by TM Simmons
Chapter 19
We played the game of who’s going to break eye contact first for at least fifteen seconds. Jack broke first. “I think maybe we should stay off the record for a minute." He cupped his strong chin in a palm. “I don’t want you repeatin’ any of your ghost foolishness on this tape. Katy doesn’t need to have people around here talkin’ about her like that, and we won’t be the only ones listenin’ to this.”
“Whether you believe it or not, the reason I was on my way to Katy’s was because she called me to come before she found the body. Called because of a ghost named Sir Gary Gavin, who died two hundred years ago! And if you want the truth on that tape — ” I nodded at the recorder “ — you’ll have to take what you can get!”
“Chére . . ." Jack shook his head.
“Remember who came screaming into the kitchen after you last night?” I said. “Katy. And she told you she’d seen Bucky. Bucky, who had been dead for several hours by then.”
“According to the prelim we got out of the Dallas M.E., since about two or three a.m.,” Jack said with a sigh. “But the M.E. said the heated water made it hard to give a definite time.”
“Unlike if you’d had a body lying on the ground and some lividity to go by,” I said.
“Yeah.”
I frowned. “Why is the Dallas medical examiner doing the autopsy? I saw the hearse and Jefferson’s M.E. at the plantation.”
“Jefferson doesn’t have an M.E. That was one of their JPs, Maxine Campton. Her husband was drivin’ the hearse. Campton’s Funeral Home, edge of town.”
“Oh." I’d forgotten that piece of investigative research. Small towns use a local Justice of the Peace to declare a body dead. Even a body with a missing head couldn’t be moved until the JP actually declared it unrevivable. And without a trained medical examiner in the county, the body would be shipped to a larger district.
“How’s the senator taking all this?” I asked.
Jack shrugged. “He really didn't hang around long enough for me to ask. Sort of cold about it, you ask me. The kid was his son.”
“A son who gave him nothing but embarrassment. You don’t suppose — no, that’s outlandish.”
“Your tryin’ to tell me the senator might’ve decided to get rid of his own son? For political reasons?”
“Katy mentioned a while back that the senator was thinking of running for President,” I recalled. “But I doubt he’d need Bucky out of the way if he did that. He’s never hidden the fact he has a son who didn’t live up to expectations.”
Jack made a note on a pad by his elbow. I could see what he wrote.
“Check the Shreveport passenger list? You think the senator lied about when he arrived? Maybe he was already here?”
“I need to take your statement. Without you sayin’ anything about a ghost.”
“Not if you want the truth.”
“Hell,” Jack muttered. “Guess I can use my laptop and type up your statement myself.”
“Whatever.”
Jack glared at me briefly and pushed the “on” button of the recorder.
The statement didn’t take long. In fact, the narration portion of it took about the same amount of time as my giving my name and address, after Jack noted the date, time, and location. I told him that Katy had called me around two a.m., so upset about her resident ghost, Sir Gary Gavin, that I feared she might take matters into her own hands and try to drive him off herself. I mentioned that Granny had been with me when the second call came in — Katy hysterical about a dead body in the pool — but not that Sir Gary had been with Katy. I’d only push Jack’s belief system so far. After that, I told him I packed and left for Esprit d’Chene. He knew the arrival time, but I repeated it anyway for the tape.
Jack concluded the statement with a glance at a wall clock and the time, then started to turn off the recorder. I stayed his hand.
“There’s one other thing you need to know.”
He quirked a questioning eyebrow.
“Sir Gary was messing with Grandpere Jean’s sword that night.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Chére — ”
I glared grimly. “During the first call from Katy, he levitated the sword and cut the bolster holding Grandmere Alicia’s portrait. Surely you noticed that Katy had the bolster tied in a knot when you checked the Great Room yesterday morning.”
“Yeah, but —" Jack clicked off the recorder. “We need to get your fingerprints.”
“You want me to get Sir Gary’s for you, too?” I asked in a sweet voice.
“I’ll let you know,” he said, avoiding my gaze.
As soon as we finished with the distasteful fingerprinting, I stormed out of the office without a goodbye and headed for The General Store. Damn it, I’d always thought Jack at least had an open mind when it came to investigating a murder. Obviously, he closed the trap door when it veered toward a paranormal channel. Not that I really believed Sir Gary had anything to do with Bucky’s death, but he certainly could have useful information. I’d have to be the one to follow that line.
The General Store was a huge old building with wooden floors. A tourist attraction, it sold everything from stuffed armadillos to raunchy T-shirts and local delicacies. Tempting arrays of samples were everywhere: muscadine and jalapeno jellies, marmalades, canned cobblers, pickled okra, apple butter, along with crackers and plastic spoons. A Zydeco song rocked from the hidden speakers, all fiddles, guitars, and steel washboard, a foot-tapping piece meant for clogging. The soda fountain lined the right-hand wall, past the glass-top counter filled with racks of tapes and CDs, the lower case with trays of chocolate fudge and coconut bonbons.
Katy’s slender body was slumped dejectedly on a plastic-seated stool, a melting chocolate soda in front of her. The waitress at the far end of the counter pretended to clean an already gleaming spot and eyed Katy fearfully.
Katy jumped when I touched her shoulder and caught my gaze in the mirror behind the fountain. “Oh,” she said, rising. “Are we ready to go?”
“Yes. Jack will call us when we need to come back and sign our statements.”
“You . . ." Katy glanced at the waitress, who jerked her eyes away and scrubbed at the counter. “You told Jack about Sir Gary, didn’t you?” Katy whispered.
I nodded and took her arm to lead her out of the store. At the curb, I dug for my keys in my jeans pocket before I remembered Katy had them. She was staring at the jail, and I had to nudge her to get her attention. “You’ve got the keys.”
She reached in her purse and handed them to me. After I opened the passenger door, Katy lifted Miss Molly and curled the cat to her chest as she scooted into the seat. By the time I was in the driver’s seat, she had her seatbelt snapped.
We made a fairly silent trip back to the plantation. At one point I asked Katy how her statement had gone, but she only said, “Fine, I guess. I told Jack that I’d found the body around two thirty a.m., and he knew most of the rest. He’s staying over at The Meadows, you know. It’s not that far from there to Esprit d’Chene. Miss Alexandria has that lovely carriage house she rents out.”
“Did you tell Jack how you came to go out to the pool that time of morning?”
“No." Katy shook her head forlornly. “But I’m glad you mentioned the ghost. I didn’t think he’d believe that Sir Gary accompanied me out there.”
“Probably not. But you should mention that end of the story to him now." If nothing else, to hit Jack between the eyes with both of us mentioning the ghost.
“I’ll call him when we get home.”
We fell out of conversation again. Katy stroked Miss Molly’s back, and a faint purr of contentment rumbled in the air. Trucker stretched out on the back seat, snoring softly. I thought once about telling Katy that I’d met Cory, but the time didn’t seem right. Besides, he might not even call me. Men are like that. Out of sight, out of mind.
“I just remembered,” Katy said when we pulled to a stop at the manor house. “Jack said the guard com
pany would have its men here by early afternoon.”
“I thought maybe you’d want to ride to Dallas with me.”
“I probably should be here when the guards arrive.”
“I suppose. Maybe Sue Ann will be back soon.”
“I called the hospital on your cell phone. They’re keeping Gabe and the officer another day, so Sue Ann’s coming back here. Oh, and there was a voice mail on your phone.”
She slid out, Miss Molly in her arms, and I popped the hatchback from inside so we could unload the groceries. For once, Katy did her share. She grabbed a plastic bag of groceries, while I dialed my voice mail. The message was from my editor, not Twila or Granny. I called and assured her the manuscript was nearly ready, mentally calculating whether I was lying. We chatted about her pregnancy, and I managed to finagle the information out of her that the only thing her arsenal of baby items lacked at this point was a beautiful carousal mobile she’d seen at Sachs. I hung up and redialed.
Within half an hour, I was ready to hit the road again. With Katy’s heartfelt consent, I’d decided to leave Trucker and Miss Molly behind. Before I left, I bathed the manor house and all its occupants in white light and reminded Katy to keep the asafetida locket with her.
“I will,” she promised fervidly. “Please, hurry back.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go along?”
She appeared on the verge of agreement, but then slowly shook her head. “I better not.”
“I’ll stay with her,” a voice said from behind us. Sir Gary stood over by the potted fern. “As long as she keeps that blasted locket sealed.”
“Have you seen Bucky?” I asked.
“No. And believe me, I’m hunting him.”
My wristwatch indicated I’d have to hurry if I wanted to meet the plane on time. With a last glance at Katy and Sir Gary, as well as my pets, I walked through the manor house. I tuned into the atmosphere as I strode down the hallways, but nothing appeared to be disturbing it.
