“Any ghost stories about Red-eye?” I asked.
Mrs. Morrissey laughed. “Oh my goodness. You know Charleston – there’s a ghost around every corner! Yes, there have been stories about ol’ Red-eye. Some folks claimed they could smell something burning out in that area, when nothing was on fire. Others say they’ve seen the ghost of a man hanging in mid-air, then suddenly plummeting, like on a gallows.”
I felt a chill go down my back. “Anything else?”
Mrs. Morrissey consulted her sources. “Rumor had it that after Red-eye was hanged, they found bodies in shallow graves. Might have been some of his victims. ’Course, he wasn’t the only pirate to drop anchor in that area.”
She gave me a sidelong look. “You know, there is even a rumor – never substantiated, you understand – that the founder of Trifles and Folly had some dealings with privateers.”
Sorren had told me that story the last time he was in town, only it was no rumor. He remembered Dante fondly—and my ancestor Evann, who was Sorren’s partner back then. “Imagine that,” I said noncommittally.
“That’s a prime piece of land,” I said. “I can’t imagine it was too much longer before someone laid claim to it legitimately.”
“Oh, that happened soon enough. Before that point, there were more pirates, more raids, and more hangings.” She flipped a few more pages. “Then along came Edwin Sandborn, whose father had a prosperous rice plantation upriver. Edwin thought that if he could start his own shipyard, he would save on docking fees and make a profit off the nearby plantations.”
She raised an eyebrow. “There were also rumors that Edwin’s family was also doing some smuggling along with their rice shipments.” She managed a very proper smirk. “You know smuggling is in our blood in this city.”
“What happened to Edwin?”
Mrs. Morrissey leaned against the table. “Some people say he got in trouble trying to elope with the daughter of one of the other rice planters. Others say he tried to elope with the buried treasure of one of the other plantation owners. One foggy spring night, someone shot him dead as he sat at the desk in his office. After that, the dockyard fell into disarray and eventually was sold.” Again, I marked the spot on the map with the pencil point and snapped another photo.
“What happened to the land after Edwin?” I asked.
“The property has changed hands a number of times – unusual, since so many of our commercial properties remain in the same family for generations,” she replied. “And every time, there was a whiff of impropriety. Most ventures ended very badly – bankruptcies, mental breakdowns, embezzlement, murders.”
“Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Corban Moran?” I asked, typing the name into the computer to see if I would stumble on anything that had eluded Teag’s hacking. I wasn’t surprised when the search came up blank.
Mrs. Morrissey frowned. “Moran?” She shook her head. “Do you mean Corwin Moran?” She walked over to the shelves and pulled down another book, skimming through the pages until she found what she wanted.
“Is this who you meant?” she asked, setting the book on the table. “He was a smuggler – pirate, really – in the years soon after the Revolution.” She shook her head. “Awful man, even by pirate standards.
Killed so many men, some people thought he had made a deal with the Devil,” she added.
Not the Devil, I thought. Just a demon.
“He burned to death in a fire,” she said. “At least, that’s what the stories say.” She pointed to a sketch in her book of Corwin Moran. I was certain he was the man I’d seen in the broad-brimmed hat, the man who had returned to Charleston to raise Abernathy’s demon.
Just then her phone rang, and I did my best to look completely absorbed checking my cell phone as Mrs. Morrissey took the call. She looked up when she was done. “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve got to go over to the Chamber of Commerce and straighten out some details for the reception they’re holding. It’s part of our latest fundraiser. You’re welcome to stay here and use the computer – I shouldn’t be more than half an hour.”
I checked the time. “Are you expecting anyone?”
Mrs. Morrissey nodded. “That’s why I hesitated about going over to the Chamber. One of the professors at the University is dropping by to discuss a lecture we’re planning for the Fall Luminaries Lantern Tour schedule.”
“I love those tours,” I said, thinking silently how I wished Sorren could lead one of the sessions. “They make you feel as if you’re right there, like you’ve met the people.”
Mrs. Morrissey brightened. “That’s the whole goal – to give reality TV a run for its money and get more people engaged in history.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “After all, every good historian knows that history is the original reality show.
“I’ve got an expert on African myth and folklore who’s supposed to be here sometime this afternoon, and I know that if I step out for a moment, she’ll show up while I’m gone.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” I said. “Once you get back, I can finish up in the stacks and still get to Trifles and Folly in time to finish out the afternoon.”
“Bless you,” Mrs. Morrissey said. “If anyone else shows up, tell them I’ll be back soon. I won’t be long.”
She left me with instructions not to let anyone else in and to let the phone go to voice mail and hustled out the door. It wasn’t until she was gone I realized I had just volunteered to be alone in a museum. Damn.
Chapter Nineteen
I WALKED INTO the foyer and took the opportunity to look at the ‘Healers and Helpers’ exhibit, being careful not to touch any of the cases or objects. I figured I was safer with objects that had been used to heal and protect rather than with pieces that had belonged to killers and rogues.
I walked over to appreciate a beautiful oil painting that hung on the opposite wall. It was a painting of a long-ago ball that had been held in the Drayton House’s ballroom. Judging by the clothing of the people in the painting, I guessed the period to be mid-1700s. The women were resplendent in their long dresses with massive skirts of silk and satin, and the men looked prosperous and satisfied in their knee breeches and brocade waistcoats.
I had seen the painting many times, but I’d never had the time to study it. To get a better view, I walked up a few steps so that it was on eye level. The artist’s main focus was on the mansion’s current owners at the time, who were in the center of the action. But he had also captured the likenesses of many of the other notable guests, some of whom I recognized from Charleston’s history. One image caught my eye, and I let out a slight gasp. Off to one side, trying to look inconspicuous, stood a thin blond man with light skin and high cheekbones. His sea-gray eyes seemed to meet mine and a startle of recognition thrilled through me. Sorren.
My mind was still reeling from surprise when I heard the faint sounds of an old-fashioned music box.
I froze, straining to listen. The music box had been part of the ‘Ramblers and Rogues’ exhibit. Mrs.
Morrissey had turned it off when she turned out the lights.
From above me, I heard a thump, a sharp sound of metal on wood. Exactly what a lead-tipped cane might sound like pounding against the wooden floor.
Thump. Thump. Jeremiah Abernathy had convened his court once more, more than a century after his death.
There was no way in hell I was going to go up those stairs. I began to back down the steps carefully, doing my best not to make any noise. Mrs. Morrissey had not mentioned any ghostly activity. Then again, between the age of the house and the notoriety of many of the artifacts the Archive housed, perhaps she had come to take haunting in her stride.