“Yeah. And Greeley’s reaction was over the top, don’t you think? Why wouldn’t he have investigated the attack on Frank, as Hattie asked?”
“Actually, I can see his point. It doesn’t make sense to file an incident report based on third-party information.” Darcy hesitated. “Not that they probably had incident reports back then, but still. He would’ve needed to see and/or talk to Frank, and Hattie was denying him access.”
“But given her suspicion that the police might be corrupt, it made sense to withhold Frank’s location. Especially since Greeley had made it clear he thought Frank had the beating coming to him.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point.” Darcy chewed, her expression pensive. “You gotta wonder what else was driving Greeley.”
“And why he never considered Clive Johnson a suspect in Hattie’s murder,” Jordan added. “From everything I’m learning, Johnson had the strongest motive by far to get rid of Hattie. And yet, Greeley never even mentions him in his memoir.” Jordan shook her head. “No offense, and present company excluded, of course, but I’m dealing with a few too many cops right now who don’t seem interested in approaching their jobs in a fair and impartial manner.”
Darcy shrugged. “Cops are human, and they lead very stressful lives. They don’t always do a good job of separating the personal from the public.” Her expression was worried. “But yeah, I’m concerned about Drake. More than once, I watched detectives on the Minneapolis force be influenced by their personal baggage—the divorce they were going through, the child who’d just entered drug rehab—and watched how those problems drove them to inaccurate conclusions on their open cases.”
Jordan reached down to rub the dog’s stomach. “Well, I have to believe Jase’s buddy will come up with something we can use. Otherwise, I’ll go mad.” She glanced in the direction of the stage, spying Ted and Didi. “Then again,” she muttered, shoving back her chair, “maybe I can come up with something. Be right back.”
She intercepted Jase halfway across the room, commandeering a tray of drinks he had intended to deliver to the band.
“Jordan,” Ted greeted her, his expression lighting up. “How did the meeting go this morning? Everything okay?”
“Just fine,” she lied, handing out the drinks to the band members. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I came over to chat.” She turned to the actress, holding out her martini. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind, Didi.”
Didi was sitting in a chair just off the edge of the stage. Tonight’s outfit consisted of tight leather pants, a bustier, and knee-high black boots. She looked like she planned to visit a BDSM club later on, though Jordan doubted Port Chatham had one.
Eying Jordan with distaste, Didi said, “Why would I talk to you? You murdered the man I loved.”
“Because I didn’t murder him,” Jordan replied evenly, “and because you want his real murderer found just as badly as I do.”
Didi shrugged. “Ryland told me about the insurance policy you took out, you know. I figure you just never expected the cops to find those cut brake lines.”
Jordan tamped down her irritation. “Did Detective Drake interview you about your relationship with Ryland?”
“Sure. I told him Ryland and I were in love, that he was only trying to reconcile with you long enough to get his hands on your granny’s inheritance.” Didi paused to light an imported cigarette, blowing the smoke in Jordan’s face. “He wouldn’t have stayed with you.”
“I wasn’t interested in him staying with me,” Jordan said automatically, then realized Didi’s version of Ryland’s reasons for the reconciliation made as much sense as any she’d been able to come up with. “So you’re the one who told Drake about Ryland wanting to patch up the marriage.”
“Yeah. I figured anything I could say that got him looking in your direction was good. I knew you’d done it, and I wanted to make damn sure you didn’t get away with it.” Jordan started to protest, but Didi added, oblivious, “Drake also wanted to know where I was that night, and unlike you, I have an airtight alibi.”
“And it is?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was at a party in Beverly Hills, hosted by the producer of the next film I’m starring in.”
Jordan shot a curious glance at Ted, but he had his back turned to them, talking to his band members. He’d indicated to Jordan just yesterday that Didi was on vacation. “I thought you were taking some time off from your career?”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the newspapers, darling.”
Jordan thought she detected a hint of anger behind Didi’s reply. So Ted had been at least partially correct—the press had had a field day with the news of Didi and Ryland’s breakup.
The actress flicked ash on the floor, her expression bored. “Look, why don’t you just confess and be done with it? We all know you resented the fact that Ryland cheated on you. That the only reason you’d been so accommodating during the divorce was because you thought you were going to take him to the cleaners. I’ll bet you got the shock of your life when you realized the lawsuits would eat up that nice settlement you’d been fantasizing about.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were attributing the kind of motives you would have to my actions.” Jordan kept her tone mild.
“I loved Ryland,” Didi shot back. “I would never have done anything to hurt him.”
“Oh, for …” Jordan gave up, letting her irritation rule. “Get a clue. The man you fell in love with screwed his way through half his patient list! You’ve got serious self-esteem issues if you think he could’ve ever been any good for you.”
“How could you possibly understand anything about me? You killed your husband because he cheated on you!”
Ted turned to look at them, his expression alarmed.
“I’m a therapist—I see women like you all the time,” Jordan retorted. “You can’t sustain a loving relationship because you’ve never worked through your childhood abandonment issues. Trust me, I get that. But self-regulation does not translate to dating every father figure you happen to cross paths with.”
“Well, you would know, now, wouldn’t you?” Didi taunted. “You were married to the man for seven years! If anyone had daddy issues, it’s you!”
“Excuse me?”
“Jordan, calm down,” Ted said, looking shocked. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I’ve had a particularly trying day,” Jordan snapped. “And I’m losing patience with needy, dysfunctional people who think they can mess with my life by feeding false information to the police!”
“Whoa,” Ted’s bass player murmured, looking up from applying rosin to his bow. “Catfight!”
Didi screeched and lunged for her.
Jase wrapped an arm around Jordan’s waist and pulled her behind him, removing her from the reach of Didi’s manicured claws. “Get your girlfriend under control,” he told Ted, fending her off, “or I’m throwing her out.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ted said, and Didi howled. He grabbed both her arms. “Be quiet!”
“Get counseling!” Jordan shouted over Jase’s shoulder, blocked from moving any closer.
“You’d be the last therapist I’d call, you murderous bitch!”
Jase planted his hands on Jordan’s shoulders, turning her toward Darcy’s table and pushing her across the room. “I’ve got JT verifying her alibi,” he said in a tone only Jordan could hear. “If she’s lying, he’ll figure it out.”
“Oh, she’s lying all right,” Jordan growled, dragging her feet. “I’m trained to know when someone is lying.”
“I’m sure you are. You might want to dial back on the ‘proactive’ just a bit, though,” he advised, a thread of laughter running through his voice.
Angling a glance up at him, she saw that he was grinning. Great.
She dropped into her chair, her cheeks heating as she realized the scene she’d caused. “I can’t believe I did that.�
�� What was the matter with her? She’d never used her training in such an inappropriate and damaging way. Yes, she cared that Ryland’s murderer was found, but still …
“You did have ample provocation,” Darcy pointed out, then grinned as well. “And though you are so terminally nice it makes my teeth hurt, the entertainment factor is way up there. Listening to the trio this evening will be anticlimactic.”
“Cute.” Jordan ventured a glance around the room, noting the number of covert stares aimed her way. “And I’m not nice, I’m tough as nails.”
“Right.”
“Oh, shut up.” She concentrated on her breathing.
Jase set another full glass of wine before her, then gave her a quick shoulder rub. “Drink up. In a little bit, you won’t feel a thing.”
“That would be good.” She took a large gulp. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t expect it to get that out of hand.”
Jase looked amused. “No problem. The pub is getting quite the reputation. Business is bound to pick up.”
“Ha-ha, funny.” But she noted that during her talk with Didi, the room had become twice as crowded. “Though I like the way you let folks simply hang out, that you don’t force them to buy drinks to be here,” she added.
He exchanged a confused look with Darcy. “Come again?”
“All the people who’ve been coming to the jazz performances and just hanging out.”
They glanced at each other again, then Jase shook his head, clearly not understanding her.
“All the people standing around by the entrance? At the bar?” She wondered whether the two of them were particularly oblivious this evening.
“There aren’t any people standing by the entrance,” Darcy said, her expression becoming intrigued. “Exactly what do you see?”
Jordan felt a chill. “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No, no, no. Do not pull that crap on me—I’ve had a bad day.”
“What do you think you see?” Jase repeated.
She turned toward the entrance, counting the patrons that stood there. “A couple dozen people, mostly men in work clothes, crowded just inside the door.” She’d had a fleeting impression that their clothes were a little odd, but her mind slid away from that fact. “Right?” she asked a little desperately.
Darcy grinned. “Hey, Tom!” she shouted, waving him over, and Jordan watched him walk right through several “people” standing next to the bar.
She closed her eyes and laid her head down on the table.
Jase rubbed her back with one hand. “It’ll be all right,” he said, chuckling. “To tell you the truth, I’ve always wondered whether there were any ghosts hanging around in here. It’s an old building.”
“There are ghosts in here?” Tom turned in a circle, scanning the room.
Jordan thudded her head against the hard surface of the table.
It all began to sink in—the little girl with the antique doll, the elderly couple in the porch swing, the young man on the old-fashioned bicycle. The woman in the cape leaving the grocery that first night. Half the people she’d seen in the damn town!
Darcy was having a look around herself. “So what are they doing?”
Jordan quickly glanced up, then laid her head back down. The table’s cool surface was such a comfort. “Hanging out, talking to each other? Listening to the music? I don’t know.”
“I wonder if they like my selection of bands,” Jase said.
“What do you suppose they want?” Tom asked her.
“How the hell should I know? You want me to go take a poll? First, I’d have to poke each one with a finger, just to make sure I’m talking to a ghost, which could be a bit embarrassing to explain to the humans I accidently poke …” Her voice trailed off as she realized the import of what she was saying. “Oh, God—I can’t tell the difference,” she wailed, mortified. “They’re everywhere, and they all look just like real people to me.”
“Is that really a problem?” Jase asked, and she gave him a dirty look.
“An entire community of ghosts, huh?” Darcy said. “Seriously cool. Maybe you can help me figure out what I need to do, to be receptive enough to see them.”
“I think either you can see them, or you can’t,” Tom said. “It’s not like you can develop powers you don’t have.”
“Why the hell not?” Darcy asked.
Jordan’s head shot up as a new thought occurred to her. “Oh, oh.”
She jumped up, scanning the crowd until she found the man from two nights ago who’d never paid for his drink. He held her gaze for a fraction of a second, then turned and slipped through the crowd.
Dammit! He was getting away. She hurriedly nudged the dog awake with her foot.
“Whoa, hold on.” Jase took hold of her arm. “Where’re you going?”
“There’s someone I need to check out.” She folded the rope for the dog.
“Wait a minute—with all that’s been happening, you’re not chasing after someone on your own.”
“No, really, I’m okay,” she assured him. “I don’t think I’m in any danger.”
“Dammit—”
“I’ll explain later.” She was already out the door, jogging toward home.
* * *
SHE followed the stranger, keeping a half block between them. Though she was fairly certain he knew she was there, he didn’t stop or look back, instead disappearing around the corner. As she and the dog turned onto her street, she spied him standing next to a streetlight across from her house.
The dog planted all four paws, the hair on his back raised, and growled low in his throat. She halted, barely avoiding somersaulting over him. Putting a hand on his neck, she murmured, “Go up on the porch, boy. I’ll be okay.”
He cast a distrustful glance toward the man, then reluctantly did as she asked. Sitting on the top step, he kept watch as she jogged across the street.
The man straightened as she approached, his expression becoming resigned. She had a fleeting moment to wonder whether she was out of her mind, walking up to a stranger on a deserted street, and that thought had her stopping a safe distance from him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and met his hard gaze.
“You’re Frank Lewis, aren’t you?” she accused.
Chapter 14
THE ghost gave her a blatant once-over that had her wondering whether even after crossing over … well, to wherever ghosts cross over to, men continued to be plagued by a preoccupation with women and sex. She carefully returned his perusal.
Actually, now that she could see him rather than relying on Hattie’s written description of him, she could understand the attraction. Attitude radiated from him in waves, and in a rough-hewn, antiquated sort of way, she figured he pretty much personified “bad-boy hunk” for the nineteenth century.
The fact that his clothing was a century out of style and hung loosely on his hard, angular frame did little to lessen his impact. And though Jase held far more appeal for her, she wasn’t completely immune.
She brought herself up short. Okay, she hadn’t just compared the sex appeal of a ghost to that of a real man, right?
“Does Hattie know you’re here?” she asked.
He shook his head, settling himself more comfortably and shoving his hands into the pockets of his baggy work pants. “You’re not to tell her, either.”
Jordan crossed her arms. “You know, that would’ve gone over a whole lot better as a request. Just in case you need tutoring in twenty-first-century customs vis-à-vis the gender wars.”
His expression turned wary. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
Glancing around the darkened neighborhood, she wondered whether any neighbors were watching. If so, they would think she was standing on the street conversing with a light pole. It was a safe bet she wasn’t enhancing her reputation. Then again, given the most recent rumors that were bound to be flying around, talking to a light pole might be considered a minor infraction.
“So why are you here?” she asked.
>
“To keep an eye on your investigation.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “You could say I have an uncommon interest in your findings.”
She eyed him suspiciously. Either she’d had too much to drink, or he’d just made a spectral pun. “Have you been following me since I arrived in town?”
He snorted. “If I had been, you wouldn’t have known I was there. We can be present without revealing ourselves.”
“So why reveal yourself at all?”
“Because I thought it was time to impress upon you the importance of finding Hattie’s murderer. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re rather inept.”
She gaped at him. Not only was she delusional, her imaginary friends were now criticizing her performance. This had to represent a new low in methods of self-recrimination. “Did you kill Hattie?”
“Of course not.” His tone was chiding, as if he thought she was dull-witted.
“You were in the house that night, which makes you the most likely suspect,” she pointed out stubbornly. “You had opportunity.”
“How ironic. Aren’t you currently criticizing the police detective on your case for thinking you’re the most likely suspect in your husband’s murder, simply because you were there when he was murdered?”
She could’ve argued that she wasn’t the one with the reputation for violence, but he had a point. Still, his people skills definitely could use some improvement. “You claimed you were drugged. How?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “At first I thought it was possible Hattie had slipped laudanum into my tea. We’d argued about my refusal to take the drug—I was concerned with remaining alert, but she didn’t like to see me suffering. But I brewed my tea after she retired upstairs for the evening, so I had to rule out that possibility. I did add brandy to my tea, though. I doubt I would’ve tasted the laudanum, had it been added to the decanter.”
“And the physician left the laudanum in the house when he’d examined you after your attack.”
“Yes.”
“Clive Johnson ordered the attack on you, didn’t he?”
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