Carolina Heat

by Barth, Christi

  “Excellent point, although not at all uplifting.” Annabelle began to pace, albeit gingerly to keep the heels of her sandals from getting stuck in the grass. “Whatever you call it, we have no idea where to go from here. If we research every single person connected to the Confederacy, we could still be standing here in five years and not be any closer to an answer.”

  “Why don’t I tell you the reason I came down here?”

  “Hmm, you have been rather secretive.”

  Jonathan intercepted her pacing, and planted his tongue in his cheek. “I wouldn’t call it secretive. I’d call it justifiably distracted by the remnants of my sister’s wild sex marathon with a man she’s only known for a week.”

  Just because it was true didn’t mean Annabelle would let the comment blow by without any defense. “Low blow. I don’t pass judgment on the endless string of brainless bimbettes who parade through your apartment on a nightly basis.”

  “Not passing judgment, Belle. Merely trying to look out for you.”

  “I’m older, remember? I look after you, not the other way around. And I’ve managed to take very good care of myself for quite a few years now.”

  “Oh, so excuse the hell out of me for loving my only sister!”

  Mark stepped between the bickering siblings. “Before any blood is shed, I’d like to bring us back to two important points.”

  “Haven’t you done enough, Dering? Stay out of this.” Jonathan put his hand up in a warning gesture.

  “What—you’re going to exchange blows in a graveyard? Have a little respect for the dead. I’ll wait over there until you declare a victor.” Annabelle sat down on a marble bench situated along the path. It afforded a lovely view of the James River, full of boulders and rapids, and close enough she could still watch the scene being played out without either man knowing it. Beautiful and serene, the cemetery was a perfect reflection of how deeply the dead were honored here. It brought the entire puzzle more into focus for her.

  “Look, Jonathan, whatever issues you have with the scene you walked in on this morning are going to have to wait.” Mark shoved his hand through the thick curls on his head in what she now recognized as a habitual gesture of impatience. “When this is over, we’ll go have some beers—I’ll even buy. Talk through everything over a nice buzz. Best way to solve problems concerning women. But someone shot at us yesterday. Damn it, we don’t have the liberty of holding a grudge for a few days. This thing is at flash point already.”

  “I know, I know. Why do you think I flew down here? Annabelle’s been in some questionable situations before, but this has Big Bad written all over it.”

  “I agree. So can we table this whole how-dare-you-touch-my-sister discussion?”

  Jonathan scratched his jaw, clearly uncomfortable. “Maybe she hasn’t had time to fill you in on the whole back story. Belle’s had her share of boyfriends, although lately she’s been so busy flying around the world we now consider two dates to be a long-term relationship. But she doesn’t screw around indiscriminately. Going to bed with a guy’s always taken way more than three dates, if you get my drift.”

  “Yeah, I think I can follow along.”

  This was probably the most surreal conversation Annabelle had ever witnessed. Her little brother had been paying closer attention to her than she knew. While weird, it felt like a giant hug to know that he cared so much.

  Jonathan looked out over the river. “Hell, I barely know you. Definitely can’t make any judgment calls about you. This isn’t about you. This is about my sister being so obviously nuts about you she tossed caution to the wind. Bottom line, I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “You’re going to have to take my word that the last thing I want to do is hurt her. What I do want to do is make her deliriously happy. We have a few obstacles in our way, but I’m going to figure out a way around them.”

  Oh. Another one of Mark’s over-the-top romantic exclamations. This time it didn’t make her itchy, or nervous, or put her on edge. It made her excited for the future. Or the chance at a future. She hadn’t felt that with a man in a long time.

  Jonathan gave a begrudging nod. “Okay—a truce for now. But we aren’t finished with this conversation by a long shot.”

  “I understand. And the offer of some tall cold ones still stands. I’m going to be hanging around, so we might as well get to know each other.” Mark walked over and sat next to Annabelle.

  She didn’t want to let him know just how well their words had carried back to her from the edge of the bluff. So Annabelle looked up at him guilelessly. “Did you boys clear everything out of your systems? And yes, I do mean boys.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “We’re good to go.”

  “What are these two important points you wanted to make?” Jonathan asked as he joined them.

  “Right. I was about to lend a positive spin to your fork in the road theory. The first point is a reminder we still have Ashby checking on Bellamy for us to see if his schedule would’ve allowed him to personally conduct any of these moments of violence.”

  “Pretty poetic way to describe a murderer,” Jonathan muttered.

  “Well, I’m a Southerner, and that means I can turn an elegant phrase with the best of them. Also, despite the fact the five of us are certain Tad and Vanessa were murdered, at this point we have no proof of anything besides the person who followed Annabelle and whoever took shots at us. Moments of violence, definitely, but only an alleged murderer.”

  Deep in her gut, Annabelle knew it was murder. But she also knew better than to let instinct override the facts until they were all lined up and crossed off. “Fine. I see your point, even if you do sound like you’re already building a case for his defense. What’s your second point?”

  “We still have the places listed on Tad Thornton’s itinerary. Sure, they could be another dead-end, but I say we at least go and see what’s what.”

  Annabelle rummaged in her purse for her notebook. “It shouldn’t take too long; there were only a few stops up here. I think there was a museum, of course.” She flipped through several pages to find her notation. “Here we go: the Museum of the Confederacy and the Library of Virginia.”

  Jonathan put his hands up in a time-out signal. “Before you run off at a thousand miles an hour, I’d still like to mention why I dragged myself all the way down here.”

  “For God’s sake, you act as if we made you fly to Tahiti, instead of a two hour commuter flight. Mark and I probably spent longer traveling than you did.” She tickled him in the ribs to make her point felt.

  “You know I don’t like to leave Manhattan. It is, after all, the perfect city.”

  “Please—you don’t even like to leave your apartment,” she teased.

  Mark’s eyebrows drew together. “I’ve read about people like you. Are you agoraphobic? You don’t seem particularly anxious being outside right now.”

  “Wow, for a researcher you sure do jump to conclusions.” Jonathan shook his head in amazement, while Annabelle unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle.

  “My brother’s not phobic; he’s a freak. He doesn’t like to leave his living room. He has six computers in a semicircle around him running at all times, along with a stereo and two televisions. Jonathan is the most ‘plugged in’ person you’ll ever meet. I’m quite surprised being out here with just a single laptop isn’t giving him hives of anxiety.”

  “Techno-geek and proud of it, thank you,” he corrected. “After all, everybody has to be good at something, right?”

  “You certainly dress the part.” Mark ran his eyes over the Led Zeppelin T-shirt under a vintage black bowling shirt, bulky black cargo pants and Converse high-tops. “No wonder you’re cranky. You have on enough clothes to stay warm in a snowstorm. Richmond...summer...you didn’t bring a pair of shorts?”

  Their behavior was ridiculous. Two boys jostling for position on the playground. “What is it with you two? Every third sentence devolves into a squab
ble. We don’t have time for this, and I certainly don’t have the patience for it.” Annabelle stood up, and pushed her brother back several steps to create some breathing room. “Now, tell me what got you so worked up you were compelled to come down here?”

  “The genealogy chart was easy.” He waved his hand at the papers they’d left piled on a gravestone. “I was finished almost as soon as you hung up the phone.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes at her brother’s blatant exaggeration. “Yes, I promise we’ll worship your skills later. Get to the good stuff.”

  “It’s the book you wanted me to find. Didn’t take long to find the title from your description: Sons of the Confederate Nation; A Legacy of Sacrifice. The book itself is more of a mystery. I called Harvey and had him start a search.”

  “Who’s Harvey?” Mark asked.

  “One of my oldest friends, who happens to be an antique book dealer. His family’s been in the business for five generations. Their shop’s the best in the world.”

  Delight washed over Mark’s face. “Do you mean Geistlinger’s? I use them all the time. Their store is a magical place. I can lose myself for hours in there.”

  Jonathan bobbed his head. “Good, that means you know their reputation. If it was humanly possible to get a copy of that book, Harvey’d be the one to do it. But someone beat us to him.”

  “Come on—even the Gutenberg Bible has five or six copies still lying around. Are you saying there’s only one of these books in the entire country?”

  “Well, to give the Gutenberg Bible its props, it has a far wider audience than a specialty book on Confederate soldiers. But yes, there was no more than a single copy available on the open market. And someone purchased it from Harvey about two weeks ago.”

  Annabelle shook her head slowly from side to side. “No, no, no. I refuse to accept this is a coincidence. Every year I spend in this business convinces me there are no coincidences, only clues that need to be deciphered.”

  “We already knew it was a clue. The fact it’s missing doesn’t lead us anywhere different.” Mark shifted to face Jonathan. “I assume if you knew who purchased it, you would’ve led with that particular piece of information?”

  “Hell, if I knew who bought it, I wouldn’t have left my fair island city. Harvey remembered the transaction because the book’s fairly rare, and it was the last known copy in ‘circulation’, so to speak.”

  Annabelle jumped up from the bench. “Aha! The fork in the road. My investigative intuition is in high gear. I know you have something more, so spill it right now.”

  “Timing is everything, dear sister, and you have no respect for mine.” Jonathan looked up in time to see the grim scowl deepen on his sister’s face, and he quickly continued. “Harvey responded to an email query. After he received a money order, the book was shipped to a box at one of those giant shipping stores in Charleston. I tried hacking the IP address, but only managed to track it to an Internet café here in Richmond. Anyone can log on for an hour and not leave much of a record.”

  Annabelle was recharged. This was good. New possibilities, new doors to open. Anything was better than a dead end. “That gives us a few more places to dig. Jonathan, clearly you have to be the one to check out the Internet café, but I can go try to shake down the mail box store. Mark, if you’ll start at the Museum of the Confederacy, I can meet you there in a little while.” Annabelle grabbed their hands and tugged, ready to return to their cars.

  “Whoa, sis. A good plan and all that, but again I’ve got to take issue with your horrible sense of timing. See, I haven’t gotten to the best part of the story.” Jonathan reached down and picked up the genealogical charts. “Here, I made copies for each of you. You should take them along on the off chance we find a way to tie this back to Jefferson Davis after all.”

  Mark stuffed his copy into the cargo pocket of his shorts. “Let’s walk and talk before your sister yanks my arm off.” But he said it with a fond smile and a tender caress of her hand.

  “Harvey’s book was indeed the last one for sale on the open market. However, he’s aware of a few more which exist in private collections. The literary world is surprisingly small. Incestuous, really, so he keeps staggeringly complex records of who owns what. They say everything’s available for the right price. Harvey finds it profitable to keep tabs on as many pieces as possible, even those technically off the market.”

  “I swear to God, Jonathan, if you drag this out one more minute, I’ll buy an industrial grade magnet and aim it at each of your computers.” Annabelle shoved at her hair, frustrated as much by the sweltering heat as by her brother. Didn’t he realize it was time to get back on the trail? This was why she preferred to work alone.

  “In just the past year every remaining copy has been purchased. Unfortunately, most went to anonymous buyers. If we have to, we can try and backtrack to find out where they went. However, I do know the current location of two of them. One, as you’re already aware, is in the private library of Mr. Prescott. The other happens to reside in the private library of the Daughters of Charleston.” Jonathan rocked back on his heels in glee at the expressions of surprise mirrored on Mark and Annabelle’s faces.

  “You mean we drove all the way up here to find a book that was under my nose yesterday morning? I knew I needed to take a closer look at the library. If it wasn’t for Jillian’s detestable mother, this could be over already.” Annabelle’s voice rose steadily. Luckily, they were almost to the parking lot by then.

  “Darlin’, I know you’re upset and rightly so, but we Southerners take our mourning very seriously. You’re going to have to try and keep your voice down.” Mark gestured toward a funeral in progress.

  Her response was swift and fierce. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt.”

  “So far, you appear to be the only one with a target sign permanently tattooed on their back. You’re out of Charleston, and have two very devoted men standing guard. No one else is going to get hurt.” Mark stroked her hair, and as the strands slipped through his fingers she was soothed. She leaned her head into his hand and exhaled slowly.

  “We’re so close. I feel it, Mark.”

  “Which means we put in the legwork and get it done. If the book in Prescott’s library disappeared, there is a fifty/fifty chance the one belonging to the Daughters of the Charleston has gone missing as well. There’s no point rushing back to Charleston until we cover all our bases here in Richmond.”

  Jonathan watched his sister respond to Mark as they walked away, both in words and action. Her entire body curved toward him, and it was evident she took comfort in his touch. They were interacting as true partners, and it was something he had never before seen his Annabelle do. Whatever lingering animosity he held toward Mark disappeared at that moment. As unlikely as it seemed, this man obviously was good for her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I really can’t wait for your manager to return from lunch. It should only take you a few minutes to access the form.” Annabelle had been cajoling the clerk at the shipping store for a good ten minutes. Between checking out two customers and collating a copier order, the young man behind the counter was overwhelmed, and Annabelle’s incessant questioning pushed him to the limit. The gangly teenager was clearly terrified of his supervisor and had so far refused to even discuss the topic with her. Annabelle knew it was time for drastic measures. She glanced around the store. As luck would have it, the only other customer had just left.

  “I know I told you I was trying to find my missing friend, but it wasn’t entirely the truth.” She dug out her wallet. “I didn’t want to say too much with customers in the store, but now we’re alone... well, I’m going to have to trust you.”

  He leaned over the counter, and she knew his curiosity had won out over fear of reprisals. “Sounds serious.”

  “I’m with the Department of Homeland Security—the Office of Legislative and Intergovernmental Affairs.” Annabelle opened her wallet to display an ID card with her picture o
n one side and the DHS logo on the other. She watched the clerk’s eyes widen, and knew he’d looked at it long enough to register it was the real thing.

  In February she’d done a piece comparing the heightened security at New York’s airports versus the train stations. Her boss had wrangled her a temporary DHS pass to show the TSA in the event she was detained while snooping around. The pass didn’t afford her access to everywhere, but it did prevent two near arrests. And she knew it’d be handy to hang on to for future investigations.

  Annabelle slid the wallet back into her bag. “I’m a liaison with the FBI. I can’t tell you much, but they did ask for my help in keeping this investigation under the radar.”

  “Are you packing a gun right now?” he whispered in awe.

  She knew she had him now. With a meaningful pat of her bag, Annabelle said solemnly, “I can neither confirm nor deny, for your own safety.”

  “Wow. I mean, of course I’ll help you. What do you want to know?”

  “Go back through your records about a month, and tell me if you can find anything about who rented PO Box 13746.”

  It took less than a minute of thumbing through the file cabinet for him to retrieve the folder.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who rented the box?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed several times. “Oh, wow—this is her! I remember this lady.”

  Annabelle pulled out her notebook, ready to write. “Who rented the box, and why do you remember a random customer from a month ago? What made her stand out?”

  “Well, she said her name was Varina Howell. I’m a Civil War re-enactor. My division is Lee’s Seventeenth Infantry. Anyway, I know all about the real Varina Howell, and this lady wasn’t her. Obviously. She caught my attention ‘cause it’s disrespectful to use her name. No one goes around pretending to be Mary Lincoln.”

  She bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “Good point.”