by Stacy Green
A moment passed between them, hot as fire. Dani’s always rosy cheeks turned a deeper red, and for the second time that morning, her body leaned into his personal space. His breath hitched, and the sound seemed to break her trance. Cage nodded and put his hand back in his lap.
Dani wiped her tears, cleared her throat. “I need to make sure the skeleton isn’t forgotten. So I’m going to see if I can’t find out who those bones might belong to.”
“You do that,” Cage said. “Can’t hurt.”
“And I’m going to see if I can’t get the original blueprints for the house. I have reproductions from the historical foundation that were drawn up when they purchased Ironwood. Maybe there will be a clue to the secret room on the originals.”
“If it exists.”
“It does.”
“You were the little kid who played in the closets and cubbyholes in your house, weren’t you?”
Dani smiled. “Maybe.” She looked past Cage. “Here comes Gina.”
Cage put on his best smile as he rolled down the window. “Hello, Captain.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Gina steamed.
“I’m not on the property. And Dani and I were just chatting. She is my employer, after all.”
“Cut the shit.”
“Fine. Dani, tell her about the historical connection.”
Gina listened to the theory with a raised eyebrow. “Your only proof is these nonexistent locks and keys. And a gut feeling?”
“It’s an angle that makes sense,” Cage said. “Especially if the victims were digging for Ironwood gold.”
“Noted. And it will be looked into.”
“Killer is probably local,” Cage said. “Knowledge of the area.”
“Cage.”
“Come on. Off the damned record, Gina. You know I didn’t do this. What have you got?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do not breathe a word of this conversation, either one of you. We think he killed them in the pantry and used the old stairway as basement access. There is some possible trace evidence being collected. Landers is going to be searching the rest of the house, and Dani, you’ll need to shadow him. I’m going to round up available patrol officers and search the abandoned buildings within a 25-mile radius. We could be looking at more victims, and if they’re out there, they could give us an idea if the killer is still hanging around or moved on.
“We don’t have any local married men missing, which means these two were from out of town. For all we know, he sees himself as some vigilante type and has attacked other people who’ve illegally explored abandoned property. If that’s even what our vics were doing. Killer could have planted those things himself and is waylaying business travelers all over the country. We’ve got to look for other bodies.”
“They’re not out there,” Cage said. “He chose Ironwood for a reason. And if they were tearing apart the house looking for stuff to salvage, they might have been competition for him.”
“What about tourists?” Dani asked. “Wouldn’t they be easy targets?”
“Bad targets,” Gina said. “Tourist goes missing, that makes the local news.”
“Okay, so the victims weren’t likely tourists.” Dani said. “But how did the killer move around unnoticed?” Dani asked.
“Before Cage started taking care of this place, it was pretty dark and desolate. Off the radar. Kids were run out of here for partying or ghost hunting now and then. We’ve got to assume our guy used Ironwood because it was conveniently abandoned and then moved on when Cage showed up. Which means there could be more bodies.”
“Gina, I think you’re not looking at this the right way,” Cage said.
“Good thing I’m the investigator, and you’re the patrol officer,” she snapped. “Not to mention technically still a suspect. Get out of here, Cage. And if I catch you interfering, you’ll have more than murder charges to worry about. Dani, Landers needs you in the house.”
Gina strode off.
Dani sighed. “Great. An afternoon with the sweating bulldog and his nasty attitude.”
“At least you get to hang around.”
“What are you going to do?”
He gave her a sly smile. “A little investigating of my own.”
15
The Adams County Historical Foundation sat at the northern edge of Roselea in a restored three-story home that served as a hospital during the Civil War. Although Natchez, Roselea’s neighbor down the road, had its own historic foundation, the Adams County branch provided assistance to both cities and dedicated itself to the restoration of the many historical sites in the county.
Cage parked his truck in a visitor’s spot and hurried up the walk. The brick path matched the exterior of the house, laid in a diagonal pattern and slightly uneven from the settling earth. He kept his head down to make sure he didn’t catch his foot and end up face first and missing a tooth. The front porch resembled something out of a brochure: clean, white columns, hanging planters stocked with brightly blooming annuals, and a set of wicker furniture for guests to rest on.
Inside, he was greeted by a welcoming rush of cool air, with some sort of floral air freshener muting the scent of history. The house’s receiving room had been turned into a visitor check-in, and Cage smiled at the woman behind the desk.
“Heather, it’s good to see you.” Heather Cathrall was the foundation’s secretary and apparently, the greeter for today. She lived a few blocks down from Cage’s parents and often came over for late afternoon tea with his mother.
“Cage!” Heather came around the desk to give him a hug. “I haven’t seen you at the folks in a while. But I heard about the news at Ironwood. Lee said it’s awful.”
Lee shouldn’t have said a damned thing even if the local gossip was buzzing, Cage wanted to say. Instead, he nodded. “It really is. Of course, you know anything Lee might tell you about what’s going on over there should stay quiet. Captain Barnes is trying to keep a lid on the situation.”
“Of course, of course.” Heather fished out a piece of candy from the jar on her desk and offered it to Cage, then grabbed one for herself. “So what brings you here today? I have a feeling it’s not just to see me.”
“You caught me. I’m actually hoping to talk to Lee. I’ve got a few questions to ask him about Ironwood. Is he in?”
“Sure is.” Heather motioned to the door behind her. “He’s in his office. You know where it’s at. Go on. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Cage thanked her and promised to stop by Heather’s for a visit soon. He made his way down the familiar hallway, a cramped place no more than two feet wide. Déjà vu rolled over him.
A few months ago, Cage spent a lot of time at the foundation with Lee trying to save the Semple farm–the property bordering Ironwood and one of the most historically significant properties in the county–from foreclosure. They’d almost succeeded until damned Yankee-based Norton Investments swooped in at the last second, thanks to a local turned money-grubbing betrayer. The disloyalty had shocked Cage, and he’d made an ass out of himself on the front steps of the historical building. Lee Walker’s brute strength had likely kept Cage out of jail that night. Lee was certainly physically capable of hurting another man.
Whether or not he was morally capable was another story. A couple of months ago, Cage would have said it was impossible. But that was before he found out who murdered his sister. Truth is, with the right motive, anyone could become a killer.
Lee’s office was a favorite of Cage’s. Once the family study, the room served as the doctors’ private quarters during the war. Lee devoted an entire wall to the artifacts from those times, including many of the doctors’ instruments and even a few trinkets from soldiers who had passed on the property. Lee himself had restored both the room and the artifacts, and with the possible exception of Grace, no one knew more about Roselea’s historic past than he did.
As usual, the room was tidy, and the door open. Lee sat behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he
examined what looked like an 1800s revolver. The silver had darkened to a charcoal gray and the wooden handle had a long splinter, but the gun appeared intact.
“Now that is impressive.”
Lee looked up in surprise. “Cage. Good to see you, and yes, it is.”
“How old?”
Lee turned the gun upside down and pointed to the barely discernible print. “Patented in 1859.”
“So it likely went through the war.”
“I’m sure of it. It’s been fired, but unfortunately isn’t in working condition. Belonged to the owner’s great-great-grandfather, who served in the Mississippi infantry. She just wanted to get an idea of value and of the cost to repair it.”
“Is it worth repairing?”
Lee pushed his glasses up. “You know me, Cage. Anything historical is worth fixing. But I doubt you’re here to talk shop with me. Been over to Ironwood yet this morning?”
He nodded as he sat down in the hard wooden chair in front of Lee’s desk. “They opened the butler’s pantry and are going from there.”
“How’s Dani doing with the investigation?” Lee set the gun aside, covering it with a soft cloth.
“Better than I expected,” Cage said. “Holding her own against Landers.”
“Did the butler’s pantry yield any evidence?”
Cage shunted personal feelings aside and approached Lee as if he were dangling information in front of a suspect. “I can’t give that information out, but progress is being made.”
“I just can’t believe what’s happened there. Who in the world would do such a thing?”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Cage said.
“Gina’s already asked me a few questions,” Lee said. “I expect a follow up since I had as much access to the house as anyone but,” Lee’s graying eyebrows knitted in confusion, “I also assumed you would be in the same position as me?”
“You mean technically a suspect?” Cage nodded. “You’ll hear from Gina. Or Landers, if you’re unlucky. I’m here because Dani and I both think the killer chose Ironwood as a dumping ground for some kind of twisted historical reference.” Cage kept the evidence about explorers and Ironwood’s missing original locks to himself.
“Really?”
“It’s just a theory, but I wanted to ask you about the church deciding to sell after all these years. Do you know their reasoning?”
Lee’s upper lip curled as if he smelled something rotten. “They didn’t want the financial burden anymore. For nearly forty years, Adams County Baptist owned Ironwood. You know they originally owned more than just the house and the three acres?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Lee nodded. “In ’71, when the church originally purchased, they bought the house and seventy acres. Two of the cotton fields purchased were still active, and the church hired those farmers for quite a while, using the funds to take care of the house. It was used as a parsonage and church offices for several years before the church decided to rent. I fought against that, too, but the rest of the members of the board didn’t want to hear it.”
“How long have you been a member of the church board?”
“Since ’82. Was pretty active for quite a while, but after my marriage ended, they pushed me to the back burner. To be honest, I think they kept me on because my position here helped ensure donations for both Ironwood and the church.”
“But you were against the renters?” Cage couldn’t blame him. Most renters had little respect for property, especially if it was old and they were getting the space cheap.
“I was furious at the idea. I don’t have to tell you about the legends of Ironwood, I’m sure. About the supposed family cache of treasure?”
Cage leaned forward, folding his arms across the desk. “I’d heard there were claims that was how John James succeeded during the Reconstruction. But do you really think there is still a treasure cache?”
Lee gave him a grim smile. “I’m sure there isn’t. John James probably did hide family valuables, and he probably did sell them after the war. But by the time his daughter died, Ironwood was in real debt. If she had any treasure, she would have used it to better the place. But that doesn’t matter to the treasure seekers.”
“You were afraid renters would tear the place up in search of it.”
“Absolutely. The church donated many of the family artifacts that survived – including CaryAnne’s book collection – to the historical foundation. But 8000 square feet is too big for any renter to have unrestricted access to, especially when there are stories of buried treasure. I managed to convince the church to keep parts of the house locked.”
“Not a big deterrent,” Cage said. “Anyone with patience can pick a lock.”
“I had to do something, and I could tell when a renter had been messing around. We did random walk-throughs. Rather, I did. Didn’t always stop them from trying. And when she sat empty, I worried. I checked once a week to make sure no one was tampering with the place.”
“Bet you changed the locks pretty frequently.”
“In that place?” Lee laughed. “Cost a small fortune. They were changed when the church purchased and again when they started renting, to ease renters’ concerns about multiple copies. But that was it.”
“Why were you against the sale, then? After all those years of her sitting empty and you having to keep watch, I’d think you’d be happy.
Lee stroked the beard he’d had for as long as Cage had known him. Its only change was the silvery gray invasion. “I was relieved when they hired you. I could tell you loved the place, and that took some weight off my shoulders. But I still argued against the sale. I was afraid of some treasure seeker coming in and tearing the place apart. There were offers, too. I was afraid we were going to have to accept.”
“Then Dani came along.”
“A stroke of luck. She inquired about the restoration position, and within minutes of talking with her, I knew she would take good care of Ironwood. I’m so grateful she was able to purchase it.”
“So, in the last five years, besides you and me, who had access to Ironwood?”
“Well, I’d like to think that in recent months, it’s just been us. Before the church hired you as caretaker, the pastor and the church board chair also had keys. We confiscated all renters’ keys, but who knows if there were duplicates. I’m afraid Captain Barnes will have her hands full trying to track them all down.”
“What about squatters? When I started, there was a lot of trash and junk lying around. No direct evidence of anyone recent but still made me wonder.”
“I never caught anyone. But I did think the locks had been picked a few times. And there were two different broken windows. No sign of any damage or theft, though.” Lee cocked his head. “Just know, I’ve got no doubt this didn’t happen on your watch. And frankly, I blame myself. I should have noticed something during my check-ins.”
“Were those routine?” Cage asked. “Did you establish a pattern the killer could have easily avoided?”
Lee looked sheepish. “Every Friday after I left here.”
“Don’t feel bad. Last thing you’re thinking about is some psycho using the place as his playground.” Cage waited a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Back to the legends about the cache–do you believe that story about CaryAnne keeping John James’s body?”
“I highly doubt it’s true. Logistically, something like that likely would have involved more than just CaryAnne, which would mean more than just whispers. It’s probably a story that started after her death and Ironwood was abandoned. A spooky story for the ghost hunters. As for the supposed treasure cache, the idea is just foolish. As I said, whatever John James and CaryAnne had is long gone. Not that the idea wasn’t a big selling point.” Lee’s cordial tone sharpened, and he rapped his knuckles against the desk. “Do you know there were two different buyers interested in the place simply for that stupid rumor? They would have no doubt torn the place apart looking fo
r it.”
“Well, thankfully that didn’t happen. At least there’s still hope to salvage Ironwood.” Cage stood, offering the older man his hand. Lee shook it.
“Listen, keep an eye on Dani, would you? I feel a bit guilty about her predicament.”
“How so?”
“I introduced her to Ironwood. I helped her decide to buy. And I confess, I was thinking of the house first. And now she’s up to her ears in debt and dealing with this mess. I know she’s upset about the damage that may be caused, and she hasn’t really stopped to think about what’s happened at the place. I’m just afraid that when she does—”
“She’ll lose it,” Cage finished. “I’ll watch out for her.”
He turned to leave and then stopped at the door. “One other thing Dani asked about, and I didn’t have the answer. Maybe you do.”
“What’s that?”
“The church changed the locks in the 70s, right? Were those the house’s original locks?”
“As in 1835 original? That was before my time at the foundation, but I’ve always been told the locks were at least one hundred years old. So their being originals is definitely possible.”
Cage rubbed his fingers against his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave this morning. “But the locks that were removed, they had historical value?”
“I’m sure they did.”
“You got any idea where those are? Dani wondered if they could be restored and maybe eventually displayed.” Cage made a mental note to give Dani a heads-up on his white lie.
Lee sat back down and started cleaning the gun again. “You know, I’ve never seen them. I didn’t start working for the foundation until 1980, but I’ve been through all of our records on Ironwood, and they aren’t listed as recovered objects. I’d guess they weren’t kept. And you know, that’s very common. They aren’t a priority when doing a restoration. Shame, too.”
He glanced up at Cage, but his focus slid just over his left shoulder. “Did you need anything else?”