Murder on the Candlelight Tour (26 page)

I've got to get home, I thought. I've got to get away from that graveyard. I've got to wash the smell of moldering earth off my face. Shampoo away the stench of singed hair. I wanted my shower, my bed. I wanted to be clean and safe. I wanted to turn on the burglar alarm, to bolt my bedroom door. To sleep and sleep until I couldn't remember that my life had turned into a hellish nightmare.

But rest was not for me. When I pulled up in front of my house I saw that my own home had been the destination of the racing police car. I parked in my driveway and waved to the uniformed officer on my porch. My burglar alarm was screaming like a banshee.

"This your house, ma'am?" he hollered, approaching my lowered window.

"Yes," I replied numbly.

"Let me make sure it's safe, then we'll go inside and turn that thing off."

He circled around my house while I waited in my locked car. When he returned to report that there was no sign of a break-in, we walked up to the front door together. I unlocked it and punched in a code on my alarm pad. Blessed silence followed. If the officer noticed my dirty face and disheveled hair and clothing, he didn't comment. He showed me his ID.

"Thank you for coming, Officer Youngblood. I guess the neighbors called you."

"Them and the security people. I'm going to check the doors and windows and do a general search. You wait here." He pointed to the bottom step of the staircase.

"Okay," I mumbled. I knew he wouldn't find anyone. My boogie man was not in my house. He'd been in the graveyard with me after trying to break in here.

I sat down on the bottom step, too whipped to remove my jacket. Pulling a tissue out of my pocket, I wiped fine dust off my face.

The officer was thorough. He made a complete tour of the downstairs. When he opened the door to the kitchen, Spunky scooted out, fur all spiky, and leapt into my lap. Then the officer went upstairs and I heard him moving from room to room, opening and closing doors, probably checking under the beds too.

"I'm going to look around outside again. You got floodlights?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Turn 'em on."

I complied.

Absently I petted Spunky. I ought to tell him, I thought. I need to report this. Someone tried to kill me. Where are you, Nick? I need you.

As if I'd conjured him out of thin air, he appeared, filling my open doorway, looking as scared as I felt. "Nick! Oh, Nick," I cried and flew to the safety of his arms. Now I was home. Now I was safe. No one would dare shoot at me now.

"I came right away, as soon as I heard it was your address. I was on my way here anyway to warn you that Eddie Parker was almost apprehended at his parents' house in Greensboro this morning and they said he was coming here."

Officer Youngblood joined us in the foyer. "There are some scratch marks around the lock on your side door. They could have been made by someone attempting a B&E. I searched your yard. If there was someone, he's long gone."

Try Temple of Israel, I wanted to say, but knew my attacker would be long gone from there too.

"I'm getting to know this property pretty well," Youngblood quipped. "I was here two weeks ago when you found Jimmy Weaver's body. Well, goodnight, Ms. Wilkes. I'll leave you in good hands." He nodded respectfully to Nick.

As soon as he was gone I told Nick about the note in my hymnal and someone shooting at me in the graveyard. He stepped back, livid. "You little fool. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Of all the lamebrain stunts you've pulled, this one beats all."

I sank down onto the lower step again. "Don't yell at me."

But he wasn't through with me. "I rushed over here to warn you about Eddie Parker and now I find out you foolishly set yourself up as his target."

Nick struggled to control his anger. I struggled to control my hurt. The only way I could do that was to concentrate on his words, not the disapproval behind them.

"Do you think Eddie Parker is responsible for all these murders then?"

His shoulders slumped. "I don't know. We're trying to find him so we can question him. The only case we've got against him is drug dealing. But--and hear me loud and clear, Ashley--I don't want you going anywhere near him. And I sure as hell don't want you going into cemeteries to meet someone you don't know."

"I shouldn't have done it, Nick. I see that now. I learned my lesson. I was so scared."

He pulled me up into his arms. "Oh, baby, can't you see how crazy I am about you? The way you take risks scares the hell out of me."

"Me too." I managed a meager laugh. Some of the tension between us eased.

He held me out at arm’s length. "I can't stay. I just came to warn you. I've got to get back to work. We're checking all Parker's usual haunts. I'll drive you to Melanie's. You can spend the night there."

"I can't do that."

"And why not?"

"Because Joel Fox is there."

"So?"

"So, I hate him. He threatened to have someone slash Melanie's face if I opposed the hotel project."

"Fox said that? I'll look into it. But right now I'm more concerned about your pretty face, and the pretty body that goes with it." He managed a smile. "I'll have a patrol car parked out on your street all night. Call Jon. See if you can get him to come over. Call him now, because I'm not leaving until there's someone here with you."

Jon answered on the first ring, like he was sitting by the phone. Waiting for Christine to call, I thought. When I explained the situation, he promised to arrive in fifteen minutes. "Bless you," I said.

The front door was still standing open so we saw Binkie climb the front steps and cross the porch. "I came to help," he said. "I listen to the police frequency on my scanner. I heard there was a possible break-in at your address." He toted a billy club. "I came prepared."

33

Jon, Binkie, and I sat in the library, drinking prepackaged hot cocoa. Our presents were stacked under the tree, but we didn't have the heart to open them.

"What a Christmas Eve," I grumbled. "No wonder the holidays depress me. Now I have another terrible Christmas experience to add to my list. Next year I'm going to the Bahamas in the middle of December and I'm not coming back until after New Year's."

"How about I build a fire?" Jon offered. "That'll cheer you up."

"Please do. I want to thank you guys for giving up your Christmas Eve to babysit me."

"I wasn't doing anything," Binkie said. "And there's no one I'd rather be with."

"Same here," Jon said, kneeling in front of the firewood box. "Christine is with her family."

Spunky sniffed at Jon's heels.

"This is the last of the firewood," he said, dragging out two split logs. "When are they going to deliver your order?"

"Next week."

"Well, this'll burn for a couple hours." He laid the kindling and arranged the logs on top of it. The door to the firewood box remained ajar as he reached in to scoop up wood fragments which he tossed onto the flickering flames.

I rubbed my arms. "Where's that draft coming from?"

Jon closed the firewood box door. The flow of chilly air ceased.

"Why is cold air coming from the firewood box?" I asked. "And where did Spunky go? Jon, you've closed him inside!"

He opened the small door and leaned in. "He's not . . . wait a minute, this tin backing is loose." He was on his hands and knees, reaching toward the back of the box. The rattle of a tin sheet followed.

"The bottom corner's loose," he called in a muffled voice.

"Is Spunky back there?" I asked, alarmed. "If he crawls in between floor joists, we'll have a terrible time getting him out."

Jon backed out of the box. "He's on the other side. I hear him meowing. Get me a hammer with a claw. I'll pry the back off."

The firewood box was about four feet high, two feet wide, and another four feet deep. It merged seamlessly with the fireplace mantelpiece and the built-in bookcases, and was original to the house. Jon crawled back in, claw hammer ready. On his knees, he attacked the tin backing.

I got two powerful flashlights from the kitchen and handed one to Binkie. "Hold that for him."

Binkie said, "Can you see, Jon? Am I aiming the light on the right spot?"

"Perfect," Jon called over his shoulder. "It's coming."

There were more thunderous bangs, then Jon backed out again, pulling the sheet of tin with him.

"That noise has probably terrified Spunky," I worried aloud. "Who knows where he's run to."

Binkie patted my shoulder. "Ashley dear, you're experiencing a delayed reaction to your earlier trauma. Now try to be brave once more and don't worry. You'll soon have Spunky back, safe and sound. Leave it to Jon and me."

Jon took the flashlight from me and entered the box again, hunched over, knees bent, head ducked down. We watched him disappear through the back side. "Okay, I'm inside. There's room to stand up," he called. "Ashley, get our jackets. It's cold in here."

Binkie put on his jacket, and I mine. I carried Jon's leather jacket under my arm, and crawled through, then out the back side of the firewood box.

We had entered a small room. Jon and Binkie shone their flashlights up and down, revealing a space not much larger than a good-sized closet. A door on the far wall stood ajar a few inches.

"There's no sign of Spunky. The noise scared him and he's fled through that door. You know where we are, don't you?" I asked. "We're under the staircase landing. You know how the front and back stairs go up halfway and meet on the landing? Well, we're under the landing now."

Binkie's voice quaked with excitement. "Yes, that is our location, but do you understand the significance of this room? This, I feel certain, was a hiding place for runaway slaves. Reverend Israel Barton was a well-known abolitionist. The literature is replete with references to him, and the belief that he was active in the Underground Railroad."

"You think he hid slaves here?" I asked.

"Indeed I do. Let us explore a little further. Jon, are you game?"

"I'm with you, Professor."

"Don't forget Spunky. We've got to find him."

"I think I hear him meowing on the other side of this door," Jon said.

Binkie aimed his flashlight beam through the open door. "Just as I thought. An escape route. Now be careful, these old stone steps are cracked and worn."

"Let me go first, Binkie." Jon started down. His flashlight beam bounced down the steps like a bright gold coin. I stepped in behind Jon. Binkie stepped in behind me, aiming the second flashlight into the darkness ahead.

Our little parade of three descended the long flight of stone steps that led down, presumably alongside my basement, and tunneled under my garden. At the bottom, we entered a winding passageway. But no sign of my kitten.

"Spunky! Spunky!" I called. "Here kitty, kitty."

"There's a network of tunnels that crisscross under the city," Jon said. "I've been in Jacob's Run, but I didn't know this one existed."

Binkie added, "As the city expanded, the creeks and streams that fed the Cape Fear were bricked over. The sides of the stream were reinforced with brick, and they used rot-resistant cypress to seal the bottoms."

Jon aimed his flashlight up the sides and across the top of the tunnel. "This one has held up well. Let's see where it leads."

We followed the tunnel but I couldn't find my cat. After what seemed like a quarter of a mile, we came to a flight of steps that ascended to another door. Sagging on its hinges, the door had settled onto the stone. It took the efforts of all three of us to push it inward.

"Ohmygosh!" I cried. "I know this place. It's the root cellar I fell into. We're on Palace Street." The hole in the root cellar ceiling was now sealed up, presumably by the police.

The tiny underground room was exactly as I'd left it. I checked all the corners and shelves. No Spunky.

"Binkie, why do you suppose the tunnel leads here?"

"If I may hazard a guess, it was an escape route for runaway slaves. Shall I theorize? Reverend Barton ran a safe house. Slaves slipped in at night, one or two at a time, and were provided shelter and a place to rest. Then ship passage was secured to transport a number of them North."

"But why the tunnel?" I asked.

"Yeah," Jon said, "why not just walk down Nun Street to Chandler's Wharf and board the ship there? Under cover of nightfall, of course."

"A most populated route. While this area, then the outskirts of town, supported small farms and warehouses, and offered less opportunity for observation. Remember that Captain Beery, Barton's neighbor, trained a telescope from the monitor atop his roof on the community. Ostensibly, he was looking for Yankee ironclads, but would he have failed to notice a band of unshackled African-Americans making their way to the river?"

"Your theory sounds good to me, Binkie," Jon said. "Now what are we going to do about our discovery? How can we use it to save the property from being developed into a resort hotel?"