Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Box Set, page 4
part #1 of Lowcountry Seaside Mystery Series
“I’m sure of it,” Kit answered. “The owner tells me you were here yesterday?”
“Yes,” he replied. “The body in the marsh was his sister.”
“Right,” she said. “King. Were you able to get anything?”
“Nothing,” He replied, feeling a drop of sweat roll down his forehead.
It happened the same way every year. Winter gave way to spring, then spring hung around for a little while, sending thunderstorms rolling down South Carolina’s splendid countryside. But then, almost instantly and with no more notice than a mosquito, summer came biting at you like an angry gator. Damp, hot humidity licked the detective’s skin, trapping hot air under his cotton shirt with every step. Even though he’d spent his life in this heat, there was still something difficult about those first few summer days.
“Okay,” Ryan said, sitting down across from Foggy. “Start at the beginning.” His hair was a little messier than usual and there was a wide gash near his right temple, which he held a wet washcloth over. Aside from that, he seemed pretty unaffected by the situation.
“I’d just gotten home from the bar.” He brought a glass of Jack Daniels to his lips. “When I put my key in the door I realized it was unlocked. I made my way from room to room looking for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Does anyone else have a key to this house?” Kit asked. “Maybe a girlfriend, a family member?”
“No,” Foggy answered, the wet cloth reddening with traces of blood. “I have the only key. I was heading into the kitchen when I heard something upstairs. I went to her room. At first, I didn’t see anything, but then someone popped out from behind the door and clocked me in the head. I fell. By the time I got downstairs, they’d already made it outside.”
“Was anything taken?”
“No.” He sighed. “Not that I can see.”
“Did you hear any vehicles or see which way they went?” Kit asked.
“No, but . . .”
Ryan leaned in. “But what?”
“When I passed the Angel Oak, there was an SUV there. Then later, after I drove around looking for the guy, it was gone.”
“The Angel Oak is one of the most popular tourist sites in South Carolina,” Kit replied. “There are always people visiting.”
“Yes,” Foggy responded. “But I’ve seen this car before. Plus, it had South Carolina plates. Locals don’t visit the tree this time of year, only tourists. You know that.”
“That’s not much to go on,” Kit said.
“I’ll make a note of it,” Ryan interjected. “You said they were in Haley’s room, right?”
“This is your fault!” Foggy turned to Ryan. “Someone was in her room because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. You couldn’t let the dead rest in peace. My sister has been gone for twenty years and now you’re bringing her back up. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
“I know you don’t want us here, but we need to see the room,” Ryan replied.
“You know the way.” Foggy waved his hand, then dabbed his wound again. “Be quick!”
Ryan and Kit headed up the spiral staircase and onto the small second-floor landing as Foggy waited downstairs. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d gotten used to living on a boat, but the house itself seemed much too big to be lived in by just one person, even if that person was as large as Foggy King. Big vacant spaces just seemed to have a way of making people seem lonely, or at least that had always been Ryan Devereux’s experience.
“It looks untouched,” Kit said, looking around Haley’s bedroom. “Like it’s frozen in time.”
“It is untouched,” Ryan answered. “They left it this way after she . . .”
“Right.”
“I was in here just yesterday. It looks exactly the same now as it did then.”
“Maybe they were just looking to score some cash or something.”
“But nothing was taken,” the detective replied. “This was something else. I can feel it.”
“All right,” she said. The tone in her voice was no surprise. Kit Walker preferred facts over feelings any day of the week, and she’d be the first to tell you. “What do you think it was, if not a robbery?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan answered. “But this is a nice house on Johns Island. Not a lot of break-ins around here. This has something to do with Haley. I know it.”
“The rest of the house is untouched. That does back up your theory, but this is a cold case from twenty years ago.” Kit opened a small jewelry box, then placed it back on the dresser. “Tell me about it.”
“What?” Ryan wrinkled his forehead.
“Tell me about prom night.” Kit folded her arms across her chest. “I just know you two had a date and then she canceled at the last minute.”
“That’s really all there is.”
“That’s never all there is. You know that. I bet you haven’t talked the night out in quite some time. It might help.”
She was right about that part. Ryan Devereux wasn’t really a ‘spill your guts’ kind of man. He’d never been the type of guy to lay his head in someone else’s lap and cry over failed relationships or stressful situations. To him, it was more important to keep himself together and actually do something about it.
“She canceled on me about three hours before the prom.” Ryan cleared his throat. “I had no idea why. She wouldn’t say. She was upset, though, so I assumed she was staying home. We fought about it but she got mad and hung up the phone. That’s all.”
“If she wasn’t going, then why was she wearing that dress when we found her?”
“Later that night, her parents came to my house. They were looking for her. They said she’d left the house and headed to the school. They had no idea she’d canceled on me.” Ryan pulled back the purple lace curtains, not sure what he was looking for.
“So, she did go to the prom?”
“No. I mean . . . I don’t know.” He looked back at his partner. Talking about it was actually a little harder than he’d imagined it would be. Not that as a Carolina boy, he wasn’t used to talking, but there was still pain there, pain he got from feeling like he hadn’t done enough to save her. “No one at the prom saw her. No one except for Shirley Baker.”
“Let’s speak with her.”
“We can’t.” He cleared his dry throat. “She was the assistant principal. She passed away about three years ago. But I’ve spoken with her a few times before. She said she saw Haley in the hallway just as the dance was about to begin, but no one could ever back that up.”
Chapter Eight
“I reckon you’re pretty torn up about all of this, boy,” Ryan’s uncle said, tossing him a cold Corona.
Pauley Wells would be spending the next week living aboard Second Wind, sleeping in the back room of his nephew’s houseboat while the bar he both owned and lived above was fumigated for an especially invasive and tough set of beetles. Something not all too out of the ordinary in the Lowcountry.
It didn’t bother the detective too much, though. He was happy for the company, and Lord knows, his Uncle Pauley knew how to carry on a conversation as well as anyone in South Carolina. He’d always been close to the man, especially given the fact that his own dad was always stationed so far away.
But like most every family in the South, his momma made sure he still had someone in his life to teach him how to hunt and fish and just be a man. It was his uncle, with his booming voice and love of the water, who’d first taught the young boy how to sail. But more than that, he taught him to love and respect the place he’d come from and the history that created it.
Being a man in the South is a special thing, especially when you turn out to be a good one. Kind and strong, tough and loving, a true Southern gentleman was something you could search the world over and still not find its equal. At least, that’s what his momma always told him.
“I’m okay,” Ryan replied. “It’s been twenty years. I’ve had my chance to process it, to deal with my emotions and put them where they belong.”
“Deal with your emotions. Put them where they belong.” Pauley’s head snapped back. “Boy, I think you’ve been watching too much television.”
“What?”
“What kind of crap is that?” he snapped. “I remember the way you talked about that girl, the way you spoke about marrying her one day and living beside the water. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” Ryan answered. “I remember, but that was a long time ago.”
“Don’t make no difference,” Pauley said. “Why, whenever that girl disappeared, you were fit to be tied.”
“I was upset, yes. But I handled it the best way I could.”
“You did a fine job handling it.” His uncle threw back a long sip of his beer.
“Then what is this?”
“This is me asking if you’re okay.” He set the bottle on the floor next to him.
“I’m fine.”
Warm Atlantic air blew in from the south, bringing with it fresh new hope for the next day, in addition to bringing a bit of much-needed fresh air into Ryan’s boat. The summer sun is an especially hot thing in its own regard, but couple that with one hundred percent humidity and the air felt almost too thick to breathe at times.
Ryan had purchased his Bravada houseboat from a police auction down in Jacksonville a few weeks after he and Jillian decided to call it quits. In truth, it was a little newer, a little nicer, and a little flashier than he’d normally go for. But he’d managed to get it for next to nothing after being confiscated from some cybersecurity tycoon with a penchant for money laundering.
It was easy, quick, and new enough to basically be problem-free. It just lacked a bit of character, that’s all. But with twin seventy-five-horsepower engines, a mostly fiberglass exterior, and a pretty low operating cost, the deal was just too good to pass up. Besides, he was pretty sure he’d be able to add a bit of character once he’d taken her out a few times.
For the most part, he was right. She sailed like a dream, with an easiness that reminded him of the way his momma’s big Cadillac would glide across those old South Carolina roadways. Watching the bright sun melt into the ocean as it stretched out into infinity right in front of him was a feeling that never seemed to get old and never seemed to repeat. Each night brought a new color to the sky, each wave a new song as it crashed against the shore. With the water at his front and the Lowcountry at his back, Ryan Devereux was content in a way some people could only dream of.
“What are you thinking about, Sonny?” Pauley asked. “You’ve been staring out the window for half an hour now.”
Ryan looked at the man he’d known all his life, seeing the weathered wrinkles on his face that came from a lifetime on the water. He listened to the raspy broken sound of his voice, the one that came from breathing in that thick Carolina air, and he began to wonder, was this his future?
“Do you think much about her?” Ryan asked. “Aunt Rose, I mean. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if she were still here?”
It was rare the two ever talked about the woman. Ryan wasn’t even sure why he was doing it now. There was just something about the sound of the ocean and the warm mist on his face that seemed to drop his inhibitions just enough to broach the kinds of subjects he usually distanced himself from.
“I think about her when I head into town,” Pauley said, his deep, broken voice drifting away, getting lost somewhere over the ocean. “I think about her when it’s hot and when it rains. I think about her when I get my medicine filled and when I wake up with no one next to me. But no, I don’t wonder what it would like it she were around. That wouldn’t be fair to her memory. She fought long and hard, and I won’t take that away from her. She can finally rest now.”
Rose Wells had been a strong woman all her life, planting crops, digging fields, and raising her babies, all while making time for her family and for the Lord. Ryan remembered his mother saying she was stronger than a mule and twice as easy to talk to. But like so many other good people, she’d been struck by a disease that ate her away from the inside out. The once strong woman just seemed to suddenly fade away until finally breathing her last breath just as the Christmas lights came down and a fresh new calendar appeared on the wall.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Ryan said. “I was just thinking maybe you were lonely or something. Like maybe you’d like to try and meet someone.”
“Listen, boy.” Pauley focused his eyes on the edge of the dock. “That woman did right by me, and for whatever time I have left in this world, I’m sure as cotton gonna do right by her.”
“Okay.”
He’d heard that tone before, the one that let him know his uncle simply wasn’t interested in whatever nonsense the boy was spouting. And just like every other time, he backed off, letting the conversation fall by the wayside.
“I need to shower,” Ryan said, trying to break the conversation. “Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ve got dinner with Mr. Abernathy.”
“I’ll never understand why you still have dinner with your old chemistry teacher.”
“He always took an interest in me. He always took time to help me through classes.”
“It’s just a little strange, that’s all. Not something you see every day.”
“Strange?” Ryan chuckled. “Well now, if that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
“What about that niece of mine?” Pauley asked as Ryan began to stand. “Heard from her lately?”
“Not in a few weeks,” Ryan replied. “Last we spoke, she was supposed to be heading back home after the summer. Apparently, that new husband she’s got doesn’t take too well to the southern humidity.”
“Psh,” Pauley scoffed. “Well, I guess she’s old enough that her wants won’t hurt her.”
“I guess so.”
Chapter Nine
Opened in 1987, Hyman’s Seafood had been a beloved Charleston institution for much of Ryan’s life. Honestly, though, over the last few years, it had seemed to garner the reputation of a tourist trap more than a local hangout. That didn’t mean the piping-hot hushpuppies or flaky fried shrimp were any less delicious. It just meant Ryan and his former professor would have to wait in line a little longer to get them.
Finally sitting down at his table, he noticed a little plaque in front of the neighboring table which read, Sarah Jessica Parker ate at this table. Such plaques were scattered across the restaurant, dropping names like Bill Clinton and The Beach Boys. It was a nice enough touch of character, though the detective couldn’t imagine anyone truly cared about such things.
Across from him sat his former teacher, Rufus Abernathy, the man who’d at once inspired him and challenged him. It was Mr. Abernathy who’d first suggested law enforcement to the young student after noticing his penchant for finding the truth in people’s words. It wasn’t only Ryan whom the man helped, however. Rufus was just one of those teachers everyone loved.
“What looks good?” Rufus asked through a neatly-trimmed silver goatee.
“I’m gonna go basic,” Ryan said, closing his menu. “Lowcountry boil. What about you?”
“Fried shrimp. You can’t go wrong with a classic.”
With its weathered brick exterior, dark wooden floors, and big picture windows, the restaurant created a wonderful atmosphere for shooting the breeze with an old friend. The loud clangs of forks and knives scraping across plates filled the room, trying their best to drown out the echoes of conversation flowing through the upstairs dining area.
“So . . .” the professor said, looking up through his thick glasses, his bushy dark eyebrows almost touching the rims. “How are things going with your work? Now that you’re back.”
“Well enough,” Ryan answered. “The last few days have been hard, though.” The detective paused, taking a deep breath. “Haley Kings’s body was discovered.”
Mr. Abernathy’s eyes widened. “Haley King. I haven’t watched the news in a few days. I haven’t heard that name in quite some time. I wasn’t aware the case was still active.”
“It wasn’t,” Ryan replied. “Until we found her body, that is. Now it’s been sent to cold case—to me.”
“How stressful that must be for you.” Rufus pulled a lemon from his glass, squeezing it into his sweet tea. “I know the two of you were an item.”
“It hasn’t been the best.”
“Are there any leads in what may have happened to her?”
“We’re working a few different angles,” Ryan replied. “But . . . let’s not talk about that right now.”
“Sure.” Rufus took a long sip of his iced tea. “I was just checking to make sure you were alright.”
“I’m okay.”
Conversation began to flow between the two men like the waters of the Ashley River. Much like every time they ate together, the men shared stories and memories, oftentimes small and insignificant, other times a little deeper than it seemed either of them had set out for. Tonight, however, it seemed no matter where the conversation began, it always led back to the same place.
“Have you spoken to her brother?” Rufus asked.
“Yes.” Ryan shuffled uncomfortably in his wooden chair. “A couple of different times, actually. He’s less than thrilled with the idea of us reopening the investigation. He gave me a box of things though. Just random trinkets from her childhood. I don’t recognize half of them. He didn’t say much about it. Like I said, he’s not happy with me.”
“I can’t say I blame him,” the professor answered. “I remember hearing the way the murder tore that family apart. I doubt they need to go through it again. Besides, I’m sure the guilty party has had time to repent.”
“Time to repent?” Ryan’s forehead wrinkled. “To hell with them. Who cares? Someone killed a girl. They took her life with their own hands and they should be held accountable. Why can’t I get anyone to see that?”
“Whoa.” Rufus held out a hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Ryan. I was only trying to point out that it’s been a very long time since Haley went missing. Digging around now can only upset an already fragile situation.”
