by Debra Glass
“Great,” Jillian said and deposited her cumbersome bag on the countertop. “Jillian Drew.” She shook his hand—then instantly regretted telling him her real name.
“Who’s your buddy?” he asked, giving Boo a pat on the head.
“That’s Boo,” she said shortly. There was no time to explain. “I’m trying to find out information about an officer.”
“An officer? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“An officer wouldn’t have worn buttons like this one.” He pointed to the one with CSA on it.
“No?” That didn’t make sense. Why was her ghost attached to it then? “Maybe he isn’t an officer. He has three stars on his collar.”
“Wreathed?”
Jillian tried to remember. She closed her eyes and an image of the surly soldier flooded her thoughts. She focused on the stars. “Wreathed. Yes, they were wreathed and the one in the center was somewhat larger.”
“He’s a brigadier.”
“A general?”
Matt nodded.
“But he looks so young,” she unintentionally mused aloud.
Matt studied her for a moment. “You keep talking about this guy in the present tense. It’s like you saw his ghost or something.”
Jillian debated her reply but the man continued.
“That’s cool,” he said. “I’ve seen a few myself over at the Carnton Plantation.”
“Really?”
He nodded. Something in his light blue eyes told her he was sincere. But before she could comment, he turned and pulled a book down from the shelf. “If you’ve been to Shy’s Hill, I may have a picture of your guy.”
He flipped through the pages. “Here. Look at this.” He laid the book on the counter, spun it around and pushed it toward her.
Jillian gasped. Staring up at her from the yellowed page of the book was her ghost in grainy black and white. The same dark, wavy hair. The same moustache and spade beard. But gone was the rough-hewn look of a soldier. Instead, he was posed and very polished. Even without smiling he looked cocky, smug. The memory of his fingers trailing down her neck gave her a shiver. And the sight of him—real, alive—in a photograph made her go weak in the knees.
“That him?”
Unable to speak, she nodded. He was as handsome in the photograph as he had been as a ghost, almost timeless in his attractiveness but with all the romantic appeal of a nineteenth-century-novel hero. Something warm and sinuous unfurled inside her. Uncomfortable with the feelings the sight of him evoked, Jillian shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
“That’s old Thomas Benton Smith.”
Her gaze briefly left the page and she looked into Matt’s eyes before returning her stare to the photograph. Her ghost was hardly old but the name was familiar. Where had she heard it before? “Thomas Benton Smith.” Just uttering it caused a warm blush to creep up the front of her neck.
“Folks who knew him called him Benton,” Matt said. “Hence, Benton Smith Road. You had to have driven on it if you went to Shy’s Hill.”
That’s right. She remembered now. She touched the photo. “Benton Smith.” The heat of the blush intensified.
“He was killed there.”
A shudder swept through Jillian. She recalled the bloodstain on his shoulder “How?”
“The Confederates got surrounded and Smith assessed the situation as hopeless. He surrendered but not before an assload of Union soldiers died trying to take the hill. After that, they were marched down the hill and one of his men made a smart-alecky comment to a Federal colonel that the whole hill was blue with Yankee dead. Smith had already handed over his sword to the colonel and when he got in between his man and the colonel, the colonel killed him with his own sword.”
She swallowed. A sense of pity welled inside her. “Did he stab him in the shoulder?”
“No. The head.” Then Matt’s eyes narrowed. “But how do you know about the shoulder?”
She touched her own shoulder where Benton’s jacket had been discolored. “There was a dark stain on his coat.”
“That makes sense.” Matt’s eyes widened with interest. “He took that wound at the Battle of Stone’s River—where his brother was killed.”
Jillian’s heart tightened. She knew all too well what it felt like to lose a loved one.
“So, you saw Benton Smith’s ghost, ’eh?” Matt chuckled. “I can tell you why he appeared to someone like you.”
Jillian was beyond curious. “Why?”
Matt squinted at the photo again. “Benton Smith had a reputation as quite the ladies’ man.”
She smirked. He’d told her he had given up on ladies. She ignored a nagging twinge of resentment. So she was right in her assessment that he’d broken many a Southern belle’s heart.
“Oh yeah,” Matt continued. “There were several women after him but the story goes that he got himself engaged to a Williamson County woman by the name of Hattie. But after his brother died, he mysteriously broke off the engagement. She got all pissed and married a private under Smith.” He scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. “Nobody knows for sure why he dumped her. Rumor has it she married the man just to spite Smith. But I know another historian who says it was because she had a premonition of Smith’s death.”
“Was she…psychic?”
Matt arched an eyebrow as if that thought had never occurred to him and fascinated him as some new historic theory he might ferret out in the future. “I don’t know about that.”
Jillian’s mind ran rampant with unanswerable questions. Why was Amy the first person who had seen him in all that time? Why could she, Jillian, see him? And if that button didn’t belong to him, why was he attached to it?
“By the way, he was a local. Lived over in Triune. The house is still standing but I don’t know if anyone lives in it or not.”
Jillian’s eyes widened.
“And they’ve got his sword over at the Sam Davis museum in Smyrna.”
“Is it on display?”
Matt nodded. “If you’d like, I could make a phone call and see if they’d let you hold it. I know the museum director there.”
“That’s not necessary but thanks anyway.”
He passed her the receipt and the boxed button. “One more thing. The private’s life he died saving was the man Smith’s former fiancée married. Her family still lives around here somewhere. I forget the last name but it’s in this bio.”
She slipped her purchase into her purse alongside Boo. “How much is that book?”
“This book’s not for sale. It’s my only copy and I had to five-finger discount it from a rare book store if you know what I mean. It’s out of print,” he said boldly.
“Have you got a copier?”
Chapter Four
Jillian’s cell phone rang before she could get back in the car. She tossed the copied and stapled pages of Benton’s bio on the seat and dug behind the dog to retrieve her phone. One glance at the caller ID told her it was Theo. She flipped it open and answered it.
“Jillian, get down here immediately. We’ve gotten contact from the perp.”
Nashville’s midday traffic clogged up the Interstate but Jillian weaved the silver Jaguar in and out of the three lanes, heedless of the driving rain, zipping expertly around Mack trucks and blue-haired old ladies. She took the Church Street exit, turned onto James Robertson and was at the Metro Nashville Police Department in record time.
As she rushed past the investigators’ offices, she noticed her partner, Lynn Bowers, sitting across a desk from three officers. Relief flooded her. Although she and Lynn were not what one would call friends, they’d known each other on a professional basis for more than three years. Lynn was the type of woman who took up all the space in a room, but she was personable and pulled her weight with a huge number of clients. With her bright blonde hair and fire-engine red sweater, she couldn’t help but be noticed. Jillian waved to her as she passed by the window.
Lynn smiled and r
eturned the wave as she took a sip of a diet shake. So she was on a diet again. It would be no fun at the office until this attempt fell by the wayside and Lynn went back to her habit of stopping by the doughnut shop on her way to work.
Jillian had never been much for sweets but she loved a fresh, hot doughnut.
She sighed her relief. Theo hadn’t wasted any time in bringing her in on the case. At least he hadn’t consulted Howard.
Jillian was breathless by the time she reached Theo’s office. He sat behind his desk looking grim. “Close the door.”
Jillian’s heart sank. She’d seen him with that look before—right before he told a family their son, daughter, father, brother had been found murdered.
She pushed the door closed.
“Sit down.” He took a deep breath.
Boo looked up at her from the Fendi bag as she lowered it to the floor. Numb, she pulled up a utilitarian wood and faux-leather chair and took a seat across from Theo. “What happened to Amy? Be straight with me.” Her voice rose with panic. Oh God. Oh God. No. Not Amy. She was the only blood relative Jillian had left in the world. She couldn’t stand to lose her too.
“Jillian, you’re the one who needs to be straight with me.”
“I told you why I took the button.”
“I’m not talking about that.” He leaned forward. “How did you know she’d been buried alive?”
Jillian’s lips parted. Oh no…
Her stomach knotted as Theo fanned several eight-by-ten photos out and pushed them toward her. Jillian stood to get a better view but her knees buckled when she saw the pictures. She brought trembling fingers to her lips and collapsed into her chair. A wave of nausea swelled over her but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the gruesome sight of her sister…terrified, roped and tied like an animal, gagged with duct tape—and lying in an open grave.
Other photos showed a closed coffin partially covered with dirt, then one where it was completely covered and one of the protruding air tube Jillian had seen in her psychic vision.
But then there was something she hadn’t seen in her vision—a frayed paperback copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s Premature Burial.
Jillian felt faint. That book had terrified Amy when they were little. Who would have known that?
And who would have known Jillian’s own worst fear—ghosts?
She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying but hot tears stung her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. How long had Amy been in that grave? Jillian could not imagine the terror of it—of knowing you were buried alive, trapped with layers of earth above you.
“Where is she?” Dead? Had they already found a body?
“I asked you to tell me how you knew she was buried.” His voice was hard.
Her gaze searched his. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that she had anything to do with Amy’s disappearance. “Theo…I told you. I… Dammit, is she still alive? We’ve got to find her. She’s in a cemetery. That’s what I saw.”
He shot to his feet and leaned over the desk. His massive frame blocked the light from the window behind him. Jillian gasped and shrank back in her chair.
“I can’t buy your explanation! And neither will a jury.”
A second lapsed that felt like an eternity. Jillian stared, stunned. Realization crept up from her toes. “Are you…are you insinuating that I did this to Amy?”
He rubbed his face and then his brown gaze met hers. Indecision contorted his expression into one of pain. “Jillian, Lynn Bowers is out there right now profiling the suspect and do you want to know what she’s come up with so far?”
Jillian’s mouth opened in shock. “Surely she’s not naming me.”
“No. But this is her preliminary sketch of the perpetrator.” He passed a sheet of paper across the desk. With trembling hands, Jillian picked it up. She recognized Lynn’s handwriting immediately.
Theo practically quoted as she read silently. “Upper to middle class organized offender. Could be either sex. Someone with higher education. Someone who knew Amy’s schedule. Someone with a deep-seated psychopathic vendetta. Probably someone close to Amy Drew.”
Anger welled inside Jillian. Her heart pumped frantically. She shook the paper at Theo. “I respect Lynn Bowers as a counselor but this is no way fingers me as a suspect!”
She leaned forward, the paper crumpling where she clutched it. “If I might add a few items to her list, we need to take into account victimology. What about Amy’s work background? You saw that sign with the eyeball on it in her yard. She does readings for a good many people and if you think I’m crazy for having one psychic vision, you should see some of her clients. Every one of them is desperate. Desperate for money or love or to connect with someone who died.”
“Jillian, I’m not saying—”
She cut him off. “And you have to consider the size a person would have to be in order to commit such a crime.” She lunged to her feet and seized a photo of Amy in the grave. She knew she was over the top, even hysterical, but she couldn’t stop herself. She thrust the photo toward Theo. “Look at me. I’m five foot six. I weigh one hundred twenty pounds. Why would I hit Amy over the head at a Civil War site when I could easily lure her to wherever I wanted? I could never dig a grave much less push a grown woman into one and cover her back up in time to be home the next morning to receive your phone call.”
Theo stared, his mouth agape.
“Whoever did this is a sick, twisted, maniacal psychopath.” Jillian sucked in a ragged breath and fought back hot tears. “Besides…I love my sister. I will do anything to find her!”
“Including taking evidence from a crime scene.” This time his voice was without condemnation.
“Yes.” She sank back into the chair. “I need that button. I need it to find my sister.”
He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you that you can take evidence.”
Jillian’s heart sank. Her mind raced. She’d been foolish to buy that other button with the intent of making a clandestine exchange. Foolish! Besides, the case file had probably already been sent down to the crime lab.
Still, there was something in Theo’s brown eyes that sparked a glimmer of hope in Jillian. “It’s already contaminated evidence. The crime lab won’t be able to get any prints from it.”
He blew out a sigh. “Jillian…”
Good. She was wearing him down. “Could I at least hold it?”
“Do you really think it’ll help?”
“I know it will.”
“I wouldn’t do this for anybody else.” He patted her on the shoulder as he passed her on the way out the door.
Jillian watched through the glass until he was out of sight before she fumbled in her purse for the button she’d bought. Boo danced around her hand. Her heart thundered relentlessly against her rib cage. Jillian held her breath as she slid the cold bronze button under the cuff of her sweater, a little pang of guilt nagging her. Theo was sticking his neck out for her in more ways than one and she was betraying his trust.
She had to remind herself to breathe. This was crazy. If he caught her trying to sleight of hand him he’d have her in cuffs answering questions for the investigators. And rightfully so.
But then her gaze caught the pictures fanned across Theo’s desk. In the weird photo flash, Amy’s blue eyes shone red. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mass, strewn across her face. Jillian shut her eyes but the image was unrelenting. She shuddered violently.
She didn’t have a choice. She had to swap the buttons. She needed it to find her sister.
Where was Theo with that damned button? She twisted in her seat and looked through the glass window. He had a small brown box under one arm. Thank God. He hadn’t changed his mind.
But he was talking to Lynn Bowers.
Lynn turned and glanced at her. Jillian tensed. Were they discussing her? She wished she could hear them through the glass.
Theo brought the box front and center and gave it a little shake. Lynn’s gaze drifted to it and the
n back up to Theo’s.
Jillian tried to remain calm. He’s telling her about the button! She blew out an exasperated breath. How was Lynn ever going to view her as a professional again if Theo was out there telling her about a button and the ghost of a dead Civil War soldier? Jillian’s nails burrowed into the fake leather armrests.
And then, Theo actually opened the box. Lynn lifted the bagged button out and looked at it before dropping it back in and giving Theo a shrug.
Jillian struggled to remain composed. She stared until Theo turned and started back toward her.
She would explain everything to Lynn—later. Right now she had to muster up the courage to sit here, boldly steal evidence right under a police officer’s nose and summon up a ghost so she could tap into her psychic senses to find her sister. And she had to do it in front of Theo and the whole police department.
Finally, Theo returned and put the box on the desk in front of her. Her gaze met his briefly and then she looked warily at the evidence case. A white label reading Metro Nashville PD with a handwritten case number was stuck to the outside. She took a deep breath. Could she face that ghost again?
More importantly, could she do it in front of Theo and exchange the buttons at the same time?
The ghost’s image filled her thoughts. Dark. Intense. And the way he had spoken to her with his steely, blunt regard. The way he had touched her, pinning her to the wall with his long, lean body… A tingle traversed her spine.
And what about the soul collectors? Jillian swallowed. Could she openly challenge the very creatures that had haunted her nightmares? She shivered at the thought of the red eyes, the dark shadows… Could they touch her too?
The bronze button lay taped and labeled in a plastic bag, on top of the individually bagged contents of Amy’s purse.
Before she could change her mind she broke the seal on the plastic bag and, with trembling fingers, withdrew the button. Tense and anxiously aware of the other button pressed precariously against her wrist, she wondered how she was ever going to make the exchange without Theo noticing.
“Are you…getting…anything?”
