Secrets of the Last Castle

by A. Rose Mathieu

  Elizabeth inhaled a small breath. Although she was beyond happy that her day turned out so well, she was hoping that Grace would want to talk about things of a more personal nature, but that would have to keep for a later day.

  “Pop, would you mind if Elizabeth and I went downstairs, so we can talk shop. I’ll be back soon.”

  “You go on ahead. I think I could use a bit of a nap.”

  Elizabeth barely knew the man, but she knew that she liked him; she liked him a whole lot. She reached down and hugged him good-bye. A handshake just seemed inferior at that point. “Please take care of yourself, Mr. Donovan. I can already tell that you are a very special person.”

  He returned her hug with equal force and whispered, “Take care of my daughter.”

  “I will, I promise,” she whispered back before letting go.

  Grace guided Elizabeth to the cafeteria on the floor below, barely speaking a word on the journey. It seemed that they each had a lot to process.

  “So I don’t recommend the lasagna. It looks a bit runny,” Grace said as they entered.

  “Thanks, I’ll just stick to Jell-O.”

  “Jell-O? You’re not supposed to eat that on purpose.”

  “What do you have against Jell-O?”

  “It’s the stuff you’re forced to eat when nothing else goes down, and it’s slimy and slithers down your throat.” Grace shuddered.

  Elizabeth chuckled. This was the conversation she needed.

  “Let’s get a table,” Grace suggested and led her to the corner, with her hand on the small of her back. Elizabeth relished the attention, but it was short-lived. When they reached their table, Grace reverted to their professional relationship and assumed her role as Detective Donovan.

  Grace leaned forward with her elbows on the table and asked, “What were you doing at the White Horse Plantation?”

  Elizabeth started with the words the woman uttered to Jackson and went through a rundown of how she came to trace the phone number to the plantation. When she reached the part of her asinine occult visit, Grace covered her face, as though she couldn’t bear to watch as the story unfolded.

  “What about you? What were you doing there?” Elizabeth asked when she finished.

  Grace exhaled and steepled her fingers in front of her. “We had no identity match for the woman, so I started asking around, having searches run in old cases, and I got a hit.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward in interest. “And?”

  “Her prints matched an old cold case that was stuck in the backlog, waiting to be entered into our system.”

  “She was a suspect?”

  “No.” Grace paused and looked around as though checking if there were any eavesdroppers. “She was the murder victim.”

  Elizabeth stared at her, waiting for the punch line, but Grace only stared back. “Wait, you can’t be serious?”

  “Very serious.”

  “How is someone murdered twice?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. She was allegedly stabbed to death and her body found near the side of a service road leading to the plantation. There was scant evidence, and the case went cold immediately.”

  “So who is she?”

  “Don’t know. She was a Jane Doe back then too. No family or friends came forward. There isn’t really much to go on.”

  “When was this?”

  “May 1963.”

  “You think she was from the plantation?”

  “Can’t say. She could’ve just been dumped there because it was a deserted road.”

  Elizabeth sat pensively for a moment. She knew it was her turn to share. “In the house, upstairs, there’s a room in the far back corner with a secret door.”

  “A secret door?” Grace asked, clearly skeptical.

  “Yes, a secret door. It’s on the left side of the fireplace. There’s a closet inside that room that is filled with guns.”

  She had Grace’s attention. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m telling you, Grace, there was enough for a small army in there.”

  Grace took out a small notebook from her jacket breast pocket and scribbled notes that looked like nothing more than scratches, and Elizabeth smiled at the small fact that she learned about Grace; she had horrendous penmanship.

  When Grace finished, Elizabeth added a final thought. “Oh yeah, and if you see a framed Confederate flag smashed on the ground, it was an accident, kind of.”

  Grace nodded. “Noted.”

  Elizabeth toyed with the idea of telling her about the pages she found in the wall, but thought better of it. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep something from Grace, but if she revealed the pages, then Grace would be required to demand that she turn them over, and she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. She first needed to understand the relevance, if any, that the writings had on her case. If and when she had any information, she would gladly turn over the pages, as well as anything she learned, but for now, for the sake of their fledgling relationship, the pages would remain confidential.

  With that decided, Elizabeth moved along the conversation. “So, now what?”

  “I secured a court order to dig up her grave.”

  “I want to come.” Elizabeth nearly jumped out of her seat.

  Grace smiled. “I assumed you would.” She took a moment to study her. “Meet me tomorrow morning at nine outside the front gate of Mason Cemetery on Grand.”

  Chapter Ten

  Grace stood at the entrance gates of the cemetery checking her watch. It was ten after nine, and she was a little worried. She expected Elizabeth to have been there waiting for her when she arrived or before the cemetery even opened at sunrise. As she pulled out her phone to call, a red Roadster came down the road, a little faster than necessary in Grace’s opinion.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” Elizabeth puffed out, grabbing her bag from the back seat as she spoke. “My mom called early this morning saying there was an emergency, so I had to rush over there.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Depends whether you consider her shoe closet desecrated by a feline an emergency.”

  “I don’t really know what to say to that.”

  “No worries. Neither did I.” Elizabeth stopped in front of her, close enough to touch, but kept her hands to her sides. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Nope, they just got started. It’s just up the hill.”

  They followed a path that cut through the heart of the cemetery, and with the morning warming up, Elizabeth pulled off a red scarf draped around her neck and hung it over her bag, while commenting on the brief synopses on the headstones as they passed. Some had much to say and some very little, and for those, she wondered what they did in life to earn the bare minimum at the end.

  Grace had walked a few paces before she realized that Elizabeth was no longer with her and turned back. She found her bent over a grave pulling at the weeds that were covering a name.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It doesn’t seem right. We should at least be able to read the guy’s name. I don’t know what he did, but I guess he deserves at least that.”

  Grace stooped beside her and began to help. There was a time that she would have shaken her head and kept walking, but that was before she let Elizabeth in. Now she would expect nothing less from her and herself. Once they cleared the gravestone and the name could be read, they continued to the gravesite of the unknown woman, where they found a crew of men operating a small excavator. A sizeable hole had already been dug, and they arrived in time to see them pull back and manually dig the remaining dirt out around the coffin.

  Grace flashed her badge when a man in a black suit approached them. She assumed he was cemetery personnel based on his bleak attire and professional mournful expression. Nodding his head, he moved away attempting to keep a respectful distance. Once the crew freed the coffin, a small crane was used to hoist it from the newly excavated hole, and the exhumation was complete. The cemetery man signaled
for them to approach, and as they got closer, the smell of the freshly dug dirt permeated the air.

  Elizabeth moved closer to Grace, so their arms touched, as they stood over the coffin, and Grace welcomed the contact. As the lid was opened, a waft of stale air hit them causing them both to blink and turn away before peering inside.

  “Well, that’s a bit anticlimactic,” Elizabeth said as she leaned closer.

  “Where’s the body?” Grace asked the cemetery man.

  The coffin’s sole contents were several medium sized rocks, which Grace presumed were there to match the weight of a body.

  “I-I don’t understand,” the man stammered.

  Grace didn’t hold the man responsible. She knew this happened well before his time and likely didn’t involve the cemetery at all.

  “I need to make a call,” Grace said, and she stepped away for some privacy.

  Elizabeth was curious how she was going to explain this one to her supervisors. While she waited, she wandered through the nearby rows, continuing her exploration of headstones and the lives they depicted.

  When Grace found her, she had a look that Elizabeth couldn’t decipher. “You okay?”

  She nodded and gestured toward the open coffin. “What are your thoughts on all this?”

  “I think we need to know more about what this woman was doing in 1963. Why did she want people to think she was dead, and why did she come back now?”

  “Well, she clearly didn’t do this alone and that’s what bothers me most.”

  “What do you know about the first case?”

  “There really wasn’t much, just a cursory police report and a follow-up investigation report that didn’t provide many more details. According to the investigation report, the cause of death was blood loss as a result of a single stab wound to the abdomen. If there was a murder weapon and personal effects, they’re gone now. The only thing left is a very thin case file with the report and the victim’s prints. Just enough to look legit, but not enough to conduct an investigation.”

  “So now what?”

  “I have to finish up here, but I’ll walk you back to your car.”

  Elizabeth felt like she was being dismissed and reacted. “I don’t need you to walk me to my car. I know the way.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just need to get some things done.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath to center herself. “I understand.” And she did, but it was a reminder that they were still not on the same side. She knew that she should be grateful for all that Grace shared because as much as Grace believed in the system, there was no way of knowing whether the prosecutor would have shared this information during discovery. “Thank you, Grace. I know you didn’t have to include me in on this.”

  Elizabeth put on her brave face to mask the sulking, self-pity that she allowed herself to indulge in on her walk back to the car. It wasn’t that Grace couldn’t share more details, but it was the feeling of being shut out again.

  * * *

  Elizabeth sat on the floor of her living room, leaning against the couch, head tilted back, with Camille next to her mirroring the position. An empty bottle of red wine rested between them. Danny lay sprawled out on his back at their feet, and an open pizza box rested in the middle of them with only a single slice left to spare.

  “So let me get this straight. The woman was murdered not once, but twice.” Danny held up his counting fingers as he spoke for emphasis. “And no one knows who she is. What the hell did she do in her past life?”

  That seemed a fair question, but Elizabeth could only shrug because any more movement seemed too much effort. She was on her second glass of wine, and since she rarely exceeded a single glass, its intended effect was kicking in. Camille lolled her head to the side to face her. “Can we use this to prove that my brother didn’t kill her? It seems obvious this woman had enemies.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and contemplated the question. “I think it helps, but it’s not enough. We need to know who this woman was. Maybe if we know her identity, we’ll know who wanted her dead.”

  Camille slapped her hand on her leg, nearly missing, and said with more volume than necessary, “That’s it! We need to know who she is.”

  It was then that Elizabeth noticed the glassy look in her eyes and realized that Camille was a glass of wine or two beyond her limit. With great effort, she pushed herself up to make preparation for her houseguests. No one was going home tonight. Danny hadn’t partaken in the wine, relegated to soda by Elizabeth much to his dismay, but she knew that she was in no shape to be driving him home.

  She made a brief exit and returned with her arms full of blankets and a pillow and dropped them onto the couch. “Okay, folks, it’s getting late. Camille, why don’t you take the extra bedroom at the end of the hall, and, Danny, you can have the sofa.”

  “I’m fine,” Camille said, and she leaned her hands against the couch to hoist herself up, but the lower half of her body didn’t comply. “Stop moving the couch.”

  “Hmmm,” was Elizabeth’s only reply as she helped her stand. Camille leaned heavily on her as she attempted to gain her balance. “Let’s find you that bed.”

  She gave Danny a brief wave and navigated Camille to the back bedroom and helped her sit on the bed. “You think you can handle it?” Elizabeth hadn’t realized how much Camille had to drink, but she didn’t begrudge her. She had been under tremendous strain with her brother’s criminal case and her grandmother’s failing health. On the contrary, Camille was a rock.

  Camille stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. “Will you stay with me, just for a little while?” A tear escaped down her cheek.

  “Of course.” Elizabeth seated herself on the edge and began stroking her soft, ebony hair. “Just sleep,” she said, and when Camille’s breathing evened out, she slowly pulled her hand back. But before she could make a quiet retreat, Camille captured her hand and held it to her breast.

  “Please don’t go,” she said before pulling Elizabeth’s hand to her lips and placing a soft, warm kiss at the base of her palm, which sent a tingle through her body.

  How she wished this was Grace. Why couldn’t it be? It was so simple. Elizabeth closed her eyes and relished the thought. She returned her eyes to Camille and wondered what it would be like. Would she and Grace ever be together or would there always be a case or other excuse in their way? Another sensuous kiss caressed her hand, and she could feel a warm tongue linger. God, it felt good, the warmth, the intimacy, the want. The problem was it wasn’t Grace and nothing less would do.

  She extracted her hand. “You should sleep now.” She pulled herself up and closed the door behind her without looking back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elizabeth was the first one up, and she quickly showered and dressed before she turned her attention to finding something to eat for her guests. She figured dividing up the leftover slice of pizza wouldn’t do. She fumbled through the refrigerator and heard a grumble from the lump on the couch as the blankets twisted and turned in protest to the offending noise.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s about seven thirty.”

  Elizabeth continued her ministrations in the kitchen, managing to find eggs and English muffins. It wouldn’t make Martha Stewart (or her mother) proud, but it would have to do. Better than sharing a slice of pizza, but judgment on that should be reserved until after the eggs were cooked.

  Danny begrudgingly sat up when the smell of food hit him.

  “What’s for breakfast?”

  Elizabeth placed a warm plate in front of him, and she impressed herself with the scrambled eggs; they were neither runny nor crusty. Danny didn’t notice as he began to shovel the food into his mouth. Elizabeth swore he swallowed without chewing. In a matter of moments, he handed the empty plate back and stood to head to the bathroom.

  “Mind if I take a shower?” he asked as he was already heading down the hallway.

  “Sure, and you’re welcome by th
e way,” she called after him.

  She placed the plate in the sink and heard footsteps approach. “Now what did you forget?” She was surprised to find a rumpled Camille standing at the entrance of the kitchen. She hadn’t yet had a chance to mentally unpack what happened the night before. Instead she went to bed with lustful thoughts of Grace.

  “Sorry, I thought you were Danny. Morning, how did you sleep?”

  “Fine, thanks.” Camille fidgeted with a fork that sat on the countertop. “So, do you need any help?”

  Elizabeth could feel the thick air between them, but was unsure what to say. “I got it covered.” She handed over a plate that matched Danny’s, and Camille accepted it without making eye contact and moved to the living room, head bowed.

  A few feet in, she abruptly turned and moved back toward the kitchen. “So…” she drew out, staring directly at Elizabeth, causing her to swallow in anticipation of the words to come. “About last night, are we okay?”

  “Yes, of course. We’re definitely okay,” Elizabeth responded with relief. In the brief moments, she had conjured so many different possibilities of how that conversation would play out.

  With that, Camille returned to the living room and sat on the couch to enjoy her home cooked meal, and Elizabeth resumed her cleanup duties. It seemed that they both needed a little space to allow the remainder of the tension to drain through them. The brief moment of solitude was broken by the ringing of the phone that sat on a long table just outside the kitchen. Given the time and the fact that no one else other than telemarketers called her at home, she knew it was her mother.

  “My mother,” she said to Camille as she lifted the receiver and gestured that she was going to take it in her bedroom. She didn’t want her to witness the flustering mess that her mother could reduce her to during their conversations.