Secrets of the Last Castle

by A. Rose Mathieu

  She could see Grace debating with herself before she turned to leave the room. Just as she exited, she popped her head back in. “Don’t steal anything while I’m gone.”

  “You got me. Destruction of evidence was my defense plan.”

  While Grace was gone, Elizabeth inspected the inside of the bag, feeling for any anomalies inside to no avail, then she held it as close to her face as she could. “Go any closer and your head will get stuck inside.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at Grace’s attempt at humor and accepted the flashlight she held out. As she dutifully inspected every inch of the inside, her hope of finding a secret message deflated. There was nothing.

  “Didn’t find anything, did ya?”

  “You already knew,” Elizabeth said.

  “Inspected it myself.”

  “So why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because you had to look for yourself.”

  Grace knew her. She handed back the flashlight and reached for the silver pieces to repack them.

  “Just leave it as it is. The evidence guy is going to want to inspect it before he puts it away. I’ll show you out.”

  They walked back in silence, but Grace stayed at her side, instead of taking the lead as she had on the trek in. When they reached the door, Grace held it open, and Elizabeth walked past her, but stopped in the doorway and turned to her. “Whatever I did, Grace, to make you so upset with me, I’m sorry. But at some point when this is done, you’ll have to talk to me.”

  Elizabeth didn’t wait for a response and continued walking out of the station, and Grace watched her go. “Please be safe, Elizabeth,” she whispered before closing the door. The call from Casey did little to ease her mind. There were no records in the prosecutor’s office of an investigation into the White Horse Plantation or the woman’s murder. Despite what Elizabeth thought of her, she didn’t believe it was an open and shut case. A dead woman returning to be killed a second time was anything but ordinary, and why she wouldn’t let up on finding out why she came back.

  * * *

  The reception area of SILC was quiet, but Elizabeth saw her mother’s car parked out front, so she knew that was a false sense of security. She was sure there was chaos going on somewhere in the office, but she wasn’t in the mood to deal and walked to her office trying to avoid contact with any other human. A large marble counter stood in front of her door, which she assumed would be part of the kitchen, but for now was blocking her entrance. She weighed her options—find help to have it moved or crawl over. She hiked up her skirt and jumped on top, but the counter was slicker than she expected, and she slid off the other side and landed on the floor in her office.

  “I’m good,” she said to the ceiling as she lay on her back.

  “That was fun to watch.”

  Elizabeth sat up and turned to her unexpected guest, who was seated by her desk. “Jack, I didn’t know you were here. Otherwise, I would have made sure my foot got caught and I was left dangling for a better show.”

  “Now that I might pay to see.”

  “How did you get in here?” She couldn’t imagine him hoisting himself over the counter.

  “That wasn’t here when I got here, and I think your staff sort of forgot about me.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I feel safer in here. There is a woman out there who scares me.”

  “You and me both. So, what brings you to my side of town? I thought you had enough of me.”

  “I haven’t been able to get this case off my mind and thought maybe I could be of some help.” She couldn’t help but notice the eagerness in his voice. She guessed that Crestview Assisted Living could get a little boring for someone like Jack, who still craved adventure.

  “All right, what do you think of this?” She pulled a large Ziploc bag from her messenger bag, followed by a smaller plastic bag. Opening the larger plastic bag, she said, “This is what I found at the bottom of the box.” She unfolded the sweater and laid it across her desk. “In the pocket, I found this.” She removed the flyer and set it next to the sweater.

  Jack studied them closely, as a detective would. “It’s possible that it belongs to Webb’s daughter.”

  “I thought that too, but…”

  “But what?”

  “What if it’s not? What if it’s someone else’s?”

  Jack rubbed his chin, staring at the flyer and sweater in consternation. “All right, what do you suggest?”

  “Let’s go to the library and see what we can find in the local newspaper archives about this Freedom Riders rally.”

  Jack slapped his knees in what she had come to know as his “I’m game” gesture and pushed himself up. “We only have one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How do we get out?” He pointed to the counter blocking the doorway.

  Realizing that she was going to need help, she approached the counter and hoisted herself over, and much like the first time, landed on the floor on the other side, just in time for her mother to witness.

  “Honestly, Elizabeth, would you stop playing around. What are you doing climbing on the furniture, and in a skirt?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, it just seemed like so much fun, I couldn’t resist. Never mind the fact that there is no other way in or out of my office.”

  * * *

  “Jack, will you please sit back? You’re blocking the screen.”

  He huffed but complied with Elizabeth’s demand. “How are you supposed to read these things? The print is so small.”

  Elizabeth rewound the film and stopped on the article that she needed after her second attempt. The dial on the microfilm reader was touchy, but she was getting the hang of it, after nearly three hours of scanning archived newspapers articles. The Southern Register had been defunct since the mid 1980s, but luckily, the library had preserved the paper’s history through microfilm. Starting their search in 1961 and now concluding 1967, they had amassed a large printout of articles, which Elizabeth laid out in chronological order across the table.

  The first headline article covered the disappearance of two prominent Freedom Rider protestors who were responsible for organizing the well-attended rally that took place in the town’s public bus station. The two rally organizers, Jeffrey Small and Peter Christianson, were last seen leaving in Jeffrey’s white ’57 Plymouth Fury after declaring the June 1962 rally a success to fellow protestors. A description of the car followed, including its gold stripes down the side and shark fins on the back. Pictures of the two young white men, which she guessed to be school photos given their formal nature, took center stage.

  In the same paper, but buried way in the back, was a two-line article that told of a missing young African-American woman that read more like a classified ad for a lost dog. There was no description or photo or any additional information as to the nature of the disappearance. There was just a name—Margaret Williams, a local waitress, which explained the name tag on the sweater. Elizabeth was incensed.

  The remainder of the articles spread across the table detailed the discovery of the young men’s bodies near a ravine on the outskirts of town, each with a bullet wound to the back of their heads, execution style. The Plymouth Fury was not found.

  The murders would have been forgotten, at least by the local police, if it weren’t for the persistent protests for justice by the Freedom Riders. According to the news articles, a break in the case came in 1966 when a local farmhand named Tobias Stokes was charged with the deaths. The African-American man was accused, tried, and convicted based on a single eyewitness, who claimed he saw Stokes the night of the rally with the victims. Apparently, that single witness was given more weight than the family and friends of Stokes, who all testified that he was out of town that night, visiting his ailing mother. After the two-day trial and two-hour jury deliberation, he was found guilty and sentenced to death.

  There was no additional mention of Margaret Williams.

  Chap
ter Seventeen

  Elizabeth walked to SILC with the phone to her ear, trying to catch up on her voice messages. She had spent the better part of the morning in mediation on behalf of a client seeking child support for her two children.

  Just as she approached the penis man on the wall, a firm hand gripped her arm and yanked her into a recessed doorway of a vacant shop.

  “Give me your bag.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Elizabeth said in irritation, as she turned to face a man dressed in black wearing a ski mask. The man snatched her bag off her shoulder, and she held on to the strap, but the gun pointed into her side told her to take this robbery more seriously, and she let go.

  He dug into her bag and started dumping out the contents, including her wallet. “Where are the papers?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

  It was clearly not the answer he wanted, and he slammed her back, causing her head to hit the wall. She closed her eyes in an attempt to squash the nausea that erupted from the pain, and when she opened them, the gun was pointed into her chest.

  “I’m not playing games with you.”

  Elizabeth stayed quiet and looked down at his hand holding the gun, while his other hand nervously twitched at his side. “If you only tell me what you are looking for, I can help you.” She could hear the tremor in her own voice.

  A door slam, followed by laughter and a pair of voices, caused the man to turn his head, and she took the opportunity to push him backward giving her some space to swing her fist. She connected with the side of his head, and he turned to her and slammed the butt of the gun against her face. Stunned by the pain that radiated from the point of impact at the side of her jaw and traveled across her head, she stumbled forward and made eye contact with two men who stood next to a car halfway down the block. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  The man grabbed her by the hair and started to pull her back into the doorway before he realized the two men were jogging toward them, and they began shouting. He released his hold of her and took off running in the opposite direction. Elizabeth remained motionless, and when the men reached her, they spoke, but it took her several moments before she could register any of their words. Instead of answering them, she bent to retrieve her bag and began to shove the items back in. The men took over her task and tried to convince her to sit, but she insisted on continuing to SILC. The men walked her to the clinic and relayed the events to Amy, who rushed to her side and tried to help lead her to a chair in the lobby, but Elizabeth insisted on going into her office.

  Before she reached her office door, Danny and her mother joined Amy and guided her to the guest chair in front of her desk. She tried to convince them that she was not seriously hurt, only stunned, but their continued pampering proved they weren’t persuaded. Elizabeth closed her eyes, and their voices seemed to fade, and she found her headache subsided to a more tolerable level. It was a set of warm hands touching the sides of her face that pulled her back, and she opened her eyes to find Camille standing over her. She wore a serious look and continued running her hands through Elizabeth’s hair and down her neck.

  “Where does it hurt?” Camille asked.

  “I’m fine. I just have a headache and my jaw aches.”

  Camille looked unconvinced, and in the attempt to get the attention off of her, Elizabeth asked, “How did you know?”

  “Danny called me.” Camille continued running her hands across her shoulders and down her arms. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No, I’m fine, really.”

  Camille pulled out a small pen flashlight from a bag at her feet and shined it in her eyes, which Elizabeth found extremely annoying.

  “We really should take her in and have her looked at,” Camille said to her mother, who was hovering over.

  Before she could protest again, Amy entered, and Elizabeth had to blink at the sight of Grace who entered behind her. Grace dropped to her knees in front of her and caressed her face, and she leaned into the touch.

  “Elizabeth, honey, are you all right?” Grace’s voice shook as she spoke.

  A tear slipped down Elizabeth’s face, and Grace used her thumb to wipe at it. Elizabeth leaned forward and allowed Grace to fully wrap her arms around her.

  “I’ve got you,” Grace whispered in her ear.

  Elizabeth released her pent emotions, not only from the attack, but the hurt and frustration that she held at bay since the day Grace rejected her in court. Tears began to fall, and she pressed her face into Grace’s shoulder. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” Grace said as she stroked her hair.

  When Elizabeth brought her head back up, Grace cradled her face and leaned in and softly kissed her lips. Elizabeth deepened the kiss, and she could taste her salty tears on her own lips. Elizabeth buried her head in her neck and allowed herself to be engulfed by Grace’s arms. “Honey, we need to get you to a hospital, just to make sure everything is okay, please.”

  Elizabeth nodded into her shoulder, and Grace slowly stood, gently pulling Elizabeth up with her. Camille backed up to give them space, and it was only then that Elizabeth became aware of the others in the room. Grace wrapped her arm around her and guided her toward the front door. Her mother reached out and touched her cheek as she passed, and they made brief eye contact. If her mother was surprised by their show of affection, she didn’t show it. Her eyes were only filled with concern for her well-being. Grace walked her to the passenger side of her car, which was double-parked outside the clinic, and the others followed, making plans on who would ride with whom.

  * * *

  Elizabeth stared in her bathroom mirror and took stock of the different shades of purple and blue across the side of her face. She then turned her attention to her plaid flannel pajamas that she hastily grabbed on her walk into the bathroom and shook her head, which sent a wave of pain and nausea through her, and she had to close her eyes until it passed. She had spent the entire afternoon and most of the evening in the emergency room, where she had a medical exam, CAT scan, and a police interview, which Grace insisted upon. She was diagnosed with a concussion, but everything was still in its proper place and nothing was broken. She was released with the promise that she would have someone stay with her overnight in case of any unforeseen complications. She had several volunteers, including her mother, Amy, Danny, and Camille, but when Grace spoke up, assigning herself to the job, the others capitulated without argument, even her mother.

  Her time in the bathroom to wash up and change was the longest period that she had been separated from Grace since the ordeal began. Even now, Grace was sitting outside the door waiting. That thought turned her attention back to her reflection in the mirror. Why did I grab these pajamas? She could hear Michael laughing at her in her head. Resigned to her fate, she opened the door, and as expected, Grace was there to guide her to bed. After she was safely tucked under the covers, Grace sat next to her and stroked her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing shallowed. The pain medication was kicking in.

  Elizabeth shifted her position, and a pain shot through the side of her head, causing her eyes to dart open. It took her a moment to recognize her surroundings, but the warm body pressed against her back and the arm draped over her stomach was unfamiliar. She slowly turned and found Grace fast asleep on top of the covers still dressed in her clothes. Elizabeth extracted herself and pulled an extra blanket from her closet and covered her before she snuggled back in, resting her head next to Grace.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elizabeth woke and stretched out but felt only empty space. She opened her eyes to verify that Grace was gone. She wondered if she had imagined her presence, but was relieved when Grace walked in with a coffee cup in her hand.

  “You’re awake.” Grace set the cup down next to her bedside. “Rumor has it that this is a necessity in the morning.”

  Elizabeth wondered which of her friends betrayed her and revealed her addiction to coffee.

  “Your
friend Michael called.”

  Michael, of course it was him.

  “He had heard about yesterday and left a couple of messages. He sounded really worried, so I picked up his call on your home phone. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Elizabeth cradled the cup of coffee. “Not at all. Thank you.”

  Grace sat on the edge of the bed, and Elizabeth scooted over to give her more space. She couldn’t help but admire her. Even in rumpled clothing and with her hair slightly askew, Grace was beautiful.

  “How are you feeling?” Grace asked.

  “A lot better than yesterday.”

  “You need to take it easy today. Promise me.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard at the look on Grace’s face. It was more than concern. It was despair. “Grace, are you okay?”

  Grace looked down at her hands and shook her head. “I was so scared when Amy called me. You could’ve been more seriously hurt or…” Her voice trailed off.

  Elizabeth set down the coffee and turned Grace’s face toward her. “I’m sorry.” Elizabeth understood the feeling, as it was not long ago that she rushed to the hospital thinking Grace was hurt.

  “I tried to let you go, Elizabeth. I thought it was the best thing for both of us, but I just can’t.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed her. Grace pushed Elizabeth back against her pillow, never breaking contact, and Elizabeth opened her mouth slightly, allowing Grace’s tongue to slip in. Elizabeth ran her hand up Grace’s leg, which forced a groan from her throat, before Grace pulled back. “We can’t, not yet. It’s not that I don’t want to. God, do I want to.” Grace stood and began pacing. “You need to heal and—”

  “The case,” Elizabeth finished for her.

  Grace nodded and looked to her, clearly expecting a rebuke, but none came. Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to feel Grace’s skin on her naked body, and she shivered at the thought, but knowing that Grace wanted it too made it easier. Grace wanted her.