The Book of Beloved (Pluto's Snitch 1)

by Carolyn Haines

  We went first to his club, a private men’s club whose members were lawyers, bankers, judges, timber barons, railroad men—those who controlled the money. Women were allowed only on the arm of a member, and only in the bar and dining room. It was an elegant three-story building of dark paneling and masculine antiques. The club lounge and dining area was on the second floor. I could easily imagine what went on in the upper floors.

  A few young women were there, and not wives or daughters. They were beautiful and elegantly dressed in the drop-waisted flapper style that revealed plenty of cleavage and leg. Their heavily kohled eyes gave them an exotic look. I’d never, to my knowledge, been in a room with mistresses.

  “Are you amused?” Carlton asked.

  “Maybe.” I wasn’t certain. I’d learned the McKay law firm had served the prominent families of Mobile for decades. He was the secret keeper of high society. I knew about his business but very little about the man. I decided to resort to direct questions. “Do you have a mistress?”

  “No.” His expression indicated amusement as he tipped the waiter who brought our drinks.

  “Why not? It would surely be easier than a girlfriend, and if you aren’t inclined to marry, it’s the perfect solution.” I wasn’t a sophisticate, but I also wasn’t a rube.

  “Who says I’m not inclined to marry?”

  I sipped my drink and thought. “I’m certain you can have the pick of women in Mobile, yet you haven’t taken a wife. I assumed you preferred bachelorhood.”

  “I want a wife and family. I just haven’t found the right woman. I wouldn’t want to marry unless I was in love. I see that future with you.”

  “You hardly know me.” Talk of love was flattering, but I’d been in Mobile only a short time. “With all the things that have happened, I don’t know who I am any longer. And I don’t know what I feel, about anything or anyone. I’m not certain I want to stay in Mobile. Tonight has . . . changed things.”

  “I know more of you than you realize,” he said. “I’ve heard about you for years from Brett. He’s very proud of you, in case you aren’t aware. I’ve heard all about how you survived the loss of your husband and parents and took up teaching. How strong you are. How you refuse to let life get the better of you. I’ve heard all about you, Raissa. But it’s been spending time with you these past few weeks that’s convinced me I feel more for you than warm regards.” He held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. Just think about it. Think seriously.”

  “Carlton, I like you. I admire you, but I can’t say more than that now, and I need to be certain of what I truly feel. I would never want to play you false.”

  “Will you consider my affections for you?”

  “I will.”

  “And that is enough.” He picked up my hand and kissed the palm. “And I fully expect you to become a famous writer.” He squeezed my fingers. “I want that for you. I want to support you in your career. I find it exciting to watch you grow into your own person, an independent woman.”

  He couldn’t have wooed me with better words.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The rush of the wind off the Mobile River was cooler than the still air trapped between the buildings of downtown Mobile. It also bore the aroma of fruits and spices, different cultures. The city had grown quiet, and police officers walked the beat, batons in hand, a reminder that order would be restored or punishment would be swift.

  After leaving the club, Carlton and I walked south. He was killing time, making sure that Brett and Reginald were safely home and waiting before he delivered me. Carlton studiously avoided the area around Bienville Square as he escorted me along the gaslit sidewalks. The street had emptied of most cars, and the loud voices in Bienville Square had been quelled. Now the night was soft and gentle.

  “We could head home,” I suggested. My feet were dragging, and I feared I would fall asleep in the car. Tumultuous emotions, from fear to rage to sorrow, made me feel hollow and sluggish. I longed for the comfort of my room.

  “Another little bit,” Carlton said.

  I appreciated that he didn’t want me to be alone at Caoin House, so I didn’t argue. I focused on walking with some degree of decorum.

  “Will you tell me the truth about what happened at the séance?” he asked as we walked beside the railroad tracks. Up ahead, the train station blazed with light, even though it appeared empty.

  “There’s nothing to tell. Reginald connected with some entities, and he believes he’s released them to find peace.” I had to be careful. Carlton was smart, and he already sniffed a bit of subterfuge about Reginald.

  “When is Reginald returning to New Orleans?”

  “I don’t know. I enjoy his company, so I will be sad to see him depart. Uncle is very generous with the car to allow me to drive whenever I wish, but it’s nice to have a friend close at hand.”

  “Especially one who shares your interest in ghosts.” Carlton patted my hand that rested on his arm.

  Up ahead, a crew unloaded a cargo ship. I wondered if it was fruit from Central America or something more pedestrian. We slowed our pace as we watched the men moving the cargo boxes. They worked with precision and rhythm.

  “Most people never think how produce arrives at their table,” Carlton said. “A lot of people have lost that connection between where an egg or banana or bowl of peas actually comes from and the number of hands necessary to get it onto the dinner table.”

  He was right about that. The war had seen a sweeping change in America as more and more people left farms to move to cities and work in factories. Although I’d had a small garden in Savannah, I’d grown mostly herbs and tomatoes and peppers. Everything else I purchased at the grocer, never really thinking how far a potato might have traveled to reach me.

  “You have an interesting way of thinking.” I enjoyed the strange turns our conversation took. I stifled a yawn, and Carlton instantly swung me around to walk back to the place he’d parked his car. “Time to head home. I’m sure Brett is at Caoin House waiting for you. If he’d needed me, he’d have sent a runner to find me. He knew where we were.”

  “Carlton, can you find out if the sheriff has arrested anyone for John Henry’s murder?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “They won’t arrest anyone, Raissa. Your uncle and I will fight to have someone charged, but the truth is, nothing will happen. There’s tacit agreement among the people who control things that this needed to happen. An example has been set. No other Negro will dare try to attach himself to a society family.”

  “And for wanting what was rightfully his, he will die and no one will avenge him?”

  He swung me around to face him. “That’s how it works, Raissa. I’m sorry. It isn’t just or fair. Promise me you won’t involve yourself in this. I know Isabelle warned you. Rash actions will impact Brett as well as you. These are hateful people, and they won’t hold back just because you’re a female.”

  I didn’t want to argue. I was tired, and Carlton wasn’t the enemy. He didn’t agree with how things went, but he couldn’t single-handedly change a country’s behavior. “I am tired. I don’t know that I’ll come back to town for a long while. There’s really no need. I have everything I require at Caoin House.”

  “Except me.”

  “You have an open invitation to visit at Caoin House whenever you can.”

  “Then I will visit you. Frequently.” We’d arrived at the car, and he opened the door and seated me. He stopped at his law office, promising he’d only be a minute. He wanted to check to be sure no messages had been left there for him. I chose to wait in the car. I was almost dozing when a young man ran up the steps to the office and pounded on the door. He was frantic.

  Carlton came outside, and for a long, tense moment he spoke with the young man, who gestured wildly, pointing north. A terrible feeling dropped over me. Dread. Something else awful had happened. There’d been another incident, more violence.

  The young man hurried a
way, his shadow growing shorter and shorter as he neared a street lamp, and then growing long again. Carlton got in the car and drove without saying a word. The clock on the Bank of Mobile showed 11:45 when we passed. For once I was too afraid to ask questions. Carlton’s expression was grim, but finally I had to know.

  “What’s wrong? Something terrible has happened. What?”

  He pulled the car over and stopped, then grasped my hands. “There’s been an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” I couldn’t see that anything was amiss downtown. The streets were truly empty. “Is it Pretta?” I wondered if the Pauls would be targeted for hiring John Henry. “Are they okay?”

  His grip on my hands tightened, and the call of a mockingbird came from one of the few remaining downtown trees. Most had been cut to make way for the power lines.

  “It’s Brett and Reginald.”

  The bird cried again.

  “What happened?” The lights on the street seemed to flare into brightness.

  “There was a wreck. Brett’s car went off the road. They’ve taken Reginald to Caoin House, and the doctor is on his way.”

  “And Uncle Brett?”

  When he didn’t speak, I couldn’t stop the sob that broke from me. “Tell me, dammit. What about my uncle?”

  “Brett has disappeared.” Carlton wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. “They’ve searched all along the road. There’s no sign of him.”

  “That’s impossible. He has to be there.”

  “They’re still searching with torches and lights. I’ll take you there now.”

  I motioned frantically. “Hurry!” My uncle might be missing, but he hadn’t disappeared. He couldn’t just vanish. He had to be near the accident. “How far from Caoin House?”

  “About a mile. They were almost home. It seems they hit a patch of sand in the road, and it grabbed the car’s front wheels and flipped it.”

  “Flipped it?” I could visualize the wreckage. “Uncle Brett was a very good driver. He knew the sand patches. He wouldn’t have been going fast enough to flip a car.”

  Carlton turned north toward Caoin House and pressed the gas. “I don’t know.”

  “Who found them?”

  “The groundskeeper.”

  “Travis? Why was he awake and on the main road?”

  “Someone had attempted to break into Caoin House, and Travis was on the way to get the sheriff.” Carlton focused on the road, his hands gripping the wheel, white-knuckled.

  “Who was trying to break in?”

  “Travis didn’t catch them, but he said two men. Many things need an explanation.”

  “How badly is Reginald hurt?”

  “He was unconscious. He has a head injury.”

  I refused to cry. Crying did no good, and it weakened my resolve to fight.

  “We’ll find Brett. He has to be in the vicinity.” Carlton hesitated. “Unless someone came by and picked him up.”

  “Why would they take Uncle Brett and leave Reginald?”

  “I don’t know, Raissa. There’s evil loose tonight. The hanging of that unfortunate young man, and now this.”

  “Has the sheriff been called?”

  “I sent the messenger to the sheriff’s office and asked that officers be sent to help with the search.”

  Thank God for Carlton’s level head and his affection for my uncle. Another question occurred to me. “Who sent the messenger to your office?” If both Uncle Brett and Reginald were unable to speak . . . it made sense to notify Carlton because he would best know what to do. But who had been at Caoin House to think to notify the lawyer?

  “Travis called for a doctor and asked the hospital to send a messenger to find me. There was great concern you were in the car with the men and had also disappeared.”

  And would I be gone, had I been in the car?

  I thought of Eli, standing among the palmettos in the Tensaw delta. He was not confined to Caoin House, as I’d first assumed. The ghosts of Caoin House were powerful. This I was learning with each passing day.

  My uncle was a careful driver. For him to flip his car, something had to have startled him. Made him swerve. And now he was gone. Without a trace.

  “Raissa!” Carlton called my name sharply.

  “Yes, sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Thank goodness. I was afraid you’d slipped into a trance or something.”

  I took a few deep breaths and turned in the seat to face him. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Uncle Brett would never have left Reginald unconscious in the road. So I can only assume that someone took my uncle. Someone who may have caused the wreck.”

  “Why would anyone deliberately wreck your uncle?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  “Do you have any suspects?” Carlton asked.

  I did, but I wasn’t going to tell him about them. He would think I’d lost my mind if I said I suspected Eli and Eva. “Who are my uncle’s enemies?”

  Carlton hit a straightaway on the narrow road. We drove in a tunnel of darkness, able to see only as far as the car’s headlamps revealed. It would be easy for someone to plunge out of the darkness and cause an accident.

  “Raissa, your uncle has been outspoken about certain social matters. I can only think that he must have aggravated someone at Bienville Square when he went there. I’ll find out more tomorrow, but I suspect Brett insisted that the body be cut down and taken to the Negro mortuary. That would upset those who meant to make a spectacle of the hanging.”

  “Upset them enough to ambush him, possibly kill him, or kidnap him? What kind of people are these?”

  When he answered, Carlton’s voice was harsh. “These are people who would kill a woman for sleeping with a Negro or someone who isn’t white. They would kill a child of such a couple. There is growing unrest, Raissa. These men are threatened. Women are demanding the vote and equality. Negroes are demanding fair treatment. These white men feel their manhood is challenged, and that is dangerous. They can and do lash out.”

  A million angry retorts spun in my head, but none should have been aimed at Carlton. He was the messenger, not the message. He wasn’t the one hanging young men or causing wrecks. If the wreck were deliberately caused. I’d jumped to a conclusion, and now my thoughts were running away from me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. Carlton’s hand grasped mine and held it until he needed to shift gears when we saw the lights of the sheriff’s cars on the side of the road. We’d made it to the wreck site.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The sheriff and four deputies searched the area around the wrecked car with flashlights and drawn guns. There was no sign of Uncle Brett. I rushed to the car, which lay on its side in a patch of deep sand. Thick woods encroached on either side of the road, and the black night made it difficult to see. The beam of a flashlight illuminated blood covering the steering wheel and front seat. Whether it belonged to Uncle Brett or Reginald, I couldn’t say.

  Insects buzzed and stung as I made my way around the car, hoping to find something that would lead to Uncle Brett’s recovery. Mosquitoes and yellow flies were the bane of the summer, and a swarm soon hummed around my head and bare legs, stinging any piece of exposed flesh. I tried to ignore them as I searched the ground for clues, but I couldn’t help but worry that my only living relative lay injured somewhere, a feast for bloodsucking pests.

  Sheriff Thompson made no attempt to speak with me—rather, he acted as if I were not even there—but he pulled Carlton aside. Brett was my uncle, but because I was a woman, I was excluded from hearing the details of my uncle’s strange disappearance. Anger propelled me forward into the middle of the conversation. I introduced myself, though the sheriff knew exactly who I was

  “Is there any sign of my uncle?” I spoke pleasantly but with firmness. Carlton attempted to catch my eye, but I refused to look at him.

  “Miss Raissa, it’s best to let the men handle this. Mr. McKay can speak with you when we have more information
.” The sheriff puffed up like an adder. “It’s best you go home. That psychic fellow needs your attention.”

  Thank goodness he couldn’t see the color that mounted in my cheeks. I was dismissed like a child, and Reginald was reduced to “that psychic fellow.” I wasn’t so easily brushed aside. Somewhere along the path of life, I’d found my backbone. “Were there any indications someone stopped to help my uncle? Perhaps he’s been taken to the hospital.”

  “Miss, I don’t have anything to tell you. My men are searching the area. The best thing you can do is go home.”

  “How many men do you have investigating the hanging of John Henry Marcum? My uncle may have been abducted by the same people who killed that young man.” I couldn’t stop myself, and this time Carlton physically intervened. He put an arm around my shoulders, turned me away, and propelled me to his car.

  “You can’t do that,” he whispered fiercely in my ear. “For Brett’s sake, you must control yourself.” He opened the door and assisted me into the passenger seat. “Stay in the car. I’ll find out what I can.”

  “If I were a man, I could find out for myself.”

  “But you aren’t, and I thank God for that.” He slammed the door. He was back in ten minutes, and we drove into the black night toward Caoin House.

  “Does he have any clues? Did he say anything?”

  “You can’t challenge authority that way, Raissa. It won’t help your uncle’s case. It only makes the sheriff and his men angry. And trust me—we want them on our side in this.”

  “Why? Sheriff Thompson couldn’t investigate himself out of a blind alley.”

  Carlton sighed. “Sheriff is an elected position. The man who wears the badge is . . . approved by those who run the town. Be wary. This is deep water, and you’d better be able to swim if you rush to jump off the bank.”

  “I believe Brett must be alive. No one would steal a corpse.” He had to be alive. And the accident wasn’t an accident. Someone had caused my uncle to flip his car. Two possible reasons came to mind—either he had angered someone about John Henry Marcum and this was payback, or someone had taken him because he was valuable to them. “We’ll likely get a ransom request.”