“I was thinking the same thing. Why else would she give out a phone number that no longer exists? What I can’t figure out is what she wanted us to know about that place.”
“Who lives there now?”
She explained what she knew about Josiah Webb and the multiple tax liens on the property. “Before Webb died, he transferred the property to some religious organization, but it seems pretty much abandoned, but it’s his death that doesn’t add up.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reports of Webb’s death indicate that he died on the plantation in a horseback riding accident, but a caretaker that oversees the property said that Webb hated horses and that he didn’t keep any horses on the property.”
“Maybe we should talk to this caretaker and find out who else lived on this property.”
“We?”
* * *
“Slow down. There is a utility road coming up on the right,” Jack said, holding a map while balancing the old investigation report on his lap.
“I don’t see anything,” Elizabeth said as she slowed her car.
“You passed it.”
“Where?” She put her car in reverse.
“Stop! Right there,” he said, pointing to a small opening between a collection of overgrown bushes.
She turned into the gap and took it slow as her car bounced on a rugged dirt road, and she tried not to flinch when branches scraped against the side of her Roadster. A few yards in, the space opened, offering a wider road to navigate.
“It was just up ahead here, somewhere on the right. That’s where she was found.” He motioned his head toward a ditch that ran parallel to the road.
She stopped the car and looked around, but there was little to see. Only bushes and trees that flanked the side of the road. “You said earlier that it was some teenagers who found the body.”
“Yes, they were probably looking for a quiet place, if you know what I mean.” He raised his gray scraggly eyebrows in rapid succession for emphasis.
“How do we know this woman was here? Do we know if this woman was really attacked? None of the witnesses were interviewed.”
“When I came out here during the investigation, I found dried blood on the leaves on the ground. A good amount of it. Something happened.” Jack strained his neck to look outside the car as if he was still expecting the blood to be there. “There was something else.” His voice trailed off.
“What?”
“I almost forgot. I found a locket on a gold chain.” He rubbed his chin. “It had a picture of a young man, an African-American man.”
“You think it belonged to her?”
“I found it in the leaves with the blood, so I assumed so.”
“So, where did the locket go? It’s not in the report.”
“I gave it to Stalworth to log into evidence,” Jack answered. She wondered what else never made it into evidence.
Elizabeth drove on, hoping to find where the road led and soon found the answer, as it came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the White Horse Plantation. She recognized it because she could see in the distance the broken-down barn that Samuel had warned her to stay clear of.
“Let’s go see if we can find the caretaker,” Jack said as he opened the door, not waiting for a reply or for her to put the car in park for that matter. He began to walk through a narrow path, and Elizabeth caught up after locking her car, which made her chuckle. What were the odds of someone finding her car and breaking in?
When she reached him, Jack was stopped in front of a small opening off to the side of the trail that was surrounded by crudely constructed wooden posts that attempted to function as a fence, but most of the pieces were missing. The few that remained standing appeared to barely be doing that.
“It looks like an old cemetery,” she said as she moved closer for a better look. Her real clue was the solitary wooden cross that served as a grave marker with a collection of rocks piled at its base. What she assumed were remnants of other crosses were now splinters of wood scattered over the area. The packed dirt was hard and cracked from the lack of care or concern.
“Probably an old slave cemetery.”
There was a stillness that surrounded it, as though even the critters that inhabited the area were paying their respects. Part of her wanted to enter for closer inspection, but she didn’t want to disturb the sacred space and instead offered a silent prayer for the poor souls, hoping they found greater joy in their next life. She moved on toward the main property and Jack followed.
When she approached the barn, Jack called out, “Hold up.” He was panting when he reached her, and she felt guilty. She hadn’t taken him into consideration when she set her pace.
“Sorry about that.” She gestured toward the barn. “Samuel said it’s unstable.” She laughed. “Get it?”
Jack stared at her with a confused look.
“The barn is un-stable. It’s a pun.”
“What?”
“Stable, barn…oh, never mind.”
Jack moved past her, clearly ready to let it go. She directed him to the former slave quarters and called out Samuel’s name, which went unanswered.
“This place is a cross between fascinating and eerie,” Jack said, and he looked toward the main house. “You went inside there?” He didn’t wait for her to answer and walked to it.
She called out Samuel’s name a few more times as they approached the house and scanned the property looking for him. Jack tried the door handle, but it didn’t open. “Looks like it’s locked.”
Elizabeth walked up the steps and tried the handle. “I think it sticks.” She squeezed the latch and handle and pushed, and it gave way. The inside of the house looked undisturbed from her last visit, and she didn’t want to drag Jack all the way around the first floor because she sensed that he was tiring out but was too proud to say anything. Instead, she wanted to save his energy for the stairs and the walk back to the car.
She took the stairs slowly and waited at the top for Jack. He was puffing, and she searched for a chair for him, but he refused. She skipped the maze of rooms and took the main hallway that wrapped around the top floor to the office with the secret room. “Careful,” she said as she walked over the broken frame on the floor, while the glass crunched beneath her shoes. He paid little attention to it and seated himself in one of the wingback chairs as she walked around the room. The room still carried the same oppressive feeling, even in the daylight.
The secret door was no longer open, and she assumed Grace came back and closed it. She ran her hand along the wall where the door should have been and pushed with no success. “How does this thing open?” She began fiddling with parts of the mantel near the wall, convinced that there was a secret lever that would open the door.
After several minutes, she plopped down into the chair next to Jack and sighed. Between them stood a small table with a lamp and black rotary telephone, and she began to run her hands underneath the edges of the table.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking for a button that will open the door.”
“I see.”
“Don’t look at me that way. There is a door right there. I just need to figure out how to open it.”
“What do you and the barn have in common?”
“I am not unstable. There is a door right there.” She actually thought his joke was funny, but wasn’t going to admit it. She opened a set of doors below the tabletop and found a concealed vintage tape recorder. She dropped to her knees for a better view. It had only one silver reel and no tape. Interesting. She lifted the phone off the table to search underneath and found a business card. She had to pry it up with her fingernails, as it had solidified to the table.
“What’s that?”
“It’s an old business card for State Senator Robert Powers.” The back of the card was stained brown from its long-term contact with the table, but the handwritten lettering “EJF 3/17” was still legible. She was about to ask Jack’s t
ake on the card when she noticed him starting to nod off and realized that he had overextended himself, or she had overextended him. “How about we head back?”
In answer to her question, Jack began lifting himself off the chair. She helped him stand, and they walked arm-in-arm at a leisurely pace through the hall and down the stairs. She pulled the front door tightly closed and looked across the property where they would need to walk to get to her car. She realized that it would be too much for Jack.
“You know what, why don’t you wait right here, and I’ll go run back to the car and pick you up in the driveway.”
Jack didn’t protest and began to lower himself to sit on the front step, and she helped guide him down.
Elizabeth began heading back in the direction from which they came. When she reached the small cemetery, she nearly ran into Samuel, who stepped out onto the path. “You scared me. I didn’t think you were here.”
“I was wondering whose car that was.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I came by.”
“You are always welcome,” he said with a warm smile. “I enjoy the company. I spend too much time talking to myself ’round here.”
She watched as Samuel straightened some of the wooden posts that surrounded the cemetery.
“Samuel, when we last met, you told me that the walls hold many secrets. Did you know what I’d find?”
He continued his task without looking at her. “All these ol’ places hold secrets. Too many lives lost not to,” he said while kicking the dead foliage around the post he had just erected, forming a small pile, as though he was trying to keep it a respectable distance from those at final rest. She guessed it was his way of paying his final respects to those who unwillingly gave their lives to the land and were now a part of it.
“But what about the pages I found in the wall?” she asked.
“I couldn’t rightly tell you. I don’t really go inside there much. I prefer it out here.”
Samuel’s responses seemed to be more riddles than answers. “But—”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to be heading home. Olivia’s expecting me,” Samuel said, looking up at the last of the sun that struggled to remain and cutting off any further exploration of the issue.
“Wait, just one more thing. How many children did Josiah Webb have?”
Samuel scratched his head. “Two—a boy and a girl. I really must get going now.”
“But wait.” She held out her hand, as if to hold him in place. “His daughter, where is she now?”
“That is a very good question. You be careful, now.” He tipped his hat and turned away, unwilling to be kept from his preordained schedule. She watched him disappear through the path that led to her car.
A cracking sound behind her caused her to turn sharply. As the sound of footsteps grew louder, so did the sound of panting.
“Jack, what are you doing? I told you I’d come get you.”
“You were taking too long, and I just needed to catch my breath.”
He was a stubborn one.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked.
“You just missed Samuel.”
He only offered a “humph” in response as he passed her and continued toward her car. She began to follow when she stumbled over a small post protruding from the ground that had been exposed by Samuel’s raking.
Jack returned to her. “You all right there?”
“I’m fine. I just kicked a broken post that—” She looked at the protrusion, which would have seemed innocuous if it was made of wood like the other posts, but it was metal. She kicked at the remaining leaves and dirt that obscured it. “This isn’t a post. It’s a handle.” She knelt down, the cool earth seeping into her knees, and began wiping at the dirt. When the silky dirt surface turned hard, she swept more frantically, until she touched metal ridges. A hatch made of the same rust colored corrugated iron sheets used to patch the slave quarters was exposed. She stood and pulled on the metal handle that tripped her up. The door was heavier than expected, and she released her hold once she had it halfway open, allowing gravity to take it the rest of the way, and leaves and debris fluttered when it slammed to the ground.
She dropped back to her knees and peered over the side of the cement hole. She guessed it was twenty feet deep. A braided rope two inches in diameter was tied to the door and hung down, caressing one side of the concrete wall. Several knots trailed down the length of the rope to assist in climbing.
Jack bent over for a better view. “Looks like a box.”
“A box?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s where the slaves were kept in punishment. It was unbearably hot in the summer and just as unbearably cold in the winter.”
A fury swelled within her and she snatched the rope.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going down.”
“Hold on there. This isn’t safe. You don’t know if that rope will hold.”
His protests were futile because she was already on her way down before he finished his sentence. Using the knots as a foothold, she slowly descended into the concrete pit. Her tight grip on the coarse rope burned her hands, but she refused to loosen her hold out of fear of falling. When her next step down met ground, she released the rope and blew on her palms to lessen the stinging sensation. The air was moist and musty and carried a stench of decaying leaves. The concrete floor was covered in several inches of soft mud mixed with the dead foliage that she assumed seeped through the covering with the rainwater.
“What do you see?” Jack called down, and she looked up at the light and saw him peering down.
She turned in a circle, and it reminded her of a crude concrete crypt. It was nothing more than a gray box, just as Jack described it. She stretched her arms out to her sides, and it was wide enough in both directions so that she couldn’t touch both walls at the same time. She assumed this was strategic, so that its inhabitants couldn’t scale the walls and climb out. Without the assistance of the rope, there was no escaping the box.
She ran her hand over the cool concrete and felt several ridges in the wall. She looked closer and found several more on all sides. They were human claw marks, scratches deeply embedded by those desperately detained. She traced the marks with her fingers, and a chill started at her fingertips and radiated through her. She shuddered and pulled her hand back as though it was burned. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but her throat locked and a wave of panic ripped through her. She had to escape. Spots formed in her eyes as the walls closed in. She looked up for the light and it seemed to narrow, and she could no longer find Jack. She frantically grabbed around for the rope, but couldn’t find it.
“Jack! Jack!” She thrashed her arms about the space in another desperate attempt to find the rope.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked up again and his face came into view. “Where’s the rope?”
“It’s right here.” He wiggled the rope side to side, and she saw its serpentine movement and stepped forward and urgently grasped at it. Her foot caught on something buried in the mud and she bent to free herself and pulled at a cloth item that wrapped itself around her shoe. She was about to throw the material back to the ground when she felt an irrational sense of sympathy for it being trapped at the bottom of the box, and she shoved as much of it that would fit in her front pocket and began to climb. Her muscles burned as she lifted one hand over the other hefting herself up. The footholds helped keep her from sliding back down, but it was pure arm strength and sheer will that was going to get her out of the concrete crypt. She didn’t look down and continued pulling her weight up, until she reached the end of the rope. She felt hands grab at her, and Jack was on his knees doing what he could to tug her out. She grasped at the metal door, hoisted herself up, and rolled out onto the ground. She lay motionless on her back staring at the darkening sky.
Jack hovered over her. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, unable to find her voice. She needed a few
moments to gather herself, and he seemed to recognize that and sat back giving her the space she needed. Her skin was on full alert and covered in goose bumps and she shivered.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said as she stood and lifted the metal hatch and let it slam closed, sealing the box once again, before she started toward the car.
“A little help here?” Jack called behind her.
She turned and saw him still on his knees, struggling to push himself up.
“I’m so sorry.” She moved to him and grabbed him under the arms and helped pull. Her muscles shook at the exertion, and she was afraid she might drop him. When he finally got his feet under him and stood, she stepped back and her knees wobbled. She offered him her arm and guided him back to the car, but she wasn’t sure who was in better shape, and it felt as though the car was parked on the other side of the state.
When they finally sat in the soft leather seats, she paid no mind to the dirt that they both tracked into the car. At that point, it seemed trivial. She pulled the seat belt across her chest, desperate to get to the main road and out of the suffocating canopy of trees that blocked the sky and served as a reminder of where she just was. When she tried to fasten the belt, the material that dangled out of her pocket blocked her way, and she pulled it out.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“Found it on the bottom of the box.”
She opened it up and turned it around. It was a woman’s sweater. Its true color was no longer discernible, as it was encrusted with years’ worth of mud.
“How do you suppose that got down there?” he asked.
She shuddered at the thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth held up the slightly damp sweater for a closer inspection. She had left it spread out on the kitchen counter overnight to dry, and she could now at least tell its original color, a light pink. Pinned to the left side of the sweater was a white plastic name tag displaying the name MARGARET in all capital letters. Although the sweater offered little to tell of its original owner, the contents of the pocket were more revealing. There was a folded, soggy paper that was now a dry, brown, crispy paper with a few holes at the creases and smeared black ink, but there was enough left behind to reveal its true nature. It was a flyer for a rally in support of the Freedom Riders.
Secrets of the Last Castle Page 14
