by P. J. Vernon
“We sat on the vehicle for nearly a whole day before contacting the Kings. Time is the most critical variable when a person’s missing. You know that.”
“Thirteen hours. Not a whole day,” I corrected him, not that it made any difference. “And we had no reason to believe a crime had occurred. Sheriff Burton agreed. Nobody from the family had reported anything, and there’s a record of me checking.”
“Still,” his voice remained wary. “With the history between your aunt and the King family, folks might question the way we handled this.”
“What about you, Sammie?” My heart beat faster. “Do you question the way we handled this?”
“No, I mean to say, I’m worried others will. Burton already has at least once. And if those dogs find a damn thing you know he’ll be up both our asses,” he answered.
Guilt crept up on me. Sammie was right to voice his thoughts, and snapping at him would solve nothing. Certainly, wouldn’t satisfy Sheriff Burton’s questions, either. Questions we both knew he’d have.
“Look, I understand where you’re coming from. As of right now, we don’t know which way this is going to go. I think it’s clear Paul Godfrey has no intention of returning to his family himself. The best we can hope for is that he turns up in some resort town with this woman. Annie whoever.”
“And the worst?”
I puffed my cheeks. “I’m not going to go there yet. That’s the crime unit’s job. And the K9 guys. We’ll wait to hear what evidence they find, and then we’ll draw conclusions. We’ll move forward from there.”
“Sounds good to me, Nina.” Sammie softened his voice. “And I apologize. I meant no offense.”
“No worries.” I smiled. “Do me a couple favors though, will you?”
He straightened his back, hands in his pockets. “Anything.”
“Get a hold of Jacob Wilcox. Let him know we can’t wait till tomorrow to speak with him. He needs to come in today.”
“Sure thing,” he said, nodding. “What else?”
I pulled the folded business card—Security Solutions—out of my pocket. Sammie glanced at it as I tossed it on my desk.
“Let the Charleston lab folks know we’ll have priority samples coming down the pipe for analysis. We need to get DNA from every person at Piper Point. Cash in on the budget-leeway Sheriff Burton gave us and expedite sequencing to same-day status. I want to get ahead of this. If Jim asks—when Jim asks—I want us to have answers. If the crime unit finds anything with those dogs, we need to be ready to move faster than we did before—than I did before.”
18
Gray
“Would you like to use our phone, ma’am?” the waiter asked. “See where your friend is?”
“No, thank you,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Godfrey, what was that?”
I cleared my throat. “No thank you. I have a phone. I’m sure she’s just caught up in something. Lost in the rain, maybe.”
He tapped his notepad against the side of slacks. “Okay, ma’am. Can I get you another then?”
“What?” My thoughts had been pinned under the unbearable weight of Annie’s absence. The woman who’d given me hope. Her message implied Paul was okay. And if he was okay, then the chance to fix things remained. We could return to D.C., and figure it all out far way from Elizabeth. Together.
But if Annie didn’t show, I was back to where I’d started—waking up drunk on Christmas morning with no answers. No hope.
“The Riesling. You’ve finished it,” he replied. “Can I get you another?”
The empty wineglass. My next words came without thinking, as involuntary as breathing. “Chardonnay. I’ll have the house chardonnay, please.”
Moments later, he returned with my drink. I took a large swallow and embraced the familiar fuzziness. The warm blanket. I could thank my nerves for the speedy blood flow.
Hardly five minutes had passed, and I’d polished it off. I knew exactly how long it’d been because I’d become preoccupied with the time. Annie was over an hour late. If she was lost, if she was somehow struggling to make it to our meeting, she would’ve called.
What information did she have? Was she that frightened?
The more the wine worked, the more open I became to the notion that she truly had gotten lost. If she had, I could start making excuses for her. It was in my nature to make excuses. For Paul. For myself. For this random, faceless woman I’d driven to meet.
I’d driven. Shit.
“Would you like another?” The young man had returned to replace my cold bread with a warm basket.
“Yes. Thank you,” I answered. I always ordered my drinks in an overtly polite fashion. As if being mannered about it compensated for how many I asked for.
His footsteps stopped, and he turned back to the table. “It’s cheaper to buy the bottle, ma’am.”
“Excuse me?”
He leaned closer. “Well, by the glass, that wine’s nine dollars a pop. Bottle’s twenty-eight bucks. There’s about five-glasses-worth in a bottle. You do the math.”
“I see,” I replied as though this information was all brand new.
“Only a two dollar cork fee, too. You can take home anything you don’t drink. I’ll seal it back up for you,” he added.
Moments like this made me question my own disbelief in God. Or the Devil, rather. I forced a tiny grin. “Yes, that sounds nice. I’ll have a bottle then.”
“Just looking out for your wallet, ma’am,” he laughed. “Not that you need it.”
He was only trying to pad the size of my bill, to increase his tip on a thus far entrée-less patron. If only he knew the true face of what he was complicit in. The true, rotten face of it.
A minute later, a pewter bucket of ice stood before me. A minute after that, a newly opened bottle of Napa Valley chardonnay sat nestled inside it. He polished a fresh glass with a linen napkin and placed it on the tabletop.
“Enjoy.” He smiled.
19
Nina
I turned the steering wheel, pointing my car down Atalaya Drive, the long, joyless road I’d spent my life avoiding like it held a hoodoo curse or something. It was my second trip in less than a week. I wondered what Auntie had thought each time she traveled down it nearly every morning for decades.
Atop the marshy bluff, Piper Point’s white façade stood in stark contrast to all the nature that swaddled it. A beacon calling to something, but what? Something ill. That much was for certain. In the rearview mirror, the evidence van followed close behind.
Sammie came over the radio. “Mr. Wilcox says he can’t come in today,” he announced. “Can’t get Dale to let him off work.”
I grabbed the receiver. “Does he know he doesn’t have a choice?”
“Apparently not.”
I thought for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to get to Dale’s Hardware all week. Auntie’s place needs a few things. I’ll head there after I wrap this up.”
“One thing to know before you speak with him,” Sammie said to the sound of shuffling papers on his end, “I finished with Jonas Hatfield half an hour ago. He knows Jacob. Says he saw him having a physical altercation with Paul on the dance floor. There’s more, too. He saw Jacob’s truck take off south soon after Paul and Gray left.”
I creased my brow. “What?”
“South toward Paul Revere Highway and Piper Point. Jacob’s place is northeast of town.”
Jacob followed the Godfrey’s home? That was something to know. “You think he trailed them from Ruby’s?”
“It’s possible,” he replied. “Where are you now?”
“Pulling up to the King house.”
“Okay. Good luck, Nina,” he chuckled. I clicked off.
My tires ground against gravel as I pulled up. Shutting my car door, I drank in the home. I’d never been so close to it in the daytime. Something seemed off about it, like it was out of place in the present, more fit for the pages of a history book. Yet, here the home stood, defiant
as the woman who kept it. Millions of dollars worth of broken-down bleakness.
“We’ll be ready when you call for us, Nina,” the van driver shouted from his lowered window. He’d pulled up and parked beside me. I’d instructed him earlier to hang back until I had a chance to chat with Gray. I didn’t want to overwhelm her or give her mother any excuse to hold things up.
The steps groaned and whined under my boots as I made for the immense front door. A black and white spotted cat, very old by the looks of her, laid sprawled on the porch. Rocking chairs, worn from weather and neglect, stood motionless, frozen in time like everything else about the place.
An ivory doorbell sat inside a brass molding. No noise rang when I pressed it, so I let the heavy bronze knocker fall twice. The cat skittered off with surprising agility. A wrought iron lamp hung above me—two of its four glass sides gone. A wind-worn copper placard with a stylized “K” was nailed into the door below the knocker. Identical to the label on Auntie’s Christmas card.
Severance. Steps echoed from inside as someone made their way to the door. It clicked and swung open.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Palmer.” Cora greeted me with a warm smile. She seemed to be the only genuine thing about Piper Point. “How can I help you today?”
“Afternoon, Cora. I’m here with some folks from the sheriff’s office. Can I speak with Mrs. Godfrey, please?”
“Oh? I’d better fetch Mrs. King. Do you mind telling me what this is about? She doesn’t like surprises. You understand, I’m sure,” she replied as she waved me into the foyer.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Certainly. I’ve brought some evidence folks. Regarding the investigation. We’re here for voluntary DNA samples from each of member of the family. You too, if you’d be so kind.”
Cora appeared understandably taken aback. “One moment. You can have a seat in the salon, if you’d like.”
I should’ve figured Joanna would be gatekeeper to an audience with Gray. I waited in silence, save for the ticking of the sculpted grandfather clock I passed on the way in. A stagnation hung in the air. A musty, almost moist stench. Old homes, I told myself. Low voices from behind the dining room’s far wall broke the quiet.
A moment later, Joanna walked into the salon from the other side of the foyer, dressed impeccably in a navy skirt and cream sweater. I wondered if she always wore heels at home or if she stalked around the house in hose just in case.
“Ms. Palmer, what can I do for you?” Her velvet voice matched the floral perfume she wore. Daffodils and obstruction.
“Did Cora not say?” I asked.
She tilted her nose up slightly. “She mentioned something about DNA samples, however, Paul’s not related to anyone here, as you’re aware. He’s only a member of the family by marriage, so I’m afraid none of us would be very helpful.”
A woman obsessed with privacy. Nothing about Joanna King was ever easy.
“Forgive me, Joanna, but that’s not entirely true. It would be exceedingly helpful to have records from everyone to compare against any material we might find—”
“Material?”
“Correct,” I replied, struggling to put my next words delicately. “You’re aware of the forensics team sweeping Paul Revere. Were we to find any biological substances we can quickly determine if they belong to Paul or someone he was in close contact with.”
She crossed her arms. I’d done nothing but generate more concern—tinged with a hint of morbid curiosity, no doubt. “We can get Paul’s DNA from any of his personal items. A toothbrush or a comb, for instance. A shaving razor.”
She narrowed her pale eyes. “I suppose, but Cora said you’ve got a van out front. Don’t you just need a couple swabs and Ziplocs for DNA? Seems like overkill.”
“That brings me to my second request. I’d very much appreciate it if you’d allow the guys to go through Paul’s things and collect them.” I clenched my jaw, bracing for a response.
Joanna didn’t waste a second. “You’ve already attracted enough attention bringing some nefarious-looking van to the house. What if a reporter sees them hauling out garbage bags of belongings? What’ll they think?”
There were no reporters out front. She knew this.
I did my best to speak in a calm tone. “I assure you, they won’t think anything except that we’re doing our best to locate Mr. Godfrey,” I paused before adding sharply, “and that his family is fully cooperating with our effort.”
She hesitated, lips pursed, likely weighing her options.
As we stood face to face in relative quiet, the checks to Auntie Tilda surfaced in my mind. Here she stood, Auntie’s benefactor, right in front of me. Those checks were about more than Seamus King. I knew that much. They had to be. I could ask her now, and then I’d have an answer of some sort. True or not, I could work with it.
But I’d be jeopardizing what little goodwill I had with the family and the investigation along with it. It was painful, but I allowed the moment to pass.
“Alright,” Joanna relented. “You tell them to take their shoes off on the porch. The way it’s been raining, they’ll be tracking mud all over the rugs.”
“Thank you, Mrs. King,” I replied, relaxing my jaw. “May I speak with Mrs. Godfrey now, please?”
She stared blankly at me for a moment before turning to shout up the enormous staircase over her shoulder. “Gray, come down here. Detective Palmer needs to speak with you.”
Abrupt footsteps were followed by Gray’s younger sister appearing in the salon.
“Gray’s preoccupied at the moment,” Charlotte announced. “Is there something I can help out with?”
“This is about Paul’s case, Charlotte. Ms. Palmer needs to speak with Paul’s wife. And fetch the twins, will you?” She glared at me with disdain. “We’ll all be giving DNA samples.”
Charlotte turned white. At first, I assumed it was from the DNA request. Anyone would be jarred by that.
Charlotte’s hands fidgeted at her sides. “I’ll bring the boys down right away, but Gray’s not here.”
Joanna seemed very startled. “Where the hell is she, then?”
20
Gray
The first of the early bird dinner crowd trickled in as I drained the last few drops of my wine. Between a racing pulse and a hollow stomach, my head swirled as if I’d had two bottles.
Two bottles. There’s an idea. What did he say the cork fee was? A couple dollars?
“I’ll have my check, please,” I called to the waiter from across the room, hand in the air. He looked to be taking another table’s order, but I couldn’t be certain. Had he even told me his name? Funny I’d sat here for so long and didn’t know it.
“Here you are, ma’am,” he announced, handing me a black leather billfold.
“That wine, the chardonnay, it was wonderful,” I told him. I spoke slow, struggling to enunciate each word correctly.
“I’m glad you thought so,” he answered. “Apologies about missing your friend.”
Annie. Paul’s Annie who’d stood me up. “You know, why don’t you add a second bottle to this bill?”
He bit his lip. “I don’t think that’d be a good—”
“Keep it corked.” I smiled. “I’d like to have it again sometime soon.”
“Certainly,” he replied hesitantly. “I don’t mean to be impolite, but can I call someone to pick you up, ma’am? Maybe a cab or something?” So much for speaking slowly. He pushed a whole bottle on me and now he’s suddenly concerned?
“Actually, I’m walking,” I lied. Mamma was right, lying did come easily for me. Quick.
My lie satisfied him. He retrieved a second bottle and an adjusted bill. I wasted no time paying. Gathering my umbrella, coat, and bag, I made for the front door. I started off walking too fast though and caught a chairback to my hip on the way. The dull pain vanished as quickly as it came.
As I crossed the parking lot, the rain barely registered. Fumbling for Charlotte’s keys in my bag, I paused.
I shouldn’t be driving. But if I took a cab—if I came home without Charlotte’s car—they’d all know what I’d done. If I could make it home and get right to bed, they wouldn’t. I’d finish the bottle I’d bought locked upstairs and wake up sober. I’d deal with the hangover then. Fuck Annie, I thought as I decided to chance the road.
The Mercedes’ headlights flashed as the doors unlocked. A pinging reminded me to buckle up. I exhaled. I can do this. In college, I drove drunk often enough to call it a hobby.
Pennies. Frances told me once that if you stuck pennies in your mouth, you could beat a Breathalyzer. Something about the copper, maybe? Not giving it a second thought, I reached into Charlotte’s armrest and grabbed a handful. My mouth filled with metallic bitterness followed by an unsettling sweet. I swished the coins from cheek to cheek before spitting them out and cranking the engine. White-knuckling the wheel, I pulled out of Cirilo’s parking lot and onto Oleander Avenue.
Not so bad. I shut my left eye so the double lines painted on the road melded into the usual single one. My thoughts went to the bottle in my purse on the seat next to me. Once I started drinking it was impossible to quit. The only thing I could compare it to was forcing yourself to stop urinating before you’d finished. Painful. Unnatural, even.
I pulled the wine out with my right hand. Damnit, I needed a bottle opener.
To my right, I spotted a gas station and turned into it.
I blinked.
Suddenly, I was driving again, wine bottle open. The cork sat impaled by a cheap corkscrew in the passenger seat. The gas station must’ve sold me one. Where was Main Street? If I could find Main Street, I’d be able to get back to the highway.
Maybe Annie had gotten lost. This town was so damn confusing. I took a swig of wine. It held hardly any taste now. Might as well have been water. I cut a left.
When I reached for another gulp, I found the bottle empty. When had I finished it? Maybe I’d had some in the parking lot of the gas station?
My eyelids grew heavy. I began seeing things. Dreaming, maybe.
I was young. Much younger than I was now. Arms. A young man’s arms wrapped tight around me, belting my trembling body close to his.