Ravenswood VI: Heart of Stone

1. WELCOME TO BELUCHE PLANTATION

It's huge, he thought as he drove the car on a dirt road flanked by towering oaks that led to the main house, a magnificent Greek revival framed by three-story Doric columns. Detective Dean Graham had arrived on Beluche Plantation, a sprawling estate ensconced on the murky edges of Bayou country. The car came to a halt, the front tires ejecting a cloud of dust into the air. He disembarked and pulled a beat up gym bag from the front passenger seat.

"Detective Graham, I take it?" a voice called out.

Squinting against the harsh mid afternoon sunlight, Dean discerned a figure on the shaded porch. He walked over and dropped his bag on the front steps. "Yes sir," he replied.

"You'll excuse me for not standing up and shaking your hand," said a distinguished looking gray haired gentleman who sat with crossed legs on a wicker chair, dressed in khaki pants and a neatly pressed white shirt, lazily waving one of those fold out fans at himself. "At my age, I've earned certain privileges. And since I don't avail myself of early bird specials, I figure I'm entitled to occasional lapses in manners." The man fixed Dean with what might have been described as a gimlet-eyed stare. "Please, sit, help yourself to some lemonade."

Dean returned the stare, observing the man - Hamilton Fisher, 65 year-old retired entrepreneur, who seemed to have maintained a robust physique and judging by those steady eyes, a lucid mind. He poured himself a glass of the iced lemonade from a crystal pitcher on the low table beside Fisher and sat on the other chair beside that. He took a sip of the tart drink while taking in the view of the oak trees, some two centuries old, their outstretched limbs fringed with Spanish moss delicately fluttering in a warm, not unpleasant breeze. "This place is incredible."

"Yes," Fisher agreed. "Been in my family for generations. It was built in 1837 by a Creole sugar baron named Henri Beluche. It has a bloody history though. An abominably mistreated slave poisoned Beluche's wife and children before she was lynched on that tree over there." Fisher gestured to his left with the fan. "It's always just been home to me. My family never even bothered to change the name of the place. Since we were also in sugar, taking over was an easy transition." He paused. "So, detective, I'm sorry you had to be inconvenienced to play bodyguard to an old man. The commissioner's an old friend who came to dinner a few weeks ago. I told him about these threatening letters I had been receiving and, well, here you are. I really didn't count on him taking any of it seriously."

"Excuse me sir, but wouldn't you call death threats serious?"

Fisher laughed. "Young man, I am way past caring what happens next. So please, don't fall all over yourself on my account. Consider this a vacation of sorts. Relax, be my guest and don't worry yourself none."

"May I see the letters?"

"Certainly, but I warn you, they're nothing but the incoherent ravings of a maladjust."

"You think this person's just imagining this grudge against you."

"Oh no, detective. Not at all. Before I became somewhat a recluse here, I employed