“Carrie Jo, thank you for coming down. We know how busy you must be, and we would never take up your time if we didn’t have to.”
“It’s okay, Alice. I’m glad Mia has agreed to get some help.” I hugged her neck and then Myron’s. It felt like going home except for Mia’s absence.
“Well, Myron? Should you tell this story, or should I?” Alice turned to her husband, who sat quietly on the couch next to her, his grief-filled eyes huge behind thick eyeglasses.
“No, dear, I’ll let you do all the talking. As a matter of fact, I think I should like a cup of coffee. Would you two ladies like something?”
“No, thank you,” I said with a small smile. Myron walked away stiff-legged. They weren’t getting any younger, and I hated that they had to come all this way from Savannah.
“Carrie Jo, you have to forgive Myron. This really hurts his heart, and he’s as ashamed as I am about Mia’s behavior. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Well, maybe I do.” Alice didn’t beat about the bush—she never had as long as I’d known her. I sat back in my seat and listened. Alice had a thick southern accent but spoke perfect English, except for the occasional “y’all.”
“When Myron and I first married, like many young couples we expected to have a large family. We do love children so, but after a few years of marriage we began to suspect that was not going to happen for us. I went to our family physician and then other doctors, including some fertility specialists, and they confirmed our fears. Having a baby would be medically impossible for us.” She tapped her manicured fingernail on the arm of the couch, taking a moment to think about what to say next.
“I cannot describe how difficult that was to hear. But we did not allow it to dissuade us from parenting and decided to adopt Mia. Carrie Jo, she had such a sweet little face and a big laugh that filled the room and our hearts. We instantly fell in love with her. She was so young when we took her home, barely two years old—we had every intention of telling her about the adoption when she got older, but the day never came. We put it off, making excuses, and then she got sick. Mia had come home from Egypt with some kind of fever. As she got sicker, her organs began to fail. The doctors recommended a blood transfusion. Healthy blood would boost her immune system, so naturally they came to us for blood donations. We couldn’t donate. Mia has a rare blood type, and we couldn’t help her. Anyway, it all worked out. They found the blood they needed, and Mia got better. But of course she had questions.”
“I never even knew she was sick.”
Alice lowered her eyes and shook her head. “She did not want anyone around; that was especially true after she found out she was adopted. I cannot be sure, but I think that whatever illness she contracted in Egypt—and they were never sure what to call it—affected her thinking. She was not the same girl she had been when she left. The sickness made it worse. Then we had to tell her the truth. She did not take the news well. She called me names, names I had never been called before. It was like someone flipped a switch inside her head. We tried to get her help, but she could not wait to leave us. As soon as she got healthy, she moved out of our house and barely spoke to us. She even began calling us Alice and Myron.”
My heart broke for Alice. Why was Mia being so unreasonable? Her adoptive family was kind and loving, even if they hadn’t been able to tell her the truth sooner. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“I am not exactly sure what she did after that, but she mentioned in one of her few emails that she intended to come to Mobile and that you would be here. I was happy because I thought perhaps she would talk to you.”
“She never did, Alice. I did not know any of this.” But I began to put two and two together. Mia was the best researcher I knew. She would have found out her parentage in less than a month. The girl had connections everywhere. She must have believed, somehow, that she had a right to Calpurnia’s fortune. She had said as much the night of the attack. “Knowing Mia, she’d want to find her birth parents. Did she say anything about them? Has she found them?”
“I do not know, Carrie Jo. Obviously, all of this has her unhinged. Now she has attacked you, and you were her best friend. Please forgive her. Forgive me.” Alice stifled a sob, and I flew to her side and put my arm around her.
“It’s going to be okay, I promise. Mia will get the help she needs now.” I squeezed her shoulders to reassure her.
“Miss Jardine?” I looked up to see Detective Simmons standing nearby. “I’m here to take Mia Reed into custody. Got a call from Myron Reed. Do you know anything about this?”
“Hello, Detective. This is Mia’s mother, Alice Reed. She and Mr. Reed have convinced their daughter to talk to you. I don’t know if questioning Mia right now will help you with your investigation. It appears she has some type of mental problem, something that wasn’t there before.”
“Be that as it may, I’ve got no choice but to bring her to the precinct, at least to get her picture and fingerprints. After that, it’s up to the district attorney where she goes. Where is she, ma’am?”
“My husband is bringing her down now. But please, do you have to handcuff her?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do. I’ll be as discreet as I can, though.”
I heard the elevator ding and saw Myron step out holding Mia’s hand. She looked deflated, empty, her vivacious personality hidden beneath a layer of dark depression. I had known her since school and had never known her to go a day without makeup. But her hair looked oily, her pale skin sickly. I saw a spark of anger when her dark eyes fell on Alice, but she smiled when she saw me.
“Carrie Jo? What brings you down here? Couldn’t wait to see me in handcuffs? That’s rich. Real rich since I did what I did for you. That lawyer wanted to hurt you, CJ. I saved you. End of story.”
“Mia Reed? You are under arrest for the murder of Hollis Matthews.” Detective Simmons snapped the cuffs on a passive Mia. She led her outside and placed her in a waiting police car. Alice began to cry, and Myron put his arm around her.
“I’m sorry, dear. Oh my, I’m sorry.” He blinked back tears. “If you will excuse us, Carrie Jo, I think I will take her back to the room, maybe get some rest.”
“Of course. I’m just a phone call away. Please call me if you need me.” He nodded and led his sobbing wife from the lobby. It was so odd seeing her cry. Alice Reed never displayed emotions like that in public; she was always such a refined lady, so cool and restrained. Mia had broken her heart. I left the lobby behind with a tear in my eye as well. The police car drove down Water Street, and Mia never looked back. As she promised, Detective Simmons didn’t turn on her lights or sirens. It was a quiet end to a bad situation. At least I hoped it was. I walked across the street to my car and called Ashland.
“Good morning,” he answered warmly.
“Good morning. I’ve got some news for you. Good news, I think, even though it doesn’t feel that way.” I told him about Mia’s arrest and the events surrounding it. I hadn’t realized how sad I was about it all until that moment.
“Well, maybe she will at least get the help she needs and Hollis’ family will have some answers. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. I think I’ll take a couple hours off this morning, maybe go to the library or take a walk. I don’t think anything is pressing at the house at the moment.”
“That sounds like a good idea. I’ve got some things to attend to across the bay, but if you need me…”
“I don’t. I mean—I need you, but not for this.” I cringed as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Ever the gentleman, he simply said, “If you change your mind, call me. Take all the time you need. Talk to you later.”
“Thanks, Ashland.” I sat in my car and stared at the Battle House. Such a beautiful place, such a sad day. My phone rang, and I looked down at the screen. It was William. I snorted and tossed the phone on the seat. I had nothing to say to that betrayer. He must have known that Mia was mentally ill, yet he hadn’t done a thing to help her. I had no time for
him. None at all.
I drove past Cathedral Square and decided I would go to the library. Melting in my car in this impossible heat thinking about the past wouldn’t help me understand any of what had just happened. I didn’t need to guess; I needed to catch up on my history. Mia knew something I didn’t. And as recent history had shown, that was never good. She had a reason to think she was a potential heir to Calpurnia’s fortune. I needed to know what that was.
I pulled into the back parking lot of the library and grabbed my purse and research bag. Maybe some answers could be found here. I walked in and savored the smell of old books and the comfortable coolness of effective air conditioning. As they say in Mobile, “Today was hotter than dirt.”
Blinking to adjust my eyes to the lighting, I went up the stairs to the reference section. I set my purse and bag on a back table, away from a cluster of college students whispering about a group project. I remembered those days. Mia, what happened? My phone rang again, and I scrambled to find it. I’d forgotten to put it on mute. I saw that it was William again and tapped the ignore button. The voicemail notification dinged, and I slid the phone back in my pocket and began walking down the reference aisles. Archived newspapers and perhaps shipping records would be a good place to start. I spotted a nearby kiosk and began to type.
Let’s see, the Mobile Press Register—that’s what I need. Hmm…year? 1850. I scanned the headlines. This wasn’t going to work. Then I remembered reading that Calpurnia had disappeared in September. I clicked on the month of September and didn’t have to click too much more. The first few headlines read, “Officials Search for Missing Heiress,” “Cottonwood Girl Disappears” and finally, “Sheriff Fears Missing Debutante is Dead.” I read the first article.
Mobile, AL
September 13, 1850
Saturday night, Sheriff Samuel J. Rice visited local plantation Seven Sisters and took account of a missing girl, Calpurnia Cottonwood, daughter of Mr. Jeremiah Cottonwood and the late Mrs. Christine Cottonwood. Miss Cottonwood is sixteen years of age, approximately five feet seven inches tall with brown hair. She may be in the company of a dark-skinned Negro that goes by the name Monticello or Muncie. A reward of $1,000 is being offered for the return of both Miss Cottonwood and the runaway slave. Please contact the sheriff’s department with any information about their whereabouts.
That’s it? The articles after that one didn’t tell me much more. It was as if she really did disappear into thin air. I spent the next couple of hours scrolling through the articles, still not finding much of anything. I decided to switch gears. I began scanning through dozens of bills of lading. I had no way of knowing the exact date Muncie—Janjak—had arrived in Mobile, but I could guess. He probably arrived between 1838 and 1840. These records were heartbreaking. One that really stood out was a bill of lading from the William and Ivy Slave Trading Company of Virginia. Six slaves, including four children, and one free man—all with proper English names like Richard and William. No mention of Monticello or Muncie. Certainly nothing about Janjak. I leaned back in the chair. Why am I here? I have at least one journal that I haven’t read yet, and trying to find Muncie here is like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Still, there was one more thing I could look up. I typed “slave ships” and “Haiti” into the library’s search engine. Wow! Quite a few hits. I narrowed it down to the years I thought might be correct. There were four ships that had arrived from Port-au-Prince, and each listed children on the bill of lading. My heart sank. Such sadness. I sat back in the chair again, wondering what to search for next. I flipped through my notebook. I’d written myself some questions a few weeks ago. Now was as good a time as any to ferret out some answers. I scanned through my handwritten list.
Search the obituaries for Jeremiah Cottonwood, Christine Cottonwood, Isla Beaumont and Louis Beaumont.
I could scratch off Louis Beaumont. Poor handsome, honest Uncle Louis. He hadn’t deserved his fate, but we knew what had happened to him now, sadly. I was looking forward to seeing him laid to rest properly.
I typed in “Jeremiah Cottonwood” and “obituary.”
August 23, 1853—Died at Seven Sisters on the evening of the 23rd, Mr. Jeremiah Cottonwood, aged 52. Mr. Cottonwood succumbed to death after an accidental fall from his horse on Conception Street. His remains will be interred at the Cottonwood Mausoleum August 27th at 12 o’clock noon. Friends and members of his extended family are respectfully invited to attend the burial service by Rev. England.
I scribbled furiously, making note of the day and time. As we suspected, he was buried on the property in the mausoleum we’d discovered and just three years after Calpurnia disappeared. Excited now to have some progress, I typed in “Isla Beaumont” and “obituary.” Nothing. Okay, try again. “Isla Grant” and “obituary.” Nothing. I was surprised…Isla was an unusual name, even for the 1850s. I typed in “Isla” and “obituary.” Nothing except a baby who had passed after a few days of life in the 1870s. So our Isla hadn’t died in Mobile. A young woman like Isla would have found a husband, right? Maybe Captain Garrett?
I stared at the screen for a moment and then typed in “David Garrett” and “obituary.”
June 4, 1860—Died in this city on Tuesday evening last, of a gunshot wound in the back, David M. Garrett, Captain of the Delta Queen. He died in what is regarded as good health. Captain Garrett was an explorer and businessman and was attended to the grave by members of his crew and other friends. He was a gentleman of talent and a citizen of commendable habits and propriety of deportment. Though no relative was near to mourn at his grave, he was not alone or laid to rest with strangers. Warm friends attended him, in heart-felt sorrow, to his last resting place at Magnolia Cemetery.
My heart fell in my chest. He’d proved a villain, or at least a betrayer, but I was hoping for a mention of a wife or a female attendant, just on the off chance that Calpurnia had left with him as Muncie had hoped. Where are you, Callie?
One more time. I typed in “Christine Cottonwood” and “obituary.” Immediately, an entry appeared.
April 7th, 1850—Died on the 7th, Mrs. Christine Beaumont Cottonwood, wife of Jeremiah Cottonwood and daughter of Robert and Marie Beaumont of Birmingham, at 32 years of age.
Mrs. Cottonwood was a lady of many attractive graces and worthy virtues, remarkable for the earnestness of her friendships, her kindness to her fellow citizens and her large circle of kindred, whom the loss most affects.
She leaves behind a devoted husband and a loving daughter. Mrs. Cottonwood was laid to rest in the Cottonwood Mausoleum in witness of her family.
No mention of the baby Angelique? I scribbled down some notes and stuffed my notebook back in my research bag. I walked back out into the sunshine, contemplating all that I’d just learned. It wasn’t surprising that they all died comparatively young. People did die younger in those days. Still no Calpurnia, but I’d done enough for the day. I remembered what Ashland had said about TD, about needing Detra Ann’s help in mending fences.
It was time to eat a little crow. I sat in my steamy Honda, waiting for the air conditioning to offer some relief from the wilting heat. I dialed Detra Ann’s number and crossed my fingers as the phone rang.
“Hi, Detra Ann? This is Carrie Jo Jardine. I was wondering, are you free this afternoon or maybe tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you about Seven Sisters.”
“Oh. Hi, Carrie Jo. Yes, I’m free this afternoon. Around 4:30? Should I meet you at the house?”
I looked at my watch. That gave me a few hours. “Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you then.” I hung up the phone and drove to the mansion. This should be interesting.
Chapter 7
My knees wobbled a bit as I reached above my head to straighten one of the crystals on the chandelier. Being on a ladder was not my favorite activity—I hated heights—but the possibility that TD’s crew would lift this chandelier into place without fixing it drove me crazy. Under normal circumstances the contractor would have spotted the p
roblem immediately, but he wasn’t around today. Not that we talked much anymore. If I knew anything about contract labor, it was not to take anything for granted when the boss was away. As cautiously as I could, my shaking hands unwound the strings and the shard dangled free. I breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to ease back down to the safe ground.
“What are you doing?” The ladder shook under me. I froze and gasped for breath, as if that would steady me. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to startle you. Here, let me hold the ladder.” It was Detra Ann, a bit early for our appointment.
I climbed down as quickly as I could with a nervous laugh. “You move like a ninja! I didn’t hear you come in, and normally every sound in this room echoes; it’s such a huge space.”
“I’m really sorry about that. I have on heels; I would have thought you’d heard me coming in.” She laughed, and I could tell she was nervous too.
“No problem. I guess my concentration was focused on getting that crystal untangled. I didn’t hear a thing.”
She looked around in awe of the room. “It’s looking amazing. I have to say that I’m really impressed at how much you all have accomplished in just a few months. This is simply amazing.”
“Thank you. We do make a pretty good team. Ashland has the brains, TD has the know-how, and I know the history. It’s all worked out, thankfully.” She nodded in agreement.
“You said you wanted to talk to me. I’m hoping that means you’ve changed your mind about having a ball here?”
The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection Page 27
