One Dark Wish, page 7
But since his cousin had arrived in town, the old way of doing things had started to change. By the time his cousin fulfilled his plans, those with power and money and connections would be begging Etienne for mercy. Except there wouldn’t be any. For the first time in his life, he’d go all sans pitié on their asses. He’d teach them not to screw with the Marigny family.
“Eddie died from his own stupidity and pride.” The Warden paused to watch a pelican dive for its breakfast. “Don’t make the same mistake.”
“My nephew died because Walker and Montfort refused to back down from a fight. It wasn’t the kid’s fault.”
The Warden shrugged. “You’ll have your chance to avenge your nephew’s death.”
He pitched the apple core into the water. It bobbed until floating into the marsh grass. “You don’t know that.”
“Remiel promised.” The statement exuded indignation. “Isn’t that enough?”
“For now.” Etienne’s phone buzzed with a text from Remiel, and he headed down to the stateroom. “I just hope my next assignment is to kill Walker.”
Etienne entered the stateroom. Light streamed in from windows, exposing highly polished wood furniture and a carpet woven in intricate floral designs.
His cousin Remiel sat in his leather chair and took a strawberry from a silver bowl on his desk. He bit the berry off its stem and wiped his fingers on a linen napkin.
When Remiel reached for another, Etienne stood at attention. Although his cousin wasn’t especially tall, he was—even by male heterosexual standards—exceptionally handsome. He’d inherited intense blue eyes, black hair, and a strong jaw from his mother’s side of the family. Unlike Etienne who’d inherited the Marigny dark eyes and sharp, beak-like nose that resembled a black crow plague mask. Or so he’d been told.
Remiel ate two more berries before addressing the man tied in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Mr. Pinckney, we have a situation.”
Stuart Pinckney, president of the Bank of Charleston, groaned.
Etienne didn’t understand why Stuart was upset. He was still alive while his cohort was dead. And Etienne should know, since he’d just killed the cohort.
Remiel wiped his hands again and lifted a silver chain with a Saint Michael the Archangel medal. It shone in the sunlight. “Maybe we misunderstood each other, Stuart. Maybe you’re working on the Julian timetable and not the Gregorian calendar?”
Stuart Pinckney shook his head.
Remiel tossed the necklace onto a book. “You know what I want?”
Stuart nodded.
“Good.” Remiel slapped his hands on the desk and stood. “This afternoon one of my men will return you to your bank in Charleston, and you will give him what is mine. Do you agree?”
Stuart struggled with the ropes, and Remiel raised a take-care-of-this eyebrow at Etienne.
He slapped Stuart’s head. Idiot. Was a simple nod too much to ask for? It’s not like he’d been tortured today. And the nub, where Stuart’s left ring finger had been before Remiel cut it off, had stopped bleeding.
Etienne knelt before the banker, who was tied to the chair, his mouth covered with duct tape. His blue-striped seersucker suit and white shirt, which two days ago had been pressed and pleated, were now a wrinkled mess. The most surprising thing was Stuart’s eyes. His bright blues had become shadows of their prior beauty within hours, not days, of beginning the torture. Now Stuart’s nine remaining fingernails dug into the chair arms, leaving behind small half-moon marks in the wood. Remiel would want the chair destroyed.
Etienne had a lot of shit to do today, and dealing with Stuart was the least of his chores. “Just nod, Stuart. It will ensure your wife’s safety.”
Stuart started to cry. Didn’t Stuart realize that as long as he served Remiel, his life had meaning? “Do we have a deal?”
Stuart nodded as the cabin door flung open and banged the wall.
“Sir,” a merc in combat pants with a nine-mil on his hip said. “The banker’s body has been found.”
“Already?” Remiel asked. “By whom?”
“Two old men on the isle.”
“Pops Montfort and Grady Mercer.” Etienne rose. Those old geezers were always up in his family’s business. “We knew this would happen.”
“Not this soon.” Remiel’s voice dropped an octave.
“Sheriff Boudreaux is handling the situation,” the merc added.
“Now the Prince will get the message,” Etienne said. That was the plan, after all.
“Indeed.” Remiel stared at a photo on his desk of a beautiful woman with long red hair before lowering the silver frame until it lay face down on the wood. Maybe so he wouldn’t have to face the condemnation in her green eyes? Etienne and his brothers had always wanted to know about the mysterious woman, but none of them had ever had the courage to ask.
“Cousin.” Remiel spoke as he regarded Stuart’s trembling body. “It’s time to inform Miss Munro about her part in my plan.”
“What about Walker?” Etienne planted his fists on the desk. “The Green Beret needs to suffer for Eddie’s death.”
“Not to worry. Walker is falling in love with the pretty historian.” Remiel glared at Etienne’s fists until he removed them. “And love always causes a man to suffer.”
Chapter 8
Sarah walked down Indian Street, phone to her ear, convinced her boss complained more than her father. Quite a feat considering her father had turned griping into an Olympic sport.
“I understand.” She passed Iron Rack’s Gym and adjusted her straw bag on her shoulder. She avoided a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk. The scent of wet asphalt and gas and urine irritated her nose. “Senator Carina Prioleau came to see you, and now you don’t want me to submit my grant request to restore Rebecca’s diary. Got it.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stop this quest of yours?”
Now her boss sounded like Cassio. “I guess.” At least her boss didn’t know about her adventure this morning. He just suspected because…well…she was known for trespassing. “Why does Senator Prioleau care about my grant proposal?”
“The why doesn’t matter as long as she has the power to cut our funding.”
Because everything always comes down to money. “Can we talk later? My father—”
“Will be fine. You have a lawyer?”
She blinked. “I do.” She pushed open the door to Screamin’ Perks coffee shop and inhaled the aroma of beans and cinnamon. She dropped her bag onto an empty table. The warmth and scents reminded her of her mother’s kitchen in Boston. “I’ll call when I learn more.”
“Good. In the meantime, don’t submit your grant request, and stay off private land. If you’re caught—” He paused, but Sarah heard the silent again. “I can’t save you.”
The thing was, she’d never asked him to.
She ended her call and ordered an iced latte. Her table gave her the best view of the coffee shop. The café was in a more industrial area with fewer tourists, bookended by auto repair shops and laundromats, with Iron Rack’s Gym in the center. Unlike the other streets in the historic area of Savannah, no flowers hung from cast-iron lampposts. No horse-drawn carriages rolled by. The sidewalks were cracked with weeds, many storefronts were closed, and a few of the cars parked along the curb were missing tires.
According to the mayor, this area near the river and train tracks was up-and-coming. If this café didn’t have the best coffee in town and if it hadn’t been daytime, she never would’ve come.
Once her iced latte arrived, she sat and checked her phone. Although what she really wanted to do was throw it against the wall and scream damn them. Them being Cassio, her boss, and Senator Prioleau.
What she didn’t get was why her boss, a U.S. senator, and a Fianna warrior cared about Rebecca Prideaux’s diary. Rebecca had been a sixteen-year-old girl, born in the seventeenth century, who’d been burned as a witch. What kind of trouble could that cause?
Sighing, she scrolled through her messages. She’d heard from Hugh Waring. Her father had been admitted to St. Joseph’s psych ward and was comfortable. Meaning they’d drugged him so he wouldn’t retaliate. Hugh also mentioned she couldn’t visit until tomorrow morning. A fact she’d fight once Calum’s office called her and she knew more about her dad’s legal status. She also reread the weird texts she’d gotten from Cassio. She had no idea what they meant, and the frustration made her cranky.
She put her phone away and took the package she’d found in her kitchen from her straw bag. She yanked the envelope tab and pulled out an old book. She turned it over. It had to be eighteenth century, if not earlier.
She sipped the sweet, cold coffee and, after wiping down the table, placed the book on a napkin. There was no note in the envelope. No clue who’d sent it. Although she really should’ve taken it to the Savannah Preservation Office to study it under controlled conditions, she was too impatient. Carefully, she opened it to discover a ledger.
The front page had Capel Cemetery written on the top. The ledger was in surprisingly good condition. None of the pages were stuck together, although the script was hard to read and some words were faded.
Using her pencil’s eraser end, she turned the pages and saw columns with headings for date of purchase, deceased, birth date, death date, payor. The ledger listed all of the tombs, headstones, and mausoleums purchased for Capel Cemetery, a.k.a. the Cemetery of Lost Children.
She immediately scanned through the dates of purchase. She didn’t see anything for Rebecca Prideaux in 1699, but as she flipped forward to 1712, she saw a number of entries paid for by T. Toban.
Her stomach did that clenchy thing she hated, and her hands began to sweat. She shoved her pencil in her hair and kept reading. She didn’t recognize any of the deceased names, but one thing stuck out. T. Toban had paid for the tomb of an unknown person, with My Soul’s Joy written in the margin.
My Soul’s Joy? Sarah squinted. That’s what her mother used to call Sarah as a child.
“Sarah?”
She looked up. Nate stood in front of her in jeans and a long-sleeved navy T-shirt. His hands were shoved in his front pockets. When he rolled on the heels of his black boots, wide shoulders filled the shirt and chest muscles flexed beneath the cotton.
Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t only his physical size that made her toes curl. It was the way he looked at her with those green eyes. A combination of hungry and desperate with a side of longing. And from his sigh when he dragged out the chair, a touch of despair?
She wiped her hands on her skirt. “Hey.” Wow. Inarticulate Sarah strikes again. “You…” Changed? Look good? Want to make out again? She swallowed and finished with “seem different.”
Which was the truth. This morning he’d been in control, with orders and demands. Now, after asking the waitress for a coffee and two blueberry muffins, his demeanor was quieter.
“I showered.” He scanned the room. He wasn’t obvious about his perimeter check. He just studied the area with the same attention her father used to. Finally, he said, “Thanks for meeting me.”
“You have my film?”
He slid something across the table.
She read the white receipt. “You had my film developed for me?”
“You said you needed it by tonight. And there’s a photo place in a drugstore not far from the Savannah Preservation Office. It’s already paid for.”
“That was nice.” She took another sip of coffee, not sure what else to say. She was surprised he’d remembered, and she appreciated it. “Thank you.”
“The least I could do.”
She put the receipt in her bag. “I want to return this to you.” She took out the folded handkerchief and laid it on the table. “I washed and ironed it.” She looked away. “Thank you.”
Was that the only thing she could say?
“Does your ankle feel better?”
“Yes.” Although it still throbbed a bit. “Wrapping it helped.” She took another sip of coffee while he slipped the handkerchief in his back pocket.
“I’m glad.” He reached for something around his neck but then dropped his hand. When did things get so awkward between them? Was it because of that kiss that neither of them seemed capable of mentioning?
“Thanks,” she said for the third time. Good golly Moses. Were they going to talk about the weather next? Or maybe he was done talking? She’d gotten her film and given him his handkerchief, and maybe he was ready to leave. Or maybe he was waiting for her to give him a hug or kiss him on the cheek. Would he expect that? Would he want that?
“Sarah?” He reached over to take the pencil out of her hair.
Heat rose up her neck. “Yes?”
He dropped the pencil into her bag. “Why was going out to that cemetery so important to you today?”
She waited until the waitress delivered Nate’s coffee and muffins and left. “I wanted to find Rebecca Prideaux and Thomas Toban.”
“Prideaux?” He used a plastic knife to cut one muffin in half. “Any relation to the Prideaux pirates you mentioned a few weeks ago? When I showed you that map?”
“Yes. Rebecca is also related to Calum and Carina Prioleau. The Prideaux name changed to Prioleau in the early eighteenth century.” She played with the straw in her iced latte. “I believe Rebecca and her fiancé Thomas are buried in that cemetery on Capel land.”
Nate offered the second muffin to her. “Eat this.”
“No…” Her stomach growled. “Okay. Thanks.” She took a bite, appreciating the sweetness. “Have you heard the story about Rebecca and Thomas?”
He ate half his muffin and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “No. Is it related to the story of Anne Capel you told me about at the preservation office? That Puritan woman who was accused of murdering forty-four children?”
“Kind of. Anne Capel was older than Rebecca.” Sarah savored another bite of her pastry. “Years after those children died and Anne was acquitted, Anne encouraged Rebecca to run away with Thomas.”
He reached over to wipe a crumb from her cheek. “I’m guessing Rebecca’s family wasn’t happy with her boyfriend?”
“They weren’t.” Sarah’s face felt hot, and she found her napkin. “The men of Rebecca’s family were vicious pirates who forbade Rebecca from seeing Thomas. By 1699 the Prideaux pirates, as they were known, had become the wealthiest family in the area. They felt Thomas, who came from a family of carpenters, was beneath Rebecca. The young lovers were forced apart by their families and met a tragic end.”
“Sounds Shakespearean.”
“It was.” She finished half of her muffin and brushed the crumbs off her skirt. “It began when Rebecca, with Anne’s help, became a Puritan against her family’s wishes.”
Nate popped another piece into his mouth. When he was done, he said, “I bet that annoyed Rebecca’s parents.”
“It did. Things got worse when Rebecca fell in love with Thomas Toban. Anne, who hated the Prideaux family, encouraged the love affair and helped them elope. Two weeks before her seventeenth birthday, Rebecca and Thomas ran away to catch a ship to Virginia where they’d start a new life. The night the couple left, they were caught and people accused Rebecca of witchcraft.”
“By people you mean her family?”
“Yes, along with other families of the isle.”
He paused mid-bite. “Why?”
“When Rebecca left to meet Thomas, she stole something belonging to her family. She knew her family would hunt for her, so she needed leverage.”
“I know all about leverage. Mostly not having it.” Nate finished his muffin, then his coffee. “What did she steal?”
“Evidence about her family’s illegal pirate empire. Unfortunately, this evidence also proved that other families in the area—including the Tobans—were active accomplices in the illegal trade that helped move the merchandise stolen from ships.”
“These other families agreed to murder a sixteen-year-old girl to cover up their own guilt?”
“Yes.” Sarah played with the edges of her napkin. “After her family caught the lovers and found the evidence Rebecca had stolen, these families wanted her dead. They accused her of witchcraft, burned her at the stake, and made Thomas watch.”
“That’s brutal.”
“The worst part is that, according to historians, Thomas is the reason they were caught. He set up their capture to save his family.”
“Why?”
“Thomas realized the leverage Rebecca had on her family would indict his as well. If the evidence was released, his father and uncles would be arrested and hanged. Apparently, once he learned she was willing to betray his family along with hers, he turned on her.”
“How did Thomas find out about this evidence?”
“No one knows.” Sarah stared into the melting ice in her cup. “Some say Anne told him.”
“Sounds like you don’t believe the story.”
She tilted her head. “Why do you say that?”
“You always state things clearly and definitely. You take responsibility for your facts and knowledge. Yet you just said ‘according to historians,’ ‘apparently,’ and ‘some say.’ That tells me you don’t believe Thomas betrayed Rebecca.”
Sarah had to give Nate credit. He paid attention. “I don’t believe Thomas betrayed Rebecca. I believe someone else, maybe Anne, betrayed the lovers.”
Nate clasped his mug and stared into it. “What happened to Thomas after Rebecca died?”
“After her death, he disappeared for two years only to return as a vicious pirate who went sword to head with the Prideaux pirates and any other pirates who’d take him on. As time passed, the Prideaux pirates became even wealthier and changed their name to Prioleau. Thomas grew angrier and more bitter. He was determined to destroy the Prideaux family.”
