Save the Date (44 page)

“You went out to the van?”

“Yeah,” Bert whispered. “I think he was kinda into that.”

“Remind me to have that thing steam-cleaned,” Cara said.

*   *   *

“So … what now?” Bert asked, after he’d related the whole tawdry Cullen Kane affair.

Cara put the epergne back into the linen bag. “First thing tomorrow, we take this thing back to Lillian Fanning. You know she’s been going around town trashing my reputation, right?”

“Cullen was loving that,” Bert said. “He’s got quite the network of ladies who lunch.”

“I can’t wait to see her face when she sees the epergne,” Cara said.

“What will you tell her?”

“Just that we figured out who took it from the van, and we were able to recover it. Don’t worry. I’ll leave you out of it.”

“And what about that Detective Peeples? Won’t she be asking a lot of questions?”

“If she asks, we’ll tell her the truth,” Cara decided. “Let Cullen Kane deal with it. He’s got a lot to answer for as far as I’m concerned.”

“And he’s still not done,” Bert warned. “He’s seriously obsessed with grinding his heel in your face. He went all batshit when he figured out that contractor friend of yours managed to buy this building out from under him.”

Bert looked around the living room and for the first time noticed the packing boxes. “Hey, what’s up with all this? I figured you wouldn’t have to move now, since Cullen got outmaneuevered.”

Cara shrugged. “Long, sad story. Things didn’t work out with the new guy. I’ll be out of here by the end of next week.”

“Oh.” Bert sank lower into the sofa cushions. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah.” Cara finished off the last of her water, wishing it were wine.

“Bert?”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t give up your apartment when you moved in with Cullen, did you?”

“Yup.”

“So … you’re basically homeless now?”

“Sorta.”

She patted the sofa cushion, then stood up. “I’ll get you a pillow and a sheet. And PS. You’re hired. Again.”

55

In the morning, Bert was gone. The sofa bed was folded up, the pillow and sheet neatly stacked on top of one of the boxes of books. The smell of brewing coffee wafted from the direction of the kitchen. Poppy was missing, too.

Cara poured herself a mug of coffee and took it out to the courtyard garden. Out of habit, she deadheaded a spent rose and pulled a weed from the side planting bed. The big bell from St. John the Baptist was booming eight as she sat down under the shade of the café umbrella.

She wondered if she’d be able to hear the church bells over on Hall Street. Geographically, the new place wasn’t all that far away. Emotionally? That was a different story. She tried not to think about how much she was going to miss this little garden, miss all the work she’d put into it, and the enjoyment it had brought.

There was a big new yard over at Hall Street. It had seemed so hopeless yesterday, but things had shifted just a little last night. Bert was back. Bert had a strong back and he was a hard worker, when he wasn’t whining.

The timing of Bert’s return couldn’t have been more fortuitous. There was no way she could get through the Trapnell wedding without help.

Thinking of the Trapnell wedding made her remember what had triggered the sense of uneasiness that had propelled her out of the apartment the night before. She went inside and fetched her laptop, clicking onto Facebook and Harris Strayhorn’s page.

Thank God! The stripper photos had been deleted. Maybe, through some divine providence, Brooke hadn’t seen them after all. Just out of curiosity, she clicked over to Brooke’s page.

The bride-to-be wasn’t what you’d call a Facebook fanatic. It looked like she posted irregularly, whenever the mood struck. There were photos of Brooke and Harris toasting on the beach at Tybee at sunset, of Brooke in running clothes finishing a marathon, of Brooke and Marie at Mother’s Day brunch. The most recent item had been posted yesterday morning at 10 a.m. by Holly Strayhorn.

Bachelorette party tonight for my almost-sister BROOKE TRAPNELL! Woot, woot! #CosmoCraziness #Alertthemedia #Whosgotthebailmoney?

There were six responses to Holly’s post, including Brooke’s.

Can’t wait!

Cara was just about to post something on her own Facebook page about the Trapnell wedding when the kitchen door opened and Poppy came bounding out to the garden, with Bert right behind. He was waving a large white paper sack.

“Guess who went to Back in the Day for bacon cheddar biscones for breakfast?”

*   *   *

She called ahead to make sure the Fannings would be home. Lillian’s voice dripped ice. “We’ve got brunch plans at eleven. What’s this about Cara?”

Cara ignored the question. “It won’t take long. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

It didn’t get much better than Isle of Hope on a warm June morning. The live oaks lent cool shade, the sun sparkled off sailboats skittering over the river, and not a single blade of jade-green grass at the Shutters was anything less than perfection. It could have been a cover for
Southern Living
magazine.

Lillian Fanning sat stiffly on a wicker armchair on her porch and looked down at the epergne, which Cara had handed over without a word.

She picked it up, turned it over, and studied the hallmark. She held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, looking for dents or scratches, or any other clue to where the epergne might have been for these past weeks.

“It doesn’t look any the worse for wear,” Lillian admitted, her lips pursed. “And you won’t tell me how you managed to find it?”

Cara had been rehearsing her response all morning. She delivered her lines as practiced.

“Somebody … who has a grudge against me took it. Not because it was so valuable or to sell it. To cause trouble for me, and ruin my reputation. A friend found where this person had hidden the epergne, and last night, he brought it back to me. And now, I’m returning it to you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Lillian’s face was flushed. “Torie was right. I should have known better. All these weeks, I’ve thought, and I’ve said, really terrible things about you. To that police detective, to my friends.” She shook her head. “I am deeply, deeply ashamed of myself right now, Cara. And I’m afraid an apology won’t even begin to make things right with you.”

“An apology is all that’s needed,” Cara said. “Thank you, Lillian. I’ll let you get to your brunch now.”

Lillian reached out and touched Cara’s bare arm. Her fingertips were cool.

“You know, Cara, we Southerners pride ourselves on good manners. Torie says I’m a big snob about these kinds of things, and that’s something else she’s probably right about. You’re from up North someplace … Michigan?”

“Ohio.”

“I knew it was one of those places. Anyway, I just want to tell you that the way you handled this whole episode, with such dignity, and the way you just accepted my totally inadequate apology with such grace, says a lot to me about who you are and how you were raised.”

Cara smiled. “My mother would have been happy to hear you say that.”

“Where was your mother from?”

“Actually? Kentucky.”

Lillian’s eyes twinkled. “That explains everything. Seriously though, Cara. I guess that’s a lesson learned for me. You don’t have to be Southern to have good manners. And you don’t have to be a Yankee to make a total ass of yourself.”

That got a laugh from Cara. She was halfway across the lawn when Lillian called out to her. “I’m going to make it up to you, Cara. You wait. Your phone is going to be ringing. There won’t be a bride within a hundred miles of this town who won’t be calling you.”

*   *   *

“Man, I hate it when you have to act all classy and grown-up, instead of going
off
on a bitch,” Bert complained, after Cara gave him the blow-by-blow of her encounter with Lillian Fanning.

They were upstairs in the apartment, and he was helping her finish packing books. “Grown-up is definitely not as fun,” Cara agreed. “But I’d much rather have Lillian as an ally than an enemy. Now she owes me, or she thinks she does. And that’s a good thing, considering the rent on Hall Street is double what I paid here.”

Bert gave her a quizzical look. “What happened with Jack Finnerty? I got the impression you two were pretty hot and heavy.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Cullen has spies everywhere,” Bert explained. “After Jack took a pass on doing the work over here, he started asking around. I think Patricia Trapnell probably helped him put it together because of all the work Jack and his brother were doing over at the Strayhorns.”

“I can’t believe Cullen Kane was that interested in my personal life.”

Cara’s cell phone was sitting on the coffee table. It buzzed and Bert picked it up and handed it to her. “It’s Marie Trapnell. You want to take it, or should I tell her it’s your day off?”

“Give.”

“Hi, Marie,” Cara said cheerfully.

“Cara?” Marie Trapnell’s voice crackled with agitation. “Have you heard from Brooke?”

“Nooo, we haven’t spoken since Friday. Should I have? Is something wrong?”

“Brooke is gone.”

Cara felt a cold whisper at the base of her neck. “When? Where?”

“We don’t know how long she’s been gone. Holly went to pick her up for the bachelorette party last night at eight, but she wasn’t there. She tried calling and texting, but Brooke never answered.”

“Has Harris talked to her?” Cara’s mind flashed on the pictures from the strip club. “Did they have another fight?”

“No. Not that I know of. I just talked to Harris. He hasn’t seen her since she left for work Friday morning. He and his friends went up to Atlanta Friday, and he didn’t get back till nearly ten last night. He went straight to bed, and he wasn’t really worried about her until just now, when Holly called to ask him why Brooke skipped out on the party.”

“Oh no,” Cara said.

“I’m trying to stay calm, but I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job of it,” Marie said shakily. “It’s just that Brooke is so emotionally fragile right now. The trial and the wedding, it’s all just too much for her.”

“Have you called her friends? When I talked to her Friday, she mentioned that she was sort of dreading the bachelorette thing. Because she was so tired.”

“All of her friends were with Holly last night. Brooke was the only one missing. And none of them talked to her on Friday or Saturday.”

Cara’s mind was racing with possibilities. “Is her car there?”

“Her car?”

“Brooke’s Volvo. Was it at her house last night?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even think to ask, when Harris called to see if Brooke was with me.”

“You might want to check on that,” Cara said gently.

“I will. I’ll call Harris right now and ask.”

“Marie? You might also ask him if Brooke saw the pictures on his Facebook page.”

“What pictures?”

“Just ask Harris. He’ll know which ones.”

Ten minutes later, Cara’s phone rang. This time it was Harris Strayhorn. No surprise there.

“Marie says you asked whether Brooke saw some Facebook pictures? What are you talking about?”

“I saw the pictures from the strip club yesterday, Harris, before you took them down. I saw all of them. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“Fuuuuck.” His voice sounded distant. “I’m gonna kill Mike Bingham. He swiped my phone and posted them on my page. We were all pretty hammered. I didn’t even know they were on there, until another buddy texted me to warn me to delete them. Which I did as soon as I saw them.”

“Did Brooke see the pictures?”

“Christ, I hope not. Maybe not. She doesn’t look at Facebook on a regular basis.” He groaned. “But if she did see them…”

“Exactly.”

“They look awful, I know. But I swear to God, it was just a lap dance. Okay, two. Maybe more. I can’t remember. I got so drunk I passed out in the back of the van after the third or fourth club. That’s why I didn’t come home until last night. I didn’t want Brooke to see me until I got sobered up.”

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“I’ve called everybody we know. Nobody’s seen or talked to her. Wherever she went, she took her car. Marie told me you were asking about that.”

“Did she pack any bags? Take a lot of clothes?”

“I’m walking in the bedroom now to check.” Cara heard footsteps, and the sound of a door opening.

“She’s got this duffel bag she takes when we go over to my folks’ house for the weekend. It’s not in the closet.”

“What about clothes?”

She heard the sound of hangers on a wooden rod, of drawers being opened and closed.

“It’s hard to tell with her clothes. Wait. Yeah, her favorite jeans are gone. Maybe some shorts. Definitely her running shoes, although she sometimes leaves those in her car if she’s working out at lunch.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. Had he hung up?

“Harris? Are you still there?”

She could hear him breathing heavily. And then, a sort of muffled sob.

“Harris?”

“I should never have gone. I knew she didn’t want me to go. We had a fight about it. And we almost never fight. I never should have gone to those stinking clubs.”

“Maybe it wasn’t about that,” Cara said. “Was there anything else worrying her, something she was upset about?”

“Not that she talked about,” Harris said. “Brooke was … moody sometimes. She needed her space. I tried to give it to her. I love her, you know?”

“I know,” Cara said. “And she loves you. She told me so.”

“Then why would she leave? Where would she go?”

“We’ll find out,” Cara said soothingly. “Brides … sometimes it all becomes too much for them. Sometimes they just have these little meltdowns. That’s probably all this is. Like you said, Brooke needs her space.”

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Cara lied.

56

“Holy shit,” Bert said. “Brooke Trapnell is a runaway bride?”

“Looks like it. Harris hasn’t seen her since she left for work Friday morning. They’d had a fight, because she hated the idea of his doing the strip-club stag-night thing with his buddies.”