“Did my uncle also allow you to freely use the main house?” Cora asks. “I hardly think it’s appropriate for an overseer to simply walk through the front door without a knock or introduction.”
“In this house, it was appropriate.” He’s starting to get defensive, which feeds Cora’s confidence, what little she’s pulling from. But he adds snidely, “Not like there were women about to fuss about etiquette.”
“And was it also appropriate for you to steal from this house?” Nancy asks, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed about her.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’ve already informed you, these are my friends,” Cora inserts. “And do not use that kind of language in front of us, sir.”
McDaniels straightens so that he towers over petite Cora, but I must give the girl credit for she stares right back.
“We found my uncle’s furniture in your house, Sir,” she tells him, nodding to the pieces in the parlor that weren’t there before. “In addition, we found my uncle’s ledgers and personal items. I was also told by my uncle’s lawyer of an inheritance belonging in the house, but no money was found here. However, close to one hundred dollars was found….”
“You know nothing of running a plantation.” McDaniels is shouting now, losing control. I would conclude that Cora owns the winning hand but I fear this oversized man may become violent. “That money was needed to run things, needed to purchase items for the place. That’s where I’ve been all this time, Missy, but I don’t need to be explaining that to you.”
“I think you do,” Mel says, “because stealing is a crime punishable by law.”
“And you smell of whiskey, Sir,” Nancy says. “So, I doubt Cora’s money was well spent.”
This quiets McDaniels down a bit. He looks at Cora and his tone softens, but he’s still in fighting mode. “Look, I know you’re new here, so there’s lots to be explained. We’ll get to that in due time. But I run things and I run things good and no one stealed nothing.”
At this point, Cora’s scared this enormous man will never leave, even if she does fire him. She glances at the other women as if to say, “What do I do now?” They don’t appear to know either.
“You stole that money and you knows it.”
Everyone turns to the parlor door to find Menasha standing there, coffee pot in hand.
“Stay out of this, Menasha,” he retorts.
“I ain’t staying out of anything. I seen you taking this furniture. I seen you stealing that money from Mr. Walter’s frock coat. I wouldn’t put it past you to have killed that kind ole man trying to find the rest.”
McDaniels raises a hand to strike Menasha, who amazingly enough doesn’t move, head held high.
“Don’t you dare touch her,” Cora shouts.
“You need to leave,” Mel says, moving to Menasha’s side, her voice quivering with fear. “Now.”
“You’re fired,” Cora adds, although her courage has faded and those shivers have returned.
McDaniels wants to fight back, but he knows he’s surrounded. He looks from one woman to another but can’t find words to defend himself or restore his dominance. Finally, he smirks and grabs his hat.
“To hell with this,” he says and moves toward the back door.
“You leave with what you have on right now,” Nancy says. “The overseer’s house is locked.”
“I have belongings in there,” McDaniels shouts, his voice found.
“Not anymore,” Cora says softly. “Now, git.”
McDaniels lunges forward toward Cora and she steps back. I worry he’s about to be physical but he’s just trying to scare her.
“You haven’t heard the last of me,” McDaniels says.
Those tears return and pour down poor Cora’s face but she’s not backing down. “The sheriff knows of this so if I were you I would leave this area.”
I’m not sure Cora tells the truth or if McDaniels buys her story. One appears too frail in the telling and the other too suspicious. But McDaniels places his hat on his head, looks from one woman to the other, then leaves out the front door.
“And don’t you take that horse neither,” Menasha shouts at him. “That ain’t yours to take.”
Teresa hauls out the front door and down the steps to grab the reins of the horse but McDaniels doesn’t try to steal the chestnut pony. His long legs make good time across the front of the property, heading out the road that leads to the Natchez Trace.
“You haven’t heard the last of me,” he shouts at them, then turns a corner and disappears from view.
The women release a collective exhalation, smiling at each other that for once they conquered the wills of a man. Menasha appears uneasy in their company, but Cora touches her shoulder and offers a thanks.
“Yes ma’am,” is all Menasha says, then hurries off to the kitchen. Cora appears disappointed for I sense she wants to be this woman’s friend.
“She’ll come around,” Teresa says. “She did come through for us today. That’s encouraging.”
Nancy puts an arm about Cora’s shoulder and one about Teresa. Mel joins the semi-circle, taking Cora’s hand.
“We can move mountains when we women stick together,” Nancy says.
My heart soars watching these women. I can almost feel the love emanating through their psyches. Then, a voice asks, “Do you get that, Vi?”
I’m suddenly standing right behind this group, although they aren’t acknowledging my existence. That voice comes again.
“Do you understand, Vi?”
“What?” I ask.
“Vi!”
It’s TB shoving me awake.
“Shelby came by, said dinner’s in ten. I didn’t know if you want to shower or anything.”
I sit up, knowing I’ve been sleeping for there’s a dollop of spit on the side of my mouth. I wipe it off with my hand, trying to pull out of the haze. The room’s dark so I know the sun’s gone down.
“You okay?”
Am I? I feel lost. Even though I must have been napping for at least an hour, these visions of ghosts demanding entrance into my sleep interferes with my ability to rest. Many times, when I’ve dealt with these mysteries I’ve gone days without a good night’s sleep because the ghost tales invade my dreams until I find them peace. Am I closer to solving Cora’s murder? With Reynald and McDaniels in the picture, I have at least two prime subjects. I wouldn’t recuse Menasha either. Something about that passive-aggressive countenance makes me suspicious.
“Did you see Cora again?”
I nod, recalling that last scene, but I don’t feel like discussing it. I’m still pissed at him. I look up and my husband’s showered and changed, looking smart in a royal blue shirt and string tie over Levis. He’s rarely out of jeans but the top half of him prefers flannel shirts in winter and T-shirts in summer.
“Is this dressy?” I ask.
“No, just thought I’d wear something different for a change.”
I reluctantly slip into a nice shirt and slacks with a cardigan sweater. I’m doubly tired and irritable from the day’s event and lack of a restful nap and keep grumbling about having to dress up for a rural property dating back to the early 1800s.
“We’re probably going to have barbecue over a pit anyway,” I spit out as we leave our warm cabin and emerge into what has become a frigid night. Now, I really wish I were still in my LSU sweatshirt and jeans, topped by my warm winter coat.
“I never said you had to dress up,” TB counters.
We join the rest of the group in the Council House Cafe where staff members are ready to serve up items that smell heavenly and no, it’s not barbecue. Carmine’s back from the police station, huddled in a corner with Winnie and the Pennington couple. All three give me a stare, which adds to my discontent. Pepper, too, eyes me suspiciously, turning her back when she catches my eye. Naturally, Dwayne’s charming Shelby who’s laughing heartedly — until she notices me enter and then her smile fades.
“Great,” I
tell TB. “Everyone’s happy to see me.”
TB heads toward Carmine and touches him on the back. “Everything okay?”
I follow along but I’d rather get a plate of whatever smells so good and head back to my cabin. If vibes were knives in this place, I’d be the one in the hospital, not Kelly.
Thankfully, Winnie saunters up and whispers in my ear. “Dang it, girl. You only broke her leg.”
I want to laugh. So badly. But the last thing I need is people thinking not only did I push that woman over a cliff, but I’m relishing it. I bite my lip and rein it in.
“Shut up,” I tell her.
She sobers up a bit. “Don’t sweat it. She probably tripped trying to get at Dwayne and was too embarrassed to admit it.”
I glance over at Lucifer and he sends me a wink.
“Jesus,” I say in reaction, then feel several dead ancestors berating me for taking the lord’s name in vain. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Winnie asks.
“What is his story?” I whisper to her. “I can’t for the life of me figure him out.”
“Then don’t.”
When I look at Winnie, she’s suddenly deadly serious. “You heard Carmine. You’ve seen how this man acts. What more proof do you need?”
“I can’t help it, Winnie. I was an investigative journalist before this. I have to know.”
Shelby announces it’s time to take our seats, that another local historian is here to explain French Camp. We head to our tables but Winnie leans close and whispers, “Then you’ll likely be the next once being pushed.”
Over plates of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, greens and cornbread, Robert Blake, a historian at Mississippi State, takes us back to the early 1800s when Louis LeFleur started trading with the Choctaw Indians a few miles south of where we are today. He moved to the present location around 1812 and set up a “stand,” much like Buzzard Roost, a place for people to rest on the Natchez Trace. LeFleur hailed from France so his stand became known as French Camp.
“That’s ingenious,” Winnie says under her breath.
LeFleur later married a Choctaw native, Blake tells us with a smile like it’s going to be some great revelation, and their son was Greenwood LeFleur, a Choctaw chief and a Mississippi State Senator.
“The town of Greenwood was named for him,” he says proudly.
Pepper’s disappointed that the big reveal wasn’t someone she might know, the Pennington’s are confused, no doubt because they don’t know where Greenwood is, Dwayne’s still charming up Miss Shelby, and Carmine’s busy indulging in banana pudding. Winnie looks like she’s the only person who thinks this is cool.
“Greenwood’s in LeFleur County,” she says.
Robert lights up. “Yes, you know your history.”
“Well of course I do,” Winnie retorts. “I went to Ole Miss.”
The two schools are apparently rivals for Robert and Winnie start sparring, affectionately of course. The rest rise for more banana pudding, except for me. I’m not a fan of bananas or the way they slip Vanilla Wafers along the sides of the bowls and said wafers get soggy. I instead head for the pecan pie by the coffee carafe and bump into Pepper while I snag the last slice.
“How could you do such a thing?” she whispers.
“Sorry, do you want the last piece?”
She gives me the evil eye and moves off. Next thing I know, Shelby waits behind me for coffee.
“How’s Kelly?” I ask.
“Her leg’s broken but she’ll be out of the hospital in the morning.”
“That’s good news,” I say softly, wondering if Shelby believes me.
“She said you all have history.”
I’m taking a sip of coffee and snort, a bit going up my nose. “History? We shared a car ride to the airport once.”
“And you abandoned her on the side of the road.”
I want to shake my head and make this nightmare go away. It was a late-night ride from Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where we had attended a press trip, to Springfield, Missouri’s airport. I was freaking out about seeing ghosts for the first time and losing my temper at another travel writer, worried that I might never be asked back on press trips. Kelly made me drive and then immediately fell asleep. If anyone should be mad, it’s me.
“You’re mistaken. I was driving, we went through Branson, and I decided to get out and see my aunt who lives there. I was in dire need of family at the time. It was Kelly’s rental car and she continued to the airport. I didn’t abandon….”
Shelby utters “Whatever” and walks away.
I lean against the table and take in the room. Carmine and TB are deep in discussion, TB glancing my way with a guilty look. No doubt they’re discussing me. Pepper’s doing the same, only to my dear friends Joe and Stephanie, the latter of whom is shaking her head in wonderment. Shelby’s laughing again, with you know who, and Dwayne manages a sly smile when he, too, looks back. Winnie’s the only friend tonight, and she’s busy talking SEC football with Robert.
I leave my coffee cup behind but take the pecan pie with me, grab the salt shaker, and head toward the door. Just before my hand’s on the doorknob, I feel a touch at my shoulder.
“Watch out for the ghosts,” Dwayne whispers in my ear. “I heard that Andrew Jackson came this way after the Battle of New Orleans and some soldiers died and were buried here.”
I don’t turn around. “Sure, Dwayne. Whatever you say.”
Someone calls his name and when I turn, it’s Shelby. Her face is pinched in that jealous look women have, as if Dwayne’s about to choose me, the cliff pusher, instead of her tonight. Pepper, too, watches me alarmed, and it’s then I realize what he’s doing.
I finally look him in the eye. “Divide and conquer. Is that your plan?”
“What?”
He’s still smiling that annoying confident grin and for the life of me I can’t understand why men do the things they do. I could bang my head on the concrete sidewalk and it would never make sense.
“We’re powerful in numbers,” I say, remembering the witch tribe of Briarwood Plantation. “I wouldn’t forget that.”
With those final words, I steal into the cold, dark night of French Camp.
Trace of a Ghost
Chapter Ten
When I return to the cabin, Stinky sits perched in the middle of the floor, as if he’s both expecting me and waiting to have a talk. He reminds me of my mother when I stayed out past curfew, she smoking on the front stoop, the tip of her cigarette the only light I spotted when I stumbled drunk to the door.
“Got a good excuse, young lady,” she used to say, right before she took away the keys to the family car.
I close the door and throw my jacket on to the bed, then sit down in front of my tabby cat. Tonight, I’m looking for advice from this freakish feline.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask him.
The cat gets up and jumps on the bed, making himself comfortable. He begins a slow bath beginning with his right paw.
“That’s what I get for talking to a cat,” I say to myself.
I rise and place the pecan pie and salt on the table. Where once that pecan and sugar concoction was to be the salve to my horrid day, the dessert doesn’t appeal anymore. Instead, I lay on the bed next to Stinky and scratch his head. The cat leans into my massage and purrs and the action shifts his body so that I spot what he’s been laying on. It’s a brochure titled The Wild Herbs of The Natchez Trace Parkway. I pick up the brochure the same time Stinky gives me a wink.
The list mostly contains wildflowers and edibles travelers would have consumed as they headed along the trail. But there’s a few in here I recognize, plants that may come in handy. A light bulb goes off.
I grab my cell phone and call the one person who can help. Aunt Mimi picks up instantly.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she says in her sweet Alabama accent. “Hi, Sugar Baby.”
Even though my mother attended the finest universities of the
world, and eliminated her linguistic roots along the way, it’s startling to hear a relative this close to our family talk like Paula Deen.
“Hey, Aunt Mimi,” is all I can manage before the tears start falling.
“Oh, Honey Chile, tell me everything.”
I relate the events of the past few days, explaining how Dwayne gave a talk at the SCANC convention, then surprisingly became part of our press trip. I mention Carmine’s weird but elusive conversations about angels, TB showing up unannounced, and the horrid incidents of the past twenty-four hours. My aunt listens intently and only utters an occasional “Oh dear” or “Uh huh” and I relish the fact that I have one family member who lets me talk.
She’s also the only one sharing psychic DNA, so there’s that.
I end my spiel with Stinky sitting on an herb brochure.
“That cat’s not normal,” I conclude.
“That cat’s special and if I were you I’d keep him close.”
I look over at my purring tabby and he winks.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
She exhales a long breath. “First of all, stay away from that man. Your friends are right. There’s something evil about him.”
Now, it’s my turn to sigh. “You know I can’t do that. I’m too curious. And if he is evil, then none of this is going to stop.”
“Vi, you don’t have to be the superhero here.”
I think of the Briarwood quintuple standing up to McDaniels.
“Someone has to.”
“How about that nice policeman?”
I laugh, more at the way she asked that question than the question itself. “That nice policeman thinks I pushed Kelly off the side of the so-called mountain.”
There’s a pause, then, “I don’t see that.”
She’s referring to her second sight so that gives me hope, but if someone else takes a bad turn on this trip I may be doing time in rural Mississippi.
“I’ll be careful, I promise,” I assure her.
“Vi, stay away from him.”
I change the subject.
Trace of a Ghost Page 14
