Carolina Heat by Christi Barth Page A

dusk. In a police lineup, she wouldn’t be able to swear to anything. But it was quite a coincidence—and Annabelle did not, at all, believe in coincidences. The moment she’d seen him during dinner, all her senses had gone on alert. Instinct told her he wasn’t just another tourist. His appearance today was an affirmation, a not-to-be-ignored warning. If she was being watched, the danger level of this assignment ratcheted up several notches.
    She waited until the tour group moved on, then made her way to the souvenir shop. One of the golden rules of investigative journalism was if you don’t know where to look, look everywhere.
    “Do you have any books listing all the Confederate troops? I’ve started dabbling in genealogy, and want to lend a little fact to an old family legend.” Annabelle smiled her most guileless smile, but there was no need. The gift shop clerk, a tiny woman well past retirement, clearly delighted in the chance to chatter.
    “Dear me, what a wonderful project! I find searching for your roots really grounds you. Why, I went to Ireland seven years ago to track down a fourth cousin accidentally left off our family tree. I was just tickled to meet him.”
    Annabelle kept her smile firmly in place. Little old ladies were an invaluable source of information, if you could wade through the ubiquitous stories of grandchildren, great-grandmothers and health.
    “My only problem is I really don’t know where to start.”
    “Unfortunately, I can’t help you much, my dear. We have a rather limited selection of books. But I do have an idea.”
    “I’m all ears,” said Annabelle, trying to contain her impatience.
    “Mr. Lamont Prescott, who currently owns the plantation, has quite a reputation as a collector.”
    “You mean the library?”
    “Heavens, no. Most of those books were his granddaddy’s. Mr. Lamont keeps his personal collection at his home in town.”
    Annabelle’s instincts clicked. Definitely on the right track. “Do you know how I’d be able to contact him?”
    “If you call his office—he’s a partner at one of the oldest law firms in the city—I’m certain you could arrange a meeting. He’s a very nice man.”
    “Do you recall the name of his firm, offhand?”
    “Satterfield, Prescott & Boone. He should be back from vacation by now. I think he left a few weeks ago. Mother’s Day, I believe.”
    “But that’s when….” Annabelle stopped herself before blurting out that was also the day Vanessa officially disappeared. “When I took a vacation, too. Quite a coincidence.”
    If the older woman had noticed her momentary lapse, she didn’t let on. “Of course, you could always stop in at the Daughters of Charleston. They’re well known for their research. Every member has to prove their ancestors were truly members of the Confederacy.”
    Annabelle politely ended the conversation by purchasing a box of Prescott Hall stationery. It was the least she could do after that sweet old thing handed her a lead on the proverbial silver platter.
    Twenty minutes later the tour bus dropped her back in the center of town. Without conscious thought, her steps led her to the corner of Meeting Street where she checked her watch against the posted sign. A new tour was due to start in a few minutes. Just enough time for a quick hello to Mark. A chance to see if the persistent flutters nudging at her all day were really grounded in something. She sighed and wondered what it was about this man that so completely befuddled her. Especially now, when she had so many other, more pressing concerns.
    There was his horse and buggy. She recognized it from the distinctive red and pink striped plumes decorating the horse. But there was someone else in the driver’s seat. It didn’t make sense. He’d told her he was working today, and scheduled their picnic accordingly. It was long past the traditional lunch hour, so where was he?
    Annabelle’s thoughts split in two directions. The first, knee-jerk