In Search of Truth

by Sharon Wray

  While Zack ate, he studied each photo as Alex finished with them. Despite the camera’s flash, the photos were still dark. “Allison, do you have a magnifier?”

  “I do.” She stood and laid her napkin on her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  When she left the room, Alex lowered his voice. “I can’t believe Isabel blew off the Prince.”

  Zack laid all the photos on the table in a long row. “What do you think that means?”

  “No idea,” Alex said. “It can’t be good.”

  Allison returned, handed Zack the magnifier, and he laid the glass over one of the photos. “Do you see what’s near the broken daisy?”

  Alex and Allison leaned over to look. He adjusted the glass to get the best view, then pointed to the carvings in the edge of the image. “Those look like apotropaic marks.”

  Allison glanced at him with wide eyes. “They do. I was always so fixated on her broken daisy, and there’s so much other graffiti, I never noticed.”

  Alex grabbed another plate of pudding and ate standing up. “Is it possible that Mercy made the Pirate’s Grille to help Henry hide his treasure?”

  “I guess…but that would mean she’d have known about Henry Avery’s treasure.”

  “That’s a good point,” Zack said. “Did Hezekiah mention where the Pirate’s Grille came from?”

  She shook her head. “All I know is that the pirate Thomas Toban stole it from the Fianna in 1710.”

  Zack stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Thomas Toban must’ve known about the treasure if he went looking for the Pirate’s Grille.”

  “It’s possible. Thomas knew Henry.” Allison opened her laptop again. “Yesterday I emailed my colleague at UVA. She sent me back some notes.”

  “The one who offered you the job?” Zack got up to pour more coffee.

  “Yes.” Allison typed instead of looking at him. “My colleague specializes in lesser known seventeenth and early eighteenth century pirates. This morning she sent me information on Thomas Toban. In 1700, Thomas bought Henry’s ship the Fancy and renamed it the Rebecca.”

  “That was after Henry stole his treasure?” Alex asked.

  “Yes.” Allison scrolled. “Henry stole the treasure around 1695 and disappeared with the loot. In 1700, Thomas met Henry in Nassau and bought his ship. In 1701, under an assumed name, Henry moved to Charleston and built Pirate House as an alehouse and a brothel. In 1702, he started his affair with his barmaid Mercy, they had a son, and he built Pink House for them.

  “In 1703, Mercy was accused of witchcraft and eventually exonerated. In 1704, Mercy and Henry disappeared forever. Yet despite never marrying Mercy, Henry left Pink House, Pirate House, and a lot of money to their son. Henry also directed that if anything should happen to him and Mercy, the boy would be cared for by relatives.”

  “That,” Alex said as he licked the whiskey sauce spoon, “sounds like premeditation.”

  Zack grabbed the spoon out of Alex’s hands and dropped it into the sink. “It also means Mercy probably knew Henry’s true identity.”

  “But would she have known about the treasure?” Alex asked.

  “Everyone knew about the treasure,” Allison said. “It was such a huge deal when it happened that Daniel Defoe and Robert Louis Stevenson wrote novels about buried treasure based on Henry Avery’s exploits.”

  “What if Mercy was in on the gig?” Zack covered the bread pudding with tinfoil and slipped it into the fridge. “What if she and Henry made their getaway with the idea of taking the treasure and living the rest of their lives together in peace?”

  “Why?” Allison asked. “They had a life here with a child, and no one knew who Henry was until after they disappeared.”

  “Leverage.” Zack snorted because he was annoyed he hadn’t thought of it earlier. “What if Mercy’s accusation wasn’t about witchcraft at all? What if it was blackmail?”

  Allison stood, her arms wrapped around her waist. “You mean someone was using Mercy to blackmail Henry to give up the treasure?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I have to admit,” Alex said, “it makes sense. It’s what the Prince is doing with Emilie.”

  Allison frowned. “Other than going out to Fenwick Hall to find more daisy wheels and hope they lead us to Mercy, we don’t have many more clues. I can’t find the witch’s examination’s appendix and we don’t have the Pirate’s Grille.”

  “I’ll go to Saint Philip’s,” Alex said. “See if I can find the apotropaic marks Mercy carved.”

  Zack pulled the photo from his back pocket and threw it on the table. “This is our only other clue. This unknown man. He might be some random dude Isabel hooked up with.”

  Alex took the photo and frowned. “I know this guy. Not his name, but I’ve seen him before. He works for Remiel. At least, he used to.”

  “Are you sure?” Zack asked.

  “He was there the night I tried to kill Remiel.”

  “Wait.” Allison glared at both of them. “Alex, you did what?”

  “It’s a long story.” Alex smiled at her. “I’m sure Zack can fill you in.”

  Allison blinked a few times and then started putting her photos back into her Mercy Chastain file. “The problem is I grew up in that house and I don’t remember seeing any markings like that anywhere. My mom was obsessed with Mercy Chastain. If we’d had apotropaic marks in the house, she would’ve known. Then there’s the issue that I don’t have permission to go out there.”

  Alex opened his mouth until Zack shook his head. That was a later kind of conversation.

  Alex picked up the tracing he’d done of the daisy wheel. “These things are often in the barns. Are there older buildings on the property?”

  “There is a barn, and it’s older than the house by two hundred years. There are some old carvings on the second floor, but they’re not apotropaic marks and they’re later eighteenth century. But the original barn was built in 1710…the same year the original Saint Philip’s church was destroyed.” Allison went back to her laptop and typed some more. “It says here that Pink House and Pirate House were also damaged during that hurricane.”

  “Is it possible Mercy carved the apotropaic marks while being held in the church?” Zack said. “Then, after the hurricane, the church’s wood was divided up and used to rebuild Pirate House, Pink House, the new Saint Philip’s Church, and the barn at Fenwick Hall?”

  Alex flipped through the planner again. “Why would they do that?”

  Allison shut her laptop and brought dishes to the sink. “Because there were no hardware stores. In colonial days, everything was reused.”

  “If we’re right,” Zack said, “Mercy carved the apotropaic marks while in captivity in 1703. Then, after the hurricane in 1710, the wood she’d carved was distributed throughout the city with no one realizing.”

  Alex picked up the planner again. “Did you see this?”

  Zack read one of the calendar entries. Almost all of the days had an I in them, except for one with the notation CAB/ILL 9 a.m. “Allison, what does CAB/ILL stand for?”

  She rinsed the plates and Alex went over to load the dishwasher. “It stands for Charleston Architectural Board. It’s a group that watches over all of the renovations and new construction in the city. Stuart was one of its directors and went to monthly board meetings.”

  Zack scanned the other pages, but there were no other notations for CAB. “I don’t think this was a board meeting.”

  Allison wiped the counter with a dishrag. “The CAB has a library and bookstore on Meeting Street. The ILL probably stands for Interlibrary Loan. Maybe Stuart borrowed a book?”

  Alex cleared the table of crumbs and offered, “After I go to Saint Philip’s, I’ll check out the CAB. Is there anything else you need me to do? I gotta make up for not getting back the Pirate’s Grille.”
/>   “Nate keeps texting. Help him come up with a story to keep Kells off our asses.”

  “Okay.” Alex grabbed his motorcycle helmet off the counter. “I’ll let you know when I find something.”

  Allison’s phone rang and she excused herself to talk to her UVA colleague.

  Zack walked Alex out to his bike that he’d parked near the burned-out building. “Horatio told me something last night.”

  “I’m not sure you can trust anything a warrior says, even if you can understand it.”

  Probably true. “Horatio suggested Kells was somehow involved in this mess.”

  Alex put on his helmet and mounted his bike. “Any idea what that means?”

  “I was hoping you could find out if Kells and the Prince have a history. Maybe Kells has intel we could use.”

  Alex stared at the ignition until Zack hit his shoulder.

  Alex nodded, turned the key, and gunned the engine.

  As Alex drove away, Zack was sure of one thing: Alex knew more about Kells than he was sharing. And Zack hoped that wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Chapter 27

  Allison flipped through Stuart’s planner while Zack drove them in her car to Fenwick Hall. Nicholas Trott sat in the middle of the back seat and stared out the front window.

  Zack glanced in the rearview mirror. “Does Nicholas Trott need a seat belt?”

  “He won’t wear one.” She pointed to the light ahead. “Turn left here. The causeway to Hoopstick Island will be on your right.”

  Zack turned and slowed down on the gravel road. “I wish you’d put that planner down. You’re torturing yourself.”

  “I know.” She tossed it into the back seat. “I still can’t believe Alex tried to kill Remiel and even went to prison for it.”

  “Remember, no one else can know.”

  “I promise I won’t say a word.”

  Zack had told her the story and it was almost unbelievable. In fact, if it’d been a regular day on a regular week without Fianna warriors, impossible tasks, and a kidnapped woman, she wouldn’t have believed it.

  Zack parked the car outside a set of locked gates decorated with wrought-iron ravens. A sign off to the side read RAVEN’S RETREAT AT FENWICK HALL. PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING.

  She sighed. Part of the restraining order deal she’d made years ago to keep Rue away included the stipulation that Allison needed permission to return to Fenwick Hall. She’d emailed Rue yesterday and had left a message, but hadn’t heard anything. Not surprising, considering their latest fight.

  Now Allison wasn’t quite sure how this unexpected visit was going to turn out.

  Since Nicholas Trott was trying to open his door, Zack got out and freed him. Nicholas Trott ran toward the gate, and Zack opened her door. “Prepare yourself. It’s humid.”

  She got out, slung her Nicholas Trott tote bag filled with tracing paper and pencils over her shoulder, and sucked in her breath. Although it was still midmorning, the temp had hit the high nineties and the humidity level had to be as high. Sweat formed between her breasts, and she took off her sweater and tossed it into the car. “Let’s get this over with.”

  At the fence, she typed in numbers on a security keypad, and the gates swung open. Nicholas Trott raced down the lane in front of them. “We can’t drive onto the property—Rue won’t allow it. But we can walk to the house. We need to go there first since the barn will be locked.”

  Zack took Allison’s hand and squeezed. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  “I hope so.” She started walking with Zack next to her. Except he glanced back a few times. “What’s wrong?”

  “There are cameras in the trees.”

  “There are also armed guards in the woods. My uncle Fenwick and his men are always patrolling.” She tugged on Zack’s hand to keep him moving. She didn’t want to be here. And she hated the fact that she had to ask permission to visit her childhood home, the home her father had renovated for his family. The home her uncle usurped after her father’s unexpected death. “Are you armed?”

  He looked down at her with a serious gaze she’d never seen before. “I’m always armed.”

  She nodded and went back to studying the lane ahead of them. She wasn’t surprised; she just wasn’t sure where he kept his weapon. He’d left his jacket in the car, and today he wore jeans and a black T-shirt. Maybe he’d tucked it into one of his combat boots?

  She brushed away gnats that hovered beneath the canopy of oak trees lining the drive. “Zack, if I see my uncle Fenwick, you’ll have to intervene before I beat him with a pitchfork.”

  Zack chuckled. “Although I’d love to see that, I promise. I’d hate to have to visit you in prison.”

  She glanced at him, wondering if he would visit her in prison. Or if, once this was all over, he’d just disappear. That thought had been running through her mind since she’d woken up this morning. Last night, in his arms, had been amazing. But this morning it felt like things were all business with a side of shyness.

  Of course, she’d left the bed first to shower alone and had been distant all morning.

  She wasn’t being bitchy; she just didn’t know what to do with all the emotions burning through her blood like rocket fuel.

  Zack waved away his own gnats. “What did your UVA colleague say on the phone earlier?”

  “That job opening I turned down last year is open again. The professor who they hired instead has another opportunity. And school starts in a few weeks.”

  He glanced at her, but she kept her gaze on the long, tree-lined stretch ahead. “Did your colleague offer it to you?”

  “Yes.” Allison swallowed and wiped her forehead with her forearm. “I told her I was on deadline until Sunday and asked if we could talk about it after that. She agreed.”

  Zack nodded and they followed the road’s turn. “Where’s Nicholas Trott?”

  Relieved at the change of subject, she pointed toward the water peeking through the trees. “Sitting on the riverbank, watching the birds. I’m not worried about him though. Since an incident with a copperhead last year, he knows better than to go into the water.”

  The lane made a sharp left and opened up to show the white house that guarded the river. They both stopped, and he said, “This place is amazing.”

  “Don’t let the beauty fool you.” She nodded toward the white clapboard house. Three stories high, with balconies on all four sides held up by Doric columns, the mansion had all the elements of Southern architecture including brick fireplaces in every room. “The house was built in 1900. My father, who was an architect, renovated it. The only original thing on the property is the barn.”

  He pointed to a gray barn tucked behind a grove of pine trees. An oak next to the barn still held the tree house her father had built. “Is that where we should start our search?”

  “Yes.” She pulled on his hand. “But our first stop is the herb garden.”

  A few minutes later, Allison was desperate for air-conditioning. Instead, she stood beneath a pergola covered in wisteria in the center of the circular herb garden. Young women in long skirts with kerchiefs in their hair pulled weeds and cut stems off the herb bushes. One of them, upon seeing Allison, had run off to find Rue.

  “Who are these women?” Zack whispered. “They seem young.”

  “Rue’s acolytes. They are young. In exchange for her pagan wiccan goddess wisdom and room and board in the mansion, they work in her gardens which, in turn, provide the main ingredients for her Raven’s Retreat absinthe business.”

  “Does she pay them?”

  Allison snorted. “No.”

  “Oh.” Zack leaned against a pillar holding up the pergola. “Does she have male acolytes?”

  “Yes. They live in another building on the other side of the property. They work in the distillery and as security.”

&nb
sp; “Is this really a cult?”

  “I think so.”

  “Allison.” The female voice came from behind, and both Allison and Zack turned to see Rue. Today she wore jeans and a black T-shirt. Her red hair had been braided and hung down her back. “Why do you want to see the barn?”

  “It’s personal.”

  Rue crossed her arms. “If you can’t tell me, you can’t see it. You haven’t lived here since you ran away when you were fourteen.”

  “I want to see it, Mrs. Fenwick,” Zack said in a low-yet-firm voice. “I asked Allison to bring me.”

  Rue moved close enough for Allison to smell her rose-scented perfume. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Zack Tremaine. Allison’s friend from college.”

  Rue’s green eyes widened. “You were Stuart’s friend as well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why do you want to see the barn?”

  “Like Allison”—Zack smiled at her—“I was a history major. I’m interested in architecture.”

  Rue glanced at Allison. “I’ll agree on one condition. Your uncle Fenwick and I want to come to Stuart’s service. He was our son-in-law, after all.”

  Zack touched Allison’s trembling shoulder. The last thing she wanted was Rue at the service, but time was running out to play games. “Okay. It’s at—”

  “I know when and where.” Rue stared at Zack’s hand on Allison’s shoulder. “Zack, are you fucking my daughter?”

  Allison clenched her fists, and Zack tightened his grip.

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Fenwick, my relationship with Allison is none of your business.”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “I’m a grown woman.” Allison threw that in because she hated the fact that they were talking about her as if she weren’t there.

  Rue brushed away a bug. “Even if my daughter were capable of loving another, I wouldn’t want her loving you.”

  Zack’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re an ex–Green Beret whose unit was charged with the Wakhan Corridor Massacre. Half your men are in prison, the other half dishonorably discharged. I also know that you refused to lead your team on a mission, and they ended up spending two years in a POW camp.”