Speak No Evil (7 page)

A
t the end of the day, Caroline felt a little like a bastard child who had come to the throne after the death of a king who had no heirs.

Clearly, no one had bothered to tell anyone at the
Tribune
the outcome of the will, and Pam had sent the minions into a tailspin simply by bringing Karen Hutto into her office instead of to Bonneau’s.

Although it wasn’t certain how much of the disorder was due to her mother’s death, little more than two weeks without Florence W. Aldridge at the helm, and it was no longer certain who should be running the office. She realized only now how prudent it was that she had connected with Pam because Pam was the gatekeeper, and for all her artlessness, her every action now was decisive—which, unfortunately, only seemed to force Bonneau to draw lines in the sand.

The real test came during the afternoon, with news that literally stopped the presses: sometime last night, the body of a twenty-two-year-old College of Charleston student was discovered under the dock of a James Island home. The property, which actually wasn’t far from Oyster Point, was unoccupied and for sale, but the girl’s car was found in the driveway, keys still in the ignition. That’s all they knew. The police weren’t forthcoming with more details.

Finally, Caroline came face-to-face with Frank Bonneau—over an argument about bumped heads on the front page—two similar headlines he felt certain competed with each other—especially since Amanda Hutto’s disappearance was old news in his book. In the end, Caroline made the decision to run both articles, arguing that a still-missing six-year-old was hardly the same story as a not-so-much missing and very dead twenty-two-year-old. She was pretty certain her mother would have made the same call. If there was one thing she knew Flo took to heart, it was her community.

And yet as hideous as news of the murder was, the entire drive home, all Caroline could think about was Karen Hutto and the look of turmoil in the woman’s eyes. Her child seemed to have vanished without a trace. They had exhausted every resource and no one had responded to her flyers. Worse, separated and each blaming the other, she and her husband were now the primary suspects in a flagging investigation. The whole thing reminded Caroline of Sammy’s disappearance, minus the presumption of guilt. Hands down, her little brother’s death was the single most traumatic event of Caroline’s life and more than twenty-five years later, there wasn’t a day that went by that something—some tiny thing—didn’t make her flash back to that awful moment on the beach when Sammy was four and Caroline was eight.

In some ways, Caroline would remain eight forever.

Today, looking into that woman’s face, she could never have found the resolve to turn her away. It was that same look Caroline recalled seeing in her mother’s eyes—that look of quiet desperation and fear that had later become hopelessness, melancholy, and finally the emotional void in which her mother had lived until she’d died. But one thing was different: all those years ago, when her brother had disappeared off the same beach, Caroline had been powerless to help. She was in a position now to do
something,
even if it was just to help keep the woman’s story before the public so the police wouldn’t just close the case and look away.

On her way home, she took the Expressway. Sailboats, big and small, dotted the Ashley River, billowy black silhouettes against a golden sunset. Along the shoreline, the marsh grasses slow-danced in the breeze.

As serene as the vista was, it was difficult to believe that right across the channel, just a stone’s throw from her house . . . a girl had been brutally murdered.

Despite that gruesome thought, she kept the window down, determined to enjoy the last of the temperate days before summer converged upon them with all the wrath of hell itself.

Pulling the Town Car into the driveway, she found both Sadie and Savannah seated on the front porch. Caroline slid out of the car, leaving her satchel in the backseat for the moment, along with her purse. “I’m glad someone seems to have had a carefree day!” she called out, trying to sound cheerful.

“Yeah, well, think again!” Sav replied. “I think we washed and returned fifty million dishes today. I would’ve gladly traded places!”

“Did you hear from Augie by chance?”

“Nope,” Savannah said, “but apparently Josh did. He came by for lunch.”

Caroline made her way up the steps, stopping to snag an azalea bloom from the bush near the stairs. She lifted it to her nostrils. “They don’t smell like much, do they?”

“Some do,” Sadie offered. “Not those, but they were your mother’s favorite color.”

Caroline tossed the blossom away. “Oh, crap! I forgot to stop and get dog food.”

“No worries,” Sadie said. “Got it while we were out.”

Caroline gave her a tired but grateful smile. “I wouldn’t blame you if you quit, but I’m sure glad you’re still around!”

“You look tired,” Sadie offered. “Go on in and get some rest, eah. Dinner’ll be ready soon—and before you say a thing, don’t. All I did was heat up some leftovers. Once that mess is gone, y’all are on your own.”

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Savannah interjected. “When we’re starving, remember this is entirely your fault, Caroline. You’re the one badgering her into retirement!”

Caroline wasn’t worried. Sadie wasn’t going anywhere.

All bluster, the housekeeper said, “You girls know where to find me if you forget where the can opener is.”

Caroline gave Sadie a thumbs-up and ducked inside, craving silence.

She found Tango lying at the bottom of the stairs with her mother’s running shoe and she snagged it wearily. “No, no!” she scolded, and went upstairs, tossing the shoe unceremoniously into her mother’s closet. She wasn’t quite ready to go in there yet and deal with her mother’s stuff. Tango, on the other hand, didn’t have the same hesitation. He raced in, retrieved the shoe and ran to the other side of the bed to hide it out of Caroline’s sight.

“Whatever,” she relented. “Keep the blasted shoe!”

Too beat to do battle with a dog, she lay on the bed to rest her eyes before dinner. Tango jumped up without invitation, bringing the shoe, settling next to her on the bed and Caroline automatically rolled over and hugged him, wishing the husky presence belonged to a very different male as she drifted off to sleep.

 

The sound of glass breaking registered somewhere . . . maybe in a dream.

Caroline’s eyes fluttered open.

Tango was no longer on the bed beside her, but it took her a full moment to remember where she was and that he had been there in the first place. The shoe was a distinct reminder. It was pressed against her forehead, wafting the unmistakable odor of foot sweat. Groggily, she picked up the shoe, examined it and tossed it onto the floor, then got out of bed, glancing at the clock.

The house was perfectly silent. It was after eight.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she walked to the window, peering out, noting the car was no longer parked out front.

Her laptop was still in the backseat, so work was out of the question until her sister got home—thank God! She was completely sick of numbers by now. With a sigh, she headed downstairs straight for the kitchen and realized belatedly that she’d skipped lunch entirely. Her stomach rumbled in protest. “Patience is a virtue!” she said.

But the doorbell rang the instant she stepped into the kitchen. Cursing softly, she spun around, heading back to answer it and opening the door without thinking.

Jack lifted a brow as the door opened wide. “Did you know a girl was murdered on Backcreek Road last night?”

“Yes. I heard. What are you doing here, Jack?”

“You really need to be more careful, Caroline.”

“What are you—my daddy now?” She hitched her chin. “What can I do to for you, Jack?”

“Are Savannah and Augusta around?”

“Augusta’s in New York. She’ll be back in a few days. I have no idea where Sav is. What is it?”

“Nothing pressing.”

“You often make house calls after eight to talk about nothing pressing?”

He didn’t even blink at her cantankerous tone. “You still get up on the wrong side of the bed,” he remarked with a slight curve to his lips. He rubbed at his forehead to indicate the spot on her head where the shoe’s imprint was still visible, but fading.

She gave him a half smile. “And you are still ever so observant.”

“Comes with the job,” he claimed. “Anyway, we got the toxicology report on your mom back today and I wanted to share results.”

“Okay, well . . .” Caroline threw open the door and then her arms out in exasperation, annoyed with herself for having made Jack’s face the last thing she saw before falling asleep. Apparently, she had conjured him here. “By all means, do come in!”

He stepped inside, peering around. “So you’re alone?”

Caroline ignored her tripping heart. How many years had it been since she’d been alone in a room with Jack? She told herself she wasn’t the least bit affected by his presence, but it was an outright lie. “It would seem so.” He closed the door and she started for the kitchen, expecting him to follow. “Since you’re interrupting my dinner, are you hungry?”

She caught the humor in his tone. “Any of Rose’s greens left?”

Caroline tossed him a wry smile over her shoulder, warming to his presence, despite her resolve not to. “We can look.”

“Alrighty then.”

He followed into the kitchen and then just stood watching as she opened the fridge and pulled out a number of plastic containers. “Josh has been here, so no telling what’s left.”

She placed a few of the containers on the counter, grabbed two plates and set them on the counter as well, then retrieved forks from the drawer. “So, spill it. What did you find?”

“Nothing.
Really
.”

Caroline opened up one of the containers, peering inside, cocking her head at him in disbelief. “So let me get this straight. You came all the way out here to tell me you found nothing in my mother’s toxicology report?” She set the newly opened container of cow peas on the counter and opened another, searching for the greens.

His eyes were filled with thoughts she couldn’t read. “It was on my way home, and I came by just as much to see how you were doing, Caroline.”

She set another opened container—this one with ambrosia salad—on the counter. “It’s a little late for social calls, don’t you think?”

He looked at her with such a weary expression on his face that she felt immediately contrite. “Do you want to know everything we found, or would you rather rehash old bullshit?”

Caroline exhaled a breath and leaned on the counter. “Okay, tell me . . . what did you find?”

“Very, very little, and that’s the thing that bothered me. We found minute traces of benzodiazepines and alcohol, but we expected to find more based on what we discovered in her medicine cabinet.”

“Alcohol?”

“Only trace amounts. She was sober when she went down those stairs.”

“Sober? Wow.”

Caroline couldn’t remember a moment from the instant of Sammy’s death that Flo had gone without a little
help
. Although she had somehow managed to run the paper better than Caroline seemed to be doing at the moment. “Maybe she’d just woken up . . . she must have been disoriented? Augusta has the board on her list of things to fix. I can definitely see where it would be dangerous for someone who wasn’t paying attention in the middle of the night.”

He stared at her. “Based on your mother’s autopsy report, the time of death was placed at approximately seven-thirty—a little early for bedtime, don’t you think?” He averted his gaze. “I know she was depressed.”

Caroline sat on the stool and stared at the food in front of her, suddenly not the least bit hungry. “I don’t know what Flo would be like if not depressed.”

“You all right?”

Caroline swallowed. “Fine,” she lied, and clenched her jaw as she peered into Jack’s eyes, trying not to betray the storm of emotions brewing inside her. “This just isn’t how I expected things to end . . . for Mom.”

“I’m sorry, Caroline. I thought you would want to know.” Caroline held back tears, feeling much too vulnerable and hating herself for feeling this way even after all these years. “Is there anything else?”

“No.”

She stood, facing him, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to shed.

Jack studied her, his blue eyes much too knowing. The last thing she wanted right now was his pity. “Well,” she said, “thanks for coming by.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and Caroline wondered why he hadn’t sent someone else to update her. It would have been easier.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to ask him to leave. He was very intuitive. “Please come lock the door behind me,” he directed and Caroline followed him. When they reached the foyer, he stopped and said, “I see you turned the mirror around.” He pointed to the massive gold-framed mirror that hung in the foyer. “For some reason, your mother had it facing the wall.”

Confused, Caroline stared at the mirror, wondering why it would be facing the wall. In any case, she hadn’t touched it. Could have been Sadie and her leftover Geechee hoodoo—but it was just as it was right now when Caroline walked in the door. She made a mental note to ask Sadie about it later.

Caroline let him out, flipping the deadbolt. She moved to the front window to watch as he got into his unmarked car, a silver Ford Mustang. He sat there a moment staring at the house, then started his car and left.

It was only after he was gone that Caroline realized she hadn’t even pressed for details about the murder last night. That was her job now, but everything, including Karen Hutto, flew out of her head in his presence.