Page 31 of Long Gone

“So what are you doin’ here, talking to me?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not clairvoyant. I can’t read minds and I can’t read the future or the past. I was curious what you had to say, and now that my curiosity is satiated, I’ll think I’ll head home.”

His jaw tightened, and I knew I’d pressed some kind of nerve, but damned if I knew what. I hadn’t been lying. I was too tired to play this game tonight.

I stood. “Thank you for the information.”

Malcolm didn’t say a word as I headed for the door and walked out.

I hoped to God I hadn’t just made him an enemy.

Chapter 8

When I got home, the lights inside my mother’s house were off, but the front porch light was on, so I decided I had nothing to worry about.

I made a Jack and Coke before I started looking through Hugo’s financial documents. It wasn’t long before I noticed a deposit from an LLC that I’d missed before, Larkspur Limited. The check was for ten thousand dollars, and it had been deposited a month before Hugo disappeared.

Malcolm said Larkspur Limited had purchased the Sunny Point land but hadn’t done anything with it. Why?

I was tempted to keep looking into the company, but I was meeting Brett Colter in the morning and needed to prepare for our meeting. The information I’d found said he was from Mississippi and had gone to Ole Miss around the same time as Hugo and Clarice. Had he and Hugo known each other in college? Was Brett Colter the reason Hugo Burton had moved to Lone County?

I remembered that Detective Jones had said Brett Colter had bought the Japanese car part land and then developed it for Dudley, the national online pet store, and did a quick search. There were several articles about the company moving in and then the grand opening, but it looked like they’d only been in operation for a year.

My eyes felt dry, and I realized it was after midnight. I had to get some rest before tomorrow, so I closed my laptop and got ready for bed. I was still keyed up, which made going to sleep nearly impossible. My thoughts kept returning to the whiskey bottle underneath my kitchen sink, but I’d had two Jack and Cokes since coming home. I didn’t need another drink.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, though, my brain telling me one sip wouldn’t hurt. Just one. What was one more after all the drinks I’d had today? Besides, a wheedling voice in my head insisted, I hadn’t had that much to drink today. I’d only had two beers with Louise and Nat. My brain knew it was a lie, but it kept pushing…

I got into bed and turned off the lights, waiting for sleep to take over. Instead, my brain became fixated on getting a drink. I tossed and turned in bed, for at least fifteen minutes, then told myself that I’d have one drink for medicinal purposes. It would help me go to sleep so I’d be on top of my game when I met with Colter in the morning.

I got up and turned on small lamp on the kitchen counter, then grabbed the half-empty bottle from under the sink. After snagging a juice glass, I poured the glass half-full, then turned off the light and sat upright in bed, fluffing the pillows behind me.

I tried to sip it slowly, but as soon as the alcohol passed over my lips I already missed the good stuff I’d tried in Malcolm’s office. I gulped it down, feeling the burn all the way down my esophagus, hating myself.

Tomorrow I’d do better. Tomorrow I’d give this up for good.

When I woke up the next morning, it felt like a drum line was performing in my head. I’d downed another glass of whiskey before I’d finally fallen asleep. But I’d had much worse hangover headaches before. This was nothing.

I washed down a couple of ibuprofens with a freshly made latte, then took a long, hot shower, staying in until the water started to cool. I got out, dried off, then dressed in dark gray pants and a silky white button-up, laying my dark gray suit jacket over the back of one of my dining chairs. I put on minimal makeup and left my shoulder-length hair loose. My goal was to look professional but approachable.

I still had an hour before I had to leave, so I ate a piece of toast as I resisted the urge to add some whiskey to my coffee. Today was the day I was weaning myself off alcohol.

Of course, I’d told myself the same thing multiple times over the past several weeks. Most days I made it to lunchtime before I caved, but I’d actually made it to three one afternoon. That had to be progress.

Deep down, I knew my problem had become serious. Normal people didn’t fill their water bottles with water and vodka. Normal people didn’t wake up wondering when they were going to have their first drink of the day. They didn’t have to negotiate with themselves over how many drinks they had. Still, there was a difference between sort of acknowledging I had a problem and doing something about it.

I didn’t want to need help. I’d been independent most of my life. So my life had been shit, and I’d used alcohol as a crutch. So what. Now that I was investigating again, I wouldn’t be in such a self-destructive spiral. I wouldn’t need to drink because I’d be occupied with my cases.

Okay, so I drank yesterday while I was working the case, but I’m easing myself back in. Once I get going, I won’t even think about it.

But my brain obsessed over adding whiskey to my coffee until I got up and added a bit just so I could concentrate on preparing for my interview with Colter.

Once I took a couple of sips and I tasted the whiskey on my tongue, the tight hold on my mind loosened and I could focus on performing another internet search for Larkspur Limited. I came up with nothing.

Since corporations in the United States filed in states, I searched the Arkansas database for hits. When I came up with nothing there, I went to a national database that searched Secretary of State offices in all fifty states. I had to set up an account and purchase a week’s pass, but I finally got results. A search found a Larkspur Limited to be an LLC registered in New Mexico, incorporated by Lark Spur Trust. New Mexico was a state that allowed anonymous corporations.

Malcolm had known it was an anonymous LLC and couldn’t find who owned it..

He was hoping I could identify the owners for him. He was after a man who had done something truly heinous, and Hugo Burton wouldn’t have had money to invest in a separate company. Did that mean Brett Colter was behind Larkspur Limited and Malcolm intended prove it because the company was responsible for something heinous? And what would Malcolm consider heinous?

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