Southern Gothic Page 7

  Sauntering over to the couch, Maria took a swig from a beer bottle. “So, Mister IAD who don’t want a beer, what is it you want to ask me?”

  “I was interested in Luther’s family history.”

  “Huh?”

  “You see, the person I’m looking into has a long history in this area going back all the way to the days when the land your home is on was probably a plantation. How far does Luther’s family go back around here?”

  With her mouth drawn tight, Maria set her beer on the coffee table. She stared at that beer, nodding to herself, and then stood. “Mister, we’re good people and we don’t deserve you trying to drag us down because of things that got nothing to do with us. We’re down far enough as it is.”

  “I’m not trying to cause you trouble.”

  “Bullshit. I can hear it in your voice. You ain’t good people. I seen the way you looked at that poster. You think you know everything and you’ve got your nose in the air about my home. Ever since y’all found out about Chicken, you been harassing us. Why you always giving Luther the shit jobs? Huh? Why you always passing over him for promotions? You ever think that maybe we need that money to survive? Pay him so little, work him all hours, and then you dare come here trying to paint us with a brush because ol’ Chicken is in my past. Look around here. You think a top man in the police should be living like this?”

  “I apologize, ma’am. I’m not insinuating anything about you or your husband. I really only wanted to ask a few questions.”

  “Well, you ain’t asked anything yet, but you sure implying a lot.”

  Max closed his mouth. Part of him wanted to ask her what Luther had told her he did for a living or about Luther’s gambling. Part of him thought that was too vindictive and might cause trouble for him down the road. Still another part argued that she had a right to know the truth about her husband. Except, other parts of him pointed out, it wasn’t his place to provide that truth.

  Turning to leave, Maria said, “Figures. Y’all are such pansies. Can’t solve a crime without Luther but you want to hang him every time he speaks the truth about racial problems.”

  Max halted and turned back. “Your husband spends his days collecting evidence at crime scenes for others to process. It’s not a high level position. And the reason you’re poor isn’t his job. Even the lowest crime tech makes good money. Luther’s just a fool who gambles it all away instead of sharing it with you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

  “Get out,” she growled. Then she lunged at Max, pounding his back with her fists. “Get out of here! Don’t you ever come back!”

  Driving home, Max thought over all Leon had said about people being more honest and straight-forward down here, and in regards to the subject of prejudice, he had to agree. It was easier in the South to know where people stood.

  More importantly for the case, Maria Boer’s lack of filter on her thoughts led to her letting the word Chicken slip. Whatever that referred to, Max knew he wouldn’t end up researching poultry.

  The work went fast. Searching the name Chicken with North Carolina and the late-1800s gave him all he needed. By the time he sat across from Sandra and sipped on his instant noodle soup, he had plenty to share.

  “Back during the Reconstruction,” Max said, “there was a man named John Walter ‘Chicken’ Stephens. He got the name when he was young because he stole chickens. Anyway, after the war, he was a Republican as well as a lapdog to the Governor — a scalawag who aided the KKK by turning a blind eye to their actions.”

  Sandra nibbled on a piece of toast — the other extravagant part of their meal. “I thought the Republicans of that time became the Democrats of today.”

  “Sort of. And the Democrats back then were also the Conservative party. It gets confusing. It also doesn’t matter as much because the bigotry ran deep on all sides. Chicken Stephens didn’t care what party he was with as long as it benefited him. Though nobody could outright prove it, he was suspected of burning barns that belonged to black families, and there were even accusations of murder. Oh and most people of the time, including members of the press, took it as a given that Stephens had stolen his seat in the North Carolina Senate.”

  “What a lovely man.”

  “After meeting the woman Luther Boer married, I have little doubt she’s related. Must’ve been quite a shock when he found out.”

  “Probably caused his gambling problem.”

  “Anyway, in May of 1870, the Democrats were holding a convention in the Caswell County Courthouse to figure out their plans for the August state elections. Chicken walks right into the Courthouse despite death threats to him and his family. Even his niece stopped him on his way to warn him that trouble was brewing. But he carried three guns whenever he left the house, so he didn’t think he had to worry.”

  “Sounds like he should have worried.”

  “You know it. He goes into the courthouse which is filled with former Confederate soldiers and politicians. Nearly three hundred. He runs into Frank Wiley, the county sheriff, and asks him to run again but for the Republican Party. Wiley says he’ll decide later, and in a few hours, Chicken gets a note from Wiley saying they should talk. So, Chicken’s probably thinking that things are going great for him. He meets Wiley and they go to a small storeroom out behind the courthouse.”

  Sandra snorted. “Because there’s nothing suspicious with that.”

  “Don’t forget. Chicken had ignored a bunch of death threats and because of his connection to the governor, he held a lot of power. I think he was so cocky, he never imagined anyone could touch him.”

  “But they did, right?”

  “Of course. When Wiley and Chicken got in the storeroom, there were three other men waiting. Wiley ducks out and the three men, with the help of a few others, murdered Chicken. Hung and stabbed him.”

  “And this guy’s related to Maria Boer?”

  Max finished his soup but his stomach still felt empty. “Yeah, but I think there’s a deeper connection to this case. See, in addition to being a prick, Chicken pissed people off because he also worked with the Union League. They were a very private society that organized former slaves to vote together as a political group — specifically for the Republican party. Since that was Lincoln’s party, most black voters sided with the Republicans, anyway, but through the Union League, these former slaves created the backbone for the party in North Carolina. The League also fought back against the KKK, playing out their own violent missions most nights. The war was officially over, but each night the streets were a madhouse of vengeance.”

  “I think I see where this is going. Lilla, right?”

  “Exactly. Since Chicken Stephen was active with the Union League, there’s a possibility that he came into contact with either Lilla or her husband.”

  Sandra leaned forward, her eyes blazing with excitement. “That’s real interesting because it ties in with what I learned today about Baxter House.”

  Drummond poked his head through the ceiling. “Sounds like I got here at the right time.”

  “Not exactly,” Max said. “You missed me telling all that I found out about Chicken Stephens.”

  “Now it really sounds like I got here at the right time.”

  Sandra winked at Drummond, and he gave a bashful grin back. “Can I tell about Baxter House now, or do you two still have some bickering to do?”

  “The floor is yours,” Drummond said with a bow and he settled near the sink.

  “Thank you. Most of what I found on Sebastian was pretty mundane. He was a local, which we knew, and he went to Reynolds high school. Got a liberal arts degree from UNC and seems to have stayed around Winston-Salem ever since. I’m not completely sure, though, because he jumped from address to address — sometimes more than twice in a year — and then not at all. See, once he’s out of college, records of him become rather sparse. No employment records, no W-2s, nothing like that. He didn’t pay his taxes at all. In fact, I can’t even find whe
re he lived in the last few years.”

  “Was he one of those ‘off-the-grid’ types?” Max asked.

  “Seems that way. Except then about a year ago, he applies for a position cleaning and taking care of Baxter House. I can’t find anything that suggests he looked for any other job. He sought out that specific job and only that job.”

  “That’s definitely strange. I don’t know what it means though.”

  Drummond said, “It means he had a specific reason for wanting access to that house. He didn’t need the job for money or anything. Just access.”

  “But what if he never got the job? What if it went to somebody else?”

  “Lots of options — depends on how far he was willing to go. Before the job went elsewhere, he could threaten the other applicants, make them back out. Or, if that didn’t work, he could create a new job opening by killing off the guy with the position he wants. There’s also bribery. Or he could look into his employer’s history, find something damaging, and blackmail his way into the position. That’s just off the top of my head.”

  Max wagged a finger at Drummond. “You think in a very twisted way.”

  “See how your mind works once you’ve been at this as long as I have.”

  Sandra raised her voice. “Boys, stop it and listen.” She let them stare at each other for a few seconds before continuing. “It doesn’t matter how he did it because the fact is that he did it. Sebastian Freeman got that job. So, I looked into Baxter House and found some important things. After Cal Baxter came into his money, he had the place built quickly, paying double what it was worth to make sure it was done fast. He also designed the house himself and kept the number of workers to a minimum. Even weirder — he had large wood fences built around the property until construction was done.”

  “So nobody knows what exactly was built except what we see now.”

  “Right.”

  Drummond clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t bode well for the builders.”

  Max nodded. “Sadly, I agree with you.”

  “You two.” Sandra shook her head. “The builders were fine. No mysterious deaths or anything like that. They simply were paid a lot of money to stay silent, and they did.”

  “See that,” Drummond said. “Bribery. The choice of the non-violent.”

  “After Baxter moves in, everything in the neighborhood is quiet. And then he dies. He was a young man, mid-thirties, in good health. No sign of foul play. His maid found him dead in his study.”

  Max’s skin prickled. “Just like Sebastian.”

  “Baxter had no heirs. Even if he had, the whole estate was a mess. He had come into this money unexpectedly and didn’t know much about managing such a large sum, so he never got around to making a formal will. Baxter House went up for auction, and guess what local family outbid everyone, paying nearly twice the house’s worth at the time.”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Sorry, Hon, but you know it’s coming — Hull. And like we all know and love with the Hulls, after purchasing the house, all mention of the house vanishes from that point forward. My opinion on all of this — Cal Baxter had something the Hulls wanted. Whatever it is, it’s still in the house. Sebastian found out about it and took that job so he could search the house over and over.”

  Max perked up. “If Sebastian got close to finding it, the Hulls wouldn’t be too happy. They have him killed and make sure Luther Boer is the crime tech on the scene. They use him to corrupt the evidence, making sure the murder doesn’t tie back to them. Luther’s dead broke. As Drummond would happily point out, he needs money and a bribe would be an easy way for the Hulls to clean up the mess.”

  Bringing his hands together in one sharp clap, Drummond said, “You both know what this means we’ve got to do, right?”

  “No,” Max said, pushing back his chair. “There’s no need to go breaking into that house.”

  “Are you serious? There’s every need. If the Hulls murdered Sebastian, then it means he had gotten close to finding out what they’re hiding. If someone else murdered Sebastian, then it means the murderer is getting close. Either way, the Hulls are smart enough to know that Baxter House is no longer a safe place to hide whatever it is they’re hiding. As soon as the police release the house, the Hulls are going to send somebody in there to clean the place out. Frankly, it’s taken us so long to figure this much out, it may be too late already. So, there’s no other way around it. We’ve got to go tonight.”

  Max turned to Sandra but she raised her hands. “Don’t look at me. I agree with the dead guy.”

  Drummond flicked the front of his hat. “Thanks, Doll.”

  “Fine,” Max said with plenty of snap. “Let’s at least wait until midnight or so, and maybe we can actually plan ahead this time. That might be a new and exciting approach for us.”

  “No need to get snippy.”

  “I swear there better not be a witch sitting there, waiting for us. I’m sick of witches.”

  Chapter 10

  By the time they put together a plan, got some rest, gathered together the few things they needed, and drove to the ritzy part of town, the next day had begun. Max parked the car a block over from Baxter House and checked the clock — 1:02 am. The street looked like the set of a strange movie where everyone had been quarantined — empty and silent, the cars safely stowed in their driveways, no movement, only a handful of lights on, and the blue flicker of a television.

  Both Max and Sandra had dressed in dark clothing, and as she checked their equipment bag, Max had to chuckle. “I swear it looks like we’re cat burglars.”

  “We can always consider that to be our back up plan if we end up dead broke.”

  Drummond poked his head between them. “With my help, you guys would be great at it. But there’s that whole criminal element problem. Namely, that I’m not a criminal element.”

  “Relax,” Sandra said. “We’re just joking.”

  Max frowned. “What’s the matter?” he asked Drummond.

  Drummond gazed out the window. “Nothing. Got a weird feeling, that’s all. Don’t worry about it. But keep alert. Let’s go.”

  As they walked toward Baxter House, the temperature dropped around them. Max’s nose froze up and he chastised himself for not bringing a warmer coat. Thick clouds obscured the moon.

  Sandra said, “It’s supposed to ice over tonight.”

  Max nodded. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to North Carolina winter. We get maybe two snowfalls that are gone before ten o’clock the next day but plenty of ice storms that screw up the mornings for everyone, knocking down trees, and cutting wires. It’s crazy.”

  “Then let’s not take too long with this. I don’t want to be driving back on ice.”

  The house loomed ahead — darker against the moonless sky. Their footsteps amplified in their ears as they stepped onto the property. Max paused.

  “Why are we always doing this stuff at night?” he asked. “We’re smart. We could’ve come up with some reason to check out the house during the day.”

  Drummond said, “You’re not looking too smart with that question. Sneaking around at night goes with the job. Less people to notice you. Less trouble to deal with.”

  “Besides,” Sandra said, “we deal with ghosts, and ghosts prefer the cold and the dark of night. Most do, anyway.”

  “And it’s more fun this way. So quit complaining and get ready. I’ll go open the door.” Drummond whisked off to the house.

  Max opened their bag and pulled out two flashlights. Handing one to Sandra, he said, “It was a rhetorical question.”

  “I know.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re cute. Now, let’s get inside. It’ll be warmer.”

  Drummond unlocked the front door, and they slipped under the yellow police crime scene tape. Max flicked on his flashlight and its beam created stark shadows throughout the foyer. Even in the dark, the night had transformed Baxter House into a sinister looking place, but the constant shifting of shadows
caused by the moving flashlights sent chills along Max’s arms.

  The plan they had devised consisted of Max and Sandra splitting up to cover the house as fast as possible. With Drummond available between them, a simple shout would bring him in to help — the only reason they were willing to split up at all. They also hoped the search would go quickly because they weren’t going to be looking at any place obvious.

  Something hidden as long as this had been would not be sitting in a drawer or behind a safe. Nor would it be in a secret drawer behind a false back or a secret safe behind a painting. Such things would have been discovered by now — especially with Sebastian having had plenty of time to search.

  Sandra dug into their bag and pulled out two walkie-talkies. She checked that they had been set to the same channel, then handed one to Max. Watching her climb the foyer stairs to search the second floor, Max crossed his fingers — he hoped they had not made a huge mistake. He then hurried through the door on the left. He entered a sitting room filled with heavy furniture, a fireplace, a small bar, and several portraits on the walls. Playing the flashlight against the walls, he looked for any sign of a false panel. He checked the floor and ceiling as well. Nothing looked out of place.

  He moved on down a hall that led to the kitchen. Though he had been in the kitchen before, it looked quite different at night and coming in from an alternate angle. Plus, his previous experience involved loads of police and trepidation. He had plenty of the latter, but without the police the room appeared longer and more spacious.

  A creaking sound echoed around him. Max froze — his heart pounding. The creak came again — Sandra walking above. Releasing his held breath, he wiped his forehead.

  As with the sitting room, Max checked over the walls, floor, and ceiling. He looked at the depth of the room and made sure it matched up with the hall he had walked through. It matched. Had it come up short, he would have suspected a secret room.