“Shit, I’m getting sick. Let’s get out.”
Stumbling into the fresh air, she inhaled a deep breath and then sank to the ground, axe handle still in hand. For a minute, the woods swam as she tried to find her bearings. Moisture from the damp ground soaked through the knees of her jeans. The fingernails of her ungloved hand skimmed the dirt.
Jaymee’s hand rubbed her back. Her voice, far away and urgent. “You okay?”
Dani shook her head, took another deep breath. Her vision cleared so she could see the water droplets sticking to the milkweed. “Yeah.”
“Good, because do you realize what you’re holding?”
She looked again at the axe handle. Everything turned cold as she read the signature. “Lester Maddux.”
Lester Maddux had been the Jim Crow-loving owner of Pickrick’s Cafeteria in Georgia. In July of 1964, he’d refused to allow three black students from Georgia Tech to enter, and he and his supporters had used axe handles to ward off what Maddux called the invasion.
“He sold these as souvenirs,” Dani said. “Later, when he was governor.”
“Yeah, but those were printed, right? Like through a machine?”
“You’re right. This is signed. I don’t know signatures but someone signed his name. It’s out of place, whether it’s really Maddux’s signature or not. This thing’s a hundred years younger than anything else in here.” Her fingers tingled as she carefully wiped off the thick covering of dirt from the buried end. She flicked off the dried dirt with her fingernail. “And it’s stained with something dark.”
“Could be ink.”
“Or any number of things.”
Neither said the word they were both thinking. Blood. Dani hauled herself to her feet and headed for the creek. “Either way, this means someone else knew about the cave long before Dylan found it.”
She shook the axe handle at Jaymee. “I have no idea what it means, but if this is a Pickrick Axe, I’d love to know who would hide it here, especially for as long as it looks to have been stuck. In the 60s, something like this would be a big deal to a southerner. A Yankee like me, not so much. And if Maddux did sign it, it’s worth some money. For that reason alone, I doubt it was left here any time in the last twenty years.”
The answer came unexpectedly, popping into her thoughts with the brightness of a gaudy neon light at a seedy bar. The kind that sticks out from a mile away. The answer she should have snagged as soon as she saw the cartridge box.
Shock made her stop short, and she nearly slid down the bank and into the creek bed. “This isn’t about the mafia at all, Jaymee.”
“What?”
“Come on, we need to get back to the house. I’ve got something to show you.”
A
xe handle jammed
into her fleece vest, Dani slogged through the woods as fast as the brush would allow. Skinny branches whipped her cheeks, thorns snagged her jeans. Her breath was cold in her chest, scrabbling up her esophagus until her throat burned. She felt none of it, her brain churning.
Jaymee huffed behind her, the sound of her quick breaths matching Dani’s frenetic heart. Finally, when her thigh muscles burned, the house emerged in front of them, and Dani sprinted into the backyard and around the corner.
Her footsteps faltered, however, when she saw Margaret Asher standing on her front porch. How in the hell had she gotten away from Ashland during the search? Surely she’d at least be some sort of material witness. Even if police couldn’t make her stay, she couldn’t believe the woman came out here.
Gasping for breath, Dani signaled behind her back for Jaymee to stop running. Her friend barely managed to stop behind the side of the house to remain unseen. A backup, just in case. Margaret Asher had to have some idea of what her husband was up to, and Dani had no clue why the woman would be on her front porch now. She’d never stopped by before. Dani had met her only in passing, and she hadn’t been impressed. Margaret was old money, a snobby southern aristocrat, and she didn’t appear to have any interest in speaking with an outsider. Especially a Yankee.
Not to mention Dani hated when people dropped by uninvited. Part of the southern lifestyle she’d had yet to get used to.
“Margaret,” Dani breathed hard. “What brings you around?”
Margaret’s eyes slid over Dani’s muddy jeans and boots, her penciled-in eyebrows raised. She seemed the sort who believed ladies didn’t get dirty.
“You look like you’ve been digging in the woods, young lady.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Dani saw Jaymee disappear around the back corner of the house. Seconds later, Mutt started barking.
“I was out for a run and fell. Clumsy.”
“I’d say so.” Margaret’s smile was stiff, her voice taut as a wire. “You have a dog?”
“I do. Needed some company with Cage’s hours. And the dog’s got bionic hearing, I swear. Can hear voices in the drive.”
Dani joined Margaret on the porch, making a show of shivering and keeping her arms wrapped around her waist. Hopefully, Margaret didn’t notice the moisture on her forehead. She didn’t want the handle falling out of her vest. “So, like I said, what brings you here?”
Margaret’s dainty chin raised. “The police are searching my home like we are some sort of common criminals, which I’m sure you know.”
“Cage mentioned it. But he’s not allowed to give me any details.”
“Let me fill you in. Your boyfriend has brought in my husband and is accusing him of fraud. He’s also claiming our close friend Wyatt Booth is a member of organized crime.”
“I’m sorry.” Dani tried to sound genuine. As far as she was concerned, both the Ashers and Booth needed to remain in jail for a long time. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“You know I’ve known Wyatt Booth since we were children?”
A tremor of fear sliced through Dani’s thoughts at the flat look in Margaret’s eyes. The woman’s genteel facade was beginning to slip, replaced by a hardness that probably came from getting what she wanted most of her life.
“No,” Dani said, wondering just where the hell this conversation was going.
“I grew up in Maryland. I didn’t come to Mississippi until after college. That’s where I met Beau Asher.”
A flicker of distaste, followed by another forced smile that didn’t make it past the woman’s harsh cheekbones.
Had Margaret been attractive when she was young, or did those cheekbones still stick out a bit too far, giving her face an off-kilter look?
“Wyatt Booth is a powerful businessman. He’s worked hard for his success, and all he wants to do is bring it to Roselea. This means jobs. A better life for so many people.”
“Based on lies,” Dani said. She probably shouldn’t be engaging Margaret, but the woman clearly had an agenda. Maybe Dani could find out something that would help locate Nick. “He wants the natural gas, and he’s done it all on the sly.”
“Because he knew this silly town would hang on to its history instead of thinking of what’s best for it.”
Coming from a woman who owned the biggest antebellum home in the county. One that she’d married into, apparently for the money and prestige rather than love. One that Dani could spend days and days in and probably still not discover all its secrets. “Right. And then he starts on his pipeline, brings in his own people. Loyal people, of course. Part of his established family network.”
Margaret’s flashing eyes told Dani she got the implication. “There will be jobs for anyone willing to work hard. And yes, loyalty matters.”
“In other words, pledge your soul to Booth and you can work the dirty jobs, right?”
“Pledging your soul is a little dramatic. But there will be jobs.”
“Correction.” Dani was getting tired of playing the game, and she wanted to get inside, tell Jaymee about her epiphany in the cave. She should have told her on the way back to the house, but they were running and she wanted to show her the picture. Easier to do that than explain. Plus, she needed to check one more time. No use in getting Jaymee’s hopes up if she was wrong.
“
Would
have been. Now that we know what’s in that cave, there’s no way any drilling is going on until it’s properly excavated. And then, it’ll go the legal route. You know, involve the state and allow companies to bid for the work. Isn’t that how it’s usually done with natural resources?”
“There will be no bidding.” Margaret shook her head as if she were speaking to a naive child. “Wyatt has many connections. There are people who’ve already invested in the gas. They won’t allow it to change.”
“Tell that to the Mississippi Historical Society. I’ve already called them.” Dani mentally kicked herself.
I should have called them. Stupid.
“But the land is owned by Norton Investments. The state won’t interfere.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Dani wasn’t going to get anything useful from Margaret. “I need to make some phone calls, so if you don’t need anything else…”
“As I said, I wanted to let Cage Foster know he’s way off course.”
“Why not tell him yourself?”
Margaret flinched. “He’s at the station. Wyatt’s still there as well. No one is taking my calls. I thought perhaps you could get through to him.”
“Look.” Dani couldn’t believe Margaret’s attitude. She thought it was the Yankees who were used to snapping their fingers and getting their way. “I don’t have any sway over Cage when it comes to police business. He’s doing his job. Period. Maybe you should call some of Mr. Booth’s powerful associates. I have a feeling he’s going to need them.”
The older woman’s gaze remained steel. “You obviously don’t understand who you are dealing with.”
“Let me tell you what I know,” Dani continued, sick of the aristocratic act and the woman’s sheer arrogance. “I don’t care who I’m dealing with. The law was broken, the police will handle it. Now get off my property.”
“Ridiculous.” Margaret pointed a gnarled finger at her. Dani couldn’t stop her shudder. The woman’s hands looked like tree roots. How she drove a vehicle was a mystery. “Wyatt will be released and this whole matter dropped, as it should be.”
Her hand clenched into a fist, and Margaret winced. Dani should probably offer for her to sit and rest, but as the woman pitched forward, the collar of her expensive silk shirt briefly opened, and Dani forgot all about manners. Margaret Asher wore a clear patch on the lower right side of her neck across her collarbone.
Shit, shit, shit.
A heady cocktail of fear and clarity washed over Dani. Margaret was ill. She had a pain patch and obviously supported whatever muck Booth was into. She might even be more than a friend to him. But surely she hadn’t been involved in Ben’s murder.
She backed up a step, Margaret’s big, black purse suddenly looking like the Ripper’s death bag. What was inside it? More patches? A syringe she might have used?
My imagination is running off.
Common sense and instinct screamed at each other. It couldn’t be Margaret. She was too frail. Of course she had a pain patch. Her arthritis had to be brutal. But she was here, believing Dani was alone. Angry at Cage, defending Booth, her longtime friend. Did she plan on sending some sort of message? Had she and Booth been working together?
Booth’s patch wasn’t fentanyl. Maybe Margaret’s is.
“You really need to tell your boyfriend to watch his step. And perhaps be careful of your own crudeness.” Margaret stepped closer, arms tight, purse held close against her side.
“He’s making accusations that could get him in serious trouble. Wyatt’s a powerful man, and I wouldn’t want his supporters to do anything to harm Cage’s career. Especially after his heroic survival from last summer. And his sister’s death! That family’s had enough tragedy.” Her arrogant expression turned Dani’s fear into anger. She wasn’t in the mood for threats from the gnarled witch of the South.
“The only thing your threats against Cage are going to do is land you in jail,” Dani said. “Does your husband know about your devotion to Booth? Because from what I’ve heard, he and your son don’t think much of the man. Wonder what they’ll be telling the police?”
“They don’t understand his greatness. And they’ll have to answer for their bad decisions. I highly doubt my husband will see another term. One way or the other, he’ll be removed from office.”
Greatness?
She sounds like a religious fanatic. Or a teenage girl lusting over a pop star.
“Why? Because Booth’s supporters are everywhere or because his loyal people will take care of the mayor? What’s the term? Make him swim with the fishes? Although down here, I suppose it would be roll with the alligators.”
Margaret had the grace to look scandalized, hand pressed to her chest. “I’m simply talking about the political ramifications. You’re an imaginative thing, aren’t you?”
“I’m imagining that you know a lot more than the police realize. And maybe you’ve got a hiding spot for Nick Samuels. After all, he dared to step on Wyatt’s toes. From what I’ve heard, the last person who did died of a fentanyl overdose. Is that what he did to Ben Moore?”
The axe handle jammed Dani in the chest, reminding her that she wasn’t so sure Nick’s kidnapping was connected to the mafia at all.
Pointed face twisting into a witch-like grimace, Margaret stepped forward, one hand slipping into her purse. “You are a disrespectful thing.”
Visions of hypodermic needles and death dancing in her head, Dani reached inside her vest for the axe handle just as the door banged open. Jaymee stepped out onto the porch, John James Laurent’s muzzle-loading rifle in her hands. He’d carried it during the Civil War, and Dani had only recently found it hidden deep in the Ironwood cache. The exterior was in decent condition, with little rust thanks to being stored correctly, but the firing mechanism was shot. Jaymee knew the gun didn’t work, but Margaret Asher certainly didn’t.
“What are you reaching for, Mrs. Asher?” Jaymee said.
Margaret staggered toward the steps. “A tissue, of course. What
is
wrong with you two? I should call the police.”
“I’m not pointing it at you. Just letting you know I’ve got it. My boyfriend’s missing. You come around here dropping weird threats and pretending to be nice. My father always said you were crazy, but since he’s an ass, I never believed him.” Jaymee nodded at the rifle. “I’m not taking any chances.”