Southern Belle (12 page)

"Leed hired me because Ernest had been killed. He was convinced somebody wanted him dead, too. I've barely started looking into any of this and now he's dead. Looks like he was right."

"That's one possibility. But I don't find that possibility matches my facts too well. Of course, there's the other possibility."

Though Max really didn't want to hear the answer, he had to ask. "What's the other?"

"The other possibility is that you killed Joshua Leed, much like you killed Matthew Ernest."

Max hung his head. "I told you I never met Ernest. And Leed only just hired me."

"But you're the only one who can confirm that story. I'm telling you, Max, it's looking worse and worse. Especially because I don't like being lied to. People do it all the time to me. They lie about their alibis, lie about their involvement in crimes, lie about their guilt and their remorse. It's disheartening after a while. I'm going to tell you something that's not a lie, though. Federal prison — it ain't for you. I've seen plenty of guys go off to do time, and believe me, you won't be able to handle it."

"I won't have to, since I didn't do anything."

"Can I tell you a little secret? Some of us in the FBI, guys like me, we actually prefer the serial killers. Those guys, once their caught, they want to tell you everything. Much more pleasant way to do the job. Guys like you, with all the denials and the lies, it makes my day drag on and on."

"I did not kill anybody."

Stevenson clicked his tongue. "If you say so. I sure hope you're telling me the truth, though. Because when I find out I've been chasing my tail due to your lies, that will piss me off. That's when you'll find out how tough an FBI Agent can be." He lifted his head to see past Max's shoulder and smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. Porter. I hope I didn't wake you. Just having a friendly chat with your husband about federal prison. You have a nice day, now." With that, he walked back to his car and drove off.

Sandra waited until the car had gone. Her face had paled as she put together the bits of information she had. At length, she asked, "Is he serious?"

"The FBI thinks I killed both Dr. Ernest and Leed."

"The FBI? The real FBI?" She closed her eyes and covered her mouth. Unsure what her reaction meant, Max's skin prickled. He warmed when she looked up, determined and strong. "You are not going to jail for a ghost witch's crimes." 
She gave Max a tight hug. "What do you want to do?"

"I want you to figure out that code."

"I will."

"But first, I hope you know how to stop a ghost from turning because we're done being nice to Drummond."

There were numerous reasons Max loved Sandra. That she knew the perfect balance between when to challenge him and when to support him had to be near the top of that list. As they drove in to the office, she didn't pepper him with questions or doubts. Maybe she wanted to hear Drummond's answers as much as he did. Even so, her strength only propped him up higher.

When Max threw open the office door, he found Drummond waiting near the bookshelf. "You've been lying to us, and it's got to stop right now."

Drummond thrust his hands in his coat and shook his head. "Good morning to you, too."

"Don't even start with the sarcasm. Things are going out of control real fast."

"What are you even talking about?" To Sandra, Drummond said, "Did you guys have a fight or something? Forget to give him his morning coffee?"

"Joshua Leed contacted me and told me all about the coven you guys destroyed way back when. I don't know why you've been lying about it, but the FBI thinks I'm the one who killed Leed and —"

"Leed's dead?"

"That's not the point."

"How? How did he die?" Drummond's eyes flared as he closed in on Max.

"I think it was the same way Dr. Ernest died, and I think you know more about it than I do. So, please, tell me what's going on before this evil ghost comes after me."

"Nothing will come after you. You weren't part of this."

"Didn't feel that way when I was pressed against a wall watching Leed be torn apart."

Drummond turned away and hid his face beneath his hand. "I'm sorry that happened to you. Believe me, I never thought you were in any danger. I never even thought you knew about Leed."

"Obviously."

Drummond rushed over to Sandra. "Have you been hurt in all this?"

"No," she said. "But if anything happens to Max, it'd be worse than if it happened to me. Worse for me, worse for you, and worse for every ghost I can get a hold of."

Drummond recoiled at the venom in her tone. His eye took on an odd, half-lidded look, and Max wondered if he had witnessed a ghost turning evil. But Sandra did not appear concerned, so Max decided to push on. He pulled out the photo of the girl under the tree and slammed it on the table.

"Time to start talking."

Drummond looked at the photograph and bowed his head. He traced the girl with his pale finger and opened his mouth to speak. That's when they heard a knock and the door opened.

Mr. Modesto entered. "I'm here for your report. Make it quick. I dislike spending time around you."

Max looked back to Drummond, but the ghost detective had vanished. "Damn," Max said.

"I take it by your eloquent rebuttal that you have failed in your task and have nothing of significant value to report." Modesto strolled up to the desk and glanced at the photograph. "What does this have to do with the handbell? Anything? Or are you still taking on other cases?"

"You haven't given me —"

"You've been kept on retainer by the Hull family for this very purpose and now you are shirking your responsibilities. Finding this handbell should be your top priority. Any other matter must be delayed or dismissed. Should you fail to find the handbell, your usefulness to this family will be gone. Do you understand? You'll be cut off from our employers support."

"Try not to drool when you say that."

Modesto's nostrils flared as if smelling an unseemly odor. "I admit I would be elated to see your departure from this family, and quite frankly, from this city. If you could manage to screw up enough that you were forced to flee the state or country, that would be ideal. But as it stands, we still need you. Our other researchers have also failed to find the bell."

"Other researchers?"

"Don't be so naive. Do you really think a man like Hull would rest such an important task in just one individual? And
you
for that matter?"

"That's it." The morning alone had been enough to boil Max's tolerance, but adding in the past few days melted away any chance he had at maintain control. Sandra stepped towards him but she saw his red-eyed rage and backed off. "Get the fuck out of my office."

"Excuse me?"

"You want to come in here over and over and threaten me? No. I won't have it. I don't care how much money Hull's throwing at us, and I don't care who he's got on his payroll. The fact is that we still have a copy of the Hull family journal, and while your employer has made it clear that there's a point where he won't care if we make his past public record, I don't think this little handbell comes anywhere close to that point."

Modesto's face turned cold as if a ghost had passed through him. "That would be a serious mistake to make."

"Oh, really? Because I've noticed that you've made a big show of pushing and pushing for this handbell yet you've done little in the way of actually helping us with information. You know how secretive the Hulls are, and yet you expect me to find this handbell on an old legend and nothing else. And now, you want to suggest that you've hired others to do the same. I don't believe any of it. In fact, part of me is wondering if Mr. Hull even knows you're doing this."

"Now you are being belligerent and, to a greater extent, plain stupid."

Max stepped straight at Modesto. "If I'm so wrong, then why are you still here? You've hated me for a long time. Surely I've said enough by now that you could go report this to Hull and have me sent the hell out of here."

Though a trickle of sweat slid down the side of Modesto's cheek, he never flinched. "I assure you, nothing would make me happier. Unfortunately, you have caught me in a bit of a lie."

"I knew it."

"There are no other researchers. That's it. The rest is true, and I have been ordered to tell you to make this the top priority. I suspect the only reason you're still here is because our employer feels no other researcher that could be acquired on short notice will accomplish what we expect of you."

Max did not expect that answer and it worried him. He thought he had pegged Modesto, but this looked to be more serious than he realized. What could be so important about a handbell that they couldn't hire somebody else?

Modesto walked to the door. "I do think I've been a tad unfair with you, however. I could have given you more information but purposely withheld in hopes that you would fail. Your outburst, however unprofessional and distasteful, impressed upon me that by trying to sabotage your efforts, I was inadvertently hurting our employer's efforts."

"I liked you better when Hull had fired you. Since you got re-hired, you talk like a bigger prick than ever."

The corner of Modesto's mouth rose. "The set of handbells were named the Bells of the Damned." With that said, Modesto made a slight bow toward Sandra and exited.

Max looked to Sandra, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. She laughed. "Guess you have some more research to do now."

Chapter 12

Max staked out a table at the Z. Smith Reynolds Library that allowed him a good view of those coming and going. The long hall that had an exit at the far end opened to a section with stairs on one side and the checkout desk on the other. All within Max's view. Though he knew he would have his face buried in books and his laptop, he wanted to be able to glance up from time to time and make sure neither the FBI nor a Hull representative watched him. Paranoid, yes, but he knew better than to doubt the value of a little paranoia.

As he set up his workspace, he thought about the best research approach. He already had all the basic information he needed. Normally, if he wanted to find out serious information regarding things that once were part of the Hull family, he would plan to sift through the numerous diaries, legal papers, and letters located in the special collections section. He would still have to do that laborious work, but first, he thought he should try his luck with another Internet search because this time, he had a name.

Searching The Bells of the Damned brought up thousands of hits — bad horror novels, forgotten metal songs, forgotten metal bands, and such. He followed links to several sites that claimed to have pictures or information for the Bells, but they depicted the wrong ones. However, all the sites he visited began their descriptions the same way —
These famously cursed bells ...

This gave Max a glimmer of hope. A bell with a true curse on it would leave a trail. Of course, most "famously cursed" items were no more than superstitious tales, but considering the source of these bells — the Hull family — Max thought the likelihood that these bells bore a true curse rose significantly.

He checked out a few sites that specialized in hauntings, unexplained occurrences, and strange American legends. Though all of the stories lacked the name Hull, Max pieced together a possibly authentic version by picking out the references to North Carolina, the Moravians, and other bits of Winston-Salem history he knew. He then spent several hours verifying his guesses with primary source material from the special collections.

As best as he could figure out, the Bells first surfaced long before the merge of Winston and Salem, back when Tucker Hull had broken with the Moravians. His dabbling in magic had caused an irreparable rift that sent him away, but his obstinacy had kept him from leaving the city. Like any predator, Tucker lived on the edges of the herd, watching for any Moravians who felt marginalized, alone, and ignored. He would pick them up in a warm embrace and create servants to his beliefs.

"He started a cult," Max said to his laptop as he typed out his notes.

As numbers in his group increased, his explorations of magic deepened. He would task individuals with learning witchcraft while others spent days in meditation, attempting to open the mind into accepting, and thus seeing, ghosts. No form of the supernatural went untouched. He even had a few members look into some of the ancient Eastern religions, which to his mind seemed to embrace magic.

Living so close to the Moravians guaranteed trouble. The Aufseher Collegium, the section of the Moravian government set up to handle secular matters, forbade any members of their group to associate with Tucker Hull's "new" religion. But they were too late.

Max found a partial letter in the special collections dated 1832 from an unidentified woman to her lover T. It read:

I pray these reports will aid you in all your efforts. They must, otherwise I could not stand being kept apart from you. I cannot stop seeing you everywhere I look. My breath catches thinking of you and even as I write these words, my heart leaps to my breast. My dearest T, how much longer must I continue this charade. Father suspects I have a secret lover but he is too proud to confront me. As much as he is angry, he is too afraid to have it confirmed. And I would, too. If he asked, I would not lie. I would let the Elder's Council throw me out, exile me from all my family and friendships, for then I could be with you always. I want nothing more than to rest by your side, to be yours in every way you desire, to bear your children. My passions for you burn hotter every passing day. How much longer will you make me wait? Let me leave this lie and become yours. Let me study with you. I understand what the others do not. Let me write your Grimoire. Let me be your High Priestess.