Enid Blackwell Mystery 04-The Fifth Stone, page 1
part #4 of Enid Blackwell Mystery Series
Contents
Title Page
Books by Raegan Teller
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
The Fifth Stone
Raegan Teller
Pondhawk Press LLC
Books by Raegan Teller
The Enid Blackwell Series
Murder in Madden
The Last Sale
Secrets Never Told
The Fifth Stone
Copyright © 2020 Pondhawk Press LLC
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9979205-7-4
Cover design by: The Midnight Muse
Dedicated to the people who inspired this story.
You know who you are.
◆◆◆
"We are never so vulnerable than when we trust someone. But paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy.”
– Walter Anderson, Playwright
Chapter 1
Catherine Murray wasn’t prepared to die today. Even though she had already lived a full life, some years good and some bad, she wasn’t ready for it to end. Not today.
Her thoughts flashed through all the things she had wanted to accomplish as the town historian at the Madden Historical Society. She mentally checked off the list of old acquaintances she had intended to contact but never did. Why had she put these things off? She had not said any goodbyes, as she had no hint that her life would all come down to this fateful moment.
And what about her great-niece? She would never get to apologize for the awful thing she had done to her.
Her captor gripped her arm tightly. “If you scream or try to run, you’re dead. Got that?”
Catherine nodded her head. “But why . . . I don’t understand . . .” She couldn’t form words for the thoughts racing through her mind.
Her captor pointed to a blank headstone. “You see that stone there, the one with no name on it?”
Catherine looked where the captor pointed and nodded again.
Her captor increased the grip on Catherine’s arm. “Pretty soon, that’s where you will spend eternity.”
Catherine fought back the tears. Crying would do no good and might even make her captor angry. Overcome with helplessness, Catherine tried to imagine what eternity would be like in this small, unkempt cemetery. Would anyone know she was here? Would anyone put flowers on her grave? She slumped slightly under the weight of the situation. If this was to be her final resting place, then so be it.
Something sharp and metallic was now touching her neck. Any hope that she had for survival faded when she realized it was a needle pressing against her neck. She froze, careful not to move the wrong way. If her captor applied any more pressure, whatever was in that needle would enter her bloodstream.
Chapter 2
Karla woke from the dream with a start, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat. For the past month, she had been trying to get in touch with her friend Catherine Murray at the Madden Historical Society. Catherine knew everything eventful that had happened in the small South Carolina town. But Catherine had not returned her calls.
Karla rarely thought of her empath abilities as a gift, mostly because she only dreamed about bad things that might happen. As Karla’s gift had developed, her empathy increased to the point that she took on others’ energy, feelings, and emotions, which left her exhausted at times. It wasn’t something she could turn off and on. The biggest benefit to Karla’s being an empath was that she could read people quickly and accurately.
Tonight was the fourth time she had dreamed about Catherine. Each was progressively disconcerting. Yet, Karla had to admit that neither she, nor any other empath, was totally accurate. Some bad dreams were just that. And most dreams were symbolic, which left a lot of room for interpretation. Tonight, she dreamed Catherine was sitting before a king on a throne, and she was wearing a dunce hat. Despite the humiliating circumstances, Catherine was laughing along with those who made fun of her. But then she turned, as if to look directly at Karla, and begged for help. Karla awoke terrified.
After making herself a cup of chamomile tea, Karla returned to bed with a resolution to go to Madden to see the one person whom she trusted enough to hear her concerns.
Chapter 3
The Tri-County Gazette, like all weekly, small-town newspapers, covers everything: local news, awards, petty crimes and vandalism, high-school football and other sports, debate team winners, and social soirees hosted by the town’s prominent citizens.
Enid Blackwell, a senior reporter at the newspaper, was at her desk finishing an obituary about a local, prize-winning gardener, whose roses almost always won a prize in a local garden club contest, when Jack Johnson, the owner and senior editor of the newspaper, walked in. “Have you seen my glasses?” he asked.
Without looking up, Enid reached across her desk and handed them to him.
Jack wiped the glass lenses with his shirttail and put them on. “Don’t forget you’re on obit duty this week.”
“When are you going to hire someone to do that? It’s been months since our obit writer left. There’s an art to doing them, you know.”
“I know you don’t like writing obits, and I’m interviewing someone today. But, I think you do a great job profiling dead people.” He pointed to the overflowing trashcan beside her desk. “Lots of do-overs, I see.”
Enid’s fingers stopped moving across the keyboard as she looked up at Jack. “That’s what happens when you get interrupted a lot.”
Jack held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m outta here.” As he turned to leave, he almost ran into Ginger, the newspaper’s office manager.
“Someone’s on the phone for you, Enid,” Ginger said. “It’s important.”
“I rest my case,” Enid said to Jack. “Who is it?” she asked Ginger.
“You won’t believe it,” Ginger said.
Jack and Enid exchanged glances, mostly because Ginger was behaving in a very un-Ginger-like way. Typically, she was sullen and argumentative, not bubbly and excited. “Okay,” Enid said. “Which line is he on?”
Ginger pointed to the new phone system on Enid’s desk, recently installed. “Well, duh. He’s on line one, the only one blinking.” That was more like her.
“Thanks,” Enid said. She waited for Jack and Ginger to leave her office, as she customarily did for privacy, but neither budged. What was wrong with everyone this morning? She tapped line one on the phone and answered. “Hello. This is Enid Blackwell. How may I help you?”
This time it was Jack and Ginger who exchanged glances.
Enid listened to the caller and replied, “Thank you for letting me know. I’m honored.” Before she even put the receiver back on the phone, Ginger grabbed Enid by the shoulders and screamed. “You’ve won a journalism award from the SC Press Association for investigative reporting. Wow! That’s way cool.” She looked at Jack. “Now that the paper will be famous, can I get a raise?”
Jack laughed. “Whoa. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He leaned over and hugged Enid. “Congratulations. Well deserved. The investigative work you did on those two cold cases was exemplary.” Enid and the newspaper had received praise from around the state, as well as some national recognition. A couple of her articles were picked up by the Associated Press, thanks to her ex-husband Cade Blackwell, an AP investigative reporter.
Enid stood up so she could embrace Jack. His warm hands on her shoulders were like a comforting blanket. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to get some of those yummy cinnamon buns from Sarah’s Tea Shoppe to celebrate,” Ginger said. “I’ll be back in a few.” She turned with a flourish and vanished out the door.
Jack held Enid by the shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Like Ginger said, it’s great for the paper, too.”
“Yes, but you earned it. The paper is just lucky to have you.”
Enid’s legs felt like rubber, so she sat down in her chair. “Did you know about this?”
Jack rubbed his chin. “I might have gotten a whiff of it.”
“I guess that means Cade knows, too.” He and Jack had worked together years ago and still maintained a friendship.
“He might. But I’m sure he’d love to hear it from you. I’ll leave you alone to call him.” He turned to leave Enid’s office.
“Wait, Jack.” Enid paused. “I don’t even know how to thank you for all you’ve done to support me. When I showed up here a few years ago, I was an emotional wreck and a rusty reporter. You believed in me, and I’ll never forget that.”
“You’re easy to believe in.” Jack smiled. “Now get back to work. Oh, and empty the trash, would you? Looks unbecoming in here for an award-winning reporter.”
Despite the fact that Enid and Cade had divorced more than three years ago, she kept his number in her VIP contacts on her iPhone. They had settled into a comfortable relationship and occasionally worked together on special projects. He had been instrumental in her being recognized for her investigative reporting, and he had even talked his boss into hiring her back at the AP where her journalism career began more than ten years ago. She had never really turned down the AP offer but didn’t accept it either. Her life in Madden was mostly uneventful, and that’s how she liked it. On some days, she even admitted to herself that she had a nearly perfect life.
She tapped on Cade’s number in the list of contacts. He answered almost immediately. “I was hoping you’d call,” he said. “Congratulations.”
“You’re not even going to pretend to be surprised, are you?” Enid said.
“No, I’m not. I just wish I could be there to celebrate with you. We can do that later.”
Enid admired the way Cade took a simplistic view of their relationship. He came in and out of her life effortlessly, with no entanglements. She was more of an all-in or all-out kind of person, and it was hard for her to push aside their years together, including the emotional roller coaster ride before their divorce. “That would be nice.”
“You sound like you’re still in shock.”
“Actually, I am. Small-town newspaper reporters don’t win awards very often. They usually go to big names like you.”
Cade laughed. “I’ll add ‘big name’ to the list of things you’ve called me. The quality of your work speaks for itself. Besides, small-town papers provide an important service in communities, digging deep into local news and reporting on events that don’t make the dailies.”
“You make my job sound like a noble profession.”
“It is. And, much to my surprise, the job suits you well.”
“Thank you for all your support,” Enid said, glancing down at the phone blinking on her desk. “Can we talk later? I need to take a call.”
“Of course. I’ve got to run, too. Congratulations again, babe. You are one hot reporter.” Cade hung up before Enid could think of a suitable comeback. She punched the blinking phone light.
“Enid Blackwell here. How may I help you?”
A breathless voice replied. “Miss Enid, can you come over here right away? I need to talk to you.”
“Roscoe, is that you?” Roscoe Pratt began working an internship at the Madden Historical Society last year while he was finishing his master’s thesis on preserving small town history. He worked for Miss Murray, the historian matriarch of Madden.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s me.” Roscoe had a youthful, almost feminine laugh that always made Enid smile. “Can you? It’s really important.”
Enid glanced at the stack of papers on her desk and the unopened emails on her laptop. “Of course. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
Chapter 4
The Madden Historical Society was housed in the Blackwell Center, an old brick building renovated with funds from Enid’s former mother-in-law, Fern Blackwell. The building was just a block from the newspaper office on Main Street, but after walking briskly in the hot and humid weather, Enid’s blouse was sticking to her back by the time she arrived.
A small sign under the doorbell requested that visitors ring for assistance, but before she could, Roscoe opened the door. He wore a bright-colored bow tie and a white shirt every day. Despite being one of the few young black men in Madden, he had assimilated to the town’s culture quickly, winning the respect of its citizens with his knowledge of and respect for small towns. “Come in, please, Miss Enid. Thank you for coming right over.” He gestured toward the sitting room. “Please have a seat in here. I’ll bring some iced tea. Or would you prefer lemonade?”
Enid was ready to reply, but before she could, a female voice sounded down the hallway. “She drinks unsweetened iced tea.”
Enid turned toward the familiar voice. When the woman walked down the hallway, Enid gasped. “Karla, is that you?”
The tall, dark-haired woman put a tray of glasses on the table in front of the velvet settee and then held her arms open. “Yes, Enid, it’s me. So good to see you.”
The two women held each other for a moment while Roscoe stood to the side. They had a history together, but a brief one. Karla had been instrumental in helping Enid identify the bones found at Glitter Lake Inn a little more than a year ago.
“When did you come back to the area?” Enid asked her.
“Yesterday. I’m staying with friends in Ridgeway. Such a lovely little town.”
Roscoe gestured toward the sofa. “Can we all sit?”
“Of course,” Enid said. “Karla and I can catch up later.” She sat on the sofa beside Roscoe, and Karla sat in the big red velvet chair to their left.
“I’ll go ahead and start,” Roscoe said, turning to Enid. “As you know, Miss Murray left suddenly, right after I got my master’s degree.”
“Yes, congratulations on your achievement,” Enid said. “But what do you mean about her leaving?”
“She left abruptly without giving me many details. I didn’t press her, because, at the time, I didn’t think it was any of my business. She knew I would be leaving but asked if I could stay another couple of weeks. I had planned to begin my job search, but I agreed to stay. After all, she has been so good to me.” Roscoe clasped his hands together.
“So that was in May, right?” Enid asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But this is the end of July, more than two months later,” Enid said. “Did you agree to stay that long?”
Roscoe stiffened and sat up straight. It was easy to slump into the soft antique sofa. “No, ma’am. I would never have agreed to that. Now, don’t get me wrong. Madden is a nice little town, and I’d do most anything for Miss Murray, but there’s no work here for me.”
“Are you getting paid for your work now?” Karla asked.
“Mayor Carter agreed to pay me a stipend if I’d stay. But I’ve got to tell her this week that I’m leaving.”
Enid rubbed her temples. “Wait, I’m confused. What did Miss Murray say to you about all this?”
“See, that’s the thing, she hasn’t. I got a couple of text messages from her saying she was fine and had decided to extend her stay. When I asked her when she planned to return, she never replied. I got a total of four texts, but then they stopped.”
“Catherine has never sent a text in her life,” Karla said.
Enid had never called Miss Murray by her first name and was uncomfortable referring to the dignified historian by it. “Does she even own a cell phone?”
