by Stacy Green
“I never had the keys to the pantry.”
“I know. But Landers may think you could have somehow gotten access. You should play nice with Gina until you’re officially cleared. She ordered you off the property. You’re going to leave, right?”
“Sure. I can play by the rules.”
“Right.” She shook her head, but she was smiling.
He hated to say anything after all she’d dealt with already this morning, but she needed to be prepared. “Listen, you’re going to have to walk through the crime scene. And I don’t know what you’ll see on the stairs. The killer likely used them to bring the bodies to the basement. Just…prepare yourself.”
The smile fell. “I’m trying. Where will you be?”
He retrieved his keys out of his pocket. “Off the property.”
14
The heat inside the pantry seemed to stagnate in one place: wherever Dani stood. Another round of dizziness hit, and she steadied herself against the wall. She’d forgotten to eat this morning.
At least she didn’t have anything to throw up.
But her stress wasn’t limited to the bodies, or to the idea that the men may have been killed because they were doing something she absolutely abhorred, or to Cage’s being a legitimate suspect. No, that would make too much sense. The nauseating energy flowing through her had one source: her absolutely certainty that Cage hadn’t hurt those men.
Landers cleared his throat. “We need to get on with this.”
“Of course,” Dani shot back. “We wouldn’t want to derail your mindless persecution of an innocent man.”
Lander’s already flushed face turned spotty purple. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t think you’re qualified to make that assumption. Especially since you’ve been here all of one damned day.”
She checked her watch. “Technically, I’m on my second day. And maybe I just have better instincts about people than you.”
“Dani.” Gina cut in before Lander’s head burst. “I understand your defense of Cage, but that’s not why you’re here. Let us do our jobs, please.” Her tone was kind, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument.
Dani clamped her mouth shut, nodded, and started across the small room. Careful not to step in the foreboding brown stain on the floor, she reached the crevice between the two walls of cupboards. She couldn’t help but do a quick study of their condition, and up close, it was clear they had been completely refinished. The wood was smooth and shining with a new coat of varnish. The hardware was solid brass and recently cleaned. Her hand reached for the cupboard, anxious to see what–if anything–was inside, but she caught herself.
The inside door was less robust than Ironwood’s main doors. Less than two inches thick, the wood had been painted white–and more than once, from the look of the peeling paint. Interesting that it hadn’t been cleaned and restored like the rest of the room. She paused. “This is an old lock.”
“So?” Landers’s impatience leaked into his voice. “Aren’t they all?”
“I mean, it’s a really old one. It’s a warded lock.” Locks weren’t her specialty, but Dani had done her share of studying them over the years. “A warded lock uses a set of plates that face outward instead of running parallel like a more modern lock. The key slips between the plates, and the top of it fits into a depression that holds it in place. The key turns, moving the wards aside.”
“What does that mean?” Gina asked.
Dani bent to examine the metal. “This lock hasn’t been replaced, and it hasn’t been tampered with. Unless you have the original, we need a skeleton key to open it.”
“So the killer has Ironwood’s skeleton key,” Landers said. “Could explain how he got into this room in the first place. Great.”
“Not necessarily,” Dani said. “Several different skeleton keys can open the same warded lock. All you have to do is remove most parts of the key except the bare minimum that’s needed to turn the bolt. Ironwood probably had several skeleton keys, and the killer may have found one, or he could have found one in an antique shop. Hell, you can buy them online. Try enough, and you’ll find one that opens a warded lock.”
She glanced back at the pantry entrance. “And that is a much more modern lock. A skeleton key that opened it likely wouldn’t open this door. Either someone with enough skill not to leave marks picked that lock or had the key.” Cage’s face flashed into her mind, and a trickle of guilt slipped down her spine. She’d just told Cage she trusted him.
Gina nodded. “I figured as much about the room entrance. What about Ironwood’s original keys?”
“Lee said the church replaced all of the locks shortly after they purchased the property in 1971 and the outside doors again just a few years ago. Those are the keys I have now. I’d have to check with him to see if the original locks and keys were kept. But as for skeleton keys, there could be any number, anywhere.”
“But somewhere,” Gina said, “there could be an original key for this?” She pointed to the inside door.
“It’s possible.”
“What about a master skeleton key? Did old houses like this have those?” Landers asked.
“Sure. If the original locks were all warded and some effort was put into it, a skeleton key could have been made to fit them all. But it’s more likely there were several.”
“But this lock could have been picked pretty easily,” Gina said. “Old as it is, anyone with some skill could have done it.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t have the markings. When a lock is picked, you can usually see some specific marks. I’m no expert, but I’ve seen my share of destroyed locks over the years. You can usually spot the picked ones.”
“You see any of those marks on the door we just unlocked? The main pantry door?” Landers hooked his thumb over his shoulder.
Dani swallowed. “Possibly.”
“Good to know.” His crooked smile made her blood boil. “What other impressions do you have of our killer?”
“I’m not a detective. I don’t see why–”
“But you’re an expert in old houses,” Gina said. “And I would like to know what you’re thinking after seeing the condition of this room.”
Dani’s mouth had gone dry. She didn’t want to answer, but Captain Barnes’s expression made it clear silence wasn’t an option. “I think your killer had a decent knowledge of the house and history. He also had respect for the house because this door,” her hand hovered over the warped wood, “has never been forced open. So he wasn’t just here for convenience. He cared about Ironwood, or he would have taken a crowbar to her. And the fact that this room has been restored when everyone said it had been barred up for years makes me think your killer did the work.” She didn’t dare look at Landers.
“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” Gina said.
“I’ll say,” Landers said. “Helps narrow down the suspect list a bit.”
“If I were you, I’d start with antique stores, see if anyone has been searching for skeleton keys,” Dani said. “And look for someone with personal connection to Ironwood.”
“Like Cage Foster.”
Dani gritted her teeth, refusing to take Landers’s bait. “I need my drill. We’ll take the hinges off and remove the door completely.”
Thirty sweaty minutes later, the corroded hinges were off and the door carefully set aside by Landers. Again, Dani’s eyes took a moment to adjust, and her sense of smell overcompensated. Foul air, tainted with mold and dust and the horrors in the basement, greeted her. The walls were the same weathered concrete of the foundation, charcoal colored after nearly two centuries underground. Unlike the rest of the house, the steps were made of concrete, but they were small and steep. Dani couldn’t imagine carrying a crate of apples down them, much less a fully grown man. She hugged herself.
“We’ll take it from here,” Gina said.
Dani obeyed the captain, quickly maneuvering through the cramped pantry and into the hallway. The removed door had been pr
opped against a wall, probably scratching the woodwork. She shook her head. No time to worry about that right now. She glanced over her shoulder making sure Gina and her men were occupied. They’d already disappeared into the hidden stairwell, their flashlights creating an unsettling glow.
Sweat dribbled off the end of her nose. She wiped her face with her t-shirt, swore Mississippi must be on the outer ring of hell, and retrieved her smartphone from her pocket. Five clicks later, she had pictures of both sides of the lock, including close-ups of the worn inner mechanism.
Might as well make good use of the waiting game.
* * *
He knew he’d have to answer to Gina, but Cage wanted to know what else had been found. And he was off the property–right across the road. Movement caught Cage’s eye. Dani appeared at the end of Ironwood’s drive holding two plastic glasses. Midday sun made her hair even more reddish-gold, and he wondered what it looked like down around her shoulders. A nervous smile on her face and shoulders slightly hunched, she walked around the car and tapped on the passenger side glass.
He opened the door and she slid in, bringing with her the smell of sweet lavender.
“Water.” She handed him a glass before taking a long drink of her own. “They’re in the stairwell right now. I think the killer knew Ironwood well, and he might have been looking for the hidden cache.”
“We don’t know the cache exists.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dani said. “Treasure hunters sniff around these old houses like dogs. A rumor is enough to get them searching.”
Cage listened as Dani told him about the old-fashioned lock and the need for a skeleton key. “But those are still pretty common, especially if you’re into collecting antiques.”
“Right, but they aren’t listed in Ironwood’s artifacts.” Dani held up her fancy phone. “Lee set me up with an account at the historical foundation’s online database. I checked Ironwood’s file. It has a listing of everything found in the house from the time the church took it over in ’71. Nothing about any original locks or keys being confiscated. Where did they go when the church changed them?”
“There was a twenty-year gap between the church purchasing and CaryAnne Laurent’s death. The house went through a few owners, including the bank. Who knows what happened to them.”
“But according to Lee, one of the first things the church did was change the locks to the house.” Dani took another drink. “And I remember him saying the reason the church did it was because the locks hadn’t been changed for nearly a century. He said they were most likely the originals.”
“I’m not following you.”
Dani shot him an exasperated look. “You do know that when the church bought this place in 1971, they did so under the guidance of the historical foundation, right? With the promise its integrity would be maintained and that no major renovations–like turning it into those God-forsaken multiplex apartments–would be made.”
“Yes, but–”
“So if the historical foundation was involved from the beginning, why didn’t they make sure the church kept the house’s old locks and keys when they first upgraded? Those can be worth money to collectors, and some of them could be repaired for a restoration. Any authentic piece to a house like this is one step closer to getting approved for the National Historic Register.”
She handed him her phone. “Look at these. The lock hasn’t been picked. Or replaced. I’m 99 percent sure that lock is mid-1800s. From a historic perspective, it’s a good find.”
“Okay, so it’s weird both the keys and the locks are missing,” Cage said. “But not out of the realm of possibility. Shit happens, especially when a place changes hands.
“You said you thought he was looking for the cache. Which makes sense if the victims were digging through the house, doing the same thing. Maybe he saw them as competition. And he clearly had historical knowledge of the place and access to at least the modern keys.”
“Which doesn’t help your case at all.” Dani glanced at him and then started talking fast again. “So who are we talking about? Church board members? Some tenant who did his research? A former historical foundation worker?”
“Why former?” Cage said. “How many people work for the foundation?”
“Six. A secretary, a researcher, a treasurer, vice president, Lee, and myself.”
Cage grinned. “We can rule you out. That’s about it.”
“What?” Dani laughed. “I’ve talked to the secretary over the phone. She’s a grandmother with arthritis. The researcher is female, too, and she’s not exactly the picture of health. I have a hard time believing she’d be capable of luring and killing two grown men.”
“Probably not, but there is always an exception. I know the vice president. He’s old money and uses his connections to help with funding. But he’s physically capable. So is Lee Walker.”
“You said yourself Lee was a good man.”
“Far as I know, he is,” Cage said. “But people aren’t always what they seem. God knows I’ve learned that the hard way. Using your theory, Lee and everyone with access to the house are persons of interest. Add on inside knowledge about the locks or the building plans, and a person moves up on the list. And pretty much everyone in town knows about the supposed Ironwood hidden treasure.”
“My theory is just that–a theory.”
“And one that has some plausibility. It’s an angle that has to be looked at.”
“But what if it’s some transient, and the police go accusing innocent people?”
“No one’s accusing anybody. Gina Barnes will run a good investigation. She’s fair. And the likelihood of this being some random stranger is slim. There are too many little things that add up to a big steaming pile of shit.”
“You’re Landers’s number one suspect. Hopefully he can broaden his mind.”
Her faith in his innocence meant more than it should, considering they’d only known each other for twenty-four hours. The melancholy cloud following Cage over the past few years weakened, and looking at Dani created an unfamiliar lightness. It was a feeling he could get used to.
“Like I said, Gina will run a good investigation. She won’t work with blinders on.”
Dani finished the rest of her water. She ran her index finger around the edge of her cup, the creases between her eyes deepening.
“What is it?” Cage asked.
“What about the bones? I know the anthropology students are going to look at them, but who the hell knows when they’ll get to it.”
“At least someone is examing them. They could be shelved altogether,” Cage said. “You have to understand, a lot of Mississippi is poor. We’ve got lots of little towns and village that don’t have anyone qualified in death investigation. So most autopsies get sent to the medical examiner’s office in Jackson. They can’t keep up. It sucks, but if those bones aren’t recent, the M.E. just doesn’t have the time.”
“So they’ll just be forgotten. Again.”
“Dani, who knows who those bones could belong to? And maybe the students will find something. Those kids are hungry for cases.”
“What if they’re John James Laurent’s? What if the stories are true?”
“Oh, Jesus.” Cage rolled his eyes. “Leave it to Jaymee to fill your head with that nonsense.”
“How is it nonsense?”
“The idea of some secret room is one thing. But for old CaryAnne to have a psycho moment and keep daddy’s corpse is straight out of lousy pulp fiction. Especially when you consider that comes from a nasty, unsubstantiated rumor.”
“Sexual abuse was just as common then as it is now.”
“But there’s no proof. Just talk that’s nearly 100 years old.”
“Forget about that part,” Dani said. “John James was all CaryAnne had, right? Family was everything to her. Then he dies, leaving her alone and devastated. Is it so hard to believe she could have snapped and wanted to hang on to his physical remains? That she saw them as all she ha
d left?”
They stared at one another, the pain bright in Dani’s eyes. Cage knew that pain. It burned the stomach lining, ate up the esophagus, and scrambled the brain. He’d rather suffer himself than see Dani fighting it.
“It does get easier, you know.”
She waved her trembling hand. “Please don’t console me–it’s not right. After the way you lost your sister, my mother’s death seems like a blessing.”
He laid his fingers over her balled up fist. She tensed but didn’t move. “Loss is loss, Dani. Doesn’t matter how people leave this world. Letting go is still hard as hell.”
Her eyes were wet. “Sometimes I miss my mom so much I can barely breathe.”
“And all you want to do is climb into bed and stay there.”
“Then maybe it will all be a dream.” Her tears spilled over.
“There’s nothing I can say that you haven’t heard,” Cage said. “Nothing that won’t make you want to tell me off. Just know that I understand. And you’re not alone in your pain. The worst part is when I see my parents. And sometimes…” He remembered the disappointment in his father’s face and felt his own twist into a scowl. “Lana was their favorite.”
“I doubt that.”
“She really was,” Cage said. “Don’t get me wrong–my parents were good to me. But Lana did everything first, and I could never quite match her.” His sister had been the star child and content to bend to her parents’ demands of success. Cage did everything he could to follow her example but had never been able to completely emerge from her shadow.
“Is that why you became a cop? To stand out from her?”
A bitter sigh escaped before he could stop it. “No. I wanted to go to Ole Miss, too. Maybe go into law. But when Lana went off to college, my parents were so depressed, especially Dad. And when it became clear she wasn’t moving back home after graduation, it got worse. I couldn’t leave them, too. Being a cop is one of the few ways to make a living here.”
“So you stayed here out of duty.” Dani’s fist relaxed. She wrapped her small fingers around his. “Believe me, I understand that. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did.”
