Ashes and Bone (14 page)

“What about you? Has there been any real fallout from last summer? Any of Paul’s or Wilcher’s friends bothered you? Any family members of Penn’s who may have come out of the woodwork, upset about you getting Magnolia, especially since you decided to put it on the Heritage Tour?”

“You know there aren’t. I would have bitched to you about anything like that.” Jaymee’s lips tightened as she swallowed, and a snippet of the old bitterness flashed across her face. “Most of the time, Paul’s old crowd either ignores me or looks at me with pity. Either way’s fine with me, as long as they steer clear.”

“She doesn’t know anything, Cage.” Dani rested her head on his shoulder and yawned. He and Jaymee immediately followed suit, Cage’s jaw popping at the force of his yawn. He took a long drink of Dani’s coffee, ignoring the ridiculous amount of sweetener she’d used. Sometime today, he’d have a good cup of coffee.

“She needs to think, hard. Someone set fire to that house while she was inside. Common damned sense says they knew it and she was a target. Jay, I know you’re worn out and scared and hurting, but you need to be sure.”

“I am. Our lives have been boringly peaceful since everything settled last year. If Nick’s had problems at work, he’s not mentioned them.” Sourness slipped into her voice. “Work’s been great for him.”

Cage knew the tone. Recognized the hollow, defeated look. It was the same one his sister had worn when Nick chose work over her. He’d thought Lana’s death had changed the guy, but it sounded like he was slipping into old habits. Nothing he could do about that right now, and Jaymee had made her choice, fully aware of Nick’s passion for his job. “We found something in your email I need to ask you about.”

He handed Jaymee printouts of the pictures Nick had sent. Six in all: an iron wedding ring purported to have been dug up from a South Carolina campsite at Gettysburg; an engraving of a woman and child by an artist Cage didn’t recognize; a tin document case; a ten-dollar Confederate note; a grubby looking pistol; and a wicked-looking knife.

Dani abandoned him and hung over Jaymee’s shoulder, squinting her eyes and biting her lips the way she always did when she concentrated. “That’s an amputation knife. Cuts through everything but bone. Same thing Jack the Ripper used.”

“I’d forgotten about these,” Jaymee said. “When he sent them, I was busy, and he didn’t tell me anything about them. Dani, can you tell if they’re real?”

“Not from the pictures. They all look like they could be authentic, but I’d have to examine them up close.”

“You and Nick didn’t talk about these?” Cage asked. “He didn’t tell you where the pictures were from?”

“No, like I said, I’d forgotten.”

She had to know something. Something had put her in danger. “What about issues with anyone local? Has Nick talked about anything concerning the town that he thought would make a good story?”

“Just the Semple deal. Which brings us back to Stanley.”

Cage ignored her pointed look. “Anyone in town Nick’s mentioned having a beef with? Run-ins?”

“Besides Paul?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“He thinks Ben Moore is scum,” Dani volunteered. “But then, who doesn’t?”

“He did tell me Ben fired the secretary that ratted him out to Nick,” Jaymee said. “But Ben never had the guts to confront Nick himself.”

Unsurprising. Ben might as well have been spineless. “Can you think of anyone else in town? Anyone he’s spent a minute bitching about?”

Jaymee stared into her coffee. The steam swirled around her making her skin look even more ashen. Her lips were chapped. She licked them, inhaled, and then exhaled hard.

“Dylan Asher.” She gnawed at the corner of her mouth. “Nick was drinking that night, so he was being snarky. But still—”

“Tell me anyway,” Cage said. Dylan Asher was a decent guy as far as Cage knew, if a little weak. He’d been part of the group that had tried to protect the Semple land but folded under the steel pressure of his father, the mayor.

“Couple of months ago, when I was still trying to decide about going on the Heritage Tour, Nick and I were video chatting. We’d both been drinking, and the subject of Dylan came up. Nick said something about him being a sneak, I think. When I questioned him, he said that Roselea’s upstanding citizen wasn’t as pristine as he wanted me to think. Apparently Nick saw Dylan in a bad part of town, skulking around. I told him he was probably going to a gay club and didn’t want anyone he knew to see him, the poor guy. Nick said there weren’t any in that area. Nothing but drug dealers and criminals. I blew him off because I didn’t want to argue.” Jaymee let out a shaky breath and took a long sip of coffee.

“He wouldn’t be the first person to go to Jackson for drugs,” Cage said. “Given he’s the mayor’s son and his dad keeps his foot up Dylan’s ass, going out of town for a habit, if he has one, isn’t out of the realm of possibility. Add that dad is licking Senator Booth’s heels—he was a very conservative Senator, from what I’ve been able to find out—and Dylan could need to self-medicate. I’ve never seen any sign of drug use, but some people are natural-born deceivers.”

Jaymee nodded. “But you know, Dylan doesn’t like Norton Investments. I assume Booth’s included in that. He’s trying to stop the zoning.” She looked at Dani, whose eyes were big and expression still. “And yesterday, he had red mud on his shoes, didn’t he?”

Dani gasped. “Shit, yes. And on the shovel.”

Cage listened as the women described Dylan’s plan to prospect the Semple land. “We did that already, more than a year ago. What’s he hoping to find? And why didn’t he speak up before the first zoning went through?”

“He said it was about power,” Dani said. “There was money in the land, and someone powerful pushed it through.”

“Mayor Asher, I bet,” Cage said. “And Booth.”

“Dylan isn’t telling us everything.” Jaymee set her cup down on the porch. Mutt appeared from nowhere and started lapping up the rest. She didn’t even notice. “Yesterday, when he asked for Dani’s permission, he never once looked either of us in the eye. That’s not like him. And I think he lied about being in Fayette. Plus, there’s the red mud.”

Cage sighed. “It’s a good lead, but that mud’s also in a lot of places, Jay, so don’t get your hopes up yet. Places where the soil is clay-like and full of rust. A lot of those places aren’t used for farming anymore, and there are a few bigger areas I know about. We’ve already checked them.”

Cage tried to keep his own mind objective. “Problem is, this is almost like looking for a needle in a shit haystack. Who knows where else there are small patches of that clay soil? It’s definitely something to go on, but it could be a coincidence. We don’t know of any motive Dylan would have to attack Nick.”

“Unless Nick saw him buying drugs and threatened to expose him,” Dani said.

“I doubt it,” Jaymee said. “That’s not a big enough story. Dylan’s small potatoes.”

A light breeze blew across the porch bringing with it a fresh, ominous whiff of smoke. Worry as sharp as a hunting knife sliced through Cage, and he was on his feet running into the house. He took the stairs two at a time, Dani and Jaymee following closely behind. Through the polished hallway, into CaryAnne’s old room, and out onto the widow’s walk. His ribs hurt from the pounding of his heart.

“What is it?” Dani caught up with him.

“Didn’t you smell the smoke?”

“We’ve been smelling it all morning.” Jaymee leaned against the iron railing.

“Not like that. The wind came from the south.”

Dani paled. Jaymee dropped her head. Mutt lapped at his hand.

“I’ll call in, get a report. If the wind’s changed north, you’re both out of here.” He looked at Dani. “Save what you can, but don’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t know that it’s shifting.”

“In case it does.” He took one last look at the burning, southeastern sky. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

His phone beeped with a call from Gina.

“What’s going on with the fire?” Cage said. “Wind looks like it’s shifting.”

“Contained right now,” Gina said. “Wind is supposed to stay mostly east. I’ve got some news from Nick’s editor in Jackson. This last week, Nick was flustered and running on adrenaline. Apparently that’s what he does when he’s onto something big.” Cage snorted at this description of his former brother-in-law. Gina went on, “He wouldn’t give her the details, but he did say Norton Investments had more shady deals going on than any company he’d investigated. When she pressed further, he wouldn’t say anything else other than if he did this right, this story would go national.” Gina paused, and her brief silence was followed by a yawn that immediately made Cage do the same.
If I sit down again, I’ll pass out for sure.

“She did say they’ve been keeping an eye on Norton for quite a while,” Gina continued. “Seems they’ve been buying up properties in the lower south for the last few years on the claim of revitalizing the local economy. It’s worked in some places, but others have had major setbacks. Including a lawsuit over mold from wet wood and an investigation over fund allocation. In two different states, mind you. In both cases, when the problems started, Joseph Stanley was dispatched to deal with the locals. Then Booth showed up.”

“Shit,” Cage said. “So we’re back to Stanley.”

“Or his boss, Wyatt Booth. He’s the one with the political connections. If that company’s into anything illegal, he’s got his hand deep in the pie. He’s calling the shots. Stanley may just be the delivery guy.”

“Guess I know where my next stop is.” Cage ended the call.

“Where are you going now?” Dani asked. “What about Dylan?”

“Dylan’s a volunteer firefighter, and I’m sure he’s out there. Gina said the wind’s not shifting, and I’ll have to wait to talk to him. In the meantime, I’m paying the mayor and his friends a visit.”

C
age dropped the
shoe at the station, hoping to get some sort of trace evidence off it, and then headed back out to north side of town. Time to visit the richest family in Roselea. He hadn’t been to the plantation since high school, when Dylan threw a party while his parents were gone and then spent the entire time freaking out about the ruined antiques.

The Ashers had been in Adams County since Roselea’s earliest days, and they were one of the few families to still own and operate their original plantation. Evaline may have been the town’s newsmaker, but Ashland was the largest plantation around and nearly as old. Its white columns and curving design made Cage think of the White House, but the double staircase leading to a stately wraparound porch defined the exterior. Three times the size of Ironwood, with forty-four rooms, including a lavish oval ballroom with pure white walls and marble flooring, the house was an intimidating showstopper.

Along with Oak Lynn, Ashland was the only local plantation to have any of its original slave cabins. Sitting back several hundred feet from the house, they were blocked from view by towering maple trees. A long ago privacy barrier installed by the white masters.

Dylan lived at Ashland with his parents, although Cage heard they used opposite sides of the house, with Dylan in the old servants’ quarters kitchen. Cage supposed that gave him some privacy, but it wasn’t like he could bring a date home without facing the wrath of his small-minded father. Assuming the rumors were true. Given the father and son’s tenuous relationship and the fact Cage had never seen Dylan with a girlfriend, Cage bet there was something to those rumors. Not that he cared. He’d never understand why people spent so much time worrying about who someone else slept with.

“Wow. Place really did get hit.” A white, wooden fence separated Ashland’s sweeping lawn from the road, ripped apart in several places. One of the three live oaks had its branches stripped, and the indigo bushes lining the drive were mostly missing their spring blossoms. The shutters were torn off in the front of the house, with some damage to the porch railings. He figured the large debris pile on the side of the house must be the remains of the screened in porch.

Good thing the Ashers are old family money because these repairs won’t be cheap.

Dylan wanted no part of the family business, he told Cage last year when they worked together to save the Semple farm. More rift between father and son. Cage wasn’t surprised Dylan was still trying to save the property—after all, family is family. But Nick’s comments to Jaymee set Cage’s instincts humming. Drunk or not, Nick never said anything he didn’t mean or couldn’t back up. Bluntness was both a strength and weakness for his former brother-in-law.

Margaret Asher opened the door before Cage could knock. Short and slight, with eyes that looked too big for her face, Margaret looked like she could easily be broken in half. Rheumatoid arthritis left her hands gnarled and witch-like, and her pointed face, however kind her expression, didn’t help.

Right now, Margaret seemed ready to drop. “Why are you here? Has something happened to Dylan?”

Well, shit. He should have called first, but he wanted to surprise Mayor Asher and his buddies. “No, ma’am, he’s fine as far as I know. I’m here to talk to your husband and his visitors from Norton Investments. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Her knobby right hand went to her throat. “Thank goodness. When I saw you pull up, my mind just went to the worst possible place. Come in, please.”

She led him through a massive foyer. The ceilings were at least eighteen feet, with detailed crown molding and strips of gilded gold. Cage peered at walls lined with family photos and paintings, most likely dating back to the year the house was built. He was always impressed when a family managed to hang on to a property for generations. It took a special formula of providence and determination to accomplish something like that.

“The men are in the music room,” Margaret said. “Sounds formal, but it really isn’t. My husband loves to play, and he’s turned it into a sort of personal sitting room.”

No, the room wasn’t formal at all. Just massive, with a bay window and accompanying seat big enough to double as a bed. A marble fireplace dominated the far wall while a grand piano—Cage read the logo twice to be sure it was a Steinway—had the place of honor on the opposite wall. Mayor Asher sat in a stiff, straight-backed chair while Stanley perched on the couch and Wyatt Booth lounged in the oversized recliner.
Interesting seating arrangement. Subtle representation of power, perhaps?