When You Find Me

by P. J. Vernon

  As Bethany went on with details of Paul’s looks and stature, my vision blurred, and her words grew distant. I needed something for my crawling anxiety. Anything to stop the skittering up and down my arms and legs.

  The telephone in the kitchen rang.

  “Here we go,” Mamma sighed.

  A baking sheet clanged on the counter as Cora left to answer the phone.

  My thoughts flew straight to Annie. Was she calling? Did she have Mamma’s house number, too? Would she have more to say? If she knew where he was, that was almost worse. That would mean Nina was right, that Paul was involved with her.

  “Joanna, telephone,” Cora called out. “A reporter from the Gazette.”

  I exhaled. Why did that relieve me? They could be wrong. Nina, Charlotte, Mamma. They could be wrong about an affair or whatever other thoughts they harbored. Maybe Annie had information that would help us find Paul. Innocent information.

  “Tell them we have no comment and direct them to Sheriff Burton,” Mamma answered. Twenty years later and she still remembered how to handle the press. The bitter taste they’d left in her mouth must have lingered.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Good lord. Shoo them off, you hear?” she instructed Cora, whose steps dwindled as she made for the front door.

  Unattended, the twins entered the den. “Where is Uncle Paul?” one asked. Baking cookies had been a futile attempt to draw their attention from the television in the den, but the room breathed tension. Stealing the air from all of us. They’d have sensed it. Children always sensed when things were off. I did when I was young. Though, I’d been too late.

  Charlotte released my hand and went to them. “Uncle Paul had some business to do. You know how important he is. Lots of people need his help, and he went to help them.” She hugged them both. One stared blankly while the other’s face scrunched up. “He’ll be back soon.”

  “But when?” the child asked, scratching his nose. Charlotte shushed him with a kiss to the cheek. Taking each by the hand, she led them out of the room.

  Another ring from the telephone. With Cora at the front door, Mamma stood to get it. I pulled my phone from my pocket and entered my PIN. There were two calls I was willing to take: Paul’s and “Unknown,” in the event Annie reached out again. Instead, only the same thirteen missed calls displayed. All of them from Paul’s firm.

  “That was Cooper and Waters,” Mamma said as she returned, taking Charlotte’s vacated seat in the slouching sofa. “They send well-wishes to the family. They also expressed a great amount of worry. They’ve been trying to reach you, Gray. They feel blindsided by all this.”

  I returned my phone to my pocket. “And how do they think I feel?”

  Mamma appeared startled by my sharp reply. I didn’t care. I was blindsided, too. I’m his wife for Christ’s sake. Not a child. But that’s the way everyone thought of me. Can’t be trusted. Can’t be left alone. It was no wonder my thoughts went straight to wine.

  I shut my eyes.

  My response seemed to register, and she softened her voice. “They’ve also offered services.”

  I opened my eyes. “What sort of services?”

  She folded her arms. “An investigator. A private one to work alongside the police here.”

  “They don’t trust the police to do their job?” I asked. Did I trust them? I thought of Nina. I trusted her, had no reason not to. Then I remembered my nagging question from the evening before. Why had she delayed contacting us about our lost rental car? If filing a report quickly was so important, why the wait?

  “I can’t say I blame Paul’s firm.” Mamma shrugged. “I suggest we take them up on the offer. It’ll do no harm to have more folks on the case.”

  It pained me to admit it, but Mamma was right. It would do no harm. At least none I could think of. “Alright,” I relented. “I’ll call them back in a moment. I need to collect myself.”

  The look on Mamma’s face, nose slightly upturned, said we both knew exactly what I meant. “I need to take a minute or two to breathe, okay?”

  The phone rang again. Cora was free to answer this time. Another reporter with questions for the family.

  “I tucked the boys in early,” Charlotte said as she returned. “They need a break from all the excitement.” She glanced at me for a brief moment. Did she blame me at all for this? I wouldn’t fault her if she did. I blamed myself.

  Mamma leaned back a bit. “I can’t help but wonder…” We stayed silent as she pondered her thought aloud. “It might do us good to retain a lawyer. With reporters coming out from the woodwork, and given the details surrounding the disappearance, a family spokesperson might be nice.”

  My mouth dropped. She couldn’t possibly mean—

  “Someone local,” she went on. “Someone who knows Elizabeth and the people who have roles in these matters. Matthew is—”

  “Jesus Christ, Mamma!” Charlotte snapped. “Don’t you finish that thought. Even if we did need a lawyer, which we don’t, Gray and Paul already have one in D.C. But we’ll never need him.”

  Him. Matthew.

  An invisible band wrapped around my head. It tightened and squeezed as Charlotte and Mamma argued. Two drinks and it’d loosen. Two more drinks than I could get.

  Mamma had been campaigning with Daddy in Beaufort. Miss Tilda had caught a nasty stomach bug, and my cousin had stepped up to watch us in a pinch.

  I was nine. Four-year-old Charlotte had gone to the playroom at the end of the long hall. Spritely giggles from a cartoon she watched echoed through Piper Point. A home empty of anyone but Charlotte and myself. And Matthew.

  He had been my favorite relative. I bickered with the others—the cousins closer to my own age. We all wanted to play with the same dolls at the same times, act out the same characters during make-believe. They weren’t fair like Matthew, who was older, more mature at seventeen. They didn’t love me like he did, either. In our games, he’d let me be whatever I wanted, play with any toy I cared to. We never fought. Not once.

  Eyes to my black polished shoes, white lace folded over their tops, I’d made my way to the playroom to join Charlotte. I was tiny, but the pine planks still groaned under my feet. They groaned heavier as Matthew’s steps joined mine not far behind.

  “Gray,” he whispered. A scratchy whisper. I froze, turned. “Gray,” he repeated, nearly caught up to me. “Gray, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

  A weird question. But the way he asked it excited me. What was he after? I supposed I was a good girl and told Matthew as much.

  “Shame,” he replied, shaking his head. “Too bad.”

  The disappointment on Matthew’s face was plain, and I chewed my lip. He wanted to hear something else.

  “Why?” I asked. I was a good girl. Or I always tried to be. And Mamma and Miss Tilda always said so. To me, to other folks. But a corner of me thought I didn’t have to be. At least not all the time. If being a good girl disappointed Matthew, I could change. Just for a little while.

  “Because I know something.” He shrugged.

  “A secret?” My thumping heart fluttered.

  Matthew leaned closer. “Well, yeah. A secret. But I’m worried—”

  “Tell me! You have to tell me!”

  “But you’re a good—”

  “Tell me, Matt!” I stomped one foot. He would tell me. I knew he would. He just wanted to watch me squirm a little. He always teased me like that at first, before coming around. Everything with Matthew started off as a trick but never stayed that way. He’d let me in on the secret. Sometimes, just me.

  He paused, bit his bottom lip. “It ain’t pretty. It’s not nice, I mean. That’s why I asked if you were really a good girl.” He knelt. Our eyes met one another’s, and the black centers of his grew large.

  “What is it?” I searched his silent face.

  “I’ve seen the Devil.” His eyes flickered like candle flames. His breathing, heavy.

  “The Devil? How do you know?”

/>   “Because, Gray.” He hesitated, leaned in closer. The tips of our noses nearly touched. His breath smelled a little like metal. Wet copper or tin. “The Devil lives here. Inside Piper Point.”

  A tingle inched its way up my spine, and my arms goose-bumped. All the way to my bare shoulders beneath the ruffled straps of my blouse. “Where?” I whispered now, too.

  “In the cellar. The Devil lives in the cellar.”

  “He does not!” My voice rose as pictures of cackling demons from Sunday School books formed in my mind. Fire and pitchforks. Even this was little too far for him. He’d be impressed to see he couldn’t fool me.

  But Matthew’s tone remained steady. “He lives inside the furnace. Down in the cellar. I seen him.”

  Was he tricking me? A knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

  Matthew continued, “You wanna see?”

  No. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to go down into the cellar, and Mamma said I wasn’t allowed to, anyways. Except, a piece of me did. The piece of me that wasn’t a good girl. At least, not right now. And if Matthew was lying, I’d show him I didn’t buy it. I’d show him I wasn’t afraid of breaking the rules, and I wasn’t afraid of the cellar. But if he wasn’t lying—

  “I’ll show you.” Matthew clasped my hand in his. It was damp; ice-cold and sweaty all at once. I caught the flash of a crocodile grin across his face as he led me down the foyer stairs.

  Mamma’s sharp drawl pulled me into the present, back into the TV room—the TV that had just told the world Paul was missing.

  “Don’t you shout at me, Charlotte Belle.” Mamma stood to brush the front of her checkered dress. Her cheeks reddened. “I’m only looking out for this family.”

  “With a suggestion like that, one could be forgiven for thinking otherwise,” Charlotte retorted. “Come on, Gray, let’s go for a walk before the rain starts up again.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “A walk might help.” She reached down and took my limp hand.

  “Gray, are you okay? Your hand,” she creased her brow and squinted, “it’s so cold.”

  I nodded dismissively, but Charlotte was right. The tips of my fingers, my toes, all tingled from bloodlessness. Matthew had that effect on me.

  13

  Nina

  Le Beans Coffee Shop stood between a shuttered tailor and an antique chandelier dealer on Edisto Street. Elizabeth had yet to catch the attention of Starbucks so a town local had taken advantage of an unusual vacancy in a crowded market. Like its name, the café came off as contrived. Liberal use of the terms nondairy, fair trade, and locally sourced made me wonder if the owner knew what the phrases meant. One placard even indicated the coffee beans were free trade.

  “I’ll have a medium house brew,” I told an eager barista. The young man wrote my name on a cup and took my cash. I found a seat by a long row of windows. The nasty clouds looming over Elizabeth had parted and sunlight—however brief—swaddled a handful of tables.

  I’d asked Charlotte to meet me for a cup of coffee this morning, and she’d obliged. Being present at Ruby’s on Christmas Eve made her a priority, and I didn’t like the way Joanna had stifled her attempt to bring Gray down to the station yesterday. It was like Joanna didn’t trust Charlotte to handle things correctly—her version of correctly.

  That the truth might not factor prominently in Joanna’s decision-making bothered me. The biggest rise I’d gotten out of her hadn’t been during Gray’s anxiety-ridden interview, it had erupted when I mentioned the press. It was important to cut Joanna out of the conversation when possible.

  Halfway through my coffee, I spotted Gray’s younger sister coming up the sidewalk. She waved as she stepped through the glass door. I waved back and waited until she returned with her own cup before saying a formal hello.

  “Mrs. Barfield, thanks so much for meeting me.”

  “No problem, Nina. And please, call me Charlotte.” She took the seat across from me. “Absolutely anything I can do or say to help.”

  She sounded genuine. We were off to a good start, then. “I take it all of this has hit the family hard. How are you doing?”

  A deep sigh escaped her as she slid her handbag towards the edge of the table. “It’s crazy. Things were already so … tough. And now this?”

  “It’s unbelievable,” I said, softening my tone and taking a casual sip. “Were things not okay before?”

  “It’s not important.” Charlotte picked at one of her nails. Not obviously manicured, but polished and kept nonetheless. “At least not in this matter.”

  I leaned closer. “Talk if you’d like to talk. In my experience, even the tiniest details can be important.”

  She offered a tiny grin, but it appeared to take considerable effort. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make this about me, it’s just I’ve had a lot going on. My divorce was finalized a month ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Please, don’t be.” She looked at the ceiling, then down again. “It’s the best thing for me and the boys. I’m not sure if you know, but I have twins. Joseph and David.” Her eyes lit up as she named them.

  “Congratulations,” I added, though I didn’t recall seeing any children on my visit to Piper Point. Of course, they may have been hidden away in an upstairs room. Kept away from the procedural conversation downstairs.

  “In any case, Will was trouble. He was wrong for me, and judging from his texts from a woman named Florencia, I was obviously wrong for him.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. Privately, I was pleased to hear it. Not pleased that Charlotte had been put through the wringer by a cheating husband, but happy she spoke so freely about it. If I could get the information I needed without pushing, it might keep me in the sister’s good graces. I held no illusions when it came to my welcome status at Piper Point.

  Charlotte continued, seeming to chuckle in disbelief as she did. “Life’s felt like a complete train wreck over the past year. I thought it would be a good idea to come back. Get the boys out of Raleigh and away from painful memories. Give them some room to run.”

  “Makes sense. It’s important to be around family during the holidays.”

  Her eyes widened, and her shoulders shook in exasperation. “Then this happened. This thing with Paul. I don’t know why I ever thought coming back to Elizabeth would solve anything. This town—it seems like shit happens more often here.”

  “You never could’ve predicted something like this would occur,” I replied.

  “You’re right about that.” She shook her head and took another swallow. I noted her ring finger. Empty save a faint tan line matching her story. “I assume that’s what you’d like to talk about. Not my personal catastrophe. Paul and Gray and Christmas Eve, right?”

  “Yes.” I did my best to smile warmly. “As someone who was there that night, I was hoping you might’ve come down to the station with Gray and your mother.”

  Charlotte returned her cup to the table, and her face grew long. “I would’ve liked to, but Mamma’s always vehement when it comes to how things are done. And honestly, I had reservations about leaving the boys alone with all the uncertainty around Paul.”

  I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my hand. “Right. How are they handling things?”

  “They seem to be okay. On the surface, they appear oblivious, but I don’t buy it. Kids always know more than they let on. I know I did as a child. And Joseph and David are always so watchful. I’m planning on doing something for them later this afternoon. Maybe a movie or a trip into Charleston.”

  “And how about Gray? How’s she holding up?” I asked guiding the conversation back to her sister.

  Charlotte cast her eyes to the table and paused. As though taking a moment to decide exactly what to say.

  “Not well,” she finally answered, meeting my eyes. “But given the circumstances, I’m just happy she’s not completely broken, truth be told.”

  I nodded. “Understandable. I try t
o empathize, but I can’t really know what’s going through her mind or how she feels.”

  “Not only is her husband missing,” Charlotte went on, “but she was there and can’t remember a damn thing. The helplessness must be excruciating.”

  “That much to drink, huh?”

  Charlotte twisted and crumpled a pink packet of Sweet’N Low as she answered, dusting a spot on the table white. “Yeah. She’d been drinking all day long. It was the flight. She hates flying.”

  Her answer came off like an excuse for Gray, but I decided to agree with her. “Lots of people do.” I shrugged. “‘Five o’clock somewhere’ takes on a new meaning in airports.”

  “Towards the end of the night, before I left, I could see she was…” Charlotte hesitated. It seemed difficult to speak of her sister this way. “Plastered. She could barely stand on her own two feet.”

  “That uncoordinated?” I asked, realizing at once I’d chosen the wrong word.

  Charlotte crossed her arms. “I know what you’re looking for, Nina. Paul is missing, and his wife was the last person seen with him. You want me to tell you what I saw Gray doing that night. You want me to tell you if she might have had something to do with his disappearance. Look at the wife first. That sort of thing.”

  No use pretending any longer. “In so many words.”

  “The answer is no, detective,” she stated firmly. “Gray was drunk. Incredibly drunk. And if you really want to know what I think, it wasn’t Paul I was worried about after he called me on the way home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Paul was crying. He was very upset, and I knew Gray was likely passed out in the passenger seat. I was relieved to find her the next day with only a hangover.”

  An interesting point. It wasn’t unusual for the successful to be hot-tempered, but did Paul cross a line that night? Maybe a line he’d crossed before that led Charlotte to worry? “I’m sorry for the questions, but I’ve got to ask. Have you ever known Paul to hurt Gray?”