Looking for Lillian (Hunter Jones Mystery Book 7)

by Charlotte Moore

  “Are you sure that’s all?” her brother asked after he had packed his van. “It might get complicated to come back.”

  “What about all those good pots and pans in the kitchen,” Alicia asked with a note of longing in her voice. “Those are really expensive.”

  “Sure they are,” Sabrina said. “Phoebe bought them. I don’t want anything that isn’t mine. I’ll mail my keys to his lawyer. I’m not coming back to this house if I can help it. Let’s get some sleep. I’ll set my alarm for six, and we can eat breakfast on the road.”

  Hunter sat down beside Bethie on the sofa and said, “I’ve been thinking about Caitlin McFall, and I want you to do something with me on Saturday if you will.”

  “What?” Bethie said with a little suspicion in her voice.

  Hunter explained about the long time it was taking for Caitlin McFall’s mother to arrive, and said, “I thought maybe after that we could pay a visit to the McFalls and take something like Toll House cookies, and you could just visit with her. Maybe if you two hit it off you could invite her back over here to watch some videos or something.”

  “I think she’s older than I am,” Bethie said, sounding doubtful.

  “Yeah,” Hunter said, “I know. But everybody around her is way older than she is. Let’s just see. I’ll leave it up to you to make the invitation. Tell you what. We’ll play it by ear. When we get ready to leave, if you feel like inviting her over, you can do it then, and if you don’t bring it up, I’ll know you didn’t want to, and I won’t bring it up either.”

  “Okay,” Bethie said, “But remember she’s from Atlanta, and she’s 16 at least, so she’s probably going to think I’m a nerdy kid.”

  Chapter 27

  Lucasta Tilling pushed two of her cats off the sofa in her cluttered living room and invited Tarquin Greathouse to sit down.

  He was younger than she was—still in his twenties, dark-haired and dressed all in black. Lucasta noticed that he was wearing blue eye shadow.

  “I wished you had called me about your investigation at the McFall House,” he said, a little peevishly. “I would have gone with you.”

  “Tarquin,” Lucasta said firmly, “You didn’t come to the last two meetings, and you made it clear at the first one that your main interest was in vampires. You didn’t even really join or pay your dues.”

  “Yeah, well, I got the impression that all you were going to do was poke around cemeteries,” he said. “And every time I brought up vampires, you brushed me off.”

  “We didn’t know about the chance to visit the McFall house until Stacy saw it in the paper,” Lucasta said, changing the subject from vampires to spirits. “You know, I never believed Lillian was wandering around the cemetery. I always thought she was still in the house, and I was right.”

  “It seems that you were,” Tarquin said. “I parked in front of the house for a while after I left work last night, and I believe I saw her looking out one of the upstairs windows.”

  “I’m not sure she’s visible,” Lucasta said with a raised eyebrow. “I only heard her voice when I was in the house.”

  “Perhaps she manifests differently to different people,” Tarquin said archly. “What’s next? Does the Sheriff want your help?”

  “He’s well-intentioned but not exactly enlightened,” Lucasta said. “And I’m afraid that he and his people bullied poor Stacy so badly that she won’t be involved anymore. They even got her sister involved, and now Stacy’s worried about losing her silly lunchroom job.”

  “Well,” Tarquin said, “Nobody at the hospital is concerned about what I do on my own time. Stacy didn’t get very far with the website, did she? Why don’t I take that over? There are so many great possibilities.”

  Hunter waited until everyone was settled down—Ty in bed, Bethie doing her homework, Sam reading his latest thriller— before going back to her research.

  She found the date for the sinking of The Otranto on a Georgia history site. It was September 25, 1918, and she assumed that it would take a week or more for Wilbur Parks death notice to appear. When she found it, it was on the front page under the headline “Local man lost in Otranto Disaster.”

  Wilbur Parks had been 21, the son of a widowed mother, a graduate of Merchantsville High School.

  The obituary ended with “He is survived by his mother, Mrs. Jonah Parks, his sister, Miss Mary Margaret Parks, and his fiancee, Miss Martha May McFall.”

  Hunter blinked.

  Could they have made a mistake?

  No, she thought. No small town editor would get something like wrong, and besides, Lillian was four years older than Wilbur Parks. It must have been Martha May.

  She moved quickly to the next issue to see if there was a correction. There wasn’t.

  Hunter felt a little let down, but then she shook her head, smiling at the irony. All that talk, she thought, and everybody got the wrong sister.

  Knowing that Sam was worn out with the whole subject of Lillian McFall, she started a chat with Nikki.

  Hi. Did you read my super long, half-asleep letter last night?”

  The answer came back in a minute.

  Yep. I was about to write. I read it all. Sounds like a good novel in there somewhere if you ever do your own writing again. Hint. Hint.

  Hunter grinned and wrote back: Would you believe I now officially know more about a local legend than either Tyler or Miss Rose? I have discovered that Lillian McFall was NOT the one who was engaged to the young man who died in WWI. It was her younger sister, Martha May.

  Nikki answered.

  So is the ghost really named Martha May? I think Lillian is a better ghost name.

  Hunter responded.

  There isn’t any ghost, silly! Lillian died of the Spanish influenza about three months after Martha May’s fiance died at sea in the sinking of a ship called The Otranto. I don’t know what happened to Martha May after that. Will try to find out. The family doesn’t like to talk about Lillian, but maybe I can bring up Martha May since there aren’t any ghost stories about her.

  It was a few minutes before Nikki responded.

  You’re really getting into this. Are you going to write something about it? Do you need for me to come down and take a photo of that old house?

  Hunter thought about it and wrote.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do with it. Just exploring. But you’d love that old house, and I wish you would come down and visit. I’ve got to got to bed now. I was up until after one last night.

  Nikki wrote back: Good night, old married lady. I can remember when you could stay up all night and still go to work in high heels.

  Chapter 28

  Friday was dismal—cold and gray with a threat of freezing rain that night.

  Buzz McFall’s attorney and finance officer had both attended the funeral and stayed overnight at Hilliard House. They were expected to arrive at ten. Augusta had cleared the dining room table so everyone could sit around it.

  Pink McFall didn’t expect any bequest. In fact, she had already considered that she and Barnard should change their own will which had been made years before leaving everything to Buzz.

  She was ready for things to be settled, and she felt a deep need to get back to her everyday routines—maybe having her hair done or playing bridge with her close friends.

  She even wished Augusta would throw out all the fancy dishes and desserts people had brought over, and make some vegetable soup with cornbread.”

  “I am just too old for weeks like this,” she said to Augusta.

  “Everybody’s too old for weeks like this,” Augusta said, and then turned her head to cough.

  She lowered her voice, which was getting hoarser.

  “When is Caitlin’s mother coming to get her?”

  “Sunday,” Pink said with a sigh. “She’s flying to New York first. Then she’s going
to call when she gets to Atlanta. I think it will be late afternoon.”

  “Well, at least we know she’s coming,” Augusta said. “Do I need to get a room ready for her?”

  “No,” Pink said. “She said she’d make her own arrangements. I told her about Hilliard House. I think she and Caitlin will probably stay over there Sunday night and leave sometime Monday.”

  Barnard McFall appeared at the kitchen door in his bathrobe.

  “Are all those strangers gone yet?” he asked.

  Pink didn’t have the heart to tell him that more strangers were on their way. Augusta intervened and asked him if he wanted French toast.

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “You know that’s the one thing my mother could cook. We used to have it almost every Sunday morning because the cook wanted to go to church. Mama always sprinkled nutmeg on it.”

  Pink never ceased to find it surprising that her husband could remember things from his long-ago childhood when he had already forgotten what happened an hour earlier. She thought he probably had forgotten his son’s death already, and she was trying to avoid mentioning Buzz.

  Augusta just said, “I’ve got some nutmeg.”

  The men from Atlanta arrived at ten. They looked solemn.

  Caitlin, who was invited to sit at the table, appeared indifferent and fidgety and kept glancing at her cell phone. Tab leaned back in his chair, trying not to look eager.

  The lawyer explained that the will was a simple one.

  Buzz McFall’s estate was to be divided between his two children, with Caitlin’s portion to be held by a trustee if Buzz died before she was 21. Tab had already been 21 when the will was most recently revised.

  There had been a life insurance policy with Sabrina McFall as beneficiary. That was part of the prenuptial agreement, and specifically mentioned in the will so it would be clear that she had been considered.

  “As I said, it’s simple enough. However, there’s a bit of a problem,” the attorney said, clearing his throat. “Well, I’ll let John explain that.”

  John Baines, the finance officer for McFall Enterprises and Buzz McFall’s personal accountant, had been looking increasingly uncomfortable. With some throat clearing, he explained that there were issues with unpaid federal taxes to be resolved and that Buzz McFall had substantial debt. There was a second mortgage on the house in Atlanta. Last year’s purchase of the Sunrise motel chain had not paid off as expected. He had suffered some losses on his investments.

  Caitlin fiddled with her phone. Tab began to look worried.

  Once things were settled with IRS, Baines continued to explain, probate would still take quite a few months, possibly a year. He rambled on, shuffling papers.

  Pink, who was getting the picture clearly, finally interrupted.

  “Can you just give Tab and Caitlin some idea of how long this will take and how much they might expect to inherit once all this is settled?” she said.

  “Well,” the finance officer said. “Hmm, candidly, I would say at least a year, and they could certainly each expect, hmm, a few thousand. Of course, there are the household furnishings and some paintings, which certainly have some value, and I believe that Mr. McFall’s older Mercedes was purchased for cash. The car he bought more recently—the Prius…”

  “That’s my car,” Caitlin suddenly said, surprising everyone. “The Prius is mine.”

  “Well, dear, he bought for your use, but of course, it’s in his name—well, there are payments due on that car, and, hmm, well, to sum it up, there’s basically a cash flow problem, with some employees who have contracts that have to be honored.”

  “It’s my car,” Caitlin said stubbornly, “He gave it to me for my birthday.”

  “In all fairness to your father,” Baines went on, ignoring Caitlin and looking at Tab instead. “His death couldn’t have come at a worse time. Things probably would have picked up, but they were in a kind of slump. You know he had his ups and downs before, and he was probably expecting to live for many more years.”

  “How much is Sabrina getting from that insurance policy?” Tab asked in an annoyed voice.

  “I’ve been in touch with her about that. There’s a bit of a problem there, too,” the financial officer said. “I called the insurer on Mrs. McFall’s behalf. That was one of the things your father handled himself, out of his own checking account, like the cars. The insurance company claims the premiums haven’t been paid for six months, and they notified him a month ago that it was canceled. I called her about that this morning.”

  “So, she’s getting nothing?” Tab asked.

  Baines nodded.

  “She took it very philosophically, I must say. And by the way, she has vacated the house in Atlanta. She was on her way back to her mother’s home in South Carolina. Her name was never on the title. I believe it would be fair to say she’s right back where she started from.

  Chapter 29

  When Tab called about the will, Deb McFall had been looking for the red lipstick she always used when she wore red.

  She felt oddly relieved when he told her the bad news he had just gotten. She had been feeling increasingly uneasy about his suddenly becoming wealthy without having any sense of direction.

  She listened to him and sympathized all the same. Some little angel seemed to be standing on her shoulder saying, “Don’t mention going back to college. Not yet. Let him arrive at his own conclusions.”

  When Tab finally stopped expressing his despair over a fortune lost, he said, “Oh, and Mom. I hate to bother you about this, but I think you need to come over here. Augusta’s coughing her head off, and she won’t stop working. I think she’s got that virus that’s going around, but she won’t listen to me. I promised Caitlin I’d take her out to get something for lunch. She’s having a fit about her car.”

  Deb reminded herself that her son had just learned that he wasn’t going to be rich and that she was glad he was a good older brother. Besides, Augusta hadn’t been well for a couple of days.

  “I was just getting dressed to go grocery shopping, but I can do the shopping later,” she said. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  She went back to the bathroom, brushed her hair and looked for the lipstick again, finally giving up and changing her blouse, so she could use the pink lipstick instead. She was never in too much of a hurry to pay attention to her appearance. She checked her hair on he mirror over her bedroom chest of drawers and noticed that a little trinket—a giraffe figurine that she was fond of, wasn’t there.

  Her younger sister had visited a few days early with her rambunctious children, and Deb made a mental note to ask her about it. After all she was the one who had given her the little giraffe.

  “I’m taking you to the doctor,” Deb said, a half hour later, placing her hand on Augusta Wren’s forehead. “I’m surprised Miss Pink hasn’t sent you to bed already. That cough sounds awful, and you have a fever.”

  “I don’t need any doctor,” Augusta said. “It’s just this thing that’s going around. I must have gotten it from Kenyatta. She’s feeling better already, so it doesn’t last that long.”

  “Right,” Deb said briskly. “She’s a teenager. You’re not. I’ll bet you haven’t had your pneumonia shot, and besides, we can’t have Mama and Daddy catching it, or Caitlin either, with her mother coming on Sunday. Am I going to have to call your daughter to come get you? Pink can manage for one night without you. I’ll tell her to call me if there’s any problem.

  Under Deb’s persistence, Augusta suddenly caved in.

  “You’re right,” she said. “There’s some more of that pork roast with sweet potatoes in the refrigerator if you’ll heat it up for them. I’ll go back out to the guest house and try to rest up, but don’t you worry about me. I’ll get Marietta to bring me over some chicken soup and maybe some whiskey for a hot toddy later so I can sleep it off. That’ll do the job.”


  Chapter 30

  Lucasta Tilling looked around her living room with a frown. She needed to clean up a bit for the special called meeting of the Magnolia County Paranormal Society that evening. The paid membership had risen to eight if Stacy Vann could still be counted.

  The irony was that things were going just as she had wanted when they started out, but now she thought that the meetings could become a nuisance. She needed refreshments, too, and that was something Stacy had taken care of before.

  Tarquin Greathouse was already working on the website, and doing a good job. He was helpful, but Lucasta was becoming aware that he was a bit pushy, and it bothered her that he kept driving by the McFalls’ house and claiming that he saw things. She didn’t know whether he was imagining all that or just lying. The only time she had seen anything was in dreams. He always heard or felt communications from other realms.

  She missed having Stacy around, because she was a wonderful listener, and had always been supportive and interested. She never tried to push her own ideas.

  And now Lucasta found herself having to think about cleaning her house, and putting out snacks when she ought to be looking for paying customers who needed psychic services or visiting Lillian McFall’s grave, now that Buzz McFall’s funeral was over.

  Her doorbell rang, and she frowned, hoping none of the members were going to get in the habit of dropping by.

  It was Sheriff Sam Bailey with Lt. Taneesha Hayes. Lucasta smiled brightly. The thought flickered through her mind that they might finally have realized they needed her help.

  “I’ll be so glad to get back home,” Caitlin said to Tab as they went through the drive-through at the Chicken Shack. “I’m going to be packed up so we can leave as soon as my mom gets here. She’ll pay for my car.”

  Tab, who had been brooding about his own problems, suddenly tuned in, and his sister’s comments made him feel uneasy.