Sweet Tea and Spirits

by Angie Fox

  “Hello,” I said, hoping I didn’t startle her.

  She turned and I saw it was Molly, her face streaked with tears and her bottom lip quivering. She quickly wiped her eyes and began to disappear.

  “Wait!” I said. “I know what it’s like.”

  She hesitated, and I talked fast. “We’ve all had boy trouble before.”

  She looked so lost. “It’s not him, it’s me. I saw you talking to Henrietta.” She lowered her eyes. “You know what I am.”

  “I do.” I wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter, but I didn’t think she’d believe me. “I haven’t told him,” I said, drawing up next to her. “That’s for you to do.”

  “Absolutely not.” She blinked at me through her tears, as if she couldn’t believe I’d suggest it.

  “I think you’ll find him to be more understanding than you realize.” At least I hoped so. It shouldn’t matter what she was a hundred and forty years ago. Or what he was…still. “I mean, you saw me talking to him. You heard what he said.”

  Maybe they were right for each other. He was certainly better with her. She’d reached something inside him that I don’t think even he knew about. This could be big for both of them. They’d never know unless they at least gave it a shot.

  She blinked hard. “So he’s German. So what?”

  “Well,” I began. His past was his to tell as well.

  “He’s so proper. Such a gentleman. So…passionate. I saw him yelling at you.” She looked back toward the outhouse in the distance. “He thinks he’s so bad. But he’s so good.” She sniffed. “Too good for a girl like me.”

  I motioned for her to walk with me, up the path that led from the house. “I think we all feel unworthy sometimes.” I’d felt it this morning when Marshall and his men walked in on me and Ellis, like who was I to be happy with someone like him? Who was I to own that? But when it came down to it, we all deserved happiness however we could find it. “I’ve known Frankie a while,” I told Molly, “and I’ve never seen him fall for a girl like he has for you. That has to count for something.”

  She walked next to me, twisting a wrinkled handkerchief in her hands. “I always hoped I’d meet a gentleman someday, a man who could fall in love with me.”

  She deserved that. We all did.

  The path beyond the cemetery was well kept. We must have reached Julia’s family property.

  I stopped near a stone bench under a flowering magnolia tree. “Let him see who you really are,” I told her. “It’s the only way.”

  She glanced up ahead, toward a covered bridge spanning a small creek. “He’ll just leave me,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

  “Then he’d be a fool.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said as she shimmered into nothingness.

  I stood alone on the path that Julia had walked in the days leading up to her death. I could see why she liked it. It was really pretty once you got past the cemetery. I wondered if Molly would go back to the field, or if she’d muster her courage and give Frankie another chance.

  Up ahead, just past the covered bridge, the path curved sharply up the hill toward Julia’s house. Ellis was probably there by now, questioning Vincent, and I wasn’t allowed to help.

  I continued down the path toward the creek, as Julia had many times before. But not on that last night. Julia had driven to the society house on the evening of her death. Her car was proof enough of that.

  I wouldn’t interfere with the investigation. I’d let Ellis do his job. But after that, I’d bring Frankie back here. I’d remain hidden with his urn while the gangster looked around. It wouldn’t overlap with Ellis’s questioning, and there was no procedural rule that prevented a ghost from searching a house.

  My plan was perfect. I smiled as I stepped down some flat stones embedded in the trail to form a short stairway to the covered bridge. I was so busy congratulating myself on my plan that I nearly stumbled down the last two steps when I saw the stark white streaks of a death spot underneath the covered bridge.

  Could it be Julia’s? It had to be. No one else had died recently so far as I’d heard, and death spots only appeared for a short while.

  I broke into a run, my sandals slapping the old wood planks, the sound echoing off the roof of the covered bridge. I halted just short of the swirling light tinged with a shot of red, spiritual evidence of the violence and pain the spirit had felt upon passing.

  With shaking fingers, I dug inside my bag for my keychain flashlight, flicking it on, illuminating wet wood and the sheen of a pearl trapped between the boards.

  It had to be Julia’s. Her pearl bracelet had gone missing the night of the murder. She must have been on her way back home, over this bridge, when she was attacked.

  I shouldn’t touch the pearl. I didn’t. But I wanted to; it was the only proof I had.

  The creek rushed below, waters churning. One shift, one bad move and that pearl would shake loose and be gone forever.

  I reached for my phone to call Ellis when a shadow fell over the pearl on the bridge.

  Constance stood on the other side, as shocked to see me as I was to see her.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I told her. “This is a crime scene. I’m calling Ellis.”

  “But…” She took a step forward.

  “Julia died on this spot,” I warned. “I have evidence.”

  She held out her hands, as if to stop me. “I know. I saw her.”

  “Dead?” I asked.

  “No,” she shot back. “When I left her here, she was alive.” Her hands shook hard. “She wasn’t supposed to die.”

  “I think you’d better start talking,” I told her.

  Chapter 20

  Constance stared at me with wide eyes. “It was all a mistake,” she insisted.

  Julia’s death spot loomed between us.

  “Then tell me how it happened,” I said, shining my light on the pearl caught on the wood bridge.

  “I don’t know how that got there.” She backed away from the scene of the crime. “I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have done that,” she added, confused.

  I snapped a picture of the pearl. Then I took one of the place where Julia breathed her last.

  “Come join me on this side,” I said, texting the pictures to Ellis. “We’ll let the police sort it out.”

  “The police are at Vincent’s house right now,” she said. “He made me sneak out the back.”

  She held her ground while I dialed Ellis.

  As the phone rang, I was relieved to see Constance gingerly step around the death scene and join me on the other side.

  “Julia was hurt. She lay right here,” she said, careful to avoid the spot. “She was breathing, but she wasn’t moving. I freaked out and called Vincent. He said to leave her here. That he’d take care of it.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Vincent is going to blame me. He’s going to say I did it and I left her here, but I didn’t kill her. You have to believe me!”

  “It’s not just me you have to convince,” I said, disheartened when my call to Ellis went to voicemail. I could understand it. He must be in the middle of questioning Vincent. But I didn’t like it. I tried Marshall. As it rang, Constance backed away, out of the covered bridge toward the society house, wobbling on platform sandals.

  “Stay with me,” I called.

  “This,” she began, her gaze darting wildly, like a trapped rabbit. “This is a mistake.” She clutched at her pink sundress, her hair in a messy twist. She’d better not be thinking of running.

  Marshall didn’t pick up. What the frick? Did he think I’d call him if it wasn’t important?

  I had to get her back to the society house, to the police.

  “Ellis is questioning Vincent right now,” I said, cutting her off from the path back to Vincent’s place. “Talk to me if you want help. I doubt your former friend’s husband is looking out for you.”
r />   Constance spun to face me. “She was never my friend. I was there for Virginia.”

  “Right,” I said, closing in on her. “You didn’t like Julia because she took Virginia’s office, not because you were sleeping with Julia’s husband.”

  She glared at me, but she didn’t deny sleeping with Vincent. “Virginia is my friend. She mentored me out of the church social committee and into the society. She looks out for me. She made the heritage club what it is and then that bitch Julia took over.”

  “You mean won the election?”

  She shook her head. “It was never supposed to happen. Virginia was unbeatable. The election should have been a formality. Then she lost and had to clear the way for Julia.” She adjusted her gold chain purse strap over her shoulder. “Virginia had twenty years’ worth of private papers, and all those ladies just stood there, gloating, watching her as she boxed up her things. It was humiliating, even for a strong woman like Virginia.” She straightened her shoulders and mustered her pride. “I didn’t blame Virginia when she walked right out.”

  “Did you go back in?” I asked quietly.

  She swallowed hard and retreated toward the cemetery. At least I had her moving in the right direction.

  “Virginia asked me to take care of things.” She sniffed. “I was glad to do it. Only there was a lot.” She cringed as we came upon the cemetery. “My car was full and we still had more. Virginia told me to handle it. She never said to keep it. So I started a fire.” Her voice trailed away. “I didn’t realize Julia would see the smoke from her house.”

  She looked back and so did I. Julia’s gray Victorian stood vigil on the hill overlooking the river.

  “She caught you,” I concluded.

  Constance gave an involuntary shudder. “She was livid.” Her voice went flat. “She reported me to the board. They were going to kick me out. Virginia was going to let them do it.”

  “After you did her dirty work.” Why was I not surprised?

  Constance turned toward the cemetery and began walking again. “She was angry I’d burned the files in her bottom drawer. She said there were histories of the house in there, things that she’d taken from the Sugarland Library for safekeeping.” A vaporous ghost twisted around her ankle as she stepped over a large stick in the path. “She was really angry when I told her what I did to the things in the bottom drawer.”

  “You burned away the history of the house,” I said.

  It seemed even Virginia had her limits.

  No wonder Mother Mary had been on a tear.

  “Did you see any of it before it went into the fire?” I asked as we passed the graves of the forgotten women.

  “Nothing,” she said, with clear regret.

  It had been a mistake. But I wondered if the ghosts saw it that way.

  The women who had been charged with preserving the history of the town had instead wiped it away.

  “I was wrong,” Constance said forcefully. “I know that. I admitted it. But that wasn’t enough for them. I spent almost ten years kissing Virginia’s butt. I did everything Virginia asked me to do. I knew I wasn’t good enough to ever hold office, but I was good enough to help her. The society was my life, my entire life, and they were done with me.”

  “Virginia sided with Julia against you,” I said, realizing just how deep that had to cut.

  Constance crossed her arms. “The Special Committee met that morning. They decided.”

  “I saw them arrive,” I said to myself. I’d encountered them when I’d fled the house that morning.

  “All that remained was for the board to make it official. I was agenda item number twelve. The last order of business. The least important item—my life. They were going to kick me out and cut me off like I was some kind of afterthought.”

  “So you attacked Julia,” I said quietly.

  A tear rolled down Constance’s cheek. “Virginia wouldn’t return my calls. She wouldn’t even answer the door for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Virginia could be cruel. I knew that firsthand.

  “I was just going to talk to Julia, to see if I could get her to veto the whole thing.”

  As we drew nearer to the house, I saw movement on the side with the tire tracks. No doubt Ellis’s experts were hard at work.

  Constance looked past me, toward the house. “I reasoned with Julia. I pleaded with her. She had to see what she was doing to me. I admit I followed her back to her house, up the path and into the covered bridge. She was so abrupt, so angry.”

  “She knew you were having an affair with her husband,” I said, keeping my voice even.

  Constance stiffened. “She couldn’t have known it was me. That would have made it worse.” She stopped just short of the yard. “I don’t regret Vincent, not after how she treated me.” She fingered the gold bracelets on her wrist. “Julia turned on me in the bridge. She said I’d done this to myself. She was cleaning out the old, preparing for the new.” She stroked the rows of pale pink beads stacked one on top of another. “I pushed her. Her head hit the side of the bridge and she fell. She was stunned, but she wasn’t dead. I…I freaked out. I ran to the house and I told Vincent. He said he’d take care of it.”

  “How did she break her pearls?”

  “I don’t know,” she insisted. “You have to believe me.” Constance swallowed hard. “Before…all this…he told me he was going to get rid of her. I thought he meant divorce or a separation. Then I started thinking…what if he really got rid of her?”

  “You know how his other wives died,” I said.

  “That’s all speculation,” she said quickly.

  “I hate to tell you this, but right now, all the evidence points to you. You have to go to the police and tell them everything you told me.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “He’ll lie. He’ll say I did everything.” Her hand flew to her cheek. “I did do everything!”

  I took her by the arm, holding her steady. “Bad judgment isn’t the same as murder.”

  “I love him,” she said weakly.

  For that, I was truly sorry.

  I led her into the yard at the back of the house. “What did he want to find last night when you two stopped at the society house?” I pressed. “What was in that envelope?”

  She pulled away. “He wouldn’t tell me. I found it the day I was going through the office for Virginia. Julia had wrapped it in a list she’d run off the computer, one that gave the names and addresses of private investigators.”

  “We need to know what was in that envelope,” I said, to myself more than anyone else.

  She turned to me, looking so small, so scared. “We…we could look. I stole it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. How?”

  She clutched her purse. “I kept it in my Sweet Tea planning folder.” She mistook my surprise for judgment. “It had Vincent’s name on the front,” she said quickly. “I thought he might want it, but I forgot about it when Julia barged in and yelled at me.” She looked down at her purse. “Last night, I took it back.” She lifted her eyes to mine. “But I didn’t give it to him.”

  I drew close to her. “Where is it?”

  “In here,” she said, grasping her purse.

  “Show me,” I said.

  She clutched her purse tighter. “Will you help me? With Officer Wydell?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She reached inside and produced an envelope labeled, Vincent Youngblood, evidence.

  She chewed her lip while I debated with myself what to do. “If this really is evidence in a murder, we can’t mess with it. We have to let the police open it,” I said, heading for the society house.

  “Do you believe me now?” Constance asked, her fingers dancing over her arms, her purse. “I think he did something terrible. I’m…I’m so scared. I was glad when he kicked me out of the house,” Constance said.

  “I know what to do,” I assured her. “Follow me.”

  Chapter 21

  I led her to the s
ide of the house, where Marshall stood over one of the police experts. The man had stripped off his jacket, his gun visible in his side holster as he scraped off a sample from the tire imprints Ellis and I had found the night before. He handed a vial to Duranja, who bagged it.

  “I’m scared,” Constance said, her voice quivering as she struggled to navigate the side yard in platform heels.

  “I’ve got you,” I told her, approaching the officers. “Detective Marshall,” I called.

  He narrowed his eyes at us. “This is a police investigation. I told you I want you off this property.”

  “I understand.” I wasn’t about to interfere. “But good news. Constance and I found where Julia died.”

  He glared at me for a split second, as if he didn’t quite believe me. “Where?” he demanded.

  I stopped just short of him. “Julia’s death spot is under the covered bridge up the hill. And I found more than ghostly evidence,” I said, before his furrowed brow froze that way. “There’s a pearl lodged in the floor panels of the bridge.”

  He traded a glance with Duranja. “As soon as you’re done here, I want you to go check out that site. Secure it if you need to,” he ordered the younger officer.

  My companion wrung her hands. She looked like she was about to bolt again, but I had the letter. I had the evidence in my hand.

  “Constance found an envelope that Vincent was trying to take,” I said, handing the letter to Marshall. “He had a motive.”

  I detected something new in his expression—respect, or at least a keen interest in what I had to say.

  This was all unraveling for Vincent, and as far as I was concerned, it couldn’t happen fast enough.

  Marshall eyed me before reaching into the front pocket of his uniform and drawing out his reading glasses.

  He focused on the envelope before his gaze flicked back to me. “Any idea what’s in here?”

  “None. But it doesn’t look good. And I’ll bet you can find more evidence where she died.”

  “We’ll check it out,” he said, handing the envelope back to me, as if he weren’t quite sure if I was full of it or not. “In the meantime, please step back from the investigation.”