Fire on the Ramparts (Sugar Hill Book 2)

by M. L. Bullock

  “So this battle between the two women, that’s probably the cause of the conflagration?” James asked. I was impressed with his vocabulary.

  “Possibly. As I mentioned, Athena begged Chase to dissolve his relationship with Susanna, but he never gave in. When he died in 1825, most of the properties went to Susanna, so naturally Athena took her to court. After all, Susanna was a quadroon and not white.”

  “Get out of here!” Megan slapped her hand on the table. Okay. Now somebody was going over the top.

  “The courts did not rule in Athena’s favor, so she may have taken matters into her own hands.”

  I had to speak up now. Everyone had to participate in these on-camera pep rallies. “I say we investigate the Ramparts while the weather is clear. That sounds interesting, and I like the idea of an outdoor exploration. Might be better than haunting around old basements.”

  Megan cast me another uneasy look, and I couldn’t help but smile at her. I didn’t care if the camera picked up on that. I was tired of pretending we were pals. I was tired of fake ghost hunting too. I only signed on to this gig because I liked Mike and believed him when he said he was sincere in his search for the paranormal. I wasn’t as sure now, but it was kind of too late. I had signed a contract. I couldn’t quit. I had to keep going at least until the season ended next spring.

  Becker stood up and tapped the map with his tattooed fingers, a big grin on his face, “Well, as they say in the movies, ‘I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.’ I vote for the Ramparts.”

  Mike said, “I vote Ramparts, too. Megan? You in?”

  “Yes! I love it. I think I’ll do some research before we head out. Should we make a daylight trip first?”

  “I think that would be wise. Let’s find a few spots we can hone in on and focus our equipment there. I don’t like the idea of you guys roaming around the woods in the dark.”

  “Aw, you’re no fun,” Megan said as she wrote down a few notes in her notebook. “You game for this, Jess?”

  “Sure, but only if I get to hold my own flashlight.” Megan had a tendency to forget to check the batteries on just about every electronic device she held. It wasn’t a huge swipe at her, but as expected she took it as one.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” she answered playfully. “I can’t help it if all power drains happen to you.”

  Everyone laughed at our “friendly” exchange. At least until the cameras stopped rolling.

  Chapter Thirteen – Avery

  The Rose Cottage had the feeling of spring, even though it was nearly November. The cottage was surrounded by evergreen trees including some fragrant cedars and neatly trimmed holly shrubs. Light green shutters and a pair of hearty palm trees in the front yard made me think of warmer days. Two large white rocking chairs decked out the front porch, and the front door was wide open. The screen door kept the mosquitoes out. You had to worry about them down here, even this time of year. It was a friendly picture of life at the Rose Cottage.

  When I called Mitchell earlier this morning I had no real agenda—other than I needed to talk to someone. And since Miss Anne had trusted him, why shouldn’t I? I’d managed to sneak into the bathroom and make the call before stepping into the shower. Somehow I did it all without waking Jamie. For that at least, I was grateful. As I washed away the memories of last night’s bizarre dream, I wondered what I would say to him when I emerged. Why in the world had I slept with him? Did I even consent? I must have, since I’d locked the door—I had to have opened it for him! I wasn’t going to accuse him of anything. I finally settled on, “I’m sorry, Jamie, but this is too intense for me.” It was better than, “I don’t remember inviting you into my bedroom or making love to you. Get out before I press charges.”

  I needn’t have worried because by the time I got out of the shower he was gone. I buzzed Robin’s intercom to verify it, and she reported that he had indeed left Sugar Hill. “No, he didn’t mention where he was going and didn’t stay for breakfast. Sorry, ma’am.”

  Relieved, I gave her my instructions for the day. “I’m going to leave for a little while, but I’ll be back for lunch. If the My Haunted Plantation people return, you can allow them in, but keep them out of the basement. And no filming while I’m gone. Are there any other guests in the house?”

  “No, ma’am. Everyone’s gone.”

  That surprised me. “Is Summer still here?”

  “I’m not sure. Would you like me to call her room?”

  “No. That’s okay. I’ll see if she’s in. Thanks.” I flipped off the intercom and finished dressing quickly. I hated the idea of Jamie showing back up unannounced. A few broken images of making love with him last night surfaced in my mind. What really happened?

  I can’t think about this right now.

  I decided it was a blue jeans kind of day. Before I moved to Belle Fontaine I didn’t even own a pair. My, how things have changed. I slid on a purple sweater and my new boots, and I grabbed a jacket for the morning chill. I decided not to bring my purse, so I grabbed my keys, some cash and my driver’s license. At the last minute I decided to take my cell phone but turned off the ringer. There was no one I wanted to talk to. Not Reed, not Jamie. Not even Summer.

  As I walked down the stairs I noticed how empty Sugar Hill felt. That was different. It was as if someone had taken a broom and swept away all the spiritual debris. The eyes that bore down on me from the portraits weren’t staring too intently today. The smiles on the busts of forgotten Dufresnes didn’t display their familiar leers. Those stone faces were neither interested nor malicious-looking. These were the expressions of the proud, distant dead, not of lingering ghosts. They couldn’t care less about the goings-on of the living. Nothing was on the landing above; no moving shadows like the ones that I frequently imagined slid down the wall behind me as I made my way down the stairs. I paused for a moment. It was here that I always had the sensation that someone was watching me or stalking close behind me. No. I felt none of that this morning. I simultaneously felt relieved and worried about the significance of it all.

  Why had the house suddenly gone silent?

  Maybe it was the same at Thorn Hill? I’d find out later today. I had to go back to retrieve my overnight bag. Or maybe I didn’t. Was there anything in there I couldn’t replace? Oh, come on, you big coward.

  Before I eased the car out of the driveway I called Mitchell again. “Hey, this is Avery. I’m on the way now.”

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “No, but coffee is fine for me. Don’t go to any trouble.”

  “See you soon.”

  Now here I was. Mitchell’s large frame filled the doorway, and he welcomed me with a friendly smile. He seemed genuinely glad to see me alive and well. “Avery, come in.” He glanced nervously at the driveway as if he expected someone else.

  “It’s just me, Mitchell.”

  He visibly relaxed. “Good. Come inside. I have fresh coffee.”

  “Perfect. What a beautiful cottage! You’ll have to give me a tour.”

  We went inside, and Mitchell led me to the living room. It was not a very large room, but it had plenty of comfortable-looking seating and loads of embroidered pillows. Thriving green plants were positioned in places where they could take in some sun. My cousin had thoughtfully arranged some delicious-smelling croissants and an assortment of fruit on a tray. It was such a nice thought. He’d even put a fresh flower in a vase. The idea of Mitchell picking flowers for me was truly humbling. “Do these grow here? I noticed you have a hothouse.”

  “We do, but these are tea roses and I don’t grow them. I haven’t had much luck with roses, not yet, but I’m hoping to give it another try this spring. No, these I purchased from the supermarket.” His confession made his cheeks flush. “I’m afraid the flower gardens are going to look horrible this spring without Aunt Anne to care for them.” His voice caught as he spoke about her death, and she’d been gone for several months.

  “I am sure you will get the hang of it.” I glanced around
the room, taking in the built-in bookcases loaded with books and interesting bird figurines. I wondered who the bird enthusiast was, Mitchell or Miss Anne? I sipped the coffee and put the china cup down on the saucer. Until I moved back home to Belle Fontaine, I rarely drank from proper cups and saucers. This was indeed a treat. “How are you, Mitchell? I haven’t seen you at the house in ages. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I have everything I need here, cousin. And I know how time-consuming managing the daily details is for someone who stays as busy as you. I wouldn’t want to add undue pressure.” He surveyed me, obviously curious as to the reason for my visit. What could I tell him? I wasn’t sure myself.

  “You aren’t lonely here by yourself? You are always welcome to come visit me for a few days. You can stay at the house anytime you please—or at Thorn Hill.”

  “Why would I go there?”

  “Haven’t you heard? A television crew from a show called My Haunted Plantation has been at Sugar Hill. Before it’s all said and done, they’ll also investigate Thorn Hill.”

  He avoided eye contact and poured his coffee from the white teapot with the gold initials. It must have belonged to Miss Anne too. “I like being alone, and I have no plans to go to either Sugar Hill or Thorn Hill. In fact, I plan on asking Reed to find someone else to fill the board opening. That’s one group I don’t want to be part of—no offense.”

  “Oh. That was my idea, I’m afraid. But if it’s not what you want, you don’t have to. I am sure the board will come up with a name they can all agree on. For what it’s worth, I’m not offended. But before you totally write off the idea, promise me you’ll think about it a few days first?”

  “I don’t think I’d be much good on the board. Who’s going to listen to me?” I had the distinct feeling that Mitchell was repeating someone else’s assessment of him.

  I leaned forward and clasped my hands. “Many people listen to you. I do! I want to trust Reed and your sister, but quite frankly, I always feel as if I am getting half the story from them.” I chewed my lip and continued, “It’s not that they are against me, but I feel like they aren’t quite with me, if that makes sense. In many ways, I’m still an outsider. Even with my own family! I could use your help, Mitchell. If Miss Anne trusted you, then I should too.”

  He smiled at the mention of his favorite aunt. “I thank you for saying so, and I will do as you ask. I will think about it.” He took another sip and offered me more coffee. I declined and leaned back in the comfortable seat.

  “Mitchell, do you know what is happening at Sugar Hill? I have to know. I need a friend, and that’s why I came to see you. I am surrounded by family, but I am not sure I can trust any of them.” I grappled with what to say next. Reed kissed me. I liked it. Summer not-so-secretly hates me. My boyfriend is a nut, and I’m dreaming about my ancestors in very inappropriate ways.

  Mitchell leaned back on the settee and stared at me intently. “So you know that things in our family aren’t…right?”

  “I do. Tell me what you know, Mitchell. Please, tell me what you know.”

  He turned blood red, and for a minute I thought he might ask me to leave.

  “You know how much I loved Aunt Anne. She was the best human being I ever knew. She had such a heart for her family, even though they were all extremely ungrateful for all her care. I promised her that she could always trust me to keep her confidences. Even though she has passed on, I can’t imagine breaking them now, even for you. It would be unkind to her memory. She made sure you had what you needed. She left you the video records and the other stuff, like Vertie’s journals. That should tell you everything you need to know.”

  “Vertie’s journals? I never received any journals.”

  “What?” He frowned. “I suppose Reed kept those back from you for his own reasons.” I could tell there was no love lost between those two. “Well, you know about them now. You should insist that he give them to you immediately.”

  “And you can’t tell me what’s in them?”

  “I never read them, Avery. And even if I did know anything, it is not my place to tell you. Aunt Anne kept the journals safe after Vertie’s death, and they were intended to go to you. She wouldn’t send them until you agreed to return home. I disagreed with her on that point, but she was one to keep her own mind on things.”

  “Why would she hold them back? Shouldn’t I know what Vertie had to say? She was my grandmother!” I was growing angrier by the second, at Reed for keeping my property from me and denying me one last connection with Vertie, and at Anne. She had the answers to the ever-expanding puzzle of Sugar Hill, but she died with all her secrets and left me to interpret Grandmother Margaret’s mad ramblings by myself. And did I really have a choice? I woke up with this ring on my finger. A ring that wouldn’t come off.

  I halfheartedly tugged at the ring, but of course it didn’t budge. “What about this ring, Mitchell? Why can’t I take it off? What does it really mean? Reed tried to tell me it signified that the matrone was ‘married’ to the family, but that’s just bull crap, isn’t it?” I was on my feet now. The cordial tea party was forgotten, and I was ready to go to battle—I just wasn’t sure with whom. Surely not with Mitchell and his sad puppy-dog eyes.

  “Come on, Avery. Let’s go for a walk.” He rose from the striped settee, and I realized he almost had to duck to move around these rooms. The cottage had such low ceilings compared to the big airy spaces of Sugar Hill.

  “A walk?”

  “In Aunt Anne’s gardens. I’ll show you the hothouse. Grab your jacket, though; it’s chilly in the back.”

  We walked along a brick pathway and enjoyed the cool weather in silence. Like any good reporter, I allowed him to lead the conversation, when he finally spoke. “Currently there are three major branches in our family. There are Vertie’s children, Asner’s children and Anne’s. Summer and I are Asner’s grandchildren.”

  “Wait. Vertie had only one child, Andrew, my father. Right?”

  He glanced at me sadly and didn’t speak again until we arrived at the hothouse. I couldn’t wait to read Vertie’s journals now.

  “I see.” I swallowed at the thought of another family secret to uncover. “And who are Anne’s grandchildren?”

  “Reed, Pierce and our two cousins, Meredith and Marguerite. But they died a very long time ago.”

  “But I thought Reed was Asner’s child. How did I get that wrong? He’s always calling her Aunt Anne. I just assumed…”

  “She adopted him, but he is a Dufresne. That’s another story for another time.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I assumed Mitchell had a reason for telling me all this, but darned if I knew what that was.

  He swung open the door to the massive hothouse, and the warmth immediately cheered me. He was right, the backyard was very chilly.

  “Because you say you want to know what’s going on, that’s how you learn. You have to know who is married to whom. You have to know whose blood flows in your veins. And whose doesn’t. You don’t have anything if you don’t have the right…alliance.”

  We shed our jackets, and he hung them on a wooden rack. Then he slid his hands into some tight gloves and handed me a pair. The gloves must have belonged to Miss Anne. Who else would have been out here? The gloves were cotton with a pretty floral pattern, and the fingers were slightly soiled. The smell of clean dirt comforted me, and I accepted a potted plant from him. He pointed at a small shovel and an empty row of dirt in a raised flowerbed. He had dozens of square flowerbeds in the hothouse. These were raised high off the ground, making it easier for him to tend to his floral patients. I watched as he popped the plant out of the pot and dug a hole in the soil. With careful fingers he loosened the roots and set the plant into the newly dug hole. He patted a mound of dirt around it and sprinkled it with water from a nearby copper watering can.

  With a smile he said, “Now, she has everything she needs to live.” He handed me a plant and observed me as I did the same thing. My pla
nt rested in the soil next to his, but I still didn’t get it. “Those two plants look exactly the same, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Was this a horticulture quiz? If he expected me to have any knowledge about plants or growing anything, he was sorely mistaken. I smiled, eager to carry on our conversation.

  “They are very similar. They come from the same root stock, but the offshoots are noticeably different. If you look closely at those two garden boxes, you’ll see the differences pretty clearly. For instance, this root stock produces red flowers, and those produce pink and white flowers. If you mix up the cuttings before you plant them, if you don’t watch what you’re doing, you’ll have to take a chance on what you end up with. You can’t be sure what you have until well after the planting, after the flowers begin to bloom.” He watched me patiently.

  “Avery, we Dufresnes, all of us, come from the same root stock, but there are offshoots that grow wild in our family tree. And these wild roots would destroy us, if we allowed them to grow for too long or too deeply.”

  “Doesn’t every family tree have those, Mitchell? There’s no way an old family like ours doesn’t have secrets and ‘wild offshoots.’ What are you trying to tell me? Are we inbred? Do we have Yankee forefathers? Do we have a pirate lineage?” I laughed dryly, but apparently he didn’t like my attempts at humor. “Please cut to the chase.”

  He didn’t, though. He was committed to leading me to whatever understanding he hoped I would achieve. “These wild offshoots are pure stock, more like weeds. They aren’t as hearty; they don’t hold up to the heat. Did you know that weeds strangle flowers?”

  I peeled off the gloves and tossed them in the box. “No, I can’t say that I did know that.”