He offered her a sad smile and saluted. She smiled in return.
She knew she would see him again and hoped they would learn more from the dead than they had learned so far from the living.
12
It was, Ethan thought, quite an incredible thing—cruising the Mississippi on the Journey.
He knew the places they visited so well, from New Orleans to Vicksburg. He’d grown up in St. Francisville, and from there he’d come to know Baton Rouge, Natchez and Vicksburg. Then he’d gone to college in New Orleans and fallen in love with the flavor of the city.
This was all familiar territory, but he’d never seen it from the water before—and certainly not while sleeping beside Charlie every night.
It would be far too easy to forget that they were trying to catch a killer.
He glanced at the bedside table. His Glock, loaded, was still within easy reach. The door, he knew, was bolted. His fellow agents were asleep just down the hallway.
Even so, he couldn’t let himself become too comfortable.
They weren’t expecting trouble on the Journey, of course, but he knew bad things could happen anywhere, as Jude and Thor had learned firsthand all too recently, facing deranged serial killers. That was all part of the job, of course, but the Celtic American connection had him on edge. Those killers had been sociopaths or possibly psychopaths—he left all that for the psychiatrists—though, and he didn’t think they were dealing with that kind of crazy now. His gut told him that Albion Corley and Farrell Hickory had been killed out of necessity—necessity as the killer saw it, anyway—and then Selma Rodriguez had been killed for pretty much the same reason: because of something she knew.
But what the hell was that something?
He didn’t believe the killer had gone after the two men out of some twistedly violent objection to a mixed marriage. The world had come a long way, but racists did still exist, and plenty of them were violent. He just didn’t feel that that explanation fit. If nothing else, how would it have led to a reason to kill Selma?
No, the motive for the original killings lay elsewhere, and she had known something about it—or the killer believed she did.
As he lay there thinking, Charlie edged against him. He felt the warmth of her body, the sleekness of her bare skin. He winced slightly and swallowed; just her movement aroused him.
It was still early.
He slid his fingers provocatively down the length of her spine to the curve of her buttocks. She moved closer and nestled against him, and then he felt her fingers trail down his chest and below, and he knew that she was awake, too.
They made love. It was a hell of a good way for a man to start the morning—especially since he was on the ship, because most of the time he’d be working.
The killer remained at large. But he had come to believe that Charlie—and Confederate Captain Anson McKee—was right. The key to solving this case was here on the Journey.
They lay curled together after their lovemaking, but finally Ethan admitted to himself that he needed to get started on the day. The ship was large, and there were still a lot of staff to talk to, plus they needed to research whether any of the current passengers had also been aboard for the special reenactment. They planned to split up today. He and Charlie would attend Jonathan’s first lecture of the day, then stay aboard, along with Jude; Thor would follow Jonathan to Oak Alley. Alexi and Clara would stay aboard, as well, to prepare for tonight’s shows, but they would be available if he needed to call on them for help with anything.
“Do you know what’s strange?” Charlie murmured against his chest.
“Frankly, there’s a lot in this world that’s strange.”
She laughed softly at that. “No, I mean with what we know. A man and a woman arguing with Albion. I think we need to know more about that. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the murders, but I still think there’s a connection to the Journey, and maybe to the Masons, too. We keep getting led in all kinds of directions, but we still don’t know what anything means.”
“To be honest, your father could have given us a bit more direction earlier.”
She rose on an elbow and shook her head vehemently. “My father kept quiet out of respect for a confidence of a personal nature, and he didn’t want to point the investigation in the wrong direction. He didn’t ‘lie’ for any reason other than to protect his friends and Shelley Corley.”
“I agree,” Ethan said. “But it was still important that he tell us everything. Most murders have a clear motive. Love, hate, greed. I don’t think this is a case of love, and hatred doesn’t really fit, either, given what we know of the two men who I believe were the only intended victims. That makes greed seem likely. But greed over what? To answer that, we need to talk to Shelley Corley. I’m hoping we find out more from her.”
“When will that be?”
“Later today. Jackson located her in Baton Rouge and put a call through to her. I was going to have Jude or Thor go and speak with her, but she said she’d drive down. Once she arrives, I’ll go ashore to meet with her as soon as I know Thor or Jude is here to...”
“To watch over the Southern Belles?”
“I’m sorry, but I think it’s important.”
“I have no argument with that!” Charlie assured him. “I’m rather fond of living.” She smiled. “More so now than ever,” she added softly, then kissed him.
He groaned and jumped out of bed. “Shower. Cold,” he said huskily.
* * *
“At the time that Oak Alley was built, the sugar industry was booming. All along the Mississippi River, plantations were being carved out along the shore. Some of these were relatively small, and many have been lost to the ravages of time. Oak Alley was left to the Oak Alley Foundation by Mrs. Josephine Stewart, who bought the place with her husband, Andrew, in 1925. They were among the first people to realize the importance of the past, to restore such a historic home, and to preserve her for generations to come. She is a living, breathing piece of the past. Today she hosts weddings, photo shoots, even concerts. She is as much a part of today as she is a memory of days long gone. When you’re not cruising aboard the Journey, you can rent a cottage and stay on the property.” Jonathan smiled. “Since this is our first full day out of New Orleans, I’m going to try to give you a picture of what the area was like from the end of the 1850s through the tragedy of the Civil War, at the end of which we became—though not without difficulties—what we are today, one country, united and proud.”
“The South shall rise again!” a teenager shouted.
“Son, whatever you may think, today’s South is united with the whole of our great country in a battle against terrorism—domestic and foreign—no matter how crazy some of our politicians seem to be.”
His remark brought laughter from the crowd.
“Trust me,” Jonathan continued. “I’m from this great state of Louisiana, and I love her with all my heart, but here’s what’s important—the political situation at the beginning of the Civil War. So thank you, because you’ve led me right to the topic I have planned for this lecture, before we head out on today’s ‘journey’ of discovery to Oak Alley.”
Hovering in the background, Charlie smiled. Damn, her father was good. He could turn any heckler around.
“To understand that time, the men leading our states and our country, to understand why the South seceded and why so many men fought and died, we have to go back not only over a hundred and fifty years to the start of the Civil War but to 1776 and the birth of this country. Thomas Jefferson, in writing the Declaration of Independence, though a slave owner himself, wanted to see slavery abolished and wanted those words in his document. But he was also desperately trying to make thirteen separate colonies—thirteen separate entities—agree on one document. The country was designed to be a loose union of state
s. A man’s loyalty was to his state before it was to the union.
“So to understand, you have to put yourself in the frame of mind that existed as 1861 rolled around. As I said, a man’s loyalty was to his state, but what many people don’t know is that not every Southerner was pro-slavery. In fact, one of the greatest generals our country ever produced, Robert E. Lee, was very vocally against secession. The man who would become the first and only president of the Confederate States of America, Jefferson Davis, served as Secretary of War for Franklin Pierce and gave speeches against secession in both the North and in the South.”
“I heard that many of the most powerful politicians and generals of the day were best friends, that they’d served together in the White House and fought side by side in the Mexican-American War,” a man offered.
“Very true. Many of them had gone to West Point together. I think one of the most heartbreaking details of the war has to be Robert E. Lee’s decision to say no when he was asked by Lincoln to lead the Northern armies. Had he accepted that assignment, the war might have been much shorter, though we’ll never know for sure, of course. But Lee was a passionate Virginian, Davis a passionate Mississippian, and in keeping with the mind-set of their day, they cast their lot with their states. Once you understand this, you can see why so many of the men fighting on opposite sides were good friends.
“In some cases even family members fought against each other, if some lived in one state and some in another. Mary Todd Lincoln’s people were from Kentucky, a border state, so not only did she live with the heartache of being on the opposite side from much of her family, but she had gossips and journalists accusing her of being a traitor.
“And, yes, slavery and its importance to the Southern economy was key among the rights the South was defending. But let’s move on to Louisiana and The Day the War Stopped, the day when the Journey was handed over to the Union, along with the ill and injured Union men who were aboard her. Around 620,000 men died in the Civil War, but, it should be noted, two-thirds of them were lost to disease rather than directly in battle.”
“Was this where they gave the ship over to the Union?” someone asked.
“No, the ship was farther north that day. From the beginning of the war, commanders on both sides knew that controlling the Mississippi was paramount to winning the war. But all along, the fight really was for control of the river, not to decimate the area, and it’s to that strategy that we owe the fact that Oak Alley still stands, that and the later efforts of the Stewart family, who, as I said, were among the first to see the value in restoring our historic homes and plantations.”
“How old is it?” someone asked.
“Oak Alley was completed around 1839,” Jonathan said. “The property was originally called Bon Sejour and was purchased by Valcour Aime in 1830. Aime was known as the Sugar King, and he was immensely wealthy. In 1836 he traded the property to his brother-in-law Jacques Roman and the house was soon begun—built entirely by slave labor. The house was not damaged during the fighting, but the economy plummeted after the war, Jacques died, his widow spent heavily, and the family lost the property in 1866. It was auctioned off, but the new owners failed to keep it up, and the property fell into disrepair until it was purchased by the Stewarts.”
Charlie watched her father and thought that he was a better showman than she might ever be herself, despite her years of drama school. It wasn’t the words he spoke; it was all in the rise and fall of his voice, and the quick way he responded to questions or turned a heckler around.
“At Oak Alley you’ll learn not only how both the rich and their slaves lived during the great sugar years, but all the details of the running of the house and plantation. So now, if you’re ready, the buses are waiting to take us to the plantation. I’ll be talking to you again once we arrive, and I’ll be available throughout the day for any questions. If I can’t answer them, we’ll find someone who can. And since you’ll need to eat lunch while we’re there, I should mention that the restaurant serves the best shrimp po’boy I’ve ever had.”
A kid in front started waving his hand and asked, “Aren’t we just learning what bad people did?”
“What we’re learning is history, and history is created of both good and bad deeds carried out by people who are mostly a mix of good and bad themselves. As a philosopher named George Santayana once said, ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ History happened. We can’t change it, only learn from it. And they weren’t necessarily bad people, they came from a different time. Hopefully, every year that we live, we all learn to become better people ourselves.”
Charlie smiled at her father as he looked up suddenly and saw her. He smiled back, then nodded at Ethan, who was standing right behind her.
She lowered her head. She wasn’t sure her father actually liked Ethan any better. He was just glad Ethan had law-enforcement training, carried a gun and was there to protect her.
As her father turned to lead the guests off the boat, she saw Thor join him. Apparently Jude would be staying behind and would take over guard duties when Ethan went ashore later.
As she and Ethan left the room, Alexi joined them. “Wanna run through tonight’s set and then head up on deck for a leisurely lunch?” she asked. “Maybe Ricky can join us.”
Clara and Jude met them as they headed to the Main Deck and the Eagle View dining room, where Alexi promptly went behind the piano and pulled out their set lists, while the two men walked over to the side of the room and started talking.
Charlie gave her attention to Alexi, but as she listened, she couldn’t help looking expectantly around the dining room. But there was nothing to be seen, just empty tables waiting to be filled.
By the living.
“It’s odd,” Alexi said, looking at her.
“What’s odd?”
Alexi leaned toward her and Clara, though the only other two people in the room were Ethan and Jude, who were still deep in private conversation.
Still, Charlie knew, the walls might have ears. “What’s odd?” she repeated.
“This room,” Alexi said softly. “According to the experts in these things, there are two kinds of hauntings. There are residual hauntings, where, say, soldiers fight the same battle over and over again. And then there are active hauntings, like the ones we’ve all had opportunity to experience. This room seems as if it’s the site of a residual haunting. The men here...lying sick and injured as they did all those years ago, when more than half of them eventually died. But there’s that one man who looks like a doctor. He keeps looking at you, Charlie.”
“I know,” Charlie said.
“I think he wants to talk to you, but it seems like he’s afraid, maybe because you’re always surrounded by other people.”
“I’m not sure why a ghost would be afraid,” Clara put in.
“We need to find a way for him to talk to you,” Alexi said.
“I agree,” Clara said. “But we can’t leave you alone.”
“Maybe if you’re around but not too near...” Charlie murmured.
“We’ll work on it,” Alexi said. “Okay, first up...begin with the medley.” She kept talking, riffling through her sheet music.
Charlie looked around the room again, hoping to see the doctor materialize.
Talk to me, please, talk to me, she thought.
But the room remained empty, so she returned her attention to their practice for the evening’s performance.
She thought how lucky she was to have such good friends. They’d both been through hell very recently—and on cruise ships, no less.
But they were here now, for her.
She turned around and saw that Ethan and Jude had settled at a table.
Even Ethan was back.
For her.
And then, as she watched, the ghostly doctor mater
ialized right behind Ethan. Once again, he caught her eyes.
Then he raised a hand in a solemn salute.
* * *
When it came time to head upstairs for lunch, Ethan brought the files containing photos, including some of Chance Morgan’s, of people who had been aboard the Journey before Corley and Hickory had been murdered.
He left Jude to watch over the Southern Belles and enjoy lunch, and he headed straight to the infirmary. He hadn’t seen Dr. Amerind flirting with passengers at the Sun Deck buffet, so he had to assume the doctor was in his quarters or seeing a patient.
Two attractive young women in nautically themed nurse’s uniforms, a blonde named Mindy Gunderson and a brunette named Haley Howell, greeted him as soon as he entered the infirmary.
Haley explained that Dr. Amerind was in with Mrs. Vineland, a frequent passenger. She suffered from motion sickness but cruised aboard the Journey time and again anyway. She simply liked the ambience of the riverboat and the various excursions available when they were in port.
Ethan noticed that she had a chart in her hand; she had obviously been about to join Dr. Amerind and Mrs. Vineland.
“I assume you were both here the day of the big reenactment, right?” he asked pleasantly.
“Of course,” Mindy said. “We’re under contract, so we don’t have a choice. At least the reenactment was something a little bit different.”
“You don’t enjoy the shipboard programming?” he asked.
“There are only so many lectures about history a girl can take,” Haley said. “The best is when we’re in port in New Orleans.”
“We get a week off the ship once a month—fill-in nurses, waiting for full-time jobs with the cruise line, come on. Time for us to have fun,” Mindy said, and winked. “I mean,” she added solemnly, “we’re purer than the driven snow while we’re aboard.”
“No drinking allowed, and I have no problem with that. We never know when we might be needed,” Haley explained.