“I’m glad she’s going to get in trouble for this. Here’s the address and phone she gave us.” He turned the folder around so Annabelle could copy down what she needed.
“I don’t suppose you remember what she looked like, do you?”
“She was older, and had blond hair pulled back in a bun, I guess? I mean, I’d know her if I saw her again, but I don’t know how to describe her to you.”
“You were very helpful. Now remember, you can’t tell anyone about this, or it might jeopardize our operation.” Annabelle shook his hand and hurried out the door. She rooted in her bag, then remembered there hadn’t been any time to replace her cell phone yet. She scanned the street for cabs, and decided the quickest option was to walk the six blocks to meet Mark at the Museum of the Confederacy.
Once inside the white-columned mansion she went straight to the pay phone. Museums were one of the last places to find these technological dinosaurs. It didn’t take long to realize her hot new lead plowed her into another dead end. ‘Varina Howell’ had signed up for her mailbox using the address and phone number of the Capitol building in Columbia, South Carolina.
Her frustration level was at maximum. They were being played, and Annabelle was sick of it. This trip to Richmond was one more corner they were driven into. It was time to go back to Charleston and stir things up again. A tap on her arm sent her whirling around.
“We have some news.” Mark and Jonathan began to lead her out of the museum.
“So do I, but it isn’t of the good variety. Please tell me you found out something usable.”
“The Museum does own a copy of the book. Notice I say own, not have. It’s currently out on loan.” Mark kept his hand on the small of her back as he propelled her toward their car.
Annabelle rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t they catch a break? “Of course it is. Should I bother to ask the name of the current book holder?”
“Oh, I think so. Because this one’s a doozy.”
“Well, we’re talking about a fairly heavy hitting museum, so I’ll go out on a limb and assume their staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to loan a book to Varina Howell. I mean, what reputable staff member would believe the ex-First Lady of the Confederacy came back from the dead to catch up on a little research?” Annabelle leaned against the car door and crossed her arms. “Tell me the awful truth.”
“The book’s on loan to the Citadel.” Mark hurried to explain further. “It’s a military college in Charleston. They’ve been around since the mid-eighteen hundreds. Over the years they’ve churned out some of the top brass in the Army, CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, Congressmen, Senators, and even a Supreme Court Justice.”
Annabelle blinked slowly. “I know, it just took me a second,” she said. “I have to admit if you’d said West Point, I might’ve been a tiny bit quicker on the name recognition, but I’m there now.”
“Don’t worry Belle, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about either,” Jonathan added. “My frame of reference for military colleges is exactly nil. However, it seems hard to imagine they’d ship the book off to help some sophomore write a truly kick ass paper.”
Mark shook his head. “The Citadel has a museum on its campus with changing exhibits. Nobody’s using the book. It’s probably behind glass in a display case. The interesting thing’s it only went out on loan about a month ago.”
Annabelle drew in a sharp breath. “Yet another coincidence. These are stacked up hip deep by now. I don’t like it.”
Their conversation was interrupted by several bars of Springsteen’s Born in the USA. Mark pulled out his cell phone. “Don’t even think of mocking me—this song is as classic as it gets,” he warned Jonathan as he put it on speaker.
“Mark Dering.”
“Research assistant Haley reporting as ordered.”
“Thanks for taking the time. I half expected Jilly to be running you around so much with final preparations for the ball you’d forget about our little project.”
“Hey, when somebody takes a shot at you, and more importantly me, I focus. But as far as Jillian goes, you’ve got her pegged. I spent two solid hours this morning hauling ficus trees up three flights of stairs to the ballroom. And all she did the whole time was stand there and watch. She’s going to owe me for this in ways she can’t even imagine. I’m on my way back over there as soon as we hang up. Anyway, I’ve got news.”
Annabelle held her breath. After what felt like a handful of dead ends in a row, any news was welcome.
“Lay it on me.”
“Nothing conclusive, but also nothing to let Bellamy off the hook. It wasn’t too hard to access his public schedule. He was in town during the weeks Tad and Vanessa disappeared. He had some appearances, but his schedule wasn’t jam-packed, which means there would’ve been time to sneak off and do a dirty deed or two.”
She made a gun out of her thumb and index finger. Mark nodded at the reminder. He asked Ashby, “What about the day we were attacked at Charles Towne?”
“Well, it was a Tuesday, which is a standard day at the office for him. No real way to tell his movements for the afternoon. But even if he is behind all of this, I don’t think he was the one running through the swamp after you two. He’s in decent shape, but has a good twenty years on you. I’d be very surprised if he could run fast enough to be the shooter. Be pretty easy to hire someone, though.”
“Thanks, Ashby. Every little piece helps. We’re heading back soon. Oh, and will you ask Jillian if she knows of any old books at the D of C?”
Ashby whistled. “You think the book’s at their headquarters?”
“Might be.” There was a muffled conversation, over far too quickly.
“Jilly said all the books are gone.”
Annabelle exchanged a look with her brother. Yet another non-coincidence.
Mark’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“The display cases take up too much room, so they were removed for the ball. They do it every year, and send the books up to the Smithsonian to have an archivist check them for damage and any maintenance work every ten years.”
Mark winced at Annabelle. “One more dead end, I guess. It was worth a shot.”
“No problem. We’ll catch up tomorrow at the ball?”
“You bet. Don’t let Jilly run you ragged.” He hung up.
“This is circumstantial at best, it’s true, but Bellamy could still be the one for two reasons.” Annabelle ticked them off on her fingers. “One, nothing is coming up which crosses him off the list of suspects. And two, we don’t have anyone else concrete on our list.”
Mark dug out his car keys. “Sherlock Holmes said, ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ ”
Jonathan groaned, while Annabelle grinned in delight. “Mark Dering, that’s my favorite quote of all time. It hangs over my office door.”
“And she’s been saying it pretty much at every opportunity since she was twelve. You two are perfect for each other. Mark, I officially let you off the hook for the future pummeling we discussed.”
“I appreciate it,” he said dryly.
Jonathan hoisted himself onto the hood of their car. “As tired as I am of that quote, Holmes had it right. Since it’s categorically impossible for Varina Howell to be running around town, that leaves the improbable but much more possible Nathaniel Bellamy.”
All three pondered in silence for a minute. “What did you learn at the shipping store?” Mark asked Annabelle.
“Varina Howell gets around quite a bit for a corpse. It was enough to prove the same person is behind all of this, but not enough to lead us to whoever it is.” She dug her hands into the pockets of her shorts and shrugged her shoulders. “We still need to hit the Richmond History Center to cover our bases, but I doubt we’ll find anything. The trail here in Richmond exists, but isn’t leading us anywhere new.”
Mark nodded. “I agree. Time to circle the wagons and head home.”
“While you two finish running around, I’ll tinker a bit and see if there’s anything useful to be salvaged from the hard drive at the Internet café. Don’t hold your breath, though. While I’m there, I’ll do a little more digging of the genealogical variety. We know through process of elimination that there’s no direct connection between Nate Bellamy and Jefferson Davis, but I want to see if there are any skeletons in his closet, regardless.”
“Jonathan, the man’s running for public office. If there were skeletons to be found, every television station and newspaper in the state would’ve already paraded them out.”
He stuck his tongue firmly in his cheek. “Now Belle, you’re being insulting. Did you really just lump my hacking skills against some two-bit reporters? I thought you had more respect for me.”
“Fine. I apologize to you and your overly inflated ego. Go do whatever magic it is you do at the Internet café, and call us if you find anything. Then we’re heading back to Charleston. Let us know when you’re finished, and we’ll drop you at the airport on the way.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Annabelle simply shook her head. There were too many people in the mix at this point. No way was she going to let her little brother tag along into danger. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Belle, I’m not going to argue with you about this. You need whatever help you can get right now.”
“It’s too big a risk. You need to go back to New York.”
“No, he needs to come with us.” Mark held up his hand before Annabelle could start in on him. “Safety in numbers, darlin’. With Ashby, Jillian and now Jonathan, we become a force to reckon with, especially if there’s only one person behind all of this.”
Unconsciously Annabelle planted her feet wide in a fighting stance. Were they really ganging up on her? Who did they think was in charge? “Or, another way to look at it would be a line of sitting ducks, like in a shooting gallery. Innocent people who don’t have the background or the training to deal with the situation. I can’t take on that responsibility, and I can’t ask you to do this, Jonathan.”
“Trust me, I’d have to be the village idiot not to know how much you hate to ask for help. But you aren’t asking, are you?” He slid off the hood and mirrored her stance, hands on her waist. “Listen closely, because this is important for you to get through your thick head. You’re not responsible for me anymore. I stopped being your baby brother a long time ago. Let me do this.”
Didn’t he know he’d always be her baby brother? The thought of being responsible for putting him in danger nearly broke her out in a cold sweat. So many unknowns still to this puzzle, which made them impossible to guard against.
“Belle, I know exactly what you’re thinking. You want to know why? Because I’ve felt that way for years. Every time you go off on assignment, I worry.” His voice rose, impassioned. He moved his hands to her shoulders and clung tightly. “It doesn’t matter that you’re good at your job. Hell, it doesn’t matter that you’re great at your job. Bottom line is that you’ve been in danger more times than I can count, and I’m sure more times than you’ve bothered to tell me. So instead of sitting at home with a ball of fear burning in my gut, this time, this one damn time, you’re going to let me help.”
Annabelle looked at him, astounded. Jonathan had never articulated anything like this before. The impact of her career and lifestyle on her brother never occurred to her. Equally conflicting measures of guilt and sadness warred within her. She had no idea how to respond, how to make it better. This was obviously something they needed to come back to and clear the air when they weren’t under such pressure. For now, she just pulled him into a tight hug. They stood together for several minutes, not saying anything.
Finally Mark cleared his throat. “If you all have dispensed with the family dramatics for the day, can we grab some lunch? I’m hungrier than a three-legged possum.”
That easily, the tension was broken. All three piled into the car, squabbling good naturedly about the difference in hunger between three- and four-legged possums.
“Since it is the South, maybe I’ll have me a possum on a sandwich.” Jonathan used an exaggerated Southern drawl.
Annabelle reached around the seat to pinch his leg. “Stop making fun of the South. I already promised Mark that I would, so it’s only fair you do the same. Anyway, a sandwich is all we have time for. It’s a long drive back to Charleston. At least it shouldn’t take us long at the museum, if it turns out to be as much of a dead end as we suspect. We can be on the road by mid-afternoon.”
“And by on the road, I hope you mean I’ll be behind the wheel of this truly magnificent vehicle. I’ve always wanted to drive a convertible.”
Mark glanced in the rear view mirror at him. “Not in a million years, city dweller. Do you even have your license? Have you ever driven a car all by yourself?”
Jonathan barked out a laugh. “You caught me. It was worth a shot. And I’ve logged plenty of hours on Grand Theft Auto. I bet driving in real life isn’t much different.”
“That’s what I thought. Both of you sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll have plenty to run us ragged tomorrow.” He snapped his fingers as he started the engine. “Not to mention, now I’m going to have to call Jilly and have her finagle a costume for you. What size do you wear in anything besides grunge T-shirts?”
“Costume? What are you talking about? I’m not one of those anime freaks. I don’t do costumes.”
Annabelle smiled, listening to the outrage in her brother’s voice grow as he and Mark discussed the Magnolia Ball.
“It was your idea to stay and help out, little brother. Now you have to deal with the consequences.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Do you think Mrs. Haley will mind that I gave Jonathan the key to my room?” Annabelle worried as she climbed out of the car.
“Annabelle, it’s almost midnight, and she’s not the spring chicken she thinks she is anymore. Why wake her up at this hour? Your room is paid for, and you won’t be using it tonight. It makes more sense to let him crash there and then go through the formalities of checking in tomorrow.”
“I don’t want her to think we’re abusing her hospitality.”
“Ashby’s mother has a soft spot for me. I think it’s because I was always better behaved than him. If it makes you feel better, I’ll take full responsibility.” Mark swung the bags out of the trunk and led her around to the front of his house.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Trust me, I can wrap her around my little finger.”
“Hmm—should I be worried? Do you have this effect on many women?”
“Plumb near every single one over the age of sixty. The little old dears adore me.” He turned and winked at her.
“Smart answer, Dr. Dering.” It was so much fun to banter with Mark. His sly wit was an excellent match for her own.
“I didn’t get a chance to give you the full tour when you were here before.” Mark dropped their bags by the front door. “The best place to start is right here on the porch. We’ve got the moon, the frogs croaking in the pond next door, and enough of a breeze to scent the air with magnolia.”
“All in all, the epitome of a perfect Carolina evening. Did you special order this for me?” Annabelle bumped her hip playfully against Mark’s.
“Well, now if I took credit for it, you’d expect me to be able to do it again. That’s quite a commitment for the beginning of a relationship. All I’ll say for now is we’d be fools not to sit and enjoy it awhile.” He stretched out an arm and drew her onto the old-fashioned swing.
Annabelle was no fool. She knew the merits of a good cuddle, and adjusted herself so her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder. “Mmm, I could stay right here, like this, and be perfectly happy.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re right. Maybe this spot would be better.” Annabelle climbed onto his lap and straddled him, locking her arms behind his neck. All their
body parts lined up just right to drive her wild. She wriggled a little bit closer.
Mark buried his face in the nape of her neck. “You smell like sun-warmed jasmine dipped in honey.”
“Wow, that’s a very specific compliment, not to mention surprisingly accurate. I think it’s what it says on the back of my perfume bottle. Where did you get such a sensitive nose?”
He nipped along the edge of her jaw as he answered. “I helped with a book on the history of perfume a few years ago.”
“I thought you did major historical research on big, important topics like wars and, oh, I don’t know, Egyptian tombs and such. Why would anybody need to hire an extra researcher to write about perfume?”
“I did say the history of perfume, didn’t I? Very historically significant, both culturally and even spiritually. Did you know in the Muslim religion wearing perfume is considered a religious duty?”
She laughed. “No, I can honestly say I didn’t know that.”
“The book was quite a hit. And I had a phenomenal time.”
“Really?” It was Annabelle’s turn to lean down and press a line of kisses along his neck. “What was so phenomenal about it?”
“Spent a summer in Grasse. You know, in Provence? Fields of lavender and the most amazing food this side of heaven. I was there for the annual Fete du Jasmin and during the parade everyone throws flowers at you. The whole town smelled like jasmine for two days straight. Long story short, for the rest of my life I’ll always be able to recognize jasmine. Now, if you’d been wearing a perfume with a top note of myrrh or hay, chances are I wouldn’t have identified it quite so quickly.”
She giggled and traced a finger down the vee of his open collar where curling black hair poked through. “Hay? You’re making that up. What woman wants to smell like hay?”
“Not just hay. When mixed with the right scents, hay can be a good, fresh base. And before you accuse me of exaggerating, I’ll walk you down the perfume aisle of any major department store and give you a lesson.” Mark ran his hands up and down her back, and she obliged him by arching into his touch.
Carolina Heat Page 19
