Carolina Heat (25 page)

“Harvey’s book was indeed the last one for sale on the open market. However, he’s aware of a few more which exist in private collections. The literary world is surprisingly small. Incestuous, really, so he keeps staggeringly complex records of who owns what. They say everything’s available for the right price. Harvey finds it profitable to keep tabs on as many pieces as possible, even those technically off the market.”

“I swear to God, Jonathan, if you drag this out one more minute, I’ll buy an industrial grade magnet and aim it at each of your computers.” Annabelle shoved at her hair, frustrated as much by the sweltering heat as by her brother. Didn’t he realize it was time to get back on the trail? This was why she preferred to work alone.

“In just the past year every remaining copy has been purchased. Unfortunately, most went to anonymous buyers. If we have to, we can try and backtrack to find out where they went. However, I do know the current location of two of them. One, as you’re already aware, is in the private library of Mr. Prescott. The other happens to reside in the private library of the Daughters of Charleston.” Jonathan rocked back on his heels in glee at the expressions of surprise mirrored on Mark and Annabelle’s faces.

“You mean we drove all the way up here to find a book that was under my nose yesterday morning? I knew I needed to take a closer look at the library. If it wasn’t for Jillian’s detestable mother, this could be over already.” Annabelle’s voice rose steadily. Luckily, they were almost to the parking lot by then.

“Darlin’, I know you’re upset and rightly so, but we Southerners take our mourning very seriously. You’re going to have to try and keep your voice down.” Mark gestured toward a funeral in progress.

Her response was swift and fierce. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt.”

“So far, you appear to be the only one with a target sign permanently tattooed on their back. You’re out of Charleston, and have two very devoted men standing guard. No one else is going to get hurt.” Mark stroked her hair, and as the strands slipped through his fingers she was soothed. She leaned her head into his hand and exhaled slowly.

“We’re so close. I feel it, Mark.”

“Which means we put in the legwork and get it done. If the book in Prescott’s library disappeared, there is a fifty/fifty chance the one belonging to the Daughters of the Charleston has gone missing as well. There’s no point rushing back to Charleston until we cover all our bases here in Richmond.”

Jonathan watched his sister respond to Mark as they walked away, both in words and action. Her entire body curved toward him, and it was evident she took comfort in his touch. They were interacting as true partners, and it was something he had never before seen his Annabelle do. Whatever lingering animosity he held toward Mark disappeared at that moment. As unlikely as it seemed, this man obviously was good for her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I really can’t wait for your manager to return from lunch. It should only take you a few minutes to access the form.” Annabelle had been cajoling the clerk at the shipping store for a good ten minutes. Between checking out two customers and collating a copier order, the young man behind the counter was overwhelmed, and Annabelle’s incessant questioning pushed him to the limit. The gangly teenager was clearly terrified of his supervisor and had so far refused to even discuss the topic with her. Annabelle knew it was time for drastic measures. She glanced around the store. As luck would have it, the only other customer had just left.

“I know I told you I was trying to find my missing friend, but it wasn’t entirely the truth.” She dug out her wallet. “I didn’t want to say too much with customers in the store, but now we’re alone... well, I’m going to have to trust you.”

He leaned over the counter, and she knew his curiosity had won out over fear of reprisals. “Sounds serious.”

“I’m with the Department of Homeland Security—the Office of Legislative and Intergovernmental Affairs.” Annabelle opened her wallet to display an ID card with her picture on one side and the DHS logo on the other. She watched the clerk’s eyes widen, and knew he’d looked at it long enough to register it was the real thing.

In February she’d done a piece comparing the heightened security at New York’s airports versus the train stations. Her boss had wrangled her a temporary DHS pass to show the TSA in the event she was detained while snooping around. The pass didn’t afford her access to everywhere, but it did prevent two near arrests. And she knew it’d be handy to hang on to for future investigations.

Annabelle slid the wallet back into her bag. “I’m a liaison with the FBI. I can’t tell you much, but they did ask for my help in keeping this investigation under the radar.”

“Are you packing a gun right now?” he whispered in awe.

She knew she had him now. With a meaningful pat of her bag, Annabelle said solemnly, “I can neither confirm nor deny, for your own safety.”

“Wow. I mean, of course I’ll help you. What do you want to know?”

“Go back through your records about a month, and tell me if you can find anything about who rented PO Box 13746.”

It took less than a minute of thumbing through the file cabinet for him to retrieve the folder.

“What do you want to know?”

“Who rented the box?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed several times. “Oh, wow—this is her! I remember this lady.”

Annabelle pulled out her notebook, ready to write. “Who rented the box, and why do you remember a random customer from a month ago? What made her stand out?”

“Well, she said her name was Varina Howell. I’m a Civil War re-enactor. My division is Lee’s Seventeenth Infantry. Anyway, I know all about the real Varina Howell, and this lady wasn’t her. Obviously. She caught my attention ‘cause it’s disrespectful to use her name. No one goes around pretending to be Mary Lincoln.”

She bit her cheek to keep from smiling. “Good point.”

“I’m glad she’s going to get in trouble for this. Here’s the address and phone she gave us.” He turned the folder around so Annabelle could copy down what she needed.

“I don’t suppose you remember what she looked like, do you?”

“She was older, and had blond hair pulled back in a bun, I guess? I mean, I’d know her if I saw her again, but I don’t know how to describe her to you.”

“You were very helpful. Now remember, you can’t tell anyone about this, or it might jeopardize our operation.” Annabelle shook his hand and hurried out the door. She rooted in her bag, then remembered there hadn’t been any time to replace her cell phone yet. She scanned the street for cabs, and decided the quickest option was to walk the six blocks to meet Mark at the Museum of the Confederacy.

Once inside the white-columned mansion she went straight to the pay phone. Museums were one of the last places to find these technological dinosaurs. It didn’t take long to realize her hot new lead plowed her into another dead end. ‘Varina Howell’ had signed up for her mailbox using the address and phone number of the Capitol building in Columbia, South Carolina.

Her frustration level was at maximum. They were being played, and Annabelle was sick of it. This trip to Richmond was one more corner they were driven into. It was time to go back to Charleston and stir things up again. A tap on her arm sent her whirling around.

“We have some news.” Mark and Jonathan began to lead her out of the museum.

“So do I, but it isn’t of the good variety. Please tell me you found out something usable.”

“The Museum does
own
a copy of the book. Notice I say
own
, not
have
. It’s currently out on loan.” Mark kept his hand on the small of her back as he propelled her toward their car.

Annabelle rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t they catch a break? “Of course it is. Should I bother to ask the name of the current book holder?”

“Oh, I think so. Because this one’s a doozy.”

“Well, we’re talking about a fairly heavy hitting museum, so I’ll go out on a limb and assume their staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to loan a book to Varina Howell. I mean, what reputable staff member would believe the ex-First Lady of the Confederacy came back from the dead to catch up on a little research?” Annabelle leaned against the car door and crossed her arms. “Tell me the awful truth.”

“The book’s on loan to the Citadel.” Mark hurried to explain further. “It’s a military college in Charleston. They’ve been around since the mid-eighteen hundreds. Over the years they’ve churned out some of the top brass in the Army, CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, Congressmen, Senators, and even a Supreme Court Justice.”

Annabelle blinked slowly. “I know, it just took me a second,” she said. “I have to admit if you’d said West Point, I might’ve been a tiny bit quicker on the name recognition, but I’m there now.”

“Don’t worry Belle, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about either,” Jonathan added. “My frame of reference for military colleges is exactly nil. However, it seems hard to imagine they’d ship the book off to help some sophomore write a truly kick ass paper.”

Mark shook his head. “The Citadel has a museum on its campus with changing exhibits. Nobody’s using the book. It’s probably behind glass in a display case. The interesting thing’s it only went out on loan about a month ago.”

Annabelle drew in a sharp breath. “Yet another coincidence. These are stacked up hip deep by now. I don’t like it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by several bars of Springsteen’s
Born in the USA
. Mark pulled out his cell phone. “Don’t even think of mocking me—this song is as classic as it gets,” he warned Jonathan as he put it on speaker.

“Mark Dering.”

“Research assistant Haley reporting as ordered.”

“Thanks for taking the time. I half expected Jilly to be running you around so much with final preparations for the ball you’d forget about our little project.”

“Hey, when somebody takes a shot at you, and more importantly me, I focus. But as far as Jillian goes, you’ve got her pegged. I spent two solid hours this morning hauling ficus trees up three flights of stairs to the ballroom. And all she did the whole time was stand there and watch. She’s going to owe me for this in ways she can’t even imagine. I’m on my way back over there as soon as we hang up. Anyway, I’ve got news.”

Annabelle held her breath. After what felt like a handful of dead ends in a row, any news was welcome.

“Lay it on me.”

“Nothing conclusive, but also nothing to let Bellamy off the hook. It wasn’t too hard to access his public schedule. He was in town during the weeks Tad and Vanessa disappeared. He had some appearances, but his schedule wasn’t jam-packed, which means there would’ve been time to sneak off and do a dirty deed or two.”

She made a gun out of her thumb and index finger. Mark nodded at the reminder. He asked Ashby, “What about the day we were attacked at Charles Towne?”

“Well, it was a Tuesday, which is a standard day at the office for him. No real way to tell his movements for the afternoon. But even if he is behind all of this, I don’t think he was the one running through the swamp after you two. He’s in decent shape, but has a good twenty years on you. I’d be very surprised if he could run fast enough to be the shooter. Be pretty easy to hire someone, though.”

“Thanks, Ashby. Every little piece helps. We’re heading back soon. Oh, and will you ask Jillian if she knows of any old books at the D of C?”

Ashby whistled. “You think the book’s at their headquarters?”

“Might be.” There was a muffled conversation, over far too quickly.

“Jilly said all the books are gone.”

Annabelle exchanged a look with her brother. Yet another non-coincidence.

Mark’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“The display cases take up too much room, so they were removed for the ball. They do it every year, and send the books up to the Smithsonian to have an archivist check them for damage and any maintenance work every ten years.”

Mark winced at Annabelle. “One more dead end, I guess. It was worth a shot.”

“No problem. We’ll catch up tomorrow at the ball?”

“You bet. Don’t let Jilly run you ragged.” He hung up.

“This is circumstantial at best, it’s true, but Bellamy could still be the one for two reasons.” Annabelle ticked them off on her fingers. “One, nothing is coming up which crosses him off the list of suspects. And two, we don’t have anyone else concrete on our list.”

Mark dug out his car keys. “Sherlock Holmes said, ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ ”

Jonathan groaned, while Annabelle grinned in delight. “Mark Dering, that’s my favorite quote of all time. It hangs over my office door.”

“And she’s been saying it pretty much at every opportunity since she was twelve. You two are perfect for each other. Mark, I officially let you off the hook for the future pummeling we discussed.”

“I appreciate it,” he said dryly.

Jonathan hoisted himself onto the hood of their car. “As tired as I am of that quote, Holmes had it right. Since it’s categorically impossible for Varina Howell to be running around town, that leaves the improbable but much more possible Nathaniel Bellamy.”