She looked ridiculous standing there in her shabby ghoul garb and that nasty wig, but I didn't dare take her any way except seriously.
"I don't blame you for killing Cecile, you know." I tried to make my voice as conversational as possible. "She had it coming."
She nodded. "You don't know the half of it. She was my friend, you know. Before she knew Theo, she knew me. We went to meetings of the International Paranormal Society together. She was elected president—I was vice-president. For a while it was fun until she got lazy and started handing all the work off to me. Like a fool, I did everything she asked, and I did a hell of a job, too. She took the credit. I didn't mind so much at first because I figured eventually she'd get bored with it like she did with everything else. But not only didn't she step aside so I could run for president, she ran for another term and then another."
She paused. I waited. When she didn't go on, my brain went on overdrive trying to come up with something to keep her talking until I could think of a way out of this mess.
She took a couple of steps closer to me. "I'd been with my Theo for a couple of years. He loved me, you know, even if we couldn't tell the world. He wanted to marry me, but because of his business partners and their uppity ways, he had to wait until the timing was just right."
I nodded, sympathetically I hoped, although I felt more like a bobblehead standing there.
"Theo, he told everyone I was his psychic business adviser. That way no one thought anything about my being invited along on business trips and social gatherings."
"Makes sense to me."
Her jaw clenched, and her eyes hardened. "Then along came Cecile. She seduced him. He would never have fallen for a piece of trash like her unless she got on her knees for him. She took him from me." She screwed up her face and squeezed out a few tears. "And then the bitch killed him."
"Really? I mean, I know Rosalyn always believed that, Penny. But you believe it too?"
"I know it. She was all hot and bothered over that sleazy scam artist Terrence and his freaking caterpillars. Theo was onto them. You can't give away as much money as she was doling out to that charlatan and have it go unnoticed. Theo was going to put a stop to it all. He was, and he was going to come back to me. We would have been together, but no. Cecile had to have it all, and she convinced my poor darling if he were better in bed, she'd leave the caterpillar man and belong only to him. My poor, foolish love. He took the blue pills. She knew his heart wouldn't take it. She knew it. Rosalyn was right, has been right all along. If Theo couldn't get to his nitroglycerin tablets, it was because she withheld them from him. She killed him." She heaved and sobbed. Dry. Racking. But no tears.
I swallowed hard. Such grief. Such pain and rage. "So you killed her to avenge Theodore."
"He was the only man I ever loved. The only man I ever will. If not for her, we'd be living in wedded bliss today."
Unless the timing was never quite right. But I didn't say that. Instead, I dared to ask, "I understand why you killed her. You had to. It was as simple as that. And I have to say, it was downright brilliant."
She smiled, but it was creepy, manic. "It was too easy. Cecile wasn't a killer, not really. She couldn't handle it. Guilt was eating her alive. It was easy. I just told her that Theo's poor spirit was wandering eternally restless, crying in the dark, and if she came here and had this Fabrizio medium—I read an article about him and this resort in the Society newsletter—conjure a proper séance, his spirit could finally be at peace. She bought it, the idiot, and convincing her he wanted the clams on the half shell at the séance was nothing." Her eyes lit up as if she suddenly thought of something. "Did you know the resort tours are a gold mine of information? We learned where the cold storage is and when the kitchen staff goes on break."
"But how did you know Cecile would eat the clams?"
"I told her to, that's how. Told her that was part of my dream, part of Theodore's conditions for the séance. She had to eat the clams. She really was a simpleton, you know."
"So once you arrived, she requested the clams. You learned how to get to them by taking the guided tour of the resort. You snuck into the kitchen and tainted the clams, and dere ya go." I adopted Quincy's thick accent. "She dead."
"Yes. She was dead." She just stood there, somewhat triumphant. "The tour guide also took us through a few of those hidden passages throughout the place that were used by slaves to move about the main house without bothering the sanctity of the plantation family. It was easy to lift a master key off a housekeeper's cart. That's how I got to Rosalyn." She snorted. "Even scared the living crap out of you that one night, didn't I?"
Well, I wouldn't say that, and I didn't. "What was the purpose of haunting Rosalyn, anyway?"
She rolled her eyes and took a few more steps, which brought her to within an arm's length of me. "What are you, stupid? Cecile changed the terms for the administration of the family trust. In the event Rosalyn was unable to serve as executor, I was to be the person in charge." She laughed. "Played right into my hands, didn't she? And Theo's. You know, Theo would have wanted it this way. I wasn't going to hurt Rosalyn, not really. Theo wouldn't want that. But I could drive her crazy—just a little. No harm in that. Just enough to have her committed. Then I'd be right where I should have been all along. The mistress of the Theodore Elway legacy. As I should be."
Okay, so her sanity was out there floating around the cosmos somewhere.
"I didn't want to kill anyone else. Just Cecile, but now I have to get rid of you too."
"You don't have to. I won't—"
"Tell anyone? Sure. If you hadn't stuck your busy little nose into it to begin with, I wouldn't have to do it. I would have gotten away clean."
"Let's think about this. Let's figure out a way to—"
"The tour guide showed us the passages that are no longer used for servicing the resort. No one will hear the gunshot. By the time they find you, I'll be long gone, and no one will be any the wiser. The medium, your friend Fabrizio, will be convicted of killing Cecile. Rosalyn will be committed. And I'll—"
"You'll skate free with your ninety thousand in cash and authority over the Elway estate." Why didn't Jack come? Or Cat? Or Quincy? Where was everyone? The answer was simple. They were all at the dang magic show, and if I didn't think of something fast, I was going to be deader than Baron Samedi.
"My ninety thousand? What the hell are you talking about?" The look on her face was puzzled. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." She reached out with her free hand and grabbed my arm. "Now come on."
"In your dreams." I wrenched free, grabbed her arm, and twisted. She lurched at me, and we toppled sideways into the pool.
She wound up on top, bigger than I, and heavier, as the masses of material in the costume wrapped around both our legs, pulling us down. I sensed that she let go of the gun, because both her hands were suddenly in my hair, using my head to push against in a futile effort to stay afloat.
I took in a huge breath when I could and held it while she thrashed above me. I kicked free of her, let myself float down under the water, and then pushed against the bottom of the pool, brought my feet under me, and put them down. I stood erect, the water hitting me chest high. We were in the shallow end, but Penny didn't seem to be aware of that.
She screamed and gurgled and kicked and flailed. I wasn't going to be the one to tell her to stand up. I saw the gun lying at the bottom, so I took in a breath and dove down to get it. When I came back up, Jack was racing across the deck.
He dove in and swam straight to me, threw his arm around me, and pulled me to the side. He looked at me like he'd never seen me before. "You okay?"
Still out of breath from my exertions and excitement, I nodded. "Go get her," I said.
He swam back and tried to manage Penny, but in all her craziness she knocked him off his feet and rolled over onto him. The bitch was drowning my Cap'n Jack.
"Not in this world, woman."
I swam over to them and punched her in the face. She went still.<
br />
Jack grinned, wrapped his arm around her, and took her across the pool to the steps. I went too and helped him pull her up onto the top step so her head was out of the water. She wasn't a lightweight to start with, and she had all that wet fabric around her. It was like pulling a limp walrus from the water.
We huffed and puffed and finally got her far enough out of the water that she wouldn't drown.
Jack leaned back against the edge of the pool. So much for that tux, but if you were going to be rescued, a dream of a man wearing a tux straight off Fifth Avenue wasn't a bad way to go. He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
"Thanks," he said.
"No." I couldn't take my eyes off his beautiful mouth. "Thank you."
Then, out of a clear blue sky, he put one hand behind my neck and pulled me to him, planting his luscious wet lips against mine. I dissolved into a thousand brilliant sparkling stars. Ah, yes, Cap'n Jack. Every time I kissed him, it was better than the time before.
* * *
Quincy responded to Cat's summons at about twelve forty-five that night. He'd been out on another call and couldn't come straight there, but in the end, who needed him? I had my own tuxedoed buccaneer who managed to save the day with swashbuckling flair.
Between Jack, Lurch, and me, we managed to keep Penny corralled in Jack's office until Quincy and two other deputies came, Mirandized her, and took her statement.
I couldn't say whether or not Penny Devere was psychic, but she might have been, and maybe she saw that in the end they'd get her anyway, because she confessed to everything except stealing the money.
The two deputies cuffed her, tucked her into the back of a squad car, and took her to jail.
Two more deputies and a forensics officer from New Orleans PD arrived.
Penny's room, all her things still inside, was thoroughly tossed. It took over two hours. They found traces of the insecticide used to lace the clams on a pair of latex surgical gloves tucked into a jacket pocket. In the secret passage she and I had chased each other through earlier, they came across taloned rubber gloves and her cell phone with a horrible screeching ringtone that Rosalyn identified as the sound her spectral visitor had made. What they didn't find was the ninety thousand dollars in missing cash.
Billy, Rosalyn, and Terrence were rousted from bed to be interviewed by Q and the other deputies. They were questioned at length as to what they knew of Penny Devere.
I wasn't present at the interviews, but Quincy sat down with the three of us and gave us the Reader's Digest version.
Rosalyn had felt completely vindicated in her dislike of the woman and was convinced Penny's actions supported her convictions that Cecile had murdered her father.
Terrence had little to add. His only contribution had been that Cecile had, in fact, believed in Penny's psychic ability and had taken everything she said to heart, which it seemed had ultimately led to her demise.
Billy had only reiterated what he told me about Penny having been somewhat of a business adviser to his grandfather and a friend and adviser of his stepgrandmother. Guess the young man didn't know anything about all the sordid goings-on between the older generation. Just as well. All he really had to add to the scenario, according to Quincy anyway, was, "Radical, dude."
Jack, Cat, and I had taken coffee out to the front veranda hoping the caffeine would help us all keep our eyes open until all this hullaballoo was finished. It was after eight when Harry Villars drove up in his big old cream-colored '72 Benz with Fabrizio beside him.
I jumped up and ran to meet them.
"Oh, my goodness gracious, Fabrizio. I'm so glad to see you." I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his chest to keep him from seeing my tears.
"Dearest Melanie, hush. I'm here. All is well."
Quincy walked up. "Well, maybe not all."
Really? What now?
"There's still the matter of a hundred thousand dollars. And no one but Fabrizio to accuse of its theft."
I just couldn't take it anymore. I whirled around. "Damn you, Quincy Boudreaux. What the devil is wrong with you anyway? Didn't your mama teach you anything? You're never supposed to spoil a tender moment like this with crappy news. Now go away!"
He had the grace to look contrite. "I can't do that, Mel. Somebody took the money, and unless we find out who, Fabrizio's still on the hook for it."
Jack and Cat walked up, and from the look on Cat's face, I thought she might launch a screeching assault on her boyfriend, too.
The Mansion shuttle bus arrived. To put distance from the argument, we all turned and watched as Lurch rolled out a luggage cart and began to stow bags in the bus.
When he was done, he took a selfie in front of the bus then rolled the cart back to the building as several guests, including Rosalyn Whitlock, her son, Billy, and Terrence the Caterpillar Man, came out.
Lurch had taken up his normal position outside the door. Terrence stopped, spoke to Lurch, and handed him a wrapped package the size of a shoebox. They were too far away to hear what was being said. Lurch nodded slowly while Terrence turned away, walked briskly to the shuttle, and with a chipper salute in our direction, climbed aboard.
Panic began to rise in me. If I didn't do something quickly, the bus would leave, and all my suspects would slip away, and with them would go any chance Quincy had to solve the theft of the money and absolve Fabrizio of it.
"Q, can't you make them stay?" I asked. "One of them took the money. Can't you—"
He shook his head and shrugged. "No probable cause."
A low roll of thunder broke into the conversation. We paused, and all six of us looked up, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.
Another low rumble, and we all turned, realizing that Lurch had walked up behind us and was grumbling. "Mr. Stockton." His voice was so low sometimes he was hard to hear, and sometimes, like now, its timbre nearly shook the ground. He held out the box Terrence had left him. "Mr. Montague wanted Federal Express pick this up, but then the bus came, and he said he couldn't wait any longer. He asked me to ship it."
Jack look confused. "Sure," he said. "Is there a problem?"
Lurch bent so he didn't tower quite as much over Jack and pointed to the shipping label attached to the box.
Jack looked up at Lurch, his brows drawn together. Lurch jabbed his fingers at the label a second time. Jack read, "Ship to Mr. Terrence Montague, Hotel Royale, Buenos Aires, Argentina? Sounds as if Mr. Montague is taking a vacation. After all this, I can't say as I blame the man."
Lurch made that sound again, like a bulldozer over gravel, and jabbed his finger at the label one more time.
Jack stared at the label a beat—then two—then his eyes widened as he shouted, "Stop. Deputy! Stop that man!"
* * *
As it turned out, Terrence the Caterpillar Man had indicated the value of the box's contents at—wait for it—ninety thousand dollars.
All that sneaking around and keeping quiet and maintaining a low profile, and then the fool writes a number like that on a box he's sending out of the country?
Duh. Really?
But then he probably never planned on having anyone else see it. It was a blessing the shuttle bus driver was running early that morning, or my good friend Fabrizio might still be trying to explain why he had ten thousand dollars of Cecile Elway's money and where the rest of it was.
But that wasn't necessary. When Q peeled the brown wrapping paper off the shoebox and opened it up, all those greenbacks stared back at us.
Harry gave an uncharacteristic whoop, grabbed Fabrizio, and in a move so unlike the genteel Southern man he was bred to be, smacked him right on the mouth.
Looked like things worked out in the end, after all.
EPILOGUE
The Sunday following all the action at The Mansion, the action was all about St. Antoine's. A paint store over in Metairie had a contractor go belly up right in the middle of a big job, and the owner had a surplus of pale-yellow paint he was willing to donate to the cause. W
hile it wasn't exactly a heavenly color, it was bright and sunny and cheerful, and, believe me, the folks in the Holy Cross neighborhood could really use a little of all that.
A good-sized group of Magic card players was scheduled to arrive at The Mansion the next morning for a tournament, but bookings were light that weekend, and I had the day off.
Cat and I woke up early, walked over to the Café du Monde for beignets and chicory coffee. After, we chipped in together for a taxi over to the Ninth Ward. We arrived at eight thirty, in time to help spread tarps over the new pews and run tape around the windows.
Mama and Grandmama Ida showed up about ten minutes after we did. After they set up Crockpots, a couple of hot plates, and an ice chest in the half-done kitchen to keep the hot food hot and the cold food cold for lunch, both joined us in the chapel.
Grandmama and I were busy with an enormous tarp up by the vestibule. As we worked, I told her all about the excitement at The Mansion and the part I played in it. She listened, oohing and aahing in all the appropriate spots. We spread the tarp over three rows of pews before heading back for another one. We put our arms around each other as we walked. I loved my grandmama with all my heart. And I always knew she loved me too.
* * *
"Sounds like you had quite an adventure, child." She gave me a peck on the cheek. "I'm glad I didn't know anything about it until it was all over."
"I'm glad I listened to that little voice in my head that helped me out of the water, then led me through the maze of secret passages in the hotel. If I hadn't had my own common sense to lead me along, I might not have made it either time."
She didn't say anything for a while. When I bent to pull out another tarp, she stopped me by placing her hand on top of mine. "You think that was your own subconscious you heard?"
"Well, yeah." I was a little confused. "What do you think it was?"
She smiled, looking every bit like a plump cat getting ready to lick the cream off its whiskers. "I don't think, child. I know."
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