CHAPTER 1
T he voice on the phone was hesitant. When Homicide Detective Elise Sandburg heard it her heart began to pound, and all of her war wounds throbbed. She reached for the pain meds beside her hospital bed, popped a pill, and downed it with a swallow of water.
Elise, the detective who’d stared down many a gun barrel, who’d trailed madmen through the underground tunnels of Savannah, who’d been captured, caught, and tortured, was now quivering in fear, brought down by the sound of her own mother’s voice.
“I need to talk to you about Anastasia,” Grace said.
Anastasia. The other family outcast.
“Your aunt . . . ” Grace’s voice trembled. “She called me last night.”
Which was a very strange thing to say, considering Anastasia was dead.
In that moment Elise thought, Oh, how the tables have turned. She was no longer the crazy one in the family.
“I wondered if you had something to do with it.” Grace plunged on. “That’s what you people do, isn’t it? Conjure up the dead?”
It was hard to shake the rumors when Elise’s own mother believed she had some sort of power. Grace’s question shouldn’t have been a surprise. The woman’s conviction would always be the source of their estrangement no matter how many years passed. Elise was the dark mystery her mother brought into her home, someone without her DNA, and the older woman had quickly come to regret taking in an abandoned baby. A baby everybody else had been terrified of helping. Elise had to give her credit for at least stepping up and saying she’d do it. She’d take in this child people thought should have been left on the grave where she’d been found. But a little love would have been nice.
“You’re contacting me after five years to ask if I brought your sister back to life?” Elise asked.
Silence. Then, “Yes.” The admission came as a quiet whisper.
“You know I’m in the hospital with stab wounds, don’t you?” Not to mention dehydration, bruised ribs, and a severely sprained ankle.
“I saw something about that on the news.”
Right.
“So, you haven’t brought your aunt back from the dead?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.
“What did Anastasia say when she called?”
“I was so shocked to hear her voice . . . You know how that is. When your heart starts pounding and you can’t think.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“Yes. She told me not to tell anybody, but she wanted me to know she was alive and that I shouldn’t worry about her and that she loved me. Oh, and that she adored you. You were always her favorite, you know.”
Elise did know. “Why are you sharing information told to you in confidence?” And with her, of all people.
“Because of her daughter. Melinda. The plantation has been left to Melinda.”
“That doesn’t seem so unusual,” Elise said.
“I think it’s strange that she left nothing to me. Nothing. Not even the cuckoo clock. And now here she is, calling in the middle of the night to tell me she’s not dead.”
“You went to her funeral, right?”
“Yes.”
“You saw her dead body, right?”
“The service was closed casket because she’d been in the water so long. The funeral director said she looked awful. He couldn’t really do anything with her, and he didn’t want her family and friends to remember her that way.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You didn’t cast some spell on her?” Grace asked with a combination of hope and disappointment.
“No spell.” Elise thought about telling her that’s not what root work was about. Not her daddy’s root work, anyway, but she didn’t see the point. She’d tried a million times before.
“Could you go to the plantation and check it out? See if anything seems odd?”
The only thing that seemed odd was Elise’s mother. But some of Elise’s best childhood memories were of the weeks spent on her aunt’s property. It was a healing place. And who knew what Melinda would decide
T he voice on the phone was hesitant. When Homicide Detective Elise Sandburg heard it her heart began to pound, and all of her war wounds throbbed. She reached for the pain meds beside her hospital bed, popped a pill, and downed it with a swallow of water.
Elise, the detective who’d stared down many a gun barrel, who’d trailed madmen through the underground tunnels of Savannah, who’d been captured, caught, and tortured, was now quivering in fear, brought down by the sound of her own mother’s voice.
“I need to talk to you about Anastasia,” Grace said.
Anastasia. The other family outcast.
“Your aunt . . . ” Grace’s voice trembled. “She called me last night.”
Which was a very strange thing to say, considering Anastasia was dead.
In that moment Elise thought, Oh, how the tables have turned. She was no longer the crazy one in the family.
“I wondered if you had something to do with it.” Grace plunged on. “That’s what you people do, isn’t it? Conjure up the dead?”
It was hard to shake the rumors when Elise’s own mother believed she had some sort of power. Grace’s question shouldn’t have been a surprise. The woman’s conviction would always be the source of their estrangement no matter how many years passed. Elise was the dark mystery her mother brought into her home, someone without her DNA, and the older woman had quickly come to regret taking in an abandoned baby. A baby everybody else had been terrified of helping. Elise had to give her credit for at least stepping up and saying she’d do it. She’d take in this child people thought should have been left on the grave where she’d been found. But a little love would have been nice.
“You’re contacting me after five years to ask if I brought your sister back to life?” Elise asked.
Silence. Then, “Yes.” The admission came as a quiet whisper.
“You know I’m in the hospital with stab wounds, don’t you?” Not to mention dehydration, bruised ribs, and a severely sprained ankle.
“I saw something about that on the news.”
Right.
“So, you haven’t brought your aunt back from the dead?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.
“What did Anastasia say when she called?”
“I was so shocked to hear her voice . . . You know how that is. When your heart starts pounding and you can’t think.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“Yes. She told me not to tell anybody, but she wanted me to know she was alive and that I shouldn’t worry about her and that she loved me. Oh, and that she adored you. You were always her favorite, you know.”
Elise did know. “Why are you sharing information told to you in confidence?” And with her, of all people.
“Because of her daughter. Melinda. The plantation has been left to Melinda.”
“That doesn’t seem so unusual,” Elise said.
“I think it’s strange that she left nothing to me. Nothing. Not even the cuckoo clock. And now here she is, calling in the middle of the night to tell me she’s not dead.”
“You went to her funeral, right?”
“Yes.”
“You saw her dead body, right?”
“The service was closed casket because she’d been in the water so long. The funeral director said she looked awful. He couldn’t really do anything with her, and he didn’t want her family and friends to remember her that way.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You didn’t cast some spell on her?” Grace asked with a combination of hope and disappointment.
“No spell.” Elise thought about telling her that’s not what root work was about. Not her daddy’s root work, anyway, but she didn’t see the point. She’d tried a million times before.
“Could you go to the plantation and check it out? See if anything seems odd?”
The only thing that seemed odd was Elise’s mother. But some of Elise’s best childhood memories were of the weeks spent on her aunt’s property. It was a healing place. And who knew what Melinda would decide
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