Forbidden Highway (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 5)

by Catie Rhodes

  “Thanks, Jessica.” I took the bills.

  “Anytime, and I mean that.” She glanced into the corner of the shop. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Wade Hill rose from wherever he’d been sitting, his dark eyes blank.

  “You get your crap out of my house?” I glared at Wade. It felt better to be angry than hurt by his rejection.

  “You can use the séance room.” Jessica’s gaze moved from Wade to me and back again.

  Wade motioned me to follow him into the séance room. I wanted to tell him to rot in hell, to scratch his face, to do anything that might make him feel the way he’d made me feel. Instead, I followed him into the tiny room, sat back down at the table, and waited. He sat across from me and stared, some emotion I couldn’t quite pinpoint in his dark eyes.

  “I didn’t get my stuff out because I won’t leave you alone, not while Michael Gage is running around kidnapping people.” He ran one hand over his beard.

  “Gee, thanks.” I wanted him to declare his undying love, to promise me the world. His doing otherwise pissed me off.

  “I’m sorry about last night.” His shoulders inched up toward his ears. “You caught me off guard, and it embarrassed me.”

  Say you changed your mind. Say you made a mistake.

  “It can’t ever happen between us, Peri Jean. Ever.” He glanced down at the table and muttered something. The roaring in my ears blotted it out.

  “What was the last part?”

  Wade turned his gaze back to me. “I said ‘I wish things were different.’” His dark gaze burned into me, kindling the kind of heat he claimed not to want. “I’m sorry about the insults I threw out. They aren’t how I feel about you. Plus, it ain’t like I got room to talk.” He smiled, but it was a ghost of itself.

  It was my turn to apologize, but I didn’t know what to apologize for. I wasn’t sorry for trying to seduce Wade. The way he touched me every chance he got, the way he stared at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the way he always showed up when I needed him—it painted a different picture than a guy who didn’t want me. My face heated as the entire memory of the night before replayed in my mind.

  “Peri Jean?” He reached across the table and took my hand. “Can we stay friends?”

  “Say you don’t want me and mean it.” I pulled my hand away from him. I wouldn’t let this go without a fight. The way Nash's kisses felt compared to Wade’s was like rice cakes compared to crème brûlée. Wade and I were right together. We fit.

  He sighed. “My sister reads the cards. Not tarot cards like your friend Mysti, or Cricket, did. Just regular old playing cards.” Wade lowered his head, ran his hand over his beard again, and glanced up at me. “Lot of what she predicts comes true. She predicted I’d meet you several months before I did. Described you down to that raven tattoo on your arm. Said you were my spiritual match. Said we had destiny together.”

  “Maybe that means we should be together.” I crossed my arms over my chest, getting impatient with this whole recitation. So far, he hadn’t said anything to make me understand why he was acting so weird.

  “At first, I thought so. Then you got together with Dean.” A frown creased his brow. “Remember when I went home to visit my family?”

  “Sure. Your sister got married?”

  “I lied about that.” His smile was a little stronger. “Truth is, my daddy is—was—an alcoholic. He was drunk driving and wrapped his car around a tree. Killed him dead. Went back for the funeral.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I wanted to shake Wade until his teeth rattled.

  “I was embarrassed to come from that sort of thing.” He shrugged. The subject was closed. “While I was back home, my sister read cards for me. She insisted. Said it was bothering her. The reading was about us.” He leaned back in his chair. “By that time, I saw the writing on the wall with Dean. Everybody did but you. I wanted you, and I couldn’t wait until it blew up. But my sister’s reading said I was to be your friend and nothing more. Otherwise, I risked grave danger.”

  “You can’t believe—”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t believe.” He slapped one hand down on the table. “Not after the things I’ve seen with you. People around you do end up dead. How would you like it if we got involved, and then I got killed?”

  A white band of panic jarred through me.

  “That’s what I thought.” Wade’s dark gaze rested on me. In it, I recognized the sadness throbbing in me. He took both my hands. “I’ll always be your friend. Always.”

  Something inside me bled. It howled in agony and gnashed its teeth. My chance to be with a man I knew I could love no matter what road we traveled curled up and sobbed, its heart broken. My throat tightened. I struggled to keep my face impassive and squeezed Wade’s hand. “Anything you want, friend.”

  We walked out of the séance room together. My legs felt too light and too insubstantial to hold my weight. I drifted to the front of the store, eyes locked on the wall behind the counter where a framed picture hung. I stood staring at the picture, vaguely aware I recognized it from somewhere but too dazed and freaked out to make the connection. My black opal sent a charge of magic into me, and the fog over my eyes snapped.

  “This is it.” I turned to Wade for confirmation. He only stared blankly at the picture and shook his head.

  Jessica joined us. A smile hovered on her lips, but she stared first at my face, then at Wade’s, as though trying to assess its appropriateness.

  “What is that?” I pointed to the wall. I knew it was the lost church of St. Augustine, the same one I read about in Eddie’s notes and saw in Adam Kessler’s pencil drawing. The one that had something to do with the Palmore Sawmill ruins, according to Adam’s note. But I wanted to know why Jessica Wilcox had it and what she knew about it.

  “I bought this at a yard sale. The woman who sold it to me said it dated back to the turn of the century.” She turned to regard the picture, a print from an old picture judging by the crease on one edge and the tattered corners.

  I could barely keep my breathing calm. Ever since seeing Adam Kessler’s drawing, I had a strong feeling the Mace Treasure was in or near this church.

  “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? I’ll tell you a crazy story about this picture.” She waited for me to encourage her to go on. I nodded. “When I first saw it, I wasn’t too interested, but I kept getting drawn back to it. I’d get across the yard from it and go back. Finally, I just stared at it for about ten minutes straight. I saw—thought I saw—something moving in the picture. Almost like the shadow of a person, like you’ll see in old time pictures where everybody had to stand still for a really long time. And I heard singing.”

  A memory awoke somewhere deep in my subconscious. It stretched and yawned, blinking owlishly. Then it faded back into darkness. “Did the person who sold it to you have any more information on the church?”

  “Not really.” She wrinkled her nose. “Apparently, this print belonged to her father-in-law and had sat in her attic for years.”

  Maybe I could go talk to the person myself. “Do you remember where the house was?”

  Jessica took out her cellphone. “The yard sale was over on Spence Street, in that gorgeous area with all the old houses.” She showed me a snapshot of a house I knew well. “This is the one.”

  “Thanks for your help.” I tapped Wade and motioned to the door.

  “I should be the one thanking you. You saved my life today.” She flipped her lank, brown hair off her shoulder. “If you ever need anything…”

  I nodded and hurried out the door, cellphone already out. I tapped in a text message to Hooty Bruce.

  “Are you home?” I crossed the gully and leaned against my Nova while I waited for the answer.

  “I will be in about five minutes,” came the answer.

  “May Wade Hill and I visit you?”

  “Am I performing a shotgun wedding?” was his reply.

  “In your dreams.” I tu
rned to Wade, who’d already straddled his motorcycle. “Come with me to Hooty’s.” Our gazes met and locked. I got the same roller-coaster feeling in my stomach I always did, but this time heavy sadness followed it. The one man I really wanted was out of my reach forever.

  His Harley thundered to life, and he roared off. Maybe he didn’t want to look at me, either.

  I FOLLOWED Wade to Hooty’s house on Spence Street. We parked at the curb. A curtain twitched at the window. One of Hooty’s big eyes appeared in the crack. A few seconds later, he opened the front door and stood in it.

  I hurried up the steps and threw my arms around Hooty. I couldn’t remember a time I didn’t know and trust him. “This suit makes you look like an undertaker.” I fingered the dark material.

  “Imagine that. I wonder why I’d want to look like an undertaker.” Hooty leaned around me to shake Wade’s hand.

  Rainey Bruce pulled up to the curb of her parents’ house and climbed out of her sporty Mercedes. Her careworn dog followed at her heels.

  “I didn’t realize she was coming to lunch.” Rainey hooked a thumb at me. “Or him.” Her gaze drifted down to Wade’s beat up engineer boots.

  “Peri Jean sent me a text just a few minutes ago. Your mother’s made plenty of food for everybody.” Hooty held open the door.

  “We didn’t mean to intrude on your midday meal.” I stood my ground.

  “Hannah’s missing. We need to talk. Am I right?” Hooty raised his eyebrows until his forehead bunched in wrinkles.

  A few minutes later, we sat around the dining room table, plates of Esther Bruce’s chicken spaghetti in front of everyone except for Hooty and Rainey. Father and daughter had salads with grilled chicken on top. The dog ran from person to person grinning and begging for food. Hooty gave the dog a piece of lettuce, which promptly ended up on the floor.

  “See, the dog won’t even eat this mess, Esther. A man needs real food.” Frowning, he pointed his index finger at his plate. “This salad only has eight pieces of chicken on it. And they’re little bitty. How am I supposed to get through the rest of the day?”

  “Dr. Longstreet put Daddy on a diet because of his diabetes.” Rainey ate a piece of lettuce and gave her dog a grilled chicken strip.

  “Well, Nathan wasn’t thinking right. I’m about to starve.” Hooty took a big drink of his iced tea and made a face. “Not even sweetened.”

  “Samuel Wayne Bruce, you will eat this food and like it. I refuse to be a young widow.” Esther pointed her fork at Hooty.

  Having never heard anybody refer to Hooty by his real name, I snickered and slapped my hand over my mouth.

  “You,” Hooty pointed one finger at me. “Don’t laugh at your elders.” He turned to Esther. “But a man needs some good food before he buries people or tells them about the power of the one true Lord.”

  “Not when he’s thirty pounds overweight and on blood pressure medication.” Esther stared down her husband. “Not when the doctor said the right diet would add twenty years to your life.”

  “Daddy, you know you have to stick with this diet.” Rainey fed another piece of her chicken to the dog.

  Hooty’s lips turned down. He ate a forkful, making a face around the lettuce. Wade got another helping of chicken spaghetti. Hooty slumped. I offered him my garlic bread. He snatched it and gobbled it while Esther’s mouth still hung open.

  “Daddy!” Rainey swatted him on one arm.

  Hooty grinned around his ill-gotten gains. “Let’s talk about Hannah’s disappearance.”

  For several minutes, I answered questions—mostly from Rainey—about Hannah’s disappearance and my screaming match over the phone with Michael Gage. “He says I have to find the Mace Treasure, or I’ll never see Hannah again. To do that, I need some questions answered.”

  Hooty motioned for me to keep talking. I told them everything I knew about the lost church of St. Augustine, ending with the picture Jessica Wilcox claimed to have bought at a yard sale here at Hooty’s house.

  “You sold my father’s picture?” Hooty stared across the table at his wife. He gestured at his empty salad plate, as though to indicate the level of betrayal he felt.

  “All I’ve done since Wilton died is move it around the attic. I didn’t realize it had any value.” Esther didn’t look sorry. She looked a lot like her daughter with her high cheekbones and her half-lidded eyes.

  “I don’t guess it really matters. I never liked that picture, never wanted it hanging in my house.” Hooty shook himself. “Daddy had some theories about that church, spooky stuff, and I guess hearing him talk about it all those years made me a little scared of it.”

  “Did Judge Bruce think it had anything to do with the Mace Treasure?”

  Hooty stared at me, his mouth opening. “I don’t think so. Have you come across something implying it might be?”

  I explained about Hannah and I discovering Adam Kessler’s pencil drawing of the church. Then I told them about the two interviews about the church Eddie had in his Mace Treasure research.

  Hooty’s dark skin turned as gray as the hair at his temples. “I—I never realized. Hezekiah Bruce’s journals mentions it too. I should have…” He let the sentence trail off and got up from the table. A few seconds later, he came back with the journals I’d fought so hard to get back from a pair of lying thieves. He pushed one across the table to Rainey. Father and daughter gently leafed through the brittle pages as Wade Hill helped himself to a third helping of chicken spaghetti.

  “Don’t eat so much of their food,” I hissed at him.

  “Let him have it all. Hooty waits until I go to sleep and sneaks down for leftovers.” Esther stood. “Who wants strawberry shortcake?”

  Rainey shook her head no, but Wade and I nodded. Hooty got a hopeful expression on his face, but Esther gave him a glare.

  Hooty stopped leafing through his ancestor’s journal. “Here it is. I knew I remembered this.” He glanced over the page. “One of Hezekiah’s customers, a local mason, was hired to remove some stones and some decorative items from the church. They used the materials to build the Mace crypt.”

  Esther came back to the table with three strawberry shortcakes. I set mine to the side while I skimmed over the entry. “Reginald Mace—my ancestor—defaced a church to gather materials for his crypt? How trashy.” Memaw always taught me to never destroy church or cemetery property. She said it was disrespectful. I couldn’t wrap my head around any other way of thinking. Maybe Reginald Mace’s bad luck fell on him because he defaced the old church in the woods.

  “Reginald Mace thought the entirety of Burns County belonged to him. He wouldn’t have seen taking the materials as defacing,” Hooty stared at my strawberry shortcake. I didn’t quite dare give it to him after the garlic bread incident. I gave him an apologetic shrug and took the first bite.

  “You think the treasure is hidden at this old church?” Rainey turned her attention from the journal to me for confirmation. I nodded. “Where’s this old church, Daddy?”

  We both stared at Hooty.

  He grunted. “That’s going to be a problem. I told y’all my daddy had a mild obsession with that church.” He glanced around the table. Everybody but Wade, who was still eating pretty seriously, nodded. “Well, the picture your friend bought came from Longstreet Lumber. It used to hang in B.B. Longstreet’s office. He got a new wife—who became Benny Longstreet’s mother—and she redecorated. Got rid of a bunch of stuff.” Hooty’s stomach rumbled, and he gave his wife an accusatory stare. She ignored him.

  “You may not realize this, but Luther Palmore, who lived and died in the burned out estate behind your house, started the company that became Longstreet Lumber.” Rainey spoke to me. “B.B. Longstreet’s ancestor was Luther Palmore’s foreman. He took over the lumber company and changed the name to Longstreet Lumber, which is what it has been for the past hundred-plus years.”

  “She’s right.” Pride shone in Hooty’s eyes as he smiled at his daughter. “Palmore was a surveyor
. Mapped most of Burns County as he logged it. The maps Daddy bought off B.B. Longstreet were drawn by Luther Palmore. We’re talking about the first English-speaking people who ever saw these woods.”

  “Do you still have the maps?” I allowed myself a little hope.

  “I do. Unless my wife sold them.” He glanced at Esther. She shook her head. “But they won’t do you any good. Daddy scoured those maps looking for evidence of that church. Never found it. We spent a lot of Saturdays hiking through national forest land. Never even found where a storm may have blown the church down.”

  “I found a picture—like one copied from a magazine or newspaper in Eddie’s treasure notes.” I paused while I tried to remember the caption. “It said the picture came from film in a camera found floating in an empty boat.”

  Hooty nodded. “Because of Daddy, I learned to listen when old timers brought up the lost church. What I heard about its location didn’t give me any answers. Some said it’s in north county. I’ve heard it’s in south county. Some accounts said east county. Daddy felt those tales were rubbish, just the silly superstitions of uneducated men, but I always wondered. Especially after tramping all over those woods as a boy.”

  “The drawing of Adam’s that showed the church had a note with it. Adam wrote it to me before he died.”

  “You still have it?” Rainey held out her hand as though I’d be able to pass it across the table right then.

  “Michael Gage took it when he kidnapped Hannah.” The rage built in me again. I couldn’t wait to get my hands around Michael Gage’s scrawny neck. “The note said the next clue was at Palmore Sawmill Pond. Best Hannah and I could figure, Adam went out there looking, that’s when he started getting the illness he had when he died. Problem is, I never knew of any pond at the sawmill ruins.”

  “Sawmill pond? You sure about that?” Hooty crossed his arms over his belly.