Sam, and a guy about thirty years old. He wore his hair long and sandy, fresh from the beach. Another five cars rounded the circular drive as they entered, so we left the doors open.