Chapter Twenty-Three

X Marks the Spot

Just as I predicted, my sisters were ecstatic when Mama and I arrived back at the salon with the good news of our parent’s remarriage. However, they didn’t relish the bad news of Daddy’s temporary incarceration. To soothe rattled nerves, we began planning the reception for the newlyweds after our current difficulty resolved itself.

As we sat together in Deena’s office, we hatched out a plan. Roddy and one of his employees could swing by and pick up the keys to Daddy’s car and drive it out to the farm. In the meantime, Deena would pack an overnight bag and stay with Mama. Billie Jo and I would remain at the salon and finish out the day.

In the midst of making plans, Becky called to report the camera memory card had been found on the floorboard of the family car. However, the car and my son-in-law, Jacob, were in Athens on a business trip, but he promised to drop it off at my house when he returned home later tonight.

Leaving Deena and Mama to contact Boyd with the news that a replacement would have to fill in for Mama at the theater, I returned to my workstation and the client waiting for me in my stylist chair.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. News of Daddy’s arrest became common knowledge by the time five o’clock had rolled around. Billie Jo and I were relieved to shut and lock the door behind the speculative looks we’d received throughout the afternoon.

Ellie Malone, in particular.

Several times, I’d overheard her bragging about her new business enterprise and offer an incentive to lure the client away from Dixieland Salon. I’m not against free enterprise, just opposed to an employee sticking a knife in the literal back of my business. Years of hard labor had gone into building this salon, and I’d not sit back and allow Ellie to waltz out the door with my client list. When I confronted her, she stomped out.

Billie Jo cocked an eyebrow at me. “Now that Ellie took a hike, who’s gonna pick up the slack? We’re out a nail tech, and I don’t do nails.”

“Lizzie’s new and doesn’t have a full appointment book yet,” I said. “And I guess I’ll have to pitch in and help.”

“That sounds reasonable, especially since you’re the reason why Ellie left before finishing her two-week notice.”

Following Billie Jo back to the laundry room, I dumped a load of dirty towels into the washer while she withdrew clean ones from the dryer and started folding them.

“I heard another interesting piece of news this afternoon about Nancy,” she said.

“Oh?”

“She put her house up for sale a couple of days ago.”

I grabbed a towel to fold. “That’s odd. She didn’t mention it this morning.”

“Nancy stepped down as Pecan Festival Director to accept a teaching position in Fort Lauderdale,” Billie Jo continued. “She’s leaving tonight on a house-hunting excursion. My client said that Nancy seemed anxious to get out of town.”

“Why would she up and leave before the Pecan Festival is over? She loved being the director.”

“Deena said you accused her of killing Herrington.”

“I didn’t, not really. She must think I’m a monster for questioning her motives.”

“Did she have a motive for killing Herrington?”

My mind quickly reviewed my notes. “Nancy’s position certainly gave her opportunity to plant the peanut flour and oil. And, in anger, she did say she’d be gunning for Herrington if she lost her position as director of the Pecan Festival because of ridiculous trumped up charges, but I don’t believe she’s a killer. One of the Herrington’s did him in.”

Billie Jo stacked towels in the overhead cabinet. “Well, we won’t be getting any more insider information from Ellie, because you ran her off. How are we going to find out about the contents of Herrington’s will? Or if Barbara had signed a prenup? Or who had the most to gain from his death?”

“I don’t have all the answers to your questions, Billie Jo, but have faith. We’ve been through too much to give up now. Today hasn’t been all bad. Our parents are no longer missing, and Mama has a shiny new diamond ring on her finger and a brand new old husband.”

With a lighter note, we finished cleaning the salon and left for the day. On the drive home, I stopped for a burger and fries and chocolate shake, and spent the evening going over my notes.

At eleven, Jacob dropped off the memory card. Popping it into my laptop, I studied each picture until I spotted the thing that’d been bugging me from the beginning of the bake-off. The picture, taken in our kitchen space with the judges, showed Barbara Herrington wearing a dark blue pantsuit with an oversized matching shoulder bag. It caught my eye because the purse bulged as if it held a bowling ball.

Printing out the picture, I set it aside and continued my perusal of the remaining photos. Once again, an odd photo popped up. Deena, in her never-ending pursuit of the perfect scrapbook, had captured Theo’s widow coming out of the ladies restroom. Unaware of the surveillance, Barbara had paused outside the door with a deflated, smudged purse. Somehow flour had spilled all over it and she’d hastily wiped it away.

Could she have been the one to plant the flour and oil in our containers? Just maybe, this could be evidence the police couldn’t ignore, thus, possibly giving Daddy’s defense reasonable doubt. I printed up the rest of the pictures and put them in chronological order on the kitchen table, and then dialed Bradford’s number.

“I know you’re off the case,” I said when he answered, “but you’re the only one I could trust with this. I have something here at my house that you need to see.”

His heavy sigh echoed over the line. “You promised to stay out of it, Jolene.” When I didn’t offer a reply, he continued. “Okay, I’m in your neighborhood. I’ll be right over.”

He pulled into my driveway a couple of minutes later, climbed out of his unmarked cruiser, and met me at the back door.

“Okay, I’m here. What’s up?”

“Take a look at these and tell me what you see.”

As he studied the snapshots laid out on the table, I mulled over my notes in silence. Finally, he said, “I see why you called me. These are interesting enough to bring Barbara in for further questioning.”

“There’s something else I need to share with you,’ I began. “The other day I overheard a conversation between her and the insurance company. The five million dollar death benefit would be delayed until the insurance company completes their investigation. That news made her plenty unhappy. And there’s plenty of gossip flying around the salon about an affair. Did you check to see if she signed a prenup before marrying Herrington? What if the rumors are true and he threatened to divorce her? Maybe he even threatened to disinherit her and she killed him before he could follow through.”

He started gathering up the pictures. “Interesting theory. I’ll take it from here.”

The wall of separation between us stayed firmly in place in spite of his generous praise. As much as I wanted to confess I’d been wrong to call off the relationship, the case hadn’t been wrapped up and put to bed. Bradford’s job could still be in jeopardy, so I’d have to bide my time for true confessions.

Bradford left with the evidence, and I called both my sisters, relaying the good news. Deena promised to tell Mama when she woke. Relieved with the progress, I showered and climbed into bed for a much needed rest. I reached over to turn out the light noticing my purse hanging on the bedpost and thought about the document stashed inside.

Curious, I fished it out and carefully unrolled the cloth to find what appeared to be Josiah Redding’s original will, dated several days before his death. The legal jargon blurred before my tired eyes. The thick document contained pages of the faded script that would be hard to read even in the best of circumstances. So I rewrapped the will, returned it to my purse, and turned out the lamp—confident that tomorrow would bring to light the name of Herrington’s killer and Daddy’s release from jail.

****

Barbara Herrington’s arrest dominated the morning news. Sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, I listened as the news anchor detailed Barbara’s late night detainment. The voice of Detective Goodwin sounded from the TV, “In light of this new evidence, and additional evidence obtained from the defendant’s house, we are following every lead to build a solid case. All charges have been dropped against Harland Tucker, and he has been released.”

“Whoopee!” I shouted, heaving the paper into the air. A streak of orange fur zoomed from the kitchen—Tango fleeing in terror from my boisterous demonstration. Another successful investigation and my parents were free to rebuild their lives and marriage.

Scooping up my cell phone, I punched in Mama’s number. Deena answered on the first ring.

“Is Daddy home yet?” I asked.

“He and Roddy just came in the door. They’re going to start moving his belongings back home after Mama fixes them a big breakfast. Oh, Jolene, you should see her.” Her voice caught. “I’ve never seen them so excited to be together.”

“What time did you receive the call?”

“Around five this morning. Sam said you’d earned a good night’s rest and not to wake you right then.”

“I’m glad it’s over and we can get our lives back to normal.”

“Me, too. Are you coming out to the house this morning?”

I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I won’t have time. My first appointment is at eight. Give Mama and Daddy my love and tell them I’ll be over this evening after I finish with my shift at Pineridge Plantation.”

“Sounds like a plan. Will you and Billie Jo be able to handle the shop without me for a while? I’d like to hang out here, but I’ll be in later.”

“Of course. See you then.”

Forty minutes later, I’d showered and dressed in a rich royal blue knit dress and heels to match my buoyant mood and left for the salon. Parking my Mustang in the empty back lot, I unlocked the rear door and turned on the lights. Peace and quiet greeted me, and I breathed in the familiar scent of toxic chemicals and styling products.

The morning flew by without a single disturbing incident. Feeling cheerful, relaxed, and invincible, I finished my appointments and prepared to leave for my afternoon shift at Pineridge Plantation. With Theo’s murderer safely behind bars, and my parents reunited, I could concentrate on solving Josiah’s problem, and thereby set him free to join his loved ones on the Other Side. After that? Well, who knew? Perhaps I could put my sleuthing powers to work and discover a couple of good-looking men to spice up mine and Deena’s sorry love lives. After her disastrous relationship with the saintly pastor, perhaps she’d consider exploring the fascinating attributes of one of the bad boys in town. Nothing criminal—just sexy bad. There’s something to be said for the unexpected!

The drive didn’t seem as long in my greatly enhanced mood, and I pulled around to the rear parking area behind the mansion and parked beside Victor’s BMW. Noting the time on the dashboard clock, I realized I had a few minutes before my shift, so I settled back down into the driver’s seat to enjoy the autumn scenery.

A memory nagged under the surface of my mind, but I couldn’t put my finger on the disturbance. I stared out the car window at the unparalleled natural beauty of the fall countryside, allowing my mind to choose the path of least resistance.

And then it hit me—the file folder hidden under the driver’s seat! In the excitement of the last two days, I’d forgotten the Herrington family papers. Reaching under the seat, I withdrew the folder and opened it in my lap. Leafing through the paperwork, I set aside the photos, his mother’s family tree, and newspaper articles until I touched the stiff papers at the bottom of the thick file.

Scanning through them, they appeared to be patient notes of a Doctor Thomas dating back into the 1840s. Recognizing the name from Josiah’s journal, I found the date of April 10, 1842 and began to read. Fifteen minutes later, I stuffed everything back inside the folder, allowing the realization of what I’d learned wash over me. How could decent men perpetrate such a fraud?

At least now I knew Josiah’s dark secret. Only a desperate man would have committed such a terrible crime and then attempted to cover it up with the help of another desperate man. Once upon a time, I’d thought Theodore Herrington could’ve possibly been the long, lost descendant of Asa Douglas Redding. Wrong. Big time wrong. However, a connection existed between the two families.

Digging out the Thomas family tree, I located Herrington’s mother, Sylvia on the branch and traced the line back to Doctor Thaddeus Thomas, the country doctor spoken so highly of in Josiah’s journal. Joining what I’d learned from Josiah’s journal with the knowledge obtained in the doctor’s papers, the pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place. I now had a full understanding of the connection.

A terrible tenseness settled in the pit of my stomach as I pondered what to do with the information I’d uncovered. Josiah had altered his journal to hide his hideous action and paid another man to go against his principles. The implications of such action were unthinkable.

Could this be the reason for Theo’s Sunday afternoon visit with Victor that Barbara mentioned? Did Herrington drive all the way out here to discuss his explosive findings with Josiah’s descendant?

More importantly, what did he do with the information? Theo Herrington had a reputation as a cutthroat and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’d sunk to blackmail. But why blackmail Victor? Did Theo harbor a secret desire to possess Pineridge Plantation? To search for the lost gold?

Which made no sense. If Herrington had wanted this land all he had to do was sit back and wait for Redding to default on his loan. Herrington’s bank would foreclose and he could snap it up for a song, and then he could search for the gold until hell froze over.

What would happen if I made this information public at this late date? The act had taken place over a century ago. And where did this leave Asa Douglas’s descendants in the legal scheme of things? If this story ever saw light, would they stand to gain from the estate?

All these questions were giving me a headache, so I decided to keep this news to myself until I could figure out a gentle way to break it to Victor. He deserved to know that his world had taken a major change. Besides, Theo’s murder had been solved. Only one mystery remained—the name of the son responsible for betraying the Confederacy and causing the slaughter of innocent civilians.

Grabbing my things out of the back seat, I climbed out of my car and headed inside. The time had come to confront Josiah with the truth of his terrible secret and free him of the guilt binding his soul to this turbulent, blood-soaked land.

****

My last tour of the day turned out to be Mrs. Reynolds third-grade class from the local elementary school, and by the time we’d reached the old kitchen my patience had worn thin with the chatting, hyperactive children who couldn’t keep still.

After picking up the shattered pieces of a broken vase one of the little darlings had knocked over, I conducted the group out of the front parlor and into the connecting music room where an 1850 Steinway-Webber rosewood piano took center stage.

“Don’t touch the instruments,” I ordered as several children darted forward, heading straight for the antique cello and violin standing upright in their brass stands. Several pages of yellowed sheet music fell to the floor as they skidded to a halt mere inches of crashing into them.

Mrs. Reynolds wrung nervous hands. “Children, must I remind you to behave? We don’t want another accident,” she admonished in what I’d describe as a totally ineffective voice for this rowdy bunch.

Over the uncontrolled sounds of children talking echoed a rapping noise no one seemed to notice other than myself. Scanning the room for the source, my eyes focused on the white mist gathering over the surface of the piano. I nearly swallowed my tongue when Scarlett materialized wearing a black-sequined dress designed for an anorexic lounge singer. I flushed hot when she caught me staring at her boobs spilling out of the plunging neckline of the skin-tight dress.

A wicked smile creased her lips. “A certain someone I won’t name is taking me dancing so shut up and listen. Meet us in the attic after you dump the kiddies,” she said, fading away into nothingness.

Excited at the prospect of answers, I finished the tour in record time, and ushered Mrs. Reynolds and her group of yapping piranhas out to Mr. Peabody who waited on the veranda for his next outdoor tour. God help the man.

As soon as the door shut behind them, I bolted for the attic where the ghostly duo waited for me in the semi-darkness. Josiah appeared out of the shadows and stood before me, his eyes reflecting the pain of his tortured soul.

“You know my crime,” he said.

Startled to hear him speak, I hesitated for the briefest moment. “Yes, I know. But I don’t understand why you defied your beliefs. You’re a good man, and I’m sure you meant no harm. I don’t condemn you for failing. Only God can be your judge.”

“I fear His judgment.”

“Your fear and guilt ties you to this house,” I told him. “If you ever hope to join your family, you must let go of the past and forgive yourself. Trust that the truth will set you free.”

“Trusting comes hard for me.”

“Me, too,” I confessed with a chuckle. “I’m a neurotic control-freak.”

The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his lips. “You and Scarlett have a lot in common with a remarkable young woman of my acquaintance. Rosie Greenhow was a brave and courageous spy for the Confederacy. You, in particular, would’ve made an excellent addition to her network of female intelligence gatherers.”

His comparison pleased me. Rose O’Neil Greenhow had been fearless in her pursuit of Union secrets using all means and opportunities to extract them from her targets. All means, if you get my drift.

“And speaking of espionage, can you remember anything more about the night of the Union raid?” I asked. “Your diary stopped short of naming which of your sons betrayed the Confederacy. Is it possible that Randall found out what you’d done and resented sharing the plantation with an adopted brother? Or perhaps John Milton found out and wanted to silence the threat of the truth leaking out of his true birthright? His father was after all a poor farmer. Pride goeth before the fall and that kind of thing.”

The ghostly smile faded. “Savannah and I enjoyed a perfect life for many years,” he began with a heavy voice. “Randall’s birth brought more happiness than we could’ve ever imagined, and when she found out she was pregnant a second time, our contentment knew no bounds. After a hard labor, John made his entrance into this world, and I feared he wouldn’t survive being so small and sickly. For days I prayed God would spare his life, but his health continued to deteriorate. Then Mrs. Winston died and her twins were brought here. When John Milton died, I feared for Savannah’s mental stability so I turned to Dr. Thomas.”

“And persuaded him with ten thousand dollars to go along with your plan,” I added.

He shook his head. “I’m not proud of my actions but, yes, I persuaded him with the only means I knew. Winston couldn’t offer the boy the life I could, so I buried my misgivings and swapped one of the healthy infants with my dead son. Savannah never knew the truth and raised the boy as her own. John Milton had every advantage. He followed in Randall’s footsteps and graduated from West Point Military School. Savannah and I had high hopes for our boys. When the war started, our dreams crumbled. At fourteen, Asa Douglas spoke of joining his brothers on the battlefield. I couldn’t take the chance of losing another son. I sent him to France with his grandparents.”

“So with Asa Douglas safely out of the way, you and your most trusted slaves buried the Confederate gold. Then you hid the map? Tell me why you sent for me.”

“You hold the key to the strongbox where I hid the map.”

Excited and aggravated, I blurted, “And you didn’t think to tell me this sooner? Wait… Victor said the gold had been recovered.”

“The gold remains untouched in the grave. Every generation hopes to recover the wealth.” He indicated the creaking floorboards beneath his feet. “The strongbox is here.”

I dug into my pocket only to find it empty. “Oh, damn, I threw it away.”

Scarlett withdrew the key from the plunging neckline. “I picked it up after your temper tantrum.”

Going down on both knees, I tapped the wood with my knuckles for the telling hollow sound of space between two floors. Pressing fingers to the boards, I pried several loose and set them beside me as I peered down into the dark cavity and withdrew a small, silver strongbox.

In the semi-darkness of the attic, I inserted the key, turning clockwise until a soft click sounded. With trembling fingers, I threw open the lid and withdrew a stiff, yellowed parchment. Squinting in the dim overhead light, I studied the document in silence for several minutes. Recognizing the layout of the plantation, and the huge black X marking the spot in the deteriorating graveyard adjacent to the house, I concluded that I’d found the authentic map detailing the exact location of the legendary Piper’s Gold.