Ghost in Trouble (2010)

CHAPTER SIX

Evelyn Hume sat at a stone table on the upper terrace in the shade of a cottonwood. As Kay approached, Evelyn’s head turned in the direction of the footsteps. The silvered dark hair drawn back into a tight bun emphasized the gauntness of her face. The family resemblance was evident, the same strong features as her brother Jack, but with no glimmer of charm or humor.

“Good morning, Evelyn.” Kay stood next to the table. “If its convenient, I’d like to visit with you about Jack.”

“That’s why you’re here, so I suppose now is as good a time as any.” Evelyn inclined her head. “Please join me.”

Kay sat on the opposite side of the table and opened her laptop. The breeze stirred Kay’s tousled black hair. Despite her informal clothing, a pale yellow cotton top and beige linen slacks, she looked capable and confident. Her dark eyes were bright with intelligence.

Evelyn gestured toward the cul-de-sac. “I wondered if the unfortunate accident last night might cut your visit short.”

Kay’s eyes narrowed, but her reply was swift. “I plan to stay until I have the material I need for the book. However, I promise to work as quickly as possible. I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.”

“I believe it was Diane who invited you to stay here.” Evelyn’s tone was dry.

Kay looked wary. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Evelyn shrugged. “This was Jack’s home as well as mine and James’s.” The milky eyes behind the thick lenses of her glasses reflected no emotion. “How may I help you?”

“What is your earliest memory of Jack?”

The question clearly surprised Evelyn. It was a long moment before she replied. “I was eight when he was born…”

Kay’s skillful questions pierced a hard shell of time and distance.

Evelyn’s words came more quickly, painting a picture of a younger brother colored by both admiration and jealousy:”…reckless…fearless…quick to be kind…stubbornly honest…much too attractive to women…ruthless when he made up his mind…selfish…he thought of himself before others. Jack left it to me to take care of our father.” Her grievance was clear. “Then, when he came home for Dad’s funeral, Jack was disruptive.” Her glance at Kay was cold. “It was obvious there was something between him and Shannon Taylor. That made Jimmy angry. Jimmy had always thought very highly of his uncle. But not now.” Evelyn sighed. “Jack upset Diane and the Phillipses as well. I’m afraid you won’t get positive reports about his last visit.”

“Jack wanted the book to tell the truth, whatever I found. I need to create a framework for Jack’s final days, talk to everyone he saw. The conversations, whether ordinary or remarkable, will touch readers because he had no idea that his time was so short.” Pain flickered in Kay’s eyes. “Of course, the focus of the book will be his years in Kenya. However, his ironic death in a fall down the steps of his childhood home has to be chronicled. This will be my only opportunity to interview those who spent time with him during his final days.”

“I see.” Evelyn sipped her coffee. “I don’t know how helpful I can be. I wasn’t keeping a record of his activities. He had various conversations with those living at The Castle.” There was a satisfied look on her face. “His hostility to Laverne and Ronald Phillips reduced Diane to tears one evening. Jimmy, sweet boy that he is, came to his mother’s defense. I thought for a moment Jimmy and Jack might come to blows. Of course, Jimmy was furious about more than that discussion. I saw the Phillipses scurrying back to the house one morning and they both looked out of sorts. Jack looked furious as he came inside behind them.”

I bent near Kay and whispered in her ear.

After an instant’s start, she asked smoothly, “As Jack’s sister, I’m sure you had insight into his moods. Was there a change between the day he arrived and the day of his death?”

There was a look of disdain on Evelyn’s aristocratic face. “In some ways, there was no change. As always, there were women. I have no doubt Jack at one time knew Margo better than he should. If a man and woman—” She broke off. A tiny flush touched her cheeks. “I was sensitive to his behavior. Since Margo is in our employ, I expected him to refrain from inappropriate behavior. I was chagrined to realize he was attracted to Shannon and that was even worse. A young girl! I spoke to him sharply. He insisted the interest was on her part, not his. But he was in and out of his room at odd hours in the night. I almost spoke to him again, then I decided time would solve any difficulties. That last day, I was again troubled. He told me he was delaying his departure, but he wouldn’t tell me why.” For an instant, her lips tightened. “Despite what Jack said, Margo’s daughter certainly spent a great deal of time with him. Jack always treated women as if their conquest was a sport.”

I saw the flare of Kay’s eyes. Quickly, I reached out and gave her arm a sharp pinch. No matter how she felt about Jack, this wasn’t the moment to challenge his sister.

Kay’s arm jerked.

Evelyn didn’t react. Obviously her sight was not only blurred but was also myopic.

Kay glanced at her arm, gave a tiny shake of her head. She gazed at her hands. Both rested lightly on the keyboard of her laptop. I feared she was wasting time thinking about her occupied hands and the momentary discomfort of her arm, refusing to accept that she had not, in an aberrant moment, pinched herself.

I leaned down, hissed in her ear. “She said in one way there was no change. In what way was there a change?”

Woodenly, Kay asked, “In what way was there a change in Jack’s demeanor?”

“Saturday. The day he died.” Evelyn looked disdainful. “Make no mistake, I don’t believe in presentiments, despite the nonsense Laverne spouts. Jack certainly didn’t have otherworldly imaginings that he was doomed. Far from it. He looked tough and determined and deeply angry. Jack was terribly upset. I doubt anyone else was aware. But you are quite right. He was my brother and I knew. I saw a hardness in his eyes that I’d only seen twice before. Once when Virginia and Sallie died. Once when he told Dad he was leaving Adelaide. I went to his room and knocked. When he came to the door, I asked him what was wrong. He gave me an odd look and shook his head. ‘Nothing you can help, Evie. But thanks.’ He closed the door. That was the last personal conversation we had.”

I whispered again in Kay’s ear.

This time she took my instruction in stride. Without hesitation, she asked, “Did he renew old acquaintances in Adelaide?”

Evelyn shrugged. “I have no idea who he saw when he was around town. Possibly you might ask Shannon.” Her smile was sardonic.

Kay nodded. “I’ll talk to Shannon.” She glanced down at her notes, then, her voice encouraging, she said, “I suppose you and Jack had a great deal of catching up to do.”

I nodded my unseen approval at Kay’s question.

Evelyn’s milky eyes narrowed. “Jack left his family behind. The burden of caring for my father was left to me. Jack spent his life running away from his failures, from the death of his first wife, from the responsibility for Hume Oil, from his country. He was a great disappointment to our father.”

“He spoke with affection for his father in an e-mail to me.”

I thought Kay was generous in her interpretation of Jack’s comment about his father’s funeral.

Slowly, Evelyn’s face softened. “I thank you for sharing that with me. In some respects”—her tone was grudging—“I believe Jack regretted his dismissal of his past. We had a very genial conversation one morning. He evinced great interest in some of the family heirlooms.” For the first time, she sounded enthusiastic. “We spent more than an hour walking the hallways, talking about some of the art our mother had collected. She was a woman of great refinement and taste. We have a Holbein, several Reynoldses, a Chase, a Metcalf, and two Rockwell paintings.” She made a spreading gesture with her hand. “And many others. Mother also collected Cherokee artworks. Jack was very attentive.”

Kay smiled. “I’m glad you have that happy memory.”

Evelyn took a quick breath. “Being Jack, he had to ruin the moment. He blamed me”—there was a quiver of fury in her voice—“for Laverne and Ronald Phillips. As I told him”—the words were harsh—“I do not control my brother’s widow. This is her home as well as mine. If she chooses to invite charlatans to share it with her, it isn’t my place to object.” Her thin lips pressed together, then, unexpectedly, flared in a grim smile. “Besides, fools deserve to reap what they sow.”

Stone steps led down to a cavernous basement. Kay’s footsteps grated on the stairway.

Shannon Taylor came around a pillar, clutching an armload of sheets. Golden brown hair framed an appealing round face with bright blue eyes, a snub nose, and a trace of dimples in smooth cheeks flushed from heat. She looked surprised and not pleased. She stared at Kay with no hint of friendliness.

Kay’s face was kind. “I hoped you might have a moment to visit with me.”

“I don’t know if that’s in my job description.” Her tone bordered on rudeness. “I’m the laundress today.”

Kay walked nearer. “Let me help. Those look clean. I’ll fold.”

Shannon shrugged. “They’re hot.”

Kay strode around the pillar and moved to a dryer with an open door. She carried another mound of hot sheets to a folding table. “I didn’t know The Castle had such a huge basement.”

“There’s a lot that the family and guests never see. Or probably even know about. Mom is in charge. She arranges for the cleaning service that comes twice a week and a landscaping company that does the grounds.”

“Everything is certainly well kept. Your mother has done an excellent job.” Kay folded quickly, efficiently. “Evelyn suggested I visit with you. You know about the book I’m writing.”

“Why talk to me?” Shannon’s voice was ragged. “What’s the point?”

Kay’s voice was pleasant. “I hope you can tell me something about Jack’s last days, the people he saw, what he might have said about them.”

Shannon whirled toward a heavy-duty washing machine, blindly picked up clothes from a basket, dropped them into the machine, added soap. “When he first came, he was so much fun. Then Mother told him to keep away from me. Like I was some kind of stupid kid. He was nice after that, but he avoided being alone with me. I know he liked me. He really did.” Tears streaked her smooth cheeks.

Kay started a second stack of clean towels. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was gentle.

Shannon’s face creased in hot, unreasoning anger. “Don’t patronize me. I know all about you. You were one of his old flames.” She emphasized the adjective, made it ugly. “Maybe you think he still cared about you. I can tell you he didn’t. I followed him Friday night. He sneaked out of the house.” She looked miserable and defiant. “I was watching the windows of his room, and when the lights went out, I waited by the side of the house. I thought he was coming out for his car. But he looked around and I could tell he didn’t want anyone to see him. Of course, he was sneaking. She’s a married woman. I guess that didn’t matter to him. He met her in the gazebo by the stream. I saw his face in the moonlight. He was angry. She paced up and down, up and down. I tried to get close enough to hear, but Diane’s old cocker spaniel came running up and yipping. They heard the noise and she came down the steps and ran toward the path to her house. I saw her in one of the garden lights. Then Saturday night at dinner, he called her Gwen as if the name meant nothing to him. She acted like she hardly knew him. But people don’t quarrel like that unless they are lovers.” She turned and ran sobbing toward the stairs.

I swirled into being. I chose a lime green blouse with a dramatic flared collar and cropped twill slacks. Multistrapped leather sandals matched the blouse. Summer clothing is always cheerful, especially when fresh and new. No ensemble could be fresher or newer than mine. I am not claiming superiority in appearance. That would be too much of the earth. I smoothed a sleeve, marveling in the silky feel of the cotton.

Kay didn’t react to my physical presence. She stood in the middle of the gazebo, hands on her hips. “I’m going to talk to Jimmy next.”

Sycamores shaded the gazebo, but offered little respite from the heat. However, I like hot weather, and I adore the rasp of cicadas. “Gwen Dunham is more important.”

“Who’s in charge?” Kay demanded.

I smiled. “Heaven.” I spoke the simple truth.

Kay did not smile.

I observed her with a kindly expression. “Even your fine bone structure lacks charm when your features are set in what can only be described as mulish obstinacy.”

She ignored me and paced the perimeter of the gazebo, muttering to herself, “Idiotic imagination. Why do I keep seeing her?”

“Because I’m here.” I pirouetted, humming “I’m Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover.”

She faced me, her gaze resistant. “You insisted we come out here. What is this supposed to tell me?”

Her refusal to acknowledge me made conversation difficult. Truth is always the best policy. Sometimes truth is even believed. “I want to discuss our next step, and I’m tired of being invisible. As I’ve told Wiggins, I’m not at my best when I’m invisible.”

“Certainly it’s important you be at your—” She broke off, stared. “Wiggins?”

“My supervisor. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh, no. Come on, Bailey Ruth, level with me.”

Since Kay never believed what I said, I saw no harm in explaining the Department of Good Intentions, the old-fashioned train station, and the Rescue Express.

She listened with flattering attention.

“…so you see, you’ve been specially chosen for protection.”

“Yeah. I’m special. I’m so special my mind is splintering.” Her tone was morose. She looked warily about. “Is Wiggins lurking around, too?”

I sincerely hoped not. “Not usually. He permits his agents great independence. Normally I wouldn’t dream of appearing.” Are you listening, Wiggins? “But it’s such a lovely morning.” Besides, I might know I was wearing a stylish outfit, but I liked to see it as well. I dropped my gaze to my sandals. The shade of green was glorious, almost translucent, like sunlight spearing through green glass.

I gave Kay a reassuring smile. “You’d like Wiggins.”

“I’m sure I would. The more the merrier.”

“Sarcasm isn’t becoming.”

She cuffed the side of her head. “Now I’m scolding me. All right, redheaded brain wave. What’s your plan?”

“You need to talk to Gwen Dunham.”

“Oh.” Her huff was derisive. “Dumb idea, brain wave. You’re caught up in Shannon’s romantic nonsense. Even Jack couldn’t sweep a woman into a passionate love affair in the space of three weeks and reach the point of dramatic scenes. Besides, scenes weren’t his style. He was too cool for that.” There were memories in her eyes, not all of them good.

“Shannon saw them quarreling.”

Kay shrugged. “Shannon probably saw what she wanted to see. I’ll talk to Gwen Dunham, but she’s not high on my list. As far as I’ve been able to figure out, she scarcely knew Jack. Actually”—she looked grim—“Shannon ranks close to the top. Nobody loves—or hates—like a twentysomething. How hurt was she by Jack’s turndown? And how angry? I want to talk to her mother, see what I can find out. After that, I’ll—”

Footsteps sounded on the gazebo steps.

Both Kay and I swung to look.

I’d been engrossed in our conversation. Wiggins would not see that fact as an excuse. He would point out that my stubborn habit of appearing had now come home to roost.

Diane Hume reached the top step. Sprigs of blond hair poked from beneath a huge straw hat. The cuffs of her long-sleeved smock were tucked into gardening gloves. She carried a straw basket brimming with cut flowers. “Kay”—Diane’s voice was high and breathless—“that police chief is here. He’s talking to Evelyn. He wants to see you. Oh.” She gave me a shy smile. “Hello.”

Kay looked slowly from me, back to Diane. “You see her?” The words were unsteady.

Diane looked surprised. “Did I come at a bad time? I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you were having a private meeting. What do you want me to tell that policeman?”

I felt I had no choice. It was time to seize the moment. Was I being led? Possibly I’d underestimated Wiggins’s openness to innovation. Perhaps he was coming around to my view. Sometimes an emissary had to be onstage. In two quick strides, I reached Diane. I offered my hand. Oh. I took an instant to redo the polish. Pink is much more summery than red. “Hi, I’m Francie de Sales, and I just arrived.”

I hoped the patron saint of writers approved of my nom de plume.

Kay made an inarticulate noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “Francie…”

I gave her a sharp nod. I had no intention of being identified publicly as Bailey Ruth Raeburn. There’s a memorial column for me and Bobby Mac in the cemetery by St. Mildred’s with Serendipity chiseled on the hull of the dearest carving of a cabin cruiser and the inscription: Forever Fishing. I doubted anyone from The Castle hung out at the cemetery, but a ghost can’t be too careful. I hoped Wiggins admired my quick thinking.

Kay stared with huge and rounded eyes.

What an unfortunate moment for her to grapple with the reality of me.

Diane scrambled to pull off a glove. She looked at me with the kindly friendliness of a puppy. “I’m Diane Hume.”

I smiled as we shook hands. “Kay’s told me about you and how welcoming you are. She is so appreciative. You’ll have to forgive her. Such a shock. A huge tarantula jumped toward her just a moment ago. She’s always had a thing about tarantulas.”

Diane darted frightened looks around the gazebo.

“An Oklahoma Brown Tarantula. Aphonopelma hentzi. Don’t be concerned. A very docile spider. Huge. With those dear furry legs. I dropped him over the edge of the gazebo. I have a great admiration for spiders. Don’t you?”

Diane gazed at me in awe. “Not really.” Clearly she wanted to be agreeable, but there were limits.

Kay stared at me, too. Awe did not describe her expression. Horror perhaps came nearest.

“Anyway, it’s lovely to be here.” I leaned forward, spoke confidentially. “I’m Kay’s assistant. She asked me to join her. I do fact-checking, that sort of thing.” I had no idea if writers had assistants, but if I didn’t know, I doubted Diane knew. “Kay’s main effort will be in Africa, of course. She’s eager to be on her way there, so she’s asked me to help round up the information in Adelaide. I can be a help.” I waved my hand. “Running around, talking to people.” I turned to Kay. “Such a shock. That tarantula. After you speak with the police chief, perhaps you might want to go to your room and rest. I can take care of the interview with Gwen Dunham.”

“I’m fine.” But she made no move to go.

Diane looked earnest. “Francie, would you like to stay with us? It might be more convenient for you and Kay.”

I beamed. “That would be wonderful.” I wished Kay would stop looking like she was marooned on a ledge twenty stories above the street. “Thank you.”

Diane turned to Kay. “I suppose you thought it was too late to invite Francie to stay last night. Laverne was sure she saw you speaking to someone in the garden.”

Kay’s tone was dazed. “Last night. Yes. It was late.”

Diane’s face squeezed into a commiserating frown. “I can’t believe how that vase fell. Wasn’t it awful that you and Francie were standing in the one place where it would land. Why, Laverne said it was almost as if it were meant.” Diane looked at me. “You’ll meet Laverne. She’s the most wonderful woman. She has insights from beyond this world.”

Kay gave a ragged laugh. “I don’t think Laverne has a monopoly on otherworldly insights.”

“We’re concerned with the here and now.” My voice was sharp. “Right here and right now.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, Bai—”

“Diane.” I spoke with the vigor of a tour guide and in a sense possibly that was my role. “Kay tells me you have an exquisite sense of atmosphere. You are the perfect person to give us a perspective of your brother-in-law’s last few days on earth. You and I can visit while Kay goes up to the house to talk to the police.”

Kay shot me a strained glance and walked down the steps in a daze.

I hoped she didn’t appear stiff and tense when she met with Chief Cobb.

When I turned back to Diane, she was edging toward the steps. “I’m right in the middle of weeding. There are red spiders in my marigolds.”

I moved right alongside her. “Spider mites. That can be such a problem. Lady bugs are the answer. Put out some sugar water for them. I will only take a minute of your time.”

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, pleated the garden gloves. “I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t want to talk about Jack. I mean, Kay is very nice. I didn’t expect her to be so nice and I know this book matters to her, but I’ll tell you the truth.”

I remembered Wiggins’s appraisal of Diane. She has a sweet nature. There was a childlike openness about her.

“I don’t think Jack was a very nice man. He wanted me to send Laverne and Ronald away.” Her voice trembled. “Laverne is my rock. Why, she’s told me all about James and how he is and that he loves me but he wants me not to hurry to come. He says there’s no time in heaven—”

I was glad to know Laverne had one point right.

“—so he wants me to be here to help Laverne and Ronald because they can see through to what’s real and true and I should contribute what I can to their foundation. Jack was just downright ugly. He said he was going to find out where the money went and put them in jail, but I talked to Paul, and what I have is mine and I can do anything with it that I want and Jimmy’s share belongs to him, so there wasn’t anything Jack could do. But he made me so upset and Laverne and Ronald said they’d have to leave if he kept accusing them of bad things. I couldn’t bear it if Laverne went away.” Tears spilled down her face. “I’d rather die.” She whirled away and ran blindly toward the house.

I looked after her. Would she rather die? Or would she rather kill?

I waited until Diane was out of sight to disappear.

On the balcony, Chief Cobb and Evelyn watched in silence as Kay climbed the steps.

Kay managed a smile. “Good morning.” There was the faintest hint of inquiry in her voice.

Chief Cobb’s heavy face looked determined. “I appreciate your joining us, Mrs. Clark.”

Kay nodded, but said nothing.

Cobb’s brown eyes glinted with irritation and, possibly, a hint of respect. “As I explained to Miss Hume, a study of photographs by our expert suggests that a tool was used to loosen the vase. He believes it would have required a crowbar to leverage the vase from the pedestal.”

“That is shocking information.” Evelyn’s tone was grim.

Kay appeared unruffled. “Really.” Her voice lifted in a tone of amazement. “Why, who would have thought such a thing could happen? It sounds like vandalism.”

I was afraid she was overdoing her ingenuous response a trifle.

Evelyn bent her head, apparently listening intently. Her expression was alert.

Cobb cleared his throat. “Mrs. Clark, you were in the garden when the vase fell. Apparently, you narrowly escaped being crushed. Do you think it is likely the vase’s fall at that precise moment was a coincidence?”

Kay gave a cool smile and turned her hands palms up. “I wouldn’t know what else to think.”

“Really.” He drew out the word in a sardonic mimicry. “Mrs. Clark, why were you in the garden?”

She hesitated for an instant, then said smoothly. “I was meeting with my assistant, Francie de Sales. She’d just arrived in town.” Kay glanced at Evelyn. “Diane has very nicely invited Francie to stay at The Castle.”

“Oh?” Evelyn turned her milky gaze toward Kay.

Kay was suddenly voluble. “Francie and I met in the gazebo this morning. Diane stopped to visit and she saw at once that Francie and I could be in closer contact if Francie stayed here. I truly appreciate her generosity and yours.” She smiled at Chief Cobb. “Francie will be in and out.”

Uh-oh. I knew Chief Cobb well enough to be certain he would ask to talk to Francie. Kay had no way of knowing that the chief and I had met before, though he hadn’t known me as Francie de Sales. I thought fondly of my previous appearances as Officer M. Loy and family friend Jerrie Emiliani.

“Is Miss de Sales available? I’d like to speak with her.”

Kay looked uncertain. As well she might. “I’m not sure when she’ll be back. She went to get her luggage.”

On the spur of the moment, that wasn’t a bad ploy.

Cobb nodded. “Ask her to call me, please.”

Whew.

“I will.”

“Now, about your conference with her in the garden last night: Who knew about that meeting?”

“No one.” She sounded utterly confident. And believable.

Wiggins knew, of course. Oh well, she was speaking the truth as she understood it.

Cobb folded his arms. “I understand you are in Adelaide to write a book about Jack Hume. Has it occurred to you, Mrs. Clark, that someone might not want you to write that book?”

Her gaze was unfaltering, her voice convincing. “Chief Cobb, I’m quite sure no one pushed a vase from that pedestal because of the book.”

Again, she spoke the truth. A murderer pushed the vase to hide a crime.

“And”—she spoke brightly—“speaking of the book, it’s time I continued my research.” She turned and started down the steps.

Chief Cobb stared after her, eyes narrowed, face hard.

“I suppose this concludes your questions.” Evelyn spoke pleasantly, but firmly. “I consider the matter closed now. We won’t make a complaint. Further investigation isn’t necessary. The destruction of the vase may have been vandalism. But”—her tone was silky—“experts are often wrong. Thank you for your good efforts, Captain.” Evelyn, too, turned away and moved down the steps.