Onyx Webb: Book One Read online

  We like to hunt and fish—and hunt and fish—and sometimes we lose track of time and forget to come home as promised.

  The ladies in the audience laughed—some of them a bit too loudly—the wine clearly having its intended effect now, as The Southern Gentleman pushed on:

  Our strong opinions can cause us to come off as a bit too passionate at times, and we’re known to let our tempers get the best of us. And, when someone wrongs us, we don’t always wait for the courts to right a wrong—we right it ourselves.

  “That was interesting,” Koda said.

  “They love him,” Mika said. “The man says everything they believe, but don’t have the courage to say out loud.”

  “Well, he’s pretty creepy if you ask me,” Koda said as the Southern Gentleman drawled on:

  Now, I’m not sayin’ any of these traits are good, or even acceptable, in today’s society. I’m just pointing out the truth—that we Southern Gentleman are what we are—and if you’re fixin’ to hitch yourself to a true southern gent, make sure you like the old dog just the way he is, ‘cause we aren’t going to learn any new tricks, no matter how much you beg and plead.

  Colonel Sanders was a true southern gentleman… as were Robert E. Lee, Johnny Cash, Rhett Butler and Elvis.

  But where have all the Rhett Butler’s gone? For that matter, where have all the Scarlett O’Hara’s gone?

  Ladies and gentlemen, I end my time with you tonight by simply making the point that—here, in our beloved South—tourists will come and tourists will go, but true southern gentlemen and true southern belles… are… fahevah!

  The band began playing Dixie and the room exploded with applause.

  Mika turned to Koda and said, “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Koda said.

  “You guess?” Mika said sharply. “This is the most important event of my year, Koda, do you understand that? I need you to be focused. I need you to be on.”

  The applause died away and The Southern Gentleman began to introduce Koda and Mika:

  Ladies and gentlemen, it is my extreme honor to introduce your hosts for this evening’s event. Representing Mulvaney Properties International—and this year’s “People” magazine Sexiest Man Alive—Mr. Koda Mulvaney…

  And the Chairperson and driving force behind the Restoring Savannah Foundation, Ms. Mika Flagler, and her dog, Tiny. Oh, and it says here I’m supposed to point out that Mr. Mulvaney is the dog to Ms. Flagler’s left.

  As the audience roared with laughter, Mika turned and leveled a stare at Koda. “I need you to give the speech of your life, Koda—I need you to be Tony Robbins.”

  He wasn’t.

  The general assessment of Koda Mulvaney’s performance from the stage included the words flat, lifeless, monotone, passionless and boring—and those were the good parts.

  Mika was beyond furious.

  Koda went straight to the bar, with Dane close behind. “It wasn’t that bad,” Dane said when he finally caught up.

  “Tito’s rocks,” Koda said to the bartender, ignoring Dane.

  When the bartender returned with the drink, Koda took it straight from the man’s hand and downed it with several quick gulps, then signaled for another.

  Dane knew exactly where things were headed.

  Dane had seen things like this play out hundreds of times over the last four years, back at school in Syracuse—and more recently—during their travels around the world.

  It was never good.

  Koda and Dane stood side by side at the bar, and Dane could hear Koda taking deep breaths as if he were about to hyperventilate—something else Dane had seen happen a number of times. “You want me to find a bag?” Dane asked.

  “Just give me some space,” Koda said.

  “So the speech wasn’t that good, so what?” Dane said, not backing off. “And screw Mika, okay? She doesn’t really care about you, all she cares about is being socialite of the year.”

  The bartender returned and set Koda’s second drink on a napkin. “You know that’s not the answer, right?” Dane said as Koda reached for the drink.

  “Are you my mother all of a sudden?” Koda said. “Oh, I forgot—you can’t be my mother. My mother abandoned me when I was six. You must be my hired nanny.”

  Koda picked up the drink, but as he raised it to his lips Dane slapped the glass out of his hand, sending vodka and ice all over the bar.

  At that moment, Koda did the last thing either of them would have ever expected—he turned and punched Dane in the mouth, sending him reeling into the man behind him.

  The entire bar went quiet.

  Dane reached up and touched his face, examined the blood on his hand.

  “You want me to call the police?” the bartender asked. “Technically, that’s assault.”

  “Yeah, I’m a witness,” the man behind Dane said.

  “No, don’t,” Dane said. “He’s got enough problems already.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  St. Louis, Missouri

  August 6, 1904

  Detective Stormy Boyd walked passed 23 Hickory Street for the second time, surveying the best way to approach the building; a two story, single-family dwelling built between 1830 and 1850.

  He had been inside homes like this before and knew the front door led to a sitting room, the door in the rear lead to the cellar. All the homes built during that period had storm cellars, especially those in the middle of tornado alley, which is how “Stormy” Boyd had gotten his nickname.

  According to Stormy’s parents, he’d been conceived in a storm cellar during the devastating tornado of 1854. It was his belief that if Obedience Everhardt was holding Onyx Webb, it would be in the cellar.

  Stormy Boyd made his way to the alley where he discovered Catfish Webb. “Looks like I underestimated you, Mr. Webb,” Stormy said.

  “And I you, detective,” Catfish said. “How do you know she be the one?”

  “I followed the button, and it led me here,” Stormy said. “And you?”

  “Her photo was on Onyx’s camera,” Catfish said.

  Boyd motioned to the back door. “Probably a stairway just inside here leading down to the cellar,” Boyd said.

  “How do you know there’s a cellar?” Catfish asked.

  “We’re in tornado alley, Mr. Webb,” Boyd said. “Every house built here after 1854 has a storm cellar.”

  “Your call, detective,” Catfish said. “Where I come from, all we got is houseboats and shacks, so I trust your judgment.”

  “So how’d you know to come to the back of the house?” Boyd asked.

  “When you go to catch a gator, you always sneak up on it from behind.”

  Stormy nodded at the logic. “You got another plan?”

  “No,” Catfish said, pulling the Landers & Clark hunting knife from its sheath. “But I got this.”

  “And I’ve got this,” Stormy said, but before he could even pull the Colt police revolver from his shoulder holster, they heard a scream from just inside the house.

  “Onyx!” Catfish yelled.

  Stormy stepped forward and kicked the door next to the lock as he’d been trained. The door did not open.

  “Stand aside,” Catfish said. He took a step back, then threw his large frame into the door with all his might—once, twice—and on the third time the door splintered and gave way.

  Catfish was the first in.

  “Daddy!” Onyx screamed.

  Catfish grabbed Onyx and pulled her into his arms as Stormy Boyd—gun drawn now—followed directly behind him.

  Obedience saw the gun and stopped dead in her tracks.

  In a fit of uncontrolled rage, Obedience charged up the last few steps toward them, the pliers in her outstretched hand.

  Stormy Boyd assumed she had a gun.

  The sound of the blast echoed off the walls as the bullet caught Obedience Everhardt on the right shoulder, sending her flying backward, head over heels, tumbling down the stairs to the cellar floor below.
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  As Catfish tended to Onyx, Stormy Boyd made his way down the stairwell to where Obedience laid motionless and checked for a pulse.

  Unbelievably, the woman was still alive.

  Then Onyx screamed. “Katherine! Katherine!”

  It was only then that the two men spotted Katherine Keane at the far end of the cellar, tied naked in the wooden chair.

  Stormy raced over to the girl, lifted her head and slapped her cheek. There was no response. He pulled the rag from her mouth, placed his ear near her mouth. She was not breathing.

  She was still.

  She was blue.

  She was lifeless.

  Stormy looked up, shook his head. “She’s gone.”

  “No!” Onyx screamed. “Do something! Make Katherine okay! Make her live!”

  Stormy knew it was hopeless, but there was a theory within the medical community—though still unproven—that life could be breathed into someone by placing your mouth over theirs, and the human heart could be restarted by pressing on it with your hand. He had no idea if either theory were true, but there was nothing left to try, and nothing to lose.

  “Help me get her out of the chair.”

  Catfish used his knife to cut the ropes and placed Katherine on the floor as Stormy Boyd pushed on the lifeless girl’s chest…

  And then again, a bit harder this time…

  And then again.

  There was no response. He leaned down and placed his mouth over hers, and pushed a breath of air into her chest.

  That’s when Onyx noticed a gray mist hovering in the air. The mist rose higher and higher, pausing near where she was standing at the top of the stairs.

  Somehow Onyx knew it was Katherine, her spirit, watching the scene unfolding below.

  Stormy leaned back and shook his head.

  It was useless.

  “No!” Onyx screamed. “Try again!”

  What more can I do? Stormy thought. If I could give my life so that this one could live, I would. God, take me if you want, take me so this one can live. She is so very young, and I have lived my years. Please, God, take me!

  The searing pain hit Boyd’s chest with the force of a lightning bolt, and before he could so much as utter a word, he dropped to the floor beside Katherine.

  Katherine’s eyes snapped open. She sat upright and looked down at Stormy Boyd, then watched as the detective’s spirit rose from his body in a grayish mist—higher and higher in the air—until his spirit was at the top of the landing where Onyx stood.

  Then, as if in a burst of cosmic energy, he flew out the open door and into the light of day.

  “Did you see him, Daddy?” Onyx asked.

  “See what, Jitterbug?” Catfish said. “I didn’t see anything, child.”

  “He went to heaven, Daddy,” Onyx said. “He went to heaven where Mama is.”

  The other thing neither Catfish or Onyx had seen during all the commotion was Obedience Everhardt—her hand pressed over the bullet wound in her shoulder, careful to avoid leaving a trail of blood—and crawling quietly across the floor toward the secret compartment.

  Titus had installed it when the house was built, just in case Obedience and Lucinda were ever in peril and needed a place to hide.

  “Should you one day discover you have both light and darkness inside you, do not despair. We all do. The only thing that matters is which you choose to act on.”

  The 31 Immutable Matters

  of Life & Death

  Episode 2: The Girl in the Mirror

  Savannah, Georgia

  June 3, 1979

  Juniper couldn’t believe she’d let herself get stranded in the park. All the limos were gone. All she could think about was how angry her brother, Quinn, was going to be.

  Then she heard a man’s voice from behind her.

  Juniper Cole turned and saw a man sitting in a wheelchair on the sidewalk.

  He looked to be in his early thirties and a little heavy in the middle, like one of her father’s friends who had what they called a beer belly. His stomach was accentuated even more by the tan vest he was wearing, which had lots of pockets all over it, like something she imagined a person would wear on an African safari.

  In his hand was what looked to be an expensive camera, with a long, telescopic lens.

  “I saw you, over at the fountain,” the man said. “In the fountain, actually.”

  “Yes, I was just—”

  “No need to explain anything to me, little lady,” the man said. “If I had the use of my legs still, I’d be jumping in fountains and dancing around all the time.”

  Juniper laughed, let out a breath.

  There was nothing to fear.

  She could outrun the man if she wanted to, even in her prom dress.

  “Looks like you might have missed your ride,” he said.

  “Yeah, I guess I did. Dumb, huh?” Juniper said.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” the man said. “Because my van is sitting right there. If you want, I’d be pleased to drive you home.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay,” Juniper said. “I’ll just go across the street and call my brother, but thanks.”

  “That would probably be best,” the man in the wheelchair replied. “But, when your brother gets here, please let him know the Savannah P.D. was doing its job to protect and serve.”

  “You’re with the Savannah Police Department?” Juniper asked.

  The man reached inside one of the pockets of his vest and pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. “I’m not a cop, actually. I’m the department photographer. That’s what I was doing out here tonight, taking photos of the fountain, so beautiful at night.”

  Juniper looked down at her watch to see it was 12:20. If she called Quinn, he’d have to get dressed and drive down to get her.

  She knew how disappointed he’d be.

  Or she could simply accept the offer and be just a few minutes late. Besides, what harm could come from accepting?

  He worked for the police.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Savannah, Georgia

  January 23, 2010

  Koda felt sick, and the six double vodkas had nothing to do with it.

  It was having punched his best friend, and over what? Because Dane cared about him? God, he was a total shit.

  Koda raised his hand, signaling to the bartender to bring another drink.

  This was a different bar and a different bartender, over in the older section of the property, since it had become clear that Koda was persona non grata in the cocktail lounge in the hotel lobby.

  Koda drained the final drops from his drink as a tuxedoed lounge performer began another set of old Sinatra tunes on the piano behind him.

  “You got a bathroom?” Koda slurred.

  “Take a left at the end of the hall. You can’t miss it.

  It was not until he was on his way back to the piano lounge from the men’s restroom that Koda saw the mirror.

  Six feet tall, the mirror was extraordinarily ornate, especially the details around the outer edges, which were trimmed in colors of gold and silver.

  As he stood there—swaying slightly from side to side from the alcohol that had made its way through his bloodstream—Koda felt something stir inside him.

  A memory.

  A memory of the morning he’d woken up, at the age of six, to discover his mother had left the night before and had not returned.

  She never would.

  She hadn’t even said good-bye or even left a note explaining where she’d gone.

  They say that most kids end up blaming themselves for their parents’ divorce, but that was something Koda had never done. He knew it wasn’t his fault.

  It was his father’s fault.

  Bruce.

  She had left because his father had put his career and making money first, and his family second.

  And he still hated his father for it.

  This, more than anything, was at the root of their rocky relationship.


  The therapist said it was his mother’s abandonment that was the cause of Koda’s recurring nightmares—or more accurately—the same nightmare he’d had over and over throughout his life. The one where he found himself wandering the house the night she’d gone missing, ending up in the basement, following her voice as she called for help.

  Bruce Mulvaney had insisted that Koda’s mother would never have left them like that, that something had happened to her.

  He went so far as to offer a $1 million reward to anyone who provided information that led to her safe return.

  There were the calls from an array of crackpots, of course—nut jobs claiming they’d seen her, some even claiming they had taken her—but nothing ever panned out. And it never would.

  His father had even gotten the FBI involved when it was discovered several weeks later that his mother’s Mercedes Benz was found parked at the curb outside a Savannah dive bar, a place called Pinkie Masters. But nothing ever came of it.

  Eventually, everyone assumed nothing nefarious had happened to his mother, including the FBI. Bruce Mulvaney’s beautiful wife had just finally gotten fed up enough to leave the bastard.

  Koda looked up at the mirror and remembered the one thing his mother did leave.

  A photograph.

  It was a picture his father had taken of Koda and his mother, sitting on a swing in Charleston, South Carolina, about a month before she’d left.

  Just the two of them, sitting side by side—swinging back and forth on a beautiful sunny day—smiling, happy, together.

  His mother had left the picture taped to the mirror in Koda’s bedroom, nothing written on it.

  Without thinking, Koda reached toward the mirror—just as he’d reached out to take the photo off the mirror when he was six—and just as his finger touched the glass…

  He saw her.

  A girl.

  She was standing opposite him as if a mirror image, her arm reaching out toward the mirror just as Koda’s was, her fingers touching the mirror in the exact place his fingers were touching.