Amanda Stevens - The Abandoned

Tunneling his fingers through her hair, he pulled away and gazed down at her. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” she said in a shaken voice. And very eloquently.

As it turned out, Hayden wasn’t quite so footloose and fancy free after all. A call from someone at his firm sent him scurrying back to the office, leaving Ree to tackle the Emerson library alone. The archives room was located in the basement, a dim, musty area of overflowing shelves and drafty alcoves. One of the librarians upstairs had given Ree a vague suggestion as to where to find the Oak Grove records, but everything was so disorganized, the search was needle-in-the-haystack tedious.

Ree was muttering to herself in frustration when a man popped out from behind one of the shelves and gave her a stern shush .

“Sorry. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“It’s not for my sake, but for the other students,” he said almost apologetically.

She nodded and glanced around. The place was deserted except for the two of them and she felt a little tingle of alarm as he approached her. He looked harmless enough, though, in his corduroy jacket and khaki.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance. This place can be a bit overwhelming if you’re not familiar with the system.”

“You can say that again. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the way things are stored.”

“I’m Professor Meakin, by the way.”

Ree noticed that he didn’t offer his hand. “The historian?”

“Why, yes. I’m flattered that you recognized my name. Hardly anyone ever does.”

“Oh. Well, I read one of your books a few years back.”

This seemed to please him a great deal. “I take it you have an interest in local history. Are your people from Charleston?”

“No. I came here to attend Emerson.”

“Ah.” A curious smile tugged at his lips. “You have a bit of a Lowcountry drawl so I don’t think you’re too far from home.”

“I’m from Trinity. It’s just north of here.”

“A lovely little town. I used to visit a friend there on occasion. Your family still lives there, I take it?”

“Yes.”

He was starting to creep her out a little, but Ree tried not to telegraph her distaste because she suspected the poor guy’s worst crime was social ineptness.

His gaze darted to the book in her hand. “May I?” He glanced at the spine.

“I’m doing some research on a local family,” she explained. “I wonder if you could point me to the birth and death records, circa 1920.”

“What’s the name?”

“Tisdale.”

He thought for a moment. “Would that be the John Braxton Tisdales?”

“I have no idea. I don’t even know who that is…was.”

He gave her a reproachful look. “John Braxton Tisdale was one of General Lee’s most trusted civilian advisors during the Civil War. His son, James rode with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders and was later elected to the U.S. Senate. The family still lives in the East Bay house from which John Braxton and young James watched the firing upon Fort Sumter.”

Would that be the same house in which Jared Tisdale had been found murdered that morning? Ree wondered. “Did James have any children?”

“Two sons, John and Braxton, both of whom followed their father into politics. There was also a daughter. She belonged to his second wife, but James adopted her.”

“What was her name?”

“Ilsa, I believe. She was younger than the boys and quite a hedonist for the time.”

“Really? What did she do?”

He seemed more than happy to oblige her curiosity. “The usual. Scandalous parties, unsavory liaisons… She ran off with a French diplomat, an older gentleman, when she was just seventeen. He whisked her away to some remote chalet in the Alps and she was never heard from again. It created quite a stir in Charleston society.”

“Her family didn’t try to find her?”

“I’m sure there was some form of communication, but with the family’s political aspirations, I imagine her estrangement was a blessing.”

“So the Tisdales just washed their hands of her?”

“It was not an uncommon attitude in those days. Young women of ill repute were often shipped off to boarding school or to live with relatives in some remote outpost.”

“Do you know if there was any kind of scandal involving Oak Grove Cemetery?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes widened and he shot a glance over his shoulder.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No…no. It’s just…one doesn’t hear much about Oak Grove these days.”

Evidently, he didn’t know about the restoration. “Were there ever any secret ceremonies or rituals conducted in the cemetery?”

“You mean…occult rituals?” he asked carefully.

“I’m not really sure. Do you know anything about a secret society called the Order of the Coffin and the Claw?”

“I’m aware of it,” he said with a frown. “Elitism at its finest. Thankfully, the Order was dissolved several years ago. Of course, there are some who think it merely went underground.”

“Was it ever affiliated with Oak Grove Cemetery?”

“Rumor had it, that’s where the initiation rituals were held.” He lowered his voice. “There were whispers of dark ceremonies involving drunken orgies and absinthe trips, all manner of debauchery. From everything I’ve read, something happened in that cemetery. Something dark and unspeakable. That’s why Oak Grove was abandoned.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I’m afraid no one who isn’t a Claw will ever know the answer to that question.”

Ree slept the sleep of the dead that night. No Ilsa dreams. No sleepwalking episodes. When she woke up, she felt rested and refreshed and after a text message from Hayden, she had a little something to look forward to as she headed off to Emerson. Things were looking up. Maybe it was time to put all the intrigue and weirdness behind her and start focusing on the future again. Now might be a good time to revisit her goals.

First order of business was research in the library, and Ree was proud of herself for ignoring the lure of the archives. Whatever was to be gleaned about Oak Grove Cemetery and the Tisdales from those dusty old books would have to wait. Her thesis project came first because she’d put way too much time, effort and money into her education to squander it all away now.

Just when she was starting to think she had a handle on normal again, she ran smack into Detective Devlin on the library steps. He put a hand on her arm to steady her, but Ree shied away.

“Miss Hutchins, isn’t it?”

“How do you know my name?” She hadn’t told anyone at police headquarters who she was.

“I ran your plates yesterday.”

Of course, he had. “How did you know which car was mine?”

“I ran them all until I found you.”

Of course, he had. Ree glanced away, not wanting to look straight into the abyss of his gaze. “How did you know I was here?”

“A wild guess.”

Translation: Either he’d followed her from her apartment or someone had tipped him off. And just like that, Ree found herself back in the morass created by that overheard conversation. Maybe she should just tell Detective Devlin the truth. Get it all out in the open. As Hayden pointed out, that might be her best protection. But Ree didn’t trust Devlin. He’d become suspect the moment she’d seen him with Dr. Farrante.

“You ran off without giving your statement,” he said smoothly.

Ree refused to be lulled by that silky drawl. “Something came up. I couldn’t wait.”

“Something more important than a murder investigation?”