Jake bathed, then shrugged into jeans and a shirt. He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the room she’d called the garçonnière. She’d explained that the design was a safety measure back in antebellum days, but he was convinced she was using it to keep him at a distance, and he needed to know why.
Jake slipped on his jacket and headed to Holly’s balcony door. He had his knuckles positioned to rap on her door when he heard footsteps below on the downstairs balcony. He checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. Way past the bedtime of Holly’s geriatric guests.
* * *
Jake froze on the balcony to focus on the sound. Footsteps padded across the downstairs balcony below him. He heard the metallic sound of the release of a lock, then the squeak of the front door as someone opened it. He’d expected whoever had snooped around in the barn to return for the drugs, but not tonight. He hadn’t expected them to have a key, either.
Jake took light, quick steps across the balcony to the exterior stairs, then raced on tiptoe down the steps. As he rounded the house, a flashlight beam slashed across a window from inside. A guest wouldn’t use a flashlight. His heart pumped with the familiar rush he had before every bust. He steadied his breathing. But this wasn’t just any bust.
He crept across the porch with easy, slow steps until he reached the front door. Moonlight flooded the porch between patches of darkness as clouds blocked the moon. Jake wrapped his hand around the door handle. With any luck, the perp had left the door unlocked for a quick escape. Jake silently cursed himself for not getting around to oiling the hinges. The darned squeak might as well be an alarm.
Jake reached under his jacket for his gun out of habit, only to pat down his empty side. He winced, remembering he’d put the gun in his bag before he headed to Holly’s room. As he opened the door, he told himself the perp wouldn’t know he was anything more than a guest who had no idea what he was looking for and no reason to accost him. The guy had run when Miss Alice spotted him the last time. He’d run again, but this time Jake would be closer and faster.
The squeak echoed through the empty foyer as Jake opened the door. Moonlight dappled the room, and a shadowy figure hunkering over the coffin jerked to attention, his face concealed in darkness. He snatched the dummy out of the coffin and bolted for the back door.
Jake pounded across the wood floor, then lunged for the guy. A passing cloud snuffed out the moonlight. The room plunged into blackness, except for the retreating flashlight.
Groping in the dark, Jake caught what he thought was a leg before he hit the floor. The perp’s body slammed onto the floor and coughed up a winded grunt. The flashlight skittered across the floor and landed with the beam wedged in a corner as moonlight sliced through the room.
Jake crawled across the floor to the crumpled body gasping for breath. Hand over hand, Jake dragged himself on top of the perp, then grabbed him by the shirt. When Jake stood, he jerked the guy to his feet with him. The moonlight gave way to darkness again.
CHAPTER 19
Holly shuffled in fuzzy slippers to the planter’s table and plopped down in the dark with a hunk of Nelda’s chocolate pie. After a few satisfying bites, she looked out the window. Moonlight flickered between the branches of the oak trees, casting long shadows on the lawn. All was quiet. She’d left Rhett having doggy dreams in her bed. No Burl. No guests. No Jake to distract her. Just Holly Grove and her for a blissful moment.
Everything was riding on catching the smugglers and making Holly Grove a success. Time was running out, and she was one calamity away from losing everything.
A crash sounded from the foyer, and Holly jumped to her feet. She scurried to the kitchen door and peeked into the foyer. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, two figures came into view. A man stood holding someone or maybe something by the shirt. Eudora?
Holly’s heart beat against her ribs. The smuggler had come back for the cocaine and marijuana he thought was still in Eudora. This was her chance to catch the smuggler and get Burl out of her life for good.
She eased the door closed. What could she use from the kitchen as a weapon? The thought of a knife sent shivers through her. She couldn’t stab anyone. Too bloody. Besides, she needed the guy alive so he’d squeal on his boss. Holly spied Nelda’s second-prize six-inch skillet on the wall. She lifted it from the nail, then squeezed both hands around the handle.
On tiptoe, she entered the foyer. What little moonlight had lit the room had evaporated into shadows. Trying to calculate how hard to hit the man, Holly hefted the skillet and tested its weight. Too hard and she could kill him. If she didn’t hit him hard enough, he could turn on her.
Rhett’s yaps rang from the top of the stairs as she whacked the smuggler on the head.
He dropped to his knees and swayed a bit before he fell.
But Eudora didn’t fall.
Holly blinked as the shadowy figure turned and scooped up something on the floor, then dashed for the door, with Rhett yapping at his heels.
She scampered to the light switch, then flicked it on.
A scream welled in her throat. “Jake!” The skillet slipped from her grip and clunked to the floor.
Oh, no. She might have cracked his skull.
She rushed over to Jake and knelt at his side. Her hands shook. She wished she’d paid attention to Mr. Moses in freshman first aid rather than staring at the back of Jake’s head. “Lordy, mercy me. What have I done?”
Rhett scampered back from his smuggler chase like the beast of the manor. He gave her and Jake a good sniff and pranced off like all was well. She wasn’t so sure.
Footsteps clattered on the stairs.
Holly looked up at her guests. “I—I thought he was a p-prowler.”
Miss Alice pushed her way through the other guests. “What happened here?” she asked, tying her chenille robe under her grandmother boobs.
“I hit Jake on the head with Nelda’s skillet.”
“Good grief. You may have fractured his skull.”
“I didn’t hit him as hard as I could have. I didn’t want to kill him. Just knock him out,” Holly said, realizing she was blubbering like an idiot.
Miss Alice padded down the steps in her orthopedic slippers. She crossed the room to Jake, then creaked as she knelt beside him.
“Please tell me I didn’t kill him,” Holly whispered.
Miss Alice pressed her wrinkly fingertips to his neck. “Nope. He’s got a good pulse.”
“Thank God,” Holly said.
The rest of the guests hovered around in a hushed circle.
“Stand back and give him some air,” Miss Alice ordered. She rubbed her aged hands over his scalp, then shook her head. “He’s got quite a lump, but that’s a good thing.”
“Good?” Holly questioned.
“It means the swelling is pushing out and probably not pushing on his brain.”
“So I didn’t hit him too hard.”
“Hard enough to knock him out cold.” Miss Alice pried two fingers between each of his eyelids. She leaned into him, then pulled away, squinting her eyes. “My glasses are upstairs. Are his pupils the same size?”
Holly looked from one dark eye to the next. “I think so. That’s good. Right?”
“We’ll see when he comes around. Go get a glass of water and a bag of frozen peas to ice the bump.”
Holly fetched a glass of water and a bag of frozen peas. She handed the peas to Miss Alice, and she pressed the icy bag to Jake’s head.
He didn’t flinch.
Holly kneeled beside Jake and Miss Alice, then handed the glass of water to her.
Miss Alice frowned. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“You asked for it.”
“Unless you have smelling salts, he may be out awhile. It’s best we bring him around.”
“You’re not going to throw water on him?”
“You knocked him out.” Miss Alice pointed a finger at Jake. “You bring him to.”
Holly’s skin itched with the creepy f
eeling of guilt. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Jake what she’d done.
* * *
Jake gasped as he bolted forward. His head throbbed with every beat of his heart. Cold water dripped down his face and chest.
What the . . . ? A blur of faces huddled around him. A dream?
“How many fingers am I holding up?” said a haze of pink hovering over him.
He rubbed his eyes and blinked. “Huh?”
Miss Alice leaned over him. “How many fingers?”
Her image looked like the view from a camera lens when adjusting the focus from fuzzy to clear. “Three?”
“Good. What month is it?”
“October. Why?”
“Checking for brain damage,” Miss Alice said.
“Brain damage?”
Holly set the empty glass down. She rubbed her hand over his arm. “Uh, I—”
“She hit you over the head with an iron skillet,” Miss Alice said.
“Why?” Jake looked back at Holly. His head throbbed as he recalled the struggle and the blow that had brought him to his knees. Jake rubbed the goose egg–sized bump on his head. “Last time I checked, we were on friendly terms.”
Holly wrung her hands and stammered. “I-it was an accident. I—I didn’t know it was you.” She picked up the bag of peas beside Jake, then pressed the icy bag against the back of his head.
“Ouch.”
Holly winced. “Sorry.”
“So why’d you nearly bust my skull?”
“It was dark. I heard a noise and saw someone beside Eudora’s coffin. I thought he was going to steal something.” She squeezed his hand. “You know.” Holly held his stare, as though she needed to know he understood.
He squeezed back to show he got it. She’d obviously thought that he was the smuggler and that he’d come back for the goods in the dummy. The guy had scored the dummy but not what he’d come for.
Holly curled her fingers around his. “I’m so sorry.” Her brow creased as her eyes pleaded for understanding.
“It wasn’t good enough for you to knock me out.” Jake forced a smile to relieve her tension. He pulled his wet shirt away from his chest with two fingers. “You had to try to drown me, too.”
“I’m not sorry for that.” She gave a weak smile. “At least I woke you up.”
He attempted to stand. Pain shot from the lump on the back of his head to his temples.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Miss Alice pushed one of his shoulders, and Holly pushed the other.
Surprisingly, Jake found it difficult to get past them. Rather than chance getting put down by two women, he said, “I think I’ll sit a minute.”
“Good thinking.” Miss Alice nodded.
The guests whispered among themselves. Some pointed to Holly. This couldn’t be good for Holly’s business, and she’d had enough trouble.
Jake gave a thumbs-up. “I’m okay. Y’all can go back to bed. It was my mistake for milling around in the dark. Believe me, you’re safe with Holly on patrol.”
After several minutes of grumbles and reassurance, Miss Alice and the rest of the guests filed to their rooms.
“Thanks,” Holly whispered as they departed.
Jake held his hand up to Holly. “Give me a pull.”
“You sure you’re ready?”
“I’m sure I’d be more comfortable in a chair.”
As Holly helped him to his feet, a dull pain radiated across his skull. Jake closed his eyes. Jumbled flashes of memory tumbled in his head. The footsteps on the porch. The flashlight through the windows. A squeak. A shadowy figure.
“Jake.” Holly’s voice sounded muffled and far away. “Jake,” she said again, pulling on his shirt. “Please don’t pass out on me.”
He opened his eyes. “Did you get a good look at him?”
Holly shook her head. “Too dark. If I’d seen the guy’s face, I would’ve hit him instead.”
Holly steadied herself under Jake’s weight as she helped him to the courting chair. It was the closest chair to him but probably the most uncomfortable seat at Holly Grove. When she was a kid, she’d called the courting chair the crazy S chair, because of its shape. One person sat in each curve of the chair. Jake barely fit in his portion of the S, and he stretched his arm over the low chair back so that it encroached on the other portion. She’d have to move him as soon as he could walk on his own.
“Can I get you anything?” Holly asked. She’d do almost anything to make up for knocking him out. She’d thought she was saving the day, getting the bad guy and all that. Instead, she’d nearly killed Jake, her only potential ally in the whole mess. She sighed. Hurricane Holly strikes again.
He shook his head and grimaced.
“Let me do something. I feel awful about this. A bowl of gumbo? A slice of pie? A praline? A pillow? Iced tea?”
He waved her off.
Holly pressed the frozen peas to the back of his head again.
“Too cold.” Jake grabbed the bag of peas. “That’s giving me a headache.”
“The swelling is giving you the headache,” Miss Alice said as she gripped the banister on her way back down the stairs. In the crook of her free arm, she carried a basket. Strands of colorful yarn trailed from the basket, which was filled with balls of yarn impaled with knitting needles. A paperback novel teetered between the balls of yarn.
“Miss Alice, I thought you’d gone to bed with the others,” Holly said.
“Nonsense. I have a patient.” As she crossed the foyer to Jake, her glasses bounced on a chain against her chenille robe. Miss Alice frowned and snatched the frozen peas from Jake. She put them back on his bump, then grabbed his hand and directed it to the peas. “Hold the cold compress in place for at least twenty minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You need constant observation and absolutely cannot go to sleep for at least four hours,” Miss Alice said, pouring herself into the other side of the courting chair, beside Jake.
Jake curled his arm across his chest and shifted his weight to make room for Miss Alice.
Holly held her lips in a tight line to hide her amusement. Courting chairs were called that for a reason. The two seats, separated by an upholstered curve, were designed to prevent unwed couples from cuddling and engaging in other nineteenth-century taboos. In this instance, the S shape very nearly failed to live up to its purpose, though the two before her were more of an odd couple than a pair.
“Thanks for everything, Miss Alice, but it’d take more than a bump on the head to keep me down,” Jake said, leaning back as far from Miss Alice as he could.
“I’ll not have a death or a serious complication on my conscience.” Miss Alice balanced the basket on her knees as she slipped her glasses on her face. “You go to bed, Holly. I’ll take care of the patient.” She flipped open her paperback. “This story will keep me up all night.”
Holly tilted her head sideways to read the title. Silence of the Lamps. Holly sighed. She could easily title tonight’s escapade Lights Out.
Miss Alice looked up from her book at Holly. “Why are you still standing here?”
“I, uh—”
“Holly was telling me earlier she’d do anything to make up for nearly killing me.”
Miss Alice snapped her book closed. “Well, she should. If she’d hit you any harder, you’d have a minimum of several stitches and probably a skull fracture.”
“But I didn’t hit him that hard. You said—”
“Yep.” Jake held the peas to the back of his head. “A little harder hit, and we could all be at the hospital right now, praying for me to pull through.”
Holly pointed a finger at Jake. “But—”
Jake lifted a hand in a halting position. “Now, don’t apologize again, Holly.”
“But—”
He leaned in to Miss Alice and said, “She won’t leave my side,” as though Holly wasn’t in the room. “There’s no need for both of you to lose a night’s sleep.” He looked b
ack at Holly. “Especially a paying guest. Right?”
Jake had baited Holly and had set the hook like a seasoned pro. What could she say that wouldn’t make her look like a throw-back trash fish?
CHAPTER 20
Holly had watched the perfect gentleman sleep in his room, while she sat in a chair at his bedside—until she decided he’d live. At dawn, she sat on the balcony outside her bedroom as she sipped a much-needed cup of coffee and watched the sun rise over the levee.
Jake strode from his room in the garçonnière across the balcony and joined her. “Thanks for helping me to my room and saving me from Miss Alice last night. Sorry I conked out on you.”
“It was the least I could do. How’s your head?”
“Lumpy.” He rubbed the back of his head and Holly cringed.
“I’m really sorry,” she said.
Jake leaned against the balcony railing. “I’ve got to check out a couple of things I remembered about the guy I had by the throat last night.”
“Like what?”
“He had a flashlight. I knocked it out of his hand, and it landed in a corner of the room. If it’s still there, it’ll have fingerprints on it.” He slipped his shoes on. “And the guy had a key.”
She tilted her head to the side. “That’s impossible.”
“You lock the outside doors after ten p.m., right?”
“Every night.” She took another sip of coffee. “It’s not like I can afford a rent-a-cop on patrol.”
“You didn’t give me a key to the exterior doors.” He lifted a shoulder. “But maybe you didn’t trust me enough with one. How about the other guests?”
“No one gets a front-door key. It keeps security simple. Historical locks are irreplaceable. If a guest loses or forgets to return a key, I’m screwed. If a guest stays out after ten at night, they have to call my cell or ring the doorbell.”
“I was on the balcony when I heard footsteps on the porch below, then the click of a lock and the squeak. So who has keys to Holly Grove besides you?”
“Nelda and Burl each have a set.” And Burl can’t do anything but blow so far.
“Well, it sure wasn’t Burl, and I think I would have known if I’d tackled a woman.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyone else?”
Better Dead Page 14
