Such a nice, handsome man who blazed a trail of tragedy everywhere he went, was what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I had only suspicions against Carlton, and a photograph that told a story that would ruin the McKay family in Mobile.
Carlton’s grandfather was a slave. A black man. The lynching of John Henry Marcum told me what happened to a person of Negro descent who took the name of a white man.
“Miss Raissa, are you okay?” Mara leaned forward and touched my hand. “You’re cold as ice.”
“I’m fine.” I closed the photo album. “Thank you for all your help.” I rose and put the book back in the drawer of the hunt board. When I looked out the window, Isabelle was getting out of her car. The young man behind the wheel sped away from the curb.
“Isabelle is back. We’ll return in several hours. If we don’t . . .” Who would Mara contact if we didn’t return? “Call Miss Pretta at the candy shop and tell her I asked her to get in touch with Travis.”
Mara put a hand on my wrist. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” It was silly to lie. “If Isabelle and I aren’t back by six o’clock, call Pretta and ask her to contact Travis. He’ll know what to do.”
“What if Mr. Carlton calls looking for you?”
I had to trust that her love for Isabelle would override her fondness for Carlton. “Don’t mention that I was here. Just say Isabelle is tending to family business in McIntosh.”
“That would be a lie.”
“Yes, and one that might save our necks and Uncle Brett’s, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Grand Bay was a small community built around the road that led to Pascagoula, Mississippi. Isabelle explained the area as we drove as fast as the rutted road would allow toward Franklin Creek. A number of creeks and branches fed into Grand Bay and, ultimately, Mobile Bay.
“The men love the hunting camps, and most of the Mobile elite own large tracts of land.” Isabelle tried hard to keep the conversation moving forward. “There’s lots of game, from deer to quail, but there’s a lot more than hunting goes on at these camps. The drinking and womanizing are notorious. Even though Brett is a terrific shot, I’m glad he doesn’t participate in the sport.”
“Me, too.” I didn’t care for firearms, though I wouldn’t object to having one right now. “Thank goodness you know where Carlton’s camp is.”
“When we were younger, we would come here in the winter for parties. There wasn’t a dark cloud on the horizon in those days. Now . . .” She pressed the accelerator harder. We continued in silence until we turned down a sandy path that led into a pine thicket. The ground sloped down, gradually, and the underbrush grew more thickly on either side of the car. We descended into what felt like a tropical jungle.
The unpainted house, a dark gray, blended in with the thick foliage. Isabelle stopped fifty yards from the house and killed the engine. For a moment we sat. “What will we do if someone is holding Brett hostage?” she asked.
“You knock on the front door, and I’ll sneak around to the back. You can say Carlton asked you to check on Brett.” I gave her a weak smile. “If there’s no one there, then I’m wrong.”
“I don’t know what to hope for—that we find Brett and save him, or that this is a false lead and Carlton isn’t involved.”
I wished I could offer her the possibility that Carlton was innocent, but I knew better. Carlton was guilty of more than abducting my uncle. A lot more. Now I understood why Caoin House had been burglarized so many times. He hadn’t been after the love letters between Caleb and Eva, but had been seeking something more important, The Book of Beloved, which contained evidence that would ruin him. The photograph of Tom the slave, were it compared with his younger brother, would have told the truth about Carlton’s bloodline. The tragic events that followed Carlton led me to dark suspicions. I believed that rather than run the risk that the book might one day reappear and the secret would be freed, Carlton had killed his own brother, Craig McKay, because his resemblance to his grandfather, Tom the slave, was undeniable. The only solid piece of evidence making that link was The Book of Beloved.
“Carlton is a dangerous man. I believe he’s killed twice now, maybe more. Robert and his brother. He won’t hesitate to kill again.” Carlton would do whatever was necessary to survive. “When you go to the door, be careful, Isabelle. Don’t let on that—”
“That we’re operating on the idea my good friend is a murderer and a kidnapper?”
“I’m sorry.” And I was. More than anything I wanted Carlton to be the man he’d presented himself as.
“Be careful.” I eased out the passenger door and felt a hand on my shoulder. I almost screamed, but another hand covered my mouth and pulled me against a chest like a wall.
“Reginald! Framon!” Isabelle got out of the car and ran to hug them. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Mose let us read the note, and then he went on to give it to Travis. Is Mr. Airlie inside?” Framon asked.
“We don’t know,” I said. I told them our plan, and they agreed.
Using the dense trees for cover, I slipped toward the back door with Reginald as my shadow. Framon covered Isabelle, who would employ her theatrical skills to convince whoever was in the cabin that her reason for being there was legitimate. I muttered a prayer that we would all be safe.
I’d reached the west side of the cabin when I heard her bold knock. The door opened immediately, and a gruff, male voice called out, “What are you doing here?”
“Carlton sent me to check on Brett.”
“Oh yeah? He didn’t say anything to me.”
Isabelle laughed. “Does Carlton tell you every move he makes? How else would I know to come here? How else would I know Mr. Airlie is here? Use your noggin, man, and let me in before I have to tell Carlton you were rude to me.”
“I don’t like this.” The door creaked open wider.
“Too damn bad,” Isabelle said. “I’ll check on Brett, and then I have to meet Carlton at the docks. Now move out of my way. I can’t be late.”
I didn’t wait to hear more but pushed through the thick underbrush, ignoring the sharp thorns and limbs that tore at my skin and clothes. Reginald was right beside me, and when I looked back, he nodded once as if to say, “We can do this.” At last I positioned myself so I could watch the back door. One man guarded Brett, and I hoped he was the only man on watch. I found a thick limb, solid and light enough that I could wield it. Reginald nodded again and slipped past me to maneuver to the side of the cabin. He’d enter a window and be ready to come to Isabelle’s and my assistance while Framon would crash through the front door.
I climbed the back steps and turned the knob. The door opened, and I stepped into the kitchen.
Isabelle murmured to someone, a sound of comfort and relief. She’d found Brett.
I eased forward, sliding across the threshold into a larger room that held a table and chairs. The voices came from the room beyond. Praying I wouldn’t hit a creaky board, I continued. When I arrived at the door, I peeked around the jamb to find Isabelle kneeling beside Brett.
“Bring me water and a cloth. Now!” Isabelle snapped at the guard. “This man needs attention.” In a moment, Reginald nodded from the dark interior of a bedroom. He was inside the house, and he, too, carried a big stick.
I couldn’t tell if Brett was able to communicate or not. He was sitting up, his hands tied behind the chair. That gave me hope.
The guard grumbled, but he came toward me to fetch the things Isabelle required. I was ready for him. With the limb high above my head, I waited from him to cross into the dining area. When he did, I brought the limb down on his head with all my might.
The blow should have stunned him, but it didn’t. It only made him angry, and he turned to me with a roar. He took one step, and Reginald brought the limb down across his shoulders with great force. The man fell to his knees, and I swung again, the limb catching his head like a baseball.
He toppled to the f
loor, unconscious.
Framon and Reginald checked the rest of the cabin to be sure no one else was on the premises. I rushed to Uncle Brett’s side as Isabelle untied the rope that bound him.
“Are you hurt?” Isabelle asked, kneeling at his side. “Can you speak?”
He beckoned me into his arms and hugged me close. “Quite a swing, young lady. And I see Reginald isn’t dead, as I feared. Framon, you picked the perfect time to come home from Paris.”
Isabelle put her arms around him and began to weep. “I was afraid you were dead,” she said.
“Too mean to kill, too tough to eat,” Brett said, standing and bringing her to her feet. He swayed a moment but regained his balance and refused Framon’s hand.
Reginald used the rope to confine the unconscious guard, a man no one recognized. He’d be hog-tied until someone came to release him and take him to jail.
“Where is Carlton?” Uncle Brett asked.
“At Caoin House. He was behind all of it.” The words rushed out.
“I know,” Uncle Brett said. “There’s no time to lose.”
Though I thought it was a poor plan, Uncle Brett insisted that Isabelle and I drive him to Caoin House. Framon and Reginald would follow, leaving their vehicle at Travis’s place and sneaking into Caoin House through the south wing.
Uncle Brett was weak but perfectly able to take command of the situation. He couldn’t identify the men who’d caused the wreck, nor did he know who’d brought him to the cabin. The fact that it was Carlton’s cabin told him all he needed to know.
Isabelle drove, and Uncle Brett reclined in the backseat. Pale and shaken by the incidents of the past twenty-four hours, he listened as I told him what I’d learned and what my suspicions were. To her credit, Isabelle no longer attempted to defend Carlton. Finding Brett at his cabin was the final push for her.
“So all along, Carlton was after the book of photographs of the male prostitutes,” Uncle Brett said. “He could have asked me for it. I would have given it to him, if I’d known where it was. He should have known I wouldn’t care about bloodlines or such foolishness.”
“Carlton never trusted anyone. He couldn’t imagine life without his place in society. He’s done terrible things to preserve that place.”
“Do you believe Caoin House is cursed?” Brett asked.
“Eli Whitehead was a terrible man. He murdered his wife, Eva, Elise, and Horace. He murdered Caleb, too, I believe. The house isn’t cursed, but there are entities there who want justice.”
“Perhaps we should sell the house, Raissa. My steamships will navigate all kinds of waterways. We could even go to Central or South America. We could leave all of this tragedy behind. Isabelle, would you come with us?”
“We can settle the future of Caoin House later. What are you going to do about Carlton?” Isabelle asked.
Brett sat up. We’d passed Mobile and were not far from the turnoff to Caoin House. “I will have him arrested. He murdered Robert Aultman because he viewed him as a competitor for Raissa’s affections. He had me abducted and Reginald nearly killed.”
“Will Sheriff Thompson actually arrest him?” I couldn’t trust the lawman to do the right thing.
“He will. Carlton has friends in the power circles of Mobile, but, like it or not, I have the financial resources. If he’d married you, Raissa, and done away with me, he would have power, money, and control.”
I turned away from the conversation and watched the trees whip by the car. “What is wrong with him?” I couldn’t grasp Carlton’s actions, his ability to plan such cruel deeds. Social standing didn’t matter more than human life.
“Carlton and Eli Whitehead are much alike,” Uncle Brett said. “There is something missing in their character. Their desires justify any action. There are new techniques in the treatment of mental illness. Perhaps this will be explained.”
I didn’t want an explanation. I wanted justice, but Carlton had been as close to a son to Uncle Brett as anyone would ever get. There was no need to grind my heel into the wound of his betrayal. “What about the ghosts?” I asked.
“Reginald is still here. Perhaps now he can truly put them to rest.”
Uncle Brett was an optimist. I had to give him that. “Once Carlton is arrested, we’ll plan another séance,” I said.
The outline of Caoin House rose through the trees as I spoke. We were home.
Isabelle stopped short of the house, where we were still hidden from view by the trees. Uncle Brett and I got out of the car. Reginald and Framon followed our plan. We would meet at the house. Uncle Brett was steady on his feet, but I was still concerned. I offered my shoulder for support, but he stepped back.
“Raissa, excuse me for a moment.” He walked around the car and leaned down to kiss Isabelle long and hard.
I should have been embarrassed, but my delight far outweighed the discomfort of being a voyeur to their passion.
“I’ll have a ring tomorrow. You can either accept me as your husband or turn me down, but I won’t wait any longer to ask. Will you marry me?”
“Nothing would please me more.” Isabelle drew him to her for another kiss.
When they separated, Uncle Brett set out for the house, and I followed. We traveled on foot, hoping for the element of surprise. Carlton’s car remained parked in front of the house, but that meant nothing since I’d given the key to Travis. We had no way of knowing if Carlton was in the house or not. Our plan was to slip inside and ascertain the circumstances. If we could take Carlton before he suspected we were onto him, it might prevent bloodshed.
Uncle Brett moved toward the south entrance with the intention of arming himself and retrieving guns for Framon and Reginald. Isabelle drove on to Caoin House, pretending that she knew nothing. She would be our diversion if Carlton was in the house. I maneuvered to the west side of Caoin House, planning on gaining access through the kitchen. If Carlton saw me, I’d hurl myself into his arms and kiss him with such passion he would be occupied until Uncle Brett apprehended him. It was a dangerous plan, but we’d been unable to devise anything safer.
As I angled through the pecan orchard, I saw Caleb, tall and athletic, in his uniform. He made no attempt to come closer or to speak to me. And I had no time. Still, I took some comfort in knowing he was at my back. He knew I was trying to right a terrible wrong.
Dashing across the open space, I made it to the side of the house and ducked low beneath the kitchen windows. The stillness that held Caoin House enthralled seemed sinister. The searchers were gone. There was no evidence of anyone alive in the house.
I peeked into the empty kitchen. Another ominous sign. Winona should have been there.
Since the room was empty, I slipped into the boot room and continued to the kitchen. The stove was hot, but nothing was cooking. Danger lurked all around me.
I heard the front-door knocker. Isabelle was right on time. She knocked again. “Raissa!” She called my name. “Raissa, are you home?”
Footsteps moved to the front door. “Miss Isabelle, no one is here. You should come back tomorrow.” Winona sounded calm, but this was far from her normal behavior.
“May I come in?” Isabelle asked, even though both Brett and I had warned her not to enter the house.
“It would be best if you came back later. Mr. Brett is still missing, and everyone has gone to search for him. I’m busy in the kitchen.”
“Nonsense. I’ll give you a hand.” I clenched my fists. Isabelle was inside the house. She’d stepped straight into danger, and there was nothing Uncle Brett or I could do to protect her.
“Has anyone heard from Carlton?” Isabelle asked. She sounded completely at ease. I could only envy her acting ability.
“No. He and my son are out searching.”
“So Framon is home from Europe. I’d love to see him. I’m dry as a whistle—could I have some cold water or maybe some iced tea?”
“It would be best if you went back to Mobile, Miss Isabelle. I’ll send word if we have n
ews of Mr. Brett.”
“Where’s Raissa?” Isabelle walked toward the kitchen with bold assurance.
“She’s out. She and Travis went to search.”
So Travis was somewhere on the property still. That was good news. He would be an asset.
“I stopped by the sheriff’s office, and the deputy there said they had no leads regarding Brett’s disappearance. How is Reginald? Is he awake?”
Winona hesitated. “He’s, uh, still unconscious.”
My throat constricted. Had Carlton captured Framon and Reginald? Had he injured them? I hadn’t seen Winona’s car near the house, so I’d assumed the two were still following the plan, but something was definitely up with Winona. If Carlton had somehow gotten hold of Reginald and Framon, he would have hostages.
The back door creaked open, and I whirled to find Travis filling the door frame. He held two pistols. “I saw you sneaking in,” he said. “Carlton’s here, and he’s up to something. Your uncle has rifles and guns in his suite.”
“Uncle Brett is safe. He’s in the south wing getting the weapons.”
Travis nodded and handed me a Smith & Wesson revolver. He tucked his into the back of his trousers. “I’ll see if I can talk to Carlton. If you get a shot, take it.”
I’d never actually fired a pistol. I regretted not taking Travis up on the shooting lessons my uncle had offered. As if he read my mind, Travis said. “Pull the hammer back; hold it with both hands. It’ll kick, so hold it out.” He demonstrated. “Be sure you hit him.”
“I can’t kill someone.” It simply wasn’t something I could do.
“Then shoot his leg. Just don’t miss.”
He didn’t give me time to disagree. He moved out of the kitchen and toward the main part of the house. “Miss Isabelle, it’s good to see you, but I regret the circumstances.”
Peeking around the doorjamb into the foyer, I could almost feel the waves of fear and frustration that rose off Winona.
“Invite Isabelle into the library.” At the sound of Carlton’s voice, everyone froze. Thank goodness Isabelle snapped out of it.
The Book of Beloved (Pluto's Snitch 1) Page 29
