Free Lowcountry Boneyard by Susan M. Boyer Page B

didn’t rain while we were outside.”
    It was possible the forecast prompted Kent to drive just in case. I made a few notes, gathered my thoughts, then looked up at Evan. “You missed the last ferry back to Stella Maris.” The ferry between Stella Maris and Isle of Palms makes its last trip over each day at eleven-thirty.
    “I did. I’d had too much to drink to be driving in any event. I stayed at the John Rutledge House Inn on Broad. It’s only a block away.”
    My face squinched. “I thought you walked back to the parking garage with the others.”
    He lifted his chin and inhaled deeply, then nodded. “Yes, I mean, I walked as far as the corner with them. They went into the garage. I continued on to Broad Street.” 
    “I see. Can you think of any reason Kent would bring her laptop to dinner?” I didn’t know that she had, of course. I was fishing.
    He shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to show us a photo of a new piece?”
    “She has an iPad.” I gave him my confused blonde smile. “If it were me, I’d have brought that to show a photo and left the laptop at home.”
    “Maybe she takes her laptop with her everywhere out of habit? I don’t really know her well enough to say.” He sipped his tea.
    “When was the last time you spoke to Kent?”
    “The Wednesday before she disappeared. I called to invite her to go out with us that Friday night.”
    I studied a vibrant abstract over his shoulder. Shades of blues and greens swirled across the canvas in bold strokes. “Did she ever discuss anything with you, or in your presence—maybe a phone call you overheard—that would lead you to believe she was in any kind of trouble?”
    “The only conflict I’m aware of was with her parents. They wanted her to work a few years in a ‘suitable’ environment. To learn the value of money, I understand. Their plan then called for her to marry well and be a pillar of the community, as it were. Kent had other plans. This is the sum total of what I know about that situation. It came up when I asked why she wasn’t devoting herself to her painting.”
    I was thinking how that was a valid question. “Would you give me the contact information for the others at dinner that night? I’d like to see if any of them know anything helpful. Also anyone else in your circle who wasn’t there, but who Kent might have spent time with on other occasions.”
    “Sure.”
    He pulled a phone out of his pocket and began tapping and scrolling. He read out the phone numbers for Sage, Clint, Julia, and Greg. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone else.”
    I stood. “Thank you for your time. If someone or something comes to mind, please call me.”
    “Of course.” He rose to escort me out. “And please, come back when you have more time to browse.”
    I smiled. “I’ll do that. We’re lucky to have you in Stella Maris. I’m curious, though, what made you decide to locate your gallery here? The tourist traffic in Charleston would surely make you a wealthy man.”
    “I would go insane.” He laughed. “I prefer the quieter island vibe. I enjoy staying over in Charleston occasionally. But I couldn’t work there. Here, my studio is upstairs, along with a small apartment. Not to mention, can you imagine how much this real estate would cost me in Charleston?”
    “I see your point.”
    Back in the car, I texted Nate: Nothing significant from the artist. Need to verify his story. Headed to Charleston to talk to the boyfriend .
    We didn’t normally share non-urgent details during the day when working the same case. But I was feeling less angry and more anxious by the minute. I needed to reach out to him. I’d hurt him last night with my careless comment. I needed to navigate back to where we were when he’d arrived so we could figure out a way forwards.
    He responded: Roger that.
    The knot in my stomach tightened. I started the car, turned down a side street, and drove behind the gallery. A late-model turquoise Prius sat in one of the