could to keep possession of their home, including doing business with the Yankees and bartering with their former slaves. For decades the young and then very old women had run a boarding house here, renting out all the rooms in the mansion, excepting two upstairs parlors, where they'd stored all their fine furniture that had managed to survive the war.
I motioned for Rex to follow me and together we moved toward the house in the growing darkness. Our footsteps crunched on the drive as we made our way around back, where the vans was parked. What had once been a sizeable working estate now looked more like a park, lawns dotted with noble-looking Spanish oaks. Flowers and square hedges were planted near the main house, outlining a rose garden, a gazebo and smallish pond. After the Pendleton sisters passed on â tragically, some said â the mansion and its outbuildings had fallen into disrepair. The property changed hands more times than you can count. But the owners never did anything with it, not so much as live in it for more than a week. Eventually, it'd been purchased by a small group of investors, who converted it into a fruffy bed and breakfast.
Now, instead of formal balls, wedding receptions were held here. I'd seen fuzzy photographs on the reception desk; brides posing in the garden in their frothy white gowns among a riot of bright-colored flowers. Plymouth Plantation had been one of the finest hostelries in the area until the investors went broke from other shaky business deals and had been forced to sell. The new owners purchased the entire property and everything on it, including the furniture, and thought themselves generous to allow the innkeepers to walk away with their toothbrushes. Escrow would close on Monday afternoon, so that meant tonight was me and my team's last chance to investigate the old place before it once again changed back into a private residence.
"You see that buildin' over there?" I nodded toward a two-story building some yards apart from the main house. "That used to be the kitchen. Kitchens in these old mansions was separated from the livin' areas. That kept the smoke and smell from cookin' out of the residence and, if a fire broke out, it could be contained without the whole place going up. The slaves who took care of the house slept in the upper level.
"This path here, where the kitchen links up with the house, was called the whistlin' walk. The servants who brought food into the dining room for supper were made to whistle. That's so's they couldn't sample the food on the sly. Can't chew if you're whistlin'.
"Since the Civil War, people have been seein' a ghostly little black boy carryin' a tray to the main house. Usually happens just about now, just after sunset." I smiled at Rex's unsettled look. "We've got infrared cameras aimed here, so if anythin' walks by, we'll catch it."
I caught sight of my team's two white vans parked in the lot once reserved for inn guests. The back doors of the larger van were open and a half dozen orange and grey extension cords sprouted from it, like veins linking the vehicle to the house. A pale glow oozed from the van's cargo area, throwing moving shadows along the stony ground. I could detect the faint hum of electronics amidst the chirp and buzz of crickets and cicadas.
"I'd like you to meet my team. This here's my brother, Jake."
Rex shook hands with a younger, plumper, shorter-haired version of myself. Jake smiled self-consciously.
"And this skinny piece of work is Travis, our tech man."
A bespectacled, acne-scarred youngster behind the computer monitors raised his hand. "Howdy."
"If you join the team, these two will be the ones you'll be helpin' to set up equipment. For tonight, though, I want you to stick close by me.
"Now, this here's Tommy, who's bringin' a lot of new instruments to the concert."
"Thomas," Tommy answered in a fancy British accent. Tommy was in his early twenties, just about my age. "Pleased to make your
I motioned for Rex to follow me and together we moved toward the house in the growing darkness. Our footsteps crunched on the drive as we made our way around back, where the vans was parked. What had once been a sizeable working estate now looked more like a park, lawns dotted with noble-looking Spanish oaks. Flowers and square hedges were planted near the main house, outlining a rose garden, a gazebo and smallish pond. After the Pendleton sisters passed on â tragically, some said â the mansion and its outbuildings had fallen into disrepair. The property changed hands more times than you can count. But the owners never did anything with it, not so much as live in it for more than a week. Eventually, it'd been purchased by a small group of investors, who converted it into a fruffy bed and breakfast.
Now, instead of formal balls, wedding receptions were held here. I'd seen fuzzy photographs on the reception desk; brides posing in the garden in their frothy white gowns among a riot of bright-colored flowers. Plymouth Plantation had been one of the finest hostelries in the area until the investors went broke from other shaky business deals and had been forced to sell. The new owners purchased the entire property and everything on it, including the furniture, and thought themselves generous to allow the innkeepers to walk away with their toothbrushes. Escrow would close on Monday afternoon, so that meant tonight was me and my team's last chance to investigate the old place before it once again changed back into a private residence.
"You see that buildin' over there?" I nodded toward a two-story building some yards apart from the main house. "That used to be the kitchen. Kitchens in these old mansions was separated from the livin' areas. That kept the smoke and smell from cookin' out of the residence and, if a fire broke out, it could be contained without the whole place going up. The slaves who took care of the house slept in the upper level.
"This path here, where the kitchen links up with the house, was called the whistlin' walk. The servants who brought food into the dining room for supper were made to whistle. That's so's they couldn't sample the food on the sly. Can't chew if you're whistlin'.
"Since the Civil War, people have been seein' a ghostly little black boy carryin' a tray to the main house. Usually happens just about now, just after sunset." I smiled at Rex's unsettled look. "We've got infrared cameras aimed here, so if anythin' walks by, we'll catch it."
I caught sight of my team's two white vans parked in the lot once reserved for inn guests. The back doors of the larger van were open and a half dozen orange and grey extension cords sprouted from it, like veins linking the vehicle to the house. A pale glow oozed from the van's cargo area, throwing moving shadows along the stony ground. I could detect the faint hum of electronics amidst the chirp and buzz of crickets and cicadas.
"I'd like you to meet my team. This here's my brother, Jake."
Rex shook hands with a younger, plumper, shorter-haired version of myself. Jake smiled self-consciously.
"And this skinny piece of work is Travis, our tech man."
A bespectacled, acne-scarred youngster behind the computer monitors raised his hand. "Howdy."
"If you join the team, these two will be the ones you'll be helpin' to set up equipment. For tonight, though, I want you to stick close by me.
"Now, this here's Tommy, who's bringin' a lot of new instruments to the concert."
"Thomas," Tommy answered in a fancy British accent. Tommy was in his early twenties, just about my age. "Pleased to make your
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