by Angie Fox
“Thank you,” I said, sampling an egg. It was perfect.
Vincent took a seat opposite me and I knew it was time to tackle the final rule of Sugarland mourning etiquette: speak well of the dead.
I folded my hands in my lap. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Julia was a fine person.”
Her husband nodded gently.
Saint Julia. Even if she hadn’t been, she would be now.
“We’d recently become reacquainted,” I said, trying to ease into the reason I was there. “She hired me to investigate a haunting at the heritage society home.”
He tented his fingers. “I’m surprised Julia never mentioned it. Then again, I’m not much of a believer.”
That didn’t mean spirits weren’t real. “The historical mannequins have been moving into revealing positions.”
He seemed surprised at that. “And what did they reveal?”
A widow’s antique undies, but I didn’t want to tell him that.
I leaned forward. “I find ghosts are usually interested in spilling truths that we living would rather hide.” When he didn’t react, I pressed. “Did Julia uncover any scandals or secrets in the days leading up to her death?”
He grew a bit teary at the mention of her name. “Many in the society believed that her election itself was the scandal. Such a shame. She shouldn’t have had to prove herself, but she did.” He folded his hands in his lap, his expression earnest. “Julia was a strong woman. It was one of the things I loved about her.”
I had to respect him for that.
“Julia hired me on the spot,” I said. “She was very decisive.” I did admire her for it, but a quality like that could offend certain people. “Can you think of any members in particular who had trouble with her?”
“Virginia Wydell,” he said, without missing a beat.
“Well, of course.” Virginia wasn’t happy unless somebody else wasn’t. “Still, there was more to it than the election. The ghosts prove that.”
He broke his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I can make that leap.”
“Julia installed cameras in the museum,” I said. “Didn’t she tell you? She captured everything.”
He paled at that.
That’s right. “She had an entire ghost video,” I said.
He rubbed a hand along his chin. I could tell I’d gotten him thinking. “I wish she would have shared that with me. Although I probably would have told Julia she was crazy,” he said, with a touch of regret. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Where is this video?”
“Probably here in your house. Maybe in her office at work. I never saw it.” If only she hadn’t died so suddenly. “Perhaps we can look for it,” I suggested. Then he might have an easier time believing.
He sat back in his chair. “While I’m glad you shared a nice hobby with my poor Julia, I’m sure you can understand when I say I’m a little out of sorts at the moment.”
I’d broken the second rule of Sugarland mourning etiquette: no unpleasant topics.
“I apologize. This may not be the time,” I began, but when we came right down to it, I was in a position to help him find justice for his poor, dead wife, and I owed this man the truth. Some people embraced the other side more openly than others, but I had to at least give Vincent the chance to understand what was really happening. “I realize you’re not a believer like your wife was, but what I saw on the ghostly side makes me think there may have been more to your wife’s death than a slip down the stairs.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Please don’t say that.”
I got it. I really did. “I realize I may be overstepping my bounds, but if it were me, I’d want to hear the truth.” We owed Julia that. “I suspect your wife’s death may have something to do with a discovery she made in the house, something that has made the dominant ghost in the house upset as well.”
“Dominant ghost?” he asked, as if I were speaking another language.
In a way, I was. “Never mind the terminology. Just know this: Julia trusted me with her secret. She paid me in cash. And I want to do right by her.”
“Please”—Vincent gestured helplessly—“no more.” He took a steadying breath, then another. “Julia’s ghost issue is over now. All her issues…are finished. And your job is done. Whatever she paid you, keep it. And if she owes you any more, you let me know and I’ll pay you right now.”
“I’m not here for money,” I assured him, “or because of a job.” It was so much more than that. It was justice. “I want what’s best for you and your late wife.”
“Then you should go,” he said, standing. “I appreciate your loyalty to Julia, but your job is well and truly done. Now if you hurry, you might get to church in time for the second service.”
“Mr. Youngblood—”
He held up a hand. “I do appreciate your visit this morning,” he said, dismissing me. “I’d like you to walk away whole, knowing you did your best.”
But that was the thing. I hadn’t done my best yet. I’d barely started.
“Your wife asked me to secure a few items,” I fudged. It was the only excuse I could think of to justify what I’d found in her office and perhaps question him further about her personal effects. “She made a list of things that may have gone missing from the society house.”
His eyes widened a bit. “That is most unfortunate. I had no idea.”
“She may have tracked some of the antiques down before her death.” I certainly hadn’t found anything in my search earlier. “She was looking for candlesticks, a doorknob, and a necklace.”
He hesitated. “All right,” he said, “I haven’t seen anything like that around here, but let me check her private study.” He paused at an arched doorway that led to the other side of the house. “Did she say what kind of necklace?”
“No.”
He gave a sharp nod and headed down the back hallway.
I turned toward the window overlooking the yard. He seemed genuinely grieved, yet distant. I didn’t know what to make of it.
A pounding began on a door at the back of the house. “Please let me in before I drop this!” a woman’s voice called.
I paused. Had Vincent heard? Surely.
The pounding grew more desperate. “Hurry!” she insisted.
Sakes alive. If I couldn’t bring a casserole, I could at least try to save one.
I rushed through the arched doorway and past the mélange of pies and cakes crowding the dining room set for two.
“It’s about to go!” she called.
I raced for the kitchen in the tradition of Southern ladies since the beginning of time. I cornered around the stainless steel refrigerator and nearly collided with the polished oak table in my haste. Salon-styled platinum blond hair was visible through the window in the door. She had her back to me and I hoped she hadn’t already dropped her casserole.
I flung open the door, ready to grab hold of the dish. “I’ve got you,” I said, reaching out as she turned to me.
She gave a small shriek and dropped her bottle of champagne. It burst, fizzing all over the back porch.
“Constance,” I said, recognizing the woman I’d met outside the heritage society this morning.
She stood in the middle of the mess, juggling a pair of champagne glasses, a box of strawberries, a bottle of orange juice, and a can of whipped cream. More than that, she’d changed into a slinky white number that pressed up her breasts from here to Albany.
It was certainly no church dress.
She stared at me and I stared back for a split second. I could see the naked horror in her eyes, replaced just as quickly by calculated social grace.
She held up the glasses. “Sometimes, you need more than a casserole.”
Heavens. It did seem as if she were prepared to offer Julia’s poor widower an entirely new level of comfort.
Or perhaps she was already in line to be the next Mrs. Vincent Youngblood IV.
Even more startling, Constance wore a necklace I’d seen bef
ore, with a scripted gold C linked between two strands of pearls. It looked like the one in the ghostly painting at the heritage society.
She caught me staring at her chest.
I cleared my throat. “My, that’s an interesting necklace.” We were both a bit rattled. Perhaps she would believe it to be a polite subject change.
She drew a quivering hand to her chest. “Thank you. It was a gift.”
Perhaps something Vincent had found in his late wife’s office?
“Why, hello,” Vincent said from the doorway, attempting surprise. “So kind of you to drop by. Constance, is it?”
He wasn’t fooling anyone.
She broke into an uncomfortable, toothy smile. “I just stopped over to see if you were all right.”
She’d make a terrible actress.
Had Julia known what her husband had going on the side?
“I suppose you didn’t find anything in the desk,” I said, not quite willing to give up yet.
He trained a hard look on me. “No.”
“Then I’ll just go,” I said, slipping out the door, wading over the debris on the porch. Wow, oh wow-e-wow. The Sugarland grapevine would have a field day with this, not that I would tell them. No. I had something more important to do.
Chapter 13
I drove down the hill toward the main road, heading for Southern Spirits, praying Ellis would be there. But when I reached the bottom and passed Mother Mary’s home for widows and orphans, my engine chugged hard and gave a shuddering ke-bang.
“No, no, no…” I chanted, hitting the gas even as the car began to slow. I kept my foot to the pedal, steering straight past the house as my car wheezed and lurched and came to a stop at the driveway.
Then to my horror, the steering wheel began to turn right.
My front tires crunched onto the gravel drive.
“Stop!” I slammed the car into park and shut off the engine.
No way was I going back there. Not alone and especially not if a ghost wanted to force me.
I made a hasty exit from my car and began walking fast toward Southern Spirits. I’d walk the whole way if it came down to it. It wasn’t far.
I grabbed my cell phone out of my bag and dialed Ellis. It went straight to voicemail. Dang it!
All right. I forced myself to slow and then stop when the paved shoulder of the road ended in scrub grass and weeds. I took a deep breath and then another.
A ghost couldn’t make me do anything…at least it helped to tell myself that.
I tried Ellis at home. The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
No problem, I assured myself, watching the heat rise from the road next to me.
I tried Melody. She didn’t answer, either. She must be at second service. My friend Lauralee always went to the eleven o’clock as well. I nodded to myself. I could handle this.
I’d simply return to my car, inform the ghost that I had no intention of returning to the society house today, and then drive straight home and hope it didn’t follow me.
Head high, shoulders back, I walked like a woman in charge back to the scene of the haunted car takeover.
I’d left the driver’s side door wide open, which would have been a red flag to anyone passing by.
Unfortunately, no one had.
“I’m leaving now,” I announced to the darkened house at the end of the drive, “but I will return. Eventually.”
As soon as I found the nerve.
And perhaps once the ghosts stopped stalking me.
I slipped into my car, slammed the door, and turned the key—ready to make like Mario Andretti—when the engine didn’t start.
It didn’t even give a click-click-click.
“Oh, come on.” I tried again, and nothing.
I braced my hands on the steering wheel. Okay. So I wouldn’t be driving away after all. But if the ghost thought this little stunt could keep me here, it had figured wrong.
This time, I closed the driver’s side door before hurrying down the side of the road toward Southern Spirits. Even if Ellis wasn’t there, I could grab his spare key from under the rock at the back and at least have a safe place to stay until I could get a ride home.
The ghosts in the Southern Spirits restaurant liked me. They’d protect me.
And while a mile-long walk didn’t seem like a lot, in the Tennessee summer heat, through scrub and weeds, I was a bit worse for wear when I finally made it to Southern Spirits.
Seeing Ellis’s truck parked outside the newly restored red brick building was like being handed a refreshing cup of water in the middle of a long race.
Too bad his blue truck wasn’t the only vehicle out front. Parked next to it was his mother’s brand-spanking-new champagne-colored Cadillac. For when she got tired of driving her Aston Martin, I supposed.
I slowed and wiped a sweaty clump of hair off my forehead as I walked past Virginia’s ultimate fashion accessory. At least I’d gotten some exercise.
I refused to hang my head low. I would have sweated in the morning heat even if I’d been sipping a mint julep on the porch. Besides, there was absolutely no use in pretending I was anything other than the (somewhat poor) ghost-hunting girl next door, although I did pause for a quick application of lipstick and a swipe of powder on my nose.
My hair, on the other hand, was a lost cause.
Head high, I strode up the new stone stairs to Southern Spirits and opened the heavy wood front door. The cool air-conditioning hit me, and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker interior. When they did, I found my boyfriend and his mother rearranging restaurant tables.
To my shock, she had a grip on the table opposite Ellis and was actually helping him drag it. It appeared as if they were going for more of a diamond pattern, which looked pretty neat. Virginia’s blond hair was slicked back into a stylized bob and she wore a powder blue Jackie O-styled dress.
“The angled rows will be more pleasing to the eye when customers first walk inside,” she said, gesturing back to the front door and freezing when she saw me.
Ellis seemed paralyzed for an instant as well, as if I’d caught him enjoying a moment he shouldn’t. In reality, his worlds had simply collided.
“Hi,” I said, as cheerfully as I could given my utter desire to run the other way.
“She was just helping me decorate,” Ellis said at exactly that same moment.
“Looks great,” I said, because it was true, and because he deserved to have a little peace between his girlfriend and his mother. If I was going to keep dating Ellis, Virginia and I needed to be able to maneuver situations like this with a little tact and a lot of grace.
Virginia straightened, brushing off her dress. “This place needed a woman’s touch,” she said, as if she were merely observing a fact. She made a show of tightening her dangling gold earrings. “I’d have figured you’d be out all night again. You certainly look like you have.”
Ellis appeared startled at that. “Did you really just say that, Mom?”
He must have told her that he’d stopped by my place last night, only to find me gone.
“Tell me if it’s not true,” she said as innocently as she could.
This was going to be fun, but I wouldn’t give Virginia the pleasure of me losing my temper. “I stayed at Melody’s,” I told them both. “Frankie had a…personal issue we needed to address.” As for today, well, I wasn’t sure I wanted to explain it with Virginia around.
“See? There you go,” Ellis said. Then more firmly to her, he added, “I told you I’d like to have your help, but not if you’re going to disrespect my girlfriend.”
“Who should be at second services,” his mother added.
Ellis ignored her and walked to greet me when it became clear I couldn’t force myself to take one more step. “It’s good to see you, Verity,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“She could have called you, too,” Virginia mused.
Ellis shot her a look.
�
��What?” she asked, as if she had no idea. “Verity is the one who stayed out all night and then blamed a ghost.”
He wrapped an arm around me and led me toward the matriarch of Sugarland society. I felt myself growing warmer with each step. She didn’t deserve my politeness or my respect. She was a woman who saw kindness as weakness.
She’d ignored Ellis for years because he hadn’t toed the family line and become a lawyer like his father and two brothers. He was the black sheep, the disappointment, because he’d followed his passion and become a police officer. He’d been strong enough to stand up for what he wanted. Ellis was also a true gentleman, a good person, which was the only reason he was with her now.
Her bright emerald eyes glittered with challenge.
“You know what, Virginia,” I began.
She straightened, the wrinkles around her lips deepening as she waited with barely contained glee for me to lose control and fling an insult.
“Those earrings go nicely with your dress,” I said, relying on another age-old Southern tradition: changing the subject.
I wouldn’t stoop to her level, for Ellis if for no one else.
Besides, if we were going to have any sort of relationship, this wouldn’t be the only time I’d have to play nice. And I had to admit the glittering gold balls dangling from her ears were classy and made her look very well put-together.
“Thank you,” Virginia said airily, her drifting gaze the only indication that I’d startled her.
“There. Are we all better?” Ellis asked.
“I’m always fine, dear,” Virginia said lightly, with a touch of steel. “I suppose I’m just sad that your girlfriend barely makes time for more than a drop-in visit.” She turned to him. “Word has it she’s spending her time at the heritage society. That’s a shame when a woman is too busy for her man.”
“I always have time for the people I care about,” I told her. “There’s simply a lot to clean up at the heritage society,” I added sweetly, earning a frown from her.
