“Grace, I wanted to tell you, but I knew you wouldn’t approve.”
“Damn straight. You’re reckless, and you not only put your life in danger, but Jack’s and Danny’s as well. What am I supposed to do with you?”
“Do with me?” For some reason, that comment struck a nerve, but she took a calming breath. “Grace, I know you don’t understand, but it had to be done. There was no other way.”
Grace ran her hands through her hair. “Elizabeth, I—” Grace stopped as a pair of police officers passed by in the hall.
Elizabeth reached out and touched her arm. “Grace, I’m sorry.”
Grace pulled back and diverted her eyes, scanning the hallway for any other visitors. “Not here. I have to go.” Without allowing Elizabeth an opportunity to say another word, she turned and walked down the hall, and Elizabeth watched her until she turned the corner. Her heart sank. Although her scheme achieved what she hoped, she wasn’t so sure it was worth it.
* * *
Elizabeth rolled the bowling ball down the alley and watched it veer to the side—another gutter ball. If it was possible to obtain a negative score in bowling, Elizabeth would discover it. Danny and Raymond were in a dead heat for first place. It seemed Raymond was a natural. As Elizabeth retook her seat, Danny consoled her. “Look on the bright side, if they gave points for how many pins you could knock down in the lane next to us, you’d be winning.”
Elizabeth offered a weak smile. Her heart wasn’t in the game, it was with Grace. She had left a lengthy message on Grace’s phone that could be characterized as rambling, but there was so much going through her mind, and she wanted to get it out. Grace had yet to return the call, and she resisted the urge to call again, knowing that she needed to give her space. It was Danny’s idea for a bowling night, and Elizabeth thought it would be a good distraction. She extended the invitation to Raymond because she hadn’t been able to spend much time with him. When she picked him up and swapped out her two-seater for her mother’s car, she and her mom touched on a variety of discussion topics, including the nearly completed construction of the clinic and Elizabeth’s desperate need for a haircut, but the subject of Grace didn’t come up, for which she was grateful.
“Your turn again,” Danny called to Elizabeth, who looked at the scoreboard to see that he had bowled a split.
She pushed herself up and searched through the line of bowling balls trying to find hers. She hefted the ball in both hands and threw it down the lane, and it bounced before it veered to the side and found its way once again into the gutter.
“You bowl like a girl.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Elizabeth couldn’t hold back her smile as she turned to Grace, who was standing back, shaking her head in mock disgust.
“Let me show you how this works.” Grace picked up a ball from the ball return, and in one fluid motion, her arm moved forward and released the ball. Elizabeth watched as it sailed into the pins and knocked them all down.
“Hey, that’s not fair. You can’t bowl for Elizabeth,” Danny protested.
Grace looked at the scoreboard. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Seriously, you haven’t knocked down one pin?”
“Sure I did. It just wasn’t in my lane.” Elizabeth moved to a pair of seats that was set off from the rest, and Grace joined her. “How did you know we were here?”
“I’m a detective.” She smiled and relented. “I asked Jack.”
Elizabeth invited Jack to join, but wasn’t surprised that the long day had been enough for him.
“I got your message. I didn’t understand most of what you said, but I got the gist.” Grace leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, grasping her hands in front of her. “I was very upset when I heard what you did. You scare me with your impulsiveness.”
“I’m sorry, Grace. It was never my intention to upset you. I just didn’t know what else to do. There is something going on…there’s something that we’re supposed to figure out. Webb’s daughter wasn’t crazy.”
“I know. I listened to the recording. Where do we start?”
“There is something more to that purse,” Elizabeth said.
“We’ve both been through it. What’s left of the writing doesn’t make sense. There is no secret message hidden inside. I’ve had it poked, prodded, and x-rayed. There’s nothing there.”
“It doesn’t make sense, unless…”
“What?”
“We’ve been so focused on the purse. What about the things inside it?”
“All right, tomorrow we’ll take another look.” Grace held out her hand, and Elizabeth laced her fingers in between.
“Elizabeth, you’re up,” Danny called again. She reluctantly released Grace’s hand and approached the ball return.
“Oh, this isn’t going to be good,” Grace said as she watched her wind up.
Chapter Twenty-one
Elizabeth sat in her office with her door closed. She would have locked it if it had one. The activity in the clinic was in full force, and she had no desire to be a part of it. She was exhausted even though she slept soundly, even sleeping past her alarm clock. The case, the attack, the conversation with her mother that had yet to happen, and most of all, her erratic relationship with Grace was wearing her down. The evening before, they separated in the parking lot of the bowling alley, and Grace offered a soft chaste kiss at their parting, a complete one-eighty from where they were in the afternoon. She took a breath and pushed the thought aside. There was only one of the issues that she could address—the case, but that too proved to have its challenges.
Her original plan of meeting Grace to take a second look at the purse was foiled, at least temporarily. ADA Wilcox was not going to make it easy for her. He denied her request for a second review of the purse, claiming that he had already complied with her first request, so she was forced to file a motion with the court compelling the government to comply. It took little effort to draft and file, and she had no doubt that the judge would grant her motion. It was only a matter of the delay.
To occupy herself, she did her own research on the Knights of the Golden Circle, and Beadle’s rendition seemed accurate by many of the sources she found. The KGC was ensconced in secrecy, mainly operating in the shadows, and had some influence in Southern politics, but its degree of influence seemed to be up to debate. Its clandestine practices included a ritual of hand signals to fellow members, maps that offered more wrong clues than right, and messages written in code, as the Booth papers proved. If Beadle’s interpretation of the Booth papers was correct, the White Horse Plantation was a KGC castle, which would have made Frederick Lawton, the patriarch of the plantation, the captain of that KGC territory. None of that would seem unusual given the time period, but based on her research, the KGC dissipated after the Civil War.
The question that nagged at her was, what if it didn’t disappear? What if it was simply dormant, until someone such as Josiah Webb decided to resurrect it? This would explain Webb’s desire to save the plantation, even if it meant killing his wife to obtain it. It also explained the arsenal she found there. Beyond that, it provided insight as to what kind of activity Webb was involved in that drew the attention of the authorities. Given that the KGC was notorious for its secretive nature, the authorities probably could gain very little from the outside. However, with Webb’s daughter, they found an inroad, that was until Webb died. With his death, the authorities might have assumed that the subversive activities that he initiated died as well. That seemed reasonable given that fifty years had passed with no activity.
Elizabeth would be content to leave it at that, except for the fact that Webb’s daughter came back. She was trying to convey a message, a message that led her to a former KGC castle, and it was clearly a message that someone didn’t want her to deliver. Who was the intended recipient? It surely wasn’t meant to be Jackson. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
There was also Margar
et Williams and the Freedom Riders. What was their connection to this?
Elizabeth pulled out the photographs of the lipstick writing on the purse and spread them across her desk. Other than the words “call WHITE DEMON” and “horse plant,” of which she was reasonably certain she had extracted their meanings, the only other discernible words were “for” and “Power.” “For” was too generic to be of any use, but “Power” was a possibility. She studied the writing closely, and the two things that she noted were that the “P” on “Power” was capitalized and the end of the word was smudged. Staring at the word struck a memory, and she dug through the file for the old business card she found on her second visit to the plantation with Jack. She placed it next to the photo. Senator Robert Powers.
She steepled her hands and stared pensively over the documents. There was something that tickled the edge of her brain, and she couldn’t reach it.
“Wait a minute,” she said to the empty room and turned to her computer and began typing. She opened a few articles and scanned their content. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
* * *
Elizabeth approached Professor Dixon’s office and consulted her schedule for office hours on the board next to her door before knocking. She had already checked the professor’s office hours on her class website before she came, but she wanted to be sure.
“Come in,” the professor’s voice carried through the door.
When she entered, she found two students occupying the guest chairs opposite Professor Dixon.
“I apologize. I’ll come back.” Elizabeth began to back out.
“No need to leave, Ms. Campbell. We’re nearly finished.” The professor beckoned her with a come-hither hand gesture and a smile.
Elizabeth stepped back inside but lingered near the back of her spacious office and explored an expansive bookcase in an attempt to give the students, who seemed to be having difficulty understanding the latest writing assignment, some privacy. She skipped over the usual legal treatises on constitutional law and trailed her finger along the professor’s extensive collection of legal and historical books on the suffrage movement, with memorabilia interspersed between the volumes. There were buttons and ribbons advocating a woman’s right to vote, their blemishes from age a testament to their authenticity, and a single framed paper that contained a handbill claiming that “a woman’s vote is an irresponsible vote” and warning of the danger it posed to the sanctity of the home.
Next to the blasphemous words was a vintage cylinder-shaped music box. Atop the brass base was a carousel of white porcelain horses with four women riders. They wore ankle length dresses and fashionable hats with small brims upon their heads, and each held a sign with a slogan appropriate for the suffrage movement. Engraved into the base were twenty-eight words that were seventy years in the making. “The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.”
Surrounding the words of the Nineteenth Amendment of the Constitution was the image of a metal gate, resembling a drawbridge gate, with an arrow shaped triangle in the center, painted green, white, and purple. Elizabeth recognized the symbol as that of the suffrage movement from her women’s studies class in college. The gate represented the women imprisoned during the Civil Rights movement, and the painted triangle a symbol of the Holloway Prison in England, where the first suffragists were detained. The symbol spread to the United States, and green, white, and purple became the colors of the suffragist flag.
Elizabeth wondered what song the music box played and looked to its side and saw the windup key was missing. Just as well. Best not be tempted.
“That is my most cherished piece of the collection,” Professor Dixon said, startling Elizabeth. She turned and was surprised to find that the students were gone. “I’d turn it on, but I lost the key. It plays the ‘Suffrage March Song.’ Do you know it?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
Elizabeth stepped forward and took a vacant seat previously occupied by one of the students.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was hoping I could ask you some questions about the state Supreme Court or more specifically, the current nominee for the open seat on the court, Davis Powers.”
Elizabeth remembered the class discussion the last time she was there about the governor’s nominee and thought Professor Dixon might be able to provide some insight on the controversial figure that had walked the fringes of the white supremacist society. Through her internet search, she learned that Davis Powers’s father, State Senator Robert Powers, also appeared to share a similar view based on his voting record and public stance on several Civil Rights matters.
If Elizabeth put the pieces together correctly, then it wasn’t a coincidence that the return of Webb’s daughter coincided with the controversial appointment of Davis Powers. But what was the message she was trying to convey? It was well known that the man was divisive, and his past had been litigated in the state legislature for the last two months. However from everything Elizabeth read, it was rehashing old facts regarding a man who spent a lifetime defending segregation and supremacist ideologies, but perhaps Webb’s daughter had something different, something yet unknown, something worth killing her for.
“What would you like to know?” Professor Dixon asked, leaning back in her chair.
“If Davis Powers is not confirmed, then what impact would that have on the Defense and Rezoning Act?” Elizabeth reviewed some of the more contentious cases pending on the court’s docket, but it was DARA that garnered most of her attention. The appropriations bill on its face seemed innocuous, but upon closer review appeared more like a hodgepodge of ideas crammed into a spending bill. It combined a defense spending proposal, greatly increasing the state’s military force to a level previously unseen, with an eminent domain clause, allowing the state to seize large sections of private land to increase public highways, and also allotted for the rezoning of business districts to heavy industrial parks.
“The court is evenly split without a seventh member, so it’s likely that the ruling of the lower court would stand,” Professor Dixon explained.
Elizabeth learned that the lower appellate court declared the act unconstitutional because it passed in a special session called by the governor, who cited the need for the emergency assembly after the state was underprepared to handle a riot a few weeks earlier. Passage only required a quorum to be present for the vote, and a majority of that quorum to vote in favor of the bill. The contentious issue was whether the governor’s motive for calling a special session was altruistic or political in nature, as several senators, who were vocal challengers of the bill, were notably absent. They were members of a highly publicized convoy to an international summer conference on environmental measures, and were unable to return in time for the emergency session.
“And the lower court declared that the act was in violation of the state constitution on procedural error grounds because the bill was brought up in an emergency session,” Elizabeth said, looking for confirmation.
“Yes. Residents affected by the eminent domain and rezoning clauses brought suit against the state. One of the issues raised was whether they had adequate representation in the state legislature because the senators in their districts were not present for the vote.”
“So without Davis Powers the act would be dead basically.”
“Yes. It’s unlikely that the US Supreme Court will grant certiorari and review the case because of the Tenth Amendment. Powers not solely designated to the federal government nor specifically prohibited to the states by the US Constitution are reserved to the states, including state police powers to protect the welfare, safety, and health of the state’s citizens. Thus, the fate of DARA rests in the hands of the state Supreme Court,” Professor Dixon said in the tone she used when speaking to her students.
“Who are some of the biggest opponents of Davis Powers and DARA?”
&nbs
p; Professor Dixon looked thoughtful for a moment. “You would probably start with State Senator McDermott. He is the most vocal opponent.”
Hearing the senator’s name, Elizabeth remembered the program she heard on the radio, in which the senator was in a heated debate with Reverend Rick Peterson, the current owner of the White Horse Plantation. She found it funny that everything seemed to always tie back to the plantation in some manner.
Chapter Twenty-two
Elizabeth stood in the small room with the metal table, waiting for Grace to return. She had received the court’s ruling on her motion that morning and wasted no time reaching out to ADA Wilcox, demanding an opportunity to see the purse again. The prosecutor made no effort to hide his disdain for her and advised that the purse could be viewed precisely at noon, and she was limited to thirty minutes with it before he hung up on her. She smiled at the empty threat because she knew damn well that Grace would pay no mind to ADA Wilcox’s orders.
“What are you smiling about?” Grace asked as she reentered followed by a uniformed officer carrying a cardboard box. The officer lifted the lid and removed the purse and placed it squarely in the middle of the table.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said before he exited, closing the door behind him.
Grace opened the purse and removed the three items, and they both stood staring at them. Elizabeth moved first and picked up the mirror and opened it, and Grace followed and picked up the brush. Elizabeth again admired the carvings of the scenery on the outside before she opened it and again inspected the inside. She tried to lodge her fingernail behind the mirror to see if it would come loose to no avail. She watched as Grace inspected the brush, trying to lift the padding beneath the bristles, but it was securely connected. They traded off items, but there was nothing to be found. Grace reached for the lipstick tube. She opened it and lifted the lipstick out of the container, closely inspecting the inside. She then handed it to Elizabeth, who did the same.
Secrets of the Last Castle Page 19
