Kathy Reichs - Virals

Before I could react Chance pulled me close, buzzed my cheek, released me.

“Smart as always.”

With that, he rose and walked away.

I couldn’t move.

Chance Claybourne had kissed me.

Holy smoking buckets.

CHAPTER 56

I glanced around, making sure I had the right universe.

And spotted Hi, jacket inside out, sneaking back up the steps.

Frick.

“Hold it!”

Hi straightened, slowly turned, and trudged down to my bench.

“Oh, hey.” Feigned nonchalance. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Come on , Hiram.” My hands found my hips. “Why the embarrassed face? What is it you think you just saw?”

“Not you and Chance canoodling like newlyweds, if that’s what you mean.” He smiled, then tsked. “Shame, shame! When good girls go bad!”

“It wasn’t like that.” My face burned to the tips of my ears. “Or maybe it was. I don’t know.” I covered my eyes and peeked through my fingers. “He started it!”

“None of my business,” Hi said. “And don’t worry. It’s in the vault. Forgotten.”

“Thank you. FYI, I’m not out to steal anyone else’s boyfriend. He hit on me .” Pause. “I think.”

“Sure.” Hi winked. “Whatever you say, TB.”

Grrr.

“What did loverboy have on the print?”

I looked at my notepad, thankful to change subjects. “It was left by a guy named James Newman, a local meathead with ties to organized crime.”

“Organized crime?” Hi’s eyebrows plunged into a V. “That sounds unpleasant. Where does he hang?”

“We’ve got to find him.”

“Right. The cops can’t but we will.”

“We have to. The guy was scoping out our activities at the library. That makes him our only lead in the Heaton case.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Hi dropped down beside me. “We may be going about this the wrong way. This Newman guy probably works for someone, right? That’s who we have to find.”

“Okay. How?”

“Motive,” he said. “We need to find out why Heaton was killed.”

That tracked right. And seemed safer than chasing a dangerous felon across greater Charleston.

“Then we should investigate Katherine’s disappearance,” I said. “Find something the cops missed back in ’69.”

“We already checked the newspapers,” Hi said. “Where else could we look?”

I had a sudden thought.

“What about Katherine’s family?”

“Her father was an orphan. And her mother died in childbirth.”

“Katherine was only sixteen when Frankie Heaton was killed in Vietnam. She must’ve been living with someone while he was overseas.”

“Maybe her mother had family?” Hi sounded dubious.

“Whoever it was, if that person’s still alive, they might remember details of the day Katherine vanished.”

Hi scratched his chin. “Back to the public library?”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“What is the DOE Network?” Hi asked.

“An organization that investigates old missing person cases.” We were once again in Bolton’s computer lab. “Cold ones. It’s a long shot, but they might have a file on Katherine Heaton.”

After logging on, I navigated to the website and entered Katherine’s name. A link popped up the screen.

“Yes! She’s on here.”

I double-clicked to open the file. A case synopsis appeared. Barely breathing, I read the report.

“Someone named Sylvia Briggerman submitted the original missing person report.”

“On it.”

Hi walked to the next terminal and ran a search. “There’s one Briggerman listed in the Charleston area. Centerville address, on James Island. Shall I give her a ring?”

I nodded.

Hi dialed, listened, disconnected.

“It’s a retirement home. I can’t get through to her room without an access code.”

I looked at the clock: 3:45 p.m.

“The city bus would get us to Centerville in less than thirty minutes.”

“I’m supposed to help Shelton with Cooper,” Hi said. “The little guy’s all alone at the new bunker we found.”

“Shelton will be fine. This is more important,” I said. “Briggerman might be the last person to see Katherine Heaton alive.”

CHAPTER 57

The bus dropped us near James Island Park, a sleepy tangle of tree-lined paths meandering through salt marsh. We continued a quarter mile, turned south onto Riverland, then left onto a private access road.

Bordered by enormous willows, the laneway was shady and pleasantly cool. We passed slow-moving creeks and reed-covered banks, silent but for the gurgle of water and the whine of insects.

A pair of herons watched from deep in the spartina grass, long stick legs disappearing into water, avian eyes unblinking. Though Hi called to them, he got no response.

The terrain was classic Lowcountry—placid, serene, and muggy as a sauna. Despite the brackish marsh smell, I was enjoying the exercise. The insanity of the past two weeks had completely derailed my running routine. I hoped to get back on track soon.

If no one shot me first.

In minutes we reached our destination, a cluster of condo-like residences sandwiched between green-yellow swamp and the Stono River. The Shady Gardens retirement community definitely lived up to its name. The Spanish moss overhead kept the grounds in perpetual dusk.

When we drew close, the front doors slid open with a hiss. The smell of air conditioning and hand sanitizer rolled over us.

We approached a desk and asked for Sylvia Briggerman.

Roadblock.

Roberta Parrish wore a white nurse’s uniform and brass nametag. Her hair was a shade of orange straight out of a bottle. Drugstore lashes crawled her lids like hairy little centipedes.

On seeing us, Parrish flashed a false smile.

“Visiting hours just ended,” she said. The centipedes fluttered. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Is there any chance we could see Sylvia today?” I asked. “I hate to be a bother, but we took the bus all the way from downtown.”

Parrish shook her head, lips locked in the up position. “As you know, Ms. Briggerman suffers from dementia. We mustn’t disturb her routine.”

“I completely understand, ma’am.” Very polite. “But we only need a few minutes.”

“Are you family?”

Hi cut in. “Yes ma’am. And we never get to see Great-Auntie Syl.” He turned to me. “I told Dad she should be closer to the city. It’s too hard to visit out here.”

That got Parrish’s attention.

“Now, now! No need to fret. I just had to make sure you were kinfolk.” She glanced at the clock. “I’m sure we can squeeze in a quick visit.”

“Gee, thanks!” Hi beamed. “I can see why our parents picked this place.”

Parrish led us from the main building to a row of suites facing the river. I could tell she was trying to hide her annoyance.

“We’re going to hell for this,” I hissed. “What if Great-Auntie Syl blows our cover?”

“She’s got dementia,” Hi whispered. “She won’t know the difference.”

“That’s horrible.”

“People in these places love to have visitors. Even from fake relatives.”

“Like I said. To hell.”

“We’ll do something nice. Fill her ice trays, or fluff her pillows.” Hi shrugged. “We’re trying to solve a murder, for Pete’s sake. I think she’ll forgive us.”

“Here we are.” Parrish knocked on a bright blue door. “Sylvia, dear! Visitors!”