by Stacy Green
“You’re overreacting.”
“Nope. You’ve got a reliance on being led around by authority figures. How about listening to a friend once in a while instead of searching for verification?”
Dani’s lips flattened into a line so tight, they turned as pale as her skin. “Right now, I’m not sure I could call you a friend. And you were putting me into the middle of your personal vendetta.”
“No I wasn’t. Even if I didn’t think Ben was the scum of Jackson, I’d be suspicious. And I wouldn’t want you to get involved with someone who could be dangerous. That’s all.”
“Right.” Her chin quivered. “You know, I’m just trying to get my footing. I’m in a new place, thousands of miles from home, there are dead people in my house, and everyone is telling me who I can and can’t trust. Excuse me if I look to certain people for guidance.” She rubbed her wet eyes.
His anger ebbed. “Please don’t cry. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt. I cry when I’m angry.”
“Well, don’t be angry. I’m just trying to help.”
“Help what? Point out my issues? That’s fantastic. While we’re at it, let’s discuss your feelings for Jaymee. How’re those going?”
Cage took a step back, but he held Dani’s sharp gaze. “That’s all in the past.”
“Right. That’s why you look at her like she’s the only person in the room.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.” He wanted to say something else, but his tongue couldn’t catch up to his tumbling thoughts. He’d finally let Jaymee go, but articulating that wasn’t coming easy. He’d held on to the idea of her for so long he couldn’t remember anything else.
Dani rubbed her face again, leaving splotches on her fair cheeks. She sniffed and then braced her hand against the counter. “This is getting us nowhere, and I really need to sleep.”
A fresh wave of disappointment splashed over Cage. “I’ll show myself out.”
“Thanks.” She looked down at the letter again, expression unreadable.
Cage wondered if Ben’s money and charm had already sucked Dani in. He couldn’t leave here without her understanding that he did appreciate her faith in him and that he did have faith in her. “For what it’s worth, I just don’t want you getting hurt. Figure you’ve already been through enough the last few days. I guess it’s just the good old Southern boy in me.”
Dani’s smile was tired, but the anger in her eyes had evaporated. “I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nodded and left, wishing for all the world he could stay. And that scared him more than the bullies he’d faced in grade school, more than Ironwood’s creepy basement, more than the idea of being a murder suspect.
Falling for a damned Yankee was downright terrifying.
20
The sound of rain had never comforted Dani, instead taking over her thoughts until all she could hear was the stupid pounding water. Faint gray light peeked into the window across from the four-poster bed. The LED on her phone read 5:32 a.m. Too damned early, but Dani couldn’t get back to sleep, thanks to the rain and Cage Foster.
He was right. She’d known it as soon as the words left his mouth, but damned if she’d give in that easily. All her life, she’d had someone to tell her what to do, and that someone was usually her mother. Rarely did Dani make a decision without consulting her mother first. And now that she was gone, she was tripping through the days wondering if she was doing the right thing. Her mother had believed following their dreams to the plantations was the right thing to do, so Dani had latched onto that idea. It became an obsession. Instead of sleeping or grieving, she’d spent hours online, searching for jobs in the South and plantations she could afford to purchase. She made lists of everything she and her mother had ever wanted in their restoration, and her mother’s voice stayed with her, guiding her on the best course.
And now she was here and completely, utterly lost.
She might as well get up.
Flicking on the bedside lamp, she squinted and then reached for the notebook she’d fallen asleep with last night. She snatched the pen and looked back over her notes.
Who had left the letter? And why?
Cage didn’t have the answer, and neither did she. Or Jaymee. She’d come home dog-tired and still pissy about the Yankee family. But her eyes had lit up when she saw the letter, and she and Dani had giddily examined it and discussed various scenarios in which it could have been sent–and whether or not the rumors of an unseemly relationship between John James and CaryAnne existed between the written lines.
“The key is, well, the key,” Jaymee had said. “I just know it.”
“But how? Yes, it’s entirely possible for Ironwood to have had a master key. It likely would have been a skeleton key, trimmed down to fit all the individual locks.”
“And the killer has it. You said yourself whoever used the butler’s pantry probably had a skeleton key.”
“But I also said any number of keys could have fit. And the likelihood of that specific key surviving until today is slim. And if the killer does have it, why give me the letter? Why tell me he has it?”
“People are screwed in the head. Even the most well-adjusted, kind people can turn out to be monsters.” A shadow passed in her eyes, and she looked away.
Jaymee had offered her home to a stranger and had been kind to Dani, even while being painfully honest about her silly illusions of the South. Respecting the woman’s privacy was the least Dani could do. She didn’t press Jaymee on her comment and bid her goodnight.
She needed to get up. Sneak downstairs, maybe make some coffee. She didn’t want to rummage through someone else’s kitchen, but that seemed less rude than waking Jaymee up. And God knows she was going to need coffee if she had to deal with Landers all day again.
By the time Dani arrived at Ironwood, the rain came in earnest. She didn’t have an umbrella, and cursing her luck, she stepped out of the car ready to sprint to the house. Her tennis shoe promptly sank into the red mud of the driveway, loose shoestrings dangling in the wet dirt. Heavy as clay, the mud enveloped her foot until the entire sole was buried. With one foot still in the car and her body half hanging out of the driver’s door, Dani jerked her trapped foot as hard as she could.
It came out of the shoe.
“Mother fletcher!”
Water dripped off her leg now, her shorts and left sock getting soaked. She leaned out of the door, clutching the steering wheel with her hand, and tried to recover the tennis shoe. The mud refused to give. She tried again, and with a begrudging gurgling sound, the mud loosened and her shoe popped free.
Except it was soaked and layered with thick, wet, red dirt.
Dani turned the shoe upside down, laying it carefully on the floor between her feet. She hated to drive into the grass, but there was no other option. The driveway was all red mud, and that crap wasn’t going to give. She’d be stuck all day. She parked beneath the live oak and hoped the grass would give her enough cushion to keep from sinking, and the ruts would eventually heal.
Mud-covered shoe back on, Dani grabbed her bag and sprinted into the downpour. Her car was less than twenty feet from Ironwood’s porch, but by the time she reached the cover of the house, her clothes were soaked.
Gina stepped outside. She handed Dani a towel. “You should have honked. I would have brought an umbrella.”
“How long has it been raining?” Dani wiped the moisture off her face and arms and tried to dry her clothes.
“Started sometime in the middle of the night, and it doesn’t take much to turn Mississippi mud into cement. You’re lucky you got your shoe out.” She glanced at Dani’s feet. “Let me get some towels.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dani leaned over the railing letting the rain wash away as much mud as possible. Then she took off both shoes and socks and placed them against the house. “Hopefully they will dry.”
“Sure you want to be walking around barefoot? Booties won’t help much agai
nst splinters.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Contractor got here a few minutes before you did. He’s looking at the stairs now.”
Dani nodded. “Where’s Landers?”
“Following a lead. I’ll be working the scene today.”
Praise God for small favors. She followed Gina inside, the hardwood floors smooth and cool against her feet. A tall, thin man stood on a ladder at the grand staircase, a tool belt attached to his sagging jeans, his dark shirt spattered with rain. At their approach, he headed down the ladder and strode forward to shake Dani’s hand.
“Guy Benton. We spoke on the phone yesterday.” His face wasn’t unattractive, but the strange strip of beard that circled his jaw from ear to ear, with no mustache, drew Dani’s attention away from his features. How much effort did it take to maintain the beard’s odd half-circle?
“Dani Evans. Thanks for coming on such short notice. Have you had a chance to look at these stairs?”
“Some,” Guy said. “There are some other things I need to check before I decide on their stability, though.”
“Take your time,” Dani said. “It’s important we get upstairs, but we don’t want anyone hurt.”
Guy jerked his head in agreement and went back to the ladder, talking quietly to himself as he assessed the structure.
“Did you find any prints on the envelope?” Dani asked Gina.
The captain leaned against the wall, a watchful eye on the contractor. “Technician just got it this morning. She’s hoping to have something by the end of the day, but our resources are limited. Might take a couple of days. You have the letter safely stored?”
“In a plastic bag, inside a fresh envelope.” Dani patted the bag she’d slung over her shoulder. “And with me.”
“Good.”
Guy climbed back down the ladder and then hefted it over to the other side of the staircase.
“The letter mentioned a key,” Gina said. “What did you think of that?”
“I think the person who sent it was probably trying to tell us about the key. But the chances of it still existing are pretty slim. Though, why give me the letter then?”
“Hard to say. Maybe the person thinks they were helping. Or maybe someone is trying to screw up the investigation. Someone with a vested interest.”
Dani rubbed her arms. “You’re talking about the killer?”
“Maybe. Or someone who wants you to be digging around Ironwood for buried treasure. Or perhaps to simply get close to you.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just interesting that you’ve voiced your plans to find the room and possibly identify the bones as John James Laurent’s, and then this letter shows up.”
“I’ve only told a few people. Cage. And Jaymee. And Ben and Grace Moore.”
Gina raised her eyebrows. “My point.”
“You’re talking about Ben? He seemed like a nice man. What do you people have against him?”
“I told you last night.”
“Something to do with the Semple farm. I haven’t heard the entire story.”
Gina sighed. “About a year ago, the Semple farm went into foreclosure.”
“You said the land was historic?”
“Isiah Semple was the first black man to own farmland in Adams County–at least on record. In 1867, when the prices were low because of the Reconstruction, he was able to buy fifty acres from John James.”
“The Semple farm used to be part of Ironwood land?”
Gina nodded. “You know the creek that runs along the back of your property? The Semple’s was on the other side. The land stayed in the family for generations. When it went into foreclosure, a group of Roselea townsfolk formed a co-op. They planned to buy the land and work out a deal with the Semple descendants. Cage was in that group.”
“What happened?”
“Ben Moore caught wind of it. Came in with Norton Investments out of Maryland. They outbid the co-op and bought the land. The Semple house was torn down last month for a new development. Soon there will be cheap apartments and tourist-friendly hotels. Which of course, hurts the bed and breakfasts around here, Ben’s mother’s included. Not a very popular move for a native son with a long-standing Roselea legacy.”
Sourness rolled through Dani. “All right, fine. I can see where that would upset people. Maybe I can even understand Cage’s bitterness. But how does that implicate Ben Moore into the situation with Ironwood?”
“It doesn’t. Not directly. But he hasn’t been back to town since the sale. He’s had a long reputation for being a Slick Willie. Good at making a fast buck. His arrival now, along with buddying up to you and then this sudden letter, bothers me. Bothers Cage, too.”
“Why? What could Ben have to gain?”
“You’re an intelligent woman, Dani. Use your head. Most people think you’ll be selling Ironwood after all this. Wouldn’t blame you if you did. Before you came along, rumor was that Lee Walker was stalling because Northern investors wanted to buy this place, tear it down, and build a fancy hotel and restaurant. Then you came along and saved the place.”
“Lee never mentioned any of this.”
“Probably saw no reason to.” Gina shifted. “But just be warned what Ben is capable of. Selling this place would be a nice paycheck. Especially if there really is a family cache.”
“You’re judging a man by his past. Ben Moore could just be a friendly neighbor trying to help out.” Too bad Dani wasn’t sure she believed that herself.
“It’s been my experience that past behavior indicates future actions,” Gina said. “Just keep an eye out for Moore. And if you do find something in this house when we turn it back over to you, don’t make him your confidant.”
“All right.” The sound of Guy’s metal ladder clanging back together ended the conversation. “These stairs need some serious work. The connectors and base rails are partially rotted. Stay off the left stairs altogether–four stairs in the middle are ready to bust. Right side isn’t bad, as long as you’re not hauling heavy equipment up them or a larger person isn’t walking.”
He adjusted his tool belt. “But I wouldn’t let anyone other than yourself or investigators on them until they are fixed. Too risky. Do you need me to go up to check the flooring? From this level, the ceiling looks pretty good, but there may be some rotting.”
“I can handle that part. I just needed an expert for the stairs,” Dani said. “Can you check the servants’ quarter stairs as well? And as soon as the house is no longer needed by the police, the stairs will be the first thing I work on. You’ll be hearing from me.”
Guy deemed the servants’ quarter stairs off limits, saying anything over fifty pounds could bring the whole section down. She thanked him and his strange beard for their help, and after he’d carefully maneuvered the ladder and himself through the mud and driven away, Gina and Dani were left to the grand dual staircase.
“Is anyone else coming?” Dani looked at Gina, who carried an evidence kit.
The captain shook her head. “We’re a small county, and I’ve got all available manpower still searching for bodies. Just you and me.” She checked her cellphone. “I’m making sure this thing is charged and ready. Just in case.” She eyed the stairs. “I’ll go first.”
“No. It’s my house. I’ll go.” Dani liked to think she was being noble, but the truth was, she wanted to be the first person to see Ironwood’s upper floors after all this time. “Let’s go one at a time.”
Still barefoot, Dani approached Ironwood’s massive dual staircase, keeping to the right set of stairs as instructed. She took the first stair and then the second. The third creaked, and Dani clutched the right banister. She loved the cool touch of the worn, smooth wood, and slowly ascended to the second floor. Each step had its own grunt, and every creak and groan made Dani’s muscles tense.
Finally, she reached the top. Taking a deep breath, she turned and gazed down to the first floor. The lighting in the foyer was lousy, but the French
marble floor still boasted its antique elegance. The staircase’s banisters and railing–all solid mahogany–emitted a dull glow, as though the once pristine house was trying to redeem itself. How many times had a member of the Laurent family stood in this spot, watching as guests arrived and taking in the magnificent stairs? Had CaryAnne dreamed of walking down them as a bride, with her father at her side and her groom waiting to receive her, the house filled with admiring guests?
If she had, that dream had never come to be, as CaryAnne had died a spinster. Why hadn’t she ever married? Disinterested? Perhaps CaryAnne had preferred the company of woman and so never had a chance at living out her dream, stuck in a time that didn’t understand sexuality. Or perhaps, she’d been scarred by the indecent actions of her own father.
You’re letting your imagination run off. Do the job you came here for, and leave the daydreaming for later.
Gina had reached the top. “I think I’d rather be looking for dead bodies.” She looked around. “Dusty up here. Good sign.”
“Yes,” Dani agreed. “Nice layer of dust on the floors, and I don’t see any footprints. Let’s go to the end of the hall. The master bedroom is down there. Might as well start with it.”
She took a flashlight out of her bag. The light in the upstairs hall was even worse than downstairs, and Dani wanted to make sure she could see the floor at all times. At the end of the hallway was a large window covered with moth-eaten curtains. They were mid-twentieth century and in lousy shape.
“Get ready for the filth.” Dani grasped both sides of the curtains and pulled. Dust and decaying flies burst from the material, leaving both women coughing and covered with a fine sheet of muck. But the gray light of the day at least made the upstairs less foreboding.
Dani retrieved the blueprints from her bag. “This room,” she pointed to the right, “is over the kitchen and dining area. Said to originally have been a guest room, and the church allowed renters to use it for a while.” She examined the lock. It matched the rest of the interior doors of the house, meaning a skeleton key likely wouldn’t open it.