by M Murphy
“All right, let’s go.” Hannah stood and approached me. “I’ve got enough pictures. I’ll start uploading them to my Cloud file and view them on the tablet when we get back. That way I can compare them with the other sites.”
“Why don’t we head over to that school you pegged as another location? We’ve got some momentum and you seem to be spot on with your theory.”
“I’m turning you into a believer.” Hannah said with a smile. “We can’t go waltzing onto the grounds of a private girls’
school. When we get back to dry land, I’ll make a call and see if we can’t obtain permission to do our snooping.”
The two of us slowly took the unsteady walk back to the edge of the office building and then climbed down on the rock wall for our awkward crossing back to the square. I moved first
and Hannah followed right behind me. Her smaller hands and feet seemed to make the sideways climb a little easier for her. About halfway across, with the river water nipping at my feet, I heard an echoed pop and suddenly rock sprayed from in between the two of us.
“What the hell was that?” Hannah yelled out.
I paused, afraid to move but also thinking about simply pushing myself off and back into the water.
“Gun shot.” I said quickly. “Move.”
I was expecting the kill shot to follow, and we were easy targets clinging awkwardly to the rocks. I was reaching and pulling my body sideways as fast as I could when the second shot hit to my left, taking away the rocks that would have been my next grab point. Frozen to the wall, I waited again. That second shot was close, but if someone wanted to hit us, it should have been easy. These were warning shots. I turned my head slowly towards the river. The water taxi was now halfway across the river, but no one on board would have noticed a shooter anyways. Turning my head as far as it could to the left, I ran out of room before I could see where the shots had come from. I changed directions and looked across my right shoulder. About a thousand feet out was a small center consel with a solo outboard and a stack of crab traps in the back. One man stood at the wheel and another knelt at the bow with a rifle resting on the rail. The man at the rail caught me looking from his scope and gave a wave. The gun was lowered back into the boat and he sat up signaling to his counterpart. With
a struggled roar, the outboard surged the boat forward and off towards the shallows of Shutes’ Folly.
With the roar of the engine moving away from us, I began to work my way towards the shore again. Hannah, a little shaken, began to follow without a word. Within minutes, I was back on the concrete at the edge of the square helping Hannah up with my left hand.
“Warning shots.” I said.
“Yeah, but from whom?”
“Probably from Makem’s boys.”
“Or the Civil War enthusiast that broke into your place.” Hannah said.
“No, these were Makem’s people, or at least relations of those he works for.”
“How do you figure?”
“The stranger, Elliott Tidwell I think he called himself, is a loner. There is no great organization or partner with him. I’ve seen his kind before when I was still at the Bureau. Makem, on the other hand, has always worked for, and obviously still does, people with money. These people hire out so they don’t get their hands dirty.”
“Makes sense. So, what now?”
“You call that school and get us permission to snoop.” I said.
“After that?” Hannah said, unsure of my choice. “I was just shot at…a drink sounds more reasonable.”
“Especially now, they believe that we’ve been warned off for today. Chances are we won’t be followed to the school. First work and then I’ll get you that drink.”
Chapter 54
Hannah made of few phone calls. First to the head of her department at the College of Charleston and then to someone at Ashley Hall. The apparent ruse was that a notable Columbia professor wanted to tour the historic McBee House for research. We were given a three o’clock appointment and were greeted at the main gate by a young blonde woman. She introduced herself as Grace, a senior at the school, and wore a uniform typical of private institutions. Grace was a lanky girl, almost as tall as I was, and seemingly a bit awkward. I guessed she didn’t have a lot of attention from the opposite sex yet, but she seemed smart, quick, and maybe opportunistic.
“Dr. Welsh.” Grace said to Hannah. “When the office said you wanted a tour of McBee House I volunteered right away.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, with a smirk.
“Excuse my associate, Grace. This is Mr. Francis and we are doing some research together.”
“Nice to meet you Mr. Francis. To answer your question, I wanted to meet Dr. Welsh. I’ve read some of her work and am heading to Columbia next year.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.” I said.
“You sound a little like me.” Hannah said, with a soft smile for the young lady. “Now, why don’t you give me the grand tour and explain every little tidbit you can about McBee House for me.”
We began to walk from the main gate across the campus, passing a few students and a small building made of shells.
Grace caught me looking at the structure. “That’s the Shell House, but you could’ve probably guessed that. It was built as an aviary. Charlestonians were once really into exotic birds…a sign of their wealth, I’m told. It’s been a classroom, but now seniors use it as an escape from the underclassmen.”
Moving along the paved path we began to come upon a stately manor. Two stories of brick painted white and a high basement allowed the mansion to tower over the open space below. A portico, supported by four massive columns, topped a large glass arch on the basement level. Within the central portico, on the second floor, was a large balcony decorated with black wrought iron.”
“McBee House.” Grace said.
“Impressive.” I said, stopping and getting a better look.
The young woman began her well prepared tour moving us closer to the structure. “The McBee House, named after our founder Mary Vardine McBee, was built around 1816 for Patrick Duncan and it is assumed that the architect was the notable William Jay. The next owner, James Nicholson, purchased the house and surrounding grounds in 1829 and the home was named for him until it was changed to the McBee House. Other notable owners were James R. Pringle a South Carolina politician, and George A. Trenholm Secretary of Treasury for the Confederate States of America.”
I gave Hannah a smile as we move into the home from a door on the basement level below the portico. It opened into a room, bright from the sun that came through the wall of glass behind us. In its modern form it was a waiting area with chairs, magazines, a drinking fountain, and an older woman at plugging away on an aged computer.
“Hi Mrs. Lambert.” Grace said walking up to the desk. “May I have two visitor passes? I’ve giving a tour.”
Mrs. Lambert smiled to her and pulled to clip-on passes from a drawer. Hannah and I soon had them clipped to our chest and we moved to the interior of the mansion with Grace.
Grace began her rehearsed tour again. “We are in what is called the basement level of the house. It is now used for administrative offices, counselors, and student aides.”
“Can we look into any of these rooms?” I asked, as we walked down a central hallway.
“I’m sorry but I’m not authorized to enter with tours. The top two floors are open though, and you should be able to get a good look around.”
“Grace, what can you tell us about the basement? Any good historical facts or even rumors?” Hannah asked.
“There’s really not much said about it. Most of the attention is always paid on the main floors. From what I’ve been told the basement was used for storage and servant quarters before the kitchen was moved down here after the War Between the States.”
“Storage? Like food, wine, and stuff like that?” I asked.
“No, mostly for furniture. Most Antebellum families would have a rotation of furniture for th
e seasons. Food would be stored in the kitchen house, and wine was stored in a private room off of the study. I believe it was put in so the men could move into the study after dinner and drink without anyone keeping track of how much they had.” Grace giggled a little at the thought.
We began to walk up the stairs to the main floor.
“Who put the private room in the study?” Hannah asked.
“I’m not sure. The house had many owners and they all added little unique touches over the years. Mrs. McBee had run the school here for forty years before it was discovered.”
“Really, that’s interesting.” Hannah said, glancing at me.
Chapter 55
The main floor was impressive, but I was beginning to be watered down by the opulence of old Charleston homes. A hall ran down the middle split by a large stairway that curved up to the second floor. The floor was a beautifully polished hardwood, and walls painted a light blue and lined with oil paintings in gilded frames traveled twelve feet into the air. Light shone in from windows placed at both the front and back of the hall symmetrical to each other, and I had to guess duplicated on the second floor because of the natural light coming down the staircase. There were four doors in the hall residing in each of the mansion’s four corners.
“The rooms,” Grace began, “are now used for social functions. The school is a non-profit and holds fundraisers and ceremonies for the students here.” She opened the first door on our left. “This room is the grand ballroom and extends the full length of the house. There is another entrance on the far end. During Gala Season, guests would be greeted at the front of the home and enter through the opposite door. The doorway we came through would be used by the servants to bring in food and drinks from the kitchen house out back.”
The room was long and illuminated once again by natural light from large windows at either end. Within the windows were carved natural seating areas that I had seen before in ballrooms,
and knew that under these benches were storage for table settings and other necessary items. The floor here was also perfectly polished hardwood, but the walls were done in an elaborate paper, speckled with sophisticated designs of pink and white. Thick molding in white towered above us and around the windows and two chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A fireplace adorned the middle of the outside wall along the length of the house.
The front room on the opposite side of the hall had been a parlor or sitting area, and the room to the rear of that was now a modern kitchen. Grace informed us that it once was the family’s dining room. We marched upstairs to find three former bedrooms now used as offices, which we had been allowed to poke our heads in because the occupants were apparently on a field trip with the freshman class.
The final room on the second floor, in the front of the house and overlooking the quad below, was the original study. Mrs. McBee had apparently used it as her headmaster’s office so now it remained empty out of respect. Wood floors were covered with oriental carpets and oak bookshelves lined the walls. A desk, large enough to stop a rhino, sat at the far end, and was plainly decorated with writing equipment and a lamp. There was no sign of modern necessities, no phone or computer, and the lamp looked like it had seen better days.
Hannah gazed around at the bookshelves as Grace continued to talk. I walked behind the desk, examined its view of the room and then turned to look out the window behind it. Sun glistened on the trees but barely made it through to the grass because of dense coverage of the old oak, magnolia and crepe myrtles. I could see an older black man in blue overalls trimming hedges in the garden.
“Grace” Hannah turned from the bookshelf and interrupted the girl mid-sentence. “You mentioned a private room where wine was stored?”
“Yes.” She said. “The wall between here and the interior wall is thicker than everywhere else in the house. It’s hard to tell by the illusion created by the bookshelves. But I can show you.”
Grace closed the door to the room and showed us how thick it was from where the door shut to where the edge of the bookshelves began.
“Mrs. McBee never noticed because she apparently always had the door open.” Grace reopened the door and then moved towards the end of the bookshelves by the desk. She reached for a leather brown book and pulled it out. Behind was a latch that pulled a door open. “John Calhoun’s Disquisition on Government. William Piper, who followed Mrs. McBee, thought it was odd that a one-hundred-page treatise would be in a leather bound book two inches thick. That’s how the room was discovered. In fact, the cover is fake and the actual text inside is a collection of treatises by John Locke.”
“That’s very interesting.” Stated Hannah.
The lanky Grace opened the door and stepped back so we could look inside. The opening was barely large enough for one person and inside the space opened only slightly more to gain access to the floor to ceiling wine racks. There was a small ladder attached to the wall opposite the entranceway in order to reach bottles at the top of the rack.
“Like everything else in the study the wine room was left as it was found when Mrs. McBee retired. I assume that means it is still how it was when the last owner of the house used it, since Mrs. McBee didn’t know it existed.” Grace was standing back with
a smile at what she felt had been a successful tour.
I looked in the semi-dark space but couldn’t see anything that would lead me to believe a KGC clue was hidden here. Hannah stepped in next and immediately climbed up the ladder a
few steps. Grace tried to stop her, but Hannah didn’t listen to the student. I couldn’t see what Hannah was doing as half her body was now blocked from my view. There was some rustling around, as Grace continued to ask her to get down. A moment late I saw Hannah reach into her back pocket and remove her cell phone. Flashes began to illuminate the tiny wine closet sporadically for about a minute before Hannah climbed back down.
“What were you taking pictures of?” Grace asked.
“There were some really rare bottles up there I wanted to document.” Hannah responded quickly. “Thanks for the tour Grace, but I think Mr. Francis and I have seen enough.”
Hannah began to head for the door and I followed. Grace tried to get us to wait as she shut the door to the wine closet and returned the book to its spot on the shelf. We were halfway down the stairs before the girl caught up.
“Wait.” Graced called out sternly. We both stopped surprised that she had it in her. “I need to escort you both off the grounds. We are not allowed to have visitors unattended.”
Hannah and I allowed the girl to take the lead and show us out. We said quick goodbyes, and Grace said she looked forward to seeing Hannah at Columbia in the fall.
“Did you find it?” I asked, leaving the school behind and turning the corner onto Rutledge Avenue.
“Sure did.”
“How? I didn’t see a thing while I was in there.”
“You wouldn’t have, because up close didn’t give you the view needed. Standing back I noticed a hooked x carved into one of the middle rungs on the ladder. That’s why when you let me in
there I knew I had to climb. Above the door, on the inside of the wine closet hung a cross, and on that cross were all the familiar KGC markings.” Hannah said.
“What now?”
“I still need that drink. I don’t know if you remember, but we were shot at today.”
“We’ll get you that drink then. Probably could use one myself.”
We walked back down Rutledge toward Calhoun heading towards King Street and Hannah’s place. Her all-important tablet was there and she wanted it before we did anything else. As we walked I began to get that feeling again. The one I felt when Tommy Makem was following me. I turned to look a few times but saw nothing. Maybe it was my nerves getting to me. Having been shot at would put just about anyone on edge, but the feeling was too strong to ignore. I would have to keep a closer eye on my surroundings from here on out.
Chapter 56
Across the street from Hann
ah’s place was a small Asian bar called CO. We sat, order some steam buns and dumplings, and a bottle of unoaked chardonnay. The moment the bartender poured the wine Hannah had the glass to her lips. She set the glass down, took a deep breath with her eyes closed, and then pulled out her tablet.
“Before you get started, maybe we should re-think things.” I said.
“If you think someone shooting at us is going to put me off you’re wrong. Honestly, if someone is that afraid of us then it makes me want to know what they’re hiding even more.”
“I agree, but I figured it was my duty to ask before we dug ourselves any deeper.”
Letting Hannah work, I sat silently for twenty minutes sipping my wine and watching Champions League on the flat screen behind the bar. The woman worked furiously with her fingers, pausing only slightly to take a sip of wine or the bite out of a dumpling. I could see her expanding images, highlighting areas, and then referencing them to previous photos and files she had already saved.
