Tin God; Skeleton's Key; Ashes and Bone

by Stacy Green

  Jaymee slid to the edge of the bed, her feet hitting the floor with a smack. Her head spun from lack of sleep. “What did Cage say about the interview with Stanley?”

  “He didn’t. I think Gina was in the room, and he’s trying to play by the rules.” Dani’s conspiratorial expression made Jaymee want to smile. “I’ll get him alone and find out. He made me promise not to share any pertinent information, including whatever this artifact is.”

  “So you’ll call me and tell me as soon as you can?”

  Dani grinned. “Of course. Keep your phone close.”

  * * *

  Soon after Dani left, Jaymee hauled herself all the way out of bed. Lying around feeling sorry for herself wasn’t her style, and she didn’t have the energy for depression. She needed to do something, even if her efforts were futile. She felt weak from hunger. The thought of eating while Nick was out there alone made her sick. But she hadn’t eaten since an early lunch yesterday.

  Mutt whined to go out. She opened the back door, the fresh morning air a welcome change from her stuffy bedroom. Mutt raced to the backyard to do his business, barking at the intrusive crows. Pouring herself a bowl of dry bran flakes, Jaymee sat down at the table just as the doorbell rang.

  Maybe Nick had found his way home, injured and worried about her, without his keys or phone. She raced to the door and flung it open without pause.

  Her hopes were promptly drowned. Dylan Asher stood with his hand still poised over the doorbell. His eyes widened; Jaymee realized she wore a tank top and short shorts, her robe still open. She tied it shut, but she felt pretty sure Dylan’s shock had nothing to do with sexual attraction. She’d always heard he preferred men, and since he managed to keep his eyes on hers and not on her half-exposed chest, she thought those rumors were probably true.

  “Dylan. Hi. Come on in.” Jaymee liked to think he could be a poster boy for “geek is the new chic.” A high school nerd who’d matured into a handsome man with a nicely symmetrical face, and dark, brooding eyes often hidden behind glasses, Dylan’s quiet demeanor contrasted with his passion for preserving Roselea’s history. “Was Ashland hit very hard?” Jaymee asked, trying to be polite. Right now she had a lot more important things to worry about even if Ashland Plantation was a premiere tourist attraction and Dylan the creator of the blasted Heritage Tour.

  “We lost a barn and a couple of horses,” Dylan said. “Took part of the screened-in porch that was built in 1832. I’m just sick about it. I had some family documents out there I’d been studying, trying to put together some family records. They’re gone. And the porch and barn are strewn all over. But it could have been worse. Looks like you lost some windows upstairs. How’d the rest of the house do?”

  “Fine, thankfully. I need to call the insurance company about the windows.” It was certainly the last thing on her mind. “So what brings you here so early?”

  “I’m out checking on the homes in the Heritage Tour, seeing how they did in the storm. And I promised Nick I’d stop by.”

  She teetered on her heels, blood pressure thrumming. “When? When did you talk to him?”

  “Yesterday morning, before he left Jackson. He called and said he’d be here. Is he still sleeping?”

  He had to be shitting her. “You didn’t know? His car was found not far from Ashland, apparently abandoned before the storm wrecked it. Captain Barnes was supposed to contact you about searching your property.”

  “I’ve barely been home,” Dylan said. “I came into town early to try to help wherever I could. The captain probably talked to my father, but I’ll make sure to call and let her know her people are welcome to whatever they need.”

  “What did Nick want to talk to you about?”

  “He didn’t really say. Well, that’s not entirely true. He said he had something he wanted me to look at, for my opinion. Wouldn’t elaborate, though.”

  Dylan’s opinion on what? The fakes hidden in the chifforobe? He did know a lot about history, but Dani was the expert. Why would Nick want to talk to Dylan when Dani was a phone call away?

  “I meant to get over here last night, then the storm came, and I’ve been cleaning debris and running all morning. I just had no idea. What do the police think happened?”

  Jaymee thought Dylan looked awfully clean for someone who’d been picking up storm debris all morning, but he was one of those guys who never looked like he did manual labor. If he got his hands dirty, they didn’t stay that way for long.

  “He’s missing.” Jaymee knew damned well that in a small town like Roselea, telling one person the details would ensure everyone knowing. “They’re searching for him. That’s all I know.”

  “Christ.” Dylan reached for her, awkwardly putting his hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Call Captain Barnes and let her know Nick wanted to speak with you.” Jaymee shook him off. “You’re sure he didn’t say anything more specific?”

  “I’m sure. The whole thing puzzled me because I don’t know him that well. I thought maybe he was worried about your being on the Heritage Tour, living alone and letting strangers in the house. I figured he just wanted some reassurance and asking me to look at something was just an excuse.”

  Maybe. Nick hadn’t been thrilled with her decision to put Magnolia on the tour, especially not after what had happened to her last year. But if he’d mentioned wanting Dylan to look at something, he likely had a specific object in mind. A Civil War artifact? Whatever Cage found in Nick’s car?

  “Keep an eye out for anything unusual,” Jaymee said. “I know it will be tough with all the storm issues to deal with it.” She was surprised he wasn’t at the plantation. Dylan’s love of history trumped everything but his love of Ashland.

  “I’ll call the captain as soon as I leave.” Dylan shuffled on his feet, as if waiting to be dismissed.

  “I’m surprised you’re in town and not at the house.” Jaymee voiced her thoughts.

  Dylan wrinkled his nose. “Well, my father took over the cleanup early this morning. I decided I’d be more useful elsewhere.” Darkness crossed his face, and Jaymee didn’t ask any more questions. Rumor was the mayor and Dylan didn’t get along because of his son’s apparent sexual preference. But it was none of her business. And right now, it didn’t matter.

  “And I’ll check in with him and my mom, make sure they know to be on the lookout. The neighbors too. Do the police have any leads?”

  “All I know is that his car was hit on the way down from Jackson during the storm. Nick wasn’t in it.”

  “Do the police think he was taken?” Dylan asked.

  Jaymee bit her lip until it hurt. Dylan had to have some inside knowledge about Joseph Stanley. His father supported Norton’s encroachment into Roselea from the beginning. “I don’t know.”

  “Please don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything you need,” Dylan said. “I’ve got to get going, but do you need any help with cleanup? The property doesn’t look too bad, but I can get someone over here to pick up the limbs.”

  Normally Jaymee would say no. But she was stretched too emotionally thin right now. “That would be great, thank you.”

  “I’ll try to give you a heads-up when he’s coming, but if you see a big guy lugging limbs, don’t worry.” Dylan tried to smile. He squeezed her shoulder. “And please, let me know if you need anything else.”

  She locked the door behind him. Her cereal bowl was now empty, and a guilty looking Mutt sat in the corner. He refused to look at her.

  “Shithead.”

  * * *

  Jaymee managed to finish eating, showering, and dressing by the time Dani returned an hour later.

  “What did you find out?” Jaymee met Dani in the entryway, lightheaded with anticipation. The electrified look on Dani’s face only intensified Jaymee’s nerves.

  “Nick had a Confederate cartridge case.” She was dancing again. “The kind soldiers carried with them as part of their uniforms. It was empty, but
it was used. There’s a bullet fragment lodged in it. A forensics expert might even be able to find blood. Anyway, the piece is definitely real and quite valuable.”

  “Where did he get it? Is something like that common?”

  “Cartridge cases, yes,” Dani said. “They’re fairly easily faked too. But there are plenty of real ones out there. The bullet hole makes this one unique and worth some money. And I have no idea where he got it. Cage said there was nothing else with it. Get this. It was hidden beneath the driver’s seat. In an envelope duct taped to the seat.”

  Jaymee leaned against the wall. “So Nick was deep into the artifact story. And he knew someone was pissed off at him.”

  “Oh yeah. I suspect this piece must somehow lead to the person running the fake show.” Dani crossed her arms, mouth in a tight line. “They’re smart, mixing authentic pieces in with replicas.”

  “You said you and Lee were hearing more about this. Do you have any idea how it’s done or who might be doing it?”

  “Well, there are more and more of these jerks out there. But I’m guessing the person Nick was after is local. Or at least has local ties. And I have a lead.” She smiled, her eyes crinkling around the edges.

  “Who?” Jaymee was already searching for her shoes. Her hands and feet wouldn’t stop moving, jerking with the drive to get out and do something useful. Something to bring Nick home.

  “Local guy. The historical foundation’s been getting complaints for the past few years about fraudulent objects, and Lee’s heard rumors of this local guy being at the center of it. Nothing like what we’ve seen, but hopefully he’ll give Cage something he can use.”

  “I can’t sit around here all day,” Jaymee said. “I keep thinking he’s going to walk through the door. Or I’ll get a call that he’s in the morgue. I need to do something.”

  “Well, I have an idea,” Dani said. “You might not like it.”

  Jaymee would try anything at this point. “I’m listening.”

  “Well, your…” Dani hesitated. “I mean…Penn Gereau is in the Delta Correctional Facility, right?”

  “Since last June, yeah.” Jaymee knew where the conversation was going, and no, she didn’t like it. She’d talked to Penn a few times, mostly about finances and the upkeep of the house, and visited once, when she and Dani wanted to ask his permission to put Magnolia House on the Heritage Tour. Their conversations were always to the point. She didn’t want to talk about anything else, and he was decent enough not to push.

  “Lee told me a man in Claiborne County was arrested for selling meth a couple of months ago, and police also discovered he was making knock-off items—household antiques. They couldn’t get enough to make a fraud charge stick, but they know he was selling them as authentic. He’s in Delta Correctional too.”

  Jaymee headed for the door. “So let’s go see the former Reverend.”

  8

  Delta Correctional was just east of Fayette, another small town thirty miles east of Roselea. It was a private prison for mostly white-collar offenders. Penn Gereau’s family name and the mitigating circumstances behind the assault he committed were good enough to land him at Delta instead of the Mississippi State Prison. Jaymee spoke to him occasionally on the phone, mostly about the estate he’d left her in charge of. She wasn’t going to work on a real relationship with him until he was released.

  And even then, how was she just supposed to forgive and forget that he’d lied to her all of her life? She liked to think she was above holding a grudge—that she could at least partially understand his choices—but most days, she didn’t want to think about them because she wound up angry. So she focused on the positives, like Magnolia and Nick.

  “You know,” Jaymee said as she and Dani waited for security to pat them down, “I’m starting to think we’re a bad influence on each other.”

  “Why?” Dani raised her arms for the guard. “We’re not doing anything dangerous. We’re looking for information. Cage and Gina are busy with real leads. We’re just…researching.”

  “Last time our researching could have landed us in jail,” Jaymee reminded her. Although it would have been worth it. Sneaking into Ironwood had been a blast.

  “Yeah, well, we trespassed in my own damned house.” Dani glanced around the gray corridor they were stuck in. Jaymee thought both of them looked as out of place as a gazelle in a lion’s den.

  Getting through security was a long process of semi-violation, and the staff seemed distracted by the well-dressed man chatting up one of the guards. He looked generic to Jaymee: standard features, pressed khakis and a polo shirt. But somehow, over his commonness, he possessed a presence commanding attention. He stood tall and distinguished, with crinkled blue eyes and wrinkles that made him look more appealing than the average baby boomer. He spoke quietly to the warden, but the tenor of his voice carried through the corridor, his accent branding him an out-of-towner.

  “Who is that?” Dani asked the female guard patting her down, who glared at the man with the patience of a wasp nest that had been disturbed.

  “Some ex-senator. Don’t remember his name.”

  Dani stepped out of the way as the guard starting checking Jaymee for weapons. When they’d visited before, Jaymee had forgotten to take her multipurpose tool off her key ring. Guards didn’t like that much.

  “Is the Delta Correctional Facility the only prison you’ve been to?” Dani asked.

  “Not on my list of vacation spots,” Jaymee said. “Not that I’ve really taken any vacations.”

  The female security guard snickered. Her skin was the color of caramel-colored coffee, dotted with dark freckles across the bridge of a pert nose. Roundly shaped but with the build of football player instead of a coach potato, the guard wore a pissed off expression Jaymee assumed came naturally.

  “Be glad you’re not at State,” the guard drawled. The lyrical way the words rolled off the guard’s tongue made Jaymee think she was from the southern Louisiana parishes and probably Creole.

  Of course, Dani cleared that up quickly. “Are you a Creole?”

  The guard cocked her head, the handcuffs on her stocky hips clanging. “You a Yankee?”

  Dani flushed red. “Sorry. I just think your accent is pretty.”

  “Down here, you’re the one with the accent.” The guard pointed to a closed door where another guard waited, looking properly unenthused. The women followed him into a large room with partitions and a phone on each side. Several visitors were already engaged in conversation with prisoners. No one looked up as she and Dani entered.

  Jaymee was directed to a chair, and Dani sat next to her. “I always thought private prisons had open visiting rooms. You know, without the whole phone thing.”

  “I think that’s only at certain times of the month,” Jaymee said. On the other side of the wall of phones, a metal door slid open. Clad in the standard gray jumpsuit, Penn was led out by a guard. He’d lost weight, and his skin had the ashy look of someone who didn’t get enough sun. At the sight of Jaymee, he hurried to the phone.

  “I’m so glad to see you. I heard the storm went through Roselea and was worried. But you,” he said as his eyes swept over her with pride, “you look great.”

  She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Magnolia House is fine. I’m not. Nick’s missing.”

  Penn’s excitement drained from his gaunt face. He sank bank into the chair. “What?”

  Jaymee quickly brought Penn up to speed. He listened with the same quiet calm she remembered as a child when he counseled parishioners on their various problems.

  “All right,” he said when Jaymee finished. “So the police have their leads. How can I help?”

  “A couple of months ago,” Dani said, “Carl Gilbert was arrested for cooking meth. When police raided, they found out he was also fabricating antiques. He’s in here now.”

  “I know,” Penn said. “We’re all surprised how that happened. Most of the guys in here are white.”

  “Except
for you,” Jaymee reminded him, feeling slightly bitter.

  “I did what I had to do to protect you,” he said.

  “You took revenge.” They’d had this argument before, and now wasn’t the time or place. Not to mention she didn’t have the energy to waste. “But I’m not discussing it right now. Can you get close to Gilbert? See what you can find out?”

  “You think he’s involved in this somehow?”

  “I doubt it,” Dani said. “But considering Nick was taken in Adams County and not closer to Jackson where he works, we’re thinking the dealers are local. And Gilbert might have some kind of information.”

  “It’s worth a shot.” Jaymee refused to let Penn say no. “Maybe he’s part of a bigger network. Or he’s heard about a nosy reporter. Like Dani said, the antiques could be part of a larger corruption. Maybe this Gilbert guy heard of it.”

  Penn messed with his short hair. Jaymee remembered when it was thick and full, a beautiful silvery black. He told her on one of her visits he cut it short to battle lice.

  “Thing is, girls, I’ve heard some things about Gilbert. About how he got in here. He’s got connections. And I don’t mean family connections like me. I’m talking another kind of family. The kind that uses brute force to get what they want.”

  “Are you talking about the mafia?” Dani said. “I thought the mob was a northern thing. Italians, Irish. New York, Boston.”

  “There’s another kind of mafia.” Alarm bells rang in Jaymee’s head. “But I’ve heard they’re half legend.”

  “Even if that’s true, that means the other half is real, and mean,” Penn said.

  “Clue me in,” Dani hissed.

  “The Dixie Mafia.” Jaymee spoke softly. Even if she didn’t believe most of what she’d heard, saying the name too loudly seemed like a bad idea. “One of their main guys is believed to have killed Eugene Davis, who had ties to Oswald and the Kennedy assassination. They’re still active, supposedly, but the 70s were their heyday. A lot of them are locked up in Louisiana, right?”

  “Yes,” Penn said, keeping his voice low. “But to hear some of the men in here talk, the Dixies have got connections everywhere. And operate on a much bigger level than believed. Mouths started wagging as soon as Gilbert entered. So yeah, he might know all about a larger corruption. But I doubt he’s going to talk about it.”