Catherine's Cross (5 page)

As they were pulling away from the mobile home, Detective Mason said to Jenks, “I'd like to show you something. We don't have time to visit it today, but you may not have seen this before.”

He took the drive that fronted the Beaufort River. Houses were set high on stilts to avoid flooding, and some of the newer homes shone with metal roofs and white paint. At the end of the drive, underneath the thick shade of a maritime forest of live oak and pine trees, was what appeared to be the ruins of an old fort. The structure had dark passageways open to the outside, and Jenks felt cold chills run up her arms as she looked at the abandoned structure.

“I don't recall ever coming here before,” she said.

“Fort Fremont . . . It was built for coastal defense in the late 1800s. At one point it had two ten-inch guns. It passed into private ownership in the 1930s and was recently purchased by Beaufort County to preserve the site.”

“I don't think I can go in there. I'm uncomfortable with the darkness of the grounds.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I heard you tell Rory that you had to be in to work at three. I thought you were on duty while you were helping me.”

“Oh, no . . . I'm afraid Captain Barrett wouldn't agree to that. I just wanted to help you.”

Blushing, she looked into his eyes. “Thank you for what you've done.”

He smiled back at her. “You're welcome.”

On the way back to Port Royal, Jenks asked, “I don't mean to pry, but what happened to Rory?”

“An IED explosion—there were four Humvees traveling in a convoy in Afghanistan. His was the first in line and was blown up by a roadside bomb. Those bas—the insurgents in Afghanistan were supplied with weaponry when America backed the mujahideen, but they also like to use old Soviet unexploded ordnance.”

“Where was he when this occurred?”

“In Kandahar Province—this happened two years ago.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Rory was closer to my brother, Steel, but since he's been home, we've gotten to be good friends. I'm worried about him. He was laid off from his job at an automotive supply store a few weeks ago. The store manager said he hated to let him go, but their profits have suffered in the poor economy. I hope he can find another position real soon.”

When he walked her to the front door of Gigi's cottage, Detective Mason offered to come back in the morning to help her.

“I appreciate your help . . . tomorrow morning then.”

“Yes—Miss Ellington, whoever broke into the house was very aggressive in the search for an item or items. I think you should spend the night with one of your neighbors or sleep at a hotel for the time being.”

“I've already spoken with the Bernsteins about coming over for a couple of nights.”

“Good. Please keep the doors locked when you're here alone. You have my phone numbers also.”

“Yes, sir, I do,” she smiled in response.

He waved good-bye as he walked down the sidewalk toward his police cruiser.

As she closed the door behind her, she thought of Rory Masters and what had happened to him in Afghanistan. She wondered how he managed to smile.

At eight the next morning, Detective Mason rang the doorbell at Gigi's home. Jenks answered it, and he stood before her in a pair of khaki shorts, a navy polo shirt, and leather topsiders. She could not help but notice his broad shoulders, trim waist, and well-toned muscles.

“Good morning, Miss Ellington. I drove my truck today so that I could help you move anything you might want to give away or dispose of.”

“Thank you.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I'd like for you to call me Jenks. Most of my friends call me that.”

“All right, please call me by my first name, Seth.”

They smiled at one another, and then he asked, “Where would you like for me to start?”

“We straightened the living room yesterday. Do you mind helping me in the bedrooms? Whoever was in here made a terrible mess.”

They went down the hallway to the bedrooms. Jenks had already filled two boxes for Goodwill. As Seth started to lift one of them, she noticed a large scar on his right forearm.

He took the two boxes out to his truck and then asked, “Anything else, Jenks?”

“No, not for right now.”

He picked up several books that were scattered on the floor of Gigi's bedroom. “Do you own your own home in Raleigh?”

“No, I rent. I've been saving my money to buy a bungalow near the North Carolina State campus. That area is more expensive than Port Royal. I want to pay cash.”

“Smart girl.”

They continued to return the house to order, and after several hours, she made them lunch and they sat on the screened porch to eat.

“Seth, what happened to your arm?”

He took a sip of iced tea and looked at the scar. “A family dispute.”

“You got into a fight with your brother?”

“No, with my father.”

His cell phone began to ring and he answered. “Detective Mason.”

Jenks could faintly hear a male voice on the phone. When he ended the conversation, Seth looked at her and said, “A Methodist minister in downtown Beaufort was robbed at gunpoint. That was Detective Campbell, I partner with him often.”

“He was robbed in broad daylight?”

“The minister was walking around the churchyard, reciting a sermon for this Sunday, when a young man jumped out from behind a gravestone and held a gun to his head. He forced him inside his church office and robbed him of his car keys before tying him up. The minister was able to get free and call 911. Detective Campbell and two uniformed officers were at the church quickly, and they found the assailant in the minister's car. When he saw the officers approach, he jumped from the car and ran. He apparently was quite the hurdler, jumping over tombstones like an Olympian.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “These days there is such desperation and disrespect for other people that even clergymen are falling victim to criminals.”

“I hope you catch him.”

“I do too.”

She noticed he did not revisit the issue of the scar on his arm, and she asked, “Seth, how long have you been a policeman?”

“Let's see—six years.”

“Do you like it?”

“Most of the time—but I often see situations of lost lives and broken hearts. The job can be very difficult.” He paused for a moment. “I've been accepted for the fall term at the new law school in Charleston. They've just received their accreditation, and Charleston is not that far away. My captain has offered me part-time work when I'm not attending classes. I'm really looking forward to it.”

Jenks gave him a bright smile and said, “I think that's wonderful. Congratulations!”

He smiled back. “Thank you.”

By midafternoon, the home had been returned to a reasonable state of order, and they stopped for a few minutes. Jenks served iced tea on the porch. “Seth—thank you for helping me with this awful task.”

“You're welcome. I told Rory I'd come by to see him today, so I'd better be going. Tomorrow afternoon I get off work about five-thirty. I'd like to invite you to dinner. I'll show you the Walker's home where I'm house-sitting. Can I pick you up around a quarter of six?”

“Yes, I'd like that very much. Seth—I noticed you don't wear a wedding band. You are single, aren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said with a smile.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“That's easy. I like you.”

He waved as he left her house and said, “Don't forget to lock your doors.”

After he departed, she stood and looked around the room. She still felt anxious knowing that someone had broken into Gigi's house and that he or she was still at large. The antique bottle collection rested on either side of the fireplace, and she said to herself,
they weren't looking for quick money.
She walked to the shelves that housed the collection and lifted one of the blue-green wine bottles from its resting place. She studied it for a moment before softly saying, “Did you get someone intoxicated two hundred years ago?”

As she started to replace the bottle on the shelf, she noticed a note that had been folded and secured underneath it. When she opened the piece of paper, she read the words “Miss Meta Jane Andrews, Coffin Point.”

Retrieving the phone book, she read through the listings for Andrews and came up with only one listing on Coffin Point. It was for an Ida Mae Andrews. Coffin Point was on St. Helena Island, and tomorrow she would go there to see what she could find out.

CHAPTER 2
Coffin Point

S
t. Helena Island was one of the first areas in the Americas explored by European adventurers as far back as the early 1500s. African slaves were brought to the Sea Islands around Beaufort in the 1700s, and with their labor, rice became a crop that created great wealth for a number of plantation owners. The colonial inhabitants of the Beaufort and Sea Island areas survived Indian wars, hurricanes, mosquito-borne diseases, and the American Revolution.

Early in the Civil War, the Beaufort area was invaded by the Federal Navy in the fall of 1861, and remained in Union hands throughout the conflict. African slaves who were freed by Federal Forces were able to purchase land formerly owned by their white masters. Jenks recalled her mother explaining the history of Beaufort and the Sea Islands when she was a child. Many of the homes of the planter class survived the Civil War because they were used as Union hospitals. Some of the houses were sold at tax sales to freedmen, and in some cases to northern investors.

When she turned off Highway 21 onto Coffin Point, she drove all the way to the end of the road, passing a white cottage-style home with a muted silver-colored roof and blue shutters. In the yard was a sign that read “Spiritual Advisor—Meta Jane Andrews.” She went by the home and continued to the end of the lane, where a remarkable, white multistoried house was situated. After she reached the end of Coffin Point, she turned around and returned to the first cottage, which had several cars parked in the yard.

Jenks walked up on the porch. A sign on the screen door said “Come inside and ring bell on marble top table.”

The screen door squeaked as she entered, and seeing the bell on the table, she gently rang it. A voice called out from the rear of the house, “I be right dere . . . wait jus' a minute.”

Jenks stood in the doorway of the home and glanced around the room. A vase holding a large arrangement of pink roses was sitting on a wooden chest. The fragrance of the roses filled the foyer with a rich fresh scent. Along one wall was an oak hall tree, which held several straw hats, a couple of them with holes in the front. At the top of the hall tree was the face of a woman delicately carved into the wood.

Light footfalls approached the front foyer from a hallway that was partially obscured by a six-panel door. As the door opened, a diminutive woman wearing a dark-colored dress entered the foyer. She was in her late seventies or early eighties, judging by the deep wrinkles on her face and her white hair, which was neatly combed against her head.

As she looked at Jenks a disturbed expression crossed her face. Her eyes became wide with fright, and she began to cross herself. “Lawd—why has you sent a spirit to us? I know Meta talk to de spirit world 'bout every day, but I never see one in full form.”

Shocked, Jenks's mouth dropped open, and she stepped back toward the screen door.

The voice of another woman sounded from the rear of the house. “Ida Mae, what you goin' on 'bout?”

“Meta—de Lawd is bringing judgment on us. Come quick!”

A slightly built woman appeared in the doorway that led to the rear hallway. When she came into the foyer, she looked at Jenks and said, “Ida Mae . . . what's de matter with you? You gonna' scare dis chile to death.”

“She 'bout to do de same ting to me!” she said in an elevated voice.

The second woman turned to Jenks. “Miss, my name is Meta Jane Andrews. A young lady came to see us several months ago. She bear a strong resemblance to you. I tink you mus' be related to Miss Gigi Ellington. We hear she accidentally drown in de river.”

“I'm Jenkins Ellington. Gigi was my twin sister.”

“Oh, Lawd,” Ida Mae exclaimed.

“Come an' have a seat in de parlor,” Meta said.

She and Ida Mae led Jenks to a room off the foyer. Antique furniture decorated the parlor, and a ceiling fan rotated lazily, sending a slight breeze throughout the room.

“The reason I'm here is because I found a note in my sister's home underneath an antique bottle. Written on it was your name, Miss Meta Jane, and the words Coffin Point. I wanted to see why my sister would have kept your name hidden under a bottle.”

“Your sister came to see me and Ida Mae 'bout some old diaries we have in our keep. She say dat de librarian at de downtown branch tell her dat we has some of de only recorded history from de Civil War period dat was written by a local resident. You know de white folks flee Beaufort and de Sea Islands when de Federal Navy invade dis area at de start of de Civil War. I hear it called ‘de great skedaddle.'” She smiled and chuckled to herself.