Secrets of the Last Castle

by A. Rose Mathieu

  Elizabeth didn’t answer her and instead looked over to the cemetery. “Her name was Olivia. Samuel spoke of her every time we met. He was her lover. I think Webb killed him, maybe because he found out about them. She confronted her father and threatened to expose him, and he killed her, or so he thought. He probably didn’t have time to bury her like Samuel before she was found.” Her voice sounded hollow.

  She put a protective arm around Elizabeth and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. Remaining in Grace’s embrace, she stared at the locket that now rested across her knee. “Jack said he found this locket when he inspected the crime scene.” She gestured her head in the direction past the cemetery. “He gave it to his partner Stalworth to log into evidence, but it never made it there. Now we know it’s because he gave it back to her.” She looked down again at the locket. “This proves that she came back. Maybe she killed her father in revenge and stole these things.”

  * * *

  Grace walked Elizabeth up to her front door. It almost felt like they were returning from a date, if traipsing through a haunted antebellum estate and digging up a grave could be considered a date. They spent over an hour sitting in Grace’s car outside the plantation reviewing the contents of the box, specifically the folded pages in the black book, which appeared to contain a series of intelligence information collected from 1960 to 1963 on at least two dozen people. “Confidential—S. Powers Only” was typed in the top right corner of each page.

  When they reached Elizabeth’s porch, they found Danny and Camille waiting, and Grace tried to conceal her annoyance. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to spend the evening with Elizabeth, but she was hoping for just a bit more time with her.

  “What brings you guys here?” Elizabeth asked as she dug for her key in her bag.

  “I texted you this afternoon and said we were coming by,” Danny answered. He gave Grace a “what’s up” head nod, and she offered one in return. Camille ignored her presence, which was fine by Grace.

  “Sorry, I guess I was distracted and never checked my phone.” Elizabeth opened her front door and flipped on her light, and Camille and Danny entered, clearly no invitation needed.

  Grace hesitated in the doorway, her hands sunk into her front pockets, while Danny and Camille made themselves comfortable on the couch, and Elizabeth busied herself in turning on the lights and starting the fireplace. Grace watched Camille, who was in turn watching Elizabeth, and that didn’t sit well with her.

  Elizabeth finally noticed Grace still perched against the doorframe and approached. “Are you coming in?”

  “No, I need to get going.” She glanced over Elizabeth’s shoulder at the duo who had taken up residence. “I just need to get that sweater.” On the drive back, Elizabeth explained her research connected with the discovery of the sweater, including the newspaper articles on the disappearance of Margaret Williams and the murder trial of the two Freedom Rider protestors.

  “I’ll be right back.” Elizabeth disappeared down the hall, and Grace was left staring at the two interlopers. Not willing to carry on idle chitchat, she stepped back out onto the porch to wait.

  Elizabeth reemerged and handed over a large Ziploc bag with a smaller one on top. “Here is the sweater and this is the flyer that was in the pocket,” she said, tapping the smaller bag. She looked back to the house. “Sorry, I didn’t know they were coming.”

  Grace offered a tight smile. “Just let me know if you come up with anything.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Grace reached behind Elizabeth and closed the door in an attempt to get some privacy from the others. She pulled Elizabeth close and ducked her head, placing a firm kiss on her lips. Elizabeth moaned in approval. Grace savored her for a moment, feeling her body molded to hers and basking in her warm skin.

  When Grace finally pulled back, she placed another soft kiss on her forehead. “Good night.” Grace was effectively marking her territory. To hell with Camille.

  Elizabeth watched her leave and touched her mouth. “Damn, that woman can kiss.” When Grace drove off, she turned back to the house momentarily forgetting about her houseguests.

  “What’s with you?” Danny asked.

  “What?”

  “You’re all red.”

  Elizabeth dismissed his question and asked the question that had been in the back of her mind since she got home. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We just came to check on you. We were getting a little worried,” Camille answered.

  “You didn’t come into the clinic today,” Danny added.

  Elizabeth pulled her phone from her bag hanging by the door and approached the couch. Camille scooted Danny over so that she could sit next to her. Elizabeth searched her phone for photos she had taken of the items in the box. Grace had taken them to book into evidence, but allowed Elizabeth to take photos. She began the tale as to how she and Grace found the wooden box.

  “So when Olivia told Jackson—”

  Camille interrupted her. “Olivia? I thought we didn’t know her name.”

  Samuel was always in a hurry to get back to his Olivia. Now she knew why. They had been separated too long. Elizabeth only then realized that in each of her meetings with Samuel, she was alone. No one else had seen him. She remembered their first encounter outside the slave quarters just after her ethereal experience inside. What was it that happened while she sat on the floor of that wooden shack? This led her to wonder if Samuel’s presence had something to do with why the White Horse Plantation remained untouched; he was its protector.

  “Elizabeth?” Camille asked, a little concerned.

  “Sorry.” Elizabeth took a breath and refocused. “Samuel mentioned her when we met. Olivia was Webb’s daughter, his forbidden love.”

  “But you said the dude’s dead,” Danny said.

  Elizabeth flinched at Danny’s insensitive use of slang for a man with whom she had felt a strong connection, even though they only met a few times, but she opted not to reprimand him. He didn’t know any better.

  “Samuel is dead. Webb killed him and buried him in the graveyard behind the plantation. That’s what I think turned Olivia against her father. After her father died, she went back and put up a cross for him and buried these items at his grave probably for safekeeping.” She held out her phone.

  “Is that a key?” Danny asked.

  “Yes, along with her locket with Samuel’s picture, and this device that is some kind of decoder and likely goes with this black book.” She swiped the screen to the different pictures as she spoke. “See, the book’s in code. Shoved in the back of the book were several pages with confidential information on dozens of people, like they were being monitored. I think it was essentially a hit list.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I recognized two names. They were organizers of a Freedom Riders protest, who went missing shortly after. They were later found murdered.”

  “You think that Webb was behind it?”

  “It would explain the cache of weapons, but I don’t think he was working alone. There was information that wouldn’t have been easily known, especially before the age of the internet. There was someone on the inside that had access to that intel and was feeding it to Webb.”

  “Who?”

  “My guess would be State Senator Robert Powers. The top of the intel reports say ‘S. Powers,’ and I found the senator’s business card in Webb’s office. What I know of the senator, they shared an ideology.”

  “He was doing the senator’s bidding,” Camille said.

  “It would explain how Webb suddenly came into money.”

  “Why not just pass on this information instead of a purse? Wouldn’t that have saved a lot of trouble?” Danny asked.

  “Yes, if she had it with her.” Elizabeth spoke slowly, afraid she was going to lose Danny. “I think she stole it from her father and buried it. She didn’t know what else to do with it at the time. She may not have had the opportunity to g
o back and get it. After all, she was supposed to be dead.”

  “It still seems so far-fetched. The map engraved into her hairbrush?” Danny asked.

  Elizabeth had to admit it was eccentric, but she felt the need to defend Olivia because Samuel would want her to. “I think it was a learned habit. She grew up under KGC reign. From everything I read about the organization, it was all about secrecy, codes, and maps. Maybe she feared it would fall into the wrong hands and didn’t want to make it so easy.”

  “Well, that’s for sure.”

  “This leaves us with the question,” Camille finally spoke. “What does she want us to do with this information now?” Camille cradled Elizabeth’s hand that held the phone and moved her thumb along the screen, caressing Elizabeth’s palm in the process.

  Not wanting to read too much into the intimate act, Elizabeth held the phone out to Camille. “I don’t know what any of it means right now. Grace will look into the documents and see what she can come up with.” With the sound of Grace’s name, Camille visibly flinched, and for a moment, Elizabeth considered defending her, but realized that Camille would never see past the fact that Grace was the detective on her brother’s case.

  “So what do we do?” Danny asked.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Grace dragged herself up the steps of the police station and walked through the sliding doors, mindlessly waving at the deputy working the front desk as she passed. From the time she left Elizabeth on her front step the night before until now, she had gone over countless ways she would explain to her sergeant about the weapons at the White Horse Plantation, and in particular, how she knew there was a missing grenade. She had even entertained the thought of not saying anything at all, but her conscience wouldn’t allow that, not when she believed that someone was out there with the missing weapon.

  She passed her desk, not stopping to boot up her computer, and walked to her sergeant’s office. He was leaning in his chair as though expecting her. “Donovan, have a seat.”

  She complied and sat, holding up her head and squaring her shoulders.

  “Something you need to say, Donovan?”

  “Yes, sir.” She started from the beginning and explained how she discovered the White Horse Plantation and finally ended with how she came to discover the wooden box buried at Samuel’s gravesite. She left no detail out, including her partnership with Elizabeth in several of her endeavors. She needed to come clean. She was no longer going to hide her relationship, even if it meant her job. Her sergeant remained motionless, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. His stare never wavered. She figured he was giving her a chance to launch her defense before he brought down the gavel. She finished her story with the discovery of the cache of weapons and specifically the missing one.

  “I know.”

  “Sir?”

  “Ms. Campbell is here.”

  “She’s here?” Grace hadn’t seen her on the way in, but then again, she barely took her eyes off the floor her entire walk in.

  “She’s sitting with Detective Martinez. She told a slightly different tale. She took full responsibility for traipsing through the home. She claimed the plantation’s caretaker gave her permission, but it seems that the said caretaker is dead. Not sure what the evidence code says about permission given by a ghost haunting an estate.” He said it with a straight face, and Grace didn’t know how to take any of it, and she remained silent.

  “Martinez is driving Ms. Campbell out there, so she can show him where it is. I think you should go too. Having another female along on the ride would be a good idea.”

  Grace stood and moved to the door, but he stopped her. “Grace, what you do and who you do it with on your own time is none of my business.” He smiled at her—that was a first.

  She turned and scanned the room and found Elizabeth sitting in the corner near Detective Martinez’s desk. They made eye contact, but Grace couldn’t get herself to smile. She wasn’t angry, far from it. She was just stunned by the sudden change of events.

  “All right, let’s go,” Detective Martinez said as he approached her, and he motioned Elizabeth to the door.

  Elizabeth stood and waited for Grace. “Detective Donovan, nice to see you.”

  “Ms. Campbell,” Grace replied in the most formal tone she could muster.

  * * *

  Finishing her paperwork from the evidence she logged in from the White Horse Plantation, which included the contents of the wooden box, the sweater, and an arsenal of weapons, Grace ignored her ringing phone. When the caller persisted, she finally answered.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She didn’t need an introduction to know who the caller was. “How may I help you, counselor?” She wasn’t overly surprised by ADA Wilcox’s call; in fact she was expecting it. On the drive to the plantation earlier that morning, she called Casey requesting her assistance in obtaining the warrants needed to confiscate the weapons and to dig up Samuel’s grave. She figured this fell into her jurisdiction of organized crime. Just over an hour after their conversation, Casey had a signed warrant for the weapons and delivered it personally to the plantation.

  “So this is Elizabeth Campbell,” Casey said as she approached Grace, who was standing outside the plantation home with Elizabeth and Detective Martinez. She handed over the warrant to Grace and openly assessed Elizabeth, who seemed undaunted.

  Grace squirmed. There was too much happening too fast. First her sergeant and now her past and present were colliding.

  Elizabeth stepped forward and extended her hand in greeting. “Yes, I’m Elizabeth.” They exchanged pleasantries before Casey turned to Grace. “It will take a bit longer to get the warrant to dig up the grave. That requires more of an explanation.” She looked back and glanced at Elizabeth, who started for the front door of the home with Martinez following behind. “I hope it works for you. I really do.”

  “Who gave you permission to search a plantation?” The terse tone of the prosecutor brought Grace back to the present conversation.

  “The court that signed the order,” Grace responded in an upbeat tone. She was actually annoyed, but she refused to let him know it. “What is it that you’re afraid we’ll find?”

  “I’m not sure what side you’re working for, Detective, but I’m putting a stop to this,” ADA Wilcox growled.

  “Truth, that’s my side. Now, if we’re done here—”

  Wilcox hung up before she could finish her statement, and she knew she had just burned a bridge.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “All right, just follow my lead in here,” Elizabeth said to Jack as they approached the glass door to an office adjacent to the church that housed Bounty Ministries. On a whim and at a loss for where else to turn in the case, she decided to pay a visit to Reverend Rick Peterson, better known as Reverend Rick to his followers. Before coming, she listened to a recording of his weekly program that openly espoused racist, homophobic, xenophobic, and misogynistic rhetoric. He cited diversity as one of America’s greatest downfalls. She knew it wouldn’t be an easy task getting the opportunity to speak with the man and figured she would have to get through his assistant, so she brought Jack as her backup, given his recent success in getting the burial records at the cemetery.

  Elizabeth dressed for the occasion, wearing a yellow dress with a hem that fell well below her knees and a high button-up collar, leftover attire mandated by her mother for a family wedding. Michael had banished it to the farthest corner of her closet, and she had to admit that there was little that was flattering about the dress, but it was conservative and just the image she was hoping to portray during her visit with the self-righteous reverend.

  “May I help you?” a woman asked from the front desk as they entered the traditionally appointed office. She was wearing a dress that rivaled Elizabeth’s, and she was convinced that they would be kindred spirits.

  “Hi, I’m Elizabeth Campbell and this is Jack Rourke. We were hoping to spea
k with Reverend Peterson.”

  “You don’t have an appointment,” she said in a flat tone.

  “True, but we won’t take much of his time. We just need to discuss some business about the White Horse Plantation.”

  “You don’t have an appointment.”

  “I understand, but I’m sure he will be very interested—”

  “You don’t have an appointment,” the woman interrupted.

  “I know I don’t have an appointment,” Elizabeth said, exasperated. Okay, maybe we’re not kindred spirits. “But I would just like a word with him.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I know, have an appointment.” She turned to Jack. “A little help here. Do your Jack Rourke thing.”

  “Oh no, she is way out of my league. She’s got that Stepford thing going on.”

  “If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police,” the woman said with a bit more inflection to her voice.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Elizabeth turned to see Grace standing behind them. She didn’t hear the door open.

  Grace approached the desk and pulled out her badge. “I’m Detective Grace Donovan. These two”—she gestured to Elizabeth and Jack—“are with me. I need to speak with Reverend Peterson on police business. Please let him know that if he chooses not to speak with me here, then I can get a warrant and bring him down to the station, nice and public. I’m sure that would be a big boost for his ratings.”

  “One moment please,” the woman droned and exited through the door near her desk.

  “Ah, I miss the power of the badge,” Jack said.

  “What are you two misfits doing?” Although the question might have been meant for the two of them, her eyes never left Elizabeth.

  “The same thing you are, trying to get some information on the plantation. He and his so-called ministry are the current owners of the plantation with its cache of weapons.”

  “A phone call or even a text along the lines of ‘Hey, Grace, Jack and I were thinking of heading up to Bounty Ministries to have a chat with Reverend Rick. Wanna come?’ would have been nice.”