Skeleton's Key (Delta Crossroads Trilogy, Book 2) (19 page)

“Means Ben Moore is ruled by the Almighty dollar. What else did he say?”

Scowling at the malice in Cage’s tone, Dani continued. “He said that if CaryAnne was telling the truth, her secret is more than likely in the hidden room. What better place to stash it?”

“Except if her secret is burying her father in the basement, there’s nothing left for the room,” Cage said.

“Unless she kept a journal,” Jaymee said. “Or some kind of family records.” She turned to Dani. “You need to search the historical foundation and county genealogy records, see what you can find.”

“Like what?” Cage said.

Jaymee shot him a dirty look. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be telling her to search. But John James was a Civil War hero. There’s got to be records about his burial, maybe even an obit. Even service records. At least there will be something to start with.”

“If I can find proof of his leg wound, we might stand a chance of identifying those bones as John James,” Dani said. “Cage, what other bones were found with the skull? Do you know if the femur was right or left?”

“Arm bones, Jeb said. Some vertebra and tiny bones that he thought looked like metatarsals. No clue on the femur.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest, chin sticking out and eyes snakelike.

Dani figured she might as well kick the elephant out of the room. “So what’s your problem with Ben?”

“Personal. Don’t want to get into it right now.”

Whatever. She’d contact Jeb Riley herself, and she’d make up her own mind about Ben. “I’m going to get online and do some research in some of the databases. Maybe I can at least find his service records and confirm the battles he was in. After that, I’ll head to the historical foundation, see what we have in the archives.”

“Do you need help with the research?” Jaymee asked. “I have tomorrow off.”

“I’ve got to be at Ironwood in the morning to meet with the structural engineer. I’m not sure when I’ll be done. Ben offered to help search,” Dani said. “And he wanted to get together to eat.” She spat the last sentence out quickly.

“I hope you said no,” Cage snapped.

“Why?”

“Ben Moore hasn’t been in Roselea for months. Isn’t that curious? He shows up just after the bodies and then inserts himself right into the middle of things.”

“Come on, Cage,” Jaymee said. “Asking her out is hardly a crime.”

“No, but offering to help search for the room gets him inside the house.”

Dani matched his harsh tone. She didn’t dare admit the same thought had circled her mind. “And?”

“Did Ben tell you what he does for a living?” Cage didn’t give her a chance to answer. His lips curled as he spoke, forehead vein now looking ready to burst. “He’s in real estate. Based out of Jackson, but he’s done some work here recently. You’ve heard us mention the Semple Farm? It’s a historical cornerstone of Adams County, and he’s responsible for its sale to some damned Yankee investors. They’re tearing everything down to build cheap housing.”

“The way it went down was shady,” Jaymee said. “But it was business, Cage.”

“Bullshit. And now here he is, swooping down on Dani when Ironwood’s in trouble. He’s probably going to convince you to sell now that the house is so damned tainted. How convenient that it backs right up to the Semple farm. Bet the Yankees would love to snatch Ironwood up too.”

“Of course.” The final bit of Dani’s euphoria over Ben’s interest faded. “He must have an ulterior motive for asking me out. Otherwise why would he be interested in me?”

“Is that what I said?” Cage looked from Dani to Jaymee, who simply shook her head at him.

“You may as well have.”

“Except I didn’t. And why on earth would you accept a date from a stranger?”

“He’s no more of a stranger than you are. At least he acts like a gentleman!”

“Don’t you mean a Southern gentleman?” Cage got to his feet. His eyes were narrowed and his once-charming smirk cruel. “I bet he fits your ridiculously romanticized version of the South to a tee. Let me guess, he was in his khakis and a nice dress shirt, right? A modern day version of a southern planter?”

Dani refused to answer. Cage’s spiteful laugh doubled her frustration.

“Well then, he might just be perfect for you. After all, your version of our way of life is as cliché as Ben Moore.” Cage stood and strode to the door. “I’ve heard enough for today.” He looked at Jaymee. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

B
listering silence filled
the room. Dani sat rooted to the chair. Hot tears stung her eyes, and she scrunched her face, determined not to cry.

“Ignore him,” Jaymee said. “He’s got his panties in a twist over something he doesn’t understand. Not yet, anyway.”

Teeth clenched together, jaw aching from the effort to stay calm, Dani took a deep breath and tried to gain some control over her raging emotions. “What do you mean?”

A coy smile played on Jaymee’s face. “Come on. You can’t recognize jealousy when you see it?”

Understanding dawned on Dani, and she shook her head. “I don’t think Cage is interested in me at all. Something tells me I’m not his type.” The sentence tasted bitter on her tongue. Who cared if she wasn’t Cage’s type?

“Maybe he’s right.” Her voice warbled. “Maybe I am just a walking cliché.”

Jaymee took a long drink of her disgusting tea, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. With a satisfied sigh, she set the glass down on the table, folded her arms, and gave Dani a long, thoughtful look. “Why are you here?”

“What?”

“In Mississippi, I mean. You don’t have any family here, and other than Lee, you didn’t know a single soul. I’m sure you’re great at your job, which means you could probably work wherever there is historical restoration. So again, why are you here?” She emphasized the last word.

“My mother. She and I were close. Best friends, really. She loved history, and so do I. We had so many dreams, you know? Plans, places to go, houses to tour.” The hollow ache that simmered in the depths of her heart reached a boil. “She had diabetes, and I took care of her those last years. And she just…wasted away. Dreams and all.”

“So you are following her dreams?”

“Both of ours. I always wanted to come down here, buy a plantation, fix it up. I just thought things would be different.”

“Don’t we all?” Jaymee said. “But then again, no one really expects to find bodies on their property.”

“It’s not just that. It’s everything.”

“How so?”

Dani worried her upper lip, her teeth scraping the sensitive skin. She didn’t want to break down in front of Jaymee. “I thought this place–this town, with all its larger-than-life stories–would be…” she searched for the right word. “Better.”

“You mean you thought we’d spend our time sitting on the front porch drinking tea, that all the men would bow to us ladies and treat us like we were delicate flowers? That maybe we’d roll out the red carpet for our new guest? Like royalty?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s all right. Most Northerners don’t have a clue what the real South is like, and that’s not your fault. You base your opinions on touristy traps like Natchez and Memphis and Charleston. You see us as living history, like we’re floating happily along, hoop skirts still stored in the back closet, every one of us enthralled with where we came from. And some of us are. But most of us are too busy trying to make a living to think about it. And most of us get tired of the Yankees coming down here and looking at us like we’re to be gawked at just like the plantations.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Jaymee continued. “We like that our home–and when I say home, I mean the South as one–is so interesting to you. We love that so many of you appreciate history enough to come visit and help us keep the past going. But we walk on eggshells too. Worry that we won’t live up to your expectations, because really, how could we? All you’ve really seen of the South is a glorified version.”

“People have been welcoming,” Dani said. “But I’m just an outsider.”

“Yes, you are. You’re a Yankee who can’t possibly understand what it’s like to love this place so much you just can’t leave, no matter how shitty your life is. The heat and the bugs are miserable, but they’re part of our lives. Yes, the houses are gorgeous and the colors of the oaks and the magnolias are beautiful, but being a Southerner is as much a state of mind as anything. It’s about preservation. About taking what you’re dealt and making the best of it. About taking care of yourself and saying to hell with whatever obstacle the good Lord has thrown in your path. And for most of us, it’s about taking all of that misery in with a smile, ’cause that’s all you’ve got to keep you going.”

“That’s not just a Southern thing,” Dani said.

“Maybe not. But it’s a mindset that says you take care of yourself and don’t expect anyone else to do it. When we see Yankees, we see the big businessmen who come down and try to make a fast buck off our poverty without putting any money back into the community. And we see the tourists who expect us to give them the true Southern experience while they make fun of us for being uneducated, or poor, or because our kids run around unattended.”

“But you’re just as biased as I am. You’re lumping me in with other Northerners. And that’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it’s not. But I think you need to understand what it really means to be a Southerner.”

“And why I’ll never fit in.”

“Well, that choppy accent is going to stick out like a sore thumb, that’s for sure. But you’re not exactly some pampered ninny. You might have what it takes to be an honorary Southern belle yet. My point is, forget about everything you thought this place would be. Forget about
Gone with the
damned
Wind
and Rhett Butler and every other romanticized thing you’ve seen about us. Look us at without any filter. See Roselea for what she really is–a beautiful place with both good and bad people who are just trying to get by in this world.”

“Forget about all my preconceived notions about the South, you mean.” The tightness in Dani’s chest eased. She was good at forgetting, most of the time.

“Exactly,” Jaymee said. “So it’s hot as Hades. You’ll probably burn your hand on the car door at least once, and don’t ever walk on the sidewalk without shoes on. Sweet tea isn’t for everyone. And maybe your dream home isn’t exactly what you thought it would be. In fact, it might be more of a nightmare.”

“That’s uplifting, thank you.”

“Very welcome.” Jaymee matched the sarcasm. “But you’re also here. And if you weren’t, you’d be kicking yourself for not taking a chance. So best to suck it up and march forward.”

Dani felt less like crawling into a hole for good. “I’ll try.”

“And as for Cage,” the corners of Jaymee’s mouth twitched, “I suspect he’s got some ulterior motives he’s dealing with right now. He’s just too pigheaded to realize it. But he will. Give him time.”

Dani kept her disagreement to herself. She couldn’t see Cage suddenly asking her out on a date. And she didn’t like how the idea made her stomach sink to the floor. She didn’t know Cage, and even if logic dictated to her he wasn’t guilty, he was a murder suspect. And he was moody and full of baggage.

He was also the first guy to make her pulse race in a really long time.

“Do you think he’s right about Ben?” Dani finally acknowledged her own unease.

“Who knows? It is interesting that he’s suddenly shown up, but stranger things have happened. And if he is going to try to get you to sell, he’s going to do it one way or another.”

“I’m not selling.” Dani refused to consider that option. Not after all she’d gone through to get here.

“I believe you. Which means there’s no reason you can’t go out to eat with the man. Enjoy yourself.”

“What about Cage?”

Jaymee’s smile widened, making her so pretty Dani felt a pang of envy. “He’ll get over it. In fact, it might be just what you both need.” She looked at her watched and sighed. “I’ve got to fill in for the new girl tonight. You going to be here?”

“As long as you have wireless. I can go ahead and start doing some digging on John James.”

“I do, but the fridge is mostly empty. Why don’t you come to work with me, get something to eat, and do your research? Don’t think I didn’t hear your stomach grumbling earlier.”

*     *     *

Cage let the
screen door to his parents’ house slam and waited for the impending yell.

Sure enough, his father’s voice boomed from the living room. “You know you ain’t supposed to slam that door.”

“Sorry.” Cage dragged off his boots and joined his father, who was sitting in his recliner with a bowl of popcorn on his lap and his trusty iced tea glass on the nearby table. Cage was the only one in his family who didn’t drink the concoction. His eyes were glued to the too-big television screen watching golf. He listened as Cage recounted his day.

“Find anything out at the historical foundation?”

“Lee knows more than he’s sharing,” Cage said. “Not sure if it’s relevant.”

“That what’s got you all pissed off?”

Cage checked the hall for his mother and then put his feet up on the couch. “Nope. I just came from Magnolia House.”