Forever Gone

by Addison Kasey

  Forever Gone

  by Addison Kasey

  Published by Astraea Press, LLC

  www.AstraeaPress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Forever Gone

  Copyright © 2010 Addison Kasey

  ISBN 978-1-936852-07-9

  Cover Art Designed By Elaina Lee

  Edited By Stephanie Taylor

  Charleston, South Carolina

  1952

  Hell couldn’t be this hot. Sam Bentley smacked his fist against the decrepit air conditioner in a vain attempt to force it to blow out more than just a meager breeze. He tugged his tie lower and stormed toward his desk, dropping into the Army reject chair with a few more curses directed at his so-called partner who’d jumped ship, leaving him to run the agency alone.

  Sam couldn’t blame him. Bentley and Evanston Private Investigations hadn’t been a thriving business lately, and when Joe got a better offer to work as private security on a yacht headed to Bora Bora, well, Sam considered himself lucky to get a “so long” note.

  The bell over the door in the lobby jangled, and since the secretary had decided to follow Joe, Sam pushed himself to his feet to answer the summons. He came down the hallway and paused at the edge, sure the man standing by the entrance must be lost. Wearing drainpipe gray trousers with at least four inch cuffs and a long, single-breasted jacket with black velvet trim, he didn’t fit in with the lower echelon of people who normally appeared on his doorstep.

  The old guy looked up as Sam approached, and Sam’s internal alarm went off. Something in the guy’s eyes just didn’t sit right with him. The man cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Samuel Bentley.”

  Samuel? Sam almost smiled. He hadn’t been called that since he’d ticked his mother off as a teenager. He took note of his visitor’s sharply creased jacket that didn’t come from any discount store he knew and the fedora with the black band that couldn’t hide the long, gray sideburns. Gold nugget rings winked from the man’s fingers, and his left hand held the jeweled head of a custom cane.

  Sam brought his eyes back to the man’s sharp gaze. “I’m Sam Bentley. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Jeremiah Masters.” One hand disappeared inside the front pocket of the lined suit coat, and Sam tensed, but the man only withdrew a gold-embossed card. “I’m looking for my wife.”

  Sam’s brows knitted. “Your wife?” He took hold of the card and read the inscription. Masters Enterprises. Why did that name sound familiar?

  “Yes, my wife.” The voice carried an accent Sam didn’t recognize along with a trace of irritation. “She’s missing.”

  “And you want me to find her.” Sam tapped the card against his palm. He already knew the answer, but he wanted, no, he needed more information from this guy. He rarely took an instant dislike to someone, but this Masters’ fellow had pushed that button.

  “That is what you do, isn’t it?”

  Instinct was definitely telling him something wasn’t right, and Sam made a habit out of listening to his internal radio. It had never failed him before. “I find missing people, yes. How long has your wife been missing?”

  Jeremiah Masters straightened and tucked the cane under his arm. “Is that information you necessarily require?” He looked down his narrow nose, the picture of annoyance.

  Why would the time frame be a stumbling block? The siren in his head screamed louder. Sam glanced back toward his desk, wondering if he should just ask the man to leave. Instead he responded with a bland, “It could be.”

  Mr. Masters shot a glance toward the door, and Sam picked up on the nervous tap of his foot against the floorboards. “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars to find her.”

  Now, the siren had gone from screaming to wailing. Sam didn’t allow even a flicker of interest to enter his eyes. But ten thousand was a lot of bread, and right now, he didn’t have enough to make a decent sandwich. “Half up front and half when I find her.”

  Relief poured into the man’s eyes. “Done.” His hand disappeared again only to return with a stack of one hundred dollar bills. Methodically, he counted out the retainer and handed over the wad of cash. “Feel free to count it. You’ll find it all there.” Masters tipped his hat and backed toward the door. “My number’s on the card. Call me when you’ve located her.”

  Sam accepted the cash and squeezed it in his palms just to reassure himself he was actually holding five thousand big ones. Then he noticed his new client was backing away. “There is the small matter of my contract.”

  Masters sniffed with disdain. “A contract won’t be necessary…if you do your job right.”

  Sam tamped down his own irritation and resisted the urge to pop the man in the kisser. But he couldn’t push the point. As much as he hated to admit it, the money was extremely important right now. He cleared his throat. “Well, there is one more thing.”

  The cane tapped against the doorframe, and Masters’ brows lowered. “Yes?”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. How long has your wife been missing?”

  Masters looked away. “Two years.”

  Sam’s blood ran cold. “And you’re just now starting to look for her?”

  “I have reason to believe she’s currently in the Charleston area. So, do you want the money or not?”

  “Any particular reason you have a problem with giving me more information than the meager amount you’ve shared with me?”

  Pushing the glass door open, Masters glared at him. “Yes, there is. It’s none of your business.”

  Which only told Sam he needed to do a little checking up on his new client. He strolled to the door, his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks, a little taken aback to find the man had simply disappeared.

  He hadn’t heard a car engine nor the sound of rubber on asphalt. Frowning, he leaned out the door a bit further. A neighborhood cat hissed at him, and he glared in return.

  Whoever this guy was, he had getting lost down. That only made Sam more suspicious. He slammed the door shut, and the air conditioner wheezed in protest. At almost twelve years old, the unit was breathing its last, which made Sam feel better about the dough in his pocket.

  Masters might make him a bit uneasy, but Sam wasn’t stupid enough to turn down so much bread, especially when he’d barely had enough change to buy a sandwich at Grayson’s Deli.

  He’d definitely keep the money. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t also keep an eye on this new client of his, though.

  ****

  “Mom, I’m back.” Kate balanced the brown paper bag on her hip and kicked the back door shut. The windowpanes rattled ominously, and she winced before trudging toward the kitchen table. “Mom, where are you?”

  She heard the television blaring in the living room but saw no sign of her mother. She switched off the annoying sound and tugged open the shades to let in some of the waning sun’s rays.

  From her vantage point, she saw a couple of neighborhood kids playing catch in the yard next door and heard the traffic rolling by on the street, the crackle of wheels against broken concrete, and the occasional beep of a horn from an annoyed driver.

  She’d always loved this house, and when it had become available a few months back, at her mother’s insistence, she’d scraped up the money for the down payment. Though she though
t settling down was a bad idea, she’d never regretted making her mother happy for one second.

  She still looked over her shoulder, and the way her luck ran, she figured it was a matter of time before she ran into trouble again. It always found her, and the next time it did, she might not live to regret it.

  Tires screeched on the pavement outside, and Kate moved to the window next to the refrigerator to get a better view. Another reckless driver raced down the one-way street, oblivious to the children playing or old Mrs. Beecham toddling across the grass with the help of her walker. It was a wonder the woman hadn’t been hit by now.

  With a sigh, Kate hurried outside to give Mrs. Beecham some assistance. “Hi, Mary. You shouldn’t be out like this.”

  The old woman looked up with watery eyes. “Hi there, Katie. You know I come out for my evening walk, come rain or shine. It’s what’s kept me so young.” Mrs. Beecham winked and then her brow furrowed. “You know, you had a visitor today.”

  Her heart increasing beats, Kate cupped the wrinkled elbow and slowed her pace to keep even with Mrs. Beecham’s steps. “I did? They didn’t leave anything on the door.” She didn’t really want to ask, but as the sickness settled in the pit of her stomach, she knew she had to know more.

  “No. He came to my door, though. Handsome fellow.” She whistled through her dentures. “Looked right smart in his suit, he did. He asked who lived next door to me so I don’t think it was anybody you know.”

  Kate considered the information. “Did he tell you why he was asking?” She was glad Mrs. Beecham couldn’t hear her heart racing through the thin fabric of the cotton dress she wore.

  Mary Beecham appeared to consider the question before responding with a shrug. “If he did, I don’t remember, dearie. That’s one of the bad things about living to eighty-nine. Your mind’s not as sharp as it once was.”

  Kate made sure the elderly lady was tucked safely inside her house before she returned to her own two-story house. She couldn’t deny that Mrs. Beecham’s information had scared her, but she refused to even consider the possibility that she’d been found. She’d been too careful, covering her tracks well. She’d even used her mother’s maiden name on the deed to the house.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have taken the risk and bought the house, but when she’d seen it nestled in the quiet neighborhood with its tree-lined streets and DeSotos parked in the driveways, she knew she wanted to own her own home for once. So it really hadn’t taken much convincing from her mother.

  She shoved open the back door once more. “Mom, are you here now?” More silence. “Mom?”

  Just as she was starting to worry, a slender figure came into Kate’s line of view. Wearing a spotless, white gown, with her silver hair swept up on top of her head, Helen Masters was as lovely today as she’d been in her early twenties. “Oh, for the love of Pete, will you please stop yelling?”

  Kate turned and gave her mother a warm smile. “You weren’t answering me.”

  “That’s because I was upstairs watching Truth or Consequences.” Helen frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mrs. Beecham said we had a visitor.” Kate tried to keep her voice casual, but her mother knew her too well.

  “No, you had a visitor. It’s not like I can go to the door.” In hiding for the past two years, Helen had lived a life of seclusion, unable to feel the sun on her face or the rain on her skin.

  Kate watched her mother walk across the tattered linoleum that needed to be replaced, and the pain in her heart deepened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so sensitive.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I don’t expect you to remember every minute of every day that I’m a wanted woman.” She pulled open the heavy door of the refrigerator and perused the contents. “You really do need to stop worrying.”

  “How can I stop worrying, Mom? Alek killed Dad.”

  Helen straightened, smoothed a hand down her polka-dot skirt. “I know that, Katherine, but he doesn’t know where we are, and your father wouldn’t want us living our lives in fear.”

  Her heart lurched in her chest, and Kate walked closer to her mother who’d closed the refrigerator and was now leaning against the door.

  “We’re not living in fear. We’re being cautious.”

  Helen’s blue eyes narrowed behind her cat-eye glasses. “We jump at every knock, we can’t have a telephone because you don’t want to chance Alek finding us through the telephone company, and I’m not supposed to leave the house. No, dear. We’re not being cautious; we’re too afraid to live.”

  “What’s going on? I leave you alone for less than two hours, and now you’re talking like you’re about to make a grand escape.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not going to escape. I’m just thinking about taking a walk.”

  Kate pressed one hand over her heart while her stomach knotted. “You can’t do that.”

  Helen tipped her head to one side. “Actually, yes, I think I can.”

  ****

  Sam parked his precious Austin-Healy, the one piece of luxury he refused to part with, in the parking lot of a small grocery store. He and the bank still owned it, but he was determined to hang on to it for as long as he could.

  Two black Buicks, a fire engine red Cadillac and a Chevy in desperate need of a paint job took up the parking spaces in front of the store, and two greasers in leather jackets and cuffed jeans whistled as Sam killed the engine.

  Everyone loved his car. Not that he could blame them. He’d paid a premium just for the new hydraulic brakes alone. And he kept it polished to a gleaming shine.

  He climbed out of the leather bucket seat and stretched his long legs. He’d been searching for the elusive Helen Masters for over three hours now with no luck. For all he knew, the woman might not even be in Charleston. God knew her husband didn’t want to spare any information.

  The hot air seeped beneath his suit coat, and he quickly removed the lightweight linen, tossing it onto the front seat of the car. His eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, scanned the horizon.

  The little information he’d managed to glean about Jeremiah Masters had only given him more questions, and there was that small matter of the knot in the pit of his stomach. He only got that when something wasn’t right, and, in spite of the five large in his wallet, he wasn’t so sure Masters was a guy he should be working with.

  But until he found a reason not to trust him, Sam would at least try to find Helen Masters. Maybe she’d have the answers her husband wouldn’t provide.

  A silver Tatra-T87 pulled into the parking space next to Sam. It was Sam’s turn to whistle. Whoever owned that car had some serious dough. It didn’t look much older than two years, and with spiffy chrome wheels, it was sure to turn heads.

  As Sam continued to admire the car, his client unfolded his length from the front seat of the German-made vehicle and strolled around the hood, his hand rubbing the finish almost lovingly. “Have you found her yet, Mr. Bentley?” Smooth culture, maybe Russian, poured into Sam’s ear.

  Sam grimaced. So this was the man’s ride. Sweet. “It’s only been a couple of hours. While I’m fast, I’m not that fast. You’re going to have to be patient, and you’re going to need to stop following me. I don’t work well when I know someone’s on my trail.”

  “I don’t just hand out money, Mr. Bentley. I like to make sure I’ve made the proper call.”

  “Shouldn’t you have done that before you hired me?” Growing irritated, Sam wanted to toss the money in the man’s face and walk away. Only common sense kept him in place.

  Masters drummed his fingernails atop the head of his cane and nodded. “Point taken. Now, shall we move on, or would you like to complain some more about my activities of the past hour?”

  Now Sam wanted to do much more than just toss his money back at him. He wanted to kick the foreign man’s caboose up the street. Instead, he responded through gritted teeth.

  “As long as you cease those activities, we can move on.”

  Maste
rs studied him for a long second before responding. How long do you think you’ll need?”

  “You said she’s been missing for two years. What’s the rush?”

  The older man’s jaw grew tight. Sam figured he’d struck yet another nerve. What was it with this guy? “As I’ve told you once before, that is not your concern. Your job is to find her.”

  Sam gritted his teeth. He hated pompous clients, but he wasn’t in any position to turn down the man’s money. He suspected the guy knew that. “And I will, but, like I said, I work better when my clients aren’t hounding me…or following me.”

  Masters snorted. “From what I saw, I doubt you have that many clients to worry about.”

  Hackles raised, Sam took offense, the hair on the back of his neck lifting. “You let me worry about my caseload.” He’d like to pop this guy in the kisser. Maybe he would once he got the rest of his dough.

  “The only case I’m worried about it this one. I expect a report by the end of the day.” Masters made a show out of checking his chronograph watch. It was one of those fancy models with the white gold and sword-shaped hands.

  Sam had seen one almost like it in a catalog, but the price had been way out of his budget. Not to mention he couldn’t see paying out the wazoo for something that just told time.

  Masters ended the conversation by turning and tapping his way across the parking lot. Sam watched him disappear inside the grocery store without a backwards glance.

  The man’s manner upped Sam’s irritation. He resisted the urge to follow the fellow and give him a piece of his mind. He didn’t doubt Mr. Jeremiah Masters would take his business elsewhere, and Charleston was lousy with private dicks.

  Sam slid back into the Austin and started the engine. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate your defection, Joe?”