He went on, “It’s a meal one eats at night. We skipped lunch—but then, of course, the breakfasts at McLane House are certainly a meal, so...”
She was still silent. Yes, she would refuse him.
“All right,” she said. “But I’ll help out here for our afternoon tea service first. So, about seven? I mean, you’re obviously welcome to be back here for tea, but...if you’re not...”
“I’ll be back,” he told her. “See you soon.” He hung up.
In one of the drawers, there was an old book—another Civil War story by the look of it. Dallas took it out and set it on the desk. He’d start with it next time, and re-shelf it properly after.
He left Ian Murphy’s room and headed down, pausing in the parlor by the entry.
There was something about the house...
“Mr. Murphy?” he spoke softly aloud.
Kristi had tried, too, he was certain. Kristi had known and loved Murphy; Murphy had known and loved her. If anyone, he’d appear to her.
And still...
There was something.
It was almost as if a dark, shadowy mist had permeated the house. It wasn’t a sense of evil. Just something that lurked in the shadows, and couldn’t quite be seen, couldn’t quite be touched... And, yet, it was there.
Tomorrow, he’d start reading again. The answer had to be up there somewhere, somewhere in Ian Murphy’s extensive library.
“Is someone here?” he asked aloud, a little desperately.
There was no answer.
And yet that dark gray mist still seemed to hover, a strange miasma, and it was as if the house itself was...
Breathing.
* * *
Dinner. A date? Were they just going to find some food—easy enough in Savannah—and chat about their horoscope signs, or...what?
No. Dallas probably wanted her away from the house again, attention undivided, certain if he quizzed her long enough, she’d know why a trainer and an old man were dead and businesswoman and a politician were missing.
Kristi still decided to shower, and to find one of her favorite little black dresses.
She brought the phone with her into the bathroom—just in case. She dressed with it on the bed in front of her.
Jamie Murphy still hadn’t called her.
When she was dressed, she called him.
He answered right away. “Sorry, sorry, Kristi. Professor got a little long-winded. Is everything all right? Is there a problem with the house?”
“No, no problem—the house is just fine. And I won’t mess anything up. You know that.”
“You’re welcome to anything there. You know that. So what’s up?”
“There’s a man staying here who is a private eye, working for an old friend of Lachlan Plant, just wants to try to understand what happened.”
“Lachlan didn’t have family.”
“I know. This is just an old friend. But I think he provided the rest of the burial money—Lachlan is going to have a funeral and be buried on Saturday.”
“That’s great. I wish I could make it home for the funeral, but there was my grandfather and Jedidiah and I’m afraid I’ll be kicked out if I leave again.”
“No, no, I wasn’t suggesting you should come home—you need to make it through school, Jamie. I just wanted to ask you. Did Ian ever...did he and Lachlan know each other?”
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“Kristi, it’s Savannah—I mean, the city is kind of a small town where everyone knows everyone’s business. Locals all know each other.”
“Lachlan wasn’t a local.”
“He worked for the local gym. Hey, Ian walked over and met me sometimes for dinner or something—when he was feeling well.”
“Did you ever suggest they work out together?”
“Sure. I talked about my grandfather to Lachlan. I talked to Gramps about working with a trainer—it would have been good for him.”
“Did they ever meet?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. But Lachlan had told me he’d be willing to go to Gramps’ place to help him, so, sure, maybe. He thought he was cool as could be, you know.”
“Who thought who was cool?” Kristi asked.
Jamie laughed. “Lachlan thought Gramps was amazing—the amount he seemed to know about everything. In fact, he said once, if we ever got a game of Trivial Pursuit going, he definitely wanted to be on my grandfather’s team.” He paused. “You know, they definitely had to have met. Lachlan couldn’t have said some of the things he said—felt the way that he did—if he hadn’t known Gramps.”
“So,” Kristi said, and she felt as if she was far, far away, watching herself rather than doing the actual talking. “It’s likely they did know one another and they might have shared information.”
“Sure. Hey, really—is everything all right? There is no problem with the house?”
“Everything is fine, Jamie, I promise.”
“Okay, cool. Call me, text me, whatever, if you need anything else.”
“Thank you. Um, study hard, huh?”
“Will do.”
She hung up on Jamie and almost called Dallas right away, but a glance at her phone clock told her that if she meant to help with their tea service, she needed to get downstairs.
Dallas would be there soon enough.
Matthew Guyer was back with Carl Brentwood and his crew. They always had plenty extra for their tea. Kristi smiled at him and hurried through to the kitchen; Genie was slicing cheese and Sydney was pouring hot water into a pot.
“Tea drinkers, this crowd,” Sydney said. “One pot of coffee, but this is the third big pot of tea I brewed. No drinkers among the crew—not even Granger Knox tonight. Maybe he watches out because he has a young and susceptible daughter.”
“Maybe. What can I do?” Kristi asked.
“Want to put out a few of my famous biscuits?” Genie asked. “I do believe I outdid myself today, I’ve got plain, and I did up a batch of blueberry—and you can put out some of those preserves, too, if you will.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kristi said, stepping in for a tray and arranging biscuits.
“Haven’t seen the PI guy around all day,” Genie told Kristi. “Told him you were at the Murphy place—he found you okay?”
“Yes, thanks,” she murmured. “Anyway...” She needed to get her tray done and get out of the kitchen; she was blushing, and she definitely wasn’t hiding her own interest in the “PI guy” very well.
But she was saved by a tapping on the back door; it wasn’t locked, because it opened, and Shelley—in a black dress with a colorful silk cape around her shoulders—came hurrying in.
She stopped, looking at them, a broad smile on her face. “I am so excited. So, so excited! I can’t wait. I’m going to star in a video—now I will be the Savannah medium!”
“Yes, and that’s great,” Kristi agreed softly, sweeping up her tray. “Are you supposed to be meeting with Carl Brentwood and his people? They’re all out there, talking about the séance, I’m sure.”
“Cool, and thank you—thank you for this opportunity, Kristi!”
“Sure.” Kristi headed out the door; Shelley was right behind her.
“I heard you’re going to fill in. It’s going to be a really big table, not all that conducive to raising the spirits, but this house is very haunted, I’m sure it will be fine, whatever we do. And, Kristi, I’m glad you’re going to sit with us. You just don’t know. I have a feeling about you—the ghosts are just going to show up like popcorn out of a cooker, I’m sure of it!”
“Shelley,” Kristi moaned, setting her tray down on the table. She turned and stared at the medium. “Everything will be on camera, so be careful, huh?”
Don’t go shaking the table with your knee.
Shelley waved a
hand in the air. “Not to worry—it’s going to be great. Just great. Chock-full of the undead, all anxious and with something to say!”
“Shelley!” Carl Brentwood had seen the medium arrive.
Kristi smiled at them both and excused herself back to the kitchen, where she grabbed her bag and told Genie, “You guys are on your own—I’m out of here!”
For the second time that day, she fled.
And, for the third time, she ran right into Dallas Wicker.
“Hey! I...guess we’re going now,” he said.
“Yep.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere!”
He looked back up at the house, seemed thoughtful for a moment.
“It’s the same...” he murmured.
“The same what?”
“The gray, the...” He stopped speaking and then turned his eyes deliberately to her and smiled. “Never mind. The city, my lady, is filled with exceptionally fine restaurants. What’s your pleasure?”
“Whatever—that way! Let’s just go.”
He nodded, studying her.
“As you wish.”
7
“As long as I can remember,” Kristi said, as they walked and neared the restaurant of her choice, “I’ve loved the 17Hundred90 Inn and Restaurant.”
“Sounds good,” Dallas said.
“It’s haunted, of course. It was actually built in 1820, but that was a bad year. So many died in a yellow fever epidemic. Room 204 is the most haunted—Anna was a young girl, in love with a sailor. He loved her, too, but the owner of the inn back then wouldn’t let her go to him—the sailor thought she didn’t love him, and he sailed away. She then plunged to her death—there’s a mannequin of Anna in the window for all those on the ghost tours to see. We seem to like mannequins,” Kristi said.
“Yes, you have a mannequin of Monty McLane,” Dallas noted.
“Always looking out, protecting his home—looking for Trinity. Anyway, seriously, this place is fantastic for dinner. And I guess our stories and our mannequins work because people, including all manner of celebrities, call way ahead to book Anna’s room.”
“What about McLane House?” he asked.
“Ah, well, we’re different—the murders took place out front, and no one knows exactly where Justin McLane was hanged, if it was even on the property—and if they were really buried on the property.”
“You haven’t asked him yet?” Dallas asked her.
She flushed. “No! Anyway, I just wanted out of the house. So, it’s basically confirmed that Ian Murphy and Lachlan knew one another. They seemed to be building a friendship based on mutual respect of trivia and learning, so if Ian Murphy did know something, he might well have told Lachlan. But the more I think about it, the more I think we’re stretching to believe anyone would have killed both of them for anything that Ian Murphy knew. First off, Jamie is doing just fine out in California—wouldn’t he have also known whatever his grandfather knew?”
“Not if it was something Ian Murphy just learned. They died a little over two weeks ago now, right? Just a day or two apart.”
Kristi nodded, looking downward. “Ian...and then a few days later, Lachlan.”
They’d reached the restaurant; Dallas opened the door. The hostess greeted Kristi.
When they were seated, she gestured around. “Isn’t it nice?”
“It’s great,” he said. “Charming old brick, cozy seating, bar...mantelpiece. I love it, too.”
“You’ve been here before?” she asked him.
He lowered his head. “Yeah, I’ve been here before.” He looked up at her. “Kristi, I lived the first ten years of my life near here, just on the outskirts of the old town, toward I-95.”
“You—you’re from Savannah? Oh, my God, I feel like a fool. I must be telling you so many things that you already know!” she said, eyes wide—looking betrayed.
He shook his head, suddenly determined for her to understand. “I was young when I left. Ten. I’d been staying with my mom and her family—waiting for my dad to finish his stint in the military.” He hesitated. “I really grew up in Fredericksburg, Virginia.”
They were briefly interrupted by the waitress, who brought them water and took their orders.
“So... Savannah was your home,” Kristi prompted him once they were on their own again.
“For a short time—then, as I said, Fredericksburg.”
“But—”
“I never considered Savannah my home.” He paused again and then figured at this point, he really needed to just lay it out. “My mother was attacked one day, leaving the bus on her way home from work. She was left for dead, and her injuries were such that—she did die. Because of that, I can’t really embrace Savannah as home, though it’s a wonderful city. And I always knew what I wanted to do with my life because...because nothing really changes emotion, but knowing you’ve done something to put someone heinous away is...it’s something that matters,” he told her.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
He winced. “I didn’t tell you that to gain your sympathy. It was a very long time ago.” He leaned forward, so he could speak quietly. “And I came to know ghosts because a ghost helped me. I was a kid, acting out. I’d run over to the local cemetery one day, and a man started talking to me. It was a war hero—Revolutionary fellow—and he led me to a man who had been attacked and severely beaten. Just as my mother had been. I got help, and the man lived—and he testified against the three drifters who had attacked him—and my mother—and my mother’s killers were put away,” he finished.
She was staring at him in pure horror and he tensed up; he didn’t want her feeling sorry for him.
“The thing is... I was helped, and at the very least, I got justice for my mother. I knew not to try to tell anyone a dead man had helped me. I kept my talent to myself. But then I knew I wanted to be in law enforcement. It’s hard to watch what crime, cruelty, greed and brutality do to others, but when you can bring someone to justice—and perhaps stop killers from moving on to the next person—it’s a pretty amazing thing.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, still looking at him. Their crab cakes had arrived a little while ago; she hadn’t touched them.
“It’s in the past,” he said. “And, thanks to my ghost and the injured man, her killers were stopped and put away, and I get to believe maybe someone else didn’t suffer the same fate.”
“You were ten—and you weren’t terrified?” she asked.
He smiled at that. “Hell—yeah, I was absolutely terrified.”
“But you...you managed.”
“I think we accept things more easily when we’re younger.”
She finally moved a piece of crab cake around on her plate, and then she looked at him again.
“So, you’re really FBI.”
“I really am.”
“Then you must...you must deal with terrible things all the time.” She inhaled a very deep breath and looked at him. “Did you—did you ever see your mother again?”
He smiled at her. “No. But I did become pretty good friends with my old friend who terrified me—and then helped me out that day. Major Louis Falmouth—he was one of the first people to arrive in Savannah after Oglethorpe had established the city, and he was a man far ahead of his time. He was killed during the war, but... Louis has saved a lot of lives. My aunt’s place is on the outskirts of the city near a forgotten—but really beautiful—old cemetery. It’s used for a lot of drug deals, and—” he paused, shrugging “—Louis has managed to trip a lot of dealers up for the cops to get and scare a lot of people straight.”
“You go back and see him?” she asked.
“I do. He’s a big believer in bad things happening when good men do nothing to stop them.”
“I’m still so sorry.”
“Well, he
re’s the good. My mom used to bring flowers to the cemetery—to honor those who weren’t in a well-known place, such as Colonial Park Cemetery, or somewhere as beautiful as Bonaventure. He told me he saw my mother...leave. She was smiling and looking up to the light. He said it was as though she was already an angel. I like to believe that.”
Kristi nodded. Then she shook her head. “Why do some stay—and some go?” she wondered.
“I don’t know. Maybe some stay because we just aren’t supposed to forget. We do, you know. As time goes by, we forget the wrongs done to people. We like to forget that some of our founding fathers came for religious freedom—and then condemned those who didn’t worship as they saw fit. We forget the horrors done to Native Americans, and that slavery was an abomination—just as any type of prejudice remains an abomination today. Anyway...”
“All the horrible things you’ve seen—and you’re looking into a death that might have been accidental, and the death of a very old man.”
“Because, life, while we live it, is a gift—and no man has the right to take that gift away from another man.”
She leaned forward. “Okay, say that Ian did discover something that might shake up history, or point a finger somewhere someone doesn’t want a finger pointed. What about Eliza Malone and Simon Drake?”
“We’re back to Eliza’s determination that businesses become involved in fighting crime. And Simon’s platform—every crime, no matter how cold, deserves to be solved. They both were trying to clean up the city,” Dallas said.
“Okay, so, we go back to Ian’s house. We delve through his papers until we find...something that connects them all. Or, we don’t.”
He nodded. “I’ve really just begun. There are many people I need to speak with—I’ve started on Simon Drake, and I know he was hurrying to meet someone. That someone might have been Ian Murphy.”
“But Eliza disappeared two years ago. If Ian had known something, I think he would have said so after she disappeared. He certainly would have read about all her efforts against crime.”
“That is a puzzling problem,” he agreed.
“So, tomorrow...the séance,” she murmured. “I—I agreed to participate.”
The Summoning Page 12
