I closed my eyes. “I was hoping hard one of them would find her.”
“That would’ve been the best outcome, no doubt. There’s more bad news.”
I opened my eyes, turned towards Nate.
He stared out the front window. “You remember Wade Montgomery?”
“Yeah, he was one of Blake’s fraternity brothers. Why?”
“He left SC Highway patrol a while back. Moved to Dallas. He’s the PI I contacted about Amarillo. It’s less than six hours away—reachable—and we know him. That last transaction on Kent’s credit card at the service station in Amarillo was at ten-thirty p.m. Wade went through the other transactions from around the same time, found a witness who remembered seeing a guy pumping gas. Long story short, eventually he came up with Hart Feldman, age nineteen. Former College of Charleston sophomore, native of Amarillo.”
“Did he admit using Kent’s credit card?”
“As a matter of fact, he did. And her cellphone. His story is he wanted to get home. Missed his girlfriend. He’d only been on campus a week but he couldn’t stand it. True love and whatnot. But his funds were tight. He went in to sell plasma for gas money the Saturday morning after Kent disappeared. Says he found her wallet and cellphone literally on the sidewalk on Ashley Avenue on his way out. The kid swears he thought it was a gift from God, at first, anyway.
“So, he heads for Texas. By the time he got to Atlanta, he’s worried something bad happened to Kent, but he hasn’t been watching the news, he’s been driving. He calls the number labeled “home” in her favorites list, but when Colton Heyward answered, he lost his nerve. Then he got nervous about getting caught, and how bad it would look if Kent had met with foul play. He destroyed the cellphone and put it in a dumpster in Atlanta with her wallet. He just kept the one credit card.
“Because he still needed gas to get home. He figured if he alternated fill ups with what cash he had, and only used her card when he had to, maybe he wasn’t digging his Karma hole too deep. Wade emailed the full report.”
“Dammit all to hell.” My chest and throat tightened. Someone had left Kent’s wallet and cellphone precisely where someone desperate would find them in hopes of creating a false trail. And it had worked.
“Slugger, we always knew this wasn’t likely to have a happy ending.”
“I know. But I wanted like hell to be wrong.”
Twenty-Four
Nate parked in his street-level garage, a luxury for downtown Greenville. We took the private elevator to his third floor Customs House condo. He’d bought the unit new a year ago and moved from his smaller place at Poinsett Corners. He said it was a good investment, and no doubt that was true. But I suspected the bigger reason was to make more room for me. I had my own office in his professionally decorated home, which I rarely used. The sweetness of the gesture touched my soft spot again.
I’d gone into the master bath to powder my nose. When I came out, he waited by the bedroom window. He turned and scrutinized me as if I perplexed him. “Slugger, I’m not a hundred percent sure if this will make you happy or piss you off. Maybe a bit of both. But I bought some things for you a while back—to keep here. I went to some of the stores you like and asked the sales clerks for pity. In any case, you have clothes here if you need them.”
I felt tears fill my eyes. How much this man must love me. I walked into his arms and hugged him, speechless.
“I’m guessing this means I haven’t screwed up.” He rested his face against my head.
“No.” I pulled back to look at him. “That’s the sweetest thing—so thoughtful. Thank you.”
His voice was soft, husky. “I hope you like them. Everything’s in your closet. I thought, since there’s nothing more we can do tonight, we might have dinner at The Lazy Goat if you like?”
“That sounds perfect.” The Lazy Goat had long been one of our favorite Greenville restaurants. “I’ll grab a shower.”
“I’ll wait until you’re finished. I’m guessing you’re getting hungry, and if I join you, you’re not going to get fed for a while.”
I flashed him a playful look, then dashed into the bathroom and closed the door.
“There’s no lock on that door, by the way. Didn’t see the need.”
“Well then, I’ll hold you to your word,” I said through the door.
“I think I’ll go make myself a drink.”
Thirty minutes later, I emerged wrapped in a fluffy towel and went to explore the contents of my closet. It was a huge walk-in affair, better described as a dressing room, custom built just for me. On a hook behind the door was a spa robe. I traded the towel for it, and slid into the matching slippers.
There were shelves for shoes, with black flats, brown ankle-boots, strappy evening sandals, and Keen walking shoes already in place. The drawers held a full assortment of lingerie in my favorite brands. On padded hangers, half a dozen outfits waited for me to choose what to wear to dinner. Nate had taken great care to make sure I had what I needed here.
I pulled out a flouncy pumpkin-colored skirt and a neutral pullover. The ankle boots would look cute with that ensemble. A long tri-metal necklace and earring set I had with me would go well. I selected a lacy bra and matching boy shorts with bows.
A built-in dressing table provided a comfortable spot for me to primp. From beyond the door I’d left ajar, I heard Nate go into the bathroom. I smiled at the lit mirror and pulled my makeup tote from my overnight bag. Light base, smoky eyes, just a touch of lipstick and gloss. I wore my hair loose, just a bit tousled.
When I rose and turned to check the results in the full-length mirror, Nate stood in the doorway. Our eyes collided and a jolt of electric current seared my core. His face was lit with warmth, love, and lust. The power of what I felt for him left me weak-kneed.
He wore jeans, a white oxford shirt, and a black leather jacket. “It’s turned chilly,” he said. “Better grab something warm.”
I looked around the closet. Two cardigans were folded on a shelf, one black, one ivory. Beside them was a multi-colored pashmina that had a swirl of the color of my skirt running through it. “Oh, my goodness. This is lovely.” I picked it up to look at it closer. It was as soft as it was beautiful. “Nate…” I shook my head at him. “You shouldn’t have done all of this. I mean…thank you, so much. But really, you shouldn’t have.”
“I can’t think of a solitary reason why not. If there’s something you don’t like, you can take it back. I saved the receipts.”
“No, it’s not that. Everything is gorgeous.”
“And so are you. Ready for dinner?”
“Sure.” I smiled and walked towards him.
He didn’t budge from the doorway. When I was right in front of him, he bent down to kiss me. It was soft, but stirring. He pulled back and looked at me. “We’d best go.” He escorted me through the condo, out the door, and into the elevator.
“The decorators did a wonderful job with the condo,” I said.
“I’m happy you like it.”
“Nate, please don’t sell it.”
The perplexed look returned. “I thought we had all that settled.”
“No, we don’t settle things after you’ve had more than three bourbons.”
“Tell you what, let’s leave it be for tonight.”
I studied his face. He was happy. I was happy. We’d leave it alone.
Main Street in Greenville looks festive year round—white lights in the trees lining the street, happy people on their way to dinner or a play. A guitar player strummed and sang at the entrance to Falls Park. We made a left onto Camperdown, and a right past the entrance to the Hampton Inn and we were at the restaurant. Nate had once again magically finagled one of the best tables in a corner window overlooking the Reedy River.
I looked at the familiar scene and remembered all the nights we’d spent mulling cases and chatti
ng about everything and nothing while watching wedding receptions at the Wyche Pavilion, the charming two-story brick shell of a building originally intended as a paint shop for coaches and wagons. I felt a tug of homesick for Greenville. My decision to live here part-time settled around me and I wrapped up in it like a quilt.
“Feel like grazing and nibbling?” Nate referred to the small plates section of the menu titled “Graze and Nibble,” which was our favorite. Our custom was to order a selection and share. If we wanted more, we ordered more.
“Yes. Order anything you like as long as it includes the Moroccan lamb and the fried goat cheese.”
“I’m thinking the roasted Brussel sprouts. The Burrata cheese….”
The waiter appeared and Nate ordered a spread of food which would likely have fed four of us along with a bottle of pinot noir. We chatted about little things—what was coming up this season at the Peace Center, new restaurants in town, friends I hadn’t seen in a while.
The food arrived and we grazed until we couldn’t nibble another bite. Then we walked back up Main Street hand in hand. It was a perfect evening. Once we were back in the condo, Nate went to the stainless steel refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
“What are we celebrating?” I asked.
He set two champagne flutes on the granite counter. For a moment he just looked at them. Then, he said, “I feel like we’ve turned a corner. Maybe I’ve gotten past something, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s clear to me now that it doesn’t matter where or how we live, as long as I can spend my days and my nights with you.”
I smiled at him, a slow, come-and-get-me smile. “Then let’s celebrate, by all means. How do I turn on the music? I can’t recall.”
“Media closet. I’ll get it.” He popped the cork, filled our glasses, dimmed the kitchen lights, then brought me my flute. “Hold on to that.” He stepped down the hall, opened a closet, and seconds later “Marry Me” by Train filled the room.
I’d always loved that song. It had been in both our music libraries for years.
Nate went back to the bar and picked up his champagne flute, then made his way to where I stood by the window looking down Main Street. “Cheers.” He touched his glass to mine.
“Cheers.” I raised my glass and drank deeply.
He transferred his glass to his left hand and wrapped my right one with his. Pulling me into an embrace, he moved with the music. We danced by the soft light of the streetlights coming in from the window.
The last few lines of the chorus played.
Nate caressed my face with his empty hand. “Will you?”
My chest felt tight. Terrified I’d somehow misunderstood his intent, I managed to eke out the word, “What?”
“Say you will. Marry me.”
And I knew that’s exactly what I wanted to do. My heart felt full. Fireworks went off in my brain.
“Liz?”
“Yes. I will.” I laughed and spun around. “I will marry you, Nate Andrews.”
“Really?” His eyes were bright with hope and disbelief, his jaw slack.
I laughed again. “Of course, really. I sure hope that wasn’t like an impulse thing, because I’m all in.”
He threw back his head and whooped, drained his glass, and crushed me to him.
“I’m going to spill my champagne.”
“Drink it quick.”
I tipped the glass and finished it off.
He handed me his glass. “Hang on to this one, too.”
“What?” I was still laughing.
He scooped me up and carried me to the kitchen. “Grab the bottle.”
I complied and he walked down the hall to the master bedroom. “Hang on now.” He laid me down gently on the bed, propped me against a pile of pillows I’m sure the decorator chose, then took the bottle and glasses from me, refilled them, and handed me mine back. He sprawled out beside me and looked at me in wonder. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. It’s...overwhelming. It fills me up inside.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have a ring. To be honest, I was afraid to jinx it by buying one. We’ll pick one out—whatever you want.”
“Would it be all right if I wear Gram’s ring?” The piece held sentimental value, and I’d always thought it a shame to leave such a pretty ring in a jewelry box.
“Well, sure, if that’s what you want. But I want to give you something—something important. Something that means forever.”
“We’ll need to pick out bands, probably have to have them made to match the ring. Gram has her band.”
“Okay, but we still need to shop for engagement jewelry. Your choice.”
“All right.” I held up my glass. “To spending all my tomorrows with you.”
We drank to that and many other things while we undressed each other. Our lovemaking that night was slow and tender, cherishing each other with every touch. I was happier than I’d ever been.
Twenty-Five
Greenville County Square occupied an entire block of University Ridge, with The Governor’s School between it and the back side of Falls Park. The building most resembled a shopping mall because that’s exactly what it was designed to be. Bell Tower Mall languished in the eighties when downtown department stores relocated to Haywood Mall. Nowadays, Greenville’s downtown thrived, anchored by Falls Park and The Peace Center for the Performing Arts.
Nate pulled into a parking spot near the probate court entrance. He’d been building his case.
“No, sweetheart, we can’t just pick up a marriage license while we’re here,” I said. “I’d rather Daddy not kill you before I get you to a church.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re good anywhere in the state.” He turned off the ignition. “Uhh, I’ve got nothing against church weddings...”
“That’s good, because that’s the only kind Mamma holds with.”
He appeared to have something stuck in his throat. “Slugger, just so I understand your intent here, do you have in mind to fill up St. Francis Episcopal and get married in front of God and everyone who witnessed you marrying my brother a few years back?”
I grinned. “Yes. That’s exactly what I have in mind.”
“That’s likely to cause folks to talk.”
“Let them. I don’t care. We are native South Carolinians. Eccentricity is our birthright.”
“All right then.” He blew out a long breath and widened his eyes. “And why again can’t we get a marriage license today? I’d rather not give you too much time to overthink this.”
“I think they’re only good for thirty days. Weddings take months—a year—to plan.”
“The hell you say.”
I laughed as I climbed out of the car. “It’ll go by fast. There’s so much to do. We have to pick out flowers, and a cake, and my dress of course.”
“I can have all that done by this evening.”
“Sweetheart, you’d best leave the details to me. And Mamma, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But first there’ll be an engagement party.”
“Naturally,” he said, like he was thinking how he should have seen that coming.
“Okay, marriage records are in probate court, suite 5600. We may need a story. I don’t think they hand these out like candy.”
“Perhaps a delicate family matter?” Nate said.
“Yes. Involving a critical health issue. Genetics and all. We’re looking for a bone marrow donor. That’s much more compelling than a will.”
He held the door for me. We made our way to suite 5600. We’d arrived right at opening time, so there was no line. We walked straight up to the counter. A woman I pegged at mid-fifties approached from the other side. Her hair was likely from Clairol’s medium brown family, styled short and teased a bit. “Can I help you?”
“I surely hope so,” I said. “Ma’am, we have a family emergency. My sister Laura Beth has been diagnosed with leukemia. I tried donating, but I’m not a match. So far, none of us are.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. How can I help?” She oozed empathy.
For a split second, I felt bad about playing this nice lady. Then I visualized Kent. “We’re hoping to locate our half-sister. I’m afraid it was a family scandal. Mamma thinks Daddy was married once before—a long time ago. Daddy was much older than Mamma. He’s passed on.”
“I see.” The clerk blinked several times behind her glasses.
“I was wondering if you could help us find out if Daddy really was married to someone else before Mamma. If he had other children, you see…” I choked up.
Nate put his arms around me. “It’s going to be all right, darlin’. This nice lady can help us, I’m sure of it.”
“What was your daddy’s name?” she asked.
“Turner. Turner Ingle.”
She wrote that down. “And about what year do you think he was previously married?”
“Nineteen eighty, perhaps eighty-one.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” She turned and went to a computer station. She tapped and clicked for a few moments, then rose, walked to a printer, and retrieved a piece of paper. “Here you go. I hope this helps.” She walked to the counter, arm extended with the document in hand.
“Oh, thank you so much,” I said. “Bless you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
We walked out of the office and a few steps down the hall. I stopped and studied the piece of paper with Nate looking over my shoulder.
In the box labeled “wife” on the marriage license for Turner Mark Ingle, dated February 9, 1980, was the name Virginia Mary Katherine Bounetheau.
“Sonavabitch,” I said.
“I did not see that coming,” said Nate.
“Kent is Evan’s half-sister.”
“Evan Ingle is a Bounetheau.”
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