by Karine Green
Kathy nodded. "Do you happen to know if there any old reports on the runaways being murdered, you know, some official reports, not ghost stories?"
"I am sure there are some on file at the library, or in the police archives. My brother is Chief of Police here, so I could introduce you to him. I am sure he could help you find what you are looking for," he said smiling. He knew it would be all too easy to get her to meet Jason. He was certain that he would like Ms. Marconi, a lot. So far, her mannerisms reminded him very much of his brother. "See that house with the gray roof?" He pointed, and Kathy nodded, "My wife and I looked at that house when it was up for sale a couple of years ago, but it smelled like a homicide inside, so I wouldn't buy it."
"Really?" She knew the smell well, that salty, iron rich, smell, that was signature of copious amounts of blood everywhere.
She looked out the window at the house he was pointing to and something red flashed in the distance. It looked like a blanket was hanging on a line in the backyard. Her curiosity was piqued. She would have to find a way to go and visit them, just to see if she could smell it. She stopped herself, that would be creepy and weird! She was retired, and she need to be retired, and let it go.
"Hey, you were a homicide detective; maybe you could come and check it out?"
Being the workaholic Kathy was, she jumped on the chance. "Oh yes! I would be honored." Okay, so, not so creepy and weird.
"Excellent," he said, smiling. "Well ma'am, I'll let you get back to work."
"Oh, call me Kathy, please, and I am sorry about the alarm." As she looked at him, she thought back to her first years on the job. She wondered if she ever looked that young, because Mike looked like he could still be in high school, let alone out of the academy.
Kathy stifled a sigh and thought about her age and situation. I am getting old, despite the fact that everyone insists 37 isn't old. She saw Mike to the door, and then headed back upstairs.
She took notes with the rest of her time at the house, making a sketch of the floor plan, before retiring to her motel room. She ordered a dumpster, started looking for house painters, and then spent the rest of the afternoon devoted to getting her new kitchen on a functional time line for installation.
The ghost stories drifted further into the back of her mind, while the idea of actually moving into a completely renovated home was becoming more viable in her imagination.
Both of her parents would love to visit here, especially in the winter. She could hardly wait to get her life back on track. It was time to stop crying, and move forward.
****
The next morning Kathy was extraordinarily lucky, and found her idea of the perfect kitchen. To add to her good fortune, a local company, recommended by Mike, had an opening to install it, and they agreed to do the drywall. If the drywall installation went as expected, the kitchen should be functional enough for her to move-in in about two weeks. It was extraordinary luck! Of course, the huge bonus she had offered may have helped too.
Mike had said she would almost have to use this contractor because he was from the next town over, and he thought the locals would shy away. A crew from out of town wouldn't be as terrified of the place as others who had grown up in the shadow of the Caine Plantation. The only upsetting part was that Mike was right! She had tried to get bids from two in-town companies, who had been happy to help, until they found out the job was at the Caine Plantation. Then suddenly they were booked, and must have looked at the date wrong. She sighed; so much for getting three bids. Regardless, the contractor, who was willing to bid at all, was very reasonably priced and had a mile long list of happy customers, along with the blessing of local law enforcement.
As for the cabinets, she couldn't have found a better deal. Thank heavens, for displays being ripped out at home improvement centers. As Luck would have it, the store would deliver them this afternoon. They wanted them off of the sales floor ASAP so the new display could go up. It was over a 75% savings.
It was almost like the house, the town, and the whole area, was going out of its way to make her feel welcome. She had felt so unwelcome at home, and the change in circumstances was appreciated.
It had been a little less than a year since the incident that led to Randy's dismissal from the department. She had been stunned at how people she had known for more than a decade had treated her once they found out the extent of what happened. At home she had been given the cold shoulder to the point that she just wanted to quit, but here things were bright and new: Literally a breath of fresh air. For the first time since the event, she finally felt like things were going her way.
For a late breakfast she sat alone in the diner with papers and books strewn out all over the table. It held any books and research on the Caine Plantation the librarian would let her check out, or photocopy from the microfiche machine. She had pulled only historical documents, since she simply did not believe in ghosts, or the stories that surrounded them. To her a ghost was the murder victim of an unsolved murder. She and her fellow detectives had called them ghosts because the files seemed to haunt the homicide office, distracting and disturbing the detectives while the files constantly reminded them that someone was getting away with murder. Eventually they were classified as cold cases.
She had worked through, and solved, many of the cold cases that had been on her desk when she had been assigned to Homicide. When she retired, only three had remained on her desk. Hopefully, whoever was promoted into her position would bring some new ideas, and be able to bring the family of the 'ghost file' some peace. She pushed the cold cases from her mind. She didn't like the thought that someone could, and had in the past, got away with murder. Luckily cold cases weren't the norm, and most of the time the suspect was caught right away. In fact, on at least two occasions the murderers had called in themselves to say the victim deserved it, which made it easy for the police to find them.
She stifled a smirk, now that is someone who is pissed off at you; blow your brains out, and then called to say you had your comeuppance. The idea of being that angry with someone was alien to her.
She looked at an old news photo of the Caine plantation. It was from the early 1900's. Even at ninety years old, the house still looked good, but it was showing its age. The trees were trimmed, and all the doorways to both of the upper and lower porches were open. The photograph captured a woman who was standing in the upper window, far back into the shadows. There was a faint outline of the belle-style gown she was wearing. It was obscured into the shadows like the edges of it faded away. The headline read Is 'Dark Lady Still Caring for the Caine Home?' The article followed an attempt by a Caine family member to sell the house, but the buyers had been 'run off' by a screaming black fog. Later it was classified as swamp gas.
Mike had been at the diner briefly, until he was sent out on a burglary report. He told her a bit about the little girl who lives in the house that he had pointed out yesterday. It seemed that she called the police all the time to report there was a lady who hides in her closet, crying. Thankfully, the girl only visited her father every other weekend. He told her he could 'pert near' set his watch by the girl's bedtime. He was really glad, he and his wife had decided against buying the house. He couldn't imagine how much his two sons and daughter would have been scared.
"Something ain't right 'bout that place," he had said, before heading out to his call. "I mean, something ain't right 'bout the entire property that used to be the Caine Plantation, as a whole, not just what remains of it."
The waitress brought her plate out. She smiled as she looked at the contents. At first she had turned her nose up at the grits on her plate. It was a given, every single dish for both breakfast and lunch, especially if you ate before noon, came with grits. Once she was brave enough to try them, she found that she really liked them.
Additionally, there was something called a crawdad that was also on the menu. She hadn't been brave enough to try them yet. They reminded her of little lobsters, and she already knew she hated lobst
er.
On Mike's recommendation, she had ordered the sweet tea. It was by far the most heavenly tea she had ever tasted. There was no way she could ever go back to her favorite restaurant back home and have sweet tea again; it would never measure up. What had Mike said about it; "No mo' Yankee tea."
She had steered clear of the bamboo shoot looking stuff on her plate, until the waitress had shown her how to eat it. It was raw sugar cane, and it too was heavenly! The waitress also told her she could stick the whole slice of sugar cane into her tea, or coffee. Kathy ordered an un-sweet tea to try it, and it was even more delicious.
She did caution Kathy against pulling up the cane from the field, and eating it at the plantation. "Cook knows how to prepare it, and don't eat that part", she said pointing. "At least not until you familiarize yourself with how to fix it. Trust me, it can be gross, and if you make juice with it, it goes bad really fast, so drink it right away."
Kathy smiled and nodded. She would have to master this sugar cane thing!
She pulled out some copies of official papers, and flipped through them to find a small stack of title transfer documents. She was surprised to learn that someone in the Caine family had owned the home until the mid-eighties. They had lived in the house in virtual poverty, until the last known Caine descendant passed away. Arthur Caine had no children, and had resorted to subdividing the fields into a massive subdivision to earn money.
When Arthur died, it had become a lawyer's office for about three years, until all the partners mysteriously died within a year of each other. One fell down the stairs, the small staircase from the kitchen to the attic. Their secretary said he had been screaming about a bleeding little boy who threatened to whip him bloody. One was run over by a golf cart when he returned from a green he had constructed at the back of the property. The remaining one had a heart attack, after babbling to a 911 operator about a red quilt.
The final surviving partner's wife further subdivided the plantation's land to its current size. She then donated the remainder, including the house, to a local women's shelter. However when they began updating the kitchen to a commercial kitchen the construction crews couldn't get past installing the kitchen. They kept complaining...Something about a purple quilt and they worried about mysterious food that seemed to show up at noon. Once they heard the legend of Marissa Caine being poisoned by a kitchen slave with food. They refused to return, because they were convinced Dark Lady was after them with that food that was appearing. Nothing had been done to the property since then.
"Well that explains the state of the kitchen," Kathy said to herself. Next she pulled out an obituary.
She was disappointed that she couldn't follow up with the lawyer's wife, because she died four years ago in a nursing home. The wife had never claimed anything supernatural about the plantation, but then, she had not lived there. It had been used as an office by her husband.
She used her tablet to try to find more recent news articles on the plantation, but there was nothing beyond teenagers scaring each other, and paranormal investigators running around with their equipment embarrassing themselves.
She found a YouTube video of two boys. She was sure this was the one Mike had mentioned at their first meeting. From what she could tell they looked to be about fourteen. They were walking through the house, cussing, swearing, and kicking at the heaps of wallpaper. The video was shaky, as they made their way up the narrow kitchen stairs to the attic.
"We're here at the old Caine Plantation, were the crazed Dark Lady still haunts her Master's home. It is said, that she killed her Mistress by poisoning her food, and that she is even murderous in her death. Those men, who used the house as an office, all died...on the property...under mysterious circumstances. One dude was even run over by a ghost in a golf cart," a pimply face, strawberry-blond boy said, sounding more and more frightened as he spoke.
"Dude, you're scared," the voice of whoever was holding the camera giggled a bit.
"No, I am not, shut up! I am building drama," the other said quickly, putting his hands on his hips. "Great! Now we'll have to edit that!"
Kathy smirked, the kid was terrified. He was talking faster, with a higher pitch in his voice, and his eyes were as wide as any terrified crime victim she had ever talked to.
The boys continued up to the top of the stairs. "Pan the whole attic, use the low light mode," dude said, spreading his arms out.
"Dude, micromanage much!" the operator complained. He jerkily panned the room, catching his own left hand in the frame giving Dude the bird.
Kathy had to pull the screen back a bit to follow it, "Mr. Camera Operator, you aren't going to work for 'Discovery Channel' anytime soon." His constant shaking and panning at near light speed was making her want to shut it off.
There was nothing in the attic. It was no different than when Kathy was up there with Mike, but the sound in the boys' voices was that of primal fear.
"Hey, Dude...What's that?" An arm pointed to the place where Mike had indicated he had seen Ethan, but there was nothing on the video by the window. It was just an empty space, by the last dormer window.
Dude turned toward the area. His mouth flew open, "Holy Shit! I mean, hey little guy what are you doing here?"
"Dude! What is it! His eyes are bleeding! He isn't on the camera's screen!" The camera operator was backing away. The camera jerked, while dude checked the viewing screen on the back.
"What..." Dude's voice trailed off. "Tell the homicide detective that the quilt is red." He pointed at the camera operator. "What does that..." Dude didn't get a chance to finish the question before his eyes widened. He let out a blood curdling, primal scream, and then nearly killed himself trying to get down the stairs, and out of the house.
Kathy stared at the screen! "No," she whispered, watching the video several more times. What homicide detective? It couldn't be her! This video was over sixteen years old, even if it was uploaded recently. It was taken just before she was hired onto the force, and a heck of a long time before she was promoted to detective. "What did the quilt is read mean?"
She would have to find Mike, and check out any homicides in the area with a red quilt; sixteen years ago. She remembered something; wasn’t that the house Mike pointed out. Didn’t it have a red quilt hanging outside?
Kathy flipped through the comments for the video, and found one that was continuously re-posted, by the person who had submitted the video, Mtlaw2002.
Mtlaw2002 posted: 'Just stop it! Leave me alone.' The last time it was updated was two weeks ago.
The other comments were more of a cyber-bullying nature, questioning the poster's sanity. Mtlaw2002's comment could be a response to the cyber-bullies. One thing was for sure, these 'dudes' were obviously witnesses to a murder, and were using this video as an excuse to get the information out. Not only that, but more than a decade later, they were still being stalked by someone. She did an Internet search for murder and red quilt. Nothing came back, except the YouTube video she had just watched.
She texted herself a message to check with the police about it later. Perhaps it was an old cold case?
Next, she searched ghosts and Caine Plantation. Many more videos came back. Some were a mimic of the boys' original video. The only difference was the dialog. One group of boys wanted to see what Mtlaw2002 and Dude saw. All ran from the house screaming about a bleeding little boy. Another group chickened out before making it to the top of the stairs. Some were parodies of the boys' panicking. This included a group of burly, well-built young men dressed as girls, who used the exact same dialog as the Mtlaw2002 video, except with high, fake, squeaky voices.
She put her tablet away and turned her attention to one of the many copies of different random micro-film articles that she had decided to collect from the time period.
There was an article in the headlines about the British, and some national politics that was surely leading toward what was to become The War of 1812. The plantation had been untouched by the war, and was pos
itioned well to help rebuild the community. As a result there were many puff-pieces on the Caine's, and their neighbors, the Blanc's. There were other plantations around, but none as wealthy and influential as the Caine-Blanc alliance.
She almost snorted, as she wondered if any of them tried to force their daughters to marry into each other's family to strengthen the alliance. Some medieval ideas just won't die down.
Kathy thought for a moment before pulling out her tablet, again searching The War 1812. She wondered if the war had migrated this far west in the South? Instantly she had the answer, it had apparently reached New Orleans, so yes this far west, but not to this area, which is a bit northeast of New Orleans.
She smiled; someone was an excellent master of public relations back in the day. Because, if the battle lines on her tablet were true, the war was never a threat to this area. Indeed the plantation had been untouched, because the entire area was untouched. Nothing needed rebuilding, but the Caine's got credit for rebuilding it anyway.
The Civil War was a whole different animal though. That was fifty years later, and by then the plantation's heydays were already waning. Apparently, there was a difference between working the public relations angle and actually balancing the management of the sugar cane business. It would appear that the next generation of Caine's who took over weren't as well suited at running the plantation as the elder Caine.
She pulled out another article from August 1855. The headline announced that the monthly town picnics, held by the little river that ran through downtown, would be ending for the season in late October. However Rainier Riverboat would continue the dinner cruise until Thanksgiving. But, that wasn't what got Kathy's attention. It was the little blurb at the bottom of the last page.
