Lowcountry Boneyard

by Susan M. Boyer

  Mrs. Heyward’s voice was stronger than it had been moments before.

  “Colton, let them continue their work.”

  “My dear,” Mr. Heyward said, “what can they possibly do that the police can’t?”

  “It’s not a matter of can’t. It’s won’t. I’m afraid this poor boy will be sent to jail and we still won’t ever know what’s become of Kent.”

  “They will get the truth out of him,” Mr. Heyward said.

  “Only if he knows the truth,” said Mrs. Heyward. “What if he doesn’t?”

  Mr. Heyward nodded. “Very well. I think the police are on the right track. However, if Mr. Andrews and Miss Talbot are exploring other possibilities, well, there’s no harm in that, is there? Until Kent is found, we should leave no stone unturned, as it were.”

  “Thank you, Colton,” Mrs. Heyward said.

  “Is there anything else?” Nate asked.

  “No.” Mr. Heyward stood.

  The rest of us followed suit.

  “Just please let us know the moment you have news,” said Mrs. Heyward.

  “Of course,” I said. “We’ll show ourselves out.”

  Colleen followed us into the wide front hall.

  Mr. Palmer was nowhere to be seen.

  I glared at Colleen. I need to talk to you.

  She gave me a solemn look. “Remember what I told you a long time ago. There’s only one battle, and it’s good versus evil. I didn’t touch your phone. Entities who aren’t on the side of the angels may have wanted you out of the way this morning. If you hadn’t shown up at ten, you’d be off the case.” She faded out.

  Nate and I continued to the car. Had Colleen gone to check in with Sue Ellen?

  When we were turning left on Legare, from the backseat, Colleen said, “Mr. William Palmer was on an important phone call.”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” Nate asked.

  “Nothing. Just admiring the garden.”

  Nate gave me a look that said fine, if you don’t want to talk about it.

  Colleen said, “He was reporting to Abigail Bounetheau that you and Nate think Peyton and Peter are involved in something illegal, and may be responsible for Kent’s disappearance. I have the distinct impression that he is in the habit of reporting all manner of things to her.”

  “Damnation,” I said.

  “Yeah, that could’ve gone better,” Nate said.

  “What?”

  “We should not have mentioned Peyton and Peter,” said Nate.

  “We didn’t.”

  “Apparently, Mrs. Heyward is under no illusions about her brothers. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they won’t mention that to the rest of the family.”

  “Abigail Bounetheau already knows.” Sonavabitch. How was I going to explain this? I needed a drink already and it wasn’t even noon.

  “How can you know that?” Nate asked.

  “I overheard William Palmer, the house manager, talking to her on the phone when we were walking out. Didn’t you?”

  Nate pulled to a stop at the intersection of Legare and Lamboll.

  “There’s no stop sign. Why’d you stop?”

  “Because I want you to look at me and tell me how you could hear both ends of a phone conversation that I didn’t hear at all. Even if you overheard William Palmer telling tales on the phone—and I did not—how could you know who he was talking to?”

  “He had the call on speaker. I can’t believe you couldn’t hear it. I recognized Abigail’s voice immediately. Maybe you had your mind on something else?” I reached for an innocent look and prayed I pulled it off.

  For her part, Colleen bray-snorted exuberantly in the back seat.

  Nate stared at me for an endless moment. “Why would he have a call he presumably wanted to make surreptitiously on speaker?”

  “That is a very good question.” I pointed at Nate with emphasis to underscore how I was every bit as mystified as he was by this whole episode. “Looks like he’d have gone way in the back—that’s a huge house—and been careful to keep that quiet. Maybe he had the maid or the cook on the line making reports, too.” Oh my sweet Lord, how I hated lying to Nate.

  He shook his head. “Dammit, Liz. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  I made my eyes bigger.

  “What could that possibly be? We were right there together the whole time. I simply heard something you didn’t. I think we need to focus on our bigger problem. Colton and Virginia would maybe have kept it to themselves. But Abigail Bounetheau will surely tell her sons we suspect them. She just doesn’t know we’re not investigating them.”

  Nate cursed under his breath. He drove through the intersection. “How do I get to Matt’s house from here?”

  Twenty-One

  Ansley slumped in the swing on Matt’s front porch, leaning on the chain. Her Z4, a patrol car, and a forensics unit were parked by the curb. Nate pulled in behind the forensics unit. A uniformed officer emerged from the front door and headed down the steps in purposeful strides. Ansley was fast on his heels. We met him halfway down the front walk.

  “We’re executing a search warrant on this residence. What is your business here?” His nametag read Gambrell, but he didn’t offer an introduction.

  Nate and I pulled out our identification. I gave him a quick glance that said, let me talk.

  I said, “We’ve been retained by the Heyward family to investigate the disappearance of their daughter, Kent. I’m Liz Talbot. This is my partner, Nate Andrews.”

  Gambrell looked at our IDs, then at us. “You the ones who found the car?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact,” I said.

  “Thanks for the assist. Looks like you all can move on to your next case. We arrested Matthew Thomas this morning for the murder of Miss Heyward. This case is closed.”

  “So you found her body, then?” Nate asked, a touch of challenge in his voice.

  I flashed him a warning look.

  Gambrell bristled. “We will soon enough. He’ll tell us where to find her to keep a needle out of his arm.”

  I offered him my sunniest smile. “Officer Gambrell, the last thing we want to do is step on any toes. But I’m sure you are familiar with our client, Colton Heyward? He insists we keep working this case until Kent has been found. If you could tell us anything at all—perhaps new information that’s come to light?—to help us convince him, well, then, we’d be out of your hair in a skinny minute.”

  Gambrell said, “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case, ma’am. You’d need to speak with Detectives Jenkins and Bissell. And they asked me to advise you this case is closed.”

  “Are they inside?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.

  “No, ma’am. They’ve taken the suspect in for processing.”

  “I see. Well, we’ll just speak with Miss Johnson here, then, and be on our way.”

  Gambrell worked his jaw and glared at Ansley. “Make sure you’re available for further questioning.” He stalked back inside.

  Ansley flew into my arms, sobbing.

  I patted her back. “Ansley? Honey? I need you to pull it together. Let’s go sit in Nate’s car, okay?”

  Nate walked towards the car, irritation written all over his face. He had little patience with folks who did stupid things and then cried about it, especially if the crying was literal and messy. He turned on the ignition and lowered the windows while I climbed in back with Ansley. I pulled out a pack of tissues from my purse and handed them to her.

  Gradually, her sobs slowed to hitched breathing. She dabbed at her eyes.

  I said, “Ansley, what were you thinking spending the night at Matt’s house again? It looks bad. You’ll be one lucky girl if you are not arrested as an accessory or even an accomplice before this is over. If your daddy wasn�
�t a judge, you’d likely be at the police station with Matt right now in a separate interrogation room while they tried to get y’all to turn on each other.”

  She sucked in two quick breaths. “We’re just trying to help each other through this. We both love Kent. We’re hanging on to each other for support—that’s all.”

  “Exactly how tight were you hanging on?” I asked.

  “Not like thaaat.” Her words were a cross between a moan and a whine. “We have never, ever, ever had any sort of physical relationship. I swear.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “What did Charlie Condon say?”

  “Just that he was on his way, and he would try to arrange bail, but it might not work out. I just can’t bear to think of Matt in jail with…with…criminals.” She commenced crying again.

  Nate’s eyes met mine in the rearview. He was losing all patience.

  “Ansley, focus,” I said. Since someone in the Bounetheau family had taken to hiring muscle, it stood to reason one of them was hiding something. It was odd that the muscle hadn’t objected to me looking for Kent. Something I’d done along the way had crossed the line to “Bounetheau Business.” I needed to know what that was. “You mentioned early on you suspected Kent’s uncles of being involved in her disappearance. Think. Did Kent ever say anything about them to you? Was she afraid of them? Did she suspect them of anything?”

  She dialed back the waterworks to sniffles and appeared to think hard. Finally, she said, “Not that I can recall. I mean, we joked about them sometimes, how odd it was they still lived at home. How weird it is they seem to share a brain—finish each other’s sentences and all. But she never seemed afraid of them.”

  “Tell me about her grandparents,” I said. “The Bounetheaus.”

  “Kent is very close to them, her granddad especially. He’s a painter, too. Not professionally, of course. He and Kent are tight. I had the impression she got along well with her cousins, too. I’ve met her grandparents—been to parties with Kent where they were and all like that. Mr. Bounetheau’s a good guy. Mrs. Bounetheau…she’s a little cold, kinda uptight. I mean, she loves Kent. Only she’s…well, she’s just a snob.”

  That was consistent with my impression of Abigail Bounetheau. “How about Kent’s mamma?”

  “What about her?”

  “Is she more like her mamma or her daddy?” Nate asked.

  “Definitely her dad. Mrs. Heyward isn’t snooty at all. She’s a nice lady. It’s sad…Mrs. Bounetheau has controlled Virginia Heyward her entire life. I don’t know why she lets her get away with it. She has her own husband and household, but you’d think she was still a teenager the way she just does whatever her mother tells her.”

  I squinted at her. I had noticed an odd dynamic between Virginia and her mamma the first time I’d met them. “What kinds of things does her mamma tell her to do?”

  Ansley had recovered enough to execute an eye roll. “She’s always telling her the ‘proper’ way to do things. What is and isn’t done in better households. Nothing big, I guess. But I know I couldn’t tolerate it.”

  “Does she treat Charlotte that way?” I asked.

  “No,” Ansley said. “I always thought it was because Charlotte was the oldest and she just never put up with it. For some reason, Kent’s mom does. Maybe Charlotte did everything the way her mamma wanted because she wanted the same things. She graduated with honors from Wellesley. Married a Pinckney. Birthed four babies. She’s on every charitable board in the county.”

  “Have you ever heard any gossip at all about Charlotte or her family—or the twins—any of the Bounetheaus? Something scandalous they’d want kept quiet? Something you might have thought unimportant?”

  Ansley was quiet for a moment. “Nothing. None of Charlotte’s boys were ever in trouble. We went to school with the youngest, Charles Bennett. They call him Benny. We’d have heard if any of those boys had gotten into trouble.”

  I sighed. Ansley was my best resource on all things Bounetheau, and she’d given me nothing new. I patted her on the leg. “We need to get you out of here.”

  “But that police officer told me to stay.”

  “Did he place you under arrest?” Nate asked.

  “No.”

  “Listen to me,” I said. “You get in your car right this minute and hightail it straight back to Stella Maris. Go to your daddy’s office and wait there. Let his secretary know you need to see him and it’s urgent. He’s likely in court, and his lunch break may be over by the time you get there. You might not be able to see him until his session ends for the day. Wait for him. Tell him everything. Don’t leave a single thing out. You hear me?”

  The sobbing recommenced. She nodded.

  “He’ll know who to call. You need an attorney on standby and not Charlie Condon. You need a different attorney from Matt.”

  “O-okay,” she said.

  I looked towards the house. No sign of the police officers. “Go on.”

  Ansley opened the door, climbed out, and closed the door quietly behind her. She jogged to her car, slipped in, and drove away.

  Officer Gambrell came to the door just in time to watch her turn right at the stop sign. He glared at us. I smiled and waved as I got out of the backseat and into the front.

  Twenty-Two

  Three blocks away from Matt’s house, I said, “Let’s go to Greenville.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Nate said.

  I knew he and I had different things in mind, but that didn’t matter just then. We made a quick stop at the Hampton Inn to pick up what few things I had there for overnight. Since Nate was still spending most of his time in Greenville, his condo had everything he needed aside from the electronics he carried with him.

  While I took his room key and went inside, Nate did a thorough sweep of the Explorer for GPS trackers, listening devices, and all such as that. With Peyton and Peter warned of our suspicions, we were on heightened alert. Assuming the gentlemen I’d met in the Hampton Inn courtyard worked for them, the twins had already sent us two warnings. They would not be kindly disposed to learn we’d mentioned them as possible suspects to Mr. and Mrs. Heyward.

  I called Blake from the hotel room phone. “Hey,” I said when he answered. “I’m in a fix. I need you to take care of Rhett for a day or two. Can you swing by this morning? Nate and I are heading to Greenville.”

  “Why are you calling me from a Charleston landline? What kind of fix?”

  I heaved a sigh. I didn’t want Blake to worry, but I wouldn’t lie to him, either. “It’s this case we’re working. We’re just being overly cautious, paranoid, really.”

  “Being overly cautious is not in your nature. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Maybe it was better if he knew, just in case. Also, he’d be pissed if he heard about the Sunday night goons-with-a-gun incident from Sonny. I probably should’ve already told him. Quickly, I outlined what had transpired since Saturday and where we stood with the investigation. “Maybe you should take Rhett to stay with you on the houseboat tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. We’ll be back tomorrow, Thursday latest. I don’t like the idea of him being by himself so long.”

  “You’re worried the muscle is going to show up at your house.” My brother’s voice held layers of concern and anger.

  “It’s possible they might come looking for me. If I’m not home…Just please take Rhett to your place at night.” I felt horribly guilty having left him by himself the night before.

  “I’ve got Rhett. Take your time in Greenville. The longer you stay the better.”

  “That is a hell of a thing to say to your sister.” I tried to lighten the tone.

  “Dammit, Liz. Does someone have to shoot you before you’ll take a threat seriously?”

  “I’ve got to go. Thank you so much for seeing about Rhett.”

  “Be careful.”


  Nate was waiting in the driver’s seat when I returned. I climbed into the car. “Are we ready?”

  “All clear. Thankfully. I should have scanned for listening devices before we had that chat with Ansley. That was a bit spontaneous. We caught a break. Let’s run counter spyware on our phones and tablets. Since we don’t know who all the Bounetheaus subcontract their intimidation and enforcement needs to, we don’t know what kinds of tools they have. We should assume they have access to every toy we do plus potentially anything professional law enforcement brings to the party.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” I pulled out my iPhone and iPad and ran an app that looked for remote spying software. Anyone who knows how can track anyone who owns most modern phones and tablets. “I’m clean. Turning off Wi-Fi and Bluetooth. And turning off both devices for now.”

  “Roger that. I’m good to go.” Nate drove out of the parking garage, made a right on John, and a left on Meeting Street. “I’m heading towards Mount Pleasant, like we’re going back to Stella Maris. Maybe take a few detours. Let’s keep an eye out for tails. When we’re sure we’re clean, I’ll catch 526 back to I-26.” Five twenty-six was two-thirds of a loop, connecting Highway 17 in Mount Pleasant to Highway 17 in West Ashley, passing through North Charleston and intersecting Interstate 26 near the airport along the way.

  “Sounds good.”

  After driving around Mount Pleasant for fifteen minutes and stopping three times, neither of us had seen the same car twice. At a Walgreens on Highway 17, we stopped and I ran inside and paid cash for two prepaid cellphones, some bottled water, and some snacks. Shortly thereafter, Nate turned onto I-526.

  “I’m driving towards Greenville for one reason,” Nate said. “Because I believe you’ll be safer there. We still don’t know for sure which Bounetheau paid your snake-handling friends. My theory, as I’ve mentioned, is that the twins were proactive in dissuading you from investigating their enterprise. If I’m wrong, and that does happen on occasion, we don’t know what tripwire you snagged that brought on the goons, since the gentlemen themselves magnanimously allowed that you could continue investigating Kent’s disappearance.