Read Murder on the Cape Fear Online
Authors: Ellen Elizabeth Hunter
Murder on the Cape Fear (18 page)
“
Ahhh,” I breathed. “It’s never been opened.”
“
Do you think it’s important?” Sandy asked.
“
Very important,” I told him. To myself I said, It’s the answer. The answer we’ve been searching for.
Just then the blare of car horns honking furiously came from the street. Sandy was nearest to the clerestory window and he stepped up to the landing and peered out over the porch roof. “It’s your sister in a bright red convertible. And she’s got traffic backed up behind her.”
“
Oh my gosh. Melanie! She told me to be ready at four.” Grasping the letter, I made a dash for the front door, picked up my purse which was sitting on the floor there, and hurried across the sidewalk to my impatient sister.
I had barely closed the car door and had not yet fastened my seat belt when she accelerated. Traffic behind us was backed up and the drivers were furious. “I thought we agreed you were going to be waiting out front for me at four o’clock. I declare, Ashley, you are the only woman I know who would be late for her final wedding dress fitting. And look at you, you’re dirty!”
She cut across Nun Street, passed my house, and pulled into traffic on Third.
“
Something important happened,” I began. “We . . .”
“
Something important is always happening at one of your houses. This is our wedding we’re planning, for pity sakes,” she lectured. “And knowing you, you’ll probably be late for that!”
She raced out Dawson. “Do you have a nail file?” I asked.
She gave me a look of approval. I didn’t say, Watch the road. What was the use?
“
In my purse. On the floor. At least you’re interested in nail care.”
I rooted around in her purse and found a nail file at the bottom. Jeez, she had everything in that purse. No wonder it weighed a ton.
“
Melanie,” I said clearly and emphatically, “we found a letter from the Captain.”
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You did!” she squealed, and her tires echoed the squeal as she sped onto Oleander. “Well, tell me quick. What did it say?”
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It’s never been opened. That’s why I asked for your nail file. I’m going to open it now.” And with that I slit the envelope and removed the letter.
“
Hold onto that thing,” Melanie shouted. “You don’t want it blowing away in the wind. We’ll never find it.”
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I’m holding on,” I answered defensively.
“
Well, read it then. What are you waiting for?”
And I read.
Dearest Mother,
I know you have been worried about me as I did not return home from my last voyage. There was much confusion in the fracas at Ft. Fisher that you have, no doubt, not been informed as to what befell the Gibraltar and her crew.
I don’t want you worrying, Mother, but we were taken prisoner and are being held at Point Lookout prison in Maryland.
“
Oh, no,” I interjected.
“
Don’t stop. Read on,” Melanie said. “Look, I’m afraid the wind is going to blow those pages right out of your hand so I’m pulling off into Belk's parking lot. This deserves my full attention.” She parked and even managed to find a scrawny tree at the edge of the lot which offered a bit of shade.
I continued reading.
You will have heard horror stories about the prison, Mother, but let me assure you things are not too bad.
“
Oh, what a sweet son,” I said. “He’s trying to reassure her. You know those Civil War prisons were hell holes, for both sides.”
We are situated on the Chesapeake Bay, thus the sight of water lifts my spirits. You know I have the sea in my blood. The good local Quaker brothers tour our prison, bringing us food when they are able, and do their best to make our lives bearable. I have smuggled this letter to one of them who assures me he will be traveling South shortly and he has given me his word that he will place this missive directly into your hands as speedily as the Lord is willing.
I must tell you the tale of how I came to be in this place. We set sail from Liverpool in December with cargo urgently needed by the Confederacy. I was greatly disappointed that we would not make it home in time for Christmas as I had hoped. For weeks, we were out of communication as we crossed the Atlantic. Imagine our horror and surprise to arrive at the mouth of the Cape Fear and find Ft. Fisher under siege. A mighty armada of Union ships lay off the seaward side of the fort. All was quiet, but as we stealthily approached their rear, the assault on the fort began. The weather was mild, the day bright and balmy with calm winds, feeling like Indian summer. The barrage from the warships was continuous, filling our ears with a deafening roar and the air with the smoke of gunpowder. The smoke provided us with cover so that we were not seen by the warships.
We had two options open to us: retreat to Bermuda or try for home. As the Captain, the decision was mine, but I encouraged the men to vote on the matter for the consequences were too important. And as I had recommended, the consensus was that we should sail south, skirt Smith Island, then make a dash across the Western Bar at Old Inlet. Which we hastened to do, and most successfully I might add, going unnoticed by the Union fleet which concentrated their efforts on Ft. Fisher.
My prayers and those of the crew were for our friend Colonel Lamb who had rescued us on more than one occasion. I pondered his fate and the fate of the fort. If it fell, Wilmington would fall as well, and I wanted to be at home to protect you and Lacey, Mother, if that should occur.
What happened next was most unexpected.
Melanie’s lips were parted and her expression was eager. I couldn’t see my own face but I knew that I must have appeared as expectant as she. I felt like I knew Thomas Pettigrew as well as I knew any of my friends and the thought of him being taken prisoner filled me with sadness.
“
Don’t stop,” Melanie said.
“
You should see your face,” I said.
“
You should see yours. Hurry. Read.”
I read on.
We sailed past Smithville which from the river looked like a ghost town. Not a soul could be seen. The townsfolk had fled for cover. Onward we steamed upriver until we reached Ft. Fisher. The shelling of the fort was of such intensity, the soldiers there were unable to scale the ramparts to man their guns. From the Union ironsides, eleven- and fifteen-inch shells bowled across the earthworks, many striking the river. Then the unthinkable happened. One of the mighty shells crashed into our starboard side. With a fifteen inch hole below the water line, the hull was soon flooding.
The men could not bail fast enough. I called for more steam power, hoping that even with the drag of the water, we might sail far enough up the Cape Fear to make it home.
At Craig’s Landing, the Gibraltar began to sink. And to our horror, Union troops awaited us at the Landing. We were transporting four kegs of gold. These could not fall into the hands of the enemy. I asked for volunteers and many heeded the call. They descended into the flooding hull of the ship to enlarge the holes to hasten the sinking of the ship before the Federals could board her. If the Confederacy could not have the gold, the Union would not get it either.
By the time Federal troops rowed out to take us captive, the ship was almost fully under water. We were taken prisoner, led across Federal Point on foot, and from there forced into launch boats and rowed out to Admiral Porter on the USS Malvern. We were not ill-treated on the ship. And eventually we were delivered here to Point Lookout.
I know the war is swiftly coming to an end. I know I will be coming home to your loving faces soon. But, in the event that does not occur, I wanted you to have the information that four kegs of gold lie in the wreckage of the Gibraltar off Craig’s Landing. Confide this secret to no one until peace is restored, for in the turbulent days ahead you will not know whom to trust. But wait, Mother, and then when the time is right, take this letter to Jim Billy Craig or Captain Thompson. I trust these men. They will know the proper disposition of the gold, and they will see that you are compensated.
Spring is coming, the nights grow warm. In my dreams I see our garden, the pink azaleas blooming, the dogwoods spreading over the hillside, white as a field of cotton.
May God keep you and Lacey in His care.
Your loving son,
Thomas
“
Oh, Melanie, what a sad tale. And the note Lacey wrote said, Thomas is dead. Word of his death must have reached Mrs. Pettigrew and Lacey before this letter got there. That is what I am assuming.”
“
But why wouldn’t they open the letter?” Melanie wanted to know.
“
I can only guess that Mrs. Pettigrew was too distraught to be thinking clearly. Or perhaps she was not at home when the letter was delivered. She might have been living with her sister in Robeson County. Perhaps the letter was left with a trusted servant, and then with the chaos of Reconstruction, the influx of the carpet baggers, the turmoil, it was misplaced. And Lacey thought it fitting to have a burial service, you know how kids do that, and she buried her favorite doll as a kind of sacrifice, along with something that had belonged to the Captain - this letter.”
Melanie reached over and gave me a hug. “This story breaks my heart. But Ashley, we’ve got to get going.”
“
Wait a minute. Now we know what is behind the murders and the theft of Binkie’s briefcase and the Captain’s journal. Someone knew there was gold at the bottom of the Cape Fear and they’d stop at nothing to find out where it was sunken. Who was it who was talking about gold recently?”
I thought for a moment. “Oh, yes, it was Bo. Remember? Bo said something like if he found gold he would not report it. He’d just take it.”
“
As much as I hate to say this, we’ve got to call that dreadful Diane Sherwood again,” Melanie said. “But later. Right now we’ve got an appointment for you to try on your wedding gown.”
21
Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the bridal salon, Melanie got a call on her cell phone.
“
Hello, sweetheart,” she said romantically. Cam. “What’s my fella up to?”
I could only hear Melanie’s side of the conversation but she murmured an aside to me, “Cam and Jon took the Hot Momma out for a spin.”
I already knew this. It was Saturday after all and Jon deserved a break. He had assured me they would not be diving, only sailing. And that is why I had agreed to meet the carpenter at the Captain’s house.
“
Where are y’all?” she asked.
“
They’re down around Ft. Fisher,” she murmured to me.
“
Tell him about the Captain’s letter,” I prompted.
“
Oh, yes. We’ve got interesting news, Cam.” And she proceeded to recite the contents of the Captain’s letter to him over the phone and told him how the Captain had said his ship the Gibraltar had sunk off Craig’s Landing with gold on board.
I couldn’t wait to show the letter to Jon. He was meeting me at my house later that night.
Melanie disconnected with, “Well, bye, sugar. Don’t wear yourself out sailing. Save a little bit of yourself for me for tonight.”
To me she said, “OK, let’s go try on your wedding gown. I have to fly to New York to try on mine, but Vera is not ready for me yet. What a backlog that girl has got.”
“
Melanie, you are spending a fortune on this wedding. We’ve got to find time to sit down and review the expenses. I don’t want a big ticket wedding. I thought we were going to keep it simple. Wedding in the church, reception at the hunting lodge. Keep the guest list somewhat shy of the entire town.”
Melanie got out of the car, slammed the door, and marched off to the bridal salon with me trailing along.
My wedding dress fit like a dream. It was simplicity itself, and did wonders for my figure which, unlike Melanie’s, is not perfect. I confess to have a bit of a poochy belly. But once in the gown, I looked like a bride; I felt like a bride. I didn’t want to take it off but did so reluctantly and got back into my dirty work clothes.
“
Now you can’t gain an ounce,” Melanie warned as a half hour later we left the bridal salon with the dress packed in its own special bridal gown garment bag. We spread it out on the back seat of the convertible. “No more desserts for you, little sis.”
Melanie headed east on Oleander for her neighborhood. We had decided that until I could get my house back in order, we would store the dress in Melanie’s guest room closet. I did not want that pure and lovely gown tainted by what I had come to call “the Patsy karma.”
Several police cars whizzed by on the opposite side of the median, sirens blaring and lights blazing, and driving like maniacs in the direction of downtown. And in the distance, we heard more sirens. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“
Well, at least they’re headed in the other direction,” Melanie said, and turned onto Greenville Loop Road. Melanie lives at the end of Rabbit Run on Sandpiper Cove. Hers is waterfront property, with her own private boat dock, and she owns a bright red speed boat.
