The Masters Ball

by Anne-Marie Lacy

  Annabelle listened to the worried Masters as they discussed the future of the Hunt—a Hunt without its guiding light. The talk depressed her as much as the service had, and she began to feel sad and at odds with the world again as she had almost continually done over the past few days. In fact, the only time she had felt any interest at all in her surroundings was when she had hallucinated during the memorial service. She sighed at her own silliness, and soon she discreetly signaled to Nick that she was ready to go home.

  Whether it was alcohol-induced or a natural combination of grief and several sleepless nights, Annabelle went quickly to sleep that night. She awoke, however, around 2:00 a.m. The house was silent—even the terriers were sleeping, curled up against Annabelle’s feet. She loved how completely dark the nights were in the country, and thinking of this, she snuggled closer to Nick and tried to go back to sleep.

  Twenty, then thirty, minutes passed. Annabelle shifted and turned, trying to find the perfect position without disturbing the bed’s other occupants. Finally, she decided she needed something—hot milk, perhaps? It would have to be chocolate—plain sounded too awful.

  Annabelle made her way quietly down the back staircase to the kitchen. She hoped Fitz and Floyd would stay in bed, but they followed her every move as usual, tonight being no exception. “Shhh!” she told them, thinking Nick should be allowed some sleep even if the rest of the household were up and about. She flipped a switch that illuminated only part of the room, mainly to ensure that Nick would not be disturbed by a light on the lower floor of the rambling old house.

  The Farleys weren’t fond of sweets and desserts, preferring to get their daily allowance of sugar through the consumption of red wine and the occasional whiskey sour thrown in for good measure. Annabelle wasn’t sure there was such a thing as chocolate in the house, but after some searching she was able to locate powdered cocoa and sugar left over from her Christmas cookie making as gifts for fox hunting friends during the holiday season—rum balls, of course.

  She mixed the two in a cup with some milk and popped it into the microwave. She would have to be careful to open the door so the ‘beep’ wouldn’t wake Nick. After about a minute, she opened the door and took out the steaming chocolate. She decided to check and see if the concoction needed more sugar, and put the cup to her lips. At that moment, she heard a familiar voice say, “Hey there, Kiddo.” The cup and its contents went flying, spraying chocolate over Annabelle’s bathrobe and landing on the floor between the two terriers which began happily licking up the small portion that Annabelle wasn’t wearing.

  “Honey?” she heard Nick call from upstairs, “You all right?”

  “Yes, dear,” she said vaguely, for she was weak with fright. “I just spilled my chocolate—not to worry.”

  “Good girl!” said Edmund. “We don’t want Nick thinking you’re any crazier than he must already. You made quite a spectacle of yourself at my memorial service today.”

  Annabelle turned to face Edmund who was seated at her kitchen table, long legs crossed comfortably. He still wore his scarlet attire, and was just as she had seen him at the church and at the foot of the stairs at the Pierre…

  “Wha….what’s this?” she asked, stuttering in shock. There was no way to communicate all that was going through her astonished mind.

  Edmund smiled. “Aren’t you glad to see me? You certainly have seemed to miss me.”

  Annabelle let the statement pass for the moment. “Aren’t you dead?” she choked. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a dead person! Oh, god, I always heard rumors about insanity in my family. Thank god Nick n-never wanted children…”

  “Calm down, Annabelle. You’re not losing your mind. I’m here. Actually, I’ve been with you since that night at the Pierre. I just didn’t let you see me.”

  “Why not?” asked Annabelle, trying for the moment to accept the fact that she was talking to a figment of her imagination.

  “Well, I didn’t want to upset you, for one thing. And, I guess at first, I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “Necessary? Why is it necessary now?” Annabelle felt more foolish by the moment. Talking to ghosts, indeed! She rubbed at her rather bloodshot brown eyes.

  “Because, someone killed me, Annabelle! I didn’t just slip and fall down those stairs!”

  “I knew it!” said Annabelle loudly, and then clapped her hand to her mouth. “I knew it!” she repeated in a whisper.

  “You were murdered! Who did it? I’ll kill him!” Annabelle seemed almost reconciled to Edmund’s shade addressing her like old times.

  “Annabelle, please, just listen to me. I need your help, and I need you to try to stay calm.” Edmund’s ghost sounded just as persuasive as Edmund, alive.

  “How can I be calm when I’m talking to a dead person? I’m either going crazy or you’re haunting me, and I find either of those two possibilities upsetting! I bet I’m just imagining you, anyway. You’re a result of Marguerite’s pate´ that disagreed with me.”

  “Me, a bit of undigested beef? No, my dear”, Edmund wryly replied. “As you see, I’m not wearing chains like Marley, and you are much too pretty to be Scrooge. And, I can assure you I’m not here to teach you any moral lessons. Why don’t you make another cup of chocolate and maybe that will relax you enough to listen to what I have to tell you.”

  “Well, the first cup must have been good,” said Annabelle, glancing down at the terriers that had licked up every drop and were starting to fight over the cup. She quickly took it away from them and, as she did so, she remembered a comment Edmund had made earlier.

  “What did you mean when you said you had been with me since last Saturday night?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I meant just what I said. Not every minute, of course, but most of the time.”

  “So you’ve been sort of hanging around me, haunting me, for almost a week?”

  “No,” said Edmund. “I don’t think it’s haunting if you’re not aware of my presence.”

  “Oh, so you’re just some kind of ghostly stalker! Anyway, I’m still not sure I believe you. Or, believe in you.”

  Edmund uncrossed his legs and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Okay, maybe this will convince you. Remember when you were randomly selected for a security check at LaGuardia?”

  “On the way home, you mean?” asked Annabelle, starting to feel a little uneasy.

  “Yes, on the way back from New York.”

  “I remember being checked, yes,” she answered warily.

  Edmund smiled shyly. “Do you remember what the young man who checked your train case asked you?”

  Annabelle remembered very well. At first she had been somewhat pleased to be selected for a pat-down if only because it meant she wouldn’t have to stand in line any longer. She was led past the other travelers to a separate area and allowed to sit comfortably while a young male security guard opened her Louis Vuitton train case and checked it for explosive devices or contraband. Knowing she had neither, Annabelle proceeded to relax and people-watch.

  “Ma’am?” the young man asked. Annabelle wasn’t listening. “Ma’am!” asked the young man more loudly. He held up a giant canister which somewhat resembled an aqua-lung. “Can you tell me what this is, please?”

  Annabelle gave the man a smirk. “It’s hairspray.”

  “Thank you.” He continued to rifle through the contents of the case. Annabelle sensed that he realized he had offended her and he attempted to engage her in friendly conversation. “Are you a professional makeup artist?” he asked with a smile, gesturing toward her case.

  “No, I’m not,” said Annabelle haughtily, turning her head away to discourage further questions regarding her various cosmetics.

  Recalling this rather embarrassing little exchange, she looked wryly at Edmund. “I remember what he said.”

  “He asked if you were a professional…”

  “I said I remember!” hissed Annabelle. “All right, I believe you. You’ve been with me all of
the time. I hope you got a big laugh out of his stupid questions.”

  Annabelle felt she now must believe Edmund because one thing was for sure—she had definitely not shared that particular experience with anyone as it would have given them ammunition for teasing her.

  Edmund smiled at her. “You should have just told him that it’s not easy to be as fabulous as you are.”

  Annabelle preened, mollified somewhat by Edmund’s compliment. Her second cup of chocolate was ready so she sat down with it in her hand and looked closely at Edmund, arisen from the dead, for the first time. “You know, I’m really glad you’re back. Even if it does mean I’m crazy,” said Annabelle happily.

  “I’m not touching that comment,” Edmund said with a grin. “Now, let me tell you what happened that night and why I think it was done. Then, we’ve got to figure out how to prove it.”

  CHAPTER V

  HUNTERSLEIGH

  Naturally, Annabelle got very little sleep that night. In fact, she wandered around in a daze over the next week, which Nick and her friends attributed to extreme melancholy and sadness over Edmund’s passing. Had Nick known that Edmund hadn’t passed at all as far as Annabelle was concerned, he would have taken her straight to a psychiatrist. As for Annabelle, after about three days of ghostly visitations, she realized she was actually seeing more of Edmund now that he was dead than when he had been in flesh and blood.

  That night in her kitchen, Edmund had told Annabelle he knew who had killed him and thought he knew why. All of his life he’d heard stories about victims of violent crimes whose souls were unable to rest until their killers were brought to justice. He’d said, “Those stories are true. Looks like I’m here to stay until we solve my murder.”

  Luckily for Edmund, Annabelle had a mind that expanded easily to accommodate whatever experiences came her way. She figured this was undoubtedly one reason he had selected her as the beneficiary of his otherworldly attentions—that, and the fact he knew she would do anything in her power to help him when asked. This more than made up for her lack of ability as a serious sleuth. To underestimate her guts and determination, even if she was generally considered just an amusing airhead, was a serious mistake.

  Annabelle began to get used to Edmund’s spectral presence and took his word he needed her help very seriously. The problem of just how to go about providing it was something they hadn’t quite yet worked out. Clearly, no one would believe her if she started making unsubstantiated accusations of murder against a well known and respected individual without some form of proof. She and Edmund had already shared many a chuckle discussing possible outcomes if such foolish measures were taken.

  Edmund believed there were several pieces of incriminating evidence in existence, and he wanted Annabelle to get her hands on them. One was a faxed message the killer had sent him only days before their confrontation on the night of the Ball, implying Edmund would be sorry if he continued his current course of action. Although Edmund recognized the communication as a threat of sorts, he had not realized the sender was intending to kill him. Annabelle remembered it was not Edmund’s nature to be dramatic or fearful. In hindsight, he wished he had been a little more wary. “Oh, well, ‘c’est la vie’,” he’d told her. “Or, ‘c’est le mort’, in this case!”

  The problem was, Edmund couldn’t remember exactly what he had done with the fax. He had been working on several items of business that day, some related to his personal investments and some involving the Hill County Hounds, so had consequently received more than one. At first, he’d told Annabelle he must have filed it somewhere, but she knew it would have been characteristic behavior if he had simply muttered a profane pronouncement regarding the sender’s parentage and then tossed the ugly epistle into a trash can. Then, he seemed to remember setting it aside as a reminder in case he was ever tempted to forget what a low-down character this particular individual really was. But, where had he put it? Try as he might, Edmund could not recall. Annabelle had the cheek to suggest that a recent blow to the head might have affected his short term memory, and Edmund responded by vanishing abruptly. This form of leave taking disconcerted Annabelle. Edmund apparently used it as a means of chastisement when she said something he thought disrespectful, which was rather often.

  On the Monday following Thursday’s memorial service, Edmund joined Annabelle at lunch time. Hill County Hounds had not hunted that Saturday out of respect for Edmund’s death, marking one week since the Masters’ Ball. Nick had returned to work in Nashville after the quiet weekend, so Annabelle sat down with a large bowl of tomato soup to which she added basil, sour cream, and thick slices of avocado.

  As Edmund appeared beside her, she looked up from her bowl and asked, “Is it my imagination, or do you particularly like to show up when I’m eating?”

  Edmund smiled. “Well, it’s a pleasure I can no longer enjoy except vicariously, and you do it with such gusto, my dear. I almost feel as if I can taste those delicious looking chunks of—what is that—avocado?” Edmund hovered over Annabelle’s shoulder.

  “Do you mind?” she asked sharply, and was about to make some reference to his post mortem manners when he sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, immediately regretting her earlier tone. “It just makes me nervous when you float around like that.”

  She paused eating her meal and regarded Edmund closely for a moment. His black wool tuxedo trousers were losing their creases, and his once pristine white tie was looking grubby around its edges.

  She spoke casually so as not to hurt his feelings again. “Are you going to be wearing that same outfit from now on?”

  “So it appears,” he said unsmilingly, daring her to comment further. Annabelle decided discretion was the better part of valor and went back to her soup.

  After a moment he cleared his throat and said, “I was just thinking about that fax. There’s really only one thing to do, you know.”

  “What’s that?” asked Annabelle between spoonfuls. “You’ve got to search my office at the house here in Guilford.”

  Annabelle set her spoon down with a clatter. “You mean break in? Why do I have to do it? As a ghost, you can just appear anywhere you want, can’t you?”

  “You won’t have to break in, silly. I’ll show you where I kept a key hidden. And being nothing but ectoplasm has its drawbacks. I can walk through walls, but I can’t really grasp a material object.”

  Annabelle was silent for a moment as she digested this new information about the after-life. There were many questions she wanted to ask, but felt it was rude to be too inquisitive. Then she remembered he was asking her to break the law on his behalf and decided he owed her a few measly answers.

  “So, where exactly do you go when I can’t see you?” she asked.

  Unfortunately for Annabelle, Edmund had realized she was extremely curious about his condition and was too naturally mischievous to simply answer her question without making a game of it.

  “Where exactly do I go”, he mused. “Wouldn’t you love for me to tell you? Mostly, I’m just watching you!”

  Annabelle reddened brightly, recalling the embarrassing amount of time she had spent in front of the mirror that morning while trying to decide if it was time for plastic surgery or, at least, Botox. She decided to satisfy her curiosity another time and abruptly changed the subject.

  “Is anyone living at Huntersleigh? she asked.

  “No,” said Edmund, appearing pleased that the conversation was back on track. “It’s shut up tight as a drum. My heirs aren’t interested in the place so will probably sell it soon—all the more reason to get the fax tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Annabelle exclaimed.

  “Doesn’t Nick have a law firm meeting tonight?”

  “Yes,” answered Annabelle, a little unnerved. Here was more proof that Edmund was apparently listening to her and Nick, even when she couldn’t see him.

  “What about Tiller?” asked Annabelle, referring to Edmund
’s faithful jack-of-all-trades farm employee.

  “Monday’s his day off which is another reason that tonight’s as good as any. Soon, they’ll have someone clean the place out. The fax may already be in the waste can for all we know.” Annabelle nodded, knowing that Edmund’s children and ex-wives were probably all expecting portions of his estate. Annabelle had to agree the house in Guilford with its accompanying 150 acres would be worth far too much to be overlooked by the greedy horde.

  “You’re sure you know where there’s a key?” she asked. “Yes, yes, of course. So, are we on?”

  “We’re on.”

  “Great. See you tonight.” Edmund faded away slowly, like he always did when he was pleased with Annabelle. This time he let his smile remain for a few extra seconds, reminding his bemused friend of the Cheshire Cat, one of her favorite characters from Through the Looking Glass.

  “Maybe I’ll wake up one day and this will all be a dream like it was for Alice,” she said to herself.

  “No such luck, Kiddo,” said a ghostly voice from somewhere in the room. Annabelle just shook her head and went back to her soup.

  Around 9:30 that evening, Edmund reappeared. Annabelle had been anxiously waiting for him dressed in jeans, paddock boots, and a black sweater, an outfit she thought appropriate for sleuthing, not to mention slenderizing and flattering to her pale complexion.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “Nick will be home before too much longer.”

  “Oh, here and there,” Edmund answered airily. “This ought not to take that long. We had to wait until it got quiet around Guilford.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, it gets quiet around Guilford at about six o’clock. That was three hours ago!”

  “Oh, my sense of timing isn’t what it used to be. Anyway, quit complaining and let’s go.”