Lowcountry Boneyard (23 page)

Twenty-Three

We stopped by Nate’s South Main Street condo just long enough for me to print a picture of Talitha from her online obituary and search the county property database. I scoured records for the neighborhood Turner Ingle had lived in near Cleveland Park looking for neighbors who’d been there in nineteen eighty-one and hadn’t moved. I printed names and addresses as I found them. When I had four, I stopped. It was pushing five o’clock. If we didn’t get what we needed from any of these folks, we’d start again tomorrow.

The shaded neighborhood perched on a hillside above Cleveland Park consisted of a mix of bungalows and ranch-style homes, with an occasional two-story colonial and a few newer homes best described as craftsman. The landscaping was mature and well-tended. It was a pretty, established neighborhood, the kind where it was easy to imagine families sitting down to dinner together. Nate pulled to the side of the street near the former Ingle home.

Turner Ingle had purchased a small grey cottage near the intersection of Trails End and Dogwood Lane in early 1980. His was the sole name on the deed. I’d searched every database I had access to and found no marriage license. A little more than a year after he’d bought the house, according to Sarah Mitchell, Talitha had moved to Greenville. I knew she’d lived here with her brother, and worked at Greenville Memorial Hospital. I stared at the cottage.

“It’s not going to confess,” said Nate.

I scanned the street. “The house two doors down is for sale. There’s nothing over the windows, no cars. I make it for vacant. Why don’t you pull in there? If anyone asks, we can pretend we’re waiting for a realtor.”

“As you wish.”

I smiled and pulled out my property records and Talitha’s picture. “I’ll look less threatening by myself.”

“Holler if you need me.”

“I’ll start with the closest neighbors and work outwards. John and Marcia Clark live across the street. It’s still early, but these folks are all retirement age. Maybe someone will be home.” I climbed out of the car and made my way to the white frame ranch.

The Clarks weren’t home, nor were the Hannahs or the Stouts. At the fourth house I tried, a painted brick cottage further down Trails End, a gentleman answered the door. “Can I help you?” He was trim, maybe just under six feet tall, with gray hair and a close-cut beard and mustache. His posture suggested ex-military.

“Are you Bob Elmore?”

“Yes.” His tone was guarded. He likely suspected I was selling something or running a scam.

I pulled out my PI license and my ID. “My name is Liz Talbot. I’m investigating the disappearance of a young woman in Charleston. Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?”

“Charleston, you say? I don’t know anyone in Charleston.”

“I understand, Mr. Elmore, but it’s possible there’s a connection to your former neighbors, the Ingles, from down the street. Did you know them?”

He scrutinized me for a moment. “Yes. I knew Turner. He was a good man. Welder at GE. Come to think of it, he was from Charleston, but he’s been dead…Vicki?” He called inside the house. “Darlin’, can you come here a minute?”

“Coming.” A fair-skinned brunette approached and stood beside Bob.

Bob said, “This is my wife, Vicki. She knew them better than I did. Vicki, this young woman is a private investigator up from Charleston. She’s asking about Turner and Kathy.”

Kathy? I went on full alert. Was this Turner’s bride?

Vicki said, “They were such nice folks. Such a tragedy.”

“I was trying to think how long Turner’s been gone. He died in a car accident. When was that, hon?”

“Oh, gosh, they hadn’t been here but…let’s see…it was less than two years. Turner and Kathy moved here in the early eighties. It was a February. I don’t recall what year. He died not that October, but the next. He was on his way to the hospital. Kathy gave birth to twins that same night.”

“Kathy was his wife?” I said.

They both looked at me like I was a bit slow. “Uh-huh. Yes.”

“And Kathy was the twins’ mother?”

“Why, yes, of course,” Vicki said.

“Did you know Turner’s sister, Talitha?”

“Yes,” said Vicki. “She came up from Charleston to help out. The doctors put Kathy on bed rest early on. Turner had to work. Talitha worked part-time, but her hours were different, so one of them was always there. Twins are sometimes difficult.”

I showed them Talitha’s photo. “And this woman is Talitha Ingle?” I wanted to make sure no one was borrowing her name.

Vicki took the photo. They both looked at it and nodded.

“Course, she was a good bit younger,” said Bob. “But that’s her.”

“Can you tell me what Kathy looked like?” I asked.

“She was average height,” said Vicki. “Medium brown hair—pretty hair. Blue eyes. I’d say she was very attractive, wouldn’t you?” She turned to Bob.

“She was a beautiful woman.”

“Was she from around here?” I asked.

“No,” Vicki said. “They were all from Charleston.”

“Any idea what her maiden name was?” I asked.

They looked at each other and shook their heads. “No,” Vicki said. “She never talked about her family.”

Vicki said, “It was so sad, but a little strange, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Bob?”

“Yeah,” Bob said, like he was telegraphing how that was a doozey of an understatement.

“What was strange?” I asked.

“Kathy went to the hospital and had the twins. When we heard about the accident, we went by the hospital to check on her. She was distraught, of course. Turner was dead, and one of the twins—the girl, I think—was in an incubator. But Kathy didn’t say a word to us about going back to Charleston.”

Bob said, “She just never came home. Neither did Talitha. A few weeks later movers came. After several months the house went on the market. We never saw either of the girls again.”

“That is odd,” I said.

“It wasn’t one of them that disappeared in Charleston, was it?” Bob asked.

“No,” I said. “It was a much younger woman. I’m sorry to give you sad news, but Talitha was killed in a car accident two months ago.”

Vicki’s hand went to her chest. “That’s just awful. Another car accident?”

“That is strange, isn’t it?” I said.

“They never did find out what caused Turner’s wreck. Just said he lost control of the vehicle. It was a clear night—no rain. He was coming straight from work to the hospital. Talitha had already taken Kathy. Accident happened on Garlington Road, not far from the plant. No witnesses. It’s like he swerved for no reason on a straight stretch of road and hit a tree.”

“Talitha’s accident involved another vehicle,” I said. “But it is odd.”

“Do you know whatever happened to Kathy?” Vicki asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said. “Thank you both so much for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Vicki said. “I hope you find the girl you’re looking for.”

“Thank you.” I smiled and walked down the steps and back up the street.

“Find out anything?” Nate asked as I climbed in the car.

“As Colleen would say, ‘Boy Howdy.’”

“Colleen?” Nate gave me a blank look.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and gave him a sad smile. “You remember, my friend who died when we were in high school? It’s just something she says—said.” Life would be so much simpler if I could tell Nate about Colleen. Or he’d think I was crazy.

“Anyway,” I said. “Talitha Ingle was not Evan’s mother.”

“Say what?”

“Turner Ingle was his father, and his wife—Evan’s mother—her name was Kathy.” I filled him in on everything I’d learned.

“And you’ve already scoured online records and databases for these folks?”

“Yep. Which means tomorrow morning, we’ll be waiting at the door when the county offices open.” Occasionally, documents didn’t make their way into electronic databases, but could still be found on file in the county of origin.

“If Turner was the father, and he was a tradesman of modest means, then Kathy’s family is the one with money.”

“That’s what I think. Welders don’t have life insurance policies big enough to cover the amount of money funneled to Talitha and Evan over the years given that she didn’t work from the time he was born.”

“And this Kathy…just gave her son to Talitha and walked away?” Nate sounded skeptical.

“Doesn’t sound right to me either. I’m wondering if Kathy had an accident as well. The question is, did Talitha kidnap the children, or rescue them?”

“Good question.”

“So here’s narrative number three: Kent was getting close to Evan. Evan had a past someone—not Evan, but his wealthy, anonymous family—wanted to stay in the past. Kent found out something she shouldn’t have. Someone took Kent out of the picture.”

“It’s sketchy, but we have a lot more than we had this morning.” He blew out a long breath. “My turn, I guess. Regrettably, our voluntary relocation scenario just got considerably less plausible.”

“What do you mean?”

“While you were chatting with the Elmores, I got updates from the agencies doing our out-of-state legwork.”

“And?” My heart rate quickened. 

“Kent’s college friends living in Denver, Seattle, and LA have been under surveillance since Friday. No sign of Kent. The investigators have also done some poking around. In all three cases, they’re reasonably confident she’s not there.”

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 chatting 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.