Free Lowcountry Boneyard by Susan M. Boyer Page A

here at the gallery. I was showing my new series for the first time. She met a few other local artists. We’ve been out as a group a time or two—drinks, dinner. I can’t say that I know her well.”
    “The night she disappeared, she was to meet you and others at Bin 152 in Charleston?”
    “That’s right. At eight o’clock. When she didn’t show, we assumed something more pressing had come up. It wasn’t unusual for one of us to bail. We’re a casual group.”
    “You were meeting for dinner there?” While I could make a meal out of the menu at Bin 152 any time, it wasn’t a typical choice for dinner, more for a glass of wine and an appetizer. Their food menu consisted of meats, cheeses, and bread. The wine selection was divine.
    “The menu is a bit limited for some tastes. It’s one of my personal favorites.” He smiled like he was remembering a good meal. It was a nice warm smile that filled his eyes.
    “Who else was with you that night?”
    “Sage Farrow, Clint MacLean, Julia Brock, and Greg Weir.”
    These were names I hadn’t heard before, but that was as I expected. Kent kept her artist friends neatly segregated from the rest of her life. “Did all of them arrive around eight?”
    “More or less.” He shrugged. “I was a few minutes late. Julia came in shortly after me. The others were there when I arrived.”
    “Clint and Greg…any possibility either of them had a thing for Kent?”
    Evan laughed softly. “Probably not. They’re quite intrigued by each other.”
    “Ah. Any chance you had romantic designs on her?” I smiled to soften the question, like I was making a joke.
    An emotion I couldn’t catch fluttered across his face. He reached for his teacup. “No,” he said. “My tastes tend more towards women closer to my own age. I find I have less to explain.”
    This seemed an unusual sentiment for a guy in his early thirties. Didn’t guys always want twenty-three-year-olds? Something made me believe him. When he talked about Kent, I didn’t get the sense he harbored impure thoughts about her. “Makes things simpler, doesn’t it? Just to cover all my bases, the other two women…” I checked my notes. “Sage and Julia. Where do their romantic interests lie?”
    “Sage is happily married. Julia is engaged and expressively passionate about her fiancée.”
    I nodded. Of course I would verify everything he said with the others, but I expected he would anticipate that. “What time did you all leave the restaurant?”
    “About twelve-thirty.”
    “Where did you park?”
    “In the garage on the corner of King and Queen.” Wrinkles appeared in his forehead, his expression inquiring what that had to do with anything.
    “I’m trying to figure out why Kent would’ve driven that night. The restaurant was less than half a mile from her home. She would only have saved herself from walking a few blocks unless she lucked out and got a street spot.”
    “I knew she lived downtown, but I wasn’t aware of where. Perhaps she had plans before or afterwards?” His voice was congenial, helpful.
    “Perhaps. Do you know if any of the others also parked in the same garage?”
    “We all did. We left the restaurant at the same time and walked together.”
    “Did any of you see Kent’s car?”
    He spread his hands. “If I did, I wouldn’t have known. I’ve never seen her car. The subject never came up. What does she drive? I doubt the others would know.”
    “She drives a red Mini Cooper convertible.”
    “It could have been there, or not. I wasn’t paying attention to cars. I doubt I would remember a month later in any case.”
    I pointed at him with the top of my pen. “Do you happen to recall what the weather was like that evening?”
    He searched the ceiling. “Hot, very humid. Typical September weather for Charleston. I do remember the forecast earlier in the day called for rain and possible flooding downtown, though I think they revised that. I took an umbrella with me, but it