Blood, Ash, and Bone

CHAPTER Thirty-five

Back at the hotel, we sent the boxes up with the bellhop and took the elevator to our room. I was exhausted, but Trey remained insistent that I tell him everything about my encounter with Jasper.

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, just that one threatening message.”

Trey was on full seethe. “I’m filling out a 302 on him as soon as we get to the room. If he shows up at the ball tonight, I’m calling in the authorities.”

“Here’s the thing,” I said as the elevator rose. “Why would the KKK be interested in a Bible signed by Lincoln and Sherman, the two biggest enemies of the Confederate cause, especially if every piece of evidence is demonstrating it’s a forgery? It makes no sense.”

Trey didn’t reply. His ears were listening, but his eyes were scanning every corner with paranoid intensity. He was also snippy and noncommunicative and getting on my last nerve. I took a deep breath. All we had to do was get through the ball, and we could go back to Atlanta.

I checked the time. “When do you have to fetch Reynolds?”

“I don’t. Marisa is escorting him there.”

I got a little twitch of vengeful satisfaction at the thought of seeing Marisa in antebellum fashion. The woman would do anything for Phoenix, even pull a Scarlett O’Hara and make a ball gown out of the curtains if necessary.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped into the hall. I shook out my ponytail. “You shower, I’ve got to—”

“Stop.” Trey froze, one hand on my stomach. “There’s someone outside our room.”

I peered toward the end of the hall. Sure enough, I saw a flicker of movement. Someone—dark-clothed, furtive—hid behind the cart of shampoo and towels parked near our door.

“Housekeeping?” I suggested.

“No.” Trey’s hand moved toward the H&K. “Get back in the elevator.”

“But—”

“Now.”

I pushed the button, but the elevator had already moved to another floor. I pushed it again, spread my hands in frustration. Now what?

He flattened his palm and pushed it down. Stay here. Then he took two steps forward, hand hovering at his beltline.

“You behind the cart,” he said. “Move into the open. Hands in the air. Slowly.”

After only a second’s hesitation, a man stepped into the open. Instead of staying put, however, he hurried in our direction. Trey’s hand went under this jacket. At that moment, I recognized our visitor, even if his navy suit was disheveled and his white-capped grin nowhere to be seen.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I grabbed Trey’s elbow. “It’s that guy, what’s-his-name, the Harrington’s authenticator!”

“Who?”

“David Fitzhugh. I met him at Audrina’s tea.”

Fitzhugh, oblivious to the danger, kept walking until he was standing two feet away. He was sweaty and wild-eyed, his complexion waxy, like a man on the verge of fainting.

“Do you have it?” he blurted. “Because if you do, for the love of God give it to them before they kill me too!”

Trey looked at me, puzzled. He put his hands on his hips, and I relaxed a little. I stepped between him and Fitzhugh and walked to our door.

I fished in my tote bag for the keycard. “You’d better come inside, Mr. Fitzhugh, before you get ventilated. Then we can have a talk about why you’re lurking outside our hotel room.”

***

Fitzhugh and I sat on the sofa. I had Jack on ice. He took his straight. Trey stuck with Pellegrino, and hung out near the curtained window.

“First off,” I said, “we don’t have the Bible. It was stolen by an elite sniper team. Didn’t you see the news?”

“Of course I did! But somebody seems to think I have it. I got back to my hotel room this afternoon, and it had been searched. Suitcases dumped out, drawers emptied.”

“But how do you know it was the Bible they were looking for?”

“Because they called me later and said so! They said I had twenty-four hours, or I’d get a bullet in the brain, just like Winston!”

I looked at Trey. He nodded. That was the truth.

This was making no sense. The bad guys had the Bible, after all. They killed Winston and snatched it. Why would they be searching for it in Fitzhugh’s room?

I poured myself another shot. “Let’s start at the beginning. You’re in Savannah chasing that Bible, correct?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“But in Atlanta, you called it a wild goose chase.”

“I thought it was. But then Winston contacted me, the day after you came to Miss Harrington’s. He’d seen me on television too, and he wanted to know if I had a client with the funds to afford something really special. Then he told me about the Bible. Two people, same story? That made me reconsider my assessment. So I arranged a meeting with him, here in Savannah.” He stared at his drink. “I told him you were looking for it as well, to claim it for John Wilde.”

I frowned. “Now why did you do that?”

“I thought that might incline him toward selling it more quickly.” Fitzhugh’s expression grew canny. “I had the feeling he had other buyers lined up, and I needed to remind him that I could outbid you and anyone else, easily, should the item prove to be authentic.”

I cursed. So that was how Winston and Hope had known Trey and I were at the Westin. Fitzhugh had spilled everything.

“So you’ve seen it?”

“More than that. I’ve actually held it in my hands.” He swirled his drink, staring into the amber liquid. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t worth my time.”

“It’s not real, is it?”

He shook his head, and I felt a stab of disappointment. All this time and energy chasing a phantom, and it turned out to be another special effect. Like the villains in sheets and roller skates on Scooby Doo.

“The Bible itself is authentic,” he continued, “a fine example of an Oxford King James. Slightly foxed but in otherwise excellent condition. However, the handwriting on the inscription isn’t representative of Mr. Lincoln’s, and the aging is suspicious, probably enhanced. I declined to buy it and told him why.”

I looked at Trey. Trey nodded. So this much was true too.

“When was this?”

“Monday.”

Then it hit me. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one following me on River Street when I went to see Winston for the first time. I almost caught you, but you ducked into the alley and escaped.”

He shook his head. “That was me, yes, but I was there for the Bible, not you. I’d left Winston’s shop and was trying to get back to my hotel unseen. I was avoiding you, not following you.”

I sipped my Jack, thinking hard. “So explain this to me. If that Bible is fake, then why are you still here and not back in Atlanta?”

Another hesitation. “I had further business here.”

“Doing what?”

“What I always do—searching for artifacts to enhance Miss Harrington’s collection.”

“I didn’t see you at the Expo.”

His lips tightened in a supercilious line. “I prefer private transactions with individuals, not dealers.”

“Oh, you mean those people who bring you…what was it you said? Deliberate fakes and sentimental slop?”

“I prefer that to over-priced trinkets from dubious salespeople.”

Fitzhugh was firmly back in know-it-all land. But I knew why he avoided other dealers—they were harder to cheat. Audrina Harrington’s collection had probably been purchased for pennies on the dollar from folks who didn’t know better.

I’d opened my mouth to explain what I thought of this when I noticed Trey’s expression. He’d tilted his head to the left, and then to the right. Recalibrating. I knew what that meant. I’d triggered that response a hundred times.

I tsk-tsked at Mr. Fitzhugh. “Technically true, but deliberately evasive.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What?”

“It’s a common trick habitual liars use, telling the truth but not the whole truth. Trey can peg it every time.” I leaned forward. “So tell me, Mr. Fitzhugh, what are you hiding?”

“Nothing!”

I looked at Trey. Trey shook his head.

“And that,” I said, “was a downright lie.”

Fitzhugh stared at him, baffled, which was what most people did when faced with Trey’s cranial lie detector. Some bluffed. Some blustered. But most went baffled.

“But I’ve told you everything!” Fitzhugh said, his voice pitched with fear again.

Trey stepped forward. “No, you haven’t. We don’t have the Bible, which means that you’re still in danger, and will be as long as it’s missing. If you want our help, you need to tell us everything, right now.”

Fitzhugh stared at him, outrage written on his features. He said nothing.

Trey remained firm. “In that case, there’s nothing more I can do for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for the ball.”

He went into the bedroom without another word. Fitzhugh watched him go like a man watching the cavalry ride over someone else’s hill. The bourbon in his glass trembled. Nonetheless, he stood and buttoned his jacket.

I stood too. “You really should come clean, you know. These people don’t play, and if they think you’re holding out, which you obviously are, you’re in serious trouble.”

He ignored the warning. I saw fear and stubbornness in his eyes, and also determination.

“I’ll take care of this situation myself,” he said.

“How?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

I pulled one of my business cards from my pocket and slid it into his jacket. “When you come to your senses, call me. Until then, I suggest you find a copy of the Sniper Evasionary Manual. And avoid open spaces.”