Pecan Pies and Dead Guys

by Angie Fox

  The air around Jeannie chilled with the strength of her anger, and goose bumps rose on my arms.

  Her lip curled over wide, white teeth and her forehead creased with a frown. “He let her off with a warning after she lined his pockets. Absolutely disgusting. And then he went into the evidence locker and let his mistress wear my tiara before it was returned to me. She died on her way to a party wearing my tiara! She’s now flaunting it for eternity.” Jeannie turned her nose up and took a long drink. “But never at this bash.”

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I said, wary of the deepening chill. Angry ghosts could turn very dangerous very fast.

  “I don’t forgive easily,” she said, her eyes going coal black.

  Oh dear.

  I found myself wanting to apologize and I hadn’t even offended her.

  Jeannie waved a hand and the tension dissipated. “What’s done is done,” she said as the air warmed. “I don’t see Inspector De Clercq interrupting his afterlife to worry about justice for me.”

  Stealing wasn’t the same as murder, but I wasn’t about to point that out. “No one should get away with such blatant theft,” I agreed, rubbing my arms.

  She looked me up and down as if trying to decide whether I really cared. “I need to get back to the party,” she said, leading me through another arched doorway, toward the sounds of the crowd.

  “Lead the way,” I said. “I want to get a shot of the chandelier.” EJ would surely recognize that. In fact, I might get on better terms with Jeannie if she knew I had permission to be here. “Your niece, EJ, is the one who let me onto the property tonight.”

  She froze. Then turned.

  “EJ is here?” she asked, her voice small, her eyes welling up.

  “She’s not,” I said quickly, to avoid getting her hopes up any more than I had. “She’s living in New York, but she gave me permission to be on the property because she’d like to see you and the house remembered.”

  Jeannie pursed her lips and hastily wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m glad she remembers us.” She turned and continued down the servants’ hall. I rushed to follow and almost ran into her when she turned back to me, composed once more. Only her chin trembled ever so slightly as she asked, “You think you can end this?”

  “Yes,” I said. It was a statement as well as a promise.

  She considered me carefully. “If I were you, I’d take a closer look at Shane—Mr. Jordan,” she clarified. “Marjorie’s caught him sneaking away from her more than once, and it seems he always ends up in the menagerie.”

  “Did it happen last night as well?” I pressed.

  She shook her head slightly. “That I don’t know. But he’s got his hands in all kinds of nasty business, and he knew the judge well.” She closed her eyes briefly. “You’ll also find that nothing makes his upper lip stiffer than a visit from your inspector.”

  Interesting. “Anything in particular I should ask him? Maybe a question he hasn’t heard ninety times?”

  Jeannie smiled at that. “Just think quick. Shane’s a smart one.” She straightened to her full height, a good six inches taller than me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rein in my Zeus before he ignores his guests any longer.”

  I watched her go, her head held high like the goddess she portrayed. She turned the corner ahead, pasted on a smile, and walked into the party like she owned the place. I wondered what it would be like to live on such an estate, throw wild parties, and live like it was 1928.

  I supposed I’d never get closer to it than I was now.

  Glass shattered at the other end of the servants’ hall, just around the corner from where I stood. I jumped as gray, ghostly shards skittered in my direction. “What?” Marcus barked, his tone sharp, angry. “You don’t want to drink with me now, either?”

  “Get your hands off me,” Marjorie spat. “You’re drunk.”

  “Suddenly you care about a little liquor?” he mocked. “That’s a first. Well, rest assured, I won’t get too buzzed with a live girl around.”

  “Now you’re not even making sense,” Marjorie snapped. Glass crunched just around the corner, and I wondered if she was headed my way.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Marcus warned. “The only thing different about the party this year is the living, breathing blonde. I want you to stay away from her.”

  Interesting. Marcus had wanted to get closer to me last night—too close. And now he told Marjorie to steer clear. I wondered what had changed.

  “You want me to stay away from everyone,” Marjorie countered.

  “Yeah, well, this time, you’d better listen,” he growled. “Or I’ll make sure you do.”

  “Ouch. That hurts!”

  Sweet heaven. I started for them, not at all sure what I was going to do when I turned the corner.

  “Oh, sure!” she called, her voice warbling, collapsing into a sigh. “Disappear after you get the last word.”

  I halted, a breath short of the turn in the hallway. Shaking.

  Thank goodness she was safe, for now at least. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to dance with Marcus or pretend to have feelings for him.

  I hesitated, debating whether to confront her with what I’d witnessed. I’d like to offer comfort if I could. I’d also really like to know what that conversation was about.

  Then again, Marjorie might not welcome my interference. She was still one of my suspects, and it didn’t sound like Marjorie herself knew what her husband had meant. I ran a hand along the cold plaster wall. If I wanted to keep my eavesdropping a secret, now would be the time to skedaddle.

  Decision made.

  I clutched my cell phone and joined the party inside the grand entryway. Marcus was right—I was the biggest variable at this party in almost a century. And I’d learn what happened that night in 1928, with or without his help, or Jeannie Adair’s, or anyone else’s.

  The main entry held fewer partiers than the night before, probably because most of the revelers had moved the action outside.

  The decorations had changed entirely. Grecian columns outlined every door, and the hanging ferns and riotous bouquets of flowers on every surface gave the place a fresh, organic look. A younger gentleman dressed as Pan trotted by, complete with hairy legs and a pair of long curving horns on his head that reminded me of an old-timey opera diva.

  I took pictures of the room itself. Only my photographs showed a cracked marble floor, pedestals that held nothing but dust, and a cobwebby chandelier with nary a monkey in sight. I wondered how EJ would receive the photos, if she would be surprised at what had become of her aunt’s once-grand home.

  There was nothing to be done for it, I supposed. Unless these photos somehow moved EJ to return to the childhood retreat she’d left all those years ago and sink heaven knew how much into the place. I sighed. I wished she and the rest of Sugarland could see this place as I did.

  But I didn’t have time to fret about lost history. Not at the moment anyway. Not when I spotted my last suspect, Mr. Shane Jordan, at the foot of the stairs, in the exact same place I’d seen him last night.

  The diamond dealer leaned against the wall like he was holding it up while he and a small crowd listened to a woman in a long, almost glowing, crystal-covered gown sing a song about lost lovers.

  He was the only one who didn’t wear a costume. His suit was black, and so were his tie and shirt. The only distinctive thing about him was the enormous diamond ring he sported on his right hand. That hadn’t been there last night.

  Aha. That clinched it.

  I sidled up next to him. “Good evening, Hades,” I said. What could he be except the god of the underworld, who was also coincidentally the god of wealth?

  He glanced at me. “Not bad. You’re the first person to guess that tonight.” He took a sip from his martini. “And who are you supposed to be, sweetheart?”

  “Myself.”

  He laughed. “Ah, I always love new blood at an old party.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me. What�
�s a live girl like you doing at a dead man’s bash?”

  I met his gaze head-on. “I’m looking into the murder of Larry Knowles.”

  Mr. Jordan’s expression cooled even further. “What does it have to do with you?”

  “It’s a long story,” I told him.

  “I’ve got time,” he quipped.

  Yes, but I didn’t. We only had tonight and tomorrow to solve this.

  I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re a diamond dealer, right?”

  “Among other things.” He drew an olive out of his glass. “I also hand out advice on occasion to people who need it. So listen up, honey. Don’t dig into something that doesn’t concern you. You might attract the wrong kind of attention, and then?” He popped the olive into his mouth. “Next thing you know, you’re cut down by a vengeful god while still in your prime.”

  My pulse quickened. “Is that a threat?”

  He smirked as he chewed. “Scurry away now, Arachne. I’m trying to listen to the music here.”

  “Shaney.” A delicate arm looped around his as Marjorie came into view. A gold cuff wound up her bicep to her shoulder, and jeweled hearts dangled from it. “Don’t go frightening the girl, it’s rude. She’s just doing her job.”

  He grunted. “Her job doesn’t concern me.”

  “Such a grump.” Marjorie pressed a kiss to his cheek, then straightened up and looked at me. “Why don’t you come with me, sugar?” she said with a smile. “We can go have some girl talk.”

  “I’d like nothing better,” I said, irritating Shane Jordan by casting him a dazzling smile. He wasn’t going to intimidate me. Then I fell into step next to Marjorie and hightailed it out of there.

  I hadn’t expected to see her so quickly, especially after her husband had forbidden contact. It seemed Marjorie was quite the rebel, at least where Marcus’s interests were concerned. Good. That guy needed to learn he couldn’t boss her around.

  We eased out into the main hall and found a quiet spot behind a ghostly statue of Cupid. “Thanks for the smooth exit,” I said. “I didn’t want to show weakness around a man like that.”

  “Smart.” Marjorie lifted her champagne glass to her lips and took a sip. “Shaney’s not a bad guy, you know. That inspector buddy of yours gets him riled like nobody’s business.”

  “He’s not my buddy,” I said quickly.

  Marjorie gave me a commiserating look. “Treating you like a useless dame, is he?”

  “You could say that.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I know the type. They love to bark orders, but they never listen to a word you have to say. Then they wonder why they get no respect.” She shook her head. “That’s why you’ve got to love yourself first.” She indicated her outfit, consisting of a long dress ruched at the waist, a sparkling heart-shaped pendant, and another one to match it on a pin holding up her hair. “Aphrodite, goddess of love. Who better to look after herself?”

  I was sorry she felt so alone, but after hearing Marcus in the hall, I didn’t blame her. “Some guys are good,” I assured her.

  “I saw you taking pictures,” Marjorie said, changing the subject. “Jeannie said they’re for EJ.”

  “Her niece,” I said. “Did you know her?” I asked. “Wait. Of course you did. EJ said she came here all the time when she was growing up.”

  Marjorie deposited her empty champagne glass on a nearby plinth. “She called me Aunt Marge,” she said, with a wry twist to her lips. “Made me sound like an old lady.” She pulled out a cigarette and fixed it to her holder. “Do you think EJ will ever come back?”

  “She might when she sees my pictures,” I said. “If she’s well enough to travel, that is.” First Jeannie and now Marjorie seemed to truly miss the Adairs’ niece. I hoped my pictures would make her want to come back to Sugarland, or at least remember it more fondly. “EJ told me how much she loved her summers here.”

  “You should take a picture of the grand staircase,” she said, walking me back to the foyer. “She used to like to slide down the banister. Nearly gave Graham a heart attack.” Her laugh sounded like bells. “He’s always been the overprotective sort.”

  I took several pictures while Marjorie told me stories about EJ sneaking baby ducks from the pond into her bath; EJ naming an entire litter of kittens “Marge,” even the boys; EJ sneaking into the guest rooms during parties and eating the bedtime chocolates off the pillows.

  I stopped taking pictures. “You mean guests stayed here?”

  Marjorie took a drag of her cigarette. “Naturally, dear. This is a house party. Not everyone could fit, of course, but—”

  “Was Larry staying here?”

  The inspector hadn’t mentioned it, but then again, he didn’t tell me much. I wondered if I could learn anything from the belongings Larry left behind.

  Marjorie frowned at something over my shoulder, and I turned to find Inspector De Clercq and a very bored looking Frankie. De Clercq heaved a put-upon sigh. “I have already pursued this line of questioning.”

  “Exhaustively,” Frankie muttered. De Clercq ignored him.

  The inspector straightened his tie. “Larry Knowles was not staying in the Adair mansion. He lived less than four miles away. We swept his home and found nothing. You’re wasting your time.”

  “Larry came here with my buddy Fern,” Marjorie said, speaking to De Clercq but looking at me, her eyes full of mischief. “They were sharing a room here the night he died.”

  Inspector De Clercq flipped open his notebook with a vengeance. “You failed to mention this before, Mrs. Phillips.”

  “I don’t like you,” she said pointedly. “Besides, you didn’t ask me about Fern,” she added. “She went to the light a dozen years ago, and nobody’s seen her since.”

  De Clercq stiffened. “I talked to her before she ascended.”

  “Apparently not enough,” Marjorie mused. “Oh, it’s probably not your fault,” she assured him. “Who’d want to volunteer anything to a stuffed shirt like you?”

  De Clercq frowned at me. I simply shrugged.

  “Trick is,” Marjorie continued, “it’s hard to go up there during this party. Whoever’s got a hold of this place, they don’t want us messing around up there.”

  “That’s true.” De Clercq frowned. “I’ve not been able to go upstairs.”

  So maybe he needed a live girl after all.

  “Do you know who the dominant ghost is?” I asked Marjorie.

  “No clue, sugar,” she said. “But whoever it is, they’re not playing games. They don’t want the living or the dead anywhere near that room. I don’t think I’d even make it past the landing.” She glanced toward the grand staircase. “That’s as far as anyone ever gets, from what I’ve seen.”

  “I made it to the hall,” De Clercq said, “before I was forced to turn back.”

  “It’s bad.” Marjorie shivered. “It’s the closest thing to Hell I’ve ever experienced. Makes you feel like you’re dying all over again, trying to move around up there. It sucks at you…eats at you.” She stared at me, her face pinched and humorless. “You don’t want to go up there, Verity. Trust me.”

  “Believe me, I trust you,” I assured her. At least on that.

  But it didn’t seem like I had a choice.

  Chapter 12

  I stepped away from the group, and De Clercq seemed glad to see me go. Good. I doubted he’d approve of the live girl going off on her own to investigate, and I didn’t need any trouble from him.

  No doubt, I’d find enough of it upstairs.

  “Frankie,” I said, ushering him over, thankful for once that the gangster was easily distracted. “I’m going to check out the second floor.”

  His eyes widened. “Are you nuts?” he hissed, trying to keep it down. He didn’t have to. The room was plenty loud on its own. He grinned at a passing wood nymph. The gangster had a sixth sense when it came to keeping up appearances while attempting something nefarious. “I’m not going up there,” he said, eyes hard, t
he smile still pasted on his face. “You heard what the lady said. It’s bad news.”

  “I get what you’re saying. I do,” I insisted when it appeared he didn’t believe me. It wasn’t like I wanted to test the temper of a murdering dominant ghost who had kept his or her crime hidden for almost a century. But if I was the only one capable of getting past the dominant ghost’s barrier, I didn’t have a choice. “It might be different for me as a living person.” I hoped. “You don’t have to go,” I added, much to his relief. He covered an outward whoosh of air and a sagging of the shoulders by straightening his tie and assuming his resting ticked-off gangster face. “You stay down here and create a distraction.”

  He cocked his chin. “I have been known to take part in such pursuits from time to time,” he offered casually, as if he hadn’t pulled half the bank jobs from here to Chicago in his day. If there was anything Frankie loved, it was a treacherous, ill-planned plot. The corner of his mouth ticked up. “What do you need me to do?”

  “You decide,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret those words. “As long as everyone, including the dominant ghost, is looking at you and not me while I climb those stairs and sneak up to the second floor.”

  “It’ll have to be creative,” he said, by way of warning. Frankie gestured around us at the laughing ladies, drunk men, and increasingly indecent-looking costumes. The band played louder than ever, and through the front door, I could see the flare of Graham’s lightning bolts bright against the dark sky.

  “I leave it to your good judgment,” I told him.

  He merely grinned. He was going to remember I said that. “Let’s get cracking.” He clapped his hands together. “I’ll take this party up a notch or three.”