Flesh And Blood
Beside the house was the Illinois Monument, a magnificent domelike structure with a skylight and the names of hundreds of soldiers who died so far from home engraved on every wall. I waited there, trying to shake the feeling that at any moment I would hear the sound of cannon and the cries of wounded horses. Thank God I had not lived in that time.
My own loss, no doubt as violent, had changed me forever. But I had not lost my home and my family and my way of life. My ancestors were of stronger stock to have survived such a war and kept enough faith to raise families, to risk loving again.
The afternoon was waning, and I had not located Nathan. There had been no signs of cavalry, as the young soldier had pointed out. Apparently they were bivouacked away from the park. It hadn’t occurred to me, but perhaps Nathan did not constantly ride his horse. The idea that he was out coaching young recruits in the dialogue and dialect of the 1860 South tickled me. I hadn’t known him long, but I was willing to bet he was a good teacher.
I drove back to the front gate and stopped to talk with the park rangers. When I asked about a cavalry colonel, the ranger was friendly, but not very helpful. The reenactment forces were so numerous, the park made no efforts to manage them. He did not have a list of the participants in the battle. As he explained, some of the units were volunteers, history buffs who went around the country acting out roles at different battlefields. Others were like Nathan, professional historians and scholars paid for their work. I went back to Ravenwood hoping that Nathan would take an evening ride through the estate. He would see my mini van and stop. I felt good about the progress I had made in looking into Frank’s death, but I wanted a sensible sounding board.
Maybe the tragedy of the battlefield had caught a ride home with me, but when I turned in the gate at the plantation, I had a sudden poignant sensation of Mary Quinn’s life. It must have been a fairy tale before the war. I could imagine the old plantation running at full blast, the house ablaze with lights and laughter. From all I’d read, the Quinns were a happy family with a love of parties and feasts. Before the war.
It was foolish of me, but I couldn’t resist looking around the ground for Frisco’s hoofprints. There was no sign that Nathan or his horse had paid a visit to me while I’d been out.
Since I couldn’t find him at the battlefield, I decided to call Mississippi College where he worked as a professor. It took forever for the secretary to answer the phone. When I asked for Nathan Cates, the young girl explained that she was a work-study student and that she didn’t have an extension listed for a Dr. Cates. A pleasant young woman, she apologized and said that the regular secretary would be back the next day.
Since I had no other plans for the evening, I decided to make my version of chicken alfredo. Cooking is an act that many Southern women turn to in times of anxiety or periods of waiting. Frank and I had once spent our evenings bantering in the kitchen as we explored cuisines from around the world. There was nothing he wouldn’t attempt. I’d lost my interest in cooking after his death, and my desire to work in the kitchen surprised me. I even chilled a bottle of white wine I’d brought along. Just for the fun of it I’d cater dinner to myself in the big old dining room. While the pasta cooked, I hurried over to the old house and set up two candelabras. Anything worth doing was worth doing well.
When the meal was prepared, I sat at the elegant table in the main dining room. There was seating for at least twenty, and the candles glowed against the burnished mahogany of the lovely table.
I was halfway through the meal when I remembered the oven. I’d left a small portion of bread in it to warm. There was little chance trouble would occur, but I couldn’t enjoy the rest of my meal if I was worried about burning the bread. Feeling as if I should excuse myself, I left the table and hurried to the kitchen. I could see where servants would have worked up a sweat carrying dishes back and forth for three large meals a day. The bread was very toasted, but there was no damage. I turned off the oven and went back to my meal.
I had just settled my napkin into place when I saw the yellow rose beside my plate. The chill that ran up my body was indescribable. The front doors were locked, and I’d used the back one. The gates to the plantation were also locked. No one could have slipped into the house without my knowing it—except a ghost. Mary Quinn! She’d left me a message to let me know that she hadn’t abandoned me, that she was considering my plight. Perhaps it was even a sign of approval that I had taken some action on my own.
Should I finish dinner and wait for her to make her appearance, or should I attempt to find her? The sound of footsteps on the second floor ended my questions. Instead of the light footsteps of a teenage girl, the tread was heavy. Ominous. Anticipation turned to fear. Old houses attracted all kinds of weirdos. I’d been gone from Ravenwood all day. Anyone could be hiding in it.
My thoughts halted as I took a sudden gulp of air. The footsteps were coming down the stairs.
Chapter Four
The footsteps continued toward the dining room. The lighting was poor, only half a dozen candles in two candelabras. There was a chance I could slip into a corner and then make a run out the door once the intruder was in the room. Of course, my chance for success was about as good as a snowball’s survival in hell. Basically, I was trapped like a rat.
Without making a sound, I left the table and pressed myself into the darkest corner of the room. Heavy draperies hung at the windows, and I shrouded my body in those. Of all the childhood games I’d played, I’d hated only hide-and-seek. I couldn’t stand the torment of waiting for the hand on my shoulder, the moment of capture. Even when it was only Shane pursuing me, it frightened me. Sometimes, when I couldn’t stand the torture of waiting, I’d hear Shane coming closer and closer and I’d scream, “Here I am! Here I am!”
This was a million times worse. My heart hammered loud enough to wake the dead. The possibilities of danger were endless. The owner of the footsteps that came closer and closer could be anyone—an escapee from prison, a robber, a fiend. Unexpected violence had visited me once. I knew I was not immune.
“Emma?”
I almost didn’t hear the sound of my name over the frantic jackhammer of my heart.
“Emma?”
I couldn’t believe it. The voice belonged to Nathan Cates. I peeked out from behind the draperies.
“Emma! I frightened you.”
He strode toward me with a chagrined expression.
“I knocked. The door was open. I thought you’d gone to Mary’s room. I left the rose…” He took in the situation. “You thought Mary had visited, didn’t you?”
Feeling extremely foolish, I nodded as I gave up the questionable protection of the draperies and stepped forward. “I went to turn the oven off. I came back and saw the rose.” I shrugged. “You could say I’m gullible. I mean, I believed I’d been transported back to the Civil War when I met you.”
Nathan’s laughter was deep. “You’ve had a hard few days, Emma Devlin. You came to Ravenwood wanting to believe in something more powerful than yourself. You’re not gullible. You’re desperate.”
“I thought Mary had left the rose, and then when I heard the heavy footsteps upstairs, I rushed into believing the worst.” It was a funny situation, but I wasn’t laughing. “I guess I am desperate. I’ve opened my mind to too many possibilities. Ghosts, robbers…” The tears were inexplicably close. “The fact that my husband may have been deliberately murdered.”
Nathan’s arm around my shoulders was a comforting pressure. “I’m sorry, Emma. It’s a hard thing to accept.”
“It might explain Frank’s…return. But, God, I don’t want to believe it! To lose him by accident is horrible enough. If he was deliberately taken, well, that makes it worse. And it makes me want to strike back.”
Nathan led me to the table and seated me. He took the chair to my right. In the light of the candles, his expression was intense. “Tell me what you found.”
At first it was hard to begin, but once I started, the details spilled out of me. Nathan asked several questions and then returned to my description of the gun.
“An antique…An odd choice. Was there any more information on the type of gun?”
“You mean, the ballistics report?”
Nathan nodded. “What did it say?”
I shook my head. “It was pretty technical. They never found the murder weapon, so there wasn’t a lot to go on.” Against all of my willpower, my voice faltered. “He died instantly.”
Nathan grasped my hand. “We need to find out if those two killers were identified by anyone else in other robberies.”
“I’ve asked Robert to check the neighborhood. There’ve been other robberies, but as far as I know, no one else has been shot in cold blood.”
“That isn’t evidence, but it’s another little thing that stands out. It’s a break in the pattern.”
His grip on my fingers was warm, secure. I knew I should withdraw my hand, but I didn’t. It was such a luxury to listen to Nathan, to accept his generous help.
“Most robbers won’t kill. If they’re making a career out of robbery, they don’t want a murder charge against them. It turns up the heat. People will tolerate being robbed, but they won’t accept being afraid for their lives.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“Either these killers were beyond thinking, or they were not thieves.”
“Robert said they may have been hopped up on something.”
“Hopped up?”
“Taking drugs, high on PCP, crack, amphetamines, or any number of things.”
“Drug abusers, opium addicts, hemp smokers…” Nathan toyed with my knife, “There’s always a drug for each era. I don’t know about these two killers, though. From what you’ve said, they don’t seem to be irrational.”
“I know.” Why hadn’t I thought these things before? If my mind had worked sooner, I might have stood a chance of catching the killers. Now, two years had passed.
As if he read my mind, Nathan spoke softly. “Emma, it’s hard to think of things that are not in your nature. To deliberately kill goes against your grain.”
“I’m not a child, Nathan. It’s just that I can’t imagine who would want to harm him. Or why. We didn’t have a great amount of money.”
“His business?”
“I still own fifty percent of Micro-Tech. Nothing has changed, except the company makes a little more money now than it did before. And Benny, Frank’s partner, said it will begin to earn more and more.”
“What did your husband do?” Nathan leaned back in his chair.
The remainder of my dinner had grown cold and I pushed the plate to the side of the table. “Frank and Benny formed Micro-Tech about eight years ago, just before we married. Frank had the business background. He would go into a business, assess its data base needs, including the idiosyncrasies of each business, and then tell them he could put together a computer system that would increase their efficiency and productivity. The company is successful because Frank could tailor each system on paper, and Benny could make it work on computer.”
I couldn’t suppress my sigh. “They were a great team. Frank knew business inside and out, and he enjoyed working with people. Benny is the typical computer whiz. Glasses, hair on end, nervous around women. Sort of the Clark Kent type, you know. Once you get past the shyness, he’s a very nice man, and with a woman’s advice in wardrobe, he could be very handsome. Frank and I tried again and again to play cupid for Benny. He’s so bright. And he was very attached to Frank.”
Frank’s murder had almost destroyed Benny. He hid it from a lot of people, but Benny had been on the verge of a total collapse. But he’d pulled through it. Micro-Tech had nearly gone under, and it was the precarious situation of the business that had finally gotten Benny out of his depression and working again. I told all of this to Nathan with a minimum of emotion.
“When Frank went into these businesses, did he examine their books?” he asked.
“He had to. The systems were individually created. That’s what made them so special. Frank learned the business and then streamlined it.”
Nathan got up and paced the large dining room. His footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. “Emma, what if he found something in one of those businesses?”
“Something illegal?”
“Exactly. If he found that something was going on, what would he have done?”
“He’d report it.”
“You’re certain? What if they offered him money?”
I felt my back stiffen at the implication. “You didn’t know Frank. He never did a dishonest thing in his life.” I paused for effect. “Never.”
Nathan returned to the table. He lifted my hand again, but I withdrew it. I knew it was foolish to expect him to understand what kind of man Frank had been. But even the implication of bribery or wrongdoing stung.
“My theory is growing stronger.” He put his hands flat on the table. “What if Frank found something in a company, something illegal? They tried to bribe him to remain silent, and he refused.”
His words seemed to dance in the candlelight. In the last few weeks of his life, Frank had been a little edgy. Maybe disappointed was a better word. I couldn’t remember what accounts he was working on, but he usually enjoyed talking about his day. I remembered that he’d been unusually silent. “Maybe,” I conceded.
“If they couldn’t buy his silence, maybe they had to find a more permanent way of obtaining it.”
“Oh, Nathan! No!” I couldn’t help it. I felt a terrible rage and grief and sense of betrayal. Had someone killed my husband because he was too honest?
“It’s okay, Emma.” In a flash, Nathan was at my side. His hands on my shoulders offered support, friendship. He gave me a reassuring squeeze. “The one good thing about this is that after two years, their guard will be down. They won’t expect us to come hunting for them now.”
“Us?” I couldn’t believe he was so willing to help me. “Why are you doing this, Nathan? Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.”
He returned to his seat at the table. His eyes were unwavering, but the tension had left his face.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Emma. You deserve to be free of the past. There’s something about you and your story, about your love for Frank, that makes me want to help. It’s as simple as that.”
Looking into his blue eyes, I almost believed him. But as I was learning, things were never that simple. “And nothing else?”
“I believe in certain things. They may sound old-fashioned and outmoded to you.”
“What things?”
“Oh, love and honor and all of that, a certain behavior, a basic kindness toward my fellow creatures, human and animal.” He smiled. “Since I’m giving you my humanitarian speech, I should say that only humans can change the history of the world. I’ve studied it, and some changes need to be made. I heard a quote once, and I’ll tell it to you. ‘An act of kindness is the mark of a generous heart.’ I think you have a generous heart, Emma Devlin.”
“And you, too, Nathan Cates.”
His smile was tender. “Perhaps neither of us is suited for such a harsh world. But you’ll survive and make it a better place. Now I think you’ve had enough for one day. I’ll help with this and then be gone. I’ve an early meeting at the college in the morning.”
He rose from the table and began clearing the dishes away. In only moments we had the main house locked up tight and were back in the kitchen. “I didn’t notice Frisco, or a car. How did you get here?”
“I walked. Even Frisco has to have a night off every now and then.”
We laughed and chatted about the day’s news until the kitchen was spotless. “It looks like you’re a good cook,” he noted.
“If you’re feeling especially brave, how about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll make my special Confederate cavalryman meal.”
“I didn’t realize you’d had practice with other Confederate cavalrymen.”
His teasing was warm and very welcome. After the day I’d had, I needed to end this one on a light note. “Well, only a few, and none as interesting as you.”
“In that case, I accept.”
“I’ll surprise you with my historical cooking skills.”
“I’ll bring some wine. I happen to know of a great wine cellar, and the owner won’t mind if I treat you to a bottle. In fact, he won’t be needing it, and he’d heartily approve of a beautiful woman enjoying it.”
I was reluctant to see him go, but I knew he’d already spent his time generously with me. He had two jobs and who knew what other responsibilities. How had I been lucky enough that he’d taken me under his wing to shelter for a few weeks?
As I climbed the stairs to my room, I silently begged Frank not to accuse me on this night. A word of encouragemen t would have been nice. Very nice. But what I really needed was a long, deep, uninterrupted sleep. How long it had been since I’d had one?
My dreams that night were of pounding hooves and sudden confusion. They were not nightmares, but there was a certain frantic energy to them that didn’t wake me but left me with a residue of anxiety. I awoke thinking of Mary Quinn. With the war raging all around her, her last years must have been filled with dreadful nights. At least she had been spared the worst of the siege.
Judging by the coral glow in the room, it was later than I’d expected to sleep. I pushed back the mosquito netting and padded downstairs in my slippers to make coffee. How would I spend the day? Writing verses for cards was out of the question. I had no ability to concentrate on such a task. I’d begun to work at the knot of Frank’s murder, and I couldn’t let it go. But what to do next?
I decided a trip to Frank’s family might prove valuable. It would mean another drive to Jackson, but there was nothing at Ravenwood to hold me there. I hadn’t given up hopes of meeting Mary Quinn, but I’d begun to realize that my mother had been right on target in assessing at least one part of my character—I am impatient. Given a choice between waiting and acting, I’ll take action anytime. If I went to Jackson, I’d be back at Ravenwood in the late afternoon with time to spare to rendezvous with Mary, if she felt inclined, and to make dinner for Nathan. Besides, there were a few things I wanted to get from my house for the dinner. Since I’d boasted of my skills, I wanted to be sure I could carry through, even in the outdated kitchen of Ravenwood.
As I drove to Jackson, I tried to organize my thoughts. Frank had been very close to his brother, James. There was a good chance if something had been troubling Frank, he would have taken it to James.
The barracuda in that particular tank was James’s wife. Marla Devlin was someone I’d never liked. She’d made her interest in Frank very clear, on more than one occasion. I’d been tempted to tell her husband about her behavior, but Frank had talked me out of it. He’d pointed out that for all of Marla’s faults, James loved her deeply. I could only keep my fingers crossed that I’d find James at work—and Marla out shopping, as usual.
James Devlin’s business, a sporting goods store in one of the bigger malls, had been a good solid business for years. A former Olympic contender in the four hundred meter, James knew sports, and he knew quality products. He was handsome, popular, and always available to help local kids’ teams with free coaching or a sponsorship. In physical coloring, he was the exact opposite of Frank. James was blond, clean-shaven, with blue eyes.
Marla wasn’t in evidence. Since she never waited on any female customers, I’d developed the theory that she “helped out” in the store because it gave her an opportunity to meet men who spent a lot of time taking care of their bodies. What she did once she met them, I didn’t really want to know.
“Emma!” James greeted me with a warm smile and a hug. “Decide to take up jogging and buy new shoes?” I knew how it hurt him to see me. I reminded him of Frank. Obviously, James had decided to bluster past the sadness.
“Not on your life.” I groaned and patted my hips. “My old joints would revolt and quit on me.”
“Marla could show you some different fitness routines—”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” I cut him off with a smile. “You know I’m a hopeless slug. Always was, always will be.”
“But Frank loved you anyway.” James gave me another hug. “And so do we,” he whispered in my ear.
For a split second, I thought I might cry, but I lifted my chin and stepped back from him. “I need your help,” I said softly. “I may be losing my mind, but I have something I must pursue.”
“What?” James motioned to two stools behind the cash register. “Business probably won’t pick up until around lunch, so we’ll be able to talk. You sound pretty serious.”
“There’s no easy way to say this, James. Your brother may have been deliberately murdered.”
The color drained from his face. “What are you saying?”
“I’ve been looking into it. There are some things that don’t add up. Not big things, but little things. The more I dig, the more I find.”
“Why are you doing this, Emma?”
The skin around his eyes had remained white. His expression was pained.
“Don’t you realize that if you drag all of this out again, it’s going to tear everyone up all over again?”
I’d expected some resistance from James, but not this. “But what if it’s true? Whoever did it deserves to pay.”
“How could it be true? He was in a liquor store robbery. He was killed by a crazed robber. That’s the end of it. He’s dead, Emma. This won’t bring him back! Marla’s right. You’ve spent the past two years dwelling on this and it has twisted you.”
It was hard to check my anger, but I did. “I didn’t want to start this. I resisted it. But I had no choice.”
“What are you talking about?” James stood and began pacing the store. “You certainly have a choice. Stop all of this right now!”
“I can’t. In the weeks before Frank died, did he mention anything about his work?”
“You think Benny Yeager did something to Frank? The man almost lost it after Frank died.”
“Not Benny. I know Frank’s death hit him almost as hard as it did me, and the Devlin clan.” I softened my voice, pushing my impatience down. “But Frank worked with a lot of other people. Other businesses. You know as well as I do that if he found something illegal, he would have tried to report it. Maybe someone wanted to stop him.”
James walked across the store to the counter and leaned on it with both hands. “This is insane, Emma. You’re losing your grip completely. Frank and Benny designed computer systems and programs to help businesses. They weren’t spies or CIA agents, or even IRS agents. They didn’t uncover illegal schemes.”
“I’m not asking you to believe me, James. I’m only asking you to tell me if Frank mentioned anything to you about being troubled at work. You were close. He might have confided in you.”
“And not you, Emma?”
James spoke with a cruelty I’d never seen in him before. “Maybe not.” Tears burned my eyes. “I’m sorry I troubled you.” I rose to leave when James’s hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean that.”
“Forget it, James. I shouldn’t have come here with suspicions.” I twisted free of his grip. I had to get out of that shop. With my luck, Marla would walk in at any second.
“Emma, Frank did mention one thing. I thought it was strange at the time, too, but I never put a sinister twist on it.”
His words made me pause. I turned back to face him. “What?”
“About a week before he was killed, he asked me if I’d ever taken a state bid on athletic equipment, like for a school.”
“And?” I prompted. James didn’t want to talk about this and I didn’t understand why.
“I told him Marla took care of the larger contracts and such, and I wasn’t up to speed on all the details. He wanted to know something about state laws with bidding and cost overruns and stuff like that. He did seem tense. He kept rubbing his neck, as if he was having trouble again.”