The Caine Plantation: The Next Quilt is Red

by Karine Green

  They started driving back to Kathy's.

  "You know," Kathy said, "I would be more interested in knowing why Ramón and Jack knew about the red quilt, and what they are holding back. We should see if they are still in town." She simply didn't believe in ghosts. Someone had tried to warn them to call the police, but they didn't understand! The message was too convoluted and cryptic.

  Jason shook his head, no. "Mike cited them for speeding on the way out of town. Do you think they might've had something to do with it? Two men would have the strength to cause those injuries. How would they get the stuff from the burglary two weeks ago?"

  This time it was Kathy who shook her head, "No, they were in New York until two days ago, it's nearly a two day drive here. They were also terrified when I arrived home. They wouldn't have had enough time to do all that, and then get back to my house, and take two loads upstairs. They were locked in their truck, crapping themselves, when I arrived. You should have seen their eyes. I seriously doubt they are anything more than unwilling witnesses. And then, as you said, Mike cited them as they left town. We basically have some sort of sight on them from the moment they arrived to the moment they left. The unaccounted for time wasn't long enough to kill Lawrence like that, and then stage the scene to look like a murder that happened over a hundred and fifty years ago. Someone is sending a message."

  "Do you remember exactly what they said," he asked.

  "They said the ghosts told them to 'warn them time was up, and that the next quilt was red'. The little boy even told Jack he should get back to the cane fields before he got whipped bloody for being in the girls' room." She believed them. “I know primal fear when I see it. Meaning something had to have happened to the movers. They were being hysterical. Had there been a killer in my house and he left a message there? Maybe it was a terrified witness running to warn someone?”

  "Warn who? Who is them? What does that mean?" Jason asked. He was getting frustrated.

  "I don't know. Come to think of it, Jack texted me, so I still have his number. Perhaps we should call him?"

  Jason nodded. A few minutes later they pulled up Kathy's drive. "Do you mind if we call from inside," he asked, parking, and picking up his clipboard.

  "Are you kidding? You really know how to show a gal a good time. What sort of date would I be if I didn't ask you into my rat-less home after that fabulous night out?" Her mind was reeling with ideas about what could have led to poor Mr. Lawrence's murder. Hopefully it wouldn't give her nightmares! It seemed like she always had nightmares for a few days after the really bad cases, and a case that involved someone being whipped to death would certainly qualify as a bad one.

  He smiled, glancing away. "Gotta love that homicide humor."

  They got out, and he followed her in.

  Twenty-five minutes later, he wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, he was sitting at the enormous, scruffy-looking dining room table, scribbling little circles on his notepad. A hysterical Jack was still babbling into the phone about the little boy with the bleeding, dead eyeballs. No matter what he was asked he just kept repeating the same story, over and over! Jason leaned his head on his hand, like it was too loaded up with Jack's panic for him to keep it up straight.

  Kathy held her hand out, and whispered, "I have worked with panicked victims and witnesses before, let me try."

  He nodded, handing the phone to her.

  "Hello, Jack. It's Kathy Marconi, the retired detective, remember?" she said, in a soft, patient tone. "I know that had to be a terrifying event, but someone is dead...in reality, not as a ghost...Chief Rose needs your help. I need you to rest, calm down, and please write out a statement. Can you have it emailed to Chief Rose in the morning?"

  There was a pause.

  "Thank you. Now please, find a way to relax and get a good night's sleep....What?...No... I am a homicide detective, ghosts don't talk to me. They never have. Trust me, if ghosts wanted justice, talking to a homicide detective would be the simplest way to get it. Try to concentrate on a description of the little boy, and include that in your statement. Please, just don't worry, and relax...Thank you...You have a good night too, Jack, don't worry about the moving evaluation. I've got you covered." She hung up the phone, and set it down on the table, making a ta-dah motion.

  "Thank you, I owe you." Jason smiled brightly, but again avoided eye contact with her.

  "You can pay me back right now. That mattress and box spring need to go upstairs," Kathy said, pointing. She had already taken the frame up, it was light. She really didn't want to sleep in the living room tonight.

  "No problem." He jumped up to help her, grabbing the front half of the mattress.

  Once upstairs, he helped her get the bed set up, and then sat down next to her on it.

  "You look awfully young to be retired?" He looked her up and down. She was very sexy, and according to her driver's license she was thirty-seven. "You are two years younger than me, and I am confused at how, or more to the point, why you are retired.

  She smiled, and repeated the same statement she had said to Mike about starting young in a twenty an out profession, but it was quickly apparent that the elder Rose was a bit better at digging than his younger brother.

  "That...is the Cliff's Notes version, but what's the novel version?" He smiled, kindly, but his tone suggested that he wanted an answer, a real answer.

  "Sounds like you have done some homework," Kathy said, forcing a smile, and hoping it did not look fake or forced.

  He pointed to the stars on his shoulder. "Chief...That means I do background checks on people before they go to my scenes. Your Captain seems to think highly of you. Your employment checked out okay, so what gives? And please...Don't try to slide me the same hockey puck you did Mike."

  "Hockey Puck?" Kathy almost laughed.

  "Yes, for lack of a more colorful term in front of a lady."

  She snorted, and laughed, clapping her hands. Yes, she could sink her teeth into him...All night long for that matter. He was hot and adorable to boot! "Hockey puck!"

  "Does the name Randal Bell ring any bells?" He didn't want to make her angry, but he needed to know for poor Milton' sake.

  She immediately regained her composure. "Not in a way that makes me Chatty Kathy."

  "I found a news report online. Yes, don't faint, we have running water, indoor plumbing, and Wi-Fi in most locations. We only put a log over the creek for Yankees, who want to come and visit and need to use the restroom. Keeps the Carpet Baggers away."

  "He was my last partner, and had been for about six months, but I have known him since I came through the academy. Cliff's Notes version is that he was fired in the wake of a controversy involving a botched investigation. I took a buy-out the City offered to...everyone... with more than 15 years on...I needed to get away from the stress of what happened there." Kathy bit her lower lip. Not to keep herself from talking, but to keep herself from crying. She really did not want to think about Randy right now.

  "I know, I asked your captain about it." He hated taking the risk to make her not like him, but Milton needed justice, not a trial that ended in a hung jury because the consulting detective was viewed as corruptible.

  She was having a change of heart. Perhaps she didn't want sink her teeth into him after all, unless it was his throat. This wasn't his business to know. After all, he was the one who sought her out, not the other way around! She was getting pissed. No amount of Cajun adorableness could sweet talk her into telling that tale again! When was the Randy incident going to finally be over? Why did she feel like she had to constantly justify her actions? She wanted to cuss him out. She could show him 'hockey puck' was beneath her vocabulary level once she was really angry.

  "Look, Jason. I appreciate that you like to know who you are dealing with, but I would really like to retire from police work in peace," she asked, hoping he would drop it. There was a perfectly good homicide to talk about.

  "You ratted out Randal."

  "Randy...And no, what I g
ave was witness testimony, and only after I was asked to. But I should have reported it immediately," she said, standing. She was on the verge of asking him to leave. This conversation was over.

  "Yes, you should have," he said, also standing.

  "You aren't going to let me be retired in peace, are you?" She folded her arms. "You're the one who sought me out. I didn't apply for a job here. I retired! Just look around, I have a perfectly good house to concentrate on. And, as far as the City of New York goes, the Randy Bell incident is over."

  "Funny, retired in peace, is RIP," he said smiling, this time with more of a cocky grin than the sweet one from earlier.

  He thought she was alright. She was loyal to her friends, and it had caused a momentary delay in good judgment. Maybe, he could coax her out of retirement? He didn't have a detective right now, and none of his twelve patrol officers were even qualified. The two main issues were a lack of experience, and/or interest. Aside from the fact that four of them had accused William Caine or Ridely the Whipper of the murder tonight was evidence that his younger officers couldn't be trusted to be objective. He smiled, she could be an asset to the town's small force.

  "Hilarious, you can be quite charming given the hideous murder scene we just came from," she said, letting her arms fall to her side. The truth was, she had used much darker humor at scenes than that, and sometimes it was even her spouting off with the unnecessary comments.

  He continued to smile, and lightened up. "This might sound odd, but, can we go to the third floor, and then take another look in the dining room, since that is where Jack and Ramón saw...uhh...got the message." He almost said 'ghost', but he wasn't going to allow himself to buy into the ghost theory. "Perhaps whoever left the message left some evidence?"

  "Let's go," she said, leading him to the third floor. He followed along behind her. She was still feeling angry about being blindsided by the questions about Randy. Then it occurred to her, he didn't suspect her! Did he? She was on a plane, and had receipts from the store to account for the timing. "You know, I just flew back today. I wasn't even here when Milton had his encounter with the suspect."

  "I know. Your captain said he drove you to the airport this morning."

  She could feel his eyes on her as she led him up the little stairway to the third floor. Now, she was glad she changed out of those dirty sweats, and into clean jeans. He followed her as she walked to the other end of the attic.

  They stood by the window that Mike had looked out earlier in the month. "Your brother said this is where he saw Ethan." She pointed at the window.

  "Ethan?"

  "Long story...It's what Mike calls him," she said. She glanced out the window. "Do you suppose it could be a runaway kid from the subdivision?"

  "I don't think so. I haven't had any runaway reports, and the two usual teens who runaway, are white, not black." He looked past her, trying to avoid looking down her tee-shirt, but she also leaned over further into the window, and he couldn't help but get a full view.

  Did he just look down her shirt? She squinted outside. It was hard to see anything now that it was dark. She could make out the roof of the homicide house. It was odd that it was the same house Mike had refused to buy, because it smelled like a homicide. That wasn't a coincidence, but she wasn't going to tell Jason that just yet. Well, one thing was for sure, it smelled like one now.

  He leaned in behind her to look out the window. "Hey, I just noticed that was the house Mike was looking at when he was in the market for house. That's what he meant when he said it was the house that smelled like blood, before the murder."

  Kathy was exasperated. Nothing gets past him. She guessed that is why he is the Chief. Wait a minute! He just now noticed that from this angle? "Are you suggesting your brother had something to do with this?" She folded her arms.

  "Jesus... no...He has a glass jaw. You could fart in his direction, and he'd squeal that you beat him up."

  Kathy closed her eyes, feeling thankful that she was an only child. "I will never be able to see your brother again without thinking of that comment." She smirked, "People in the South are different than people from the North...No doubt."

  He laughed, "Sorry, but it's true."

  "Have you ever stayed overnight here?" She decided to go ahead and find out why he knew the house from this angle.

  "Never overnight, but I have been here several times...With...aah...Well, never mind with whom. I have also been here on trespassing calls. I have never seen any ghosts while I was here though."

  "You used my house as a flop house for holster huggers?" She folded her arms tighter. Oh, she minded who! Police weren't known for being faithful in the area of relationships. She caught herself, was she jealous? She then scolded herself. For crying out loud, I just freaking met him. I don't know anything about him, except that he's good at instant background checks. He also had a kind smile, and dreamy dark brown eyes, with soft, handsome, well groomed dark hair.

  He blushed, "It was a really, super, long time ago. Well, I don't think we'll learn anything else up here."

  "Sounds like you learned plenty already," she teased, as she turned to leave.

  He shrugged.

  They left the attic without seeing ghosts. She paused in the foyer with him. They both looked into the dining room where Ramón said he saw the ghost. Neither of them saw anything in there, or the adjoining ballroom.

  "Are you sure you are doing alright?" he asked, reaching for the door.

  "I am not afraid of ghosts. As I already said, I have never seen one. With as many places I have been I would..."

  He picked up her hand, and kissed the back of it, "Not what I meant. I will see you later, Kathy." He turned and walked out to the patrol car. "Don't worry, I'll click the gate-lock for you."

  Kathy wandered back upstairs, and got ready for bed. She tried to read the first chapter of the new novel she downloaded at the airport, but her thoughts kept drifting. Not back to the horrendous homicide scene, but instead to Jason Rose. She kissed her own hand good night where he had.

  "I'll get over it eventually," she said. She put her tablet down and turned out the light.

  The Bygone Secrets of the Caine Plantation

  In the morning Kathy sat on the balcony outside her master bedroom. She had moved her little plastic lawn chair out there. It was the perfect place to eat her breakfast, which consisted of a coffee and a protein bar. She couldn't wait for the stove to get here.

  She settled more comfortably into her chair, since the appliances and cable were coming today that meant the only thing on her list was hurry-up-and-wait. Meanwhile, she had the local history guide that she had picked up at the bookstore to keep her entertained.

  According to the guide, Marissa Henning-Caine was the first Mistress of the plantation. She married William Alistair Caine in 1809 when she was sixteen. They built the plantation and moved into it in1810. Their only child, Percy was born the following year. The next page featured a photograph of her hand painted portrait. It portrayed a thin pretty woman, with light ginger hair. Mrs. Caine was credited for helping to pave the way for slaves to escape to the North on what would eventually become known as the Underground Railroad. She also ran several political groups for the humane treatment of freed slaves who remained in the South, before the Civil War.

  William had known she was in the advocacy group, but had no idea she was trafficking slaves to the North. He found out when she impulsively negotiated the purchase of a slave at the Blanc plantation right off the whipping post. Apparently, Blanc had intended to beat the field slave for having an affair with a house slave. The two were expecting a baby Blanc had not requested. Marissa could not stand to watch anyone in such pain. She had paid twice what Blanc had paid for the field hand. The incident had been the tip-off to William that she was in much deeper than just a few activist groups.

  The Blanc plantation was to this day, notorious for the poor treatment of slaves, or anyone else for that matter. In fact, their reputation was so
bad that no one would have the land. Twice, the state had tried to gift the property to anyone who had the ability to restore it, and twice the deal fell through. There had been two later attempts to auction it off, but locally it was viewed as cursed, so no one bought the property. Finally, in June of 1957 the state finally bulldozed the house after Hurricane Audrey ripped the roof off, cracking the house's main support joist. The next year a prison was built.

  "Too bad EBay wasn't around. It might have made it, if restored properly." Kathy smiled, and sipped her coffee, unaware of the black fog gathering behind her in the bedroom. It was slowly spinning in the middle of the room, like a little hurricane.

  William had been furious with Marissa. He had threatened to divorce her for humiliating him in public like that. Ultimately they stayed together, but only briefly. She died about two months later. The new field hand hadn't lasted long in the sugar cane fields. One day he became stuck in the muck at the edge of the bayou where they planted a small patch of rice for plantation use. Percy was angry, and left the field hand in the muck. He had meant to come back in the morning, but the field hand had been eaten by a stray alligator, and only a few were bits left.

  Kathy stiffened. "Stray alligator? How can wild animals be strays, only domestic animals can? Who wrote this?" Then thought of an alligator stuck her, wasn't it the state reptile? She peeked over the edge of book, and looked out at the leading edge of the bayou. "Are there any alligators here now!" She squinted to see further. There almost certainly had to be alligators over there. She glared over at the area, like that would keep them away. She refocused on the book, forgetting to check whether or not it was peer reviewed by qualified history professionals for accuracy.

  Marissa had planned a break from her cause of freeing the slaves in order to make others believe that she was no longer helping the slaves. Again, Kathy paused at the idea the paragraph was presenting. This was supposed to be a history guide, but it read like someone just threw it together.