In Search of Truth Page 6

  “Who would do that? And why?”

  “I don’t know.” He reached for her hand, surprised to find it so cold. “We need to talk about your husband.”

  Okay. He needed to work on his subtlety.

  “About his death.”

  Yeah. Because that’s so much better.

  “I mean his murder.”

  Perfect.

  Most of her blond hair, tucked up with crystal daisy hairpins, had come loose. Her shoulders slumped. She’d lost weight since he’d last seen her. Since he’d last kissed her.

  He dropped her hand and listened to the summer frogs sing to each other, not sure what to say next.

  “Zack—”

  “Can we sit?” He pointed to two porch rocking chairs. She sat and he took the chair next to her. “It’s possible the man who killed Hezekiah also killed Stuart. Since you’re connected to both of them, you may be in danger.”

  “Stuart’s murderer is dead. There wasn’t even a trial to set things right.” Her voice broke on the final word.

  He stared into the garden beyond the porch. Despite the dark night, he saw reflections of white sheets illuminated by the lights strung through the garden’s trees. They wafted, ghostlike, on the breeze coming off the harbor. “Stuart’s murderer is dead, but he was a minion. There’s another man, a more powerful man, who ordered Stuart’s death.”

  She stood. “I haven’t heard anything from Detective Waring about a…mastermind.”

  Zack stood and blinked because, for the briefest second, he thought he’d seen someone in white behind the sheets. When the sheets blew again, the image was gone. “That’s because the Charleston PD doesn’t know about this man.”

  “Does this man have a name?”

  “It’s classified.”

  She turned away to stand by the railing. With her arms wrapped around herself, she kept her gaze focused on the dark garden. “Did the Fianna—whoever they are—kill Stuart like they killed that man at Le Petit Theatre?”

  “No.” Zack moved behind her until their bodies almost touched. He raised his hands to place them on her bare shoulders, but dropped them instead. They stood so close, he felt her tremble. “I’m sorry, Allison.” He meant it. He’d never wanted her to be unhappy.

  She turned, her head tilted. Their mouths hovered inches apart. But her puffy eyes and trembling lips reminded him to keep his own baser instincts in check—not easy since his erection pushed against the zipper of his jeans. Just being near her, smelling the jasmine perfume he’d sent her two years ago, chipped away at his self-control.

  Still, he cupped her chin with one hand and ran his thumb over her lower lip until his breathing shorted out.

  She moved her head to break contact, but she kept her green gaze fixed firmly on his lips. “You came back after all these years to tell me I might be in danger? That my husband’s death was ordered by some mastermind but you can’t tell me the details?”

  “I know it sounds crazy—”

  “Mrs. Pinckney,” Detective Waring said as he came around the other side of the house. “Everything looks—who are you?”

  Allison touched Zack’s arm and sent him a warning glance. “This is a friend. Zack Tremaine.” Then she waved toward the other man. “This is Detective Waring.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  Since Zack wasn’t ready to play, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and hid his annoyance. “Hey.”

  Waring’s nostrils flared. “Are you Zack Tremaine who served in the Seventh Special Forces Group at Fort Bragg under the command of Kells Torridan? Part of the same unit that was recently dishonorably discharged?”

  Allison inhaled sharply and stared at Zack.

  Aaaaand... another fuck.

  Before he could think of a more appropriate response, Allison said, “Detective, I hate to interrupt, but can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m tired.”

  Waring nodded at Allison, sent another glare at Zack, and left with the parting words “Mrs. Pinckney, your property is clear. But if you see anything strange, call my cell phone.”

  “I will,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Once Waring left, Zack exhaled a sigh of the greatly relieved. “What was that about?”

  Allison crossed her arms. “Why don’t you tell me, since Detective Waring knows more about you than I do.”

  Zack reached to touch her hair, except she stepped away, and he dropped his hand. “I believe the man who killed Hezekiah, the same man who ordered Stuart’s murder, is responsible for destroying my life as well as the lives of my men. And he may be coming after you.”

  Chapter 7

  Allison unlocked the kitchen door and entered Pinckney House. The air felt hot and the scent of jasmine and orange blossoms from the plants in the conservatory filled the kitchen.

  Zack followed just as her dog appeared with a wagging tail. She tossed her purse on the kitchen table and knelt on the wood floor to bury her head in his neck. No matter what happened, Nicholas Trott was always there to make her feel better.

  Except tonight, Nicholas Trott squirmed out of her grasp to jump on Zack.

  “Hey, boy.” Zack took off his jacket and hung it on a chair. Then he used both hands to scrub the dog’s hairy neck. “Who are you?”

  “Nicholas Trott. He’s part Labrador and part sheepdog. He’s a rescue.”

  Nicholas Trott rolled onto his back for a belly rub and Zack obliged. “I didn’t hear him bark while we were outside.”

  She sighed and went to the fridge while Zack and her dog became BFFs. “He’s not a guard dog.”

  Zack rose and the dog settled onto his bed near the brick fireplace.

  She handed Zack a bottle of water and opened one of her own. He stood across the table from her, but it might as well have been an ocean between them. Detective Waring’s truth bomb had been more than a surprise. It’d come armed with sharp edges. How else could she explain the hurt deep inside her chest? If Zack had truly been dishonorably discharged—which she couldn’t believe—a lot had happened to him that she didn’t know about.

  Then again, she hadn’t been one for sharing her life either. It’d been two years since they’d last had any contact.

  They’d once been the closest of friends, and now they knew less about each other than random acquaintances. “Why did Detective Waring know all about you?”

  “He knows my boss.” Zack opened his bottle and took a long drink. The movement brought attention to his fully-tattooed arms. The dragon was—had always been—extraordinary. She wasn’t sure if the tattoo emphasized his wide shoulders or the other way around. “Why was Waring checking out your property?”

  Since she had no right to stare at him and wonder if his chest was as heavily muscled as his biceps, she went to the thermostat on the wall and tapped it until the compressor kicked on and cold air blew from the vents. “Detective Waring was looking for ghosts.”

  Zack laughed, except it sounded like he was choking. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Unfortunately, I am.” She adjusted the temp again. When had things gotten so awkward between them? “For the record, I don’t believe in ghosts. But Detective Waring does.”

  Zack picked up the black leash on the table and saw the name Nicholas Trott embroidered in white. “Where did your dog’s name come from?”

  This is how their conversation was going to proceed? Polite questions with no real substance? Since she was tired, she relented. “Nicholas Trott is named after the first attorney general for the colony of Charleston who, in 1702, became the chief justice.”

  Zack’s chuckle quickly moved into a more serious “Uh-huh.”

  She went to the sink to wash her hands. After everything that had happened tonight, she felt dirty. “Nicholas Trott—the man—is famous for his actions against brutal pirates like Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet.
But Nicholas Trott solidified his place in Charleston history when, in 1703, he presided over Mercy Chastain’s witchcraft trial.” She dried her hands and laid the towel on the counter. “Nicholas Trott’s legal arguments saved Mercy’s life.”

  Zack finished his bottle and tossed it into the recycling bin near the sink. “Nicholas Trott saved your ancestor Mercy Chastain, thereby earning the honor of having a mutt named after him.”

  Allison grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room, whispering, “Don’t call my dog a mutt. He gets embarrassed.”

  “Really?” Zack tried to glance back until Allison dragged him down the hallway and into the sitting room, turning on lamps along the way.

  The sitting room was her favorite space in the house. Her desk where she handled the household accounts, near the picture windows, overlooked the dark gardens. Two yellow chintz couches filled the middle space. She’d placed antique tables around the area, with bookshelves and a colonial-era fireplace dominating the interior wall.

  She curled up on the couch and Zack sat on the loveseat across from her. His long legs filled the space between them. She wanted to know why he was here, but she also didn’t. His answer might bring up emotions she wasn’t capable of dealing with. Everything he’d told her the night of their one and only kiss had been true. She hadn’t loved Stuart enough. The affair was proof of that truth.

  “Allison?” Zack touched her knee covered by the black silk skirt. “What happened tonight at the Usher Society?”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her head back against the couch. “During the investigation into Stuart’s death, Detective Waring found Hezekiah Usher’s business card in Stuart’s pocket. I called Hezekiah, and he told me how to buy a silver coin—which cost way more than I expected—and where to meet him tonight.”

  “Did you learn anything new?”

  Not new. Just life-shattering.

  After telling Zack about the two documents and that Stuart was a member of the society, she added, “Hezekiah said that he’d sold the Witch’s Examination of Mercy Chastain, but that the Pirate’s Grille was now mine. Like a sad consolation prize.”

  Zack studied his clasped hands in front of him. Every time he squeezed his fingers, the muscles in his forearms rippled, making his dragon tattoo, which started on one wrist, went up his arm, across his back, and down his other arm to the other wrist, move. She couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had sat next to him, holding his hand, while the tattoo was completed, like she’d done when he’d started it.

  “Zack?” she prompted.

  He met her gaze. “What is the Pirate’s Grille?”

  How could she have forgotten how brown his eyes were? How the dark hair on his arms covered the ink? She looked away, toward the fireplace filled with dried flowers. “It’s a Cardan grille.” Once she explained what that was and how it was used, she ended with, “This seventeenth-century grille was, apparently, owned by the Prince—”

  “The leader of the Fianna?”

  She nodded and turned away again before he realized she was staring at the dark stubble on his chin. She could even smell his aftershave, despite the fact he sat a foot away. “In 1710, the Pirate’s Grille was stolen by a pirate named Thomas Toban and”—she rested her head against the couch and closed her eyes—“somehow ended up on the current-day black market only to be purchased by Stuart.”

  “Can you show it to me?”

  She opened her eyes to see Zack staring at the floor. “Sure.”

  She got her handbag from the kitchen, and this time she sat next to him. Her arm brushed his, and she shivered. His hot skin surprised her. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be so close to a man.

  She took out the tube and opened the end.

  He laid the plastic-enclosed document on the coffee table. “Do you have any idea why Stuart would buy this?”

  “No.” She rubbed her forehead as if that would make the low-grade pounding go away.

  Zack muttered a curse. “Did you ever hear Stuart mention a man named Remiel Marigny?”

  “No. But you mentioned him tonight. You said he was your enemy. Why?”

  “Hell. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t.” Zack ran his hands over his head. “Didn’t the Witch’s Examination of Mercy Chastain go missing after your dad died?”

  She had so many more questions about things like enemies and Remiel Marigny and the Fianna, but from his tight, closed-off posture, she knew he’d wouldn’t answer. Instead, she said, “Yes, it was stolen during my dad’s funeral, when I was eleven. And Stuart knew that. If he found it, why wouldn’t he tell me? Why would he sell it?”

  “Did you ask Hezekiah?”

  “I did. He just told me that Stuart sold it to buy the Pirate’s Grille to protect me. But I have no idea what that means.”

  “Protect you financially, maybe? Is the Pirate’s Grille worth a lot?”

  “Yes. But if Stuart wanted to give me money, why wouldn’t he just give me the cash? Why reinvest it in another manuscript?”

  “No idea.”

  “The other strange thing is that I handle the household accounts. If Stuart was a member of the Usher Society, I have no idea how he paid for it.”

  “Did Stuart have another account? He was a bank president.”

  “It’s possible.” It would make sense since he’d had another life. “Although…”

  “What is it?”

  “After Stuart’s death, the Pinckney Trust account, which pays for the house, was frozen. My brother-in-law Lawrence wanted an audit done before he’d let me have access to the trust.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “As his wife, Stuart left me his assets that weren’t in the Pinckney Trust. But the trust pays for the house itself, with all of its expenses like taxes, insurance, and repairs. Since the trust has been frozen, I’ve been paying the house bills with my own income and what was in our savings account.”

  “Has that been hard?”

  “His salary as a bank president was far more than I make teaching at the College of Charleston. I’ve mostly been living off our savings and the life insurance money.”

  “I hate to say this, but Stuart either used money from the trust or had another account.”

  Unfortunately, Zack was probably right.

  He rolled up the page and returned it to the tube. “Do you have a safe?”

  “Yes. In Stuart’s study.”

  Zack took her hand and helped her up. She’d taken off her heels and the thick rug beneath her feet felt soft and warm. So different from the chills that ran up her arms when Zack hesitated to release her fingers.

  Trying to hide the awkwardness, she talked as she led the way through the parlor, music room, and foyer, to Stuart’s study. “Can I ask about what happened to your unit? Your dishonorable discharge?”

  “It’s classified.”

  She wasn’t surprised. “Then what about your hair? It’s so much longer than when I last saw you.”

  Last kissed you.

  “After I finished my training and joined the Seventh Special Forces group at Fort Bragg, I grew my hair for a mission and haven’t been ordered to cut it.” He opened the door to the study, and as she passed him, her arm brushed against him. A brief jolt of electricity made the hair on her arms stand up.

  And that sound—had he inhaled sharply? Or had she?

  She opened the wall safe and placed the tube on top of a vintage metal superhero lunch box that had painted broken daisies on the side.

  “Is that yours?” A thread of laughter lined Zack’s voice and she exhaled. The tension dissipated as quickly as it had arisen.

  “No. It was my brother Danny’s treasure box. I kept it after his death.”

  Zack closed the safe for her. “I’m sorry.”

  She blinked so she wouldn’t cry. “It was a long time a
go.”

  He spun the safe’s dial and sighed. “With death, time is immaterial.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist and closed her eyes.

  “Allison?” Zack’s voice sounded closer and he gripped her elbows. She opened her eyes to see his tight lips and dark eyes. His scent surrounded her. “Did someone hurt you tonight?”

  Her laugh sounded like a bark. She pulled away and moved toward the French doors that looked out over the other side of her garden. She was glad for the darkness, since she’d had to fire the gardening staff and the plants had gone to seed.

  “What happened?”

  She didn’t want to talk about this, but holding it in was making it hard to breathe. The truth was suffocating her. “Stuart was having an affair.”

  After a long moment, Zack whispered, “I don’t believe it.”

  “He was sleeping with a woman named Isabel Rutledge. She’s from Savannah but now lives in New Orleans. Her people are descended from one of the oldest Charleston families. Almost as old as mine and Stuart’s.” Allison sniffled and opened her eyes to meet his gaze. “Isabel is older than me by at least fifteen years. Maybe twenty. It’s hard to tell because she’s so beautiful.”

  “Was she wearing a red dress?”

  She nodded. “How could you know that?”

  “I saw her tonight. She left the club with Hezekiah and walked away minutes before the explosion.”

  “Isabel seemed to be part of Hezekiah’s inner circle.” Allison picked up a coffee mug with a GOT GHOSTS? logo off the desk and left the study. “Isabel acted annoyed when Hezekiah gave me the document.”

  Zack pulled out his phone and followed her into the kitchen as he texted. “I overheard Isabel talking about the Pirate’s Grille.”

  Allison loaded the mug into the dishwasher and turned it on. “I’m surprised Stuart didn’t leave the Pirate’s Grille to Isabel.”

  Was that her voice that sounded so bitter and tired? She rested her bottom against the counter, gripped the granite edge, and dropped her gaze to the worn pine floorboards. Looking at Zack was too difficult. When she stared into his eyes, all she saw was pity, and that was the last thing she wanted from him.