Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Box Set, page 2
part #1 of Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Series
“Where?” he asked, polishing a shot glass.
“The old Waverly Plantation,” the detective replied. “We’re still waiting on the official identification but . . . it’s her.”
“All these years,” Foggy said, tears pooling in his eyes. “All these years, and she was just down the road. Doesn’t seem right, does it?”
“None of this seems right,” Ryan answered, turning away a little as the man flecked a tear from his cheek.
“What does this mean?” Foggy asked. “What happens next?”
“It means we need to figure out what happened to her. It’s gonna be hard to tell anything from the remains. We’re still waiting for the coroner.”
“Remains,” Foggy said, finally looking up. “God, that’s what she is now, isn’t it?”
“She was in the marsh, held under by an old rusted-out boat,” Ryan said, making eye contact.
“That means we can finally put this thing to rest,” he said after a long minute.
“Someone killed her, Foggy. We need to—”
“I can’t deal with this right now,” he said, waving Ryan off. “I just . . . business hasn’t been great. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”
“This is your sister,” Ryan said.
“I know that,” Foggy sneered. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but she’s my sister. I’ll deal with this the way I see fit.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how this works, Foggy. This is my job,” Ryan answered, knowing full well there would be nothing he could say to sway the man’s feelings about reopening the case, about knowing for a fact that the only thing left of his sister was a skeleton in a prom dress. “I know we’ve talked about it. But its been a while and I need to ask again. Is there anything you remember, anything from that night or the days leading up to it?”
“Shut up,” Foggy murmured. “It’s been twenty years. Twenty years, and the police didn’t do a damn thing.” He grunted. “Get out!” he yelled, pouring himself a shot of Kentucky bourbon. “I’ve replayed those days a million times in my head, man. You know that. My mother begged the police to help and they did nothing. Now suddenly, you’re gonna come along and make everything okay. Yeah, right!”
“It was a different time. They just assumed she was a runaway. That was the normal response back then.” Ryan sighed. “I’m not trying to make it right. I’m just trying to finally solve this thing. You know she didn’t go into that marsh willingly.”
“I won’t go through this again, Ryan,” Foggy snarled. “I drove myself crazy for years. I watched this thing tear my family apart. I can’t do it again.”
There was a weakness in his voice, a reservation that let Ryan know everything he needed to about how Foggy was going to handle this. He was strong, sure. That came from years of South Carolina backroads and his Lowcountry roots. But that strength rested on a cornerstone of fragile compartmentalization, one he’d spent the last twenty years building.
“What about the house?” Ryan asked. “I know you inherited it a couple of years back. You still own it, right?”
“Don’t even think about it,” he snapped. “Her room is still just as she left it. My mom made sure of that. It was the only small thing she could do. I won’t let you tear through it like a bloodhound.”
“I need to see that room.”
“You need to drop this before you make me do something I’ll regret.”
“I can get a search warrant,” Ryan replied. “If I need to.”
“Why is everyone in this damn town so intent on destroying what’s left of us?” Foggy ended the conversation, scooping up the empty Corona bottle and tossing it in the trash.
There was something terribly unique about the South’s blistering summer heat. It seemed to hold a truth deep within its stiff and muggy presence. Detective Devereux headed back to the parking lot through the curtains of Spanish moss that seemed to grow thicker and denser with each summer day. Long ago, before divorce, crime, and the troubles of adulthood, there was a thought in his mind that maybe one day, he’d learn to hide behind that moss, to use it as camouflage in a world he wanted so desperately to find the truth in.
Unbuttoning the neck of his shirt and loosening his tie, Ryan paused for a minute in the cool shade, trying his best to let some of the built-up humidity escape his crisp cotton shirt. There were times when he’d considered wearing something less traditional to work, but somehow, the thought of showing up in flip-flops and board shorts didn’t seem too professional. Not that it mattered in that moment. He was headed back to Second Wind where he would shower and get ready for dinner with his daughter.
Chapter Three
Detective work always seemed to come naturally to Ryan Devereux. There was a natural curiosity in his step, one he attributed to long, hot days behind the register of his mother’s small café. People watching was a skill he’d developed at a young age, once he’d realized that hats weren’t the only things left on the tables of a southern diner.
People liked to hide behind falsehoods and lies they hoped so desperately appeared true. They’d walk down the shady streets trying their best to hide in plain sight, hoping against hope that no one ever noticed the veiled truth in their steps. But there was always one thing that forced people to drop their pretenses and to step out into the sun. Give a man a fork, a knife, and a plate of piping-hot fried chicken, and well . . . all you have to do is sit back and watch the truth spread across that table like melted butter.
From almost the moment she could talk, the detective found that same thing to be true in his young daughter. Carly Devereux came as an unexpected surprise to Ryan and Jillian. The two were young, just out of school, with big dreams in their minds and not much money in their pockets. It was hard at first, and the stress of raising a child threatened to tear the young couple apart more than a few times. But the love of a man for his daughter is a strong thing, and every time Ryan got near that door, he paused just long enough to turn back and look into her bright blue eyes.
But there comes a time in every life when you just have to look in the mirror and find the hard truth. So as time marched by and the temperature began to rise, Ryan and Jillian finally decided to do what was best for the child they’d brought into this world.
“I spoke to your teacher yesterday,” Ryan said, removing the cellphone from his daughter’s hand and placing it on the far end of the table.
“They started it!” she snapped back.
“Hey.” Ryan looked into her bright eyes. He’d always gone a little soft on the girl, preferring to let Jillian take the more authoritative role in dealing with her. Though over the last few years, he’d managed to teach her a few things too. He’d even managed to ground her a few times. “Don’t snap at me. I’m just talking to you.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, lowering her voice. “I’m not lying though. They started it. It was that stupid Danica Rosewood and her cheerleader friends. They said—”
“It doesn’t matter what they said.” Ryan placed his hand over his daughter’s. Her soft features and small frame seemed to be changing by the day. He couldn’t help but feel that each time he saw his child, she’d grown like Carolina Kudzu in the summer. “You can’t stoop to that level. If you’re gonna survive in this world, Carly, then you have to be strong. You have to let people’s words just roll off your back. I’ve told you this.”
“It just gets hard sometimes.”
“I know. It can be hard for me too. But you just have to be strong. Don’t react and don’t run. Just stand your ground. If you do that, they’ll back away.”
“You ran,” she responded, turning her gaze to a large picture window on the far side of the room. “You didn’t stand your ground.”
Marriage is a difficult thing. Anyone who’s ever walked down an aisle could tell you that. But divorce was a whole other ballgame. You can love a child more than you ever thought you could. You can watch them grow and teach them everything you think they’ll need to make it in this world. But sometimes, no matter how much they mean to you and how much you love them, you just can’t stay. At least, not in the same house.
“We did what we thought was right,” he answered. “For us, and for you. You’re ten years old now. You’re mature enough to understand. I know you are.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t understand.” She looked back at him. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I don’t like it either.”
It was true. From the moment he slid that ring on Jillian’s finger, he never expected she’d one day be sliding it right back off and placing it in his hand. But love is a strange and powerful thing. Sometimes, that power isn’t enough to drown out the world and the jagged, harsh truth it delivers with each coastal sunrise.
“He’s loud, you know.” Carly looked to her father, giving a coy smile. “And he thinks he’s this really great cook, but the food is just weird. I don’t like it.”
The thought of another man raising his child was one that had always rubbed Ryan the wrong way. Especially one as self-absorbed as Thomas Kent, one of Charleston’s better-known news anchors. But even with as much as he disliked the idea, the detective was always careful not to show his true feelings to the young girl.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“He made cream cheese grits, Dad,” she said, extending her hands widely. “Cream. Cheese. Grits.”
“That sounds . . .”
“Awful?” She smiled wide. “It was!”
“What about your mom?” Ryan asked before realizing the words had left his lips.
“She’s . . . whatever.” She waved her hand. “Same old Mom.”
“Hopefully, that’s a good thing.”
“It is.”
Opening the menu and scanning the selection, Ryan couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed by his surroundings. There he sat, in the same building that had once housed his mother’s small café, a place famous for fried chicken, meatloaf, and more fresh vegetables than you could shake a stick at. Gone were his mother’s recipes, now replaced by things like the ‘Screaming Elvis Burger’ and a ‘Sweet Lotus Milkshake’. Granted, he had no idea what either of those two things were, but he’d promised Carly the restaurant of her choice and he wanted to keep his word, even if it meant choking down something called ‘Ring Of Fire Pasta’.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he said through a mouthful of over-seasoned rigatoni.
“I’m not sure. Probably just hang out with Leah. Why?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to see a movie or go to the beach.”
“Sure.” She smiled, taking a big gulp of her bright purple milkshake. “Can Leah come too?”
“I don’t see why not. How about you just think about what you want to do and let me know?”
She smiled. “Cool.”
Seeing another man’s car parked in what was once his driveway still felt a little odd to the detective. Especially one as oversized and ostentatious as the shimmering red Audi Thomas Kent used to chauffeur his ex-wife and daughter around Charleston’s famous historic district. Maybe it’s true what they say about men and big cars. Maybe the guy was just trying to compensate for something. At least, that’s what Ryan chose to believe.
“Okay.” Ryan kissed his daughter’s forehead as she stepped out onto the concrete driveway. “See you soon. I love you.”
“Love you too.” She smiled, then headed toward her waiting mother.
Jillian Hathaway, soon to be Jillian Kent, stood atop a large set of brick steps leading to her front door. Together, the two former partners had managed to scrape together enough money to afford them a small piece of Charleston’s history. And for a while, it was the perfect home, filled with laughter, love, and wine. But as it tends to do, life came knocking and it was the young couple’s turn to pay their debts.
It had been just over three years since the dissolution of his marriage to the beautiful Southern girl, and in that time, they’d managed to strike a balance. It wasn’t easy in the beginning, but with each day, each Sunday dinner, and his daughter’s sweet laughter, it became a little closer to normal. Ryan gave his ex-wife a smile, then left the driveway.
Chapter Four
It was almost ten o’clock when Ryan crossed the Stono River into Johns Island, South Carolina. Both the largest island in the state of South Carolina and Haley Kings’s childhood home, the detective had spent much of his youth among the massive oak trees and sweeping ocean views. There’d always been a fondness in his heart for this and the many other barrier islands of the Lowcountry, though lately, he hadn’t taken as much time to visit them as he’d have liked.
Old money created the lifeblood of Johns Island, showcased in large stately mansions lining the Atlantic coast. Each one was surrounded by trees planted generations before, with branches so thick and twisted they often left tourists in awe. It was that Old-South money that gave the King family such an easy life on the beautiful island.
Shifting his car into park and stepping out onto the concrete driveway, Ryan caught sight of the bright yellow moon reflecting against the waves. Sure, the sight of a moon’s reflection on the waves could be seen in many places, but there was something wholly different about the way it looked from Charleston County. Some of the locals may even tell you it was a different moon altogether.
“Hey, man,” Foggy said, opening the door.
“Hey,” Ryan answered, stepping into the large beach house.
It was among the oldest on the island, though the King family made sure to always keep it updated and fresh. Its high ceilings and hardwood floors gave the perfect impression of easy coastal living and good taste. Foggy had his mother to thank for that. From almost the moment he was born into this world, Foggy’s spoils were as thick as Carolina cotton, and just as plentiful too. His family’s money could be traced back at least four generations to a wise young man with a shrewd mind for business and a talent for catching fish.
With little more than a fishing net and big conversation, Hobart King rose in status from the son of a homeless immigrant to the owner of one of Charleston’s largest fisheries. And now, all these years later, it was Foggy who reaped the benefits of Hobart’s good fortune. But it’s like they say in the South, “Ain’t nothing as real as the rain.” And with a storm brewing just off the shore, the truth of what happened to his sister was about to come flowing across the South Carolina sand.
“Beer?” Foggy asked.
“Sure,” Ryan replied, following him to the kitchen.
Both taller and thicker than the detective, Foggy King was often an intimidating sight for some, though Ryan knew him well enough to know no real danger lay under that imposing exterior. He still remembered the whispers around town all those years ago, the ones accusing the older brother of an involvement in his young sister’s vanishing. But just as he had then, Ryan knew that simply wasn’t the case. Yes, they’d had their spats from time to time, but what siblings didn’t?
“It’s all over the news,” Foggy said, taking a seat on the large navy sofa.
His words were slow and his tone a little lower than it usually was. But who could blame him? That sort of news would upset even the strongest of men. So much time had passed since that night, so many lives changed, and chief among them were the lives of Haley’s and Foggy’s parents. Four years had passed since that night on the bridge, the night that had ended their father’s life.
There’d been much loss in Foggy King’s life, a world’s worth of sorrow and heartbreak which could almost be felt emanating from the man at times. He was strong, though, rarely showing it to anyone else. Maybe it was tragedy or maybe it was the Lowcountry, but something connected the two men in a way they couldn’t shake and never needed to discuss.
“I got the call earlier.” Ryan sighed. “They checked it against her dental records. It’s her.”
“Yeah.” Foggy sighed, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I heard.”
A thick southern breeze blew through the house from the open windows, gliding across the detective’s skin like memories from long ago. He could almost hear Haley’s laugh echoing through the halls as he thought back on those younger days. She’d been so happy, so vibrant and full of life, and suddenly, she was gone.
“I’m going to figure this out,” the detective said, leaning forward in his oversized chair.
“How?” Foggy asked. “There’s nothing but bones. It’s been twenty years.”
“That’s my job. That’s what I do.”
“Maybe it would be easier to just let it go. Maybe we should just let her memory rest.”
He’d seen it before, the pain that washed over someone when they spoke of someone they loved, someone the world had ripped away from them without a moment’s notice. It was a hard thing to process, but it was especially hard for those involved in cold cases. No one wants to relive painful memories again. No one wants to unbox emotions and feelings they’ve spent so long keeping down.
Still, he hadn’t expected to hear it from Foggy.
“You’re not serious,” Ryan said, his eyes narrowing and his voice lowering.
Foggy sighed. “Look, I get that you’re all gung-ho about this, and I don’t blame you. This is what you do. Hell, you’d probably bleed blue if I cut you. This just isn’t my scene, Ryan.”
“Your scene?” Ryan asked, his blood already boiling. “This is your sister, Foggy. It’s your flesh and blood.”
“And she’s gone, Ryan!” Foggy shouted, shaking his head. “She’s been gone for twenty years. Twenty hard years that I’ve had to live through. Do you know what her disappearance did to my family, Ryan? Do you have any idea what it put us through? They’re my flesh and blood too, you know. They’re my family, the people I love. My mother, my father . . . they might not have been murdered, but they died with her.”
“All the more reason to look for the person who did this,” Ryan said, stunned by the man’s hesitancy.
