“I'll bring the car around front. Wait here.” He stood close to her, lingering. When he left out the front door, she could feel a breath she had been holding release.

  The butterflies did a whirligig.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Beau pulled up to Celeste's house, Celeste knew he knew her. She didn't know how, but he did. He asked for directions to Kiawah. He asked her opinion on which exit to take. He carefully listened, nodded. He made the turns she said.

  But he didn't do that thing people do when they were going somewhere for the first time. They drive slow, checking out the neighborhood. He even stopped at the stop sign that was mostly hidden by a hydrangea bush. Celeste herself passed it several times when learning the route, not seeing it. So she tested him when it came to the driveway.

  “It's the one on the right,” she'd said. And there were three on the same street, pretty close to one another.

  He didn’t ask which to take. He knew. And something else struck her too. He hadn’t asked her a lot of other questions.

  She rushed them through inspecting the house, just to be sure no one hand been there, and then Celeste insisted on getting her car. She found a spare set of keys and jangled them at Beau. “I need to get around and get to work. I've taken up too much of your time.” This was not a total fib. But he hadn't been honest with her about knowing her. He did know her. He had to. Only she didn't want to confront him. She was too exhausted. Plus, she wanted to play along with this to see what he was up to.

  She just didn’t want to be too dependent on him.

  Even if he was incredibly alluring. He'd even played Vivaldi music in the car. She found that attractive.

  Beau reluctantly agreed. He didn’t like the idea of letting her go off on her own, but every time he meant to tell her the truth, he chickened out. If he caused her to mistrust him now, it’d be even more difficult trying to protect her. Why did he feel so strongly to do so? He could simply walk away from all of this. It would be much easier. After saving her butt and doing everything he'd done for her, he shouldn’t feel the least bit guilty. Not that she knew most of the things he'd done for her. Like kept an eye on her. And kept her out of trouble with his employer.

  It was the cleverness in her eyes. The way she had commented on Vivaldi, even knowing that it which piece that was playing. He got the feeling there was so much more to her than this silly girl who got a crazy idea to follow her boss around, for a reason he still didn’t understand.

  So once he relented, he went back to his car after making sure she could open her car and drive away, then followed her back to Kiawah. He stopped a short distance away after she drove into her driveway and waited. When it was clear she would be home for the entire evening, he took a risk going home to sleep for a few hours and cursed to himself for the desire to do so in his car. He was turning out as bad as she was.

  When Celeste woke the next morning, she was groggy. She trudged down to the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes, willing them to stay open. Bonehead was on the counter again, but she was too weary to kick him off, and he took full advantage of it, parading around and nudging her arm while she looked for a bread crumb. Bonehead jumped up into the cabinet and sat on the shelf, trying to look cute so she closed the cabinet door on him. He could open it again if he wanted out, but he remained, for the moment, content with sitting in the dark.

  She poured herself a bowl of cereal and carried it to the family room. She was glad to see the cable was still on even if she hadn’t paid the bill that month. She settled on Sponge Bob, something brain dead enough for her tired mind to wrap around.

  She was almost passed out again on the couch when the phone rang. Another surprise considering she hadn't paid that bill, either.

  “Celeste? It’s Gary.”

  “Oh, sorry Mr. Chandler. I was going to call you. Sorry I'm not in today.” She paused. “Do you know a Beau Andrews?”

  “Is this the same dark haired blue eyed guy you told me about?”

  “I saw an envelope with his name on it. Looks like he’s on payroll, or might be. It was on Sanders’ stationary.”

  “Hmm…” Silence stretched and he heard papers being shuffled. “I don’t remember anyone by that name in my paperwork. If he’s working that closely with John, I would’ve seen him.”

  “Something’s fishy about it.” She moved around and hung a leg over the side of the couch. ”I’m sorry. I’m just bugged out. Did you need something?”

  “Actually, that was something I’ve been meaning to tell you about. It seems there have been some issues with leases.” He paused. “I needed to stop by and check out your dad’s office.”

  “I thought you cleared all that out already? Is this about the analyst?”

  “I’ve had several meetings with John and the others. Everyone is on edge, but Mr. Sanders won’t talk about it. He gives orders about increasing certain lease agreements as they come up to term, and anyone who argues is asked to be reminded of who is in charge. Some companies are refusing to renew the leases or can’t afford to do it. Not at the rates he’s charging. He kept saying he’s doing us a favor.”

  “By forcing some businesses to close because they can’t afford the high rates? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I don’t understand myself and I don’t agree with it. I would do it differently... It has only been a few businesses that closed down though. Most are making the adjustments. Some residents are being affected too. Mr. Sanders has ideas about bringing in bigger companies for the now empty business locations. He’s also talking about selling off some properties to help fund a new monstrosity, a new office building for downtown.”

  “Really?”

  “I told him it was a bad idea, sinking a lot of money into another office building. We already have this one and we have that little discrepancy in accounting. We may not have money for a second building right now. He disagrees and thinks Logan Tower should become Logan Towers.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So I wanted to check in with you. Some clients may not be as happy with us right now. I don’t know if you could help out by smoothing things over. I thought maybe you could stop by and we could figure out a better way to smooth things over with the more influential clients.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “Oh,” Mr. Chandler cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask. I tried calling your cell but it wasn’t working. Everything OK?”

  “Actually, I’ve lost my phone. Someone stole my purse.”

  “You’re not hurt are you?”

  “I’m fine. He just took my purse and keys. I’m going to replace the locks here soon and find new keys for my car.”

  “Cancel those credit cards right away. And make sure you report any discrepancies.”

  “Spoken just like true accountant.” Celeste laughed and he did, too.

  She took a shower and then got into her car, heading for Folly Beach.

  If cities have personalities, Charleston had some sort of multi-personality disorder. While downtown Charleston had a special Southern refinement, and Mt. Pleasant was for the well-to-do natives, Folly Beach was the skinny geek who was cool, but only if you got to know her because she was too busy surfing. On an island only six miles long and a mile wide, there was a mix of wealthy home and condo owners, business owners attracting tourists, and the working class folks at the hotel, the restaurants and bars. You just couldn’t tell who was who by looking at them. The millionaires shared drinks with the motel maid on Sunday evenings. Jeans and flip flops were considered work uniforms. Casual was standard.

  There were a lot of hardware stores around Charleston, but Rose’s Hardware on Folly Beach was her preferred place for tools. It was tucked away, just off the main tourist road. The building was white, one story and had pretty little rose designs in the windows and on the wooden carved sign hanging out front.

  She walked in, and a black haired kid with the nametag reading Jack stood at the counter. He was skinny and had pretty eyelashes that most girls would have died for. He had a Rose’s Hardware shirt that was baggy and clung to his body, and she had no idea how his jeans hung to his narrow hips. She waved to him as she entered.

  He had a box in his hands, which he put behind the counter. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “I need new door locks for my house.”

  “How many?”

  She stopped and counted on her fingers, trying to picture the doors. “I think at least four, but the garage door opener doesn’t work so if you don’t need to count that one, it’s just the three. Two in the back, one main door.”

  “We could fix the garage door, too.” He had a big grin, like Goofy. She always loved Goofy. “Lose your keys?”

  “No, I had my purse stolen.”

  “Oh, that sucks.” He smiled sympathetically as he fiddled with some things behind the counter. “Do you know how to change locks on a door?”

  She looked at him, and could feel some confidence in this endeavor slipping away. “The boxes come with instructions, don’t they?”

  “Well yeah, but you’ll need tools. I don’t want to be insulting to a girl, but outside of Rose, I just assume I should ask people before you come back here and tell me you cut off a finger because you were trying to do it yourself.” He pulled a pair of keys, a pen and a notepad out from the back pocket of his jeans. “If you’ll give me your address, I could go after work tonight.”

  “How much for an installation?”

  “She'd would kill me if I charged for something like this, given that your purse was stolen. But I’ll do it for a coke and a burger.”

  I smiled. “Island or peninsula?”

  “Whatever’s open on the island. Home grown is fine with me. Where’s the house?”

  “Kiawah.”

  He whistled a few notes. “Gonna teach me the secret handshake I need to get in past security or what?”

  She laughed and took the pen from his hand, writing down her address. “And here’s the house phone number. I’ll talk to security to let you in, just in case I’m not there at the time. The back door isn’t locked, and the alarm isn’t on.”

  “Good.”

  They worked out which locks he would install, and she made sure he knew what the house looked like. She paid him for the locks and then walked out of Rose’s and down the street, looking for a restaurant open that served burgers. She managed to get him one from Planet Follywood, a brick building on the main street with Elvis and other celebrities painted on the side, along with a promise about the best burgers ever. She ordered a meal and asked one of the waiters to walk it over to Jack at Rose’s when it was ready. The waiter agreed, and she walked back to her car and drove out of Folly, deal done.

  She headed home, giving instructions at the gate to let Jack in and what he was doing. They took a note and told her they’d make sure to let him in.

  After parking her car, she went in the back way to the unlocked back door. A breeze picked up from the ocean and the door swung on its hinges before she even touched it. She blinked and hesitated. She remembered shutting the door but she couldn’t remember if she did it tightly enough.

  She entered, looking around. The kitchen looked okay. She didn’t see Bonehead, but he could have been anywhere in the house, even if he liked the kitchen the best. After checking the living room, TV room, parlor, my dad’s office and the upstairs bedrooms and guest rooms, she didn’t see anyone, not even in the closets.

  She blew out a sigh, grateful that maybe it was her mistake, but it was enough to get her to go back and lock the back door.

  She made clicking noises to call for Bonehead, but he didn’t respond. He was more than likely in a hiding spot fast asleep. She ran up the stairs, and looked in at her dad’s office. As I stood in the doorway, the house phone rang and she grabbed the receiver.

  “Did you read over those files yet?” Warren sounded tired and annoyed.

  She swallowed back a joke, treading carefully. “I’m sorry. Warren, I’ve been busy.”

  He sighed. “Look, I want to get this over with. The longer...”

  “I was assaulted and my purse was stolen. I’m sorry that inconvenienced you.”

  “What?”

  She went through what happened quickly. “So get off my back, okay? I’ve been having to deal with getting the locks changed.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know.” The annoyed tension was gone. “Well, bring the packet by tomorrow. I’ll make some room and we can get it sorted out.”

  “That’s so generous of you.”

  “If you weren’t so smart mouthed, you wouldn’t get into so much trouble. This would have been done weeks ago if you hadn’t been so busy playing commercial princess.”

  She bit her tongue lightly to stop saying more. This wasn't fair to him. She was being snappy because she was so drained. “I’m sorry. Fine. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow.”

  “Where are you at now?”

  “At my house, waiting for the guy to come change the locks.”

  “Maybe you should stay somewhere else tonight. With Kris perhaps? Just in case.”

  “Well, perhaps.”

  She made an excuse to get off the phone and hung up. He was right, though. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to spend the night there alone. The thought of some creepy guy trying to break in sent shivers through her. Maybe she’d go check on Sanders and stay with Kris after. She wanted to see if Beau ever showed up there. She hadn't focused on Sanders in a while, and felt restless.

  She dug out a dark gray t-shirt and jeans, strapped on some comfortable sandals and she was ready to go. She hauled out a warmer jacket. It was going to be chilly tonight. She couldn’t risk falling asleep in the cold. It would be important to stay awake. To help, she brought a book, a CD player and packed a couple of peanut butter sandwiches into a backpack.

  She opened the front door, and the smell of a thousand old menstrual pads hit her nose. She stepped back and looked down at the porch. There, against the wooden rails, was a brown sack, the bottom of it leaking with something rust brown along the concrete.

  She turned away, feeling bile coming up the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, took a few steps inside the house, lifting her shirt over her nose before she turned back around. She had heard nothing, and from where she was, she could see no one. Someone left a sack of rotting meat… or worse. No note. If someone was leaving a message, they weren’t being clear what they were indicating, other than they wanted the porch to stink. She didn’t want to look at what was inside. The smell and the juice spilling out were enough to look at. It was the size of the sack that disturbed her.

  Bonehead. She hadn’t seen him in at least a day.

  She found it hard to breath. She sat down in the doorway, looking at the sack. She had to open it. If it was Bones, she didn't know what she'd do. Probably faint and die.

  Sucking in her breath, she went over to the sack, looking down on it, keeping her nose covered with her shirt, for all the good that was doing. She lifted the opening. The smell strengthened, penetrating through her stuffed mouth and nose.

  Inside, the clump was hardly recognizable. No fur, just muscle and bones, but it was about the same size as Bonehead.

  She dropped it, walked back into the house and slammed the door. She heaved once, but kept bile down. She didn’t want to believe it. He had to be in the house. She checked the kitchen first. He wasn’t on the counter or in the pantry. She opened up every closet and door he was able to open. After several hunts and looking through every cabinet in every bathroom, he was nowhere to be seen.

  She was ready to call Kris to have her help search when she saw a pair of black ears through the window.

  Bonehead never went outside, even when she would leave the backdoor open to air out the house. He was a big wimp. But there he was, looking at her with his eyes wide and pawing at the window.

  When she opened the back door, he ran inside, ducking into the kitchen pantry. She ran after him and picked him up, shoving her face into his back and hugging at him until he clawed at her arm and wriggled to be let go.

  “Bad Bonehead. Don’t go outside.”

  Bonehead brushed himself against the food bag and giving a look that said, “I don’t know what you’re on about, just feed me.”

  She filled his bowl. Bonehead was okay, but now she had to clean up. She grabbed a broom from the kitchen and went back to the porch. She contemplated a few moments looking at the mess. Getting it off the porch seemed problematic. She jumped over the rail on the opposite side, away from the sack, and then circled back to the garage where she kept the rolling trash bin. She put the bin on its side on the porch and used the broom to maneuver the sack into the bin. It left a trail of something she was guessing was blood and old meat juice. She pulled up the trash bin, setting it up right and put the lid on it quick.

  The smell lingered. She grabbed the spray hose from the side of the house and hosed off the area where the juices were, letting it spill over into the grass along the side of the porch.

  When that was done, she tossed the broom to the trash bin. She didn’t want to keep it, or the bin. She didn’t really want to stay at the house either. She wrote a note for Jack and asked him to hide the keys for her and apologized for not being there when he arrived. She collected her purse and keys and headed to my car. Before she opened the car door, she thought of Bonehead. He hated rides in the car, but leaving him there after someone could have butchered him seemed crazy. She took him from the pantry and put him in her car without his cat carrier. She thought it might be easier on him.

  She didn’t know who left a sack of meat. She didn’t know who stole my purse or if it had anything to do with Sanders. What if it was Beau scaring her? It didn't seem likely, but he had lied to her. Where was the connection?

  She was going to find out.

  Bonehead meowed as if he were dying the first five minutes she was on the road, but then he quieted down and settled in the back seat, glaring. Nothing Celeste had to say to him made it any better, so she turned on some classical music. She was hoping Bach and Beethoven spoke in an inter-species way to sooth animals.