Skeleton's Key (Delta Crossroads Trilogy, Book 2) (30 page)

“It’s not breaking and entering when I have a key.”

“Pretty sure it is if the house is a crime scene.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” Dani said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“No way. You’re not leaving me behind now. I’m too excited.”

Jaymee pulled into Ironwood’s long drive, and they rode in silence while she parked underneath the majestic live oak tree. At night, under the silvery glow of the moon, the wisps of Spanish moss were ghostlike–the spirits of the past weaving their way through the twisted branches of the tree.

Dani stepped out into the steamy night air. Instead of loosening its grip, the humidity had gotten stronger. Moisture blossomed across her forehead and upper lip. Stillness permeated the heat blanket, magnifying every swish of the oak and willow trees as their branches waved in the breeze. In the distance, a loud, guttural noise burst through the quiet darkness.

“What the hell was that?”

Jaymee giggled. “Bullfrog. There’s a pretty big stream about a hundred yards behind the house. Runs past Oak Lynn and down toward the cemetery.”

The bullfrog croaked again, and seconds later another answered. A third quickly joined in.

“Sounds like they’re having a party.” Jaymee reached the porch first. “You’ve got the gloves and booties, right?”

Dani was still marveling at the frogs’ conversation. “What? Yes.” She tiptoed up the porch, stopping next to Jaymee. She handed her the protective wear. “This way, our breaking and entering is responsible.”

“Very good.”

“Don’t forget the booties.”

Jaymee nodded and then pointed to the repellent yellow crime scene tape. “You first.”

Dani breathed deeply, gathering whatever courage she possessed, and ducked under the tape before she could change her mind. Jaymee followed suit. Neither spoke as Dani unlocked the door and eased it open.

The old oak emitted a squeak worthy of a campy horror movie. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood in the doorway staring into the dark house. The weight of what they were about to do–and what had happened in this place–pressed onto Dani’s shoulders.

“Jesus, Jaymee. People were murdered here.”

“You want to go back?”

“No. I want to search the library.”

Jaymee shined her flashlight into the foyer. “All right then. Lead the way.”

The decaying tile in the foyer muffled their footsteps, but the second they stepped into the hall, the wooden floors groaned as if announcing their intrusion. Dani moved cautiously, half afraid of someone jumping out from the shadows.

She covered her nose. “I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of it. It’s in the soil.”

“Smell of death lingers,” Jaymee whispered. “You may have to pour a cement floor. When you get the house back, call a crime-scene cleanup crew from the city. They’ll have some ideas.”

They’d reached the dual staircase. Hulking and silent, the onetime showpiece of the house loomed. Jaymee paused at the bottom, casting her light on the crumbling wood. “I always wanted to see this. Evaline is famous for the spiral staircase, but this is better. Imagine getting married on this.”

Dani already had. “It would have been amazing. But with my luck, I’d fall and break my neck.”

Jaymee’s laugh echoed throughout the house, an invasive break in the quiet. “Me, too.”

A rapid pattering sounded over their heads.

“You’ve got critters,” Jaymee said.

“Let’s hope that’s all I have.” Dani suddenly realized the foolishness of her impulsive plan. “And that the secret passage I can’t find runs
through
the house, not out of it. Because if it does and the killer knows about it…” Dani let her voice trail off. She didn’t want to think about the possibilities.

“Good point.”

The library was
tucked away in the back corner of the house. Dani unlocked the door and immediately sneezed. The police’s search had stirred up layers of dust. The musty scent of abandonment and age hovered, stagnant. Fading wallpaper dating back to the Victorian era peeled in jagged stripes. A five section bow window with a decayed seat and equally rotting drapes ensured the room’s dreariness. To its right sat a single abandoned chair, nearly hidden in the corner.

“You think it’s safe to turn on the light?” Dani asked.

“Probably. Just keep the curtains closed.”

Dani felt for the dial, wincing as meager light from the generic overhead fixture flickered on.

“Well that’s not original,” Jaymee said. “Looks like something my parents had when I was a kid.”

“I’m betting a chandelier hung there at one time. Probably hocked for cash.”

“So why did the church keep this room locked up?” Jaymee walked to the center of the library and turned a slow circle, arms outstretched. “Nothing is left to take.” She pointed to the sconces. “Maybe those. And I suppose a really determined asshole could have busted up the built-ins for resale.” She touched the large shelves running along the wall. “Solid oak, right?”

“Yes.” Dani brushed past Jaymee, heading straight for the window seat. Once a beautiful addition to the room, the bow window had probably been a showpiece, not to mention an excellent source of afternoon light. Now, decades of grime covered all the windowpanes, and the seat’s velvet cushion was moth-eaten and stinking of age. After some struggle, the seat opened, bringing with it the odor of old wood and rotten air. The inside was disappointingly empty. Sinking down to her knees, Dani peered along the seams of the wooden built-in.

“What are you doing?”

“I restored a house in Gary, Indiana, that had a hidden compartment in every one of its window seats–three total. And each one was different. One had a front section that opened, another the seat itself came off, and the third had a side compartment.”

Jaymee crouched beside her. “See anything like that here?”

“It’s solid.”

“Too easy.”

Below the rows of bare shelves were several deep cabinets decorated with intricate, scrolling patterns. Many had broken hinges, while other were nearly swollen shut from decades of humidity. Dani dug a flathead screwdriver out of her canvas bag, carefully prying open each door while Jaymee examined the others. She’d have to answer to Gina later, but police had most likely already searched and found nothing. And Dani was looking for something entirely different.

“What am I looking for?” Jaymee asked.

“Anything in the wood that doesn’t line up. Gaps. Oddly placed screws.”

“No ‘x marks the spot?’”

“You didn’t think we’d get that lucky, did you?”

Cabinet by cabinet, they made their way across the southern side of the room. Most were empty. A few of the stuck-shut ones revealed various scraps of paper, including a handwritten list in a nearly ineligible scrawl; several bottles of cure-all tonics, probably from the late nineteenth century; a two-cent piece; a liquor bottle; and Dani’s favorite, a record released by the Columbia Graphophone Company in 1915, featuring stories told by a popular Vaudeville personality.

No sign of any hidden compartment.

After nearly an hour of searching, Jaymee plopped down in the center of the room. She had a large smear of dust across her forehead. “What about the floorboards? Isn’t that a typical place to hide stuff?”

“They seem pretty solid.” Dani crisscrossed the room, checking each board for a hollow point, until she reached the lonely looking chair. Covered with dust, the wood along the back and legs had splintered, and the discolored upholstery had rotted clean through in some areas. “What a strange piece.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s a Gondola chair. Sort of.” Dani ran her index finger along the arching back of the chair. “The C-shaped back and sloping sides are classic to the style. They were popular in the 1800s, so it fits.”

“But?”

“But it’s not a true Gondola. It’s too square and squat.”

“Maybe it’s homemade.”

Dani wiped her face with her equally sweaty arm. She flicked her flashlight back on, the beam illuminating thousands of dust particles as she shined it on the chair. Something niggled at her brain, a story a college professor had told in her first history class at IU. He and a friend loved to explore the abandoned homes of Indiana and had discovered all sorts of strange items during their trips. His favorite had been the couch with the secret compartment in its heavy base.

Could it be?

After all their effort, it was worth a shot.

Carefully grabbing the edge of the seat, Dani lifted hard, expecting the chair to rise. It didn’t budge, the muscles in her back screamed in protest, and she pitched forward, barely catching herself before she ate a mouthful of dust.

“Are you okay?” Jaymee rolled to her feet. She grabbed Dani’s arm to steady her.

Rubbing her hand against the small of her back, Dani nodded. “Why didn’t that thing move?”

Jaymee peered down at the floor. “It did–enough to show us that.”

Dani immediately realized what she meant. She’d managed to move the chair enough to show the notches on the floor where the Gondola’s heavy legs had rested.

“Hasn’t been moved in a long time,” Jaymee said. “Probably why no one bothered to sell it. Or steal it. Too damn heavy.”

“No way should this chair be that heavy.” Dani knelt to look at the legs more closely. The wood had splintered in several areas, and one gap was enough to slide her pinky finger inside. Instead of more wood or hollow space, she felt something cold and smooth. “We’ve got to turn it over on its side.”

With their combined weight, it still took three tries to heft the chair and ease it gently onto its side. Like most chairs, the upholstery wrapped around the entire seat and overlapped the bottom by a couple of inches. Dani wiped the underside clean, smearing the dirt over her denim shorts. She barely noticed that, however. She was too busy trying to catch her breath and calm down.

Elegantly carved in the center of the wood were the initials “J.J.L”

“Oh my God.” Jaymee’s excited voice sounded far away.

“In my bag,” Dani managed. “There’s a utility knife.”

As soon as she had the knife in her shaking hand, Dani broke one of her most important rules. She slashed through the antique upholstery, cutting around the entire chair. The strip fell silently to the floor to reveal a crude wooden latch and a rusting hinge. The hidden lid appeared barely large enough to slide a hand into.

“It’s some sort of metal box,” Dani said. “The chair was built around it.”

“Can you move the latch?”

Dani took the latch between her thumb and forefinger and then pushed as hard as she could. The latch didn’t move.

“I don’t suppose you have any kind of oil in that bag of yours?” Jaymee asked.

“Hand me the screwdriver.”

“Don’t break it.”

“Listen to you, telling the restoration expert to be careful. Trust me, I realize this chair is worth some money, especially if John James built it. But I’m desperate.”

“I’m not talking about that. We have to leave the chair in here. You’ve already ripped the fabric. Hopefully no one will notice. But if the latch is broken and the lid dangling, the cops will see it.”

Damn. “All right. This might take a while.”

Gingerly, barely able to take a full breath, Dani worked the latch open. Her fingers ached, and more than one splinter shred its way into her skin. Fresh moisture broke out on her upper lip.

Finally, the latch turned all the way to the left, and she was able to wedge the square lid open. Pulse thundering, Dani eased the lid down. “Flashlight.”

Leaning on her elbow, Dani cast her light into the hidden compartment.

“What do you see?”

“A roll of paper.” Dani passed the flashlight to Jaymee. The thick roll was wedged inside the chair horizontally, and she was afraid pulling too hard would rip the fragile paper. Lying flat on her back as though she were working beneath the hood of a car, she gently twisted and tugged until the roll of brittle paper slid out.

Creased and yellow, it was tied loosely with a thick piece of twine. Dani slipped it off, and together she and Jaymee flattened out the paper.

“The blueprints,” Dani said.

“Do they look any different than the church’s?”

“The light’s too dim, and the ink is faded.” She gently thumbed the edges. “There are three pages. The church’s only has two.”

Jaymee twisted around for a better angle and then shined her flashlight inside the hidden compartment. “So this thing is about four inches deep. Who thinks of building a chair around a metal box?”

“Paranoid people,” Dani said. “John James brought this place through the Reconstruction and the insurgent militia while vocally supporting the union and paying his black field workers, even if the pittance was meager. He probably hid everything of value. Can you see anything else?”

Eyes narrowed and tongue peeking out of the edge of her mouth, Jaymee examined the rest of the space. “Yes. I can’t tell what it is.”

“Be careful,” Dani said as Jaymee reached for it. “Or we’ll end up in the emergency room getting you a tetanus shot.”

“I don’t like needles.” Slowly, Jaymee pulled out the second object. It was an old photograph, lightened and withered, but in decent condition thanks to the sealed box. A black woman with fine features and knowing eyes was seated holding an infant dressed in the traditional white christening attire. The bonnet on her head with the bow indicated the child was probably a girl, her dark hair framing her tiny face in waves.

“CaryAnne?” Jaymee asked. “With her nanny?”

“Maybe. She was born after the war, but there were still plenty of black house servants.”

“And her mother died when she was very young. Probably before this picture was taken. Are there any pictures of CaryAnne in the historical society?”

“Yes, but she’s older.”

“It’s probably her. Strange that John James hid the blueprints and this picture here, though.”

“And significant.” Dani turned the picture over. It was mounted on a heavy cardboard-like frame, and something was written in pencil. Eroded by the decades, it was too faded to read. “Damn. I can’t make this–” The thought died in her throat as a heavy creak echoed throughout the dark house, followed by a heavy thud.