Speak No Evil (6 page)

The girl chewed her lip. “I dunno . . . I don’t make it a habit to get into strange cars.”

“Never wise,” he agreed. “Well, I could also take a look at your car.”

She tilted him a glance. “You know something about cars?”

“Something . . . but can’t promise I’ll be able to fix it.” He peered back in the direction they’d both come. “Where is it? I didn’t see it.”

“Backcreek Road.”

“Ah, right. Okay, here, take my phone.” He reached over to retrieve it from his passenger seat and then handed it out the passenger window.

The girl ignored the alarms going off in her head and moved tentatively toward the car, ready to bolt if he opened his car door.

He smiled at her as she took the phone from his hand and merely watched as she began dialing numbers. Her roommate answered on the second ring and she hurriedly explained what had happened while the driver waited patiently in his car. With help on the way, she hung up, feeling better. He was just a really cute, nice guy trying to help out. She handed the phone back to him. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m Amy.”

“Nice to meet you, Amy. I’m Ian. So what do you want to do? Should we turn up the radio and sit on the hood until the cavalry arrives? Or do you want me to go take a look at your car?”

Amy chewed her lip again. “I don’t know . . . I think it’s going to be a while. She’s not much of a hurrier.”

He considered that, tilting his head as he looked at her. “You’re meeting her at the gas station?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Tell you what,” he suggested. “Get your friend back on the phone, tell her to meet you at the car. Give her my name and my license plate and I’ll give your car a look-see.” He handed the phone back to her through the passenger window.

Amy considered the suggestion. The warm pavement had already blistered the bottom of her feet.

Really, any decision seemed stupid at this point, but sending him on his way and taking her chances alone on a dark, lonely street seemed the least wise of all. The dark road was spooking her. Going straight to the gas station was probably the better choice, but her friend would easily be another hour coming from downtown, especially the way she dawdled. Plus, she’d already used his cell phone. If he’d meant to harm her, he wouldn’t have let her use his phone. How stupid would that be?

Anyway, he was too damned cute to be dangerous.

“Are you sure you don’t mind taking a look at my car?”

“It’s not how I intended to spend my night, but I wouldn’t feel right leaving you stranded.”

“At least you’re honest,” Amy said, smiling as she took the proffered phone and opened his passenger door.

“Why don’t you walk?” he suggested. “I’ll follow. It’s not far.”

Amy slid in. “Nah, that’s all right,” she said. “We’ll have to go to the gas station first anyhow ’cause I know what’s wrong: I’m out of gas.”

He gave her a look that reminded her of the way her older brother looked at her when she did something stupid. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Unfortunately, not. I put my entire paycheck into new camera gear. I thought I had enough gas to make it home.”

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “Who does this anymore?”

She grinned. “Dirt-poor college kids who drive prehistoric clunkers,” she replied.

“Jesus,” he said again, and sighed. “All right.”

Barely twenty-five minutes later, they turned into the long driveway on Backcreek Road. Without a word, Ian Patterson, the cutest man who had ever lived, got out of the car and filled her tank for her and then asked her to try starting it. It started just fine, and he turned away, obviously bored with the entire situation. Amy tried not to be disappointed by the blow-off. “Thanks,” Amy said. “You sure I can’t pay you back?”

“No need. But you should go home,” he suggested as he slid back into his car and slammed the door.

“Well, thanks again. I appreciate your help,” she said, and followed his car as he backed out of the driveway.

“Go home, Amy,” he said firmly as he rolled up his window. The tinted surface reflected the full moon behind her.

“All right,” she said, but then she just stood there, thinking about the image of the moon on his window. With the low-drifting fog creeping across the marsh, she thought maybe a few more high def photos of the lighthouse would turn out spectacular. Once he was gone, she grabbed her camera from her car and made her way out back to the dock. She was already here; a few more photos wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Once on the dock, she lit a cigarette and stood staring at the vista, wondering if Mr. Gorgeous had a girlfriend. She didn’t have a way to get in touch with him—too bad. The truth was she’d probably never see him again. Anyway, he obviously wasn’t interested so she finished her cigarette and tossed it into the water and began snapping pictures, beginning with the flash on.

She never heard the rustling in the grass. Never saw the shadow slip through the night. Never knew what hit her. The last sense she had was of the sweet and acrid scent of something pressed against her face. She gripped the camera in her hand as though it were her lifeline to the world, her fingers pressing desperately into the metal casing as she tried to scream, but the scream never came. The sound of her camera crashing onto the wood dock streamed into her consciousness like a bad dream.

A
pproaching the receptionist’s desk, Caroline extended her hand to the young woman seated behind it. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Caroline Aldridge.”

“Oh, God—I thought so—I’m so sorry!” The receptionist stood, knocking her knees against the keyboard, nearly toppling it off the sliding desk shelf. The color drained from her face. “I was at the funeral. Pam!” She slapped a hand awkwardly to her breast. “I mean, I’m Pam! So sorry for your loss!”

Caroline smiled, liking the girl already. There was something genuine about her. “I do that too when I’m nervous.”

Pam’s eyes widened a little and she nervously pushed her dark blond bangs out of her eyes. “Oh, God, am I rambling?”

Caroline smiled. “A little, but don’t worry. I’m probably way more nervous than you are. My mother’s shoes will be hard to fill.”

“Don’t I know it!” Pam exclaimed without the least bit of guile.

Caroline lifted a brow, surprised by the agreement, though not the least bit offended by it. The truth was the truth, after all.

“Oh, God! I’m such an idiot!” Pam declared, suddenly realizing her gaffe. “Please tell me what I can do to help you—besides shutting my mouth!”

Caroline took a deep breath. “Actually, a lot, but first, if you don’t mind, why don’t you introduce me to the crew?”

Pam hurried around her desk. “Of course! Let me help get your things into your moth—I mean,
your
office, then I’ll show you around.”

“Thank you,” Caroline said gratefully.

They dumped her satchel and purse in her new office, and made their way methodically through the editorial and sales departments, followed by circulation and accounting. Pam introduced her to a few of the braver souls who came forward to meet the new boss: Brad Bessett, one of their lead reporters—fairly new to the paper, because Caroline didn’t remember him; Agnes, a portly older woman with bright blue eyes and a double chin whom Caroline vaguely recalled from the editorial department a decade ago—she now handled classifieds; Doreen Hill, who held the education beat; and Bruce, the obligatory computer guy, who seemed to just follow them around as Pam led her from desk to desk.

Considering the state of the paper’s finances, Caroline was surprised to find the offices had been renovated since her last visit—with modern desks and cubbies. The entire reception area now resembled a Victorian parlor, probably to highlight the paper’s venerable history. Although Caroline didn’t quite share Augusta’s extreme prudence where money was concerned, she would never have spent funds on decorating when the company was losing so much money. The price of the chandelier in the reception area alone could cover someone’s salary for a year.

They passed a small windowless room and Pam waved to the occupants as they passed, but didn’t stop. “What’s that?”

She pointed at the room they’d just passed. “That? Oh, Web slash audience development,” Pam said a little dismissively.

Caroline didn’t hold it against her. She was pretty sure the girl had come by that attitude honestly. Her mother would only have had a skeleton crew on hand for the most rudimentary of Web tasks. Aside from having a presence on the Web as a substitute for the Yellow Pages, Flo had never been too keen on new media. This was something Caroline intended to change. The Web, with all its inroads into social media, was the undeniable future.

“How many work in there?”

Pam held up four fingers. “Four—an audience development specialist, two developers and a designer, but one of the developers is on vacation and our designer broke his middle finger and, uh . . . can’t work.”

Caroline smirked. “I won’t ask how.”

Pam leaned to whisper, “I didn’t either, but once you get to know him, it’ll make sense.”

“Do you know how many people work for the paper now?”

“Not exactly, maybe one hundred and twenty—but Lila, in payroll, can tell you for sure.”

Caroline’s brows knit. If her guess was accurate, her mother must have already begun to pare down the payroll, despite what Daniel claimed. The last summer she’d interned for the
Tribune,
they had reached nearly one hundred and fifty employees.

In the newsroom Caroline recognized the most faces, but the one person she’d expected to run into—dreaded it, in fact—she didn’t. Apparently, the editor in chief had a toothache and was spending the morning at the dentist.

By the time Caroline made it back to her desk, it was lunchtime and she considered stepping out to call Savannah, but Pam had no sooner walked out of her office than she stepped back in, knocking tentatively on the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a woman out here who says she really needs to speak with you.”

Caroline stood, her brow furrowing. “She asked for me?”

“Well, she asked to speak with the publisher, not the editor. That would be you, right?”

It sounded strange to hear the title from someone else’s lips. The shock of it made her hesitate an instant too long.

“Frank’s back, but I thought . . .”

“No . . . go ahead and bring her back,” Caroline directed.

Pam left and returned in less than five minutes, leading in a young woman whose eyes were full of torment. At first, Caroline barely noticed anything else about her, so palpable was her distress.

“Thank you,” the woman said, stepping meekly into her office. She couldn’t be much older than Caroline and looked as though she had been sobbing for days. Her brown eyes were red rimmed, bloodshot, the lids swollen.

Caroline walked around her desk, afraid the woman would collapse, she looked so frail. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“My name is Karen Hutto,” the woman said, her voice catching on a sob. “I-I need your help to find my little girl.”

Apparently Amanda Hutto’s father was supposed to have picked her up for school the morning she disappeared. Late for work, and in danger of losing her job, Karen Hutto had left her six-year-old standing out on her front lawn, book bag in hand, waiting for her father, who apparently forgot it was his court-appointed day to play dad and just never showed.

Certain it was going to be another late night, Jack ran by the house to shower and clean up, and while he was there, he took a few minutes to speak with a few of the neighbors about Amanda. No one had seen the kid the morning she disappeared—no one saw anything—though a few voiced suspicions about the dad who, apparently, had a bit of a violent streak. From what little digging Jack had done, the mother had filed at least one restraining order that didn’t stick and the accusations seemed to fly between them more virulently than between reality-show celebs.

At this point, there was nothing Jack could do. The little girl had disappeared from in front of her own house, so this case belonged to Folly Beach PD. If they needed assistance, it probably wasn’t CPD they were likely to call. They’d call in the sheriff ’s office most likely and in the end, Jack couldn’t justify spending more time on a case that wasn’t in his jurisdiction—especially now that it seemed there was a murderer to catch.

He’d been up half the night because a college student by the name of Amy Jones had been discovered under the dock of a nearby James Island residence. The inside of her mouth had been painted with a blue dye and her tongue was removed. Whether it was fish bait, or the killer had taken it with him, was yet to be discovered, but one thing was certain, it wasn’t in her mouth.

Could her death somehow be connected with Amanda’s disappearance?

Logically, Jack didn’t think so. Other than the fact that they were both female and the islands were generally sleepy, with relatively few crimes, there weren’t any common denominators.

At any rate, this case was going to be enough of a pain in his ass without adding unnecessary strife with FBPD. Jack had a feeling his new partner, Garrison, was going to be a thorn in his side. Luckily for Jack, Joshua Childres was assigned to the Jones case. Childres would give him all the space he needed while he worked with his team to solve the murder.