Ghost in Trouble (2010)

by Carolyn Hart

  She looked as immovable as the tank battery for the Millie No. 1.

  Her decision meant that if she were to be kept safe, I must discover the identity of the murderer.

  Have I ever shared the truth that I am moved by impulse, not logic? I felt dimly that perhaps this was the course of events Wiggins desired. Was his mind serpentine enough to have known that my actions would strengthen Kay’s resolve and she and I together would be bound to investigate? It was as if I heard a distant bugle call to charge.

  Impulse was all very well, but I must harness my proclivity for quick action and think logically. Kay had come to Adelaide because of Jack’s e-mails. That’s where she started and that’s where I must start. “In Jack’s last e-mail, he said a photograph had been slipped under his door. Where do you suppose he put it?”

  She looked perplexed. “I don’t know.” She nodded toward the desk. “All of his papers seemed to be in the ebony box. There was only one photograph and it can’t be the one he mentioned.”

  I was surprised. “There’s no photograph in the box.”

  Her gaze was sharp. “How would you know?”

  “I studied the contents last night.”

  She pushed back her chair and hurried to the desk, returning with the box. She opened it and quickly thumbed through the contents. “That’s weird.” She shot me a suspicious glance. “You’re messing with my mind. Where did you put the picture?”

  “Do not succumb to paranoia. Why would I take a photograph?”

  “Why not? You write notes…I mean I write notes…I wouldn’t take the picture…why would I do that?” She jumped up, rushed to a dresser, opened drawers, fumbled through lingerie and clothing. “I want that picture. Maybe I put it in my things to take home.” She rushed to the closet.

  I followed, leaned against the doorjamb. “Tell me about the picture.” I used my most soothing tone.

  She glared. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m demented.”

  I shrugged and returned to the table. I poured another cup of coffee.

  Finally, she dropped into the chair opposite me. “I found a photograph in the ebony box of Jack in his cap and gown when he graduated from high school. He was incredibly handsome and young.” Her smile was tremulous. “That’s the attraction of youth, the innocence, the lack of foreknowledge. He didn’t know how many times his heart would be broken, how much life could hurt. Not then.”

  “Was that the only photograph in the box?”

  “The only one. It can’t be the photograph he mentioned in his e-mail. That picture upset him. I don’t understand why anyone would take the graduation picture.” Slowly her face changed. “Maybe someone else wanted to remember him when he was young.”

  “That could be why.”

  “I understand.” Her voice was soft. “Anyway, I don’t know what picture he was talking about in that e-mail. Either he put that picture somewhere and I haven’t found it or someone removed it before I looked in the box.” She glanced toward the door.

  Either was a possibility. I reassured her. “Let’s not waste time worrying about a photograph. We know he was shocked and upset, both by a photograph and the circumstances he’d found at The Castle. It’s up to us to find out what he did and when. I can help.”

  “It would make me feel better if you disappeared.” Kay reached for another piece of toast. “Come on, sometimes you’re here and sometimes you aren’t. Wouldn’t you like to disappear?” Her tone was coaxing.

  “Then you’d be upset when I picked up my coffee mug. Thanks, but I’ll remain visible for now. In any event, I’m not important.” Actually, everyone’s important in Heaven, but I hoped my modesty would charm her. “What matters is finding out who killed Jack. When you interview the people Jack saw, keep these points in mind: Evelyn Hume has no difficulty moving quickly and quietly around The Castle. Ronald Phillips picks up Hume family background at the historical society, like Jack being in James’s wedding, and feeds the facts to Laverne for the séances. Laverne is either afraid for him or of him. She lied last night when she told you they were together when she heard the vase crash. Diane Hume’s hoping for guidance from her dead husband, but she’s afraid to tell Laverne what she wants to know. Jimmy Hume hit golf balls like he was killing snakes, then glared through the kitchen window at Shannon Taylor. Shannon got upset talking about you and Jack. She said—” I hesitated.

  Kay licked a smear of marmalade from one finger. “Nothing Shannon says about me would come as a surprise. Go ahead.”

  “She said, ‘Jack didn’t care about her. I know who he was sneaking around to see.’”

  “Poor kid.” Kay’s voice was kind. “Jack turned her down, so she’s convinced he had to be involved with someone else. That’s not true. He was focused on problems, not another woman. He was magic”—her lips trembled a little—“and he was honest. In his next-to-last e-mail, he wanted me to come home with him. He wouldn’t have urged me to come to Africa with him if he’d plunged into a passionate affair.”

  I saw confidence in her face as well as sorrow.

  I wondered if she was missing something important, something powerful in Jack’s last days, because she didn’t believe he would betray her. I hoped she was right, but I wasn’t certain.

  Kay was confident of her analysis. “The question about Shannon is whether she was angry enough by his rejection to wish him dead.”

  To me, Shannon’s anger was a separate question from whether she was right or wrong in connecting Jack to another woman.

  We could argue this possibility another time. “We’ll keep an open mind.”

  “Open?” She made a sound similar to a strangled snort. “My mind’s as full of holes as Swiss cheese. Maybe”—she brightened—“I can push you out.”

  “Maybe.” My tone was encouraging. She might feel better if she clung to the pathetic hope that I would depart. “For now, we’re working together. I suggest you start your research with Evelyn.”

  She finished the sweet roll, poured another cup of coffee. She’d almost emptied the cup when her gaze slid toward me. “Why Evelyn?”

  Kay might insist I didn’t exist, but she wasn’t going to take a chance on missing out on a good piece of information, whether from me or her subconscious.

  Our relationship might be rocky, but, like it or not, Kay and I were going to be a team. I gave her an encouraging smile. “Older sister. Younger brother. The years of separation don’t matter. No one knows anyone better than a sibling.”

  I disappeared.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Evelyn Hume sat at a stone table on the upper terrace in the shade of a cottonwood. As Kay approached, Evelyn’s head turned in the direction of the footsteps. The silvered dark hair drawn back into a tight bun emphasized the gauntness of her face. The family resemblance was evident, the same strong features as her brother Jack, but with no glimmer of charm or humor.

  “Good morning, Evelyn.” Kay stood next to the table. “If its convenient, I’d like to visit with you about Jack.”

  “That’s why you’re here, so I suppose now is as good a time as any.” Evelyn inclined her head. “Please join me.”

  Kay sat on the opposite side of the table and opened her laptop. The breeze stirred Kay’s tousled black hair. Despite her informal clothing, a pale yellow cotton top and beige linen slacks, she looked capable and confident. Her dark eyes were bright with intelligence.

  Evelyn gestured toward the cul-de-sac. “I wondered if the unfortunate accident last night might cut your visit short.”

  Kay’s eyes narrowed, but her reply was swift. “I plan to stay until I have the material I need for the book. However, I promise to work as quickly as possible. I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.”

  “I believe it was Diane who invited you to stay here.” Evelyn’s tone was dry.

  Kay looked wary. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Evelyn shrugged. “This was Jack’s home as well as mine and James’s.” The milky eyes behind t
he thick lenses of her glasses reflected no emotion. “How may I help you?”

  “What is your earliest memory of Jack?”

  The question clearly surprised Evelyn. It was a long moment before she replied. “I was eight when he was born…”

  Kay’s skillful questions pierced a hard shell of time and distance.

  Evelyn’s words came more quickly, painting a picture of a younger brother colored by both admiration and jealousy:”…reckless…fearless…quick to be kind…stubbornly honest…much too attractive to women…ruthless when he made up his mind…selfish…he thought of himself before others. Jack left it to me to take care of our father.” Her grievance was clear. “Then, when he came home for Dad’s funeral, Jack was disruptive.” Her glance at Kay was cold. “It was obvious there was something between him and Shannon Taylor. That made Jimmy angry. Jimmy had always thought very highly of his uncle. But not now.” Evelyn sighed. “Jack upset Diane and the Phillipses as well. I’m afraid you won’t get positive reports about his last visit.”

  “Jack wanted the book to tell the truth, whatever I found. I need to create a framework for Jack’s final days, talk to everyone he saw. The conversations, whether ordinary or remarkable, will touch readers because he had no idea that his time was so short.” Pain flickered in Kay’s eyes. “Of course, the focus of the book will be his years in Kenya. However, his ironic death in a fall down the steps of his childhood home has to be chronicled. This will be my only opportunity to interview those who spent time with him during his final days.”

  “I see.” Evelyn sipped her coffee. “I don’t know how helpful I can be. I wasn’t keeping a record of his activities. He had various conversations with those living at The Castle.” There was a satisfied look on her face. “His hostility to Laverne and Ronald Phillips reduced Diane to tears one evening. Jimmy, sweet boy that he is, came to his mother’s defense. I thought for a moment Jimmy and Jack might come to blows. Of course, Jimmy was furious about more than that discussion. I saw the Phillipses scurrying back to the house one morning and they both looked out of sorts. Jack looked furious as he came inside behind them.”

  I bent near Kay and whispered in her ear.

  After an instant’s start, she asked smoothly, “As Jack’s sister, I’m sure you had insight into his moods. Was there a change between the day he arrived and the day of his death?”

  There was a look of disdain on Evelyn’s aristocratic face. “In some ways, there was no change. As always, there were women. I have no doubt Jack at one time knew Margo better than he should. If a man and woman—” She broke off. A tiny flush touched her cheeks. “I was sensitive to his behavior. Since Margo is in our employ, I expected him to refrain from inappropriate behavior. I was chagrined to realize he was attracted to Shannon and that was even worse. A young girl! I spoke to him sharply. He insisted the interest was on her part, not his. But he was in and out of his room at odd hours in the night. I almost spoke to him again, then I decided time would solve any difficulties. That last day, I was again troubled. He told me he was delaying his departure, but he wouldn’t tell me why.” For an instant, her lips tightened. “Despite what Jack said, Margo’s daughter certainly spent a great deal of time with him. Jack always treated women as if their conquest was a sport.”

  I saw the flare of Kay’s eyes. Quickly, I reached out and gave her arm a sharp pinch. No matter how she felt about Jack, this wasn’t the moment to challenge his sister.

  Kay’s arm jerked.

  Evelyn didn’t react. Obviously her sight was not only blurred but was also myopic.

  Kay glanced at her arm, gave a tiny shake of her head. She gazed at her hands. Both rested lightly on the keyboard of her laptop. I feared she was wasting time thinking about her occupied hands and the momentary discomfort of her arm, refusing to accept that she had not, in an aberrant moment, pinched herself.

  I leaned down, hissed in her ear. “She said in one way there was no change. In what way was there a change?”

  Woodenly, Kay asked, “In what way was there a change in Jack’s demeanor?”

  “Saturday. The day he died.” Evelyn looked disdainful. “Make no mistake, I don’t believe in presentiments, despite the nonsense Laverne spouts. Jack certainly didn’t have otherworldly imaginings that he was doomed. Far from it. He looked tough and determined and deeply angry. Jack was terribly upset. I doubt anyone else was aware. But you are quite right. He was my brother and I knew. I saw a hardness in his eyes that I’d only seen twice before. Once when Virginia and Sallie died. Once when he told Dad he was leaving Adelaide. I went to his room and knocked. When he came to the door, I asked him what was wrong. He gave me an odd look and shook his head. ‘Nothing you can help, Evie. But thanks.’ He closed the door. That was the last personal conversation we had.”

  I whispered again in Kay’s ear.

  This time she took my instruction in stride. Without hesitation, she asked, “Did he renew old acquaintances in Adelaide?”

  Evelyn shrugged. “I have no idea who he saw when he was around town. Possibly you might ask Shannon.” Her smile was sardonic.

  Kay nodded. “I’ll talk to Shannon.” She glanced down at her notes, then, her voice encouraging, she said, “I suppose you and Jack had a great deal of catching up to do.”

  I nodded my unseen approval at Kay’s question.

  Evelyn’s milky eyes narrowed. “Jack left his family behind. The burden of caring for my father was left to me. Jack spent his life running away from his failures, from the death of his first wife, from the responsibility for Hume Oil, from his country. He was a great disappointment to our father.”

  “He spoke with affection for his father in an e-mail to me.”

  I thought Kay was generous in her interpretation of Jack’s comment about his father’s funeral.

  Slowly, Evelyn’s face softened. “I thank you for sharing that with me. In some respects”—her tone was grudging—“I believe Jack regretted his dismissal of his past. We had a very genial conversation one morning. He evinced great interest in some of the family heirlooms.” For the first time, she sounded enthusiastic. “We spent more than an hour walking the hallways, talking about some of the art our mother had collected. She was a woman of great refinement and taste. We have a Holbein, several Reynoldses, a Chase, a Metcalf, and two Rockwell paintings.” She made a spreading gesture with her hand. “And many others. Mother also collected Cherokee artworks. Jack was very attentive.”

  Kay smiled. “I’m glad you have that happy memory.”

  Evelyn took a quick breath. “Being Jack, he had to ruin the moment. He blamed me”—there was a quiver of fury in her voice—“for Laverne and Ronald Phillips. As I told him”—the words were harsh—“I do not control my brother’s widow. This is her home as well as mine. If she chooses to invite charlatans to share it with her, it isn’t my place to object.” Her thin lips pressed together, then, unexpectedly, flared in a grim smile. “Besides, fools deserve to reap what they sow.”

  Stone steps led down to a cavernous basement. Kay’s footsteps grated on the stairway.

  Shannon Taylor came around a pillar, clutching an armload of sheets. Golden brown hair framed an appealing round face with bright blue eyes, a snub nose, and a trace of dimples in smooth cheeks flushed from heat. She looked surprised and not pleased. She stared at Kay with no hint of friendliness.

  Kay’s face was kind. “I hoped you might have a moment to visit with me.”

  “I don’t know if that’s in my job description.” Her tone bordered on rudeness. “I’m the laundress today.”

  Kay walked nearer. “Let me help. Those look clean. I’ll fold.”

  Shannon shrugged. “They’re hot.”

  Kay strode around the pillar and moved to a dryer with an open door. She carried another mound of hot sheets to a folding table. “I didn’t know The Castle had such a huge basement.”

  “There’s a lot that the family and guests never see. Or probably even know about. Mom is in charge. Sh
e arranges for the cleaning service that comes twice a week and a landscaping company that does the grounds.”

  “Everything is certainly well kept. Your mother has done an excellent job.” Kay folded quickly, efficiently. “Evelyn suggested I visit with you. You know about the book I’m writing.”

  “Why talk to me?” Shannon’s voice was ragged. “What’s the point?”

  Kay’s voice was pleasant. “I hope you can tell me something about Jack’s last days, the people he saw, what he might have said about them.”

  Shannon whirled toward a heavy-duty washing machine, blindly picked up clothes from a basket, dropped them into the machine, added soap. “When he first came, he was so much fun. Then Mother told him to keep away from me. Like I was some kind of stupid kid. He was nice after that, but he avoided being alone with me. I know he liked me. He really did.” Tears streaked her smooth cheeks.

  Kay started a second stack of clean towels. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was gentle.

  Shannon’s face creased in hot, unreasoning anger. “Don’t patronize me. I know all about you. You were one of his old flames.” She emphasized the adjective, made it ugly. “Maybe you think he still cared about you. I can tell you he didn’t. I followed him Friday night. He sneaked out of the house.” She looked miserable and defiant. “I was watching the windows of his room, and when the lights went out, I waited by the side of the house. I thought he was coming out for his car. But he looked around and I could tell he didn’t want anyone to see him. Of course, he was sneaking. She’s a married woman. I guess that didn’t matter to him. He met her in the gazebo by the stream. I saw his face in the moonlight. He was angry. She paced up and down, up and down. I tried to get close enough to hear, but Diane’s old cocker spaniel came running up and yipping. They heard the noise and she came down the steps and ran toward the path to her house. I saw her in one of the garden lights. Then Saturday night at dinner, he called her Gwen as if the name meant nothing to him. She acted like she hardly knew him. But people don’t quarrel like that unless they are lovers.” She turned and ran sobbing toward the stairs.