They moved from a pocket of darkness into an open area with faint splashes of moonlight. The air felt clean and cool; the woods surrounding the house were lush, green, and alive with crickets and tree frogs singing their songs. Off in the distance came the low hoot of an owl.
“I’ll be switched,” Drayton exclaimed as they walked up to the old house. “Will you look at this!”
Theodosia clicked on her flashlight. “What?”
“It’s a genuine dogtrot house.” Drayton sounded almost giddy.
They stood and gazed at the old place. It was a one-story wooden building with a low roof, the exterior turned silver-gray from the elements, a fieldstone chimney anchoring one end. But that wasn’t what made it so unique.
“I’ve heard of dogtrot houses before, but I’ve never actually seen one,” Theodosia said. “The architecture is . . . unusual.”
“I’ll say,” Drayton said. “It’s built as a typical single-story home, but with a large open breezeway running smack-dab through the middle. You see, there are two completely separate living spaces on either side. But everything’s contained under one roof.”
“Unorthodox but kind of cool.”
“Exactly the point,” Drayton said. “They were engineered to take advantage of cross breezes and optimize airflow. Some historians say dogtrot houses originated in the Appalachians; others believe they were developed by farmers in our very own Carolina low country.”
“I wonder how this house figures into Fox’s shoot?”
“Maybe he’s doing a historical documentary. Maybe he got a grant or something.”
“Could be,” Theodosia said as they stepped up onto the front porch and walked through the open breezeway. She stopped and peered in a window smudged with dirt and cobwebs. The room was empty with a scuffed wood floor and stone fireplace against the far wall. Dust lay everywhere. “Nobody home,” she said.
“This place probably hasn’t been inhabited for a number of years,” Drayton said. “I’d guess the surrounding fields are leased out to a neighboring grower.” He reached for a doorknob, rattled it, and said, “Locked. Too bad, I’d love to go inside this old place and look around.”
“Maybe when Fox gets here,” Theodosia said. “Maybe he’ll have a key. I mean, if he’s shooting a commercial or documentary here, he might need to get inside.”
“This is fascinating,” Drayton said. “Let’s poke around some more.”
“Sure.”
They walked all the way through the open breezeway and stepped down into a backyard filled with knee-high weeds and an occasional thicket of buckthorn.
“There are two more buildings back here,” Drayton said.
“One looks like a small barn,” Theodosia said. “The other . . .”
“Looks almost like a miniature log cabin. Though the boards don’t seem to be chinked with cement or clay.”
“Corncrib,” Theodosia said. Her aunt Libby’s plantation, Cane Ridge, had one exactly like it. “Those gaps between boards are there on purpose. To allow air circulation so the corn can dry out.”
“Air circulation, huh. Similar to the main house.” Fascinated, Drayton led the way through the weeds. When they got close to the corncrib, the land turned to a mix of stubbly dry grass and hardpan. “You think there’s any corn inside?”
“Doesn’t look that way. But open the door and see for yourself.”
Drayton reached a hand out, then hesitated and pulled back. “Somehow it doesn’t feel right. Like we’re overstepping our bounds.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Theodosia said. “Nobody lives here. So what’s the big deal?” She touched a hand to an old-fashioned rusted metal handle and pushed down hard. There was a metallic snap and then the door slowly swung open.
“Phew.” Drayton waved a hand in front of his face. “Stinky. Whatever corn was left in here must have mildewed. Not even field mice would want to nibble that.”
Theodosia snapped on her flashlight and played the beam along the inside walls of the small corncrib. Dust motes swirled in the air as she explored. She saw gobs of tangled gray cobwebs, a hook with a leather strap hanging from it, and . . . wait a minute, what was that hung on the wall? Something bony and white, almost bleached-looking! Her heart thumped inside her chest until she figured out what it was. A mounted skull from some kind of animal. Maybe a sheep or a small steer?
“Huh, I think this place was used more recently for storage,” she called to Drayton.
Theodosia aimed her flashlight lower and flicked it around quickly. She was ready to get out of there, about to snap it off, when she caught a wink of something shiny. Hesitating, she aimed the beam into a far corner. Blinking, puzzled at what she was looking at, she moved the beam in a small circle. Then, as if she’d inhaled too much dust, her breath caught in her throat and she let out a sharp cry.
“What?” Drayton said. He’d turned and was about to walk away.
“Look,” Theodosia said in a guttural tone. “Just . . . come take a look.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
Theodosia aimed her flashlight at what appeared to be a pile of rags. Then the yellow beam settled on the glistening thing that had first caught her attention.
It was a human eye. Wide open, but glazed and unseeing.
24
Drayton let out a yelp and jumped back. His jaw muscles tightened, and strange noises came from the back of his throat. Finally, he croaked out, “Is that what I think it is?”
“What do you think it is?” Theodosia asked. “What did you see?”
“An eyeball. Belonging to a dead body?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“And I do believe the dead body belongs to Eddie Fox.”
Drayton threw out his arms as if to steady himself. “Whoa. Are you sure? Is this really happening?”
Theodosia nodded slowly, reluctantly. “I think it already happened.” Suddenly, she didn’t feel all that steady herself. Her head pounded like an anvil was inside it, and she felt sick to her stomach. What she’d hoped would be a simple Q and A session with Eddie Fox had suddenly turned tragic.
“But what . . . ?” Drayton was still fumbling for words.
Theodosia’s flashlight carefully explored some more.
“It looks to me as if Fox was shot and then stuffed in this corncrib.”