Under the pretext of a breezy Sunday drive, I told Johnny I’d be back later.
Brianne and I met at ten o’clock and followed the Natchez Trace Parkway, just as my brother and I had done weeks before. With most people in bed sleeping off their sins—or in church repenting of them—the roads are quiet this time of day.
I was counting on it.
Mom’s embroidered handkerchief was in my hands, accompanied by the memory of her words: I have secrets wrapped in here. Someday it’ll show you the way.
“It’s gorgeous out here.” Brianne reached into her daypack and pulled out a digital camera. She snapped a picture. “The way the sun’s peeking through the clouds.”
“Hope they come out,” I said, with my mind on more than photos.
The weather in late November was less forgiving than it had been before, but dry leaves still clung in patches on the tree branches, and birds flitted about with unabated zeal. There were no bees in the air this time, and the humidity was normal.
“This is it,” I said, leading Brianne from the Honda to the broken-top monument. A surreptitious study of our surroundings revealed no tourists, tagalongs, or malcontents. We appeared to have the place to ourselves.
Good. Just as planned.
“The Meriwether Lewis Memorial. It looks so … barren, Aramis.”
“Kinda sad, isn’t it?”
She shifted her pack while aiming another picture.
“Right over there.” I pointed. “Those cabins are Grinder’s Stand, where he was shot and killed. I think he was murdered to cover up General Wilkinson’s treason. He died after hiding the gold that was meant to pay Wilkinson for his dirty deeds. And this handkerchief. It’s a map, just as you suggested.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Babe, are you supposed to be telling me this?”
“You and me. Shh.”
“We can run away. Carefree.”
“The gold. That comes first.”
“It’s here? How do you know?”
“The map starts at the cabins and leads back along this old section of the Trace. I checked it earlier, but I wanted you to be with me. Come on.”
I took her hand, stood at the base of the monument, then started counting our steps—one, two, three—as we moved toward the opening in the foliage. Nondescript, hardly recognizable as the trail once traveled by presidents and thieves, Indians and missionaries, the gap in the trees drew us into its cocoon of forest noises. With the handkerchief held out in one hand, I continued counting out the steps—ninety-three, ninety-four.
We stopped at the hundredth. I glanced around. The underbrush was thick, and a layer of molding leaves covered compact earth.
“My shovel. What am I thinking?” I dropped her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“What should I …”
“Just wait. I don’t wanna recount the steps.”
I hurried back through the trees, curving toward the monument and the parking lot. My heart was beating faster than my footsteps. I opened the trunk, retrieved the shovel, then stood still for a moment. My mind played again over the list of clues and convinced me I was on the right path.
A little more digging. Soon I’d know for sure.
Two minutes had passed by the time I jogged back into Brianne’s view. She was pacing, surveying the ground for a sign of some sort. I threw out a laugh and said something about her looking anxious.
“Why would he bury it here?” she said. “Wasn’t this like a thoroughfare?”
“Used to be.”
“So why here? It doesn’t make sense. Are you sure about this?”
“You’re bright. I’ve known that from the start.”
“What’re you telling me?” Brianne stood rigidly, and the pack slid down her arm into her hand. She gave me a questioning look.
“He didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Bury it on the trace. He buried it near Memphis.”
“I don’t understand. Then why come all the way out here?”
“It’s been right before my eyes all this time.” I waved the handkerchief. “See this embroidery? It’s a map, just as we suspected. It shows the pattern of the Mississippi River and its inlets. I figured it out from a book.”
“What book? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“The Three Musketeers. Chapter four. Aramis was one of the musketeers and my namesake. Can you believe that? My mom must’ve intended for me to solve it all along, but now that I have, I can’t touch it. That gold has hurt too many people.”
“Can’t touch it? Of course you can, babe.”
“No. I’d be profiting from her death.”
“But you said … you and me.” Brianne stepped closer to me. Although her hair caught a beam of sunlight falling through the branches overhead, her face moved into shadows. “You’re confusing me.”
“I told you we’d find out what was going on. I’m doing a little digging.”
She reached for the shovel. “Let me try. Maybe it is here.”
I pulled away. Even as I did, as my shoulders squared, I saw her posture change too. She stiffened for a moment, then pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to hold back tears.
“You don’t trust me, is that it, Aramis? Why are treating me this way?”
“You tell me, sweet heart.”
“You sound upset. I thought we had a relationship here, built on trust. I’ve never opened up like this before”—sniffle—“not with anyone, so please don’t tell me you’re gonna turn on me. I can’t watch you walk away. I can’t … You said we’d share it. Together.”
“Is that the same line you pulled on Darrell Michaels?”
“Darrell?”
“You act like you didn’t know him. But you certainly know Mrs. Michaels. When she came into the shop the other day, she recognized you.”
Brianne rolled her eyes and wiped away a tear. “I went to the same school as some of her older children, yes. That woman’s not all there, though.”
“Brianne.”
She looked up at me, blinked. Looked off to the side.
“Detective Meade conducted follow-up interviews with the people who were in Black’s on the day of the shooting. No one saw the guy point the revolver. No witnesses. We knew that already. What we didn’t know was that you used to date Darrell.”
“Says who?”
“Trey Kellers.”
“Well, of course he would say such a thing.”
“No, Brianne. You’re not listening. Meade corroborated the report. And then I thought back to what you told me about your old boyfriend, the one who’d been all caught up in church, then fallen into his old ways. It all adds up. And why wouldn’t you say anything? What’re you trying to hide?”
“Aramis, why are you treating me this way? Let’s just go, right now. We’ll drive straight to Memphis and get this gold and never come back. Never have to worry again about food and clothes, any of that stuff. Just you and me. It can happen. We can make it work.”
“You own an automatic,” I stated. “You’re not afraid to pull the trigger.”
“That man would’ve raped me. Please don’t judge me for—”
“I’m not talking about at your condo. The morning of the Elliston shooting you were there in that window booth. With your mocha. Holding that same daypack.” I indicated the bag in her hand.
She pulled it closer.
“You didn’t see Trey Kellers shoot Darrell with a revolver because—”
“Because of the angle,” she said. “I could’ve lied and told the cops I saw him shoot. But I saw no reason to lie.”
“You? Lie?” My laugh was so acidic I thought it would burn my throat. “You were a few feet farther back. Right behind him. The detectives would’ve measured it out and known it was impossible to see him from there. That’s why you didn’t lie. One little truth trying to cover your guilt. You killed him in cold blood.”
She was shaking her head.
“You took the shot before the other guy. You were afraid Darrell would tell me everything, weren’t you? Or just afraid that he’d take the gold for himself.”
“You’re scaring me, Aramis.”
I stepped toward her. Lowered my voice to a throaty growl.
“Tell me, Brianne Douglas. Why?”
She dropped a hand into her daypack and moved with agility, stepping back even as my arm knocked the pack to the ground. She let the gun settle into her grip, holding it with both hands. Standing tall and skinny, she bit her bottom lip. “Don’t move any closer. I’ll pull this trigger. You know that I will.”
I was trembling with that old rage. “You had me fooled, Brianne. Greed’s been your thing from the start.”
“At first, maybe, but my feelings for you were real. Even now—”
“Even now? You’re pointing a freakin’ gun at me!”
“Drop that shovel.”
I stared. Daring her. Hoping to discover I was wrong about all this.
“Drop it!” Her finger slithered along the trigger.
“You would really shoot me?”
“I’ll do what I have to, Aramis.”
“You don’t know how it is,” she insisted. “My parents went off to help some faceless needy people while their own daughter was being bounced between boarding schools. I learned to take care of myself. Getting the things I want and need, doing it on my own terms. When it comes down to it, we’re all alone in this world.”
“We don’t have to be.”
“You and me? Is that what you’re saying? Because that’s what I wanted to believe. I should’ve known.” She punctuated her sentences by motioning with the gun—on the edge, rambling. “All you men, you’re the same. The businessman who conned my parents out of their money. My dad, who let my mother wither away because he had nothing left for proper treatment. And romance? That’s where it really gets ugly.”
“I did have feelings for you,” I said. “That was real.”
“These fickle feelings.” She huffed. “Darrell told me he loved me too, but I never loved him, never really loved any of the guys I was with. I hated Darrell for his hypocrisy. His drug habit. Everything about him made me cringe.”
“So you killed him for it?”
“I’d broken up with him months before.”
“But he came crying back to you, wanting your sweet little kisses and telling you he had a plan. Am I right?”
She blinked again. Fresh tears rolled down her face.
“Cry all you want, Brianne. He let you in on his secret. He thought you might run away with him and live happily ever after. Boy, that has a familiar ring to it. But you hated him. You gave him what he wanted for a night or two to get the information out of him, then broke his heart for the final time.”
“I’m sure he did. Once he realized that a little tramp had stolen his heart!”
Brianne’s finger was twitching on the trigger of her automatic. She said, “I had to get that parole officer of his to tell me the rest. Leroy Parker was gonna help me. That’s what he told me. But he turned on me. In my own condo.”
“You let him in that night.”
“He and I were going to let Kellers take the fall. All we needed was the information we thought you had. But Parker proved an even sicker man than I thought. He had his own agenda. And Darrell, he was practically dead anyway. He’d stopped helping. Stopped trying.”
“Big shocker.”
“I don’t know if he was going for the gold himself or just trying to clue you in so you could get it before the rest of us. But I couldn’t let him do either. Already I thought I was too late. Didn’t know how much he’d told you.”
“Just enough,” I said. “Enough to get me searching.”
Brianne nodded. “I waited too long. Should’ve killed him earlier.”
“You’ll have a long time to think about it, Miss Douglas.”
Brianne spun toward the resonant voice. “What?”
Detective Meade had risen from the underbrush, armed with a police-issue stun gun aimed at Brianne’s midsection. He was unflinching, his eyes dark and demanding compliance. Beside him stood a Metro warrant officer.
“I heard it all,” he said. “Now let’s set down the weapon.”
Her eyes watered again, but these tears ran faster. Angry tears. Her cheeks twisted while her gaze slid toward me. She mouthed my name as though I were the guilty one: Aramis.
The Taser electrodes took her down even as her finger pulled the trigger.
I never flinched.
Live by the Sword … Die by the Sword.
In the heartbreaking, trust-crushing finality of that moment, I accepted that the consequences either way were the result of my own bitter choices, my own blindness.
As the shot shattered the forest stillness, I was still standing. The bullet had gone wide, landing somewhere in the foliage, and my former girlfriend was lying on the dirt, quivering. Part of me wanted to kick her. Part of me wanted to drop to my knees and take her in my arms, calling to God for help, cradling her from the loneliness and greed that had stolen her soul. Her love of money and desire for security had eaten her up inside, turning her empty—incapable of truly offering love. Or receiving it.
I’ve seen that kind of thing before. I’m sure I’ll see it again.
The tearing away of that which I’d hoped and believed in felt like a physical wound. A scream welled in my throat, got caught there. Tears burned behind my eyes, locked up. I’ve always been a fighter. Lived for years by my credo. For a brief moment, weighed by the cost of this woman’s actions, I thought of snatching up her automatic and making her pay for this pain—
No!
Instead, I did the one thing that’s always been the hardest for me—and simply walked away.