by Ken Casper
Restlessly, Jed climbed to his feet, wandered over to the side table and topped off his glass. He held up the frosty pitcher in an offer to do the same for Gwyn, but she declined.
“There were incidents in school right after Will came to live with us. A few of the kids tried to pick on him. Will responded in the only way he knew how—by hitting back harder. He gave them a couple of bloody noses, actually.”
Gwyn’s high school hadn’t been coed but a very exclusive girls’ boarding school. The experience hadn’t been unpleasant as much as it had been socially limiting. Girls didn’t usually get into fist fights, though there were occasional catfights. The pain they inflicted was more subtle and tended to cut deeper. Some of the wounds never really healed.
“Okay, I think I get the picture. The usual male adolescent rites of passage.”
Jed chuckled. “The bullies stayed away from him after that, but the immediate result was the school calling the cops to report Will’s ‘antisocial’ behavior. Fielder was one of the town’s two deputies in those days, and he came to ‘counsel’ Will. Since I’d stuck up for him, I was included in the sessions. Will had been through the process before, so he was able to shrug off the lecture and threats. But it was a new experience for me, and I didn’t take to it nearly as serenely.”
“Uh-oh. Don’t tell me. You mouthed off and Fielder threw you in jail. I’ve been sleeping with a jailbird.” Her eyes sparkled with delight.
This time Jed laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you. Fielder—”
“Disappoint? Did I say I was disappointed? Hmm. Remind me to let you make up for it later, though. Anyway, you were saying . . .”
His mouth hung open for a moment, a smile coming to his eyes before he went on in a serious tone. “Fielder wasn’t above intimidation. He warned us that if we didn’t watch our steps he’d call Social Services and have us taken away from Frannie I blew my stack and told him in rather crude language that I wasn’t a ward of Social Services, which he damn well knew, and that I thought it was against the law to threaten people.”
“I don’t imagine he liked being talked back to,” Gwyn commented, remembering the dark glower she’d received when she’d defied him. “But it hardly seems sufficient reason for a twenty-year-old vendetta against you.”
“Oh, there’s more,” Jed assured her. He finished his drink, put the glass on the tray and sat down again. “Fielder had just been elected sheriff a month or two before Frannie disappeared. I told you about Emmy being virtually abducted the next day.”
She nodded.
“Riley Gray—his last name was Gray Wolf in those days—was sort of stuck on Emmy. He went charging down to the Social Services office and demanded to know where they’d taken her. They refused to say and he got pretty vocal, so they called Fielder, who came and arrested him. Riley ended up spending a couple of nights in jail. He was seventeen, Gwyn. All he wanted to know was where they’d taken a girl who’d spent nearly as much time in his house with his mother and sister as she did at home.”
Gwyn shook her head, appalled at the way people treat each other, though it was hardly a new lesson.
“When I found out,” Jed continued, “I went to the sheriff’s office and begged him to release Riley.”
It couldn’t have been easy, Gwyn reflected, considering the bad blood that already existed between them, but she also realized Jed wasn’t a person to abandon a friend.
“Fielder not only admitted he knew Emmy had been taken, but he hinted he knew where she’d been placed, and he absolutely refused to tell me.”
Gwyn’s eyes went wide. “That’s unconscionable. Did he really know?”
Jed studied his fingers. “Probably not. The people at Social Services are pretty tight-lipped. Unless he had an inside source, which he might have. He infuriated me enough that I took a swing at him. I missed only because Ray Jennings had stopped by to find out what progress the sheriff was making. He managed to step between us and back me off before I actually made contact. Fielder kept his cool. Very quietly he informed me that if I didn’t leave his office immediately he’d throw me in the cell with Riley, and that I wouldn’t be getting out nearly as soon.”
The heat of outrage warmed Gwyn’s cheeks. “The man’s a sadist.”
Jed merely nodded. “Four years later, Fielder was up for reelection. By then, I’d come into my inheritance, so I had money to spend. I supported his opposition. The other candidate happened to be a woman, and unfortunately, Uncertain wasn’t ready yet for a female in that kind of role. But I bankrolled her campaign to the point that Fielder had to go into debt to pay for advertising. I’ve supported his opponents in every election since.”
“Why have people kept him in office? Or are the elections rigged?”
“No, he’s been elected fair and square, and by and large he’s been a good sheriff,” Jed acknowledged. “At least, I thought he was. Now some of the things Joleen said are beginning to make me wonder.”
“You and Fielder don’t like each other,” Gwyn stated, “and I guess both of you have pretty good reasons. But is his bitterness so great that he’d intentionally cover up a murder and then try to frame you for it?” The question was rhetorical, so she didn’t give him a chance to answer it. “Would he have had a motive to kill Frannie?”
Jed took a deep breath in frustration. “I can’t imagine what.”
“Is he married?”
“He was once. His wife and young son were killed in a car accident, but that must be close to twenty-five years ago.”
“And he never remarried?”
“He’s pretty much a loner. I’ve never even seen him with a woman. When he isn’t on the job he’s usually out fishing by himself on the lake. If he has any close friends, I don’t know who they are.”
“Did Frannie clean his house?”
Jed nodded. “On Thursdays, as I recall.” He studied the woman with the tantalizing eyes and felt the desire inside him claw for release. There were distinct disadvantages to having a full-time housekeeper, even one who was discreet. “You’re thinking Frannie might have found something—”
“It would explain why he wasn’t more aggressive in pursuing her disappearance at the time, and why he’s going after you now to the exclusion of everyone else.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
WHEN THEY were finished eating lunch on the veranda, Jed pulled back Gwyn’s hair and draped his arm around her waist. June had left a few minutes earlier, announcing that she was going into Marshall to do some shopping and didn’t expect to return for several hours.
Jed pointed to the back wing of the mansion. “I told you there were secrets at Beaumarais.”
The words sent a tiny chill tumbling down her spine. She cocked an eyebrow inviting elaboration.
“What is now the kitchen, butler’s pantry and breakfast nook was once a separate building. It was moved here by barge from Jefferson around 1850.”
“It blends in beautifully. You can usually tell when two houses have been joined. Different clapboards, trim, that sort of thing.”
“They had a good reason for making it seamless,” Jed remarked.
“Oh?”
He grinned. “There’s a hidden room between them.”
Her breathing went shallow as she stared at him. “I beg your pardon.”
“You’ve heard of the Underground Railroad?”
“Of course.”
“Beaumarais was part of it.” He said it with pride. “Slavery was legal in Texas before the war. It wasn’t widespread, but here along the Louisiana border there were several plantations that employed slaves.”
She wanted to laugh at her sense of relief. She couldn’t say exactly what she’d expected—a family history of lunacy or serial killers, perhaps. Secrets sounded so ominous and sinister. She wrapped her arm around his waist as he
led her into the kitchen, past the large work area and refrigerator to the butler’s pantry.
“The Louises came originally from New Orleans,” he continued. “Some say exiled because of their rabid opposition to the peculiar institution, as it was referred to back then. Caddo Lake in those days and in the decades following the war was a natural hiding ground for runaway slaves, cutthroats and pirates.” He draped an arm casually over her shoulder. “Beaumarais became a haven for the slaves fleeing plantations to the east. They were hidden in the secret room until they could be moved to the next stop on the route to Canada or Mexico.”
She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes sparkling with seductive humor. “Can I see it?”
He smiled and whispered, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He took her into the butler’s pantry, an oblong windowless room, tucked neatly between the kitchen and the formal dining room, which was almost never used anymore.
“A hundred and fifty years ago, kitchens were outbuildings, separate from the main house. That was for two reasons. One was as protection against the constant danger of fire. The other was to keep the living quarters cool.”
“Makes sense,” she agreed.
“This pantry was where food was delivered for serving in the dining room.”
Jed reached over his head to the top of a darkly varnished panel. With an almost imperceptible click, another panel to his right slipped open. He smiled at Gwyn, moved over and pushed the well-oiled door completely open. Jed retrieved a flashlight from a drawer nearby and invited her to step inside.
The wall immediately in front of her wasn’t more than four feet away. The room itself was long and narrow, perhaps ten feet from one end to the other—less square footage, she decided, than commonly found in a modest bathroom. In the corner to her right was a rickety washstand with a chipped china bowl and pitcher. On the lower shelf was a wood-covered chamber pot. Single candle sconces were attached to the two short walls.
“They also had a mattress or two on the floor,” Jed pointed out.
“How many people stayed in here and for how long?” she asked, already feeling claustrophobic in the confined space.
“Anywhere from one to five, and for periods ranging from overnight to several days, according to the journal I found several years ago in the attic.”
In spite of the warm closeness of the room, she shivered. “The alternative must have been pretty horrible to make this seem better.”
Turning to Jed, she saw a deep sorrow on his face, as if he could feel the pain of the wandering souls who’d passed days and nights of boredom and fear crouched in this ugly place.
“You have a heritage to be proud of, Jed.”
He looked at her, startled by her words.
She smiled and raised a hand to his face. “I’m glad your mother gave you her name. It’s a good name, Louis.”
She lifted herself on tiptoe and kissed him gently on the mouth. He was about to take her in his arms and further explore the invitation he tasted on her lips, when he noticed a faraway expression in her eyes.
“Jed, this secret space . . .” She let the words drift as she retreated deeper into thought.
He waited, but after a minute had to call her back to the present. “What is it?”
“This secret hideaway has made me think of something. It might not make sense . . .” Again she lapsed into distracted silence.
“Tell me,” he urged impatiently.
“One of the big questions is why the sheriff and his people didn’t find Frannie’s body when it was so near, so close by, right?”
“Go on.”
“Suppose it wasn’t there at the time of the search. Suppose whoever killed her did it somewhere else, or took the body somewhere else, and only later buried it on Beaumarais, after the sheriff had completed his investigation.”
“But why here?”
“I can think of a couple of reasons,” she said. “One, the estate was not lived on, so there was little chance of the body being discovered.”
A cold shudder of understanding rippled down Jed’s spine.
“And,” he added, “if and when it was discovered, it would be on my property.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’VE NEVER REALLY given much thought to Frannie’s estate,” Jed admitted much later that afternoon, as he pulled his maroon Dodge Ram into one of the diagonal parking spaces in front of the Cypress Bank and Trust.
“Did she have any family around here?” Gwyn asked.
“Her parents were both dead. She’d had a younger brother, but he was killed in the Korean War. Her late husband was an only child . . . so, no, we were all she had.”
It sounded like a lonely life, yet from what Jed had told her, Frannie Granger had been a person who accepted what she couldn’t change and devoted herself to the children in her care.
“She wasn’t a wealthy woman,” Jed continued. “The house we lived in is proof of that.” He rolled down the windows a crack before switching off the air-conditioning and then the ignition. “We never went hungry, but prime steak wasn’t an item on the menu, either.”
Gwyn opened her door the same time he did, but neither of them got out immediately. “Why are you interested now? Do you think you’ll find a clue to her death there?”
Could the loneliness and the poverty have gotten to the struggling foster mother? Gwyn wondered, not for the first time. The woman saw how the other half lived and the careless ease with which financially secure people spent their money. She’d also been in a position to learn all sorts of private details about her clients. Had she finally succumbed to temptation and tried to use that information to enhance her own fortune, only to make herself the victim of the person she was blackmailing?
Jed shook his head. “Curiosity more than anything, I guess. I know she had a checking account and probably a savings account.”
They alighted from the truck and approached the massive doors of the old bank. It was a corner building, built during the twenties when the country was in a boon of prosperity. The neoclassical lines of its two facades, with their stone columns and projecting cornices, lent it a solid, trustworthy appearance. Jed opened one of the double doors and followed Gwyn into air-conditioned comfort.
The interior was as staid and reassuring as the exterior. Four brass chandeliers were suspended from a lofty molded ceiling. The Greco-Roman motif had been continued in the pink marble floor and the face of the long counter across from the entrance. Both were appropriately accented with lighter tones of tan and bold black. Brass grates no longer fronted each teller station, but Gwyn had no doubt they had once been there.
Jed led her around the high, glass-topped counter where patrons made out deposit and withdrawal slips to a short hallway to the right. He opened a frosted glass-paneled door that had President stenciled on it.
Inside, the woman sitting at a timeworn secretary’s desk sharply contrasted with the buxom young ladies who worked in the lobby. Gwyn estimated she was in her late sixties. She wore her coarse gray hair in a bun at her nape and half glasses perched on the tip of her nose. The smile she offered Jed was pleasant enough, but it didn’t invite familiarity, or even informality.
“Hello, Miss Arbuckle,” Jed said respectfully. He introduced Gwyn. The two women nodded to each other.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Louis?”
“I was wondering if Mr. Jennings was in, and if he might have a few minutes for me.”
The secretary picked up the phone on her desk and announced him. “Go right in.” She nodded toward the far door.
Ray Jennings opened it before they got there and invited them in with a sweep of his hand. Jed’s old friend and mentor wore a gray pinstripe suit that perfectly complemented his silvering hair and gray eyes.
His office in some ways
was in a time warp. It could have come from the set of a 1930s movie, except it was in rich, luxurious color. The heavily carved mahogany desk was nearly black with age, the expensive Oriental carpet, though worn, still sported vivid tones of burgundy, gold and deep blue.
The bank president motioned his visitors to a pair of maroon leather chairs. On the end table between them stood a stained-glass shaded lamp, which Gwyn recognized as a genuine Tiffany.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to express my condolences on the confirmation of Frannie Granger’s death, Jed.” Ray moved behind his desk. “Somehow the ball didn’t seem the right place or time. Please let me do so now. I know she meant a great deal to you. Maybe, finally, you can bring this terrible affair to closure.”
“She was a good woman.” Jed waited for Gwyn to sit, then sat down himself.
Obviously eager to get off the morbid subject, Ray asked simply, “Now, what can I do for you today?” He smiled avariciously. “Another big-bucks business deal?”
“I was wondering about the residual of Frannie’s estate.”
The bank executive had a poker face, but Gwyn didn’t miss the blink behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Frannie’s estate?” He snickered like a man enjoying a ribald joke. “There wasn’t any estate, Jed. You of all people should know that. What pitiful savings she had were quickly eaten up by her debts.” Realizing his guest wasn’t pleased with his choice of words, Ray sobered. “Why, after all these years are you even interested?”
Jed casually crossed an ankle over a knee. “No specific reason. The sheriff’s asking a lot of questions that have made me realize there are aspects of Frannie’s life I really don’t know much about, her finances being one of them.”
With a quick lowering of his gaze that suggested he was reliving an old annoyance, Ray said, “Fielder inspected her accounts when she went missing. He didn’t find anything unusual or that might give a clue to her whereabouts.”
“Now we know why. Nevertheless, I’d like to see the records,” Jed informed him.