“No lawyers?” Logan says with mock horror.
I smirk at his sour face. “Sounds like a good law to me.”
He shoots me a glare, but then reluctantly smiles.
Dang, I hate myself for thinking he may have anything to do with the missing bank documents.
Mr. Uphill checks his watch. “I’m packed to the rafters for the weekend. I’m going to be sleeping on a cot in the kitchen to accommodate everyone. I hate to break off, but I need a clone to get everything done at this point.”
“We can chat later. Don’t overdo it.” I secretly hope that he does use the food the auxiliary delivered. “I saw you working in your garden late last night. I know you have a lot to take care of, but you need rest, too.”
Halfway to the drive, he stops and turns back. “You saw me…?”
I hear another flurry of Tabitha attacking the window and glance at her. What is her problem? Arthur and Lancelot have joined her, though they sit as still as sphinxes. I ignore them. “If you need gardening done for the big weekend festival, I’m sure Brax or Logan can help.”
Mr. Uphill’s jaw twitches. “Yes, well, it’s all done for now. I simply couldn’t sleep last night worrying about details for this weekend. Working with the soil and flowers relaxes me.”
Aunt Willa used to claim the same thing. “You didn’t happen to see or hear anything down by the creek the night my aunt died, did you?”
I glance at Logan to watch his reaction, but he’s frowning at the cats in the window.
Mr. Uphill’s eyes sadden. “Unfortunately, I was holed up in my office, prepping for this weekend. Detective Jones mentioned there might have been a prowler that evening, but I never even looked out my window. Last-minute schedule changes, some reservations, ordering extra food and supplies, you know how it is.”
“Of course. Thanks, anyway,” I offer, and he nods his goodbye.
Logan deftly jumps the wrought iron fence between us, which is a sight since he’s in dress slacks and a tie. But he hasn’t lost his athleticism since high school and he lands easily on his feet. He brushes his hands together, wiping off dirt. “What’s up with the history lesson, Fantome?”
I glance at the street as a champagne-colored SUV worth more than a year of my wages slides up in front of the law office. “Just something Mama mentioned today that made me curious about my ancestor.” I switch gears, once more watching him closely. “By the way, Rosie told me you were here and you spoke to my aunt in private the day she died.”
He nods. “We spoke often. I am—was—her lawyer.”
“What did you talk about?”
He rubs his hands together again. “She told me you were coming home, and that you’d be upset about the house.”
“She was right. Anything else?”
A glance at the SUV. “Nothing I can tell you about presently. When we go over her last will and testament, I think you’ll get some answers to your questions.”
Avoidance or does he truly believe that? “Fine. Are you familiar with the Thorny Toad?”
He straightens his tie. “Sure. It’s outside city proper, south of town. The old Guillen Metal Works building near the train tracks, you know the one?”
At my nod, he continues, “Guillen went out of business and sold the building to somebody who doesn’t live around here. They rented it out, and a couple of…um, folks, decided to put in a bar and grill. I hear the patrons are into a lot of woo-woo stuff.”
I know what he means, but I’m curious to hear his explanation. “Woo-woo?”
He heads for the sidewalk. “You know, psychic stuff. Metaphysical, new age, whatever you call it.” A woman gets out of the SUV and waves at him. He waves back. “Gotta run. Mom wants to go to lunch and review the details of the tour on Sunday. You should come with us.”
I’m not ready to take on his mother or discuss the tour yet. “I have an appointment to handle, but thanks.”
He walks backward down the path, giving me another grin. “See you at parade practice this afternoon?”
For some silly reason, I can’t stop from grinning back. “I’ll be there.”
His smile grows wider as he turns to jog away, using the gate to leave the property rather than jumping the fence this time. His mother gives me a nod before climbing into the passenger side, letting her son take the wheel.
My phone rings and I dig it out of my purse “Hello?”
Rosie’s voice raises the hair on the back of my neck. “Ava? Oh thank God. You have to come quick.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the country club. With Miranda.”
The grin falls off my face, dread forming in my belly. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” she wails. Panic fills the connection. “All hell just broke loose, and I think I’m gonna have to send our bride to the hospital.”
Chapter Twenty
The Thornhollow Country Club is a bastion of Southern glory and prestige. As I drive through the front gates, passing rolling greens and golfers squeezing in eighteen holes before winter, I wonder what Sam and Tabitha would think of the formal plantation house that rises like a beacon half a mile away.
More importantly, I wonder with a sense of trepidation why the ambulance is parked out front.
After pulling into a visitor’s slot, I make my way to the scene. Miranda is surrounded by Reverend Stout and Wesley, the country club manager, and several others. She’s holding an oxygen mask to her face, her porcelain skin paler than normal, and in between deep breaths she’s yelling at those gathered. “Why is this happening?”
Everyone in Thornhollow loves a good drama, so I’m not surprised when a trio of female golfers eagerly exit the building and join the onlookers. They exchange comments and sly smiles behind their hands, and I’m sure what unfolds will be town gossip before the sun goes down. One of the women happens to be Priscilla Barnes, and I grind my teeth as I march forward.
Lucky for Prissy, Rosie stops me before I can engage her. “Thank the Blessed Mother you’re here. Miranda is pitching a hissy fit.”
Fern peaks her tiny head over the edge of Rosie’s tote and blinks her eyes at me. I can see she’s trembling. Rosie draws me away from the crowd, Prissy narrowing her eyes as we pass by her clique. “What happened?” I ask under my breath.
“I came to check on the electrical issues—which, by the way, Dale Ingram said are non-existent—and Miranda showed up. The minute she walked in things went wonky.”
Things have been wonky, in my opinion, since my aunt died. “Describe ‘wonky.’”
“Well, a giant vase of flowers in the vestibule exploded when she walked past it. Flowers, water, glass went everywhere! The lights started flickering, sending Dale off to investigate again. Then everyone’s cellphones started going off, even those with their ringers silenced like mine. It was so crazy. I’m telling you, Ava, it was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Is everyone all right?”
She nods, blowing out a breath through her lips, “Everyone but poor Miranda.”
We both look over at Reverend Stout, encouraging our bride to stop talking and focus on breathing. His gentle voice coaxes and soothes. “It’s gonna be all right now, Miss Miranda. You’ll see. This is all just probably something silly, like Mercury retrograde or something.”
Instead of calming Miranda, this statement sends a fresh wave of panic through her. She frantically scans the crowd and sees Rosie and me a few feet away. “Is it Mercury retrograde?” she yells. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I can’t get married during a retrograde! I’m doomed!”
Fern whimpers and disappears inside the tote. The fact that anyone in my hometown actually knows what a Mercury retrograde is surprises me. Good thing I’ve had experience with panicked brides. It’s quite common that when the countdown to the wedding is under five days they turn into she-devils or complete basket cases.
Calling up my professional face and confident manner, I brush past the others and take Mirand
a’s hand. “It’s not Mercury retrograde, and everything is going to be perfectly fine, like Reverend Stout said.” I pray I’m right on both counts. “Breathe, Miranda. That’s it. I’m here and I’m going to take good care of you, like my Aunt Willa would. You will have the wedding of your dreams, I promise.”
She flings her arms around my neck, breaking out in relieved sobs. I pat her back to calm her, and over her shoulder I see the champagne-colored SUV with Logan and his mother approaching the parking lot.
As I continue to pat Miranda, Prissy makes her way to us. “Last chance, Miranda. Let me take over and provide you with a wedding you deserve.”
I curl my lip at Prissy over Miranda’s shoulder, and she has the nerve to smile. I set Miranda back slightly, keeping my hands on her arms. “Well, there’s the problem,” I tell her, cool and collected. “Prissy’s here.”
Miranda turns her head, eyes puffy and nose red, and it only takes a second for the seed I planted yesterday to bloom. “You are jinxed!” She points an accusatory finger at Prissy. “You’re the reason all this is happening.”
Prissy rears back, as if slapped. The women in her clique looked stunned then snicker behind their hands. I sense Logan and his mother on the outskirts of the group and know it’s time to wrap this scene up.
“Now, now, ladies,” Reverend Stout mollifies us. “Let’s get Miranda to the clinic and make sure she’s okay.”
He guides her to the waiting ambulance, but her gaze stays on Prissy. “You stay away from me and Ty, you hear? I will not allow you to ruin our big day!”
The reverend gets her up the steps and inside the ambulance, closing the door, as Wesley runs around to jump in the front. Prissy, hands on hips, whirls on me. “How dare you besmirch my reputation in town!”
When Prissy’s mad, she’s meaner than a wet cat. All eyes are on me, so I keep my smile in place, refusing to give her an ounce of satisfaction. I lean toward her, lowering my voice. “Aunt Willa always said if you can’t run with the big dogs, you better stand under the porch. Why don’t you go back to your golf game and leave event planning to me?”
She calls me a nasty name. “If anyone’s jinxed in this town, it’s you and your no-good family.”
Several people suck in a collective breath. I turn to the country club manager—his gold name tag, glinting in the sun, reads Dirk. “May I speak to you privately inside?”
Nervously, he nods. “Yes, of course.” He holds out a hand to usher me toward the entrance. As we climb the wide steps of the terrace, he glances back at the ambulance pulling away. I can see in his face, and his anxious movements, he’s afraid Miranda might sue the place.
Rosie and several of the gawkers follow us. “I don’t understand this at all,” Dirk tells me. “We’ve never had issues like this.”
Entering the cool foyer, I see one of the day workers placing a fresh fall centerpiece on the side table where I’m guessing the flowers used to be before the vase exploded.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” I assure him. “Is it possible Miranda accidentally knocked into the flowers on the stand? Or that the electrical junction box is overloaded? Perhaps a sudden increase in EMF knocked out the electricity or caused the phones to act erratically?”
“What happened?” Logan inserts himself at my side, startling me. His mother gives me a nod as she, too, joins us.
Before Dirk can reply, Rosie jumps in to give them the rundown. As she does, I hear a woman’s laugh behind us. Turning, I see no one. The crowd has returned to golf games and gossip. Not even Prissy is in sight.
Something tickles the back of my neck then tugs a strand of my hair, “Ow!” Grasping my hair, I scan for the culprit.
All eyes land on me at the outburst. “You okay?” Logan askes.
With a sinking feeling, I nod, but continue to scan the area.
Dirk gestures to the overhead light. “Everything seems fine now. Perhaps you’d like to see the ballroom and go over the reception details, Ms. Fantome?”
I understand his need to right this ship, and I’m onboard. “Great idea.” I see the fake flowers on the table wobble, and hurriedly I step up to put out a hand to steady them. It passes through a cold spot that raises goosebumps on my skin.
Mrs. Cross unbuttons her expensive tweed jacket, her perfect hair and makeup creating the illusion she’s much younger. “Ava, I need to speak with you as well, about the wine tour.”
“Why don’t you have lunch with us,” Logan reiterates, putting me on the spot. “When you’re done with the reception details, come find us in the dining room.”
His mother looks slightly displeased, and I consider begging off since I have no idea what Aunt Willa planned for the tour, but it would get one thing checked off my list. “Maybe just for a glass of tea, and then I’ll leave you two to your lunch.”
In the ballroom, Rosie, Dirk and I review the decorations, the menu, the DJ setup, and the itinerary of the wedding and reception. Several times, as Dirk and Rosie walk me through the evening’s timeline, I feel a breeze on my neck or hear an invisible someone comment with, “No way,” or “Never gonna happen.”
This disembodied voice sends worry threading through me. We have a ghost and if she’s as strong as I think she is, she could very well ruin Miranda’s evening.
I look at the others. “Can I have a minute alone?”
Dirk and Rosie give me odd looks but nod and walk out together.
Once the door closes behind them, I speak to the ghost. “Okay, listen. I’m having a really bad week, and whoever you are, just tell me why you’re doing this so I can help you.”
Silence is the reply.
Frustrated, I spin in a circle. “Now you’re clamming up? What are you, chicken?”
Without warning, a frosty puff of air slides down my spine. “I’m Calista Lionhart,” the ghost says, close enough to make me jump, “and Ty Durham is mine.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Worst fears confirmed, I attempt to interrogate Calista, but all she does is give my hair another yank.
“Stop that,” I chastise, using Mama’s stern voice. “We have to work this out.”
Fading laughter is the only reply, and Calista disappears.
Dirk pokes his head back in, looking abashed. “Mrs. Cross said to tell you your iced tea is getting warm.”
My mother is a member of the country club and has been since she took office ten years ago, but we were never accepted as true members, a privilege reserved for folks like the Cross family and their counterparts. Dirk offers to show me to the dining room, but I wave him off.
Pulling myself together, I find Rosie and ask if she wants to come with me to talk to Mrs. Cross, but she shakes her head adamantly. “I prefer to stay as far away from her as I can get.”
Fern peers up at me with her big eyes again and I reach out to scratch under her chin. “Are you throwing me to the wolves when I’m doing all I can to help?” I tease with a hint of truth.
She gives me a wicked smile. “From what I’ve seen, you can handle her just fine. I’ll check on Miranda and get back to the Chapel for our meeting with Penny at three.”
“Did you ever know a woman named Calista Lionhart?”
She screws up her face as if tasting something sour. “I didn’t know her personally, but a tragic story to be sure.” She lowers her voice as a couple goes past us on their way to the greens. “She and Ty Durham were a couple in high school. One night, they were out partying and ended up in a car accident. Ty survived, she didn’t.”
“Who’s fault was it? The accident?”
Another face from Rosie. “There were contradictory stories—the police believed Calista was driving. Ty said he was, and that Calista pulled him from the wreck before she died. His parents put the kibosh on him confessing to driving, though, and eventually the story that she was in the driver’s seat is the one that stuck. Whatever happened, she did save his life. The car caught fire after she pulled him from the wreck. She di
ed lying next to him from internal injuries.”
At least now I understand why our ghost is hanging around—unfinished business. She may not realize she’s dead, or believes Ty owes her for surviving while she didn’t.
As Rosie leaves, I wonder how I’m going to handle Calista and her poltergeist activities. Whatever happens, I have to make sure Miranda’s wedding goes off without a hitch.
In the dining room, Logan and his mother are deep in conversation over their lunches, but his gaze zeroes in on me the moment I step to the hostess station. He waves me over and comes to his feet to pull out a chair for me.
I thank him and sit, nodding at Mrs. Cross as I wipe moisture from the glass of tea waiting for me. “With everything going on, I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to go over the details of the tour with Rosie yet, but I assure you, I’ll dig into them tonight. Is there anything in particular you’re concerned about?”
She dabs her mouth carefully with the cloth napkin. “First, let me extend my sympathies over your aunt.” She sends a pointed look in Logan’s direction, and he gives her a nearly imperceptible nod. “I don’t know where my manners were earlier. The commotion outside made them fly right out of my head.”
The smile she gives me is forced, as if admitting any error on her part goes against everything in her body. Did Logan reprimand her for not offering her sympathies? Interesting.
“I certainly appreciate that.” I take a big sip of tea, realizing I’m tense—not because a barracuda of the Thornhollow upper echelon has me in her sights, but because I’m waiting for Calista to make another appearance. “Aunt Willa’s passing was quite a shock.”
“You are up to handling the Pumpkins and Peach Wine event, aren’t you?” Her blue eyes are sharp and calculating. “If not, I need to know right now. The event is the biggest profit-maker and marketing promotion of the year for us.”
Pumpkins & Poltergeists, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 1 Page 9
