Haunting Jordan pcm-1

by P. J. Alderman

  “How does the fire tie in with the murder?” Jase asked as he ate.

  “What fire?” Amanda asked as she stepped back into the kitchen.

  Jordan handed Amanda a plate while she described the 1890 waterfront fire, then answered Jase’s question. “I’m not certain yet, but my gut is telling me it’s related.” She flipped more pancakes. The dog nudged her thigh, and she fed him a slice of bacon. “I’ll search the library and see how many of Hattie’s diaries I can find. Maybe if I put her account side by side with your great-grandfather’s, I can track through the events from the two different perspectives.”

  “Hattie’s would have ended before the murder, whereas Tom’s great-grandfather’s probably wouldn’t have mentioned Hattie until he investigated the murder,” Jase pointed out.

  “Damn. You’re right.” She’d been counting on reading both to see whether she could pinpoint any discrepancies that would lead her to other avenues of research.

  “What about Charlotte? Did she have a diary?” Tom asked.

  The possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. “I don’t know. I’ll …” Her voice trailed off as she realized she’d been about to say, “I’ll ask her,” and Jase grinned, following her train of thought. She finished gamely, “… hunt through Charlotte’s old room and see whether I can come up with anything. I found a doll hidden in the back of the closet—it’s possible I’ll discover more.”

  “Have you searched the attic yet?” Tom asked. “The former owners may have stored it away, not understanding its historical significance.”

  “Or tossed it in a fit of pique, after being endlessly harassed by a couple of ghosts?”

  “That, too.” Tom smiled.

  “They’re already harassing you?” Amanda popped a strawberry into her mouth. “Cool.”

  “In any event,” Tom continued, “you’d be surprised what people around here find in their attics. We could take a look.”

  Jordan folded her arms. “Are you here to help with the murder investigation or discuss the plan for the renovation?”

  Tom looked sheepish. “Both. You gotta admit, the old murder is exciting stuff.”

  “I might be getting a little hooked,” Jordan allowed, then shrugged. “I haven’t even stuck my head inside the attic door—I don’t even know where the attic is. Wait, I think I saw a closed door next to Charlotte’s room that could hide a set of stairs.”

  Tom gave her a curious look. “You didn’t go up there before you bought the house?”

  “No, I left that to the guy who conducted the structural and pest inspections.”

  He and Jase exchanged a look that clearly said “first-time home buyer.”

  Tom stood and carried his dishes over to the sink. “That was delicious. You mixed those pancakes from scratch, didn’t you?” At her nod, he placed his hand over his heart. “Will you marry me?”

  “Now, that’s just pitiful,” Amanda declared, polishing off her fourth pancake.

  * * *

  AFTER Amanda left to prune the bushes she thought could be saved, Jordan led the men up to the second floor. When she opened the door she thought would lead to the attic, it revealed a second bathroom with a huge claw-foot tub, a pedestal sink, oak wainscoting, and a cracked black and white tile floor. She had an immediate vision of soaking in the tub, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight, after a hard day’s work on the house.

  Jase took her shoulders in both hands and turned her away. “Focus.”

  “Attic. Right.”

  She hit pay dirt with the door on the other side of Charlotte’s bedroom, over the library. Trotting up the stairs, she flipped on the light switch on the wall at the top of the landing.

  And promptly let out a bloodcurdling scream, wind-milling her arms.

  Both men raced up the stairs.

  Jase grabbed her, pulling her behind him. “What?”

  Tom stood on his tiptoes, peering over their heads, and started laughing.

  The entire room was filled from ceiling to floor with vines that crisscrossed every square inch of space, creating an impenetrable jungle. Smaller, dead vines hung down into the stairwell, creating a lacy tangle of twigs, into which Jordan had run headfirst.

  “What the hell is it?” Jordan asked him, her voice shaking.

  “The wisteria, is my bet.”

  “It grew through the wall?” she wailed.

  “It grows through foundations,” Jase corrected, taking a closer look, then chuckling and releasing her. “You okay?” he asked, still smiling.

  No, she was mortified that she’d screamed like a ninny.

  Tom was already talking on his cellphone. “Yeah, get over here. I’ll check the foundation while we wait.” He flipped the phone shut. “Bill’s on his way over with a chain saw.”

  “Chain saw?”

  “Just to clear inside the room,” Tom assured her. “Before we can cut the rest of the vine, we have to make certain the roots haven’t compromised the structure.” Seeing her stunned expression, he hastily added, “We’ll jack up the foundation, if necessary—don’t worry.”

  Don’t worry. Jordan closed her eyes.

  “I thought you said you had this place inspected,” Tom said.

  “Of course I had it inspected! I have the report out in the car.”

  “What was the guy’s name?” Jase asked. “Because you should seriously consider going after him for negligence.”

  “I don’t know … Martin, that’s it. Bob Martin.”

  He and Tom exchanged a look. “There’s no Bob Martin doing inspection work in this neck of the woods,” Tom told her. “And I would know—my cousin is in the business.”

  “But that’s not pos—” She stopped. “Oh … oh!”

  Her vision of her dream home disintegrating around her, she took the stairs two at a time down to the first floor, almost colliding with the Goth kid, who was wheeling a hand truck loaded with boxes. She shoved open the library doors, advancing on the ghosts, who were sitting at the desk, arguing about the contemporary clothing styles in Vanity Fair. “You altered my inspection report?”

  Tom had followed close on her heels. “Of course not. Why would I have done that?”

  Hattie answered Jordan, looking surprised. “We thought it prudent.”

  “In what universe?” Jordan shouted, then put up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Okay,” Tom said, looking confused.

  The ghosts wore earnest expressions.

  She took a deep breath, then another. “I paid good money for this place, and now I have to rebuild it from the foundation up?”

  Tom said, “Actually, that’s the worst-case scenario—”

  She rounded on him. “But I don’t know that, do I, since I never saw the original report?”

  Tom now wore the look of a man who believed he was dealing with an escapee from a mental institution. “I thought you said it’s in your car?”

  “You wouldn’t have bought the house if you knew the truth,” Hattie explained. “And then you wouldn’t have moved here, and we never could’ve gotten you to help us.”

  Charlotte nodded enthusiastically.

  Jordan belatedly realized she had a growing audience. Jase stood next to Tom just inside the doorway, with the Goth mover next to him. It had to look as if she’d been shouting at an empty room. She turned back, noting that the ghosts had taken advantage of her momentary distraction to disappear. Wimps.

  “Uh, lady?” The kid ventured forward a step. “If you have, like, Tourette’s syndrome? Well, my aunt has it, you know, and it’s okay, I can explain it to the other guys. You don’t have to feel like you need to come in here to hide your outbursts.”

  Jase started coughing.

  Her cellphone rang, and she pulled it out of her jeans pocket to check the caller ID. She flipped it open. “What?”

  “Hello to you, too,” Carol said. “How are you?”

  “Regressing,” Jordan snapped. “You?”

  “I’m sit
ting here with a cup of golden oolong tea, watching the local cable news channel, trying to maintain a Zen-like calm while I wait for my next patient to arrive, who is late, dammit. It’s going to throw off my entire damn day. I hate it when people think they can show up late.”

  Jordan rubbed her forehead.

  “Right. As I said, I have the news on, and they’ve been showing excerpts of a press conference from earlier this morning conducted by Detective Drake.”

  Jordan immediately got a very bad feeling and started a yoga breathing exercise.

  “Sweetie, he’s saying that new evidence has come to light in the case. Could he have found out somehow? You didn’t confide in anyone else, did you?”

  “No.” Jordan pressed fingers against both eyes. “Maybe a neighbor saw something. I didn’t see anyone around that night, though, and most people were still commuting home at that hour.”

  “Well, brace yourself. He’s saying he will be formally interviewing you tomorrow as a person of interest in your husband’s murder.”

  Jordan’s eyes locked with Jase’s, her knees threatening to buckle.

  “Whoa.” He jogged forward and led her over to the nearest chair. “Deep breaths, okay? Deep and even.”

  “Who’s that?” Carol asked.

  “A friend,” Jordan said, her voice sounding funny even to her own ears. “Drake hasn’t contacted me yet.” She glanced out the window to see Darcy pull her police cruiser up to the curb behind the moving van. “Never mind—I think I’m about to get the news.”

  “You need a lawyer now.”

  “I need drugs, but you had your chance.”

  Carol continued as if Jordan had never spoken. “Drake is moving fast, so you won’t have time to obtain legal counsel—I’d bet my Gucci sandals on it.”

  Jordan’s ears started roaring, and she dropped her head between her knees while Carol jabbered on.

  “And do not even think about letting him interview you without a damn good criminal defense lawyer present. Cops are sneaky as shit. He’ll have your words twisted around until he’s got what he needs to swear out an arrest warrant—”

  Jase pried the phone out of Jordan’s hands. “Who is this?” Jordan heard him ask. There was a moment of silence, then he introduced himself.

  Carol’s voice rose in pitch, sounding excited.

  “Yeah,” he replied, “that Cunningham,” making Jordan wonder what he meant, but at the moment, she was more concerned with whether she was passing out. The dog, who had followed her inside the library when the commotion started, licked the side of her face, whining. She put an arm around him.

  “No, I don’t think that’s necessarily a good idea.” Jase listened for another moment. “Yeah, I’ll make sure she checks her email.” Then he asked, “So is this cop a head case or what?”

  This time, Jordan heard her best friend’s reply, clear as a bell. “Already, I like you.”

  He flipped the phone shut just as Darcy reached the library doors.

  Jordan angled her head long enough to see the expression on Darcy’s face. “I think I’m about to get arrested,” she said to no one in particular, not really able to take it in. “Will you adopt the dog if I’m convicted?” she asked Jase.

  She didn’t bother to wait for his response—she was too busy putting her head back between her legs.

  Chapter 11

  “I repeat, I’m not here to arrest you. I’m just setting up a time for the meeting tomorrow.”

  Jordan nodded but kept her head between her knees, looking no higher than Darcy’s black boots.

  The boots turned to point at Jase. “Are you going to represent her?”

  At that, Jordan did lift her head. “What?”

  Jase sent Darcy a rueful look. “I thought I’d managed to keep my past in the past.”

  “Give me a break—I’m a cop.” She looked at Jordan. “Remember I told you last night that Jase used to be an attorney? Well, he was one of the top criminal defense attorneys on the East Coast.”

  Jordan stared at him uncomprehendingly, then made the connection. “You’re William J. Cunningham?”

  “That’s my father. I went by J. Cunningham. And no, I don’t still practice, but I keep my licenses current.” He frowned at Darcy. “You know I’ve been out of the business for years, which means representing Jordan is not a good idea.”

  “But you’re a jazz piano player,” Jordan said, her mental picture of him crumbling as she remembered the newspaper articles about the wealthy clients he’d defended in some of the nation’s most high-profile cases.

  “I’ve always played jazz as a way to let off steam,” Jase explained. “The pub gig is more recent, though.” He noted the confusion that had to be showing on her face, insisting, “I’m out of that life. I chose to leave because I wasn’t comfortable with the ethics of the cases I handled.”

  Jordan shook her head. “You’re not laid back at all, are you? It’s just an act.” Why hadn’t she seen the dichotomies? His easygoing attitude contrasted with his sharp intellect and the competent way he handled everything he did. She hadn’t seen the real man at all.

  “I wasn’t acting.” Jase’s voice was calm. “I’m a pub owner now.”

  “No one changes that much, that fast,” she said stubbornly.

  “Dammit—”

  Jordan’s cellphone rang, interrupting whatever he had intended to say. Without a word, he handed it to her.

  She checked the caller ID—it was her mom. Obviously, her parents had seen the press conference. Jordan decided to let the call go to voice mail. If she answered now, her mom would instantly pick up on her distress.

  “Yo?” Darcy waved a hand. “We’re on a tight timeline here. The reality—whether or not I’m fond of defense attorneys—is that Jordan needs a damn good one, and fast, and that means you, Jase.” When he started to protest, Darcy forestalled him. “You tell me where she can find someone as good as you, on short notice, who would be as motivated to help her.”

  “I can make calls on her behalf to any number of old acquaintances. One can hop a plane—”

  “—and be here by tonight and come up to speed on the case?” Darcy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” Jordan said irritably, “and I can make my own decisions.”

  “Jordan?” The call came from the front porch.

  Jordan recognized Ted’s voice. Damn. She’d forgotten all about his visit. “In here,” she called.

  He walked through the library doors, dressed stylishly in chinos and an Egyptian cotton button-down shirt, finger-combing the damage the breeze had done to his hair. He halted just inside the doors, his smile of greeting fading when he saw the crowd in the room.

  Jordan introduced him to Tom and Darcy, whom he hadn’t yet met.

  “What’s going on?” Ted asked Jordan.

  She managed a smile. “I may need a rain check on that tour I promised you.”

  He frowned. “Are you in trouble? What can I do to help?”

  “I’m fine. The police just want to talk to me again about Ryland’s murder. The detective in charge of the case is flying up tomorrow to interview me.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Who is this asshole? He can’t harass you like this—I won’t have it.” Ted pulled out his cellphone. “Give me his number, and I’ll talk to him.”

  “Bad idea,” Darcy said. “The guy’s just doing his job, and any interference from civilians will only make him more pugnacious.”

  “Well, we can’t just sit here and let him run roughshod over her!” Ted snapped.

  “We’re dealing with it,” Darcy told him.

  Jordan intervened. “Jase used to be a criminal defense attorney, and Darcy is the chief of police. They’ll both be present to ensure Detective Drake doesn’t step out of line.” She rose to place a hand on Ted’s arm. “I’ll be all right. But I’m pretty slammed, so …”

  “You’re betting your future on the legal expertise of a tavern own
er?” Ted’s expression was incredulous.

  Irritation crossed Jase’s face, but Jordan shook her head at him.

  “There’s no way I’m trusting anyone else to handle this for you!” Ted stated categorically.

  She tamped down her impatience. “Ted. We’ve discussed this—I can take care of myself.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to, dammit!”

  “It’s what I prefer.” She noted his increasing agitation and quickly added, “I really do want to have that coffee with you. How about I give you a call in a couple of days?”

  “All right,” he said grudgingly, “but promise me you’ll call if you need my help. I’m not without influence, you know. I could bring some pressure to bear on that detective. He’ll think twice before treating you disrespectfully.”

  “I appreciate the offer.” She guided him toward the door. “So how did you meet Didi Wyeth?” she asked, keeping her tone conversational. “Through your new agent?”

  “Yeah, she was leaving Arnie’s office one day as I arrived. We got to talking, and one thing led to another. She mentioned she was taking a break this summer, so I offered to let her stay at my house up here.”

  She drew him onto the front porch. “You know Didi dated Ryland for a while?”

  “Sure, she cried on my shoulder about it. The bastard broke her heart. I think that’s why she’s taking some career downtime, though she hasn’t admitted as much.” Ted gave Jordan a stubborn look. “I’m sorry Ryland’s dead, Jordan, but you deserved better. You understand that now, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said lightly. One of the movers came up the steps, obviously needing to talk to her. “I’d better go. See you in a few days, okay?”

  After answering the mover’s question, she turned back to find Darcy leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded. “What’s his problem?” she asked, cocking her head at Ted as he climbed into his car.

  Fragile ego, abandonment issues, lack of empathy for others, and maybe a tad too much transference during the therapy process. Not that Jordan could say that aloud.

  “That screwed up, huh?” Darcy concluded from the look on her face. “Why don’t I just pull out a gun and shoot the son of a bitch. Put him out of his misery.”