by Eva Gates
A flurry of blue and yellow hit Curtis from behind, knocking him off balance. He twisted around, recovered his footing, lifted his sword and swung, but it was swiftly parried by another sword. No, not a sword. An … umbrella?
Blue and yellow silk and satin twirled and spun. Gray wool and gold braid dodged and wove. Curtis was being relentlessly driven back toward the fence, his sword doing nothing but keeping the flurry of blows from the parasol from making a direct hit. I skipped nimbly out of the way as he crashed into the wire. Stunned, he shook his head. The parasol saw its opening and slashed down onto Curtis’s right hand. He let out a sharp squeal of pain and dropped the sword.
The umbrella hit him hard on the side of the head, and he fell into a gray heap on the ground.
“Oh my gosh,” I said.
Butch and Connor reached us the moment Curtis fell. Connor kicked the sword out of the way while Butch pressed Curtis into the ground with one knee and pulled his arms up behind him. He snapped cuffs on the groaning man.
My legs gave way, and I dropped to the ground.
Louise Jane stood in front of me. Her long skirt was tucked into her belt, her face was flushed, she’d lost her hat, and her hair cascaded out of its pins. She was breathing heavily and a huge smile crossed her face. “You okay, Lucy?”
“I … I think so.”
“Good.” She shifted her parasol to her left hand and held out the right. I took it in mine, and she hauled me to my feet.
Seeing that Butch had control of Curtis, Connor ran for me. He gathered me in his arms and stared into my eyes. “Lucy? Are you okay?”
“I am.” I wrapped my arms around Connor’s solid bulk and nestled into his embrace. “Thanks to Louise Jane.” I looked at her. “Thanks. Where did you learn to do that?”
“Ellen might have failed to mention that one of my mother’s most renowned roles was as a pirate queen. The climax of the movie was a long, intense sword-fighting scene, and she practiced long and hard to get it right. She taught me everything she learned.” She glanced at Curtis, shaking his head as Butch pulled him to his feet. “I’ve always hoped I’d get the chance one day to use what I learned. I can’t wait to tell her it worked.”
“Thank you,” Connor said to her.
She nodded in reply.
A circle of people were watching us. Someone broke into applause and others joined in. Beaming, Louise Jane curtsied deeply.
“Cool,” Emily Washington said.
“Will you ask her if she’ll teach me to do that?” Charlotte asked her mother.
Curtis did not take a bow.
Chapter Twenty-One
Curtis’s once-perfect uniform was covered in dirt, the gold brocade torn, the sash askew, and dust caked his tall black boots. He yelled and screamed and struggled and tried to get away, but he was no match for Butch, particularly not with handcuffs on. He insisted he and I had been play-acting, and for some unimaginable reason begged me to agree.
“He attacked me,” I said. “He was trying to kill me. He would have killed me if not for Louise Jane.”
Holly Rankin arrived at a run to give Butch a hand.
“Guard that sword,” he said to her. “Don’t let anyone touch it until a detective gets here.”
She stood over the weapon, glaring at the crowd as though daring anyone to try and pick it up. Charlotte crept forward, trying to be unobtrusive. Her mother yanked her back. “I wasn’t going to touch it,” the girl said. “I just want a look.”
“That’s mine!” Curtis lunged at Holly. “I demand you give it back to me. Right now.”
Butch pulled Curtis’s arm. “Let’s go, Curtis.”
“I demand you unhand me!” Curtis yelled.
“Not likely,” Butch said.
Sirens sounded in the distance, getting closer. Blue and red lights broke through the trees. Brakes squealed as cruisers pulled into the parking lot.
Connor kept his arm around me, holding me close. I felt strangely calm. Shock, no doubt, would come later. Louise Jane accepted accolades on her fencing ability. Bertie simply looked baffled, whereas Ronald, in his pirate outfit, fit right in alongside Confederate General Curtis and Antebellum Lady Louise Jane.
Sam Watson ran up the path. He took one look at the crowd and shook his head, and then he turned to the man with Butch. “Curtis? You got anything to say?”
“Arrest them! Louise Jane’s lost her mind. She attacked me and Lucy helped her.”
“That’s not what I saw,” a man said. Onlookers murmured agreement.
“I don’t know what I saw,” someone else said, “but that’s a genuine sword you got there, and it’s dangerous.”
Watson directed uniformed officers to move through the crowd, getting names and phone numbers of people to contact for statements later. He then came over to where Connor and I stood with Louise Jane, Bertie, and Ronald. “What did you try to tell me on the phone about Jeremy Hughes?” he asked me in a low voice.
“Curtis has the original of the map. When I realized that, I knew he must have killed Jeremy to get it.”
“Why?” Bertie said.
“Diane said something about the map and code possibly leading to lost military reports from the Civil War era. I believe Curtis hoped these reports would exonerate his much-maligned ancestor.”
A woman handed me my phone and the book for my mother. “You dropped these.”
I smiled my thanks.
“Lucy and Louise Jane,” Watson said. “You’ll have to come down to the station to make statements.”
“I’ll drive them,” Connor said.
We began to walk toward the cars. The onlookers stood respectfully back and let us pass.
Butch followed with a still-protesting Curtis.
The crowd shifted momentarily and I caught a glimpse of pink Chanel cowering in the back as, for once in her life, Diane Uppiton tried to be unobtrusive. “Diane!” I called. “Stop right there. You have to have known something about this.”
As one, the multitude turned to face her. Diane attempted to smile. “Me? I don’t know a thing. What have you gotten yourself into now, Curtis?”
“Diane!” Curtis screamed. “Tell them! Tell them it was your idea.”
“It was nothing of the sort. Don’t you try to pin your foolishness on me, Curtis Gardner.” She glanced at the onlookers, seeking support. “Don’t believe anything he says. I was about to end our relationship. He’s out to get revenge on me.”
“I didn’t get the impression ten minutes ago that anything was wrong with your relationship,” I said.
“I was being polite in public,” she replied, “as befits a proper lady. Never make a scene, my mother always taught me.”
Beside me, Louise Jane snorted.
“I’m sorry, but I have another appointment,” Diane said. “Can’t be late. So sorry. If you need my help, Detective, you know where to find me, I’m sure.” Diane threw Watson what she probably intended to be a flirtatious grin.
“You’ll have to miss your appointment, Mrs. Uppiton,” Watson said.
“It rained heavily early in the evening on Monday,” I said, “but not until after the five o’clock meeting had broken up and everyone left. I went into town, and when I got back, Jeremy’s car was in the parking lot. Other than mine, his was the only car there.” I kept my eyes on Diane. The slash of deep red lipstick stood out in a face gone very pale. “Jeremy Hughes himself was inside the lighthouse, and he obviously had not come alone. The police found one set of distinctive tire tracks in the mud. They were able to locate the person those tracks belong to and that person has been cleared of any wrongdoing.”
“Not before time,” Louise Jane harrumphed.
Ronald threw her a questioning look. “What have you been up to Louise Jane?”
“Saving the day, it would seem,” she replied smugly.
“Connor McNeil’s car also left prints in the mud, as did the emergency vehicles,” I said. “But whoever had been with Jeremy inside the lighthou
se got away without leaving tire tracks behind them. The police searched the entire parking lot. That means Jeremy’s killer didn’t drive him or herself. I suppose they could have walked back, but it’s a long, long way to town, isn’t it, Diane?”
She threw Watson a panicked look. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Lucy. Poor dear, you’re not yourself. You’ve obviously had a shock.”
“I’ve been wondering about that,” Watson said. “How Jeremy’s killer managed to get away without leaving tracks behind him.”
“You were quick enough,” Louise Jane said with a sniff, “to accuse someone else of being the killer because you followed their tracks.”
“Will you shush, Louise Jane,” Bertie whispered. “This is not the time to complicate things.”
“Only making my point,” Louise Jane said.
“When I interviewed you about the night Jeremy Hughes died,” Watson said, “you stated that you had dinner with your mother, left her house at nine thirty, and drove yourself directly home. You claimed you didn’t go out again. Do you have anything to add to that statement, Mrs. Uppiton?”
Diane’s eyes were wide. She searched the faces of the crowd, looking for support. No one moved. Even the children had fallen silent. “I … I …”
“Accessory to murder,” Connor said, “is a serious charge.”
“I didn’t know he’d killed anyone!” she yelled. “He told me he’d gone to the library with Jeremy to try to have another look at the diary, but no one was there. Jeremy suggested they break in, and Curtis wanted no part of it.”
“That’s right,” Curtis said. “I left him knocking on the door of the library. How was I to know he’d go and get himself killed?”
“It was raining,” Diane said. “I picked Curtis up at the end of the road. He was soaked right through. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“When you heard the next day that Jeremy had been killed, you didn’t think I might want to know you’d been there?” Watson said.
“I—I didn’t realize. I thought someone else must have killed him after Curtis left. Curtis told me I wasn’t to tell anyone he’d been there with Jeremy. I didn’t want to get involved. He told me it was an accident!”
Curtis pulled himself out of Butch’s grip and hurled himself at Diane. She screamed and leapt behind a shocked Grace. Grace yelped.
Sam Watson grabbed Curtis’s arm and almost yanked him off his feet.
Curtis spat at Diane. “You’re lying. It was all your idea. I only did what you told me to do.”
“You said the map led to Civil War treasure,” Diane said. “You told me if we found it first, we could have it all.” Once again, Diane took in the circle of onlookers. “You have to believe me. I didn’t know he was going to kill someone. I was only trying to help.” She glared at Curtis. “And then, with all your fancy talk about treasure maps and jewels, you couldn’t even read the blasted thing. I never should have believed you.”
Watson took her arm. “Diane Uppiton,” he said, “I am arresting you.”
* * *
Louise Jane and I made our statements, and then we were allowed to leave the police station with Connor. Watson walked us to the door. “I don’t think,” the detective said dryly, “I’m going to have a lot of trouble making my case. Diane is confirming that Curtis phoned her that night saying he needed a lift, and she picked him up at the end of the lighthouse road. Curtis is saying he killed Jeremy in self-defense because they fought over the items, but Diane put him up to trying to steal them. He seems to think that’s some sort of defense.”
“What will happen to Diane?” I asked.
“She’ll be charged, at a minimum, with being an accessory after the fact and lying to the police. Curtis is saying the theft was her idea, but that doesn’t really matter. Not if we can’t prove she was present at the break-in and the subsequent murder.”
“He must have thought he could decode the page, and the map would lead him to buried treasure,” Connor said. “What a fool.”
“Not treasure,” I said. “I suspect he told Diane that so she’d think of gold and jewels, but he was hoping to find some lost military report that would exonerate his ancestor.”
“He was somewhat overconfident of his own cleverness,” Louise Jane said. “Considering the best minds in the Outer Banks have been trying for days to decipher the code with no success.”
“Do you include yourself in that group, Louise Jane?” Connor asked.
“Naturally,” she replied. She gathered the tatters of her gown around her. It was torn in several places, but, as she told me, it was easily fixed, as it was a movie costume made to come apart easily.
* * *
As I said from the very beginning, all we needed was the key.
Watson phoned Bertie first thing the next morning, and Bertie immediately called Charlene and me. I left my apartment without even showering or having breakfast.
Last night, the police had searched Curtis and Diane’s house, and found the original map and code page. Watson was inviting us to down to the police station to see them.
The sun was rising over the ocean as three excited librarians gathered in the interview room at the police station.
“Before we see them,” I said, “I’ve got one last question. We’ve figured out why Curtis wanted the code page and map, but I don’t see why he killed Jeremy. Fueled by a couple of drinks, they went to the library together, broke in, and took the pages. But then they fought and Jeremy died. Curtis said it was self-defense. Why would Curtis have to defend himself against Jeremy?”
“From what I can make out,” Watson said, “all Jeremy wanted was to examine the papers first and somehow get one over on the historical society. Curtis had other plans. He wanted to take the pages and use them to find the supposed lost military documents himself. Jeremy laughed at Curtis’s story of his ancestors’ army papers. Curtis didn’t like that. And one thing led to another.”
“Poor Jeremy,” Charlene said.
Watson opened the top drawer of the table, took out two sheets of paper wrapped in plastic, and laid them on the table in front of us.
“This is evidence we’ll need for Curtis’s trial,” Watson said. “So you can’t touch the papers themselves, but I knew you’d like to have a peek.”
We stared at the pages, so familiar from the photos I’d taken and printed out and pondered over long into the night.
“I was hoping,” Charlene said with a sigh, “there’d be something so faded it didn’t show up in the photo. But I don’t see anything like that.”
“No,” Bertie said.
“What about the back? Maybe something’s written there,” I said. “Can you turn them over, Sam?”
He did. First he turned the code page. It was blank. Then he flipped the map over, and we saw it immediately. The writing was very faint, aged with time, but legible. Watson handed me a magnifying glass and I put it to my eye and leaned in while Bertie and Charlene held their breath.
8559
9360
“Eight five five nine,” I said. “And nine three six zero.”
Watson groaned. “Not another puzzle.”
“It’s got to be significant,” Charlene said. “Every piece brings us closer to solving it.”
“But what do you suppose it means?” Bertie said. “Map coordinates? Longitude and latitude?”
“If so, that’s nowhere around here,” Watson said. “More like near the North Pole, if my college geography holds up.”
“They might be dates,” I said. “August fifth eighteen fifty nine?”
“September third eighteen sixty,” Bertie said.
We took a collective breath.
“Those dates appear in Mrs. Crawbingham’s diary,” Charlene said. “I don’t recall anything exceptional about them, though.”
“Thanks, Detective,” I said.
“We might be back,” Bertie said.
“Have a nice day,” Charlene said.
We rushe
d for the door.
“You’re not going anywhere without me.” Watson ran after us. Butch Greenblatt was at his desk. Holly Rankin stood over him, pointing at something on his computer. Butch jumped to his feet with a cry. “You’ve solved it!” He hurried after us. Rankin fell into step behind him.
Startled officers and civilian clerks watched the six of us falling all over one another to get to the doors.
“I’m calling Connor,” I said. “He’ll want to know.”
Charlene and I had come with Bertie. We leapt into her car, and she tore out of the police station.
Charlene twisted around and looked out the back window. “Sam’s right behind us. Oh, and Butch has grabbed a cruiser. Better slow down, Bertie.”
Bertie eased off the gas. “It would be just like Sam Watson to have me arrested for speeding so he could get to the diary first.”
“We can play at that game also,” Charlene said. “If he tries to pass us, I’ll report him for driving dangerously.”
I checked behind us. “Connor’s coming down the town hall steps. He’s running for his car.”
We drove in a stately procession of four vehicles to the Lighthouse Library, sticking exactly to the speed limit.
It was early and the library wasn’t open yet. Bertie unlocked the door, and we stumbled in.
I’d let Charles out of my apartment when I left, not even stopping to give him his breakfast. His blue eyes opened wide at the sight of the crowd with me.
“I’ll get the key,” Bertie shouted. She headed for her office, and the rest of us, including Charles, pounded up the back stairs to the rare books room, where we waited impatiently for the door to be unlocked. Charles waited impatiently for me to remember that a cat needs sustenance.
“Are you sure you’ve solved it?” Connor asked.
“No,” I said. “But we have a solid clue.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing this map,” Holly Rankin said, “that everyone’s been talking about.”
I patted my pockets. We’d had to leave the originals behind, but I had the printouts with me.
Bertie unlocked the door, and we fell into the room.