Admit One (23 page)

“Have you checked with Sarah?”

“Yes. And with Harlan, Rainey and Josie as well. No one has heard from her, and any calls to her phone go straight to voicemail.”

“Was there any sign that she’d been home since this morning? Did you check her room?”

“Branson did. No dirty clothes lying about or water on the vanity or anything like that. Nothing in the kitchen either. Branson said she always brings scones home, because they’re a particular favorite of your father’s and it helps to keep as much as possible to his old routine.”

Will’s lips thinned as he started the engine, switched on his headlights. It was nearing full dark. He’d been in this business too long not to have all sorts of horrible images swim into his head, but he knew better than to dwell on them. Just as often as not, the initial panic over a seemingly missing person turned out to be unfounded, which was why so many police departments suggested people wait twenty-four hours before filing a report.

But Will also knew that those twenty-four hours could be critical. He didn’t care for the fact that Allie hadn’t been seen since he’d left her by Eugene Hawbaker’s gravesite, especially considering the information he’d just gleaned in Burke County.

He felt impotent being so far away. “I’m going to call the station, get some of my people on this.”

The other man seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I wouldn’t otherwise break a confidence,” he finally said “but given the circumstances I think that you should know. Someone tampered with Allison’s car last evening. Her battery – it was drained intentionally. A piece of foil in the rear cigarette lighter. When the car wouldn’t start, she began to walk to the Playhouse, and she felt as if someone were following her. Long story short, she ran across one of your people – a man named Alan Barger – and he gave her a lift. But she lost her keys in the process. This is your area of expertise and I hesitate to make suggestions, but it seems to me that the timing here is rather…” he swallowed, audibly. “Shall we say I find it rather coincidental.”

Will’s hand tightened on the wheel. “I’ll get in touch with Alan,” he said, his voice taking on the cold, sharp edge that so often caught suspects unaware.

“Branson and I are on our way to the cemetery now to see what we can find.”

Will started to say no, let the professionals handle it, because he knew what a mess civilians could make of things. But this was his family – well, partly – and he knew better than to expect them to sit around and twiddle their thumbs.

“Use caution,” he said instead. “If you see something out of the ordinary, you wait until one of my people is there before you do or touch anything.” He sighed. “Knowing Allie, she probably tripped and fell into a hole or something and knocked herself unconscious. She’ll be mad as hell that we made such a fuss.”

“I can only hope that you’re correct. We’ll be in touch.”

As soon as he disconnected, he dialed Alan’s number. 

“What’s up, Chief?”

“My sister is missing.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “What?”

“Allie. She didn’t show up for her date tonight, no sign that she’s been home since she was last seen, which would be at the cemetery on Burnt Church approximately two and a half hours ago, by me. Calls are going straight to voicemail. I’d like you to pull whoever’s available to do a search of the area.”

“I’ll go myself,” he said. “Will –”

“If this is about last night, I already have the information.” And he’d have a nice little chat with Alan later.

“Shit. No. I mean, I’m glad you have the information, but that’s not what I wanted to say. I got a call from Allie’s number shortly after five. It ended before I could answer, and when I tried to call her back I got her voicemail. I thought maybe she was calling to see if I’d found her keys – which I didn’t, though I hadn’t had a chance to call her and let her know – and was interrupted. Either that or maybe an accidental butt-dial. But based on your timeframe, that’s shortly after you left her at the cemetery.”

Will wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Could be something as simple as her phone dying at an inopportune time. Could be any damn thing.

“Just get some people over there. And be alerted that my brother and Mason Armitage are en route to the cemetery. Make sure no one draws on them by mistake.”  

The other man’s sigh indicated his displeasure. “Will do,” he finally said. Then “Will? Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Will hung up, and pushed the gas pedal harder.

MASON
was out of Branson’s car before it came to a complete stop.

“Allison!” he bellowed.

“Her car’s not here,” Bran said, studying the small gravel lot that accommodated visitors. He climbed from the low-slung convertible, but left it running so that the headlights illuminated the old iron gates.

Disappointment could actually deflate one’s lungs, Mason discovered. Like a pin stuck in a balloon. “Should we look around?” he asked Branson over the roof of the other man’s car. “Just in case.”

Just in case of what, he wasn’t certain, but since this was the last place Allison had been seen, it seemed the logical place to start.

“Might as well,” Bran said. He killed the engine. But when he started to turn off the headlights, Mason suggested that he leave them on.

“We can see better,” he explained. For a short distance, anyway. The sky was virtually moonless, and if there were anything more stygian than a tree-shrouded graveyard on a cloudy Lowcountry night, he’d been fortunate to not yet discover it. “Do you have a torch? A flashlight, I mean,” he clarified.

“On my phone.” Bran tapped an icon and turned it on.

“Yes, brilliant. I wasn’t thinking.” Mason pulled out his own phone and did the same.

“The grave,” Mason said, pointing. “Where your brother saw her. It’s back there, toward the river.”

“Yeah, I, uh…” Branson cleared his throat, seemed slightly embarrassed. “I came out here a couple days ago. Um. Maybe we should divide and conquer? That way we can cover more ground, and quicker. If there’s no sign of her, we’ll try to figure out where she may have gone from here.”

And though he wanted rather desperately to be the one to have a look at the place she’d last been seen – the place where only a number of days ago, he’d held her in his arms – Mason reminded himself that this man was her brother, her twin.

“Good thinking. I’ll just head round the other side of the church, shall I?”

“Yell if you find anything.”

When Bran walked briskly off, calling his sister’s name, Mason ventured toward the opposite side of the cemetery, doing likewise. Torn between wanting to take his time and examine every nook of the ruined church, every headstone in case Allison should be behind it, and wanting to rush through so that they could get back in the car and drive… where?

He had no idea where Allie may have gone. He could flatter himself and believe that perhaps she’d gone off to purchase a new outfit or to have her nails done in anticipation of their date tonight, but for one thing he thought that Sarah would likely have known about such a plan. And for another, Allison, Mason had noticed, wasn’t one to spend an inordinate amount of time or money on her appearance. It rather fascinated him, coming from a business in which appearance too often meant everything.

Not that she didn’t always look fetching. Even the first time he’d seen her, covered in paint, blue eyes enormous as she gaped at him, he’d found her utterly charming. But it was what was inside Allison – a sort of purity, coupled with both sass and a bone deep kindness – that made him look twice. And a third time.

And it wasn’t long after that that he’d found himself irrevocably… hooked.

Mason stopped, shone the light from his phone around in a circle. He seemed to be near some sort of family plot, enclosed by elaborate wrought iron. When the light landed on a single, yellow flower, he stepped closer. When he saw the basket lying abandoned near the gate, his heart skipped a beat.

“Branson!” he called. He wasn’t sure if the flower or the basket had anything to do with Allie – this was a cemetery, after all – but judging by the looks of it, the flower had been placed here quite recently. Will had mentioned that the bouquet held daisies, hadn’t he? And it was the only floral tribute Mason had seen.

Mason heard Bran’s answering call, waited until the other man trotted up, panting. “What is it? What did you find?”

Mason showed Bran the basket, then pointed out the flower. “It may not mean anything, but –”

“No. No, it looks like it came from the same bouquet I saw on Eugene’s grave.” He leaned over the rail to get a closer look. “Well, that makes sense,” he said softly.

“Do you mind sharing?”

“Frank Wallace is the man who brought Eugene Hawbaker’s remains back here to be buried, all the way from Combahee Ferry. He was… a true friend. Knowing Allie, she would have wanted to honor that.”

Branson let go of the rail. “It means she came this way leaving the cemetery, since she was just arriving when she ran into Will at Eugene’s grave. She probably sat the basket down and then either forgot it or…”

He left the
or
unfinished, but Mason had little difficulty filling in the blank.

“I’ll look around the edge of the woods there in case… just in case,” he said. “Maybe you can head back toward the car.”

They split up again, and Mason called Allison’s name as he shone the flashlight along the ground both to see where he was going and in case Allie had left a footprint or dropped something or even tripped and lost a shoe, as she was wont to do. The thought made him smile briefly. A lack of physical grace was an odd quality to find endearing, but –

Mason froze.

Had he heard something? He turned a slow circle, shining his light around. Branson called Allie’s name again, voice slightly muffled by the trees as he moved further into the woods, and Mason gathered that’s what he’d heard. Perhaps an echo of some sort. Either that or an owl, maybe.

No.

He turned sharply. There it was again. Indistinct but…

“Allison?” The light illuminated a decrepit looking stone mausoleum. Hadn’t Allie mentioned something the other night? Something about teens breaking in, causing a ruckus.

“Allison?” Mason repeated, walking rapidly toward the eerie structure.

“You there! Halt! This is the police.”

Mason whirled around, found himself looking into the beam of a high-powered torch. He threw his arm up to cover his eyes.

“And this is Mason Armitage,” he called back, impatience clipping each word. “You may remember me as the man you arrested the other night.”

The torch lowered, and Mason blinked, spots dancing in front of his eyes. “Armitage,” the other man said with an equal lack of excitement. “What the hell are you doing wandering around over here?”

Mason blinked again, bringing the visage of Alan Barger – Lieutenant Ogler – into focus. “Looking for Allison,” he said. “I assume Chief Hawbaker informed you that she is missing?”

“Yes, but –”

“I heard a noise,” Mason interrupted. “Over there.” He gestured with his phone toward the mausoleum. “I was in the process of investigating it when you arrived.”

“Probably a raccoon,” the other man muttered, giving Mason a sour look. “But stand back. I’ll –”

“No. Forgive me, but no.” He started walking.

“Hey!” Barger said, displeasure morphing into professional affront.

But Mason ignored him. If the man wanted to shoot him, so be it. There was an urgency in Mason that made everything aside from looking for the source of the sound he’d heard take a backseat.

“Allison!” Mason called again, and this time he was certain that he heard something.

“Here…”

He ran the last few feet, Barger close behind him. “Did you hear that?” he said to the other man.

“Yeah. The chain’s been cut,” he shined his torch on the heavy metal doors. “Looks like they looped it through the handles so that the doors wouldn’t be easy to open. Allie? Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” came the muffled reply. “The door… it’s stuck.”

The breath expelled from Mason’s lungs in one explosive rush. “We’ll get you out. Are you alright, darling? Are you hurt?”

“My head,” she said. “Someone hit me, I think.”

Rage, Mason discovered as it filled him, had a unique taste of its own.

“Help me get this chain off,” Barger said, his own voice grim. “Allie? I’m going to need you to stay back from the door honey, okay? We’re going to have to push to get it open.”

“Okay.”

That
honey
grated, but there were larger issues at stake.

“On three,” the cop said, and Mason placed his shoulder next to his, and shoved. The door gave with a metallic groan.

The smell hit him first – old alcohol, mildew, rot. Ignoring the unpleasant olfactory assault, Mason brushed past Barger. “Allison?”

“Here,” came a small voice, and suddenly the bright beam of the cop’s torch illuminated her, pale and glassy-eyed, huddled in the corner.