by Anne Frasier
“We want to keep your face off the five o’clock news,” Hoffman said.
CHAPTER 32
Elise hoped to make it to the plantation before dark, but that didn’t happen. Now she turned into the lane and pulled to an abrupt halt, headlight beams illuminating cars parked on both sides of the narrow dirt road. The plantation house wasn’t in view, but she could see a glow of lights where the building hid like some alien spaceship over the horizon. She backed up, then squeezed her Saab into the only parking spot left. She cut the engine, grabbed her cane, and quickly exited the vehicle, approaching the house with stealth.
As the distance fell away, she heard a shout followed by a scream. Instinctively she reached into her messenger bag for her gun, then paused. No, a woman laughed.
Music was playing. Blaring, actually, windows open, rectangles of light falling across the ground.
Moving faster now, Elise pounded up the wooden steps and across the porch. Through the front window, she saw people holding wineglasses. Men and women, talking and laughing. She opened the front door and slipped inside, the heat from the packed bodies hitting her like a wall. The noise of conversation was deafening, and nobody noticed her. Melinda? Having a party at her mother’s house?
Elise squeezed between conversations. “Excuse me. Coming through.”
It was like the apartment scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s where the room was filled body-to-body, although the plantation house wasn’t nearly as bright. The living room was lit mainly by candles and a few low-watt bulbs beneath red lampshades. People bobbing up and down in an attempt to crowd dance.
“Oh, Elise!”
She turned to see Anastasia weaving her way through the throng to finally reach her niece, her body pressing against Elise as someone jostled her from behind. “You have to try the stuffed mushrooms. They’re wonderful.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m having a party, dear. Obvious, isn’t it?”
“But you’re supposed to be dead.”
“This is my I’m-not-really-dead party. I decided if I’m going to prison for my little fib, then I’m having a party before I leave. So I called people, and it was all impromptu, but isn’t it great? Just like the old days.”
She was right about that. With a lot more people.
The scent of marijuana wafted in their direction.
Anastasia caught her alarmed expression, and said, “Please, Elise. Just tonight. Pretend you aren’t a cop. Just have fun. Here—” She handed Elise her full glass of wine. “Let me get you a plate. So much good food. Everybody brought something. Oh, I missed this. I will miss this. But the place wasn’t the same when I was dead. I couldn’t have my parties. I couldn’t have the music and company. I was so lonely even though Melinda came when she could. I need people around me.”
Elise didn’t want to vocalize what she was thinking: that Anastasia would have plenty of people around when she went to prison. And that immediately made her incredibly sad. This woman in prison. Really, what had she done? She hadn’t killed anybody. Oh, wait. Elise took a big gulp of wine. Maybe not killed, but Anastasia had been somewhat of an accomplice.
Anastasia smiled and squeezed her arm, then leaned close and shouted in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here! I have to mingle, but try to have some fun. You deserve it, my dear.” In a swirl of India-print fabric, she vanished into the mob.
A nudge on Elise’s arm had her looking to see a sixty-something-year-old man offering her a joint. She shook her head and dove toward the kitchen area. She was hungry.
And Anastasia was right. What a spread.
She put her cane aside while she filled a plate with lasagna, pulled chicken, and various salads. Her wineglass was empty, so she refilled it from one of the numerous open bottles on the countertop.
She drank the wine so fast that her face felt hot, and her limbs had that warm glow that only wine or a fever could generate. The kitchen wasn’t as crowded as the living area, and she found a corner where she put down her glass and attacked the food with a fork.
Delicious.
Beyond the sea of humans, she saw lights moving outside. Anastasia’s famous lanterns. People were carrying them, moving toward the river and the dock. Several lanterns hung from trees.
A bittersweet feeling of nostalgia washed over Elise as she found herself embracing the moment, just letting it flow over her. Anastasia’s time machine . . . And really, it hadn’t been all that long ago that nights like this were the norm, and Anastasia’s parties were the place to be.
Someone called her name, and Elise turned to see Melinda standing there, a beer bottle in her hand, a guilty expression on her face.
“I’m sorry about everything,” Melinda said. “I feel so bad.” She was talking fast, as if expecting Elise to turn and walk away. Or, at the very least, slap her silly. “I tried to talk Mom out of the whole insurance thing, but you know how she is. She’s such a force. How can anybody tell her no? And I have to admit that I didn’t try all that hard because I didn’t want to lose the plantation either.”
She took a long swallow of beer, fortifying herself. “I know there’s no excuse, but I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it. And I’m sorry about the pool. I was bringing food over at night, and you know how Mom likes to swim.”
What did a person say in a situation like this? The girl was looking for some sort of absolution, and Elise knew how persuasive Anastasia could be. She actually felt sympathy for Melinda. How could any child stand up to a mother like hers? “It’s okay.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Melinda beamed, gave Elise’s arm a squeeze, then turned and practically skipped away to reunite with an equally beautiful young man who seemed to be waiting for her.
With a sigh, Elise put her unfinished plate aside, filled her glass again, and moved through the crowd and out the back door. She picked up a lantern, left there for just that purpose, and, with the aid of her cane, followed the stone steps down the hillside, to the dock and river.
She thought about what Strata Luna had said earlier that day. About right and wrong, about the need to do things even if they didn’t fall within the law. Both she and David had wanted to end Tremain’s life. But they didn’t. If they had, a child would still be alive. And years ago, a man had attacked Elise on a night very much like this night. And someone had killed him. And saved Elise.
She passed a hand over her forehead in an attempt to erase her confusion. She’d always clung to the law. Always. But was Strata Luna right? Was Anastasia right?
Her own father had been known for working outside the law, exercising his own brand of justice. Maybe he’d been right too. Maybe she was wrong.
“More wine?”
A man about her age stood with a bottle in his hand.
She smiled and held out her glass. He filled it, and they began to talk. And it was nice. He had no idea who she was. She could be anybody. Not a cop. And the boy who was now lying in the morgue? She would try to forget about him, just for the night. Just until tomorrow.
Someone shouted. That was followed by a loud splash and a shriek. People were swimming in the river. In November. Pulling off their clothes and jumping in, even though the temperature was what? Sixty?
“How about a swim?” the man who didn’t really know her asked.
Her initial impulse was to say no. Then she thought, What the hell? “Why not?”
She tossed her cane and messenger bag aside, and shrugged out of her jacket and blouse.
“Awesome ink.”
She glanced over her shoulder, as if able to see her back. “Thanks.” Then she reached for the button of her slacks, unfastening, unzipping. She was ready to shuck them down her thighs when a male voice came out of the blackness beyond the lantern.
“Elise?”
An all-too-familiar voice. “David?”
He stepped out of the dark and stared at her as if seeing a stranger who looked like his partner. “No wonder you didn’t want to come to my place.”
She pulled up her pants, buttoning, zipping. “You go ahead,” she told the man who’d asked her if she wanted to swim.
“Everything cool here?” He looked from Elise to David.
“Fine.”
“Just checking.” He walked away, tugging his T-shirt over his head as he went.
“What the hell is going on?” David’s words came more as a statement than a question. He pointed over his shoulder. “There are naked people in the pool. Then I come out here, and—” He stopped, still trying to process. “You could have told me about the party,” he said, sounding hurt. “And that guy . . . Who was that guy? I didn’t know you were seeing anybody. Where the hell did he come from?”
She picked up her shirt and slipped it back on. “I don’t know who he is. I just met him.”
“There must be a couple hundred people here. I didn’t even know you knew that many people. I didn’t even know you knew people at all.” He turned back in the direction of the house to stare at the lights. Music was blaring. Something retro and bluesy and druggy. “It’s like the sixties here. It’s like Woodstock.”
“It’s kind of a going-away party,” Elise said, buttoning her shirt.
He swung back around. “For who?”
At that very moment, her aunt spotted them and came gliding across the grass, zeroing in on David. “Hello.” The tone of her voice said she found him extremely attractive.
“The party is for . . . Gloria, here,” Elise ad-libbed, grabbing her jacket, messenger bag, and cane.
“You’re adorable,” Anastasia told David. “How do you feel about older women?”
“I think they’re groovy.”
Elise laughed.
“I don’t think I’m cool enough to be here,” David said, glancing around. “Where are you going?” he asked Anastasia. “Elise said this was a going-away party.”
“On a kind of spiritual journey,” Anastasia said.
David nodded as if he understood.
Elise’s aunt floated off, and David said, “Want to introduce me to some of your friends?”
“Maybe later,” Elise said. “What are you doing here, David?”
“I was worried about you. Remember telling me you would let me know as soon as you were back in town? That was hours ago.”
She gave herself a mental smack on the forehead. “Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you just say you were having a party?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you aren’t coming back to town tonight?”
“I’ll be fine here. All these people. No way would Tremain get away with anything in a crowd this size.”
“Or he could blend pretty easily,” David said. “In the dark. Everybody wasted.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about that. And you’re always telling me I need to have some fun.”
He let out a breath—a sound of resignation. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Would you like to go swimming first?”
“No, I don’t want to go swimming. I don’t swim.”
“Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m just . . . confused. None of this makes sense.”
“I was just thinking . . . I don’t know. Maybe we should all live our lives as if we were going to prison. What would you do if you were going to prison tomorrow?”
“I’d probably hire a damn good lawyer and file an appeal.”
She laughed.
“Do you remember that article I showed you a few months ago?” David asked. “About the scientist who claimed that toxoplasmosis in cat poop could actually change the behavior of people?”
“You’re the one with the cat.”
“I thought maybe you got a little too close to the litter box,” he said.
“There’s nothing wrong with having some fun. I almost died not long ago. That changes a person’s perspective.”
“There’s fun, and then there’s out of character. I have to go, Elise. I couldn’t find a place to park, so I’m blocking the lane. I’ll see you in the morning.” He looked at her with such intensity and annoyance that she wanted to kiss him and laugh at him at the same time.
He made an irritated sound, and turned to leave.
He was adorable, Elise decided.
“Wait,” Elise said. “Don’t go away mad.”
“You’re drunk. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just a little unsettling since I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I’ve been thinking.” She wanted to touch him, but she stopped herself. “Strata Luna was right. That day in the hospital. We should have killed Tremain. It was just the two of us there. Just us. We should have done it. You and me.”
“I know.” He nodded solemnly. “I have to go. Be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiled a kind of sad smile. “Helluva party.”
He left.
She wished he’d stayed. She thought about the mojo, torn, scattered, her name paper shredded into pieces and stuffed into a corner of her suitcase. For a few moments she thought about putting it back together. For longer moments she wished she hadn’t found it the other day.
Sometimes it was better to not know what was under the pillow. Or who was hiding upstairs. Or what was in the trunk. All knowledge that didn’t help her, that didn’t really move her life forward. Instead, it tripped her up.
Strata Luna had been right about Tremain. Maybe she was right about David too.
Long after David left and the party was winding down, when the day to come was closer than the day left behind, Elise and Anastasia sat in chairs on the front porch, telling people good-bye as they left.
“I’m sorry I blew your cover,” Elise said.
Anastasia waved a ringed hand. “I was tired of being dead anyway. You were right. It was a bad idea.”
“At least you got to come back from the dead.”
They both looked into the distance, listening to the birds singing in the dark, watching the sky turn a lighter shade of black.
“Yeah,” Anastasia said. “That was fun.”
Back at Mary of the Angels, David couldn’t sleep. The party. Elise. Not that it hadn’t been cool, and not that it hadn’t been fun, but, as he’d told Elise, it was out of character. And while they were in the middle of this case.
He grabbed his laptop and got back into bed, pillows propped behind him. With the glow of the screen almost blinding in contrast to the blackness of the room, he did an Internet search for funerals that had taken place in Chatham County over the past few months and came up with an Anastasia Green. An image search brought up several photos of the woman from the party. Elise’s dead aunt.
“What the hell are you up to, Elise?” he said.
Instead of trying to sleep, because who the hell could sleep now, he put on his running clothes and running shoes, and hit the streets as birds announced the predawn.
He solved a lot of things when he was running. But today, no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t come up with an answer. Elise’s aunt was alive, which must have meant she’d faked her own death. Insurance? Maybe. But then some people wanted to vanish for other reasons. After seeing the party last night, David would guess vanishing was no longer a part of her agenda. And Elise. Was Elise in on it? Had she been in on it from the beginning?
He was confused as hell. The worst part of the whole deal? His partner, someone he should be able to trust, was lying to him.
CHAPTER 33
When Elise arrived at the office the next day, David was waiting with a glass of water and Advil.
Wordlessly she plucked the pills from his
palm, tossed them into her mouth, and washed them down. Then she eased herself into her chair to finish putting together her report for the debriefing.
Not only was she hungover, she’d gotten no sleep after the party. She and Anastasia had stayed up talking, but Elise could at least relax knowing her aunt would be staying with Melinda for a few days while they found a good lawyer to advise them on how best to proceed.
“How to handle returning from the dead isn’t something that’s easily answered with an Internet search,” Anastasia had said.
By noon Elise was feeling almost human, and by two o’clock, as she handed out her prepared material in the downstairs meeting room, all remnants of her hangover were gone.
“Here you’ll find a more thorough report of my time spent with Atticus Tremain,” she said. “I didn’t cover everything, but some of what happened to me is nobody’s business.” She spoke those words without looking at Major Hoffman, who stood imposingly near the door. “Someday I might choose to talk about it, or I might not. But let me say here and now, the information I left out has no bearing on this case. I didn’t supply you with an hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute timeline. What I have supplied you with is information that might help us find Tremain. I know some of you have been concerned about me, and I thank you for that. But I’m back. I’m one hundred percent, and I want to catch this man.”
People settled into their seats, paper was shuffled, and heads were bent as they studied the material. If this were a high-school classroom, Avery, Mason, and Gould would be the vagrants lounging in the back row, while outside, from the vicinity of the cemetery, came the sounds of children playing.
“The material in the handout is pretty self-explanatory,” Elise said. “But I’ll go over it for the sake of clarity. If anybody else has anything to add, please feel free to jump in at any time. I’m not in charge of the case; I’m just facilitating. I think it’s fair to say we’re all equals in our endeavor to catch Tremain and whoever else is behind these disturbing murders.”
