Chapter Seven
By Monday morning at work, Ramsey still couldn’t get Madison out of his head. Even though he considered her an opportunist, the erotic memories were too hot to forget. He hadn’t even changed the sheets on his bed yet, her delicate scent deep in his pillows and blanket. And as he often did whenever something knocked him off his axis, he reached for the stack of wedding invitations in his desk drawer.
Sure they made him smile. But more importantly, it reminded him why his name wasn’t engraved on the expensive paper. De Wolfes don’t fall in love. De Wolfes don’t get married. He flipped through them, randomly selecting an envelope and opened it. Tamara’s hand written note fell out.
Thank you, Ramsey. For opening my eyes to what was missing in my life. For giving me that proverbial shake. John is wonderful. We met the day after I left Opposition City, at the train station in Lexington. I believe everything happens for a reason. Even us. In some special way, you helped me find my soul mate. Please attend the wedding, we consider you a guest of honor.
Love,
Tamara Tyson
Tamara had been one of his favorites. Blond hair and brown eyes, a little too voluptuous, but God if he didn’t enjoy… And now she was happily married with two kids. She emailed occasionally, and if he felt generous, he replied. That was the extent of his intimacy. Words typed on his computer. He sighed and shoved the invitation and letter back into the envelope, then stashed the pile where it belonged, hidden away.
Even his younger brothers had managed to sire children. Something he wanted desperately. So he waited patiently, hoping to meet the right woman.
Someone knocked.
“Come in.”
“Detective De Wolfe,” Clyde Pinkett stepped inside. “We found another body by the lake. Female, early twenties, looks like sexual assault. The team is on scene, and Dr. Glover is on her way.”
Sandra Glover and Ramsey didn’t always agree on investigative procedures, but the woman was the best forensic pathologist in the state. He stood and walked to the coat rack near his door, plucking his suit jacket off the hook. He put it on, then followed the junior officer outside to the parking lot. They climbed into Ramsey’s black Chrysler 300, and headed to Cronis Lake, twenty minutes outside of the city limits.
As soon as he pulled into the gravel parking lot, Ramsey spotted the local news vans, police vehicles, and curious bystanders.
“Get the people out of here,” he said to Clyde as he opened his door. The first officers on scene should have secured the area better. But the department had made some personnel cuts recently, limiting the number of officers available.
He rounded his vehicle and retrieved his own camera from the trunk, preferring to take shots of the crime scene from his perspective. Ramsey kept a white board in his office where he liked to hang photos and reports so he got a clear visual of everything he needed to tell the story of the victim. He’d successfully closed dozens of violent crime cases. But the latest string of rape-murders left his mind spinning.
All the victims were between eighteen and thirty, petite, blond, and connected to the downtown area in some way. Two had been prostitutes, one a stock broker, and the remaining four, students from Lexington. He strode to the yellow tape barrier separating the crime scene from the open space where the media had set up their cameras. A reporter called to him, but he waved his hand, not in the mood to say anything before he had a chance to examine the body.
Three other victims had been recovered from campsites at this park. Stupid teenagers and college students liked to party here on the weekends. Knowledge of a serial rapist-killer on the loose in the city didn’t dissuade them. Alcohol and sex took precedence over safety. He eyed the beer bottles and food wrappers strewn across the ground. Ramsey followed the line of small orange cones set up, marking the locations of possible evidence. At the first one he found a red bra. Cigarette butts at the second. Matching red panties at the third cone, and a silver locket at the fourth. He snapped pictures from different angles, then found an officer making a plaster cast of a footprint in the nearby mud.
Again he took a photo, pressure building in his chest.
The girl’s body was half covered with a blue tarp, everything above the shoulders exposed to the sunlight. The ligature marks on her neck were fresh and deep. The son-of-a-bitch had used electrical cord again, he recognized the familiar pattern. No matter how many murder scenes he investigated, it always felt like the first time. Rage and regret washed over him, but the need for vengeance is what kept him focused. He wanted to catch the bastard so bad he could taste blood.
“It’s a shame.” The officer bent over the cadaver looked up at Ramsey. “We found her purse. Margaret Costner, she’s twenty-one. What a fucking waste—so young and beautiful…”
All murders were senseless, but when women and children were involved, it hit extra hard. “We’ll get him.” That’s all Ramsey said.
He walked thirty yards to the shoreline, sharply focused on the pathway. It appeared the team had done a good job canvasing the area. Nothing caught his attention. As he turned back, he spotted Dr. Glover. Ramsey hurried to meet her.
“Ramsey,” she greeted as he approached.
“Doc, good to see you again.”
She nodded, then glanced down at the victim. “Did you get a close look?”
“Same MO as the other killings. I’m headed downtown to talk to the restaurant and club owners. Someone in Opposition City knows Margaret.” He addressed the officer again. “Get one of the forensic guys to scan her license and send me a copy.”
“Sure thing, Detective De Wolfe.”
Ramsey rejoined Clyde in the parking lot, pleased to see the area had been cleared of unnecessary people. “Thanks for dispersing the crowd, goddamned amateur CSI’s will do anything to see a body. Did anyone look suspicious?”
“No,” Clyde answered. “But I know Channel Five taped some practice footage. Want me to ask them to send a copy to the department?”
“Do that,” Ramsey said. “I’m out of here.”
Chapter Eight
With her boss attending a convention in Indianapolis all week, Madison had time to devote to her interests at work. She’d spent the morning reexamining public records, newspaper clippings, magazine articles, family letters, and what few reference books the museum owned that mentioned the De Wolfe family. Several newspaper pieces explored the topic of the family curse. Ramsey’s biological father had even confirmed it in a very candid interview with the Opposition City Times back in 1985. But something was missing.
She’d made a fatal mistake on Friday night by sleeping with Ramsey. And now she was paying the ultimate price. No other man would ever satisfy her the way Ramsey had. How could they? She could still feel his big hot hands exploring her body, smell him, and taste his kisses. She accelerated, pushing the eight year old Ford Focus the museum employees used for deliveries harder. She remembered how to get to the De Wolfe compound like she drove it every day. Highway 61 to Coal Street, take a left on Fleming Avenue and creep two miles up the ass-clenching incline of a road until she reached the driveway.
The only way to get the answers she wanted was to show up uninvited and beg his mother for an interview. Until now, she’d wrestled with the idea, but never followed through. It just seemed wrong to invade the family’s private world. But damn it, things were different now. And if she didn’t act swiftly, Ramsey might retaliate by making that dreaded phone call to her boss. Madison wanted to prove herself worthy of a promotion. And getting answers would guarantee her a full time position at the museum.
She finally reached the gravel driveway, the three-story mansion visible from the street. She parked in the turnaround and followed the footpath leading to the front porch. Built on the crest of the highest hill, it overlooked the valley below where horses grazed freely on the famous Kentucky blue grass. Ash and oak trees surrounded the house, and she could smell the sweet fragrance of bush honeysuckle.
The fro
nt door opened before Madison even reached the first step.
She recognized Claire De Wolfe immediately, her delicate features and soft, dark hair as lovely as it appeared in all the pictures they had at the museum. She held a basket and was wearing gloves, pruning shears in her right hand.
“Good afternoon,” Claire said. “Are you lost?”
“No.” Madison braved the distance between them, joining her on the porch. “My name is Madison Blake, I work at the Opposition City Museum.”
“Did we miss our payment?” Claire looked embarrassed.
“No ma’am,” Madison said respectfully, growing anxious. “I wanted to see you.”
“Have we met, Madison?”
“Only in the pages of a book.”
Claire’s face lit up. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long time, Ms. Blake. I’m going to the greenhouse, care to join me?” She pointed.
The domed structure was all glass with metal trim. She trailed after Claire, gaining confidence with each step. Once inside, Madison admired the rows of roses.
“I know it’s smaller than most high-tech structures of its kind, but don’t let that fool you. My babies get the best of everything, a computerized system controls the heating, cooling, and light settings. What color do you prefer?” Claire gazed at her.
“White roses have always been my favorite.”
“A classic.” She walked down the next aisle and stopped. “Would you like to take a half dozen home with you?”
“Please.” Madison didn’t want to hover, so she stayed put.
“So tell me what your interest in my family is, Madison.”
“I’m the assistant curator…”
“Carl is a sweet man,” Claire said.
Sweet didn’t come to mind when Madison pictured her boss. But he had a public face and another he reserved for his employees. “Yes, he expects complete dedication to our work. That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh?” Claire’s voice went up an octave as she returned to the entryway. “What would you like to know?”
“Well…” She needed to word this very carefully. “I tried talking to your son. But Ramsey is hard to reach.”
A tiny smile crossed Claire’s face as she took off her gloves and laid them on a nearby work bench. She placed the small bouquet of roses there too, then met Madison’s worried gaze. She shouldn’t have mentioned Ramsey. If that didn’t send the wrong message, Madison didn’t know what would. Apparently she fell apart whenever that man crossed her mind. Maybe she should excuse herself and just drive back to work and forget her aspirations. Some secrets were better left unspoken. And some curses were never meant to be broken.
“I knew it,” Claire said. “Such a pretty girl wouldn’t drive all the way out here just to ask me a few questions about my family’s history. You’re involved with my son. I can see it in your eyes.”
“N-no,” Madison denied.
Claire took her hand, patting it reassuringly. “Please don’t be ashamed. I know everything about Ramsey, his lifestyle choices and how he treats women. But I must say, you’re the first one to ever care enough to show up here. And for that, I’m grateful.”
“It’s purely professional,” Madison tried to sound indifferent. “My graduate studies focused on your family’s contributions to Opposition City. I’m here to learn more.”
Claire chuckled. “All right, Ms. Blake. What would you like to know?”
“I specialize in stories that circulated in ancient Greece and Rome, and curses and legends from medieval Europe. I’ve presented at several graduate consortiums abroad, and completed an internship at the British Museum three years ago. My research papers are available online if you’re interested in confirming my credentials.” Madison kept a file on her smart phone, too.
Claire listened intently. “That won’t be necessary.”
She appreciated Claire’s trust. “Of all the curses I’ve encountered in my studies, one piqued my curiosity the most. And I haven’t been able to answer one question. I know your family’s history starts with Sir William De Wolfe’s brother, Jonathan. Until he fathered his fifth son Edward with his mistress, it seems his life wasn’t very exciting.”
“True,” she confirmed. “Middle sons were often overlooked.”
“Until he begged his wife to accept his child as her own.”
“The origin of the curse. Imagine condemning an innocent child to such a fate. The boy suffered all his life, accepting punishment for his father’s sins. Like the mark of Cain, the curse followed him wherever he went. Superstition defeated common decency back then. When people found out who Edward was, they cast him out, sometimes upon the threat of bodily harm or death. Edward sought refuge in France. From there, he travelled to Italy, where he fathered a son. I’m sure you’re familiar with our family tree.”
“Yes,” Madison said, her heart racing with excitement. Why hadn’t she done this before? Simply approached Claire and asked her question. “Please don’t feel obligated to go any further if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Would you like a drink, Madison? I have bottled water, ginger ale, and lemonade in the refrigerator over there.”
“Lemonade, please.” She followed Claire across the workspace to a kitchenette that had a long counter, sink, and the mini fridge. Four bar stools were tucked under the counter.
“Have a seat,” Claire said as she opened the fridge and took out two bottles. “Now…” She claimed the seat next to Madison. “Where were we?”
Madison opened her drink and took a nervous swig. “Your family tree.”
“Do you know how difficult it is raising a family in Kentucky when you’re not a properly married woman?”
Madison could guess. The gossip. Isolation. Shame. “I imagine you had to fight to protect your children.”
“Always,” Claire said, her jaw tightening. “Now we have grandchildren to consider. Although unwed mothers aren’t openly shamed, there’s still a collection of old Kentucky families that won’t breathe the same air as a De Wolfe.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Claire sighed and took a drink of lemonade. “Fortunately, my granddaughters will grow up and marry. So there’s hope for us yet.”
Madison feigned a smile.
“Where are you from, Madison?”
“Lexington.”
“A beautiful place.”
“I prefer the small town charm of Opposition City.”
“Things always look better in a glass showcase,” she said, likely referring to the De Wolfe family exhibit at the museum. “But let’s not resurrect old ghosts. I’d be happy to answer whatever questions you have.”
Madison shifted on the stool, tucking her feet under the rung on the frame. “Curses can be broken.”
Claire’s shoulders straightened and the light returned to her eyes. “Yes, they can.”
“I’ve searched exhaustively for any information on how to reverse the curse on your sons.”
“The answer isn’t in a book, Madison. The universe has a way of balancing things. Men might be physically superior to women, but God gave them a weak spot right in the middle.”
Madison grinned, knowing she meant their balls.
“The concept is the same. Jonathan De Wolfe’s wife lost the sympathy of her people once she took revenge on that infant. Lady Mary De Wolfe didn’t try to conceal her knowledge of witchcraft. She pronounced that curse in front of anyone that would listen. But Jonathan sought forgiveness through the church and received absolution. And just like any worthy fairytale, there’s a moral lesson to be learned and a happily ever after.”
Madison leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow on the counter. “What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Her heart plummeted. She didn’t understand. Claire had offered to answer her questions. “Why?”
“Only the females in the De Wolfe line are gifted with that knowledge. And if we tell anyone, we too will feel th
e sting of that curse. I can only assure you that if you listen to your heart, you’ll find the answers you seek.”
“Why has it taken this long for someone to find out?”
“Because you’re the first person that’s ever asked.”
Chapter Nine
Ramsey watched the sun dip below the horizon from the comfort of his leather sectional. Exhausted after a long day of interviewing business owners along Main Street, he finally found someone that recognized Margaret Costner’s picture. He loosened his tie and reclined, taking a long drink of beer. Marty Owens, the owner of Blues Central, assured him the girl had been partying with a group of friends in the pool room of his bar. The girls ordered three pitchers of Budweiser and shot a couple games before they left together.
Where Margaret disappeared between nine and ten PM, no one knew yet. The party at the lake started by ten, and several people remembered seeing Margaret alive and well. By eleven, most of the kids were drunk. But Ramsey refused to give up. He’d interview the three dozen party goers again and see if there were any holes in their stories. Uniformed officers had a way of making people shut down, but Ramsey knew how to make them talk.
Just as he set his bottle on the coffee table, his cell phone chimed. The ring tone warned his mother was on the other end of the call. He sighed, then picked up. “Hello?”
“How’s my dearest son?” Claire asked, her voice oversaturated with sweetness.
“I’m fine, Mother. How are you?”
“Oh don’t get so uptight. I’m not going to beg you over to dinner or try to set you up with another friend’s daughter. Can’t I call to say hello?”
He knew better, the woman had never done it before. “Of course you can. But don’t blame me for being suspicious.” He chuckled.
“I met a lovely girl today.”
Here it came. “My love life is fine.”
She snorted. “I believe you.”
“Good. Then there’s no need to discuss the girl you met.”
Romance the De Wolfe Page 13