by Barbara Best
The office is stuffy hot from a small electric space heater by the window. Bryce feels his underarm hair tingle with perspiration. He was in such a hurry this morning he forgot to put on deodorant after his shower.
Jeff drops the receiver back into its cradle. “That’s weird. They say they didn’t send anyone out here, but I know he was here. I was in the middle of a tour for the kids from one of the elementary schools when he got here. It was in the early afternoon after lunch. The guy just said he was here about the plumbing. I called out for him to be sure to put his times down. My office is locked when I’m making rounds. When it is, I always put the logbook on that pedestal outside my door. Apparently, the dumbass didn’t know how to follow instructions.” Jeff frowns, irked. “Afraid I have nothing else for you other than he had an accent like the one on your message. Maybe Russian. Makes me think of that Putin character on the news. Sounds kind of like him if you know what I mean. I’m not good at knowing the difference though. Shoot, I can’t tell Russian from German.” Jeff laughs.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Bryce smiles. “What did this dude look like?”
“Not much really. I wasn’t paying that much attention. Kids keep you pretty busy.” Jeff subconsciously smoothes down both side of his mustache giving Bryce’s question some thought, “Hmmm . . . I’d say, shorter than us. Oh, maybe five foot six or seven inches. Skinny. Not much to him. He had black hair. I think long and tied back, and a boatload of whiskers. Makes it hard to tell his age. Remember I only saw him a minute or two. Had work coveralls on. A toolbox. Nothing to get my attention or think something was up. I don’t like him coming through here, though, without recording where he’s from and how long he’s worked. Don’t like it one bit.”
“What do you suppose he meant by . . . information worth my while?” Bryce persists.
“Well I’ll be darned, that’s what he was saying! Hey, just the other day one of the inspectors working on the restoration project told my Assistant Ranger he found something. Bob fills in for me on my weekends off. Evidently the inspectors were surveying the room that was damaged after that bad nor’easter we had the beginning of December. That thing hit right at the end of hurricane season. In fact, you’d think it was a hurricane the way it blew. Maybe worse. It was crazy horrible weather. It’s made a mess of things in the casemate where your girl was lost. Not as much the outside but large parts of the ceiling fell and what’s left of the floor caved in on one side. We’re worried it’s no longer structurally sound, especially for anyone walking on the terreplein above it. That’s roped off right now.”
Bryce can’t believe it! In the narrative he had only heard that the caller found something. It stopped there. “Someone found something? Why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?” I’ve only been waiting a year for something to happen!
“Hey, one thing at a time, already. You came here all stirred up about that weird message on your phone, how was I supposed to know.” Jeff folds his arms defensively. Then quickly reconsiders his body language. No use copping an attitude. It always comes back to bite. He likes Bryce well enough and he really does feel sorry for his loss. “Look, I haven’t even had a chance to check it out myself. The Historical Society usually gets first dibs on anything found around here. Let’s go up to the center to see what they know. That’s where they keep things.”
Bryce is so damned thrilled he can hardly keep from sprinting the whole way. The Visitor Center is located off the walk that runs along the moat just outside the fort. Bryce follows Jeff up the concrete steps to the terrazzo platform with a retro look and through the double glass doors.
Once inside, Jeff swaggers over to the middle-aged woman, with red-rimmed reading glasses on the end of her nose and bright red lipstick. He asks if she had heard anything about a find a few days ago.
Bryce observes as the lady points to the cabinet against the wall in front of a big life-size mural of Civil War soldiers firing cannons in the midst of a raging battle. His heart jumps up in his throat and before anyone has a chance to move, he is headed for the cabinet with the glass top.
Inside the cabinet are artifacts lit by fluorescent tubes that run across the back. On one side he sees a large bullet shaped object, something that looks like pliers and a couple other primitive-type tools. The card beside it says it has to do with artillery. Something he’s not the least bit interested in. Over to the far left is a bent three-pronged fork, a tin plate, some kind of drinking cup along with other smaller unidentified objects and just inside the cabinet door — a key.
“Is the key new? I mean, it’s old, but is it something you just got in?” Bryce asks the two who have joined him. He knows he would have remembered seeing it there before. It’s only been the sole focus of his life since last April, but he wants to be sure. He wants to hear it.
“Yep, that’s it. It’s a pretty common thing like some of the rest of this stuff,” the lady peers down her nose through her glasses.
Bryce catches a whiff of cheap cologne. He thinks probably to cover the sour smell of a bad habit. A smoker. It’s confirmed when the woman gives a rattly cough and clears the phlegm from her throat before continuing. “Bob said . . .”
“Bob is my assistant.” Jeff breaks in.
“Yeah, Bob said they found it in the rubble at Casemate 8. Ms. Dallas and Ms. Aronson from the Historical Society will be coming by to take a look at it later this month. You know, that Savannah high and mighty crowd that has their nose into everything. Figured this is as good a place as any to keep it. It’s federal property you know, but the government could care less about it. There are bunches of artifacts like this. Not worth much of anything really. But the history buffs? They always get a charge out of the least little discovery around here.”
They have no idea what they’ve found! Bryce can’t believe his luck. This has to be it.
“Hey, you said you were looking for a key right?” Jeff bends over and makes a closer inspection of the new item in the cabinet. “Doesn’t look like much. I hope you don’t expect to claim it. That could be a whole lot of complicated. Government property and all.”
Bryce plays along, “Yeah. Looks like it belongs right where it is, in the cabinet with the other stuff.” Maybe his luck will hold and he can figure a way to get his hands on it.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
“So how were things overseas?”
“Only fantastic. I’ve been a lot of places, but I think I saved one of the best for last. Greece is absolutely beautiful. It’s Ben’s first time to Europe and he’s already talking about where we will go next. If we can afford it, that is. Traveling can be pretty pricey. Ben always says we have champagne taste on a beer budget.” Sophie bubbles over with excitement as she highlights their trip. “I especially liked our three day excursion to Santorini.”
“I’ve seen pictures of that. Did it live up to?”
“Sapphire blue seas, black sand beaches, white-washed buildings carved into cliffs tipped with spheres the color of stormy skies.” Sophie launches into a description romantic enough for any good travel magazine. “The wonderful eats, the people and culture, the shopping! All you have to do is get your passport.” She says cheerfully to remind Bryce about their talk of having him join one day. “Traveling would do you good.”
“That’s really nice. Maybe I’ll get around to it.” Bryce’s thoughts race to his long list of responsibilities and how, since Jane went missing, he can’t seem to plan ahead without thinking of her. He should know better than to fixate. As of late, he’s been trying to rid himself of anxiety with vigorous daily workouts at the gym, by taking more hours at the hospital, and doubling up on classes. It feels like his life was defined by that one single moment when he got the frantic call from Art, Jane’s disappeared.
Bryce is making good progress in trying to untwist distorted feelings, reflect on more valid reasoning, and most importantly, reduce the time he spends obsessing as counter productive. He had even made a pact to grow his friendshi
p with Sophie and Ben without the whole Jane thing. The nice couple has certainly done everything possible to cheer him on. Going out of their way to be nice.
Actually, Bryce and Ben are much closer and found they have a few interests in common. They both are huge Bulldog fans for one thing and enjoy a good beer and Saturday afternoon football game. The two also love being outdoors. A couple of times Ben took Bryce fishing on the Savannah River in his pontoon boat. Ben knew some great fishing spots and being on the water is an amazing way to de-stress and relax.
Sophie realized she hadn’t asked how Bryce was doing. “Sorry to go on so much about us. How are things in your world?” She feels a little embarrassed about being so happy.
“Staying busy. I finished another semester.”
“Hey, that’s great, Bryce.”
“Well, what’s even greater is . . . I think I’ve found the key.”
“You what?”
Bryce hears a clatter and the connection goes dead. He checks the screen on the phone and watches it turn to black. Bryce stares at it for a couple of seconds and Sophie’s picture pops up.
“Bryce! I am so sorry to cut you off. I literally dropped the phone. Are you kidding me! You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope. I think I’ve found the key.” Bryce repeats. “It’s at Fort Pulaski in the Visitor Center, locked in a cabinet.
“But how! Hang on. Ben! Ben, Bryce thinks he’s found the key. No kidding! Yes! I’m serious!”
Bryce hears a lot of commotion on the other end of the phone. “Sophie . . . Yo, Sophie.” He patiently waits for Sophie’s attention and is so glad to finally be able to share his news with his friends. “Hey, earth to Sophie.”
“Yes. Yeah. I’m here,” she giggles.
“Don’t you want to know how I found it?” Bryce can’t help but laugh with her. Sophie’s a trip.
“Let me catch my breath. You don’t know how happy I am about this. It’s a piece of the puzzle. It’s everything.”
“You’re telling me!”
“Okay, so fill me in on what happened.”
Bryce goes on to tell Sophie about the mysterious caller who phones from the fort, his trip out to Pulaski and how the key was uncovered during an inspection of Casemate 8.
Sophie listens without interrupting, but is wild with excitement. “This is crazy! There has to be more to it. The way Jane disappeared. The unexplained and unearthly scenario I witnessed with my own eyes. It’s unbelievable. Stuff you see on the sci-fi channel. It’s an accident of nature, a blip in the universe for crying out loud. And I still insist, Jane is somewhere. I feel it. And you feel it too, Bryce. I know you do. Come on, admit it!” the words spill out.
It’s just like Sophie to put her optimistic spin on things. To give him some hope in his plight. Bryce laughs again, something Sophie always seems to draw out of him. “I admit I’ve never heard a tale like yours that’s for sure. But it does leave a lot of unanswered questions. Plus, we’ve never found Jane . . . alive . . . or, ya know, dead. That has to mean something. Whatever it is, I don’t know. But we have the key. Only thing is I’m not sure how we are going to get our hands on it. The Ranger says it is government property. A couple of ladies from the historical society were going out there to look at it. I’m not sure when. They may have already been there by now. I don’t really know what to do next, but I’m hoping the key stays right where it is in that cabinet until I can think of something.”
“I! You mean WE, don’t you? You’re not leaving me out of this, Bryce McKenzie. No way. No how. Have you told Art yet?”
“No. I wanted to tell you first. What do you think?”
“Art would want to know, although I’m not sure how it will help.” Sophie says sympathetically. “He sounds like he has come to terms with his loss. I call and check on him every once in a while. He’s such a sweet man and Jane’s disappearance punched a huge hole in his world.”
“Maybe I should give him a call then. If anything, see how he’s doing.”
“Hey, when you call Art why don’t you ask him where Jane’s jewelry box is. It just makes sense to me the key and the box go together. Maybe there’s another clue. Jane had it. Both things were at Pulaski that weekend. The key was on her chatelaine and the box was back in the room, the Colonel’s Quarters where we slept.”
That hadn’t crossed Bryce’s mind. He doesn’t know that it really matters, but “Okay Not a bad idea. It doesn’t hurt to ask. I’ll let you know what happens.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Captain Tucker would gladly seize the spoils, but its origin is brash and corrupt. He wants no business with the bulging creature and his mangy dog that has been trained from a puppy to run darkies up a tree. Maybe it is because he sees some murky reflection of himself in the man.
For Whisper, hunting slaves has been his business since he was knee-high to a toad. It seems he was born with an uncanny ability to see people as targets, and without regard. Tracking human beings for reward takes a special kind of deviant and slave hunter is an undaunted occupation that serves a greater purpose, an irrefutable need in the South. It is a seedy profession where a man has free rain over his dominion. He is allowed to virtually make up rules as he goes, unchecked and split off. And no one will argue, Whisper is powerful proud of his notoriety and the work he has done in these parts.
Whisper, nicknamed for his soft croaky voice, which is in stark contrast to his other more boisterous traits, brags about his keen ability to identify a fugitive in a crowd. A skilled predator, he can detect the sharp metallic odor of fear, like burning ash. A heady mix of sweating armpits, foul breath, and rancid urine, as they would nine times out of ten piss themselves. Whisper claims with chilly aloofness, “I reckon some slaves would rather be shot than took. But most times I have ‘em.”
Lou was as surprised as any when word got around town Whisper had just caught himself some runaways and one of them looked a hell of a lot like that slave girl belonging to Madame Néve. Even more, that wasn’t all that turned up.
On a hunch, Lou decides to sidestep procedure and share a bit of classified information brought in with the captured girl. Before he begins his initial report, he had arranged to meet with Adjutant Hopkins. He hopes by sharing Whisper’s interesting find, he might gain Hopkins’ confidence and ultimately, access to the illusive Miss Jane Peterson.
Matthew grumbles, “Late! Where is the man?” He loudly snaps the top shut on his watch. Matthew abhors waiting and thinks the Captain’s tardiness is rude, and intentional. He is, however, at a disadvantage, so he keeps this irritation to himself. Instead, he quietly observes the activity within Savannah’s U.S. Custom House, which houses their post office, as well as their federal courts, which now bear the heavy weight of a struggling legal system.
Just about the time Matthew is ready to take his leave, he spies Captain Tucker descending the impressive circular granite staircase with its cast iron tobacco leaf balusters. The two men have crossed paths in their careers a time or two, but it has been a while.
Matthew’s first impression of Tucker is one of surprise at how much the seasoned veteran has changed from their last encounter. It is immediately obvious the captain has paid a high price in this war. Why the man has aged a dozen years! He is craggy and heavier, with thinning gray hair and a permanent pinched expression. Beyond question, a long-term deficit caused by severe injury.
After formal greetings, Matthew is invited into a set of offices at the very end of a long corridor on the floor above. The area looks sparse and uninhabited. Since the Confederate flag was raised from the building’s portico two years before, much has changed. Matthew’s expectations are high. He hopes this matter is settled privately and in honorable fashion, without a lot of red tape. Tucker directs him to have a seat and Matthew waves off a ten o’clock brandy, watching Tucker pour a hefty glassful from a brown leather flask. The two are cordial. They lightly brush up on news over a good cigar, and take time to size each other up.
&nb
sp; Lou is not one for small talk and is itching to get on with the business at hand. When there is a lull in conversation, he welcomes Adjutant Hopkins to speak freely. He intends their meeting be brief and to the point.
Ah! So I am to make the first move. Matthew smiles indulgently and studies the wrapped firebrand between his fingers that burns mild and sweet. Gathering his thoughts, he begins, “I understand, sir, you have an interest in Miss Peterson? Please, enlighten me on the nature of this matter so that I may be of assistance.” Matthew makes it known he will not have Miss Peterson interrogated and requests consideration in allowing him to represent her. He reminds Tucker that Miss Peterson is just recovered from an illness and in a weakened state.
Lou points out, “It is no secret the circumstance surrounding Madame Néve’s sudden disappearance has renewed suspicions around here. Since Miss Peterson and Mrs. Marshall were the last to have visited the woman, questions have been raised. It is our hope someone has seen or heard something that can be useful.” Off the record, Lou is further willing to hand over details that are critical to the investigation of Madame Néve. He offers evidence off the runaway slave, whom he intends to interrogate further.
“Cap’m Tucker, sir?” Tucker’s orderly interrupts with a smart salute. There is important business, which momentarily requires Lou’s attention. Lou excuses himself and steps into an adjoining office for privacy.
Matthew is glad for a break from it all. He stands to stretch his legs and walks over to the window. The weather is mild today and people are out and moving about.
From a story up, while admiring an entertaining view of commerce row, Matthew spots one of his mother’s long-time acquaintances. Bustling Widow Hansen appears to be purchasing a number of candles from one of the common street merchants. Mr. Piper from church is accompanying her and appears to be overly attentive today. Matthew smiles. Old Mr. Piper has no idea what he is getting himself into.
