Lowcountry Boneyard by Susan M. Boyer Page A

doesn’t like to take pills. She suffers from allergies, but on the rare occasion she takes something, it’s natural.”
    Clearly, her mother did not share Kent’s aversion to pharmaceuticals. “Can you think of anything she wouldn’t dream of leaving behind that’s still here?”
    Virginia’s hands lay crossed in her lap. She stared at them a long moment. Something was definitely wrong with this woman. I couldn’t decide if she was indeed heavily drugged, indifferent to her daughter, suffering from PTSD, or simply accustomed to deferring to others. Finally, she raised her chin. Desperate blue eyes met mine. “I can’t imagine she’d leave her diamond studs. We gave her those for graduation. Or her pearls. She has several nice pieces that I wouldn’t think she’d leave.” Virginia’s voice got softer as she spoke and her eyes glistened with tears. “Then again, if she were very angry with her father and me…well, we gave her all of her nice jewelry, so it’s hard to say. And of course, things don’t mean as much to Kent. She isn’t materialistic in the least.” Where was the woman who coldly made herself a manicure appointment yesterday while I met with her husband?
    “We’ve been over this with the police.” Charlotte’s tone was clipped, not as imperious as her mother’s, but she was training hard at it. “There’s nothing missing from Kent’s belongings that one can draw a conclusion from one way or another.”
    “What about clothes, luggage?” I asked.
    “None of her luggage is missing,” said Abigail. “If she took any of her clothes, she took them out a piece or two at a time and she only took a few things. None of us has her closet inventory committed to memory.” That last bit was sprinkled with sarcasm.
    If Abigail wanted to tangle, we’d just get to it. “Mrs. Bounetheau, one of the things I do in a case like this is eliminate all the possibilities, one at a time, until only one is left. One of the possibilities is that someone stood to gain financially if Kent were removed from the equation. Since so much of the family is here, let’s put our heads together, why don’t we? Can any of you think of anyone, on either side of the family, who stood to gain from Kent’s…disappearance?”
    Abigail Bounetheau turned an interesting shade of fuchsia. “I beg your pardon,” she said, in that indignant tone that suggested unseemly things for both me and the horse I rode in on.
    Simultaneously, Charlotte inquired, “Exactly who do you think you are?”
    Virginia gasped softly.
    The twins commenced whispering to each other.
    I looked at Charlotte and Abigail in turn.  “I’m the investigator, hired by Kent’s father, to find out what has happened to her. I aim to do just that. I mean no offense. But I need to know if anyone stands to gain financially if Kent doesn’t come home.”
    “That’s insulting,” one of the twins spoke up.
    “Revolting,” said the other.
    Those two were a piece of work. “Mrs. Bounetheau,” I said, “forgive me for asking such a personal question, but what is the impact, hypothetically speaking, on your and Mr. Bounetheau’s estate should one of your heirs be…unaccounted for?”
    Abigail Bounetheau stared at me like she was trying to melt me where I sat. “Our financial affairs are private family business.”
    And most of the time when folks went missing their family was behind it. “Of course,” I said. “I’d just hoped that since we all want the same thing—to find Kent—that perhaps you would give me the big picture.”
    “The only people who would have anything whatsoever to gain are family members who adore Kent and would never dream of harming her.” Abigail straightened her back, which I would have thought impossible, as it appeared to have a rod in it to begin with.
    The twins went to whispering again. Charlotte spoke softly to Virginia. I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
    “Naturally,” I replied to Abigail. I