Onyx Webb: Book Two

by Diandra Archer

  Onyx Webb: Book Two

  Diandra Archer

  ONYX WEBB, BOOK TWO

  Copyright © Richard Fenton & Andrea Waltz 2018

  All rights reserved.

  Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher or authors.

  DISCLAIMER:

  This book is a work of fiction. And while some real locations, historical events, company names and easily recognizable public figures have been used, the story is strictly the product of the authors’ imaginations. Beyond that, any names and/or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-947814-01-1

  Print ISBN:

  Lust for Living Press is an imprint of

  COURAGE CRAFTERS, INC.

  Visit Our Webb-Page

  www.OnyxWebb.com

  Contents

  Wait, Where Were We?

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Quote

  From the Journal of Onyx Webb

  Chapter Sixteen

  In Loll…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Quote

  From the Journal of Onyx Webb

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Louisiana Purchase Exposition,

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Wait, Where Were We?

  BOOK ONE

  Episode One: The Story Begins

  It’s June 1980 and piano prodigy Juniper Cole is on the way to her senior prom. In January 2010, Koda Mulvaney had blown through his $20 million-dollar trust fund and was told by his father to return home and go to work. In August 1904, 6-year old Onyx Webb was kidnapped at the St. Louis World’s Fair by Obedience Everhardt. Detective Stormy Boyd and Onyx’s father, Catfish Webb, go off to the rescue. Stormy Boyd made the ultimate sacrifice, saving Katherine Keane from certain death, and everyone learned that life is a hard thing to let go of.

  Episode Two: The Girl in the Mirror

  Fast-forward to 1927 and Onyx Webb, almost thirty years old—desperate to leave Catfish and the Bayou behind to start a real life—ran off with Ulrich Schröder. Ulrich radically changed the course of Onyx’s life, taking her on what she thought would be an exciting adventure. In Orlando Florida, in 2010, Koda Mulvaney found himself reeling from seeing the girl in the mirror. In 1979, things were tense for Quinn Cole and for Wyatt Scrogger, who found himself in the hot seat over Juniper’s disappearance (and presumed murder.)

  Episode Three: Lily Dale

  After being kicked out of his best friend Koda Mulvaney's penthouse in Orlando, Dane Luckner went home to see his psychic-medium parents in Lily Dale, New York. Onyx and Ulrich's bad luck continued through the 1930s, after having had a disastrous time in Chicago during the great depression. In an attempt to rebuild their lives, Ulrich took Onyx to New York—but when that didn’t work out, either, the couple were off to Las Vegas. Katherine Keane, who barely survived Obedience Everhardt's cellar in 1904, got a message from God to go to the Our Lady of the Open Arms Orphanage and was offered the chance to join the convent and stay permanently.

  Chapter One

  Episode 4: Our Lady of the Open Arms

  Savannah, Georgia

  May 31, 1982

  A little less than three years to the day Juniper Cole had gone missing from her senior prom, Wyatt Arron Scrogger was ushered into a packed courtroom at the Chatham County Courthouse on Montgomery Street to stand trial for first-degree, pre-meditated murder.

  It was a crime for which the penalty was the electric chair.

  That the victim’s body had never been found seemed unimportant. The important thing was the state of Georgia had its killer, and, in the words of Assistant District Attorney Cecelia Jaing, “The people of Savannah demand that justice be neither denied nor delayed.”

  Especially since it was election season.

  Cecelia was acutely aware of the attention the trial would get from both local and national media. She also knew the publicity generated would be of little value were the event to be held the following year.

  And an “event” was exactly what she had in mind.

  In Cecelia’s opinion, the most spectacular and most publicized criminal trial in American history was the Lindbergh kidnapping trial in 1935. And while Cecelia knew she couldn’t top that, she used it as the model of perfection to emulate.

  Aviator Charles Lindbergh was one of the most famous people in the world even before his twenty-month-old toddler son was abducted from the family home on March 1, 1932. Two months later, the boy was found a short distance away—dead from a massive skull fracture.

  After an investigation that lasted two years, Bruno Richard Hauptmann was arrested and eventually charged with the crime. Hauptmann maintained his innocence but was found guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced to die in the electric chair.

  Now Cecelia had her Hauptmann.

  His name was Wyatt Scrogger, and she would see to it that he met a similar fate.

  The first step in the plan—which she’d begun executing shortly after Wyatt Scrogger’s arrest—was the regular leaking of information to the local media:

  Wyatt Scrogger had made bold, brazen, and unwanted advances toward Juniper Cole—in front of the victim’s brother—mere hours before the girl had gone missing…

  Drip.

  Wyatt Scrogger had acted in an uncaring and cavalier manner when arrested, shrugging off questions and making inappropriate jokes, a number of them about Helen Keller no less…

  Drip.

  A pair of yellow panties—confirmed to have belonged to the victim, Juniper Cole—had been found by police in the accused’s vehicle…

  Drip.

  As were Juniper Cole’s shoes…

  Drip.

  A syringe was also discovered…

  Drip.

  Traces of ketamine, a common sedative often used as a general anesthetic, had been detected…

  Drip.

  Wyatt Scrogger had attended veterinary college and had access to the drug ketamine. He even made a joke about using the drug on unsuspecting girls…

  Drip.

  Karen Boley, Juniper Cole’s best friend—and last known person to see her the night she disappeared—said that she had met Wyatt Scrogger once and that “he gave her the creeps.”

  It wasn’t lo
ng before United Press International and the Associated Press were issuing regular releases on the trial, which were picked up by virtually every national media outlet.

  Judge Susan Fullerton-Morse was not happy with the leaks and did everything she could to control them, including issuing a gag order on both the defense and prosecution, along with the threat to find violators in contempt.

  Cecelia regarded the judge’s threats as laughable and ignored them—she had not gotten the moniker “Jaing the Clang” by accident. She’d earned it by playing hardball and regarded all rules as suggestions.

  The judge knew she’d met her match the day she’d received a call from the governor explaining how important it was to the state and his office that Wyatt Scrogger be found guilty as charged. The governor also mentioned how important it was to Judge Fullerton-Morse’s career.

  Opening arguments took five hours. Four hours and fifteen minutes were used by Cecelia Jaing on behalf of the state; the remaining time was used by the defense.

  What followed was a mind-numbing parade of prosecution witnesses—including eyewitnesses, expert witnesses, character witnesses, and more—each of whom placed their hand on the Bible and promised to “tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.” Most were called for no other reason than to keep Cecelia Jaing in front of the cameras for as long as possible.

  Each witness was cross-examined by the defense, but with little success.

  While Cecelia had leaked most of the evidence she intended to present at trial, she’d strategically saved a few pieces she knew the media would jump on and report as “never before revealed” information.

  The most damning of this “new” evidence was the fact that several strands of red hair were discovered on the rear bumper of Wyatt Scrogger’s Chevy Malibu. This revelation elicited a collective gasp from all in attendance.

  Then it was the defense’s turn. There were virtually no effective witnesses who could be called; after all, it’s hard to prove a negative. As such, they had no choice but to put Wyatt Scrogger on the witness stand.

  For two hours, the defense took Wyatt through every minute of time—from the moment he’d arrived at Juniper Cole’s house on the evening of June 2 until the following day when he’d been picked up for questioning by the Savannah PD.

  He’d done surprisingly well; even the media said so.

  But by taking the stand, Wyatt left himself open for cross-examination by the prosecution.

  Which was a huge mistake.

  Chapter Two

  Miami Beach, Florida

  February 15, 2010

  Bruce Mulvaney had had enough.

  “No more excuses, Koda,” Bruce said. “Get your ass to that real estate conference in Miami next week, or that’s it.”

  Koda understood what “it” meant.

  “It” would mean he was fired.

  Koda was okay with spending a week in Miami, considering some of the best clubs in the world could be found in South Beach. Plus Orlando had turned into a bit of a circus ever since the paparazzi found him with Mika a week earlier. Once the TMZ clip hit the Internet, the one block trip down Church Street to the MPI offices every morning was like the running of the bulls, only the bulls were a gaggle of screaming girls.

  But going to Miami meant leaving Orlando—more to the point, it meant leaving the mirror. And, if she appeared again, it meant missing the girl.

  The girl.

  Though Koda had only seen the girl that one time—the night of the Restoring Savannah Foundation event—he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It was something in her eyes, something that compelled him to learn more about her…

  To understand who she was…

  And where she was…

  And how she got there.

  He was so obsessed that he considered taking the mirror with him. In the end, he thought better of it.

  Now, on the third day of the conference—getting away from Orlando, which allowed him to think of other things—he had to admit he felt better.

  Then Dane called.

  Koda reacted pretty much the way Dane expected. “You want me to meet with a medium? What would make you come up with a nutty idea like that?”

  “That’s not important,” Dane said, promising himself to avoid sharing details about his parents and Lily Dale. “What matters is that I think this guy can help.”

  “You know what would happen if something like this were to get out, right?” Koda said. “I’m a public figure, Dane. It would be a disaster.”

  “That’s the thing, Koda,” Dane said. “The meeting would be completely confidential. No one would ever know a thing about it.”

  Koda remained silent.

  “It might give you some closure,” Dane said.

  “What’s his name?” Koda asked.

  “Vooubasi,” Dane said.

  “Vooubasi what?”

  “Nothing, just Vooubasi,” Dane said. “Like Madonna, I guess.”

  “And what? I just sit and talk to him?”

  “Exactly,” Dane said.

  Chapter Three

  Desoto, Missouri

  January 20, 1935

  Sister Mary Margaret dipped her hand into the tub. Still not hot enough, she thought, then turned the knob a bit more to the right. Taking a second bath on the same day was strictly forbidden as water consumption needed to be kept to a minimum.

  Sister Mary Margaret went to her secret hiding place next, where she kept her cigarettes and a box of wooden matches—also against the orphanage’s strict rules. She withdrew a single unfiltered Old Gold, her first choice not because of the taste or quality of the tobacco, but because the package pictured a woman who looked unrestricted, like she was someone who enjoyed doing what she wanted, whenever she wanted.

  Next in the nightly routine was music, which wasn’t forbidden so much as frowned upon, as Father Fanning believed evening hours in one’s room were for silent prayers.

  Fanning was an idiot.

  Sister Katherine was another story. Sharp as a whip, she turned out to be. Always watching, always aware. Perhaps convincing the woman to join the convent ten years earlier had been a mistake. Perhaps she’d have to be dealt with.

  Sister Mary Margaret’s current choice of music after a long day dealing with cackling young girls and disgusting little boys was Das Veilchen vom Montmarte, a three-act operetta by Hungarian composer Emmerich Kálmán. Listening to the likes of Benny Goodman and Al Jolson was intolerable once one had experienced Kálmán, she thought.

  She placed the needle on the record and let her robe drop to the floor, exposing her overweight fifty-nine-year-old body to the cool air of the rectory. She climbed in the tub, lit her cigarette, and closed her eyes, letting the hot water run to keep the tub the perfect temperature.

  Father Fanning thinks he runs this place, Sister Mary Margaret mused, sucking in a lung-full of smoke and blowing a blue cloud toward the ceiling. In truth, she made the place work, through unbending rules, harsh discipline and—when necessary—glorious, cleansing pain.

  On the other side of the paper-thin wall that separated the rooms in the rectory, Sister Katherine Keane knelt on a folded towel at the edge of her bed, reading from the Bible she received as a gift from her parents on her thirteenth birthday—a birthday she would not have seen without the enormous sacrifice made by a St. Louis police detective.

  Next door the music began to play as it did every night, which didn’t bother Katherine as much as the fact that Father Fanning would do nothing to curb Sister Mary Margaret’s vices.

  Of course, after ten years now as a sister at Our Lady of the Open Arms, she was used to all kinds of things, many of them in direct contradiction to the word of God and the teachings of the Bible.

  Katherine turned to Romans 12:19 and read: “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’”

  But she knew the scripture had
been written for others, not her. For on that day—when Detective Boyd exchanged his life for hers—Katherine stood naked before God, basking in His light as God shared His vision for her:

  “You are my eyes and ears on earth, Katherine, and it is through your eyes that I shall see the doers of evil and through your hand that I shall extract my vengeance.”

  And then God returned Katherine to her body so she could take her place as a foot soldier in the Army of the Lord, and He took Detective Stormy Boyd in her place. She was good and clean and pure, nothing like Sister Mary Margaret in the next room, smoking her cigarettes and playing her sinful music. And claiming to love the children? Please.

  The old nun’s actions would not go unseen, unnoticed, or unrecorded—because Sister Katherine Keane was watching.

  And God was watching through her.