by Jo Robertson
He paused and then added in chilling tones, "Then I'm going to kill you for meddling in my life, you stupid little bitch."
#
Oliver Nolan was nowhere to be found.
He'd last been seen at the bank yesterday evening. Emily Nolan confirmed that she hadn't seen her stepfather at all today, and he hadn't joined the groups of townspeople searching for Bailey. Now at late morning, he hadn't returned to the bank either.
The wily Mr. Nolan had fled, Gage surmised, and no one had any idea where he'd gone.
"Don't the Nolans have a maid, Tucker?" asked Dr. Bailey as the two men sat in Gage's office. "Seems to me there was a pretty little colored girl who worked for them, but she wasn't there today."
Gage shouted toward the reception room where Sergeant Henderson was on duty. "Henderson, come here." When the Sergeant joined them, he asked, "Do you know anything about the Nolans' maid?"
Henderson's round, ruddy face scrunched in concentration. "Yeah, one of the Atwood girls, I think. Miss Lettie was her name. Good girl, good family, far as I know."
He scratched his head. "But I think there was some trouble with her recently. Can't remember exactly, but she was let go by Mrs. Nolan."
Gage thought of Bea Miller. "There's someone who'll know for sure."
#
Meghan would be prepared the next time he came.
She gripped the leather of the belt in such a way that the heavy brass buckle faced outward. The mass of it wasn't large, but then her kidnapper wouldn't be expecting her to have any sort of weapon. She'd wait for the exact moment and take him unawares.
Minutes later she saw the telltale sliver of light, heard the sounds of shuffling feet, the rustle of clothing, and then the scratch of a match. Quickly pulling her knees up to her chest, she tucked the belt into the lap created by her knees.
Suddenly the slow glow of an oil lantern cast a dull light around the room. Meghan inhaled sharply, and even as she did, she realized some part of her had been positive about the identity of Nell's killer.
Oliver Nolan knelt on the floor several feet in front of her. "You!" she hissed.
"Ah, you've been a mite slow for an educated school teacher, Miss Bailey." His thick lips curled in malicious glee and his pale blue eyes were like cut glass. "I thought you'd figured it out a while ago."
"You killed Nell." She heard the flat, resigned tone of her voice while her body absorbed the fresh shock of it.
"Nellie, sweet luscious Nellie Carter." He shook his head in mock sadness. "Actually, I believe I was falling a bit in love with the little tramp."
"What harm did Nell do you? She helped your wife. She played with Emily."
"Which only made it all the easier for us to ... well, enjoy each other's company."
"You're a monster." She clutched the belt buckle so tight her fingers grew numb around it.
"But our little Nellie was a clever girl," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "She loved playing her clever games."
He reached out to scrape a finger down Meghan's cheek. She jerked away. "You took advantage of her," she accused.
"Oh come now, Miss Bailey. You didn't know your little friend as well as you thought. Our Nell was a complex woman, full of all sorts of surprises ... and innovations."
Meghan wasn't sure what he meant, but she knew his words hinted at something dark and decadent. How had poor Nell come under the influence of such a man? She bit back a retort. She wouldn't flame the man's arrogance.
"Cat got your tongue?" Without warning his hand snaked out and grabbed her hair, jerking her head back until her eyes stung with tears.
"You made a mistake crossing me, Miss Bailey. And just like Nell, you will pay for that error." He released her suddenly and her head bumped hard against the wall.
"What could Nell possibly have done to you?"
Nolan's face flushed as he narrowed his eyes and answered in a voice as cold as winter on the Pasquotank. "She threatened me. The little slut thought she'd get paid for keeping quiet."
The longer he spoke, the greater the burning embers of anger seem to grow into a flame of fury. He jumped up and paced the room in front of her. "She expected me to pay for her silence. Threatened to tell my wife, ruin my reputation. The little whore actually believed I'd let her blackmail me."
"I don't believe you. Nell wasn't like that."
"Oh ho, you think you knew your friend, but you have no idea how she'd changed in the last year. She enjoyed the sexual power she had over men."
He halted in front of her, looking down from his height. She gripped the belt, anticipating her defense.
"Still, I could've persuaded her not to take such foolish action." He crouched down again, leaned into her, his breath hot and fetid.
"But she learned something else. Wouldn't keep her nose out of my business."
"What?"
He paused, looked upward as if he contemplated lying or telling her the truth. "I suppose there's no harm now in your knowing."
A chill ran through Meghan. She shivered, realizing if he told her anything more, he'd never let her live. But she asked anyway. "The Klan robes?"
His harsh laugh startled her. "Those old rags?" he scoffed. "Antiquated robes for an antiquated group."
"You're not a Klan member?"
His chuckle turned her blood to ice. "Oh, my dear, I've found something much more enjoyable than killing coons."
Chapter 36
Bailey had disappeared. Nolan had vanished and Mrs. Nolan was dead. The search parties had reported to Henderson and Pruitt. No success on any front.
Gage forced himself not to panic. The cool logic that he'd brought to his Army assignments now served him well, at least on the surface. Dr. Bailey also appeared calm, although Gage knew the older man was frantic with worry over his only child.
Bea Miller brought them strong, hot coffee. "I can't help with the searches," she explained, "but the brew will brace you up." Her pretty, lined face looked haggard. "It's the least I can do."
"Maybe you can help us after all," Gage ventured.
Bea drew up a chair and sank onto it.
"There's been some gossip about the Nolans' maid," Gage began. "She left their employ under awkward circumstances?"
Bea's sharp eyes looked even more alert. "You think Mr. Nolan's got something to do with this business?"
"You know I can't say, Bea." Gage didn't want to spook Nolan if the man returned, unaware of their suspicions. "I just want to ask the girl a few questions."
"Humph. Well, her name's Leticia Atwood – Lettie – and I've known her since the day she was born. Her mama used to take in laundry, scrub floors, anything to keep the family together."
She rubbed at her chaffed hands. "Good girl, Lettie was, about eighteen, I think. Her mama Grace was born a slave. Lettie started working for other folks when she was nine or ten." She shrugged. "Big family, everybody had to do their share."
Gage let Bea ramble for a moment and then brought her back to the subject. "Why did Lettie leave the Nolans' employ? Was she let go?"
"Yes, and without a reference!" Bea's indignant voice rose, but she looked around and then spoke softly. "Mrs. Nolan grumbled about some missing jewelry and other items, but I'll tell you, Marshal, that girl never stole a thing in her life. Good God-fearing family, they are."
"So Mrs. Nolan dismissed her?" Dr. Bailey put in.
"Yes," hissed Bea, "but I know who really wanted her gone."
Gage merely raised his eyebrows.
"The Mister!" she spat. "He's got that look in his eye when he watches the young girls." She narrowed her eyes meaningfully. "You know what I mean, Marshal."
"Yes," Gage answered and briefly explained to Dr. Bailey. "Where is Lettie now?"
"Oh, she's gone," Bea answered. "Left a few days after she was let go. Up north to Raleigh, I think. Got kin up there."
Gage pondered the information a moment. He'd hoped to speak with the girl. If anyone knew what went on in a household, it was t
he servants. Rich folks acted like their help could neither see nor hear and seldom guarded their words around them.
Now that avenue was closed. What next?
Dr. Bailey looked at him with pleading eyes. "We have to talk to Emily Nolan again."
Gage nodded. "She's the only one left."
#
The day passed in agonizing increments of time, a snail crawling its way from one end to another of a wide veranda. By the thin slice of light that wormed its way through a minute crack in the cabin's roof, Meghan marked the clouded sun inching its way across the winter sky.
Her cell wasn't a Swamp shack like the one where Tucker and she had waited out the snakebite's poison. Much fancier, this one boasted smooth, pine walls and a planed roof.
A far sturdier trap.
Windowless, no interior lock, no furnishings. She was afraid to imagine what Oliver Nolan used the cabin for.
With the meager light, she forced herself to inspect the room, but after what seemed hours of searching, she'd found nothing. No cracks in the walls or floorboards. No discarded item that might be fashioned into another weapon. No scrap of food or drop of water.
A loud growl from her stomach reminded her how long it'd been since she'd eaten. The hours of deprivation began to sap her energy. Without water, she wouldn't survive long. She'd relieved herself again, but hadn't felt the need in some time.
Keeping the belt on her person, she circled the room again, this time on her hands and knees, feeling for anything that might've dropped or rolled into a corner. She discovered bits of wood shavings and several long nails, but nothing else. She didn't know what good they'd be, but she stuffed the nails in her trouser pockets.
Making her way back to her corner, she leaned into the angle made by the walls and rested her head on her knees. Judging by the shift of light on the floor, she surmised it was around noon. Only mildly uncomfortable now, she'd be frigidly cold by nightfall.
She withdrew the nails from her pocket and examined them. About three inches long, they were flat-headed and thick. Stuffing them between her fingers, the points extending outward, two between her first two digits and another between the next, she created another kind of weapon. If she didn't drop them on impact, she could gouge his eyes out.
She leaned her head against the wall and, with near hysteria, thought of the story of King Oedipus who'd pierced his eyes with his wife-mother's broach.
#
Henderson reported that Emily Nolan had already been transported to Nags Head to stay with her maternal aunt. It was just as well for Gage was fairly certain the poor child knew nothing useful and realized that badgering her would be cruel.
"Good God, Tucker!" Dr. Bailey exclaimed as he threw himself into Gage's office chair. "What are we going to do now?" His voice broke a little on the last word, but otherwise the older man was holding up.
"We'll find her, sir, I swear it," Gage declared with far more confidence than he felt. He hid his wild desperation under a thin veneer of practicality. "We must put our heads together and think of where Nolan might have skulked off to."
"You think he has Meggie with him?"
He nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so."
"She's a sensible girl," her father murmured. "She won't be taken easily."
"Likely he drugged her, sir," Gage said gently.
"Oh. Oh, God."
Dr. Bailey broke down at last and wept like a child. Gage looked on helplessly, his own terror a ferocious animal that clawed at his throat.
Gage left the doctor to grieve in private and consulted Henderson and Pruitt in the reception area. Their news was ominous. Though the search parties had been looking since early morning, they'd found neither Meghan nor Nolan. By now, most of the community believed that their trusted banker and neighbor was a kidnapper and murderer.
"Nolan's smart," Gage mused. "He wouldn't have fled without sufficient money."
"Want me to investigate his bank records, Marshal?" Pruitt asked.
"He's too wily for that," Henderson said.
Gage nodded. "Right. Most likely he'd keep letters, cash, private documents close at hand." He remembered Meghan's tale about rummaging through Nolan's office. About the locked drawer she'd tried to jimmy.
"I think I know where to look," he said, hope springing in him for the first time since Bailey had left his room early this morning.
Had it been only ten hours ago? The thought of living out the rest of his life without her was a loss he couldn't bear to contemplate. "Let's go, Pruitt," he ordered.
#
Oliver Nolan's next move caught Meghan off guard.
The sun had dipped into the west and, as she'd expected, a wet chill had crept into the bare room. When he returned this time, he dangled a gun from his right hand and in the other arm held a knapsack. He threw it on the floor near her feet.
"You'll see I'm not an uncivilized man," he said smoothly with the same snake-oil charm. He spun on his heels and left before she could say anything.
Was this a trap? She let the knapsack lie on the floor for several long minutes as she contemplated what trick Nolan had up his sleeve. Just as she reached for it, the door banged open again and he returned, this time carrying a bucket that sloshed water over the sides as he dropped it onto the floor.
After he'd left, Meghan pulled the pack towards her, slowly unbuckled the flaps, and peeked in. Clothing – a shirt, pants, socks. A rag for washing and a sliver of soap. She crawled toward the pail, looked in, and sniffed. Dipped her fingers inside. Water, cool, but clean smelling.
He expected her to wash? To clean herself up? It made no sense unless ...
#
Gage preceded Will Pruitt and Dr. Bailey into the now empty Nolan house. The structure now seemed heavy with dust and decay. The young maid Lettie had gone, the coroner had transported Mrs. Nolan's body to the morgue, and Oliver Nolan had fled to parts unknown.
But Gage was determined to find a clue to the man's whereabouts. He went straight to the hidden space beneath the stairwell.
The door was locked, but he had no compunction about smashing the hinge with the barrel of his pistol. Inside the alcove he found the chest she'd described.
And tucked away in the farthest recess of the alcove, barely visible from the entry, was a type-writer machine. Upon closer inspection Gage realized it was the Hansen Writing Ball, the same type used on the anonymous notes. Pruitt and Gage exchanged matching looks.
"I'll bet the type on that machine matches, sir," Pruitt concluded.
Gage nodded. Time for that later. He gestured toward the chest. "Help me haul this out," he instructed.
They lugged the heavy trunk to the hallway where the light through the window shadowed the ornate brass studded lid. Gage lifted the unlocked cover to find the Klan robes Meghan had described.
He removed the robes, laid them on the floor, and searched beneath them. Hidden under a mound of outmoded clothing were stacks of portfolios, documents, and various papers bound together with string. The chest was inundated with them.
"Take a handful and we'll examine them in the parlor," Gage instructed.
Each armed with a bundle of papers, Dr. Bailey and Pruitt made their way to the Nolan's fancy parlor.
"You think we'll find a clue in these?" Pruitt asked.
"I'm hoping for a property deed or a letter with an address that might lead us to where Nolan went," Gage answered, looking straight at Bailey. "I think – I believe Nolan will have taken Meghan somewhere private."
Visibly shaken, the doctor said, "He's going to kill her, isn't he?"
"Not if I can help it." Gage didn't voice what his greater fear was – that Nolan would murder Meghan, but only after he'd made her suffer a great deal.
#
Inside the rucksack Meghan also found bread wrapped in newspaper and a canteen of brackish water. Emptying the canteen, she rinsed it with fresh water from the bucket, and refilled it. She wanted to gobble the bread, but forced herself to take small bit
es and tiny sips of water. She rewrapped half the bread and shoved it back in the bag.
Next she used the soap and water to wash her face and arms, but she didn't dare change her filthy clothing. She had no way of knowing when Nolan would return and having him catch her naked would undo her firm resolve to remain strong.
Feeling slightly better, she sat back down to wait.
She couldn't rely on Gage or her father to save her. When she felt her bottom lip tremble at the thought of rescue, she clamped down hard on it, tasting the raw copper flavor of her own blood.
The only plan she could think of was to catch Nolan unawares. Gouge him with the nails and smash him with the belt buckle. The thought of Nolan hurt and bleeding made her feel stronger, less helpless.
Even though the idea of murder didn't appeal to her, she believed she could kill him if she had to. She had no doubt that he would kill her when he grew tired of tormenting her.
She shivered and hugged her weapons close to her body.
Chapter 37
"Marshal, look at this," Will Pruitt said carefully, offering him a packet of papers and old news clippings.
The deputy handed Gage the items over in such a way that Dr. Bailey, who was sifting through land and property deeds, couldn't see them. Gage took them into the dining room where he could spread them out on the long table, and keep them from Bailey's keen and curious eyes.
A birth certificate for one Joseph Carpenter, born 12 July 1849, in George County, Alabama. Another document of marriage for Aaron Sharpe and Louella Strickland in Boston, Massachusetts, on 21 May 1869. Gage threw Pruitt an inquiring look.
Will nodded. "Not those. Keep looking." The young deputy had a too-knowing look in his generally mild eyes at odds with his fresh, young face.
Gage quickly realized what the lad meant. Near the middle of the stack of papers was a series of newspaper clippings folded in on themselves and tied with a string so they made a solid bundle. He carefully untied them.
The headlines fairly screamed with sensation.
