by Stacy Green
Cage’s eyes widened. “It’s compensating for the space between the walls.”
Dani couldn’t believe she’d missed it before. Size aside, the window seat looked like any other. She’d been so intent on looking at the walk-in closet and thinking the connection could only be a set of stairs for someone to move secretly between floors, she’d completely missed the obvious. She ran her hand along the wall to the left of the window seat. The seat itself was wooden, but a decorative gold plating that ran up both sides of the connecting walls trimmed the outer edge.
She crawled onto the seat and peered down at the seam between the left edge and the wall. More gold trim, but a lot of it had worn off with age. And use.
“It’s a door. Or rather, a panel.” Her blood pounded hard in her ears until she thought her eardrums might burst. The moths in her stomach danced in victory.
“You can’t be serious.”
“See how this gold trim overlaps the side edge?” She ran her fingers down the vertical trim on the wall adjacent to the seat. “Almost as though it’s some sort of latch? And see how the golden trim goes all the way around, running along the seat and up beside the window?”
“It makes a rectangle,” Cage said. “And it’s on both sides. Just looks like a design to me.”
“Thus the simplicity.” She dug her fingers into the overlapping section midway down the wall and pulled. The hidden panel shuddered at first and then opened easily.
They both spoke at once. “Sonofabitch.”
* * *
Cage couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Flashlight in her shaking hand, Dani shined the beam into the dark space. He peered over the top of her head and caught a glimpse of brass, dark wood, and an oblong table. She gave a little squeal and started to crawl inside.
“Stop.” He caught her by the arm. “You don’t know what’s in there. Let me go first.”
Her face fell, but she nodded her agreement. Cage took the flashlight. The panel was barely four feet tall. Crouching down, he stuck one leg and then the other inside the room. He shined the light on the ceiling. It was high enough for him to stand straight.
Cobwebs and stale air should have already assaulted them, but just like the master bedroom, the space smelled clean. “He cleaned up in here, too.”
“Let me in!” Dani shoved at him.
“Wait a second. Stay right there.” The beam of his flashlight reached at least ten feet, which meant the corridor likely ran the entire back end of the house, bypassing the rooms between John James’s and CaryAnne’s bedrooms. “Does CaryAnne’s room have a similar window seat?”
“Yep.”
A soft, dreary looking light suddenly filled the space. Cage caught a glimpse of more furniture and stacked boxes before turning around to see that Dani had entered the room and turned on a large camping light.
“Thought I told you to stay put.”
“Damned Yankee. Sorry.” She set the flashlight on a desk that set up against the back wall of the house. “This is really old. Like early 1800s old. It’s a roll top, too.”
“These boxes are fruit packing crates,” Cage said. “And some are dress boxes.”
“Personal belongings.” Dani swiveled around. “I don’t see John James’s guns, though. Ben’s probably already sold them.” Contempt dripped from her voice.
The passage was deep enough that Cage and another tall man could have laid head to foot across it, but boxes and furniture took up more than half of it. Cage examined a bureau tarnished with age but still in good condition. “CaryAnne didn’t bring all of this up here.”
“No. Most likely her father or some of the servants. They would have kept quiet about it.” Dani moved from piece to piece, eyes glistening and a smile so wide he thought her face had to hurt. “This iron bed is early nineteenth century. So is this rocking chair.”
The oblong shape Cage assumed was a table was instead a couch carefully covered with heavy blankets. They were rotting and moth-eaten, but the overall integrity of the piece had been protected.
“It’s French, too,” Dani said. “Pre-Civil War.”
“So John James and maybe his own father stored their expensive stuff in here to protect it. Just like the legends said. Except they didn’t have to sell everything.”
“That would be my guess. They likely sold jewelry and silver–easily portable.”
“Why didn’t they bring this stuff out of hiding then? Or why didn’t CaryAnne when she controlled the house?”
“Maybe they bought new. Considered these family heirlooms. Remember, Reconstruction went on for a long time. Insurgents caused unrest and fear for years.” Farther down the passage, near CaryAnne’s room, Dani reached an armoire. She opened it, and her startled cry echoed in the space.
“What is it?”
“CaryAnne. Her things. Her life.”
* * *
Dani’s tears made no sense, but she couldn’t help them. She sank to her knees in front of the armoire. Inside were CaryAnne Laurent’s treasured possessions. No amount of elbow grease could completely obliterate the scent of history, and the beautiful piece of furniture was ripe with it. Dani breathed deeply, soaking in the moment.
Faded pictures were pasted to the inside of the wood. Bits of dried and rotting flowers sat on the shelves. A child’s size china teacup with pink and blue designs had a spot of honor on an inner shelf. Boxes were stacked on the bottom, coordinated by size, and Dani was certain the lower boxes were more dress boxes. With any luck, some of the gowns would be salvageable.
At the top of the organized pile was a hatbox. Dani opened it with unsteady fingers, expecting to see something feathery and fashionable.
“Letters,” she said. This was probably where the letter she’d received came from. Fingertips shaking, she carefully thumbed through the collection. “From John James to his family while he was in the war. Letters to Grayson Laurent from other family members. From John James to his wife before her death. CaryAnne kept everything she loved.”
She tucked the flashlight underneath her chin and forced herself to handle the letters with care. One by one, she skimmed through them until she saw the one that had been Xeroxed. “I was right. She kept the original for safekeeping.”
CaryAnne had kept jewelry, too. Sitting on an upper shelf was an ornate antique jewelry box worth a good amount of money, and it contained no less than three sets of diamond earrings, four cameo brooches, and an exquisite diamond and emerald teardrop necklace.
“I can’t believe Ben didn’t take any of this stuff,” Cage said. “It’s more valuable than the house.”
“Martin Robertson had the brooch in his pocket. Maybe he discovered this place but wanted more money to tell Ben its location,” Dani said. “Maybe that’s what got him killed.”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t sound convinced, but she was too enthralled with the room’s secrets to question him. “This is what CaryAnne wanted Grace’s father to find. She tried to direct him to the blueprints and hoped he’d figure it out.”
“Why didn’t she just tell him where the room was?”
“I don’t know,” Dani said. “She probably wasn’t fully in her right mind.” Dani studied the armoire again, recalling Grace’s words. “But she promised Grace answers. Was she talking about the location of the room? There is certainly enough for Grace’s father to have saved Ironwood from the bank. But she told Grace to tell her father not to hate CaryAnne when he heard the truth. That she did it to save him.”
“Did what?” Cage walked over to the roll top desk and started to examine it.
“That would be murdering my great-great-grandmother and burying her in the basement.” A quiet voice cut through the dank passage.
Dani staggered to her knees just in time to see Cage drop to his, blood seeping through his light blue shirt.
She stared at the man blocking the hidden entrance and holding an old Civil War dagger.
“You?”
* * *
; Cold. Stunned. Confused.
A searing pain pierced his stomach, and Cage’s kneecaps throbbed as they hit the hard floor. He raked his hand across his torso searching for the burning in his abdomen. His hand came away bloody.
Dani’s voice, angry and terrified.
“You?” And then, “Cage, no!”
She knelt beside him, hands on his shoulders, rolling him over. The sweet scent of her shampoo was strong. Her voice faint and thick with terror. “Cage! Look at me.”
He tried to obey. His eyelids were heavy. Vision hazy, he searched through the murkiness until he saw her eyes. Filled with tears. “Don’t cry.”
“Don’t try to talk.”
Pressure against his stomach. More pain, spreading into his back and down his legs. He gritted his teeth and forced his mouth to move.
“Why am I bleeding?”
“He stabbed you. Don’t talk.” She glared up at someone Cage couldn’t bring into focus. “How could you do this?”
“I didn’t have a choice. You two just wouldn’t leave well enough alone.”
He knew the voice. Its identity lurked in the back of Cage’s shocked brain, refusing to come to the surface.
“Pretty sure I missed the vital organs,” the man said again.
“He could still bleed out.”
“Yes.” The man Cage couldn’t remember sounded disappointed. “He will. But I figure he should know what he’s dying for.”
“And what is that?”
Movement to his left as the blurry man stepped closer. A familiar sent drifted into Cage’s nose. Sterile. Latex.
“The truth, of course.”
36
“Billy, please.” Dani pressed her hands against the stab wound in Cage’s stomach. Numbing fear threatened to incapacitate her, but she kept her focus on Cage. She wouldn’t fail him. “Please don’t do this.”
The coroner’s intern stood over them, bloody knife at his side and sadness on his face. “I don’t want to. But you wouldn’t stop looking. Now you’ll bring the police to this room. They’ll find the journals, find out what CaryAnne did.” He looked longingly around the passage. “This was my refuge. They’ll find my DNA. Match it to the cot I wasn’t able to get rid of before you opened John James’s room. I can’t allow that.”
“Why?” Cage’s weak voice sent a fresh wave of panic through her. He was growing weak. “Why would you kill those men?”
Dani pushed his hair back off his face. His skin was clammy and pale, his pulse slow. His eyes dulled. “Shh.”
“Because they were violating Ironwood,” Billy shouted. “Traipsing through her like she was some cheap street walker.”
“Martin and the other man, they found this room?” Dani asked.
“By pure dumb luck.” Billy’s knuckles turned white from his grip on the dripping knife. “They discovered the entrance from the servants’ quarters. Came up the stairs.”
“What?” Confusion drummed against her head. “I saw that staircase. No one’s been on it for years.”
“You saw the main servants’ staircase. You didn’t see the hidden one.” Billy clicked his tongue. “This one’s in the back of the house. I really can’t believe you missed it. When I heard you and Jaymee Ballard had been snooping around that night, I thought for sure you would have found the passage. Perhaps you’re not the expert you think you are.”
“I was concentrating on the library.” She craned her neck trying to see the far end of the passage.
“It’s on the other side of CaryAnne’s room. But not connected to her room. John James kept the route from her.”
“Why?”
“You’re really not as bright as I thought you were,” Billy said. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”
Cage moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. Blood flowed from the wound at a terrifyingly rapid pace.
“No, no, no.” Dani patted his cheek until his eyes cracked back open. Her mother had died this way. Slowly. Piece by piece, talking in her sleep and in immense pain until the morphine blissfully kicked in. She couldn’t bear to see Cage do the same. “You stay awake, hear me?”
He moved his head an inch in an attempt to nod.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she spat at Billy. “You can’t just bury us like you did Martin and his friend.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
She needed to try another tactic. Surely there was a shred of decency inside this young man. She just had to find it. “Billy, it’s not too late. I know Martin’s friend died of natural causes. What happened? If you help Cage, I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
He laughed–a bitter, choppy sound that smashed her meager hopes. “As if your Yankee voice would have any bearing on my fate. Don’t forget you’re in the deep South. My black heritage will be on trial first.”
“Black?” She squinted her eyes, looking closer at Billy. His skin was no darker than Cage’s. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re seeing skin color only,” he snapped. “The surface has been bleached by years of white people mixing in, but my true ancestors were black. They built this place, farmed Ironwood’s land. Submitted to their white masters.”
Her mind began to catch up. And her fear multiplied. This was personal for Billy. That would trump any sense of personal connection she could form with him. She tried another tactic.
“So you’re a descendent of a slave who worked here? You’ve traced your lineage that far? That’s really impressive.”
“She was a freed woman, thanks to John James.” Billy stood taller. “And CaryAnne destroyed her, destroyed my ancestors. She ruined our history. I’m just making things right, taking back what’s mine.”
Dani didn’t have time to ask more questions. A horrid, blood-filled cough tore from Cage’s throat. He clutched her bloodstained shirt with cold hands, and his eyes closed yet again.
“Billy, I’m sorry for what happened to your ancestor. It wasn’t right, just like a lot of things that happened to black people back then. But we can do something good. We can tell the truth–make Ironwood’s real heritage known to everyone.” Tears flooded her eyes. “Please, Billy, he’s dying. Get him some help.”
“Why?” Billy’s mouth turned up in disgust. “I had respect for him once, but he’s just as bad as those damned scavengers. Not doing a thing to stop the church from selling. Helping you skulk around here, looking for things that are none of your business. This is my house. My flesh and blood. My legacy!”
“Fine. Take the house. It’s yours.” Dani took her last shot. Saving Cage was the only thing that mattered. “I’ll sign the deed over to you as soon as Cage is in the clear. And I won’t say anything–this will all stay between the three of us. You can have Ironwood, Cage will live. Everyone wins.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yes. Just help him. Please!”
He examined the dagger. Cage’s blood had cooled and thickened on the silver tip. “This was John James’s you know. Carried it in the War.”
She didn’t bother to look at Billy. Her focus was on Cage and trying to stop the blood seeping out of his body. “Please don’t let him die.”
“It’s too late.” Billy knelt beside Cage, the sudden remorse on his face enraging Dani. What right did he have? All of this over some injustice committed over a century ago?
“But I can end his suffering.” He moved the dagger to Cage’s neck. Cage emitted a soft whine of protest as the tip of the metal brushed his skin.
Like hell he would.
Dani grabbed the dagger with one hand, not daring to remove both from Cage’s stomach. White-hot pain spread through her hand as her flesh tore.
Billy yanked the dagger away, scowling and cursing. “Stupid bitch. You know this thing’s 150 years old. No way could it slit his throat.”
Tell that to her burning, bleeding hand. She needed stitches, but she didn’t care. Ignoring the fiery pain, she again pressed both hands against Cage’s
wound.
Billy cocked his head to the side. “I’ll smother him, just like I did that thief. His buddy panicked and had a heart attack. Lucky for me they were at opposite ends of the house when I discovered them. Only way I managed to overpower them.” His tone was flat, as if he were simply performing a necessary duty. He trained his dark gaze on her. “But first, I’ll have to take care of you.”
Face grim, eyes apologetic, he regained his footing. “You’re smaller. I can make it quick.”
She could fight him. Get to one of the kerosene lamps, break it over his head. If Billy didn’t catch her first. But leaving Cage meant he could bleed out before she took Billy down.
Icy fingers touched hers. “Don’t give up.” Cage’s voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. “Don’t give in.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“Stubborn Damned Yankee.”
Salty tears dripped onto her mouth. “To the day I die.”
She nodded once and then turned her attention back to Billy. “Do whatever you have to do.”
He chewed the inside of his cheek, eyebrows furrowed into a tense line. “You’re not going to run? To fight?”
“I won’t leave him. You’re going to have to stab an innocent woman while she watches, defenseless.”
Billy rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles, and took a deep breath. “Fine. I can do that.”
“Can you? Are you really a coldblooded killer, or did you just get caught up in something that spiraled out of control?”
“None of that matters now.”
“Of course it does. It will all matter when you’re sentenced. And you will be. You will be caught. And helping get Cage to the hospital will go a long way in keeping the lethal injection out of your arm.”
He shook his head. “I’ll kill myself before that happens.”
“Let us go and you won’t have to.” Her voice was surprisingly calm. She didn’t sound like herself at all. “I swear I’ll help you.”
Billy smacked his forehead with the meat of his palm. “Stop. You’re not making this any easier.”
