Jordan flipped through the pages, hunting for additional references to Hattie, but what she found instead was even more intriguing.
July 23rd —For the first time in my life, I have killed out of the need for personal vengeance. Once Remy had persuaded him to talk, he admitted to murdering Hattie in retribution. He’d laughed, thinking I wouldn’t care what he’d done. He sealed his fate in that moment. I had the pleasure of watching the man who took from me everything I hold dear die a slow, agonizing death. Perhaps now I can rest.
Jordan set the papers down, her hands trembling with excitement. Frank had been innocent, and Seavey had avenged Hattie’s murder. The question was, who had died on July 23, 1890? Clive Johnson? It certainly made sense. How tragic that Greeley had been too blind to investigate Johnson. To know for certain, though, she needed a name—an official record of who had died on that date.
She reached for her phone.
“Darcy, I need to get back inside the Historical Society building. Are you up for a little B and E this morning?”
“Gee, why the hell not? I live to break the law,” Darcy replied. “Pick you up in ten minutes.”
* * *
THIS time, Jordan left Malachi at home, explaining that Darcy didn’t want dog hairs in the police cruiser. He let it be known he thought that reasoning was suspect at best.
While Darcy drove, Jordan filled her in on what she’d learned.
“So we’re looking for some kind of official report of a murder on July 23, 1890?” Darcy asked as they turned into the parking lot of the Historical Society.
“Yeah. Seavey, in a journal entry on that date, indicates he killed Hattie’s murderer. My bet, given the prior entries in which he said he needed to deal with Johnson, is that that’s who he killed.”
“Maybe, if you believe that Seavey was being truthful in his journal.”
“Why wouldn’t he have been?”
“Anyone in that time frame who wrote journals or diaries had to believe the documents would be read by whoever survived them.”
“You have a point,” Jordan said grudgingly. “But he admitted to murder, and I don’t see Seavey as a man who spent a lot of time agonizing over his reputation.”
Darcy moved the plywood from in front of the door. “He might’ve wanted his relatives to believe he’d done the right thing, simply because he knew he hadn’t and felt remorse. It’s one thing to kill off your competitors, but it’s another entirely to be a party to the murder of a defenseless woman.”
“Maybe.” But Jordan wasn’t convinced. She opened the door and they made their way across the dusty room and down the stairs to the basement.
Jordan ran her fingers down the spines of the boxes holding the Port Chatham Weekly Gazette from 1890, pulling out the one that was the correct range of dates. Taking it over to the small table, she opened it and handed half its contents to Darcy. “Look for July 23, 1890, or a date close to that, since the newspaper was a weekly.”
It took her only a moment to find what she was looking for, her surprise growing as she read. She held out the yellowed newsprint, pointing at the front-page leading article. “Police Chief John Greeley was killed in the line of duty the night of July 23, 1890. He’d been beaten, then shot in the abdomen in the alley behind the police station. He bled to death before he was discovered.”
“Whoa,” Darcy murmured, skimming the article.
“Yeah.” Jordan rubbed her face, trying to process the information in a way that made sense.
“There must’ve been more than one murder that night.” Darcy was flipping through the rest of the newspaper.
“I don’t think so, actually.”
“Come on. A cop? You think Greeley killed Hattie, then set up Frank to take the fall?”
“Actually, it fits, and for reasons I wasn’t even taking into account, dammit. Greeley was furious with Hattie for putting Charlotte at risk and causing her kidnapping. And I don’t care how chauvinistic men were back then, he was obsessed with Charlotte. Men like that are easily capable of killing the person they hold responsible for the destruction of their carefully planned world. And it also makes sense that Greeley would frame Frank—he could buy himself some favors with Seavey for neutralizing a business rival.”
Darcy’s expression was skeptical.
“Okay, look,” Jordan said, warming to her subject. “Seavey said in his journal entry that the man he killed had murdered Hattie ‘in retribution.’ He indicated he’d ‘persuaded’ the man to talk. That sounds an awful lot like Seavey had his thugs beat him until he talked. Seavey also said he enjoyed watching the man he’d killed die a ‘slow and agonizing’ death. A gunshot to the abdomen would qualify as slow and agonizing.”
“Okay, I might buy that. But what happened to Clive Johnson?”
“Good question … wait. Seavey talked about handling the problem with Johnson around the time of the kidnapping—he felt that by not acting sooner, he’d allowed Charlotte’s kidnapping to occur.” Jordan picked up the stack of newspapers, shuffling them to find the ones from early June. After some quick skimming, she grinned and handed an issue to Darcy, folded open to the police report. “An unidentified man was fished from the bay on the morning of June 7—the day after the soirée. The corpse was beaten beyond recognition.”
“People died almost every night on the waterfront—that proves nothing.”
“Yes, but if Seavey had rescued Charlotte by the night before, he’d already gotten hold of Johnson, forced him to reveal Charlotte’s location, then ‘handled’ the problem.”
Darcy folded the paper and handed it back to her. “You realize all you have is supposition and circumstantial evidence, right?”
“Yes, but strong supposition, and all the dates match.” Jordan replaced the newspapers and set the box back in its place on the shelf. “We know that’s what happened, even though it will never be proven in a court of law. And the psychological profile of Greeley fits Hattie’s murder—it was a crime of passion.”
Closing up, they walked back out to the police cruiser. Darcy’s expression was troubled. “This will devastate Tom.”
Jordan’s steps faltered, and she stared at Darcy in consternation. In her zeal to solve the crime, she hadn’t thought of the consequences of revealing the murderer’s real identity. Darcy was right—the family’s reputation could be irreparably harmed in the community. “So what do I do?”
Darcy started up the car and backed it out of its parking place, looking thoughtful. “Tom deserves to know. Tell him what you’ve uncovered, then show him the journal entries. Let him decide how he wants it handled. After all, you can tell Hattie and Charlotte without revealing the information publicly, right?”
Jordan thought about it, then nodded. “That makes sense. I also need to find a way to break it to Charlotte—she still believes Greeley loved her. I doubt she’ll take the news well that he was a violent, narcissistic stalker whose love for her was so twisted he murdered her sister.”
“Now, that would be an understatement.” Darcy turned onto Jordan’s street.
Jordan’s cellphone rang and she pulled it out as Darcy stopped in front of Longren House. “I’m here,” she said by way of answering. “I just had Darcy run me on a quick errand—we’re a bit late getting back.”
“Actually,” Jase replied, “I was calling to tell you I’d gotten tied up with the supplier and was on my way out the door. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll wait for you here.” Jordan walked up the steps onto the porch with Darcy behind her.
“Oh, and JT called back—he got the name of Drake’s reliable witnesses. One, not surprisingly, is Didi Wyeth. But the other—get this—is Ted Rawlins.”
“But that doesn’t—” Jordan abruptly halted at the front door, causing Darcy to slam into her from behind.
Darcy sidestepped around Jordan. “Jesus, Marsh—” she swore, then shut up. Ted stood in the front hall, a handgun in his hand.
Jord
an heard an odd coughing noise just as she saw Darcy reach for her gun.
Darcy went down without a sound.
Chapter 17
JORDAN’S phone dropped from nerveless fingers. Oh God, oh God. She fell to her knees beside Darcy, frantically searching for a pulse.
“Get up, Jordan,” Ted said calmly. “It would be best if I didn’t have to shoot you just yet.”
From somewhere deep inside the house, she could hear Malachi barking furiously and scratching. She slowly rose, keeping her eyes on the gun pointed at her, which looked really, really big. “What have you done with my dog?”
“Shut him in the butler’s pantry, where he won’t be a nuisance. I don’t like to harm animals.” Ted gestured with the gun toward the library. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
Jordan gave Darcy one last glance, then walked ahead of him, her heart pounding so hard it felt like a fist hitting her chest from the inside.
Charlotte was hovering at ceiling level, fading in and out, and hissing. Hattie stood in the shadows next to the French doors, her eyes on Jordan, waiting, Jordan realized, for some kind of sign from her. She glanced at Ted, who was frowning distractedly to himself. Surreptitiously, she splayed one hand out at her side, hoping Hattie understood her signal to wait.
“Hold still, Charlotte, and wait for Jordan to tell us what to do,” Hattie said.
“But I can get his gun!” Charlotte swooped right over Ted’s head, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Jordan shook her head slightly, and Charlotte retreated to ceiling level with a loud sniff.
Think, Jordan told herself. Jase would’ve heard the commotion and realized she’d dropped her phone—he was on his way, and he would have called the police. She just had to stall until the cavalry arrived. “Why don’t you let me call the EMTs, Ted? You don’t want Darcy to die.”
Ted shrugged. “Why would I care? She was in the way.” He used the barrel of the gun to scratch the side of his head, mussing his hair.
For the first time, Jordan noted that his clothes were wrinkled. Changing personal hygiene habits—a sign of deteriorating mental stability. Not that shooting Darcy without hesitation hadn’t already illustrated that salient fact.
“Killing a cop, Ted—that’s not good. You can get the death penalty.”
“Only if I’m caught, and I won’t be.”
“Just let me make the phone call,” Jordan urged. “Then you can take me to your house.”
“Don’t give him any ideas, Jordan,” Hattie admonished. “He could abduct you!”
“No. Just shut up while I think,” Ted snarled.
He paced slowly around the room, keeping the gun pointed in her direction. Through the French doors, Jordan could see Amanda weeding with her back to them, her butt swaying to whatever tune she had on her MP3 player. Chances of getting her attention were slim at best.
“I’m disappointed, Jordan,” Ted said, drawing her focus back to him. “I came to you because I lost the record contract. And you helped me, remember? I’m back on the road to greatness, and I deserve that greatness. But you’ve fucked it all up.”
She didn’t have to fake her confusion. “How?”
“You moved! Did you really think you could just relocate up here and I wouldn’t be upset?”
“But you were the one who invited me up here last year—”
“For the goddamn festival, not to buy some run-down old heap!” he shouted, straightening his arm and shoving the gun at her. “You belong at my side, in L.A. You’re perfect for me—you are the person I need to help me in my career.”
Charlotte hissed and swooped, and Jordan shot her a warning glance. “I have a career of my own, Ted.” Falling into therapist mode, she kept her tone even, her reasoning rational. If she persuaded him of his flawed logic, she might be able to get him to give her the gun. “How did you think that would work?”
He snorted, his expression derisive. “Other people don’t need you—I do. You told me you were taking a sabbatical, and that you needed to reassess. I assumed you understood.”
Malachi’s barking stopped. In the ensuing silence, Jordan forced herself to keep her eyes on Ted. “What about Didi? You’re dating her, aren’t you?”
“I told you, she’s just staying up here this summer. Why won’t you listen to me?” Ted’s agitation was clearly escalating.
Hattie floated forward, her expression alarmed, and Jordan put up both hands. “Okay, okay—I’m listening now, aren’t I?”
Ted ran a hand over his face. “I just can’t make you understand,” he muttered, resuming his pacing.
Keep him talking. “The private investigator says Didi lied about her alibi,” Jordan said. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Yeah, I heard you two on the phone with him at the pub. That’s when I knew I had to do something. If you’d just left well enough alone. But no. You had to investigate.” Ted laughed, the sound unnaturally harsh. “Didi was sleeping with our agent that night. He told her if she did, he’d get her a big movie contract. She didn’t want anyone to know about it.” He gave Jordan an accusing look. “She wouldn’t have needed an alibi if you’d just stayed away from that asshole you married—he wouldn’t have dumped her. Why’d you have to invite him out to your condo, Jordan?”
Jordan’s stomach clenched. “You killed Ryland?”
“What choice did you give me? I wasn’t about to let him move back in, but I could see you were wavering. He was in our way.”
“You followed him that night.”
“I’d been following him for weeks. I listened to everything, and I could tell you were waffling. So I cut the brake lines.”
Jordan felt a sharp pang for Ryland. “And then you told Drake about our argument to point the cops at me.”
“Of course. Clever of me, I must admit.”
Jordan took a calculated risk. “But your logic just isn’t holding up at all, is it, Ted? You murder Ryland, then you implicate me in his murder by telling the cops about our argument? If I’m in jail, I can’t be with you, now, can I?”
Ted shook his head. “No, no—you just don’t get it, do you, Jordan? I’m beginning to wonder whether you’re as smart as I thought you were.”
She spread her hands. “Tell me what I’m missing, because from where I stand, your logic sucks.”
“Don’t you dare criticize me!”
“Do you think it’s wise to provoke him, Jordan?” Hattie asked.
“Let me throw books at him!” Charlotte screeched, flying toward the bookcases.
“No, wait!” Jordan said.
“Don’t order me around!” Ted snapped, waving the gun. “Do you really want to piss me off right now? I’m still thinking about shooting you.”
“No, no,” Jordan said hurriedly. She thought she heard a slight movement in the hall. “Listen, Ted, just explain it to me, why don’t you? How am I supposed to be with you when I’m rotting in jail for my husband’s murder?”
“Well, I can come and visit you, right?” Ted’s tone indicated he thought he was reasoning with a five-year-old. “And no one else can have you if you’re locked up. Plus, you would’ve been convicted in California, so you’d be brought back to a California state penitentiary. I can work with that.”
Jordan gaped at him, stunned. Rational Therapy hadn’t done a damn thing for him. If she decided to go back into counseling, she seriously needed to reassess her chosen discipline.
Ted suddenly moved toward her, and she jogged backward. He stopped, shaking his head. “See? Now that’s the problem—you just don’t get that you belong to me. Despite all your mistakes, I still loved you, you know. My world would have been complete with you in it.”
He was using past tense. Not a good sign.
“I don’t have to shoot you, if you’ll just come with me.” He leaned forward, his tone confidential. “I can call the cops off, you know. I’ve got contacts. I’m important.”
Jordan acted as if she were considering his offer
while her mind raced. “Well, hell.” She made herself glare at him. “Get a clue, Ted.”
Ted’s face turned red. At that moment, Jase edged around the library door, his expression grim, just outside of Ted’s line of sight.
Jordan signaled with her hand for him to wait. “You know why some people become therapists, Ted? No? It’s because they’re so messed up, they need to figure out how to fix themselves. And I’m that messed up, believe me.”
He scowled. “No, you’re not. You’re just a little off track right now. We can fix that.”
“Off track? I don’t think so. I’ve got a Four-Point Plan for Personal Renewal, did you know that? Around here, we call it the FPP for short. And you know what? It’s in shambles.”
“What’re you talking about?” he asked, confused. “You’ve always run your life perfectly. And you can do the same for me—”
“Oh, please.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I can’t even handle my own life, much less someone else’s.”
“That’s not true!”
“I’m the laughingstock of the town.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ted said.
“You are not the laughingstock of this town,” Charlotte said loyally. “How could you think that?”
“Shut up and wait.”
“Don’t use that tone with me,” he snapped, but he seemed less certain of himself.
Jordan turned back to him. “Here’s the thing, Ted—I’m delusional. I see ghosts.” His eyes widened. “That’s right,” she nodded, smiling triumphantly. “Ghosts.”
Jase again took a step forward, looking alarmed. She gave a slight shake of her head. She’d counseled Ted for months, and she knew every one of the jerk’s hot buttons.
“You’re just trying to trick me,” Ted said nervously.
“It’s no trick—I not only see ghosts, I can tell them what to do.” She turned her head slightly. “Charlotte, go for it.”
“Who are you talking to?” Ted’s voice rose.
Charlotte stopped pulsing spastically, her expression confused. “Go for what?”
Jesus. “Take him out,” Jordan rephrased.
Haunting Jordan pcm-1 Page 31
