Rear View (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 0)

by Catie Rhodes

  Rainey grunted and unlocked the Cadillac. The trunk popped open. “Stow your guitar in the trunk, Music Man. I can’t believe Grampa Wilton insisted on hearing you play.”

  “You can tape me. Use it for the documentary.” Chase winked at me and put his guitar in the Cadillac’s trunk and slammed it closed. Rainey shook her head and turned away. Chase was a great guy with many wonderful qualities. Humility wasn’t one of them.

  A few minutes later we sat in front of Wilton’s house. It was only a few blocks from the Mace House but in a neighborhood of newer homes built in the 1920s. It was a red brick two-story with black shutters and brick columns across the front. Rainey pulled into the circular drive and stopped next to a black Cadillac identical to hers with a sign on the door reading “Gaslight City Funeral Home and Mortuary. Hooty Bruce, Owner.” She motioned us to follow her to the front door. It opened before we could knock. A young woman wearing the traditional black and white uniform of a maid held open the door while we passed through.

  “The two Mister Bruces are in the study waiting. Drinks? Snacks?”

  I was too intimidated to ask for anything.

  “A tray of soft drinks would be nice, Crystal.” Rainey led us toward a set of closed double doors.

  Crystal nodded and hurried away.

  Rainey tapped on the dark wood door. “Grampa? Daddy?”

  “Come on in, sweetie,” came a deep voice.

  Rainey pushed open the door. Her father, Hooty Bruce, stood to greet us, smoothing down his three-piece suit. Rainey’s grandfather, Wilton Bruce, sat behind a huge desk of dark wood in a leather chair with a high back. He waved and smiled but didn’t get up.

  “Chase Fischer, come sit down over here and play me a song, boy.” The older man motioned with one hand.

  Chase’s smile was shy as he approached the old judge. The two shook hands. Chase sat on the couch and unpacked his acoustic guitar, slipping picks on the ends of his fingers, as Wilton peppered him with questions about where he’d played lately and how he did.

  “Let’s go ahead and set up your camera, sweetie.” Hooty took Rainey’s gear bag from her. She nodded and helped Tubby and me set up the lights.

  “You really want to film him singing?” I muttered to her.

  “Not really.” Rainey spoke out of the side of her mouth to me. “Daddy insists. Says we’ll want it if Chase ever gets famous. And Daddy thinks he will.”

  Felicia went to stand near Chase and spoke loud enough for everybody to hear her. “I want a copy of the video. I’ve got a cousin who’s a record producer in Nashville. I’ll send him a copy.”

  Chase’s mouth dropped open. If he had been a slot machine, double cherries would have popped into his eyes. I recognized the expression on his face. It was the same way he looked at me when I showed him the bikini I bought—against Memaw’s wishes—last summer. Right after that, he asked me out on a real date for the first time.

  “You’re messing with me.” He stopped warming up and turned his full attention on her.

  “Nope. It’s Uncle Randy’s son.” Felicia sat on the leather couch next to Chase. “I’ll be glad to get in touch with him for you.”

  Chase glanced at me, face shining with excitement. I worked to get the scowl off my face so I could smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. I busied myself helping Rainey set up the tripod and getting the camera into focus.

  “Go make her move and sit next to him,” Rainey whispered. I hesitated and she nudged me with one sharp elbow. “Go on.”

  I moved in front of Felicia. She ignored me, eyes sparkling with malice. I considered kicking her, but Rainey would burn me alive if I made a scene, even if she was the one who told me to make Felicia move. Thank goodness Chase noticed me.

  “Felicia, be a sweetie and scoot over so Peri Jean can sit next to me. I need her to hold the music.”

  “But I can—”

  I didn’t let her finish. I wedged my behind between her and Chase, forcing her to either let me sit on her lap or get out of my way. She bolted off the couch and asked Rainey if she could help her, shooting nasty sneers my way the whole time. Chase smiled at me, laughter crinkling the corners of eyes.

  “You’re my good luck charm.” He handed me his sheet of music, which was really just lyrics with chords written above to remind him when to switch.

  “I’m ready when you are,” he told Rainey. He picked a little melody on his guitar.

  Rainey nodded and stuck up one thumb.

  Chase began playing. I knew without anybody telling me it was the song he wrote while he listened to Dottie talk. It was all about lost hopes, broken dreams, getting old while you focused on other stuff, and people just forgetting you.

  Wilton listened with his eyes closed, foot tapping. Hooty sat in a chair across from us, his brows knitted into a frown as he concentrated on the song. Tears filled his eyes about halfway through the song, his full lips turned down. It was that kind of song, the kind that made me feel nostalgic for memories I’d never had. When the last chord faded, Hooty clapped the loudest.

  “Just beautiful, son. Amazing. So heartfelt. I just can’t…” Hooty shook his head. “Now when are you going to come play for my church again?”

  “When you’re ready.” Chase put up his guitar and took his sheet music from me.

  “I’m going to take you up on it.” Hooty shook his finger at him.

  “Think that’s good enough for your cousin?” Chase asked Felicia.

  “Might be.” She still had a pout on her face because I made her move. “Would you come over and play it for my mama tonight so she’ll let me call him?”

  “All right. I’ll do that. Peri Jean, you wanna…” He glanced at me, maybe thinking about including me, but didn’t. Just as well. I was grounded and wouldn’t be able to go anyway.

  “I suppose I got my money’s worth.” Wilton Bruce picked up a manila file and put it in front of him. “Now what do you young people want to ask me about the Chris Leeland disappearance?”

  Rainey motioned me to take over at the camera. She sat in front of her grandfather’s desk.

  “Get where you can see both of us.” She directed me until I had it just right. Then she turned to Wilton. “There are a lot of weird stories about Chris Leeland’s disappearance. I’d like to hear any theories you had, then or now, about what happened to Mr. Leeland.”

  Wilton nodded and opened his file. “You know the basics of the disappearance, right? House locked from the inside, no signs of a struggle, no dead body ever turned up?”

  We all nodded.

  Wilton frowned at one of his papers. “Here’s something you might be interested in. The wife ran off a couple of days after the whole thing happened. Just packed up and left.” He set down the paper and scanned the room. “When we started looking for her, we found out two things. One, she wasn’t really married to Chris Leeland. Two, she had a rap sheet a mile long. Prostitution mostly. Chris Leeland wasn’t much better. He spent most of his youth in criminal institutions. Stayed out of trouble once he became an adult, but only because he mobbed up, so to speak.”

  “The Dixie Mafia?” Rainey used just the right mix of dismay and curiosity.

  “Nothing so fancy. This was a crime ring operating in the Austin area around that time. Alice Leeland, whose real name was Alice Henderson, worked for them as a traveling prostitute. Chris Leeland was a bag man.”

  “What’s a bag man?” I asked from behind the camera. Rainey pressed her lips together but didn’t reprimand me.

  “It’s someone who collects money, usually money obtained illegally.” Wilton took his gaze off his granddaughter and smiled at me as he spoke.

  I nodded to show him I understood.

  “Best we can figure, from what Alice Henderson told us when we caught up to her, she and Chris Leeland planned for several months to rip off the prostitution money Chris was supposed to pick up. They were going to Mexico by way of Arizona.” Wilton opened his file and read for a few seconds. “Their c
ar started having radiator problems, and they stopped in Gaslight City to get it fixed. Chris Leeland heard about the Mace Treasure and decided to stick around.”

  My stomach gave a hard lurch, and adrenaline saw-toothed into my blood. Not Mace Treasure stuff. Felicia would never give me a second’s peace.

  “Do you have any theories on what happened to Chris Leeland?” Rainey, having regained her poise, stared straight at her grandfather.

  “Big Joe Holze—the sheriff back then—investigated an angle where Alice Henderson allowed the crime ring they’d double-crossed to kill Chris in exchange for her continued existence.”

  “Was he able to prove anything?” Rainey crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair.

  “No. It just didn’t fit. This outfit was pretty violent, and they liked making examples of people. Had they found Chris Leeland, they’d have left him and Alice full of bullets or stab wounds so the whole world would know they weren’t to be fooled with.” He closed the file and pushed it away. “Besides, things had started to crumble for the crime ring around the same time. The leaders of the ring were under indictment. RICO was still on the horizon, but they were in deep trouble. They wouldn’t have compounded it by killing Chris Leeland over a couple thousand dollars.”

  “Why was none of this in the police file Sheriff Holze read us?” I knew Rainey didn’t like me asking questions, but I couldn’t help it.

  Wilton Bruce gave me a smile. “Good question, Peri Jean. Good one. It may have once been there, but Big Joe Holze got a visit from a man wearing a black suit one day. This man had more power than a sheriff from a tiny Texas county. He told Big Joe to cease and desist. Big Joe dropped the investigation. There was no body. No signs of foul play. No crime.” Ex-judge Bruce rocked back and forth in his chair, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

  Hooty stepped forward. “Daddy? You all right?”

  “Yes, son. Just thinking what I ought to say and ought not to say to a bunch of high school kids.”

  “Oh, please tell us.” Rainey sat forward.

  “The case always baffled me, especially when the rumors of the house being haunted by Chris Leeland surfaced. Now I’m a God-fearing man, and I don’t believe in ghosts because I’m not supposed to, but I still wanted to know what happened to that man. Who killed him and what Alice Henderson had to do with it. So I tracked her down.” He grabbed a second file, this one a faded blue, and opened it. “She was living not far at all from here. She’d legally changed her name, but the crime ring she’d been on the run from in the early 1970s were either in prison or dead.”

  “Did she say anything interesting?” Rainey scribbled on her notebook.

  “She still claimed not to know what happened, but what she told me definitely added to the legend of the haunted carriage house.”

  A pain started up in my stomach. I so did not want this project to take a paranormal detour. I stepped away from the camera as though detaching might stop it.

  “What did she say?” Rainey gave me a quick, pained glance.

  “Tell you what. Let me see if I can set up an appointment for you kids to talk to her.” He grabbed his cane and hobbled from the room, face set in a grim frown.

  I stared at the closed door, wishing he’d come back and tell us she refused. The door opened, and I knew from the grin on Wilton’s face my world had just turned to shit.

  “An old lion might lose all his teeth, but he can still roar on occasion.” Wilton handed a slip of paper to Rainey. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Alice—or Anise as she likes to be called now—said she could see you young people at two in the afternoon. If you get started by eleven, you’ll make it in plenty of time. Now I’ve got one more thing I’ll share with you.” He sat down again behind his desk with a grunt of relief. “About ten years ago, a fellow fishing along the Trinity River found an ID bracelet. The name Chris was on the tab. It matched Alice Henderson’s description of a bracelet he was wearing at the time of his disappearance.” He paused and squinted as though trying to pick his words. “Maybe you’re thinking he got whatever was coming to him in those woods, the bracelet fell off, and it’s sat there all these years. Thing is, this bracelet didn’t look like it had been in the woods for twenty years. Looked clean and brand new.”

  My stomach took a fast elevator ride to my feet. A sour metallic taste filled my mouth. It sounded like this whole project was about to go the direction of things that went bump in the night. Once that started, my life could only go downhill. I felt someone staring at me and glanced up, expecting to see Chase smiling at me. Felicia was watching me instead. She positively glowed.

  Chapter 5

  “What’s your problem?” Memaw narrowed her eyes at my nearly full plate. “You better not think I’m going to let you waste all this food”

  I set my fork down next to my plate and met Memaw’s stare.

  She took another bite of her food and chewed slowly. “I know you’re mad at me, and I don’t care.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Eat anyway.”

  “I’m not five any more. I’m a grown woman.”

  “You think sneaking out of the house and screwing around with your boyfriend makes you an adult? You think running off to New Mexico and worrying me to death is a mature thing to do?” She snorted. “You got a lot to learn.”

  “Grounding me from the prom isn’t going to change any of it.”

  “But it’ll make me feel better.” She pointed at me with her fork and pinned me with her gaze. “Now eat.”

  Her tone made my hand twitch toward my fork. I pulled it back. Missing prom was a done deal. Memaw had yelled at Chase over the phone when he called to talk to her. She actually asked him why she’d give him another opportunity to get into my pants. My cheeks flamed as the memory came back in full color. Memaw red-faced, the handset of the old rotary phone pressed to her ear, her eyebrows drawn together.

  Memaw tapped her fork on her plate to get my attention. She glared at me across the table, the creases in her face still, her eyes cold. “We’ll sit here until you clean your plate.”

  I held my position just for the hell of it.

  “You might think you can win against me, little girl, but you can’t.” Memaw leaned back in her chair, glare locked on my face. “I raised two boys way wilder than you. Your daddy was the mastermind. He thought I didn’t know all the times they snuck out or where they went. But I caught them every, single time.”

  “You can’t possibly understand what it’s like for me at that high school every day of my life.” My voice had a high quivering edge. I didn’t want to cry, dammit, but Chase was the only friend I had.

  “Eat your food.” Memaw crossed her arms over her chest. “Take one bite, and we’ll talk like adults for a little bit.”

  I scooped up a forkful of Memaw’s chili mac. It had little pieces of tomatoes I helped her can and fresh onions in it. My stomach howled in eager anticipation of sustenance. I shoved the food in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then I took another bite without being asked.

  Memaw smiled. “That’s good. You’ve got to eat if you want your brain to work well.” She rose, took her plate to the sink, and came back with the tea pitcher and refilled her glass. She sat down with a tired grunt. “You said I don’t know how it is for you up at that high school. Why would you think it’s any different for me trying to live in this town? We’ve got a few good friends here but way more enemies. Dangerous enemies.”

  “Then why don’t we move?” I said the words before I thought it over. Memaw’s answer had been the same since the day I came home from sixth grade, my clothes covered in garbage, and begged her to move us to another town. She said we stayed because we weren’t cowards. I waited for her to repeat the stock answer.

  Memaw pulled her cigarettes out of her apron pocket and tapped one out. She offered me the pack and laughed at the expression on my face. “You think I’m dumb? I know you smoke. You’re trying too hard to be cool, to fit in, not to.”

  I didn’
t take her offer of a cigarette. My stomach already rocked with all the whoopsie I could handle. I went back to eating. Memaw watched me through the haze of smoke settling in front of her. Maybe she was sick of telling me we weren’t cowards. Well, good. I was sick of hearing it. I ate the last of my food and waited for my lecture.

  “Peri Jean, you and I can’t afford to leave here. Remember when I retired?” She raised her eyebrows at me, her forehead bunching into wrinkles.

  I nodded.

  “Well, I needed to work about eight more years to get my full pension. As is, I only get sixty percent.” She drew so hard on her cigarette her cheeks sucked in and let out the smoke in a hard exhale. “Carly Holze was the one who recommended you be sent for psychiatric testing. She saw me getting you out of the hospital as an act of treason. Nasty thing made it her mission to get me out of Gaslight City ISD. She succeeded.”

  My vision wavered, and Memaw blurred. The nostril-stinging sterility of the mental hospital filled my head. Bright lights flashed behind my eyes, and I heard the sounds of voices calmly asking questions. My memory called up my own screams for my mother, who never came.

  “There’s people in this town who won’t even look me in the eye. Mutter crap under their breath. They know I can hear, but they figure I won’t call them out.” She seemed to shrink. “I think we embarrass them. Too much tragedy. Worse, our tragedy—the Mace family’s—goes back close to a hundred years.”

  “But you have friends.” I wouldn’t say it, but Memaw had powerful friends. Judge Bruce. The extremely wealthy Longstreet family who treated her like a favorite aunt. Some people hated Memaw, but a lot more respected her. “Chase Fischer is the only friend I have.”

  Memaw nodded, dark eyes softening. Just when I thought she was ready to change her mind about keeping us apart the next few months, she opened her mouth and blew my world apart. “Darren and Jolene Fischer are good folks, the best. But they’ve spoiled Chase. He’s irresponsible. He thinks whatever he does is okay because he’s got a talent for making music and he might be famous someday. I don’t buy it.”