Ghost Walk

by Laurel Pace

  "That's okay," Dani assured her. "I'm sorry I slipped up on you." As she glanced around the walled garden, her hands involuntarily chafed her arms as if to banish the insidious chill seeping from the aged bricks.

  "Shall I tell Miss Lawes you're here?" The housekeeper paused on her way to the door.

  "Miss Lawes?"

  The housekeeper must have caught the look of surprise on Dani's face. "Yes, ma'am. She came by today to help Miss Sapphira tidy up Mr. Whyte's study, go through all his papers and important things, I suppose." The dubious look she cast toward the house suggested that she was happy enough to stay out of the secretary's way.

  "Please don't disturb her on my account. Actually, I came here to talk with you, if you have a few minutes. About Saturday night," Dani added carefully. She studied the woman's full face, trying to gauge her reaction.

  The housekeeper's thick fingers flexed uneasily around the broom handle. "So many policemen have been by here, wanting to talk about all that. It's like nobody is willing to let you put those awful things out of your mind and start trying to heal. Poor Mr. Whyte!" She sighed heavily, shaking her head as if its weight were almost too much for her.

  "I know what you mean. I haven't been able to think of anything but this tragedy. But that's precisely why I need to talk with you, to see if I can make some sense out of what happened." Dani swallowed and waited for the housekeeper to respond. When the woman only continued to regard her with stoic forbearance, she decided to try her luck. "When you summoned Richardson to take a phone call, I was with him on the piazza. You remember, don't you?"

  The woman nodded with effort. "Yes, of course, I do."

  "Do you recall anything about the person who phoned, anything he said?" Dani hesitated, her eyes following the tense lines of the woman's face, before she played her hunch. "And did he by any chance mention a pin?"

  The housekeeper's frown carved deep grooves into her brow. "A pin?"

  "Yes, you know, like a piece of jewelry," Dani prompted. "Actually, the item I had in mind was a little stickpin fashioned in the shape of a boat."

  Wielding the broom as if it were a weapon, the housekeeper took a swipe at a weed protruding from between two of the pavers. "No, ma'am. He didn't say anything about any pin, that's for sure. But I remember exactly what he did say, mostly because it seemed kind of odd, I guess."

  To curb her growing anticipation, Dani forced herself to inhale deeply as she waited for the housekeeper to continue.

  The woman rested her hands atop the end of the broom handle. "He said, 'I would like to speak to Mr. Whyte. If he isn't taking the little drama too seriously, that is.'"

  "I suppose he meant the reenactment," Dani suggested slowly, but like the housekeeper, she found the comment strange.

  "I reckon so. But Mr. Whyte was certainly never the kind to put stock in a foolish old ghost story." The housekeeper's rounded shoulders rose and fell as she shifted her hold on the broom. "With all that's gone on, though, you'd almost think bad spirits had been at work in this place." Her eyes traveled cautiously to the balcony, as if they feared what they might glimpse there.

  "Did you by chance see Richardson while he was talking on the phone or afterward?" Dani asked, but the woman was already shaking her head.

  "I closed the library door after him when he took the call. That was the last time I saw him alive," the housekeeper added ominously.

  Dani was pondering this last grim bit of information when a figure loomed in the doorway, directly behind the housekeeper.

  "Do we have a visitor, Mona?"

  The startled housekeeper whirled, stepping back to give Dani an unobstructed view of Bea Lawes standing in the open French doors. In contrast to the emotional disarray she had exhibited in the chapel the previous day, the secretary now appeared tightly composed, her small face fixed in a look of permanent self-control. With her red, bow-shaped lips and precisely bobbed hair, Bea reminded Dani of an aging silent-film star. Although she could not have stood more than an inch or two over five feet, her trim, compact body blocked the entrance as effectively as an armor-clad sentry. Her light blue eyes grazed Dani disdainfully, as if she were an unwelcome intruder.

  Motivated in part by sympathy for the bewildered housekeeper, Dani hastened to mollify Bea. "I'm Dani Blake." When the woman made no response, she went on. "I was a friend of Richardson's."

  "I know who you are."

  Dani started at Bea's hostile tone. For someone who had only met her a few seconds ago, the woman seemed to harbor a distinct dislike for her. Reminding herself that they had all been under a tremendous strain, Dani made another attempt to crack the icy blue glare.

  "I'm sorry if I stopped by at an inconvenient time, but I wanted to talk with Mrs. Sams about.. .about Saturday night." No sooner were the words past her lips than Dani regretted her candor.

  "We've had police detectives swarming this house for the past three days, Miss Blake, with reporters trailing behind them, scavenging for lurid details. Every one with his endless questions, stirring things up, making trouble!" Bea's voice rose, revealing the fault lines in her ironclad restraint. "Hasn't enough trouble been visited on this house already?"

  Dani was taken aback by Bea's rude—and unnervingly irrational—behavior, but she saw no point in defending herself. Better to take leave as gracefully as possible, before Bea's ire escalated any further. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs. Lawes. Thank you, Mrs. Sams." She managed a courteous smile for the housekeeper before retreating through the garden gate.

  Silence clung like damp moss to the brick walls along the alley, a quiet so oppressive, so tangible, she could almost smell its stagnant odor. Dani was relieved when she reached the street. She had not been prepared for the unpleasant encounter with Bea Lawes, and the woman's unthinking anger had upset her. Then, too, returning to Richardson's house had been almost guaranteed to unsettle her still-shaky equilibrium.

  Dani was walking toward her van when she paused to glance back at the house. What she saw jolted her to a halt. It was the briefest flutter, a vague shadow on the edge of her vision, an impression so ephemeral, most people would have called it imaginary. But as she stared up at the balcony window, Dani knew she had not imagined the white form passing behind the curtain.

  THROUGH THE FILTER of the sheer curtain, Sapphira watched the young woman unlock the blue van and then climb into the driver's seat. As her eyes followed the van's progress along King Street, she absently twisted the large amethyst ring, chafing the gold band against the gnarled knuckle that held it anchored to her finger. For once in her life, Sapphira Whyte felt control slipping away from her, and that unfamiliar state of affairs filled her with an anxiety she could earlier only have imagined.

  Stepping back from the window, she glanced around the mahogany-paneled walls of her nephew's study. Sapphira had never felt entirely comfortable in this house. Unlike the Whyte family home she had occupied for over eighty-five years, Richardson's imposing mansion had sheltered a hodgepodge of previous owners: out-of-towners, merchants and, briefly, a widow of less-than-sterling repute. All had left traces that even the most zealous redecorating effort could not obliterate. The recent invasion of strangers had further disrupted the atmosphere. The aura of policemen with cameras and fingerprint powder and uncouth voices still hung in the air like a stale odor.

  They weren't safe anymore, even in the private bastion of their own homes, Sapphira reflected. The police had even dared to invade the Whyte estate, descending on the venerable Meeting Street house like an alien army. They had bullied the servants and tried to intimidate her in their quest for information that was nobody's business but the Whytes'. Only by sheer strength of will had she prevented them from questioning Adele, as if that poor, dazed creature hadn't suffered enough already!

  She should have known that the Blake girl would turn up; only wishful thinking had prevented her from expecting the inevitable. They had no one but Richardson to blame for drawing her into their midst, of course. A wave
of rancor toward her deceased nephew swept through Sapphira. She had sacrificed so much for him, raised him as if he were her own, but he never would listen to her—at least, not where anything that truly mattered was concerned. Now he was gone, leaving her to finish his unsettled business for him.

  Sapphira parted the gauzy curtain to inspect the street below as if she needed to assure herself that the girl was really gone. Sighing, she let the curtain fall back into place and then carefully smoothed the translucent folds. Dani Blake would be back; there was no use pretending she wouldn't be. But next time, Sapphira vowed, she would be ready for her.

  IF DANI HAD BEEN fortunate enough to find a parking spot close to Richardson's house, her luck had run out by the time she reached the busy Market Street intersection. Any hopes she had of finding a convenient place to leave the van while she purchased coffee were quickly dashed by the throngs of cars lining the street. A brisk walk would let her work off some tension, she told herself as she turned into a small public parking lot not far from the Old Exchange Building. The unsettling confrontation with Bea Lawes had abraded her already frayed nerves; that someone had been watching her from the upstairs window only exacerbated her discomfiture. Even her conversation with Mona Sams had raised questions instead of answering them.

  Canfield's Coffee and Tea Emporium was located near the two-block-long market arcade. Skirting the pack of ambling tourists blocking the sidewalk, Dani decided to take a shortcut through one of the pedestrian corridors running beneath the Old Exchange Building. Inside the passage, the air was still and cool in sharp contrast to the sun-warmed street. Dani loosened the moss green cotton sweater she had draped over her shoulders and wriggled her arms into the sleeves.

  A handful of sightseers clustered near the glass display cases containing historical information about the Old Exchange, but for the most part, the corridor was deserted. A few of the small shops interspersed along the passage still had Out To Lunch signs dangling from their entrance doorknobs. Dani paused in front of an antique jewelry store to inspect the glittering wares exhibited behind the thick plate glass. If only she'd been allowed to keep the pin Richardson had given her! A jeweler accustomed to buying estates could have helped her identify the pin's origin, perhaps shedding light on Richardson's final wish at the same time. Of course, the police had probably already traced the pin, but the likelihood of Detective Butler sharing any knowledge with her ranked second only to hell's freezing over.

  Dani's eyes roved the display, vainly searching for anything resembling a tiny yacht. She had been studying the array of jewelry for some time before she noticed the reflection superimposed on the showcase. When she did she gasped and then quickly sucked in her breath. Wheeling around, Dani stared up at Ken McCabe.

  "You startled me!"

  "I'm sorry." His smile was genial, but not in the least apologetic. She must have looked more annoyed than unnerved, for he hastened to add, "I waved to you from across the street, but you didn't see me, so I decided to try to catch up with you in here."

  "Well, you did." Dani realized her comeback must have sounded rather abrupt, but for some reason, she doubted that he had made much of an effort to hail her from the street. like McCabe's appearance at Richardson's funeral, the coincidental meeting in the arcade seemed highly suspect.

  Ken didn't act at all fazed by her less-than-open-armed welcome. "I'm looking for a restaurant in this part of town. Maybe you can help me. Any idea where I can find Evan-gelina's? Someone tipped me off that they might be hiring a new bartender."

  "Evangelina's is near the big hotel complex, back that way." Dani had to maneuver her hand carefully to point, to avoid touching McCabe. He was standing so close to her, she felt almost pinioned to the heavy glass window behind her. "I'm surprised you didn't see it from across the street," she couldn't resist adding.

  Ken glanced the length of her outstretched arm and clucked under his breath. "I guess I'm not as well oriented to Charleston as I had thought."

  It was a perfectly acceptable explanation. He was a newcomer, and the heart of old Charleston was a veritable maze of narrow alleys and quirky eighteenth-century streets. Still, there was something about his excuse that seemed almost too plausible, too smooth—something that kept Dani on her guard.

  She retracted her arm, again circumventing one of the well-defined shoulders that hemmed her in beside the jewelry store. She glanced at her watch and then scooted to one side, stepping around McCabe. "Oh, dear! I've got to be going."

  "Where are you headed?" McCabe didn't hesitate to fall in step with her.

  Dani told herself that only the rankest paranoid would bristle at such an innocuous question. "I have to buy some supplies for a party I'm catering tomorrow evening."

  "Need a bartender?"

  "No, I'm afraid I already have one lined up." Dani picked up her pace slightly and then caught herself. If she wanted to slough off Ken McCabe, she would have to think of a more clever strategy than outrunning him.

  Ken snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Well, I hope you'll keep me in mind for the future."

  "So you're going to be staying in Charleston?" Dani asked, neatly avoiding a response to his request.

  Ken's dark blue eyes traveled up to the corridor's arched ceiling. "Yeah, I think I'm going to stick around and see what happens." His gaze drifted down the time-weathered walls, finally settling on Dani with the graceful precision of an eagle grasping its prey.

  "Good." Dani's frown contradicted her comment, and she hastily adjusted her face to a more neutral expression. If she looked at the matter realistically, she was being silly to get so uptight with McCabe. His barrage of questions at the funeral had irritated her, but he had been very kind and supportive on Saturday night when she had needed it most. And if he was one of the last people to see Richardson Whyte alive, well, so was she. "Where did you move here from anyway?" she asked in a more cordial tone.

  Ken took a deep breath. "I've lived all over the place." Dani waited for him to say more, anything to augment that pitifully ambiguous offering.

  As if he sensed Dani's perplexity, Ken chuckled. "My last semipermanent roost was in Panama City. Ever been down there?" .

  Dani shook her head.

  "It's nice, especially in the off-season. And as you can imagine, a good place for bartenders. I worked Duffy's, The Sandpiper, Coconut Joe's, all the good places."

  "Why did you leave, if I may ask?"

  McCabe shrugged. "Boredom. Wanderlust. An itch to try something new." His wide mouth curved into a self-deprecating grin. "I guess that sounds pretty shiftless to an established businesswoman like you."

  "No, not really." Dani allowed him a noncommittal smile. She sensed that Ken's last remark, along with his ingenuous grin, was calculated to disarm her—a task that, under other circumstances, would not have been too difficult to achieve. He was very attractive, she had to admit, with the lean, athletic good looks and relaxed manner she found especially appealing in a man. All the more reason not to ignore my more reliable instincts, Dani warned herself.

  They had reached the end of the pedestrian corridor and were facing the narrow lane separating the Exchange from the enclosed market stalls. As Dani prepared to cross the street, she turned to Ken. "If you're still interested in Evangelina's, you're going the wrong way."

  Ken pulled himself up short at the edge of the curb. "So I am. Well, thanks for the directions. And for your company." His hand nicked his brow in a jaunty salute.

  "Good luck," Dani called to him as she cut a diagonal path across the street to the coffee shop. A delivery truck pulling away from the curb blocked her view of McCabe; when she again surveyed the street corner through Canfield's etched glass door, he had disappeared.

  An itinerant bartender with a propensity for amateur sleuthing was the least of her worries Dani told herself later that day as she stored her purchases in the Moveable Feast's pantry and then began to prepare appetizers for the upcoming dinner party. The murder of a close famil
y friend was enough to undermine anyone's sense of security, not least of all when the perpetrator could easily have been one of the victim's guests. The thought still made her shiver as she slid the last tray of homemade dinner rolls into the kitchen's big commercial refrigerator before heading home for the evening.

  Normally, Dani regarded her well-kept condo as a haven from the pressures of a highly competitive business. Tonight, however, the quiet that normally soothed her nerves seemed to amplify the troubling questions plaguing her. She selected a few CDs of soft background music to fill the void while she nibbled the two slices of leftover quiche she had saved for dinner. As she tidied up the kitchen afterward, she toyed with the idea of phoning one of her friends. Several of her boon companions had called to express sympathy and offer their support. Joan Bradley, her long-time tennis partner, had even invited her to spend the next few days at her house, in case Dani didn't want to be alone.

  As she glanced over the list of people whose numbers were programmed into her phone, however, Dani could imagine the well-meaning counsel her friends would offer. "Just try to put those horrible memories out of your mind." "You wouldn't believe modern investigative technology. The police are certain to solve the case." "Maybe you ought to take a few days' vacation, get away from it all for a while." No, anyone who hadn't shared her experience would be incapable of understanding her present frame of mind. The telephone number penciled in a bold hand on the refrigerator's notepad reminded Dani of the one person she knew who had not only gone through Saturday evening's nightmare, but would also be willing to talk about it with her. And she was not going to call Ken McCabe.

  Dani was riffling through the collection of CDs stored in the bookcase when she chanced to notice a leather-bound volume sandwiched between two art books. In her excitement, she dropped the disc she had just selected to tug the photo album out of the shelves. So much time had passed since she had leafed through the black paper pages, had looked at the scallop-edged snapshots and yellowed newspaper clippings. She supposed she had avoided the album in part because it had awakened such bittersweet memories for her mother. Only as a teen had Dani realized that the numerous gaps between pictures were her mother's handiwork; after Dan Blake's death, his widow had excised every memento of her lost husband's passion for sailing.