The coincidence of the house broken into and the appearance of the locket wasn’t lost on me. What burglars came to leave jewelry? It didn’t make any sense. “Nothing was taken, yet a valuable necklace has now been found. I don’t think the ghosts are involved in the necklace’s appearance.”
Brett shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What did Carlton say about the break-in?” I knew without asking that Brett had confided in the lawyer. It was the logical thing to do.
“He urged me to call the sheriff, and I did, but there’s nothing the law can do. This has happened before. Whoever is responsible knew we’d be out of the house. That’s something to be thankful for. Had we been home, someone might have been injured. I’m not a violent man, but I won’t stand still and let vandals invade my home.”
The break-in, which was an act of violence, a violation of the sanctity and safety of my uncle’s home, made me ask, “What do you really think happened to Robert?”
“I don’t think he fell from the roof, and I don’t think he jumped.” Uncle Brett was far more worried than I’d ever imagined. “I haven’t said much, because without evidence I can’t push for further investigation. The coroner ruled his death accidental, and I believe that was partly as a favor to me. To have a different ruling would have opened me and my guests up for questioning, and possible legal responsibility. A shadow would have fallen over me and Caoin House.”
“But if someone killed Robert?” I tried to keep the emotion from my voice. “What if someone we know is a killer? Though why anyone would kill Robert is beyond me. I should have told you sooner that I went up on the roof to investigate. I don’t see how he could have fallen, and I don’t believe he jumped.”
“Then we share a similar conclusion. I could twist the sheriff’s arm and get him to come and look around, but what would he find? I’ve looked already. You were on the roof. You didn’t find anything.”
I wanted to tell him about the button, but I didn’t. It could have been on the roof for weeks, left by some workman, except the cotton cloth came from an expensive shirt. The small, pearlescent button spoke of quality. Until I had more to go on, it was unfair to further arouse Uncle’s worries. “I don’t think Robert fell, and I know he didn’t kill himself. That fall might have paralyzed him, and no one intent on suicide would risk becoming a cripple. Besides, Robert had no reason to end his life. He was successful and happy.”
Sadness settled on Uncle Brett’s features. “I wake up in the night sometimes thinking of the things I would change, if only I could go back in time. I would say no to the hunting game that Carlton set up. I would put you and Robert in the refreshment tent serving drinks and keep you there. There were so many opportunities to do things in a different way—”
“The game isn’t at fault. There was no reason for Robert to be on the roof. Not a single clue would have taken him there. The party activities had nothing to do with his death. If we could figure out why he was on the roof, then we’d have a better chance of finding the person responsible.”
“It wounds me to think someone I invited into my home is responsible. I’ve gone over the guest list again and again, but I come up empty-handed.”
“Maybe it wasn’t someone you invited! It could be the person who breaks into Caoin House. Someone could have been hiding in the attic for weeks, Uncle Brett.” My skin prickled and crawled at the idea. “No one ever goes in the attic. Not even the servants.”
“You’re right. There could be a king’s ransom hidden there and I wouldn’t know. There’s an air of . . . despair in the attic. Even I avoid it.” His expression revealed his anxiety.
“The intruder could easily have slipped in and remained hidden.” I put a hand on his knee. I wanted to relieve the guilt he felt. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”
“If it wasn’t a living person, I’m hoping Reginald can get to the bottom of this.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him Reginald was a fraud, but I managed to keep it to myself. “When we have the séance, it would be best to limit the guest list, especially if we’re probing for a murderer. Let’s keep it to me, you, and Reginald.”
“What about Isabelle? She’ll be crushed. And Carlton, well, I’ll leave it at saying we must invite him, too. He’s taken with you, Raissa. He would be wounded if we left him out. And Pretta and Hubert. I’ve already mentioned it to them. Pretta thinks we’re going straight to hell, but she can’t resist participating anyway.”
I wanted to argue that we could repeat the séance later with more people attending if we wished, but Uncle Brett had his heart set, and it wasn’t worth an argument. “So, Carlton, Isabelle, and the Pauls will attend the séance.” I turned the conversation. “What do you know about the relationship between Eva and Eli? Were they happy?”
“You’re onto something, aren’t you?” Uncle Brett asked with a return of his normal, quick interest.
“I don’t know.” I picked up the locket again as I pondered the situation. Caoin House was rife with secrets. Which ones were worth protecting? “Do you think it’s possible Eva was having an affair with someone in Mobile? Someone her husband knew? A friend of the family.”
Brett almost choked on his coffee. “Why do you ask?”
“Those letters are clearly from someone other than Eli. There are two possibilities. A family friend or a Union soldier. Those are the men who were in Mobile at the time.”
“My word. If she had an affair with a Union officer, it would be a betrayal to the South’s cause. Doubly so since her husband was away fighting for the Confederacy.”
“What if someone other than deserters killed Eva?” I posed the question as gently as I could. “There has to be a reason Eli and Eva are haunting the house. The letters might be a clue. And they also might be a reason for someone to break in here and search for them.”
Uncle Brett stood abruptly. “I can’t fathom a sixty-year-old scandal provoking someone to break into my home.”
“Think about it, Uncle Brett. Someone has been breaking into the house since before you bought it. It’s not your belongings they want. It has to be something hidden in the house. If the love letters can prove that Eva was unfaithful, it might tarnish the Whitehead family. Are there Whitehead descendants still here in Mobile? Maybe someone from the family knows of the letters and desperately wants to retrieve them to protect the name.”
“I don’t think any Whiteheads survived after the 1880s. Eva and Eli had only the one daughter, Elise. And she jumped to her death from a third-floor window as family and friends gathered to see her wed.”
“Oh, that’s tragic.” I was shocked I hadn’t heard the tale before. “This is the child who was left alive beside her dead mother?”
Brett nodded. “Local lore indicated Elise was never right in the head. Her mother’s death must have impacted her. Eli took her to Europe for several years, but they did return to Caoin House, where she grew up. She jumped to her death only moments before her wedding was to begin. Of course, some of the stories imply she was pushed out the window.”
“By her husband-to-be?”
“There’s only speculation. Elise was mentally unstable. If you’re correct in assuming Eva was unfaithful, there’s no telling what the child witnessed.”
Or no telling what she’d seen or overheard and might repeat. “If these letters prove Eva made a cuckold of her husband, it would reflect badly on the Whiteheads. Isabelle told me that Eva’s family, the Kemps, weren’t wealthy, but they were well established as a Southern family of honor. If she betrayed her husband, she would be a tarnished woman, and one who would be held in contempt by the entire community. She would be viewed, even today, as a woman who cheated on a war hero—that wouldn’t go over well. Her family would want to bury those facts.”
“You’re right. If such a thing came to light, a family could lose its social standing.” Brett returned to his seat.
“And what if someone from Mobile took
it upon himself to punish Eva for her infidelity? What if it wasn’t deserters who killed her, but another member of Mobile society? Those letters might be the key to a lot more than a passionate love affair. Would you mind if I took them to my bedroom and studied them?”
“A good idea. I’ve read them all, but not with an eye toward the possible dangers they represented for Eva’s reputation. I viewed them as love letters. Foolishly romantic.”
I went to the shelf and began to pull the books down. When the secret panel was revealed, I pushed it open. The hidey-hole was empty. “Did you move the letters?” I asked my uncle, even though I knew he hadn’t. He would have told me before I took down the books.
He rose slowly. “So the burglar took something, after all.”
I felt a keen loss. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.” Brett went to the library desk and opened a drawer. “I don’t like what’s happening here, Raissa. Let’s have the séance and see if we can get to the bottom of this. If not, perhaps it would be best if you returned to Savannah.”
“I’m not leaving.”
His smile was haunted. “You sound exactly like Evangeline. Once she made up her mind about something, a team of wild horses couldn’t change it.”
“She loved you, and so do I. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” I spoke with more confidence than I felt, but I wasn’t about to abandon my uncle at a time when he needed family more than ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Reginald met me under the moss-draped oaks, and we went for a stroll around the property, partly so he would be familiar with the setup but also to allow us some privacy to discuss our plans. We made our way slowly toward the cemetery, where he could make notes on some of the graves for the pending séance. While I didn’t relish tricking my uncle, I wanted to give him some peace of mind. And if Reginald were revealed as a fraud, that wouldn’t happen. What he did—giving information on departed loved ones—brought comfort to those he “read” for. While it might be slightly unethical, it was not cruel or mean.
I shared the information about the missing letters with Reginald, whose theories of burglars guarding family names dovetailed with mine. As we stepped under the ornate arch covered with the sweetest-smelling Confederate jasmine, we paused to inhale the slightly melancholy fragrance. The white star-shaped flower that reminded me of a pinwheel adored the warm climate of Mobile and bloomed for weeks.
“How would anyone find those letters?” Reginald asked. “They were carefully hidden for decades.”
“I don’t know.” There were hundreds of books on the shelves in the library. It would have taken someone hours of searching. “Uncle Brett said a lot of books were pulled down. Travis and Winona cleaned up.”
“Either the robber was very lucky, or he knew exactly where to look.” Reginald wasn’t backing down. “Who knew about the letters?”
“Uncle Brett and me. I don’t think he even told Isabelle. Maybe Winona. Maybe Travis. Someone could have been hiding in the house, though.” Saying the words sent a chill through me. The idea of someone creeping about, spying and eavesdropping, made my skin itch. But it was possible. Someone could actually be living in Caoin House. And I now began to wonder if that someone might not be in league with companions who enjoyed a bit of dress-up. Beautiful women in white gowns seen from a distance flitting about the grounds. An elegant soldier, saber at his side, seen outside the house on the lawn, where some trick of acoustics made it seem possible he spoke my name and called to me. “I wish the ghosts were a trick, someone manipulating my uncle and me.” But I knew the truth. There were truly spirits at Caoin House.
“To what purpose?” he asked.
I shook my head, which had begun to ache. “To hide a secret from the past. Maybe Robert found something that led him to the attic and then out on the roof. He had to have a reason for going up there. He wasn’t the kind of man to wander about another’s house and poke into things.”
“Do you believe your friend Robert was murdered?” Reginald asked the question bluntly.
The sweet scent of the jasmine had given me a pounding headache, and I felt short of breath, as if the perfume had replaced oxygen. “I think it’s a definite possibility.”
“We need to be careful. We can’t tell anyone what we’re doing,” Reginald said.
As we strolled into the cemetery, a hush fell around us. The birdcalls and chatter of squirrels, which had followed us through the woods, stopped. The silence made us both glance around, and I had the sense we weren’t alone.
If the soldier had followed us to the cemetery, he played hide-and-seek with me. I caught movement in my peripheral vision, but when I turned to look, no one was there, leading me to wonder if the things I’d experienced were simply tricks of my mind.
“There’s a presence here now. I can’t see anything, but I sense it.”
“Maybe we’ve convinced ourselves that something is here, so we feel it.”
Reginald considered my statement. “It’s possible. I’ve seen plenty of people at séances claim to see things because Madam suggested a presence was there.”
“Is she a fraud?” I asked.
Reginald hesitated. “I don’t believe she is. There are those who can pierce the veil. I believe that wholeheartedly. She knew things no one could know, and I assure you she had no regiment of investigators checking out her potential clients.”
“But it is possible to trick people into seeing things.”
“Yes. It’s possible. Just as we’re about to trick your uncle.”
We walked to the tomb where Eva Whitehead was buried. Reginald traced the stone rendering with his bare hands. “Even in death, she is striking,” he said.
“Even in death. Take note of her. My uncle sees her, or at least he believes it to be her, so he is aware of the details of her appearance. When we have our séance, you want to present her as he envisions her.”
When Reginald was familiar with her flowing curls and particulars of her dress and figure, we walked on. The morning sun filtered through a dense line of cedar trees, and beyond them I saw the vast expanse of wooden crosses. “Soldiers and slaves. Both reside in unmarked graves.”
“Military cemeteries pockmark the South, but those have mostly been designated official cemeteries and are maintained by the government. A few of these graves might belong to soldiers, but I would bet these are the people who lived and died at Caoin House.”
“So many.” The white crosses disappeared down a slight hill and continued up the other side. There had to be at least three hundred.
“Women often died in childbirth and from infection, influenza, yellow jack. The agents of death were omnipresent.”
Off to the west side of the crosses was a strange marker that caught my eye. It stood alone between the family portion and the unmarked graves. “Is that a crow? What a peculiar thing to put on a grave.” The crow was so artfully executed that even though it was white marble, it looked as if it might take flight at any moment. The figure perched on a tree branch that extended from a tall white column. Grapevines climbed the column and twined around the bird’s roost. Great care had been given to the monument, though it was strange and a bit disconcerting. We crossed the manicured grass to examine it.
“It’s a raven,” Reginald said. “Ravens are often birds of death. I grew up in a boys’ home, and my best friend was a Choctaw. Raf Weaver.” He brushed the dirt away from the lettering as he talked. “Raf introduced me to the idea of spirits because he could connect with the world beyond the veil of death when he went into a trance. He quickly learned to hide his ability. A home filled with abandoned boys is nowhere to display a propensity for visiting with the dead.”
He didn’t have to go into detail. I got the picture.
“Raf said the raven was the keeper of secrets. The raven also helps reveal secret truths that shed light on dark events. He had great reverence for the bird, which could also take on other forms. It is a shape-shifter.”
“Wait a minute. There’s an inscription. ‘The death of love corrupts all living things,’” he read.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” He found a twig and brushed more dirt away. Slowly the name Caleb was revealed. One name only.
“A slave?” I asked.
“I’m not certain.” Reginald stood and stepped back, eyeing the tombstone. “He’s buried in what would be no-man’s-land. Neither slave nor family member. Maybe an indentured servant or a poor relation?”
“I’ll ask Uncle Brett what he knows.” We’d examined the raven’s base, but there was no other clue as to the occupant of the grave. “We should get back to the house.” It was closing on lunchtime, and Uncle Brett would get worried if I didn’t appear shortly.
“I need to prepare for the séance.” He offered his arm as we walked slowly back through the cemetery. There was something about the place that defied speed. It demanded solemnity and a funereal pace.
“I’m going into town to talk with Pretta. She’ll be at the candy shop,” I told him. “Would you like to go?”
“No, thanks. I’m anxious as hell about the séance and failing your uncle’s expectations. Madam wouldn’t be pleased at all were I to disappoint.”
“It will be fine.” I had my own misgivings about what we were doing, but it would do no good to infect Reginald with my doubts.
We left the cemetery behind and found that our pace increased significantly. It was almost as if the land of the dead had pulled us into a world where time marched around us, never carrying us forward. Once we were free of the tombs, we found the birdsong and our laughter as we ran toward the imposing outline of Caoin House, rising white against the background of green trees and the bright-blue summer sky.
The Book of Beloved (Pluto's Snitch 1) Page 14
